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sonotpattismith · 1 month ago

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pretty little things (kento nanami x reader)

word count: 10.3k inspired by: as the world caves in by matt maltese warnings: slight angst, fluff, me missing Haibara Yu like a mf summary: when nanami faces near death at the hands of his cruel reality, he's reminded of the graveness of simplicity at the hands of a friendly bookstore owner, who is struggling to find meaning in her own mundaneness. a/n: okay format switch up? LMK if you guys prefer this post format better! Also if it wasn't apparent in the tooth-rotting fluff- I LOVE NANAMI KENTO. That's all. I hope you all enjoy 🫶🏻🥹

Learning how not to ask questions was an art.

Having worked in a bookstore that shelved such a wide array of genres for a few years— there were many questions that constantly littered your mind as character after character came and went from your quaint little shop. They all varied in age, gender, ethnicity, and their choice in literature offered that much more variety. You watched countless titles being laid against your checkout counter. Macbeth, Twilight, Baking for Dummies, A Happy Life in an Open Relationship, The CBT Workbook for Perfectionism, Why Can’t I Let You Go— all the covers that your neatly manicured nails skimmed over each hour told a story.

Sometimes, as you peered up at the customer attached to the novel, you painted a picture of their story in your ever wondering mind. This evening, it was an elderly woman, her silvery hair pushed back with soft pink clips and a sage green frock clinging delicately to her slumped shoulders. Window to Widow, the bolded letter across the cover told her story for you. No matter how much you felt compelled to question, aching to ask her how she was doing— people came to the bookstore to find something in the world that they were missing from themselves.

You, on the other hand, were only there to observe with a welcoming smile. Never judging, never questioning, never helping. They were here to help themselves, after all.

So, you smiled warmly at the somber woman and rang up her total. Turning back to your side counter with her book in hand, you wrapped it delicately with twine, pressing your pointer finger in the middle of it to tie a quaint bow with the tool. Your lips twitched melancholily as you picked a small bundle of forget-me-nots from the cardboard box beside the register and carefully tucked it into the twine.

You had gotten very skilled at not asking any questions.

Sighing at the computer screen before you, your mind was flooded with uncertainty as you skimmed through the countless college programs emailed to you by the advisor you’d spoken with weeks prior. She told you that, following your meeting, these seemed like the best fit for what you wanted to pursue. As you clicked into each one and read more into them, you couldn’t help but look around at the solace of a corner bookstore you’d built up from the ground just three years ago.

It wasn’t enough, you always thought when you heard about the countless deaths and tragedies that were befalling the city around you. After all, there were people on the frontlines, people making a difference, and you felt inferior as you selected your week’s display line up and decorated it just pretty enough to catch passer byer’s attention. You loved it with your whole heart, but was it enough?

“Excuse me,” A firm voice called out from behind you as the soft melody of the door chime sounded. Turning your head, you were met by the guarded gaze of a tall, suited man. His blonde hair sat almost perfectly on his head, save for the stray strands that fluttered across his forehead. The hollows of his cheeks made way for his carefully carved face and jawline, and the sight of him had your brows raising just a hair. “Do you happen to have a section for cook books?”

Despite his question being directed at you, he was already looking around the small store with a hand on his hip. The yellow tint of his glasses shone as the setting sun hit them from the window, revealing a glimpse of his narrowed eyes. Taking in his seemingly strong physique, his serious expression, and well pressed suit and tie, his question surprised you. A cookbook?

Shoving your questions to the back of your head as you always did, you smiled softly at him in greeting. Stepping down from the small footstool you’d been balancing on, you walked toward the far right aisle of the store, nodding for him to follow along with you. You heard his steady footsteps behind you as you stopped in front of your small selection of cookbooks. A timid smile lit graced your features as you waved your hands in presentation, watching as he nodded at the selection.

“Um… is there anything specific that I can help you find?” You cringed at your question, beacause, in reality, there weren’t that many cookbooks to choose from, so you were sure the more than competent looking man did not need your help. Still, you couldn’t help but want to linger— he was the most handsome customer that had graced your store in a minute, after all.

“No, that’s quite alright. Thank you.” The man didn’t even look at you as he dismissed your help, already peering curiously at the baking section.

“Right,” You muttered pathetically, turning on your heel to give him some space to browse. “Well, let me know if you need anything!”

It was only a few minutes later, as you continued busying yourself with the finishing touches of the display table, that you heard him politely clear his throat behind you. Catching yourself before you slipped off the footstool, you nodded bashfully before placing yourself behind the register. The man set a hardcover down on the counter in front of you. Peering down, you smiled gently. The Bread Bible. Something about the mental image of this beefy, solemn man carefully following cookbook directions to make bread tickled a part of your brain that had you suppressing an amused expression.

As he handed you his credit card, he took a chance to look around the small store thoughtfully.

“Is this a new business? I frequent the café next door, but I don’t think I’ve ever noticed this being here.” You were surprised when he initiated the conversation, as you had already gotten the impression that he wanted to be in and out of here without being bothered. “I usually go to the bookstore down the street, but it seems they’ve closed for renovations.”

“Oh! No, I actually opened about three years ago.” You flushed, suddenly very aware of the fact that your little store was by no means attention grabbing from the outside. Glancing at the front windows, you made a mental note to search around for some plants or lights that might make it stand out more.

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“So, you like the café next door—” You squinted down at the card in your hands before smiling up at him and returning it. Grabbing the book from the counter, you made quick work to begin wrapping it up neatly. “Nanami-san? You should try their daifuku if you haven’t already. It’s to die for.”

Nanami’s head turned at the sound of his name.

“Daifuku, hm? I’ll have to try it the next time I go.” With curious eyes, he watched as you cut a string of twine and began wrapping his book. “There’s no need for that. It’s only for me.”

Glancing up at him with a smile, you shook your head in dismissal before plucking a few flower’s from your stash to place into the knot.

“I do it for all the books I sell.” You explained fondly, handing the beautifully presented book to him. His fingers brushed yours as he grabbed it, staring intently down at the soft, blue flowers that graced the cover. “Everyone needs a little reminder of the pretty things in life, right?”

For the first time since coming into the store, Nanami actually glanced up at you with the intent of seeing you. You wore delicate, linen overalls over your thin, long-sleeved white top. The loose strands of hair falling from your bun framed your kind face, making the corners of his lips twist up, just barely noticeably. Your smile was soft, kind— a reminder of the pretty things in this life.

“I suppose so.” Nanami quipped under his breath, bowing slightly in thanks before exiting your little, corner bookstore.

That cookbook didn’t get touched for the weeks that followed. It was sat beside the pile of other books he’d bought, always telling himself he’d make some time for himself to wind down and read them. Still, each time he stumbled home from work, his muscles aching and his eyes burning, all he could find the energy to do was shower and fall into his cold bed. After all, if he didn’t sleep when he had the chance, when would he?

Despite the dust collecting on the cover, those forget-me-nots always caught his attention from the corner of his eye. After a few days, they began wilting, but the reminder of them still rang clear each time he walked through the front door of his lonesome apartment and came face to face with the untouched, delicately wrapped and decorated book.

It seemed as though each day, his missions became more strenuous, and with each mission, his lips seemed to brush that much closer with the kiss of death. Though his past had brought him face to face with such tragedies before, it felt as though the added risk to his mortality was being brought to his attention more often. So, the more he put off his books, or learning new hobbies, or forming any sort of real connection outside of his work, the higher the stakes were drawn.

As he awaited his coffee that day though, just as he did every other morning, the rigidity of his routine was so much so that he didn’t even notice how he didn’t have to check the total before swiping his card— already knowing it by heart. The packaged pastry was warm against his cool hands as his eyes drifted over the display case, and he had the strangest feeling that he’d forgotten something. It wasn’t in his robotic list of motions though, so he left the café without a second glance.

Nanami was on his way to work when his routine was interrupted. Well, not interrupted, but perhaps distracted was a better word. The quaint bookstore he’d discovered just two weeks ago came into his line of sight as it always did on his way to work. Though he sometimes cast a sidelong glance into the window, he had yet to stop in again. This morning though, you were outside.

Your arms were outstretched above you, a set of fairy lights hanging from your fingers as you tried your best to loop them through the hooks above the door. The decorations you had ordered for the front of the shop had finally come in, and you were desperate for anything that would draw a little more attention to your hole in the wall of a shop. Hopping up a bit with a grunt, you pursed your lips in frustration as you missed your target again.

“Would you like some help?”

You whipped your head around mid-jump at the familiar, solemn voice. Sure enough, the mysterious Nanami himself stood behind you, coffee in one hand and packaged croissant in the other. Just as he was the first time you saw him, his suit was pristinely pressed, and it made you wonder what kind of big shot job he must have.

“Nanami-san!” You muttered in surprise. A flush quickly found its way to your cheeks, embarrassed to have revealed that you’d remembered the man’s name that you’d swiped from his credit card. He didn’t seem phased though, shifting his croissant into the same hand occupied by his coffee and taking the string of lights from your hands. Reaching up with an ease that made your previous hopping look quite pathetic, he carefully looped the fairy lights in and adjusted them to frame the door nicely.

“Is this how you wanted them?”

Too caught up in your blatant staring at his casual display of masculinity, you hadn’t noticed that he finished. Snapping from your haze, you took a step back to inspect his handiwork. With an excited smile, you pressed the button on the remote in your pocket, watching the tiny bulbs light up the entryway.

“What d’ya think?” You asked, not tearing your eyes away from the door.

Frankly, Nanami thought the lights were barely noticeable in the daylight, but you seemed so elated by the delicate change. So, he simply hummed in acknowledgment. Casting a shy look his way at the sound of his unenthusiastic reaction, you squatted down to grab the box of flowers at your feet.

“Thank you for your help. I didn’t really feel like dragging the ladder out here.” Grunting softly with the effort of the weighted box, you were surprised when he slid his arm right under it and relieved you of it, nodding for you to get the door.

The sorcerer took in the sight of the various, opened books that littered your back counter as he set the box down. From the looks of it, they all appeared to be exam preps. You blew your hair from your face and followed his gaze to the aftermath of your anxiety induced study session.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess in here.” You chuckled nervously, frantically moving to mark your pages and stack your books neatly beside the checkout. “I have my entrance exams in a week, so I’ve been cramming when I can.”

“Entrance exams?”

“Um… yeah! I’ve been thinking about going back to school.”

“Something related to business management, I presume?” His question made you look down apprehensively. Chewing on your bottom lip, you began absentmindedly picking debris, spare flower petals, and leaves from the counter.

“No, actually. I’ve been hoping to get into something more… meaningful?”

This made Nanami pause, tearing his gaze from the display case to face you. He wasn’t sure why he was lingering, but something about your sweet-tempered voice, and its nature to say whatever came to mind— it grounded him outside of his usual routine. It, of course, didn’t hurt that the owner of the nice, little bookshop just in the perimeter of his daily walk was so prepossessing. The sorcerer tilted his head with a furrowed brow.

“I’m assuming by that, you mean you think that what you do here isn’t meaningful…” His shielded eyes drifted down to the name tag pinned onto your sweater. The way your name rolled off his tongue, in combination with his gentle, lecturing tone, flustered you a bit. The man wasn’t harsh, or judgemental, or mean. No, his words were curious and calculated, as if truly trying to understand such a notion.

“I don’t know.” You squeaked out, feeling small under his dominant gaze. It had you wondering how intimidating he was without those damned glasses shielding his eyes. “I mean, is it really, in the grand scheme of things? I feel like people are dropping dead left and right. Probably be more useful as like… a nurse or something, y’know?”

Nanami hummed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other purposefully. Still, he gave you no solace from that smoldering, contemplative stare. You tried your best to take it head on, refusing to shy away from his determined eyes.

“There was a time that I felt the same way, but what I was doing was truly not meaningful. People come into bookstores to get away from the grand scheme of things. I believe an escape is just as meaningful as tackling these problems head on, wouldn’t you agree?” His question wasn’t as rhetorical as his tone made it out to be, because he was staring down at you expectantly, awaiting confirmation that what he was saying was penetrating. You nodded dumbly. “It’s just as you put it… remembering the pretty things in life?”

If he kept talking, you were going to fall to your knees in the middle of this damned store. With flushed cheeks, you attempted to collect yourself. You cleared your throat and smoothed down the soft, cotton of your sweater as a customer walked in. Finally, Nanami’s eyes drifted to the entrance, allowing you a chance to breathe. With the newfound clarity, you noticed the coffee and pastry in his hand.

“Speaking of,” You chimed in, grateful to get the topic off of you and your pathetic little existential crisis. His blond hair swayed as he turned to regard you once again. “Did you try that daifuku I told you about?”

It was like a bell had suddenly tolled in his mind, and he mentally cursed himself for having forgotten to pick one up, given he had been in and out of that café at least six times since you’d told him about the damned pastry. Pursing his lips, the blond looked down at his croissant.

“No, it must have slipped my mind.”

“Busy working man, I assume?” You teased, taking another once over at his suit and strangely patterned tie. Nanami hummed in a sort of regretful agreement. “What do you do anyway? You said you found your old work meaningless.”

For the first time since meeting him, a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He bowed politely to you before making his way out of the bookstore.

“Have a nice day.” Nanami offered calmly over his shoulder, and you were once again left melting at the sound of your name falling from his lips.

The sorcerer heard you call out a meek goodbye behind him, and it made him forget that, for the first time in years, he was late to work.

Kento Nanami stopped by the shop more often after that. Certainly not as often as you would have liked, but he was swiping his card for a singular, new book at least once a week now. He would ask you how your studies were going, and you lied and said that they were good, too embarrassed to tell him that you’d canceled your entrance exams in a panic following his impromptu pep-talk. It wasn’t that you fully scrapped the idea, but his finding meaning in your seemingly mundane little career gave you pause. Maybe you just needed more time to think about it.

Each time he stopped by, there were new decorations out front. From the fairy lights he’d hung still lit up at the door, to the potted plants that dangled from the overhang, down to the charming welcome mat that you’d placed by the door. His usual bookstore finished construction a week prior, but it didn’t seem as appealing to him anymore.

His selection of books ranged drastically, to the point that you wondered if he was purposefully doing it to throw you off. The more rational part of you said that he didn’t seem the type to care enough about what picture he was painting with his literature choices. From thin books on mixology, to informational books about stain removing, and self-help books about time management— you could never get a proper read on Kento Nanami. Still, you bit back your questions and tied them all up with a different flower each week.

The sorcerer’s pile of untouched books grew and grew as the weeks passed, taking up his coffee table with a haunting energy. Ever since Sukuna’s vessel had sprung up, work was consuming him more than usual. Despite his hectic schedule, his aching muscles, and his survival mentality as he floated through life, the wilting flowers in his collection of books always grounded him back to his quiet apartment.

It wasn’t until a particularly perilous mission that he wished he had made the time to read at least one of those books. His cheek rubbed against the cool, gravelly cement, and he could feel the warmth of his own blood, spilled and pooling around him. At the very least, the special grade was sliced into desolate pieces and scattered around him. As he attempted a deep breath, trying to gather his energy to grab his phone and call for help, Nanami realized all he could manage were short, shallow breaths, and even they felt as though they were piercing holes in his lungs.

Crimson pooled his vision, and his lids snapped shut as the puddle of viscous liquid invaded the corner of his eye. With shaking hands, he reached into his pocket to press the emergency button on the side of his phone twice, sending out an alert for help. Maybe they’d come in time. His hand fell limply to his side, and he shifted carefully onto his back, choking out desperately from the effort.

The blood beneath him soaked into his shirt and clung to his hair. He knew he was losing too much, it was evident in the way his vision began to blur, and his head began to spin in a haze.

The sorcerer thought about the pile of books in his apartment. He thought about each time he stumbled home and not once felt that he had it in him to do something for himself. The reminder that each time he could have indulged, the rigidity of his mindless routine kept him from doing anything of the sort— it haunted him as his consciousness began to wane.

His fading mind wandered over every abandoned book, to the wilting flowers that accompanied each one of them. Your words rang in his mind as if a distant echo.

Everyone needs a little reminder of the pretty things in life, right?

Despite himself, and how close his knuckles were brushing against death’s door, Nanami smiled, his split lip leaking with blood that stained his pearly teeth. Even in this mangled, godless tomb he’d found himself lying in— even with the demolished, irreverent figure that had desecrated his body so carelessly— even with the deplorable state his body would be leaving this world— you were there in the back of his soul to remind him, because you were the prettiest thing he could possibly think to remember in his final moments.

It was the first week that had gone by in some time that Kento Nanami hadn’t stopped by your shop. Though it might have been silly, you began to expect him each week— either early in the morning before his shift, or late in the afternoon when he had a certain gruffness in his tone that gave way to the lingering effects of his day. You would never be able to tell by the look on his face though. It was ever neutral; never a frown and even rarer a smile.

When the second week passed, you figured he’d simply gone back to his routine of going to the larger, more commercial bookstore that had reopened down the street. They had a wider selection, after all, and he said himself that he’d only stopped by your store due to their closure.

In a haze of high-school type infatuation, you had told your friend about the guarded man that had been frequenting the store. She had a job at the local clinic, however she often came by to help you out around the store on the rare instances it was too busy for one body alone to keep up with the influx of customers. Each time she’d come in for a makeshift shift, you always silently hoped he’d stop by so she could at least put a face to the name.

He never did though, and, with his now two week absence, you were coming to terms with the fact that she likely never would see him. You smiled wistfully at the thought as you watched her show a customer to the cookbooks. It was likely that you’d allowed your imagination to take you too far, and Nanami was, as simply as he put it, browsing your selection until the other shop reopened.

You couldn’t discount the hope he’d instilled in you though that the work you were doing did mean something to someone. Even someone as consumed by the hustle and bustle of the city as Nanami seemed to be made the time to stop by your shop with the intent of escaping, and it had been so important to you each time you heard his polite, reserved greeting filling the air around you.

“Excuse me,” You were snapped from your dissociative haze by the customer in front of you. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that you’d failed to greet them before you began mindlessly scanning their books. Looking up in surprise, you smiled apologetically to the man in front of you. “Where’s that pretty little head of yours, huh?”

Your smile faltered for a moment at his borderline creepy question, but you shrugged it off nonetheless and began packaging his books up.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” You questioned politely, haphazardly measuring the twine you were rolling out before slicing through it.

“Well…” The man sighed dramatically, leaning against the counter. You knew then that you shouldn’t have asked, and, with an internal sigh, you knew you’d spend at least the next ten minutes suffering for your fatal mistake. “I was hoping to get the nice cashier’s attention, but it looks like she’s otherwise preoccupied.”

Not looking up at him as you continued packaging his books, you resisted the urge to correct his cashier comment to owner, figuring the less he knew— the better. Having picked out about five books, he had the time to go on a long winded rant about how decent courtesy was a thing of the past, and women just aren’t as nice as they used to be but that he was sure you seem different from all the rest. The irritation was rising in your chest, but you swallowed it down as you placed the finishing touches on each of his books.

“Have a nice day, sir.” You smiled meekly at him as you slid his nicely presented books toward him. He stared dumbly at you for a moment, blinking a few times before offering a sly smile.

“And I don’t suppose your number is written in any of those right?”

With a blush that was more so from irritation than anything else, you began cleaning your workstation, once again choosing to ignore him. You never were good at putting your foot down in such awkward situations. An anxious gulp forced its way down your throat when you heard him hum in question.

“C’mon, I see that blush—”

“Is it time for your break yet, my love?”

Your head shot up at the sound of another voice cutting off the sleeze’s comment, and your eyes met those of a taller man looming calmly beside your lingering customer. They were calculated, focused on you while seemingly ever-aware of the lurking presence beside him, hazel irises glistening from the sun shining through the windows.

It took you almost a full minute to realize it was Kento Nanami standing before you. You had never seen him without those goggle-like glasses always attached to his nose, and he wasn’t in his usual suit. Instead, he donned a cream colored, knit sweater that paired well with his neatly fitted, dark jeans. You couldn’t tell what caught you more off guard, seeing how striking his eyes were for the very first time, or how different he appeared in such casual clothing.

Clutched in his hand was a bouquet of white roses, light-blue forget-me-nots sprinkled throughout the arrangement.

“My love?” The questioning call of his voice, paired with the intense eye contact he was maintaining told you that he indeed was directing that term of endearment toward you. He cast a quick, sidelong glance to the man beside him, and you quickly caught on, nodding softly.

“Um, yes. I was just wrapping up with this customer.” You hinted, pushing the stack of books closer to the dumbfounded man for good measure. “Have a nice day, sir.”

Not allowing him to respond, Nanami stepped forward to take his spot at the counter, leaving the man to begrudgingly pick up his books and take his leave. Your eyes followed him out, and you couldn’t help the dramatic sigh of relief that heaved out your chest as the door closed behind him.

“I apologize if I overstepped, but it appeared as though he wasn’t taking the hint.”

Looking back over at your knight-in-cashmere-sweater, you smiled gratefully at him. Nanami’s lips twitched up ever so slightly at the sight.

“I didn’t even recognize you.” You admitted bashfully, looking behind him to assure there were no other customers waiting. Focusing your gaze on him once again, you couldn’t help but feel relieved that he had finally returned. “Those flowers are beautiful, by the way. Special occasion?”

He hummed, looking down curiously at his attire before meeting your gaze once again.

“Oh, they’re for you, actually.”

This made your finger’s soft drumming against the counter pause, assessing the sincere expression on his face. You gave the store a quick once over.

“I think he left already, Nanami-san.” You laughed softly, trying to quiet the butterflies in your stomach at the idea that he had actually come in to bring you flowers. His thin, blond brows furrowed a fraction at your comment, and he shook his head.

“No, I brought these for you. Also— please call me Kento.” He clarified, watching the way the blood rushed to your cheeks as your eyes ran flusteredly over the bouquet he was handing your way. “I apologize for not having come by recently, I got into quite the accident at work, but I’m feeling better now and would like to take you out. If you’d like, of course.”

Your fingers wrapped hesitantly over the bouquet. Leaning forward, you gently breathed in the delicate scent emanating from the flowers. It was mixing with Kento’s cologne, wafting into your senses in an intoxicating mix. He watched pensively— the way you tried to bite back your smile, but soon enough your teeth were shining brightly at him, cheeks ablaze in a manner that made you appear absolutely radiant. The sight clenched at his bandaged chest, and he wasn’t sure if the burning was coming from his steadily healing ribs or the erratic beat of his heart.

Despite what his rapid blood loss and slipping consciousness had led him to believe that night, help did come in time for him. They cut it incredibly close, but still, when he pried his eyes open the next day, his heart was still beating and his flesh was still warm. He spent a few days in the hospital, Gojo and a few of the students stopping by to see him once they were informed that he’d woken up.

The warm welcome back into the land of the living was kind enough, even if he had to beg them to quiet down at least four times during their half-hour visit. When he returned to his apartment a few days later, each step seemed to take every last bit of energy from his already worn out body. The door opened with a creek, and he was enveloped in silence.

Nanami usually welcomed the blissful peace with open arms, already worn out from the atrocious ways fate had played with him for one day. That night though, it only reminded him of how close he was to dying alone.

So, he stood before you, gazing upon the very smile that had flashed in his mind when he believed himself on the brink of death. Flowers were clutched firmly in his fingers, a reminder of the way you planted the seed of meaning back into his life— of something more than his thus far wasteful nature of crawling through his days had provided.

Kento smiled at you, pounding the final nail in the coffin that held any semblance of dignity you hoped to hold onto when you saw him next.

It was criminal, you thought, how perfect one man could look— how easily he could render you a stuttering mess with just a flash of his golden smile.

“I hope your silence isn’t my cue to take a hint as well.” His honeyed voice quipped, and you could swear there was the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.

“No! I mean— I’d really like that.” You attempted to save face for your flustered state, but you were sure even he could see right through it. “Thank you… for the flowers, Kento.”

Even his name falling from your lips sounded so blissfully intimate in his ears.

“Shall we go then?”

“Oh— now?” You squeaked, checking the time to see it was still only noon, and the shop didn’t close for another few hours. “I don’t close here until—”

“She can take a break!” Your friend suddenly chimed in, having been pretending to stock the shelves (she had been pulling and placing the same book from its shelf for five minutes now). You looked up at her in shock, watching Nanami turn and bow to her in greeting from the corner of your eye. She gave you a pleading look, as if she was the one being pulled from her shift midday by the six feet of pure gentleman that had just graced your store. “The rush has died down. I can hold down the fort for an hour.”

You made a mental note to bring her back something sweet from the café Kento was steering you toward, a guiding hand resting respectfully on the small of your back. Even with the well-mannered placement of his palm, the feeling of his touch at all was turning your brain to mush.

It seemed to all be rushing to you now, as you looked up at him. He was speaking calmly with the woman at the register of the café, and you finally caught onto the almost faded, yellowing bruise on the right side of his face. It lined his sharply defined cheekbone, a tiny scar on the edge that made you wonder how bad it had looked two weeks ago.

What kind of accident had he been in that made him rush to take you on a date with such fervor as soon as he was well enough to leave the house? Better yet, what line of work was he in that put him in such positions? It was all simmering in your mind, growing hotter as you recalled his dodgy answers when you would ask what he did for work.

Kento called your name, the sound slowly pushing its way into your consciousness as you snapped from your haze. He was looking down at you in question.

“What would you like to drink?” The tone of his voice let you know that this wasn’t the first time he’d asked you. Tearing your gaze from his, you gave your coffee order to the barista before nodding in thanks. “Something on your mind?”

You couldn’t help but notice how casually he’d crossed over this boundary with you. Just minutes ago, he was Nanami, your guarded, regular customer who had a knack for entrapping you in never ending daydreams of domesticity and dominating glances. Now though, in a matter of minutes, he had turned into Kento, your date who was paying for your coffee and pulling your chair out for you— asking you about what was on your mind, blissfully unaware of the fact that it was him.

His hazel eyes gazed down at you curiously as he placed an ivory plate in front of you before taking the seat across from yours. Glancing down at the dish, a small smile tugged at your lips. You must not have heard him order in your haze.

“Daifuku?” You grinned teasingly at him. He hummed in amusement, looking down at his own, matching pastry.

“If I remember correctly, you said they were to die for.”

“Yeah, like two months ago.” You laughed, blowing softly on your steaming cappuccino.

“Oh, has the title expired? I can take yours too, if you’ve changed your mind.” He was hiding a tickled smirk as he reached over to grab your plate. You swatted his hand away with a blush, taken aback by his subtly playful nature that had since been concealed behind pressed suits and tinted lenses. With a knowing hum, he looked down at his own plate. “Truthfully, I had been so caught up with work that I had forgotten all about it.”

“That secretive job of yours, huh?” You quipped softly and took a small bite of the chewy sweet, biting back a contented sigh upon the realization that he’d somehow guessed your favorite filling. It was a beat longer before you spoke again, afraid if you pushed it too much, he’d be too quick to throw out another guarded excuse. “Ever the mystery, Kento.”

At the sound of his name, he peered back up at you. You were glad your mouth was occupied by your warm cup now, convinced you would have drooled at the sight of his smoldering gaze.

“I don’t mean to be so… mysterious.” He admitted as he straightened his posture against the café chair. “The truth is, I can’t disclose much about my work. The nature of it is… sensitive. I hope you can understand.”

Your eyes drifted over the bruise on his face, and you thought back to how badly he must have been hurt to have gone MIA for two weeks. Kento was watching you so earnestly though, a glimmer of hope in his usually stoic eyes.

Against your better judgment, your ‘no questions’ policy began influencing an area of your life it definitely should not be touching. The sincerity in his explanation though, paired with his calm and collected demeanor, had all common sense evading you. You raised a brow at him, a breathy laugh slipping past your lips. His head cocked ever so slightly at the noise.

“Funny you should say that, I was like convinced you were yakuza for a while.” You attempted to lighten the mood of the heavy topic at hand— one he didn’t seem ready to explore yet. The serious expression on his face made your laugh falter for a moment, and with a quirk of his thin brow your smile disappeared all together. Your stomach fell uneasily.

Oh fuck.

“Oh, um, I… uh—”

“That was my attempt at a joke, I’m sorry.” Nanami’s tense expression finally broke, a genuine smile splitting across his cheeks at the fear on your face. It did make him wonder though, how you would react to his actual profession. “I assure you I’m not in a gang, though I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not that you think I’d fit the description.”

Jesus, this man was going to make you hurl.

“Yeah, big, buff, and quiet with your strawberry daifuku— so scary, Ken.”

He tried not to feel too proud at your description of his physique, hiding his smirk with a first bite of the dessert in question. A contented hum rumbled in his chest, and you found your lips parting as you watched his face melt in pleasure at something so simple. You didn’t have time to conceal your stare before his eyes opened once again.

Nanami wasn’t sure how he had been blinded for so long at how pleasurable life could be. It had been just beyond his reach, yet it took his near death for him to snap from his ambivalence. The confection he’d glazed his eyes over for years in this little shop, the bewitching girl he’d strolled right past, the ease of connecting with another soul; it was intoxicating how the promise of lighter days filled his senses, lit him ablaze. Looking back at your innocently charmed expression, he couldn’t believe he had almost left this cruel existence behind without ever having been on the receiving end of it.

The sorcerer’s weekly visits to your shop promptly resumed. This time though, he always came bearing gifts; whether it be a hot coffee (having already memorized your order from that first time he heard it), an accompanying pastry, or a fresh set of flowers when he knew your previous ones were beginning to wilt.

Maybe it was overbearing for so early on in your relationship, though he wasn’t even sure he could call it that yet, but he couldn’t help himself. Watching the way your eyes would light up, how your cheeks would flush, and, in recent development, you would lean across the counter to press an appreciative kiss to his clean-shaven cheek— Kento would buy the world for you if it meant he’d have the chance to see such joy one more time.

Much to his surprise and relief, you didn’t bring up the elusive topic of his career again, save for when you’d ask him how his day was going. There were times, so many times, that you had come close. Each time he’d show up with a new, what would have been a inconspicuous had they not been so damn frequent, bruise or cut on his face or arms, the question lingered in the back of your throat. When he’d help you move things around the store, and you watched him lift the still stocked display table with an ease you’d never seen before, even for someone with his impressive build, you bit back your interrogation.

A seed had been planted in your mind though— so tiny you weren’t sure if you were deranged for even having the fleeting thought of it.

Nanami had stopped by the shop one evening when you were stocking the shelves, eye level with the top shelf you were working on as you balanced on your trusty footstool. Your headphones were pressed snuggly against your ears, your soft music occupying any spare space in your mind. A pair of gentle hands settled over your waist, ripping a gasp from your chest as you jolted back. The grip around you tightened as you fell into a warm chest, one arm wrapping around your middle as the other moved to pull the headphones down around your neck.

“Perhaps the noise canceling headphones aren’t the wisest choice when you leave the store unlocked.” Kento’s buttery voice flooded your senses and calmed the fight or flight response his unexpected appearance had triggered. You turned to glare half-heartedly at him as he set you back down on your feet.

“Well, I left it open for you.” You mumbled sheepishly, adjusting the headphones around your neck and nudging your shoulder into his firm chest. As you turned to look up at the box you’d left behind, you missed the way he smiled softly at your comment.

“I’d be far more flattered if you would protect yourself from intruders for me, but I appreciate the thought.” Kento quipped, reaching up to grab the abandoned box from the top shelf just as you stepped up on the stool to grab it. You stepped back down with a shy smile. “I’ll be leaving town this weekend for work.”

“Oh,” You acknowledged quietly, unsure of where he was taking this conversation. Twisting the hem of your sweater awkwardly between your fingers, you chewed on your bottom lip. “Well… I’ll miss you coming to scare the shit out of me when I’m closing?”

“That’s sweet, darling, but I was telling you because I’d like to have you over for dinner before I go.” The sorcerer mused, using his spare hand to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You weren’t sure if your sudden onslaught of nerves and flushed skin was due to the nickname he’d given you, or the thought of going over to his house for the first time. Attempting to stop where your racing thoughts seemed to be wandering to, you began to absentmindedly grab books from the box clutched in his grasp to finish shelving them. He peered into the box before grabbing one and finding its rightful place, hoping to help you in being able to close and get home earlier.

“You sound like you’re about to go to war or something.” You joked hesitantly, but, honestly, the implications of his offer had your pestering curiosity peaking once again. “How long will you be gone?”

“It should only be a day or two.” His attempt at reassurance only served to concern you more though. Maybe, if he said he would be gone for a week or more, you would have understood his supposed urgency in getting one last date in before his trip. With him only being gone two days though? You realized that perhaps something more dire was at play here. Sensing your contemplative state, he halted his stocking and leaned against the shelf to look down at you. “It’s just that— my work is…” Kento’s voice trailed, unsure of where he was going with his explanation.

“I’d love to come for dinner, Ken.” You reassured with a gentle smile. The furrow in his brows, the hope in his eyes, the apprehension in his tone— it told you all you needed to know, and you heard it loud and clear.

It had been a while since Nanami had the chance to delve into one of his old hobbies. Cooking was one that used to be his favorite, something he indulged in before his schedule became so unpredictable and his missions turned more crucial— before he had lost himself to the cruelty of the reality he’d chosen for the sake of a meaningful existence. There was something different about this time though, he thought as his knife sliced expertly through his selected root vegetables. Perhaps it was the knowledge that, once the small, black timer on his counter went off, alerting him that his veggies were done boiling, that he’d be one step closer to setting a plate down before you.

The sorcerer glanced back at his modest dining table, already set up with two plates and utensils, taking a deep breath before wiping his hands and checking the time on his watch. It was already five minutes past the time he’d told you to come by, but he figured closing was simply taking longer than expected. After fifteen minutes though, he found himself frowning over the boiling pot, stepping away to check his phone in case you’d attempted to reach out to him regarding your delay. With nothing to show for, his mind began to race a bit.

You did have a tendency, Nanami had come to understand, of leaving the shop unlocked as you closed. This wouldn’t be so bad would it not be for those damned, clunky headphones you insisted on wearing each time, blocking out any noise possible danger would alert you with. Without much thought of how irrational he may appear, he found himself swiping through to find your contact and hitting ‘call’. It went straight to voicemail.

Yeah, he thought as he abruptly shut off the stove and tossed the towel from his shoulder, fuck the radishes.

Kento had all but ripped the door of his apartment open, barging down the hallway with terrifying calculation as images of you unconscious in the quaint aisles of your shelves flashed through his panicked mind, when he ran straight into you. Instantly recognizing your startled gasp, his hands reached out to steady you as you stumbled back in surprise.

“Kento, I’m so sorry!” You babbled, brushing your wet hair from your face in a frantic attempt to appear put together, when you knew deep down you were anything but. The man before you was staring down at you with a relieved expression, but it faded as quickly as it came as he took in your appearance.

You were practically soaked, mascara running mortifyingly down your eyes and onto your flushed cheeks. The delicate, ivory sundress you wore was clinging against your wet skin, and Nanami forced himself to respectfully avert his eyes from what the now see-through fabric was revealing. There was a wine bottle clutched desperately between your fingers as you waved your hands in explanation. “I know I’m late, I wanted to bring you some wine, but the store was short staffed so the line was abysmal. Then the train got delayed, and it started to rain, and my phone died. I’m sorry I look a me—”

The baffled man stepped forward, clutching your jaw between his calloused hands to lift your gaze to meet his. Despite your dishevled appearance, smeared makeup, and frigid clothes, all Nanami could think about was how relieved he was to see you well. Additionally, as you rattled off all the ways in which your night hadn’t gone as planned, the only thoughts in his mind were how grateful he was that these silly, insignificant little hiccups were the extent of your day to day battles.

It was so like him, so ingrained in his very being to expect the worst. The truth was though, not everybody’s life was on the line everyday. Not everybody drifted through life in survival mode as he had grown accustomed to doing. Some people missed the train and got caught in the rain, and his heart was so full with the notion that you were one of those people with such domestic struggles. On the other side of it all as well, you braved through them to come see him, and he didn’t think he could ever find you more beautiful than he did in that moment.

He exhaled with softly drawn brows, allowing his hazel eyes to appreciate each streak the rain left on your delicate features before leaning down to kiss you. Your lips were frigid against his, and you leaned into his warmth, the shame of soaking through his neatly ironed dress shirt with your rain soaked body flying out your head as he wrapped his arm around your shivering form in an attempt to draw out all chilliness that dared disturb you. The hand that gripped your jaw slid down and around your neck to tangle into your nape, tugging you closer.

You pulled away for a breath, but Kento chased your lips with determination, quickly capturing them once again. His fingers pressed firmly into your nape as if to stop you from escaping him so prematurely again. Accepting your fate with a graceful willingness, you reached up with your free hand to grip at his shoulder in an attempt to pull yourself up and closer to him. It wasn’t until a shiver ran down your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was due to your soaked clothes or the desperation he was pouring into the unexpected kiss, that the gentleman in Nanami tugged him from his primal desires.

Pulling back with a heave, the sorcerer took a moment to compose himself, eyes drifting over your shivering figure. He ran a hand down his jaw, pretending not to notice the way you panted softly as you stared up at him with those wide, glistening eyes that made him rethink his restraint.

“It… the wine I brought isn’t that nice, you know.”

As Kento shut the apartment door behind him, he couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit awkward for the way he came onto you so suddenly, though something about the glowing smile you were attempting to conceal told him you didn’t mind as much as he did. You looked up from your search around his tidy apartment when he cleared his throat. It was evident in his face how he’d caught himself off-guard, barely able to look you in the eye. You bit your lip to hide your amusement.

“You must be freezing. I’ll grab you some dry clothes.”

You opened your mouth to stop him, but he had already disappeared into the hallway. Now by yourself in his space, you took the chance to unabashedly look around. It was just as you expected his apartment would look like; warm, pristinely kept, and it held an air, just like him, that something deeper was hidden within the cream colored walls. A warm smile fell on your lips at the spread he’d prepared, and you placed the wine bottle on the counter to continue your search. Just as your eyes drifted to the stack of books on the coffee table, the man returned, a small stack of clothes in one hand and a towel in the other.

“Please feel free to dry up in the restroom. Take your time, I’m just finishing up dinner.” He offered as he placed the soft articles into your arms. With flushed cheeks, you took note of the sweatpants and sweater he’d picked out for you.

“No, really, I’ll be fine. You made everything so nice, I would hate to be in pajamas.” You shook your head bashfully, nudging the items back into his hands.

“And I would hate for you to get sick sitting in wet clothes all night.” He countered with a playful shove of his clothes back into your chest.

“I am not having dinner in sweatpants when you’re in a suit, Kento.” Another shove back at him. This time, he tilted his head, his lips pursed in mock frustration, but you could see the playfully challenging glint in his hazel eyes. Straightening his posture, the blond accepted the clothes you shoved his way this time.

“Oh, is that what this is about?” He challenged before nodding softly to himself. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment then.” Confusion crept up in you as you watched him walk back down the hallway without another word, shutting the door of what you presumed was his bedroom behind him. You sat, slightly dumbfounded, on one of the dining chairs and cringed at the feeling of your cold, wet dress pressing against your thighs.

It was only moments later that he reemerged. Abandoned were his previous, light blue button down and khaki slacks, and in their place were a simple, white tshirt and plaid pajama pants. You felt your heart race a bit at the casualness of it all, how at ease he looked with his once neatly placed hair ruffled from the swiftness he had yanked the cotton shirt over his head. Biting at the inside of your cheek in any attempt to control your facial expressions, you watched his biceps flex as he handed you the previous stack of clothes with finality.

“No excuses now, hm?”

So, you and Kento sat at his formally set dining table that night and sipped at your wine glasses in your— well— his pajamas. The change of scenery helped ease some of the expectations for your date to go a certain way, setting a domestic tranquility over the evening as he watched you with his knuckles pressed against his cheek. Your face appeared fresher than he’d ever seen it, likely due to the fact that you had had no choice but to wash your ruined makeup off of your face while freshening up in his bathroom. It made his heart soar, as he imagined this is just how you appeared in your own space— comfortable, vulnerable, and beared truly to the world. It allowed him to see every freckle and blemish, every blush more clearly.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t help himself as he moved to grab your plate to place in the sink, leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss to your awaiting lips as you tilted your head up to him expectantly. You already had pinpointed that look in his eyes. Under your breath, you thanked him for dinner as he pulled away slowly, your noses brushing together softly. For a moment, Nanami thought as he peered over his shoulder from his place in front of the sink, it felt as though you always had a place right there at his dining table, with his sweatpants rolled up at your ankles and his sweater swallowing you so warmly. He tried to think of anything else, because the thought of you taking up residence so comfortably in his space was exciting him way too quickly for a first home visit. The sorcerer cleared his throat.

“Oh, I had almost forgotten,” He began, placing the last, scrubbed plate onto the drying rack. You didn’t pretend to not be staring when he turned to face you again, leaning so delectably against the counter behind him. “Have you heard back about your applications?”

“My applications?” You questioned with furrowed brows, fingers rubbing pensively against your nearly empty wine glass. In an instant, though, you recalled one of the first conversations you had had with him, the one that planted that seed of intrigue in your mind in the first place. Your eyes fluttered down to the red liquid sloshing around the bottom of your glass. “Oh right. Well, can I be honest?”

Nanami only hummed in response, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“I never actually went through with my entrance exams. I… had a change of heart, I guess.”

“A change of heart, huh?” He repeated thoughtfully, regarding you with a curious gaze. You only nodded curtly, feeling small under his studious eyes. “What changed?”

Kento had pushed off of the counter to walk closer to you and lean instead on the table in front of you. You swallowed thickly at the sudden proximity. Setting your glass down beside him, you looked down at your laps, fingers twisting in the soft cotton of his grey sweatpants.

“I thought about what you said.” You confessed quietly. Peering up at him through your lashes, you didn’t miss the way his features contorted in perplexity. “You know, about how having an escape is just as important as getting your hands dirty. I… didn’t want to give it all up, but I couldn’t live with the guilt of not playing some sort of role in helping. You coming in every week… it made me realize that I was— y’know, in my own way.”

It felt as though all the resolve he’d built up over the years, trying to protect himself from caring too much again, it had all been for not. Here you were, an angel put down the middle of his path of unrighteousness, gracing him with your kindness, your humility and gentleness, yet you had the nerve to spill such fantasy from your plush lips that he had been the one to show you the path of meaning.

Kento’s hands worked mindlessly to pull you up by your gentle hands so that you stood between his thighs. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, allowing his other hand to find purchase on the back of your head as he pulled you into him.

One day, he thought to himself as you wrapped your startled arms around his chest, perhaps he’d tell you of the horrors that had led him to where he was today. Maybe over coffee and daifuku, he’d tell you of the boy who couldn’t save his best friend and cursed the world because of it. You’d smile and ask the blond about him— what he was like and all the memories he’d kept buried in his imprisoned mind for so long. Kento would tell you he was just like you; tender-hearted and with the willingness to save the world— existing in the same reality he had deemed fatuous and yet still holding that love for others that poured out with each wide lipped smile.

For now though, Nanami wanted you to remain just as you were; only plagued by long grocery store lines and dodgy weather. The sorcerer wanted you to continue to find meaning in your books and your flowers, even if just for a little longer.

“I’m glad.” Kento murmured against your damp hair, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple before releasing you from his firm grip. “The world needs you as you are now. No need to change anything.”

And there it was— that innocently animated smile gleaming up at him as if there was no wrong in the world. He smiled back at you, and you must have seen the misty haze in his eyes.

“What’s that look for?” You questioned in amusement, tugging at the sleeves of his tshirt absentmindedly. He shook his head, reaching up to brush your hair behind your ears.

“You just remind me of someone, is all.”

The two of you silently agreed that you weren’t ready to part ways just yet, evident in the way you lingered too long on otherwise pointless conversations, and how neither dared look toward the front door. You had confronted him about all his books that were still wrapped up and stacked neatly on his coffee table, teasing him about how the escapism qualities he spoke so highly of wouldn’t work if he never actually opened them up. Kento allowed you to rummage through them, recounting each memory you had of wrapping up each respective cover.

He watched with soft eyes as you laid back between his legs on the couch, one of his abandoned books laid snuggly in your lap as you read it to him, claiming if he wouldn’t make the time to read them that you’d do it for him. Your head rose and fell in tandem with his breaths as he laid underneath you, allowing your honeyed voice to fill his senses and breathe more life into his quaint apartment than he’d ever felt in the years he’d resided in it.

You tilted your head back to look at him as the hand that wasn’t occupying your raised thigh came down to brush along the swells of your cheeks. A dazzling, bashful smile flashed his way as you raised a knowing brow at him.

“Are you even listening to me, Ken?” You laughed, feeling dizzy with the way he gazed at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky. He immediately shook his head, and you laughed breathlessly at his bluntness. Leaning down, he pressed a longing kiss against your lips, his nose brushing against your chin as you tilted up to meet the motion eagerly. His fingers tightened around your thigh, and he allowed them to drift up just a fraction before he stopped himself.

“I was busy reminding myself of the pretty things in my life, darling.”

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 3 months ago

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LE60, 2024, by Frontline Cars. The British MG restoration specialists will present a restomod MGB GT at The Quail, A Motorsports Gathering and select events during Monterey Car Week. Built to commemorate 60 years of the MGB and 30 years of Frontline, the LE60 is limited to 30 builds worldwide. Featuring an in-house modernised, 375 bhp 4.8-litre Rover V8 – the LE60 boasts a widened track, a strengthened chassis, and a custom suspension set-up by Nitron, the LE60 has a near-perfect 50/50 weight distribution.

#LE60 #Frontline Car #MGBGT V8 #restomod #Rover V8 #Monterey Car Week #2024 #1960s style #limited edition #British Sports Car

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hiraeth-sonder · 5 months ago

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Want Nothing More

Jiyan x Reader

A quiet moment away, a reunion and a revelation long foreseen

//He finally came home it only took my sanity. Very short little decently written fic, maybe OOC also some maybe spoilers for his story quest??? Also maybe I got stuff wrong idk, this isn't beta read so like eh

The greater world is often far wider than the humble confines of a small village, much less one so tucked away. Since facing an injury that rendered you almost entirely incapable of returning to the frontlines, you quietly returned to Taoyuan Vile with hefty compensation and an arm that could not even be lifted.

Life becomes oddly quiet, with barely any danger to hold arms against nor a proper purpose back home, you take to helping in the village’s pharmacy as some way to bring order back into your daily routine. You are given more delicate work, pressing and drying herbs, sorting them for use, dealing with customers and aiding with deliveries. With the opportunity to provide, to give back, it became a sort of pride for how quick you could pick up the routine.

It works for a while, yet with this new direction, you are gradually reminded of a certain someone from all those years ago.

That boy who smelled like medicinal herbs and eyes like stars, whose face scrunched from displease whenever he caught a taste of bittberries in his food, the boy who certainly has found his path beyond medicine. There are times you blink and before you is not the current reality of him, but rather the little boy who somehow managed to find time to spend with you no matter his duties.

Memories of stolen moments, of forcing him to rest after his sending condolences to grieving family, of exercising his natural medical ability. You were younger then, with limbs like sticks and hair that stuck to your face, yet that did not discourage you from doing what you could for your friend.

You wonder how he is doing nowadays, you haven’t seen him since the day you got discharged after all.

One can only imagine your surprise when through falling pink petals and the light breeze of the wind, he appears as he did all those years ago. Still the pillar of calm and decisiveness, he looked a tad out of place compared to the lively and enthusiastic crowd of teams. By his side was a dark haired individual, looking just a little less out of place, and when two other rangers approached them, a small huff escaped you.

A repeat of that last game, who would have known that the general’s second game would have him recreating the circumstances of his first. If only with a few minor differences.

By the time the revelry and chaos dies down, the sun has long since fallen beyond the horizon. Many of the villagers are still out celebrating as the tapestry of stars stretches far past what your eyes can see. Having made the venture to the great tree that stands atop the mountain, you notice a familiar form already standing there. Beneath falling petals and illuminated by the moon’s grace, that young boy of the past has become your stalwart general.

With heavy steps, you approach him, yet stop just a few steps before his side, sitting down on the grass as you overlook the little lights of the village. He clearly notices your presence, sitting curtly, leaving an arm’s distance between your two forms.

“I didn’t think you’d take part again,” You hum, keeping your eyes away from his as you maintain your focus ahead of you.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He shakes his head, his lips move to open just the slightest, as if wishing to say more yet unable to muster the words to say so, still they close. Jiyan manages to breathe out, “It's been a while.”

You swallow, an action that seems oddly difficult, “It has.”

As you finally muster the courage to turn towards him, you notice how his gaze seems to consider your inept arm. Perhaps a few years ago, you would have despised the way he looks at it, knowing that people only look because of pity. Nonetheless, you instinctively press that arm against you, your other hand raising to hold it.

He furrows his brow just the slightest, and in a tone so soft you must strain to hear, “I wanted to apologise for not doing more for you.”

“You’ve already done so much.” Sighing, a breath escapes you as you meet his eyes. You move closer towards him, shifting so that hand of yours, that arm that could barely lift a basket, could rest atop his arm.

Your voice cracks just the slightest, even after all this time you never manage to thank him for everything he has done for you. The compensation was far too generous for an ordinary ranger such as yourself, the immediate and efficient care you received as rehabilitation, the bundle of Pecok flowers you would see upon every morning’s awakening. You only hoped you could give him something back in return, “An arm is just an arm, if you hadn’t acted as quick as you did, maybe I would’ve lost more than that.”

Jiyan looked no more than the young man he is, in such familiar settings and under such familiar straits. Sword straight brows and the soft quirk of his lips, he never truly changed from that young boy. Your eyes trail further down, to his squared shoulders and staunch chest, how they maintain rigid and perfect poise.

Another sigh escapes you, “You’re not at work, won’t you at least untense your shoulders?”

“I’m sorry, there has been a lot going on and I didn’t think I’d end up staying here so long.”

“Don’t apologise,” You smile, then pat your lap with your hand. Sending him a nonplussed look, you can all but see the gears in his head, you can only laugh, “Humour me then.”

He does not move, his eyes widening just the slightest that to anyone else, they might have missed his brief moment of shock. You have not asked him to rest in such a manner for years, perhaps the last time was over a decade ago, so you do not blame him. Still, perhaps it was the nostalgia, perhaps it was the unveiling of sentiment, but a familiar sense of easiness takes over.

“Come on, don’t tell me great and mighty General Jiyan is too good for a break?” You raise a brow, easy teasing falling from your lips.

He is quick to deny your quip, “I never said that.” And with at first hesitancy in his very form, he finally tentatively lays his head on your lap.

The weight brings about old memories, and old feelings. How old were you when you realised that Jiyan, friend as he is, was worth far more than that to you? How old were you when you started looking forward to his little breaks just to catch a glimpse of him?

You loved him, of course you did. Who does not love their friends?

Yet this love of yours is one that is aged, one that has matured into contentment for what you had. Even as you spend your days in Taoyuan Vile, the little parts of him you see among the crooks and crannies of white walls and verdant greenery, it is enough for you. So even when he lays in your lap and closes his eyes as he did all those years ago, you are happy with what you have.

“You know, when we were younger, I used to have to convince you to rest whenever we managed to get away,” More akin to reminiscing seniors, you brush away his bangs away from his face with a gentle flick.

“Even then you were so hardworking,” You murmur.

He responds, just as quietly as your recollection, “That should be expected, I was working even then.”

“I think it was when I saw how peaceful you looked while sleeping that I realised I liked you,” Humming, you close your eyes as the wind breezes past your cheek.

As though realising what you said, a warm flush pools at the tips of your ears as you accidentally meet his eyes, “Ah…”

“Guess I said too much huh?” You laugh, the sound carried by the gentle wind. “Ignore me, I’m just saying things.”

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Jiyan reaches for you, his hand raised to keep you from looking away. Though he remains, those golden eyes tipped with scarlet bear an emotion you never thought he would hold. With just one look, just one action, he renders you incapable of moving to defend yourself.

He mutters, voice tinged with just the hint of languish, “After all these years, you’re still unwilling to tell me things.”

“Would you have wanted me to tell you?” With a raised brow, you cock your head, leaning into his palm incidentally.

“Yes.”

And that contentment, the placidity that came with the distance and time between the two of you, crumbles. For your love, a sentiment you have nurtured into something that can be tucked away, is still one that yearns for response. For his love, is one just as aged as yours, just as willing to sit in contentment and placidity. Years and years of pining that soon bred a seed of tranquillity, quietly sitting within the soil just waiting for that push to bloom.

With a soft smile, so like that boy’s and so befitting your beloved general’s visage, he avows the second half of a confession brazenly said, “Because it was when I laid in your lap that I realised that I liked you too.”

#wuthering waves #wuwa #wuwa jiyan #wuwa x reader #jiyan wuthering waves #jiyan x reader

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feroluce · 7 months ago

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So Sampo is canon described as the only person who can travel between the overworld and underground, but it's never actually revealed HOW he gets around.

I'd like to believe part of the reason he's so secretive really is just because of business. One of the best ways to keep your customers is by being the only one to offer something, and Sampo stands to make a pretty nice profit if he's the only one able to smuggle in supplies. Gotta protect the trade routes ☆

BUT the other part is because he's probably one of the only ones that could SURVIVE it. I'd like to think a lot of his routes enter the overworld either in places like Backwater Pass, where it's technically in the city but is overrun by Fragmentum, or on the frontlines, where it's frigid cold and crawling with Silvermane Guards.

If someone manages to get all the way up, and even if they manage to sneak past all of the Guards/monsters and not freeze to death, there's still the possibility of getting caught in the city proper by regular civilians.

And if Cocolia heard word of someone caught in the overworld, I can't imagine there's any way she would just leave that, she separated the halves for a reason. This person would be interrogated, and then the route sealed off, and then the Undergrounders would lose a vital supply route. Sampo has to be extremely careful to not get caught and not be tailed.

And I'm sure he does a lot of shady trading in Belobog proper, but I think a lot of it also comes from him looting the Fragmentum-corroded areas, too. After all, in the Cyrille the Fool quest line, when the trailblazer sees something strange in the Fragmentum, the first person they think to consult is Sampo.

So I love the thought of Sampo being like extremely disciplined and being able to be out there for like days at a time.

Looting is easier in the beginning, but eventually Sampo has to go farther and farther out for supplies. Sometimes he'll be out there for days, and it's not exactly a safe place to sleep, but he can stay awake and alert for absurd amounts of time if he needs to be. Going for 24+ hours isn't unusual for him on a big supply run; Sampo will be awake for a day or two, he'll bring back everything he finds to Natasha, then sleep for a solid 8-12 hours and be back up again. He takes a couple of low key days where he rests or does easy work, then he's ready to plunge into the fray again!

On the rare occasions he sleeps in the Fragmentum, it's not for very long, less than an hour, and Sampo has traps he sets all around him while he sleeps sitting up with daggers in hand. Caelus finds out about this habit the hard way because he gets restless and decides to go explore (I'd like to think with the Stellaron dwelling within him, he's largely immune to any kind of Fragmentum corrosion), and he sees Sampo curled up in a corner, head down. So of course he approaches to see if he's ok, and-

A trap pops and hisses

There's a bright flash of pink

Caelus blinks

His back hits the wooden wall behind him

There's the sound of reverberating metal-on-metal right next to his ear

Caelus blinks again

...and is shocked to suddenly find that Sampo is looming over him, pinning him to the wall, one dagger sunk into the wood and the other blocked by his metal bat.

And they both just stand there for a beat, until Sampo blinks the bleariness out of his unfocused eyes, and then he yawns obnoxiously right in Caelus' face and tells him he shouldn't interrupt people's beauty sleep! How is Sampo supposed to stay so handsome otherwise!?

Caelus only notices shortly thereafter that there's a thin line of blood on his neck, and he belatedly realizes that Sampo really would have taken his head off by pure instinct if he weren't also incredibly quick with his reflexes. No wonder he's the only undergrounder surviving out in the Fragmentum; anything that approaches in his sleep thinking they have easy prey is almost instantly demolished.

#honkai star rail #sampo koski #hsr sampo #hsr sampo koski #hsr #hsr caelus #sampo&caelus #like yes sampo is my favorite beloved babygirl-shaped pathetic malething chew toy that I wanna bite and shake around until the squeaker pop #but he is also horrifyingly frighteningly competent!!#when the trailblazer drags him out to backwater pass for the cyrille the fool quest chain all the weird shit has already disappeared #and sampo remarks that the fragmentum makes people see things; he's seen plenty of stuff that isn't actually there before!#which like a) WHAT DO YOU MEAN SAMPO WHAT KIND OF THINGS ARE YOU HALLUCINATING OUT THERE #but mainly b) this shows just how familiar Sampo is with the fragmentum and how surprisingly well adapted he seems to it #like he's pretty casual about it and treats it like no big deal #a lot of characters comment on how cunning Sampo is but it's more than just that- he clearly has plenty of physical prowess too!#And I love him being dangerous <3

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shatteredearth-if · 1 year ago

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SHATTERED EARTH INTRO POST

DEMO | DISCORD

Shattered Earth is an Interactive Sci-Fi/Fantasy Fiction about retreading old ground and working for your good ending. less formally, this is meant to go on my portfolio

Five years ago, you watched the world split open, bore witness to what you could only refer to as "dragons" made manifest in scale, flesh and skin. You saw cities razed to the ground, asphalt streets shattered like ice. Fleets of dragons and foreign—almost alien—aircrafts alike seared across the skies, while towers of dirt and metal tore free from the landscape. The world has inexplicably, incomprehensibly changed, but you know this to be true: Earth never really stood a chance.

With your world now overrun by dragons and dangers alike, you've lived alone, hiding from the world you once called home, scrounging for scraps and surviving by the skin of your teeth. But when a chance encounter with a mercenary ship leaves you reeling with the realization that you're not the average-joe of a human that you thought you once were, you're forced into an ultimatum: enlist with the Seekers, or live out the rest of your life in a Human compound on Therius. But your horrors extend far beyond the threat of the dragons; your monsters are at home in your head, but they might just be the key to stopping all of this madness… if they don't take you out first.

The gears turn, the worlds spin inwards like ever-onwards like painted tops. You will undergo a journey of self-discovery, of potential romances and of incredible loss. And somehow, you can't shake the sensation that this has all happened before…

A customizable protagonist: Customize your gender, your body type, your pronouns, and personality.

Five ROs to romantically pursue—some in the most conventional sense, others in… a not so conventional sense.

Engage in brief flings, one of which is... an RO's estranged divorced mother. (Your crewmates will disapprove.)

Train your body or your mind to perfection. Are you a frontline fighter, or do you prefer the aethereal arts?

Cute cat dog wolfboy…?

The female version of a himbo

There's no good way to put this: you remember things you shouldn't. The end of your story is not the end; something awaits you at the place where your endings converge. What is it? What are you?

There's an egotistical mind entity in your head, and the flags aren't just red; they're blood-crimson. Romanceable, but at a steep cost to your sanity. Or maybe…

Skippable, customizable NSFW content. My friends have advised me not to continue.

Avett Ironsturm

Role: RO

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race: Kattish

Age: 20

Specialization: Arms specialist

Appearance: Avett is a Kattish man of average height. His complexion is fair. Perched upon his head are two swivelling cat-like ears, and at the base of his spine is a prehensile tail that is about the length of his arm—both are adorned with soft, black fur. His hair is black, hangs just below the shoulders, and he keeps most of it in a messy ponytail. Most of his frontal hair frames his boyish, youthful face. His irises are copper colored, his pupils slitted.

Personality: Avett is bristly, prickly, and very easy to anger if he's not trying to get into your pants. He's a flirt through and through, and knows how and when to be charming, just… not with his coworkers. Or you. Though if you can get him to let his guard around you, you might just find him a lot more bearable.

Your impression: Once upon a time, you saw his old ID, stuffed in a cabinet along with his boxers and body spray, and you realized he was smiling in his photo. Not outwardly—they don't want you smiling on those cards, but behind those eyes was a laugh ready to bust out at any moment. That was four years ago. Now? All he does now is sulk and yell at people. Something happened in those four, long years, and those years have only been getting longer since.

Sexuality: Bisexual (woman-leaning)

Yuda Hellsbridge

Role: RO

Gender: Female (she/her)

Race: Half Gallian, Half Kattish

Age: Secret?

Specialization: Restrainer

Appearance: Yuda is a half-Gallian, half-Kattish woman of above average height. Her complexion is a pale, seafoam green—common for most Gallians. Her hair is white with blue undertones in the right lighting, and is short and choppy. If you look too closely into her metallic gray eyes, you will notice a swirling, foggy substance within her irises, as is common for all Gallians who are at least a bit adept in magic… which is to say, almost all of them. Yuda is extremely fit and exercises often, and as a result her build is stocky and muscular—very uncommon for a Gallian, though she claims that she's half Kattish.

Personality: Yuda is outwardly cheerful, loud, and brash—tact is not her forte. But behind every sunny smile is a shadow, and Yuda keeps her shadows well away from the spotlight.

Your impression: It's not trauma. It's not a blip in her personality. There is something genuinely terrifying hiding behind Yuda's eyes, and that's not including the fact that you don't know how old she is. Oh, she's nice, and she's got no ulterior motives, you'll give her that. But it's like she's wearing her own body like a shadow.

Sexuality: doesn't care for labels, but for clarity's sake she is pansexual.

Ysh'vanna O'Raal

Role: RO

Gender: Female (she/her)

Race: Draconian

Age: 26

Specialization: Captain/Pilot

Appearance: Ysh'vanna is a short girl with wispy, white hair that topples down to her waist—if she doesn't brush it out of her face, it has a tendency to smother her slight frame like an oversized scarf. Her irises are orange, with a ring of emerald green around her pupils. Trailing from her ears are two, small, green webs that resemble translucent dragon wings.

Personality: Everyone onboard the Seeker is a wreck, yes, but Ysh'vanna is always at least two crises away from a mental breakdown everyday. Sorting through admin, funds, Avett's shenanigans and the odd dragon attack has left her riddled with anxieties. She has difficulty forming bonds outside of work because of this, so her relationship with Avett isn't great. After any particularly grueling mission, she will often be found comatose in front of the navigation panels, staring off into the skyline. Otherwise, Ysh'vanna tries to be cheerful. Most of the time. Some of the time.

Your impression: She's probably by far the most average person on this ship. Every morning she takes her coffee with three sugars and a cupful of milk; every night she takes a nail-sized tablet along with a full glass of water. "For the anxiety," she says. She's incredibly open about most things... until it comes to her family. What's the deal?

Sexuality: bisexual (woman-leaning)

Auren Draksparrow

Role: Platonic Option

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race: Gallian

Age: According to Avett, "Like, a hundred or something." He looks about forty in Human years to you.

Specialization: Warder

Appearance: Auren is a Gallian man of above average height. His frame is gaunt, almost frail; his hair is platinum blond, and is secured in a low ponytail that reaches down to his waist. His complexion is seafoam green, and his eyes are a faint violet. Swimming in his irises is a fog, a trait most Gallians share. His facial features are long and soft, but his cheekbones sit high upon his face.

Personality: Auren is cold, aloof, and it can be difficult to discern what he's thinking from speech and body language alone. He is clear in mind, even during high-pressure situations, until his abilities as a caster fail him.

Your impression: Here's the deal about living past one hundred and one; you're going to mess up. You're going to mess up a lot more than the average person, and your book of guilt's going to be pushing a trilogy if you don't start forgiving yourself for some of those mess-ups. You know for a fact that Auren has never forgiven himself, not even once, because he's yet to save the Seekers. Because he's yet to, in his eyes, make himself useful. But you're his lucky break: he's the only one on the ship who can see that thing in your head for what it is, and he knows it's a threat.

Sexuality: he's not looking for a relationship right now, if ever. He's married to his tomes and the study of aether.

Liam Salazar

Role: RO

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race: Human

Age: 24

Specialization: Researcher

Appearance: Liam is tall with an athletic frame and broad shoulders. He usually keeps his dark brown hair in a nest of curls atop his head. His skin is a deep umber, and his eyes are an even deeper shade of brown. He often wears a white lab coat over a simple sweater and dress shirt.

Personality: Quiet, but goofy; aloof, but sensitive. You sense that this boy would rather bury his head in a good book or some other complicated research than look you in the eye. That's not to say he's meek, though—come any threat, and he'll lash out swinging. You had to be a special kind of tough to have survived the Migration as a Human, and Liam is no exception.

Your impression: You didn't expect to make friends at the IRC training facility—most Humans there wanted your head on a stick for the cardinal sin of having a deal with a merc ship already. The Migration wore everyone's patience thin, but not Liam's. For a hot moment at that facility, you were two renegades against the hateful world. Until your training period finished up.

Sexuality: Panromantic demisexual, though initially he believes that he's straight.

The Entity

Role: RO

Gender: Customizable/it

Race: Something intangible. A voice in your head.

Age: It laughs when you ask this. "How old is a concept? The fear of death, the love of life? How old? Are you counting? Think about that."

Appearance: A dark wisp of smoke that occasionally shifts to form parts of a person.

Personality: Loves you, like an overbearing parent. Punishes you, like a torturer gleaning for answers. It maims you and calls it affection.

Your impression: When you're not talking to it, it's rummaging through your memories. Why? For fun. It knows about that time you did this and that in the locker room and almost got caught for it. It knows about that time you stopped someone from leaving after class just so you could hit on them, unsuccessfully, for ten minutes before they had to beg you to leave. It knows everything about you, all the bad, all the good—and it loves you anyway. That's the purest kind of love, isn't it?

Sexuality: Wouldn't you like to know.

With that all said, thank you for checking out this post, and DOUBLE thank you if you decide to try out Shattered Earth. 🙇🙇

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hayatheauthor · 1 year ago

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Forging Epic Battles: Techniques for Writing Gripping War Scenes

I want to start this post off with sort of an author's note: this is a long one! I tried to keep my detailing to a minimum but I guess this topic Is just so vast I couldn't help but pour it all out. This really is sort of an ultimate guide and I hope it helps! Also, it was requested by @xweirdo101x (if you want to request something just send me an ask)

War has long captivated readers' imaginations, evoking a sense of grandeur, sacrifice, and the clash of ideologies. As writers, we have the power to transport our readers to the frontlines, immersing them in the chaos, drama, and emotion of epic battles.

Crafting gripping war scenes requires a delicate balance of research, skillful storytelling, and an understanding of the human experience in times of conflict. In this guide, I will explore various techniques that will help you create dynamic and compelling war narratives, transporting your readers to the heart of the action and leaving them breathless.

Setting the Stage: Creating a Compelling War Setting

When it comes to writing gripping war scenes, creating a vivid and immersive setting is paramount. Whether you are crafting a historical war or inventing a fictional conflict, the setting serves as the backdrop against which your characters and their stories unfold. Here are essential steps to help you create a compelling war setting that captures readers' imaginations:

Research Historical Context or Build a Fictional World:

For historical wars, immerse yourself in research to understand the time period, social dynamics, and political climate surrounding the conflict. This knowledge will lend authenticity and depth to your narrative.

If you're building a fictional world, establish the rules, geography, and cultural aspects that shape the war. Consider the unique elements that set your world apart and make it feel real to readers.

Describe the Physical Environment and Atmosphere:

Depict the landscape, whether it's a war-torn city, a rugged battlefield, or a desolate wasteland. Pay attention to sensory details—sights, sounds, smells—to transport readers into the heart of the war.

Convey the atmosphere of the setting, capturing the tension, fear, or anticipation that hangs in the air. Is it shrouded in darkness and despair, or does a glimmer of hope persist? Use descriptive language to evoke the desired emotional response.

Incorporate Cultural and Societal Elements:

Explore how the war has affected the culture and society within your setting. Are there new traditions, rituals, or customs that have emerged in response to the conflict?

Consider the social dynamics at play—class divisions, power struggles, or the impact of war on marginalized groups. These elements add layers of complexity to your setting and provide opportunities for conflict and character development.

By carefully constructing your war setting, you transport readers into a world brimming with authenticity and intrigue. Whether it's the trenches of World War I, a futuristic intergalactic battle, or a mythical realm engulfed in strife, the setting sets the stage for compelling storytelling.

Building Conflict and Tension

In the realm of war fiction, conflict and tension are the driving forces that propel your narrative forward and keep readers captivated. From the clash of opposing ideologies to the internal struggles within characters, here are essential techniques for building conflict and tension in your war scenes:

Establish Clear Goals and Stakes for Characters:

Define the objectives and desires of your main characters within the war. What are they fighting for? What personal or collective goals are at stake?

Create conflicts of interest between characters, where their motivations and objectives may diverge, leading to tension-filled interactions and confrontations.

Introduce Opposing Forces and Ideologies:

Develop compelling adversaries that challenge your protagonists. These opposing forces may represent different sides of the conflict, ideologies, or even personal vendettas.

Explore the contrasting beliefs, values, and philosophies driving each side, heightening the ideological clash and intensifying the conflict.

Utilize Internal Conflicts within Characters:

Explore the internal struggles and moral dilemmas faced by your characters. How does the war affect their beliefs, principles, and sense of self?

Delve into the emotional turmoil and psychological toll of war, showcasing the internal battles characters face as they navigate the chaos and make difficult choices.

By effectively building conflict and tension, you create a dynamic and engaging narrative that keeps readers invested in your war story. The clash of goals, the ideological friction, and the internal struggles of your characters add layers of complexity and depth to your storytelling, drawing readers deeper into the heart of the conflict.

Developing Dynamic Characters

In the realm of war fiction, dynamic and well-developed characters are essential to breathe life into your narrative and create an emotional connection with readers. By crafting relatable protagonists and antagonists, you elevate the impact of your war story. Here are key considerations and techniques for developing dynamic characters within the context of war:

Crafting Relatable Protagonists:

Give your main characters depth and complexity by exploring their backgrounds, motivations, and personal histories. What drives them to participate in the war? What are their hopes, fears, and vulnerabilities?

Develop relatable goals and desires for your protagonists that resonate with readers. Show how the war impacts their lives and pushes them to grow, change, or make difficult decisions.

Creating Compelling Antagonists:

Craft antagonists who are more than just one-dimensional villains. Give them their own motivations, beliefs, and reasons for engaging in the war. This adds depth and complexity to their characters, creating a sense of empathy or understanding.

Explore the potential for redemption or transformation within your antagonists. Are they driven by misguided ideals, personal vendettas, or the pressures of their circumstances? Allow their development to challenge readers' perspectives.

Conveying the Psychological Impact of War:

Explore the emotional and psychological toll that war takes on your characters. Depict their fears, traumas, and inner conflicts as they grapple with the horrors and realities of the battlefield.

Show the evolution of their beliefs and perspectives as they confront the brutalities of war. Allow their experiences to shape their character arcs, highlighting the resilience, resilience, and vulnerabilities that emerge in the face of adversity.

By developing dynamic characters in your war narrative, you create a multi-dimensional and emotionally resonant story. Readers will become invested in their journeys, experiencing the triumphs, losses, and personal transformations that unfold throughout the war.

Writing Action-Packed Battle Scenes

Action-packed battle scenes are the heart of war fiction, where the intensity and stakes are at their highest. These scenes immerse readers in the chaos, danger, and adrenaline of the conflict. To craft gripping battle scenes, consider the following techniques:

Structuring Battle Sequences for Maximum Impact:

Begin with a clear sense of purpose for the battle scene. What are the objectives? What is at stake? Establish the goals and set the stage for the conflict.

Build tension gradually, starting with smaller skirmishes or encounters that escalate toward the climactic moments. Consider pacing, alternating moments of heightened action with moments of respite for emotional impact.

Balancing Fast-Paced Action and Descriptive Details:

Use concise and vivid language to convey the fast-paced nature of battle. Focus on capturing the essence of the action, highlighting key movements, and sensory details that immerse readers in the experience.

Strike a balance between brevity and providing enough detail to engage the reader's imagination. Avoid overwhelming readers with excessive description, ensuring that every word serves a purpose and contributes to the overall impact.

Using Sensory Language to Immerse Readers:

Engage multiple senses to transport readers into the battle scene. Describe the sights, sounds, smells, and tactile sensations to evoke a visceral experience.

Leverage sensory details to enhance the emotional impact of the battle, capturing the fear, adrenaline, and urgency felt by characters and evoking a similar response in readers.

Good action-packed battle scenes bring the war to life on the page, immersing readers in the heart-pounding action. Remember to focus not only on the physical aspects of combat but also on the emotional and psychological experiences of your characters.

Conveying Emotional Resonance

In war fiction, it is crucial to convey the emotional impact of the conflict on both individual characters and the larger society. By tapping into the raw emotions experienced during times of war, you can create a profound connection with your readers. Here are key techniques for conveying emotional resonance in your war narrative:

Show the Human Cost of War:

Portray the personal sacrifices, losses, and tragedies that characters endure in the face of war. Highlight the emotional toll on their relationships, families, and communities.

Explore the range of emotions experienced by characters, such as fear, grief, anger, and resilience. Through their struggles, allow readers to empathize with the profound impact of war on the human psyche.

Engage the Senses to Evoke Emotion:

Utilize sensory language to evoke emotions within readers. Describe the sights, sounds, smells, and tactile sensations associated with war to create a vivid and immersive experience.

Connect specific sensory details to the emotions they evoke. For example, the acrid stench of smoke may elicit a sense of danger or the distant cries of anguish may stir feelings of sorrow.

Develop Authentic and Complex Relationships:

Showcase the bonds formed and tested amidst the chaos of war. Explore friendships, romances, and the camaraderie among soldiers to highlight the connections that sustain characters in the face of adversity.

Depict the conflicts and tensions that arise within relationships due to the strain of war. This adds layers of emotional complexity and authenticity to your narrative.

By effectively conveying emotional resonance, you invite readers to experience the human side of war. They will connect with the characters on a deeper level and become emotionally invested in their journeys.

Navigating Moral and Ethical Dilemmas

War is often accompanied by moral and ethical dilemmas that test the values and principles of individuals and societies. As a war fiction writer, it is important to explore these complexities and shed light on the difficult choices characters face. Here are key considerations for navigating moral and ethical dilemmas in your war narrative:

Present Conflicting Perspectives:

Introduce characters with differing moral viewpoints and beliefs. Show the diversity of perspectives within the war, whether it's among the protagonists, antagonists, or the larger society.

Challenge readers to contemplate the gray areas of morality and the complexities of right and wrong by presenting conflicting viewpoints and the reasons behind them.

Highlight the Consequences of Choices:

Illustrate the consequences of characters' actions and decisions. Showcase how their choices ripple through the narrative, affecting themselves and those around them.

Explore the moral dilemmas characters face, such as choosing between duty and personal convictions, sacrificing the few for the many, or grappling with the aftermath of their actions.

Offer Reflection and Discussion:

Provide opportunities for characters to reflect on their choices, engaging in internal dialogue or discussions with others. This allows readers to contemplate the moral implications alongside the characters.

Invite readers to reflect on their own moral compass and engage in discussions surrounding the ethical dimensions raised in your war narrative.

Navigating moral and ethical dilemmas makes your war fiction go beyond the surface-level action and delve into the deeper questions of humanity. It prompts readers to question their own values, moral boundaries, and the intricate web of choices that arise in times of conflict.

Research and Authenticity in War Fiction

For war fiction to have a lasting impact, it is crucial to conduct thorough research and strive for authenticity in your narrative. By grounding your story in accurate details and historical context, you enhance its credibility and immerse readers in the world of war. Here are key considerations for incorporating research and authenticity in your war fiction:

Study Historical Events and Settings:

Research the historical events, conflicts, and time periods that serve as the backdrop for your war narrative. Gain a comprehensive understanding of the context, including the political, social, and cultural factors that influenced the war.

Dive into the specifics of battle strategies, weaponry, and tactics employed during the time period. This knowledge will help you create authentic and realistic war scenes.

Explore Personal Accounts and Memoirs:

Read personal accounts, memoirs, and interviews of individuals who have experienced war firsthand. These sources provide invaluable insights into the emotions, challenges, and nuances of the human experience during wartime.

Pay attention to the details of daily life, the physical and psychological tolls, and the individual stories of courage, sacrifice, and resilience. Incorporate these elements into your narrative to add depth and authenticity.

Consult Experts and Military Advisers:

Seek guidance from military advisers, historians, or experts in the field to ensure accuracy in depicting military operations, protocols, and terminology.

Engage in conversations or interviews with individuals who have expertise in areas relevant to your story, such as veterans, soldiers, or scholars. Their perspectives can offer valuable insights and help you portray the realities of war with authenticity.

Strive for Emotional Truth:

While research and accuracy are crucial, remember that emotional truth is equally important. Balance historical accuracy with the emotional resonance of your characters and their experiences.

Capture the human aspects of war, such as the impact on relationships, the psychological trauma, and the bonds forged in the face of adversity. Connect readers to the emotional core of your story.

By incorporating thorough research and striving for authenticity, you create a rich and immersive war narrative that resonates with readers. The combination of accurate historical details, personal accounts, and emotional depth brings your story to life.

War fiction is a genre that holds immense power to captivate readers, evoke emotions, and shed light on the complexities of human nature during times of conflict. Through the techniques and considerations I have explored in this guide, you have the tools to craft compelling war narratives that resonate with authenticity and engage your readers on a profound level.

I hope this blog on forging epic battles will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and marketing tools for authors every Monday and Thursday

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mothiir · 4 months ago

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all is fair in love and war, part i

In which our favourite diplomat faces an assassination attempt, and Sicarius and Roboute must address some feelings.

Cw: gore. No sex. That’s in the next part.

—

An Inquisitor is aboard the ship. An Inquisitor is aboard your ship, in your space, they are here. Fear pulses through you; the instinctive dread of a prey animal learning that the wolf is just around the corner. You have no firsthand experience of the Inquisition, but by the Emperor you have heard stories — colleagues who were threatened into taking part in the cruellest of traps, luring rebellious worlds into an accord, only for the Inquisition to burn the planet to cinders. Worse than this: you have heard stories of those who refused — lobotomised, servitorised, and not just them but their families, their friends, punishment that runs along the most tenuous of connections until everyone who heard the name of the would-be hero was dead, or wished they were. It cannot be chance that the Inquisitor has arrived now, when the Primarch has taken all of the battle-ready ships and most of the men to deal with a section of the webway benighted by daemons, coming to the assistance of their Eldar allies, a comradeship that you were instrumental in brokering. Aboard the diplomatic vessel the Hestia, with nothing more than a barebones crew, sheltered deep in Ultramar’s space you thought yourself safe. And you are — but only from external threats.

The rot within the Imperium still finds you here, apparently.

As the most senior civilian official here, you join the welcoming party, standing beside Captain Icarus, a now-retired guardsman who — having served decades on the frontline of the Imperium’s battles — knows the ways of the Inquisition all too well. There are no Astartes aboard the ship, only baseline humans — formidable foes, practiced veterans all — and yet as the Inquisitor and her retinue board your ship (the continent-sized bulk of her ship dwarfing your own, blotting out the stars) you find yourself possessed by the mad urge to gather the men beneath your non-existent wingspan, to shelter them.

“My lady Inquisitor,” you say, with a deep and respectful bow. “It is an honour —“

”Are you really the most senior diplomat here? Hm. I suppose you will do, until the senior officials arrive,” says the Inquisitor. Oh, what a promising start. What a truly excellent start. You straighten up immediately. “I am Kagha, of the Ordo Xenos. I was under the impression that the Lord Primarch was resident here and came to offer my services.”

You take a moment to gather yourself, trying your utmost to keep your eyes fixed on Kagha — and not her Deathwatch bodyguards, looming like obsidian-wrought gargoyles; nor the cherubim hovering behind her, fleshy abominations with blank, unsettling faces. The other woman is a little shorter than you, hard-featured and haughty, but possessed of an ageless, sharp beauty that speaks of those rejuve treatments the upper-classes so love. Her copper hair is swept up in an elaborate braided style, ornamented with gold skulls with glowing red eyes. You would wager your life’s savings on those hairpins being secret, deadly weapons. Her outfit is equally impressive: a long black leather coat, embroidered with a motif of heretics burning in a flaming pit while an impassive angelic figure watches; skin-tight trousers; an elaborate lacy blouse that closes at her throat with a ruby the size of your fist.

She’s wealthy. Well-connected. Experienced. And yet there is something not right; an itch under your skin.

You look to the Deathwatch marines, as briefly as possible. There are five of them — more than enough to annihilate the paltry crew here, should they wish — and all are helmeted. Two carry shields slung over their shoulders; huge oblongs of metal longer than you are tall, ornamented with strange milky stones, like opals, and yet somehow familiar —

Your blood turns to ice. Spirit Stones. The funerary custom of Craftworld Eldar is to keep the souls of their dead in these psychic tombs, thus preserving their fallen comrades, and keeping them safe from the endless maw of She Who Thirsts. To break a Spirit Stone is to send the soul contained within to eternal damnation; it is one of the cruellest fates you can imagine. And to decorate your weapons with them — and to bring these weapons to the ship of a diplomat you know brokers peace with the Eldar —

You know then what is happening, and you would laugh at the flagrant arrogance of the Inquisition, if you were not so fearful. They are so used to having nothing stand in their way — why would they be subtle about an assassination? You make a quick gesture with your right hand, keeping it pressed tight to your side. In battle-cant it means call the Primarch. Bring him back. We are in danger.

To Kagha, you beam, trying to appear every inch the young idiot she appears to think you are. “Would you care to join me in my quarters for tea? I can send a vox to my senior — he is currently aboard a ship in the Ultramarine’s fleet, and will answer as soon as he can.”

A bluff, of course. You have no senior. And yet Kagha — arrogant, stupid Kagha — nods tersely. “This is acceptable.”

—

You do not think it arrogant to claim that you are more that a little adept at the finer points of conversation — it is, after all, much of your job to be personable and engaging. Indeed, this talent is in such short supply across the Imperium that you sometimes wonder if you count as a prodigy, just because you can engage in small talk without threatening anyone, or going on a half hour diatribe about the Emperor’s endless benevolence. You once even made a Harlequin laugh! Yes, it was because you fell over — but it still counts.

And yet Kagha is a brick wall — no, that is an insult to masonry. She either does not answer your questions, or does so in a way that suggests she considers you the stupidest woman alive for even raising the point. Still, she is kind enough to pour the second round of tea, so you sip, and resign yourself to silence.

After around twenty minutes, the ring on your index finger — a nondescript circlet of silver, set with a tiny little sapphire — tightens minutely. Thank goodness for that. You offer Kagha a bright smile.

“If I were you,” you say. “I would have a word with your sources.”

Her brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

”Well — they’re clearly quite out of date. I did have a superior diplomat overseeing my work here — her name was Sara Buchanan, and she was wonderful — but she returned six months ago to be with her grandchildren. I’ve been running the show here ever since.”

Kagha’s brow furrows. “If you are suggesting —“

“I am not suggesting. I am telling. Do you really think you are the first member of your Order to come calling to the Primarch’s fleet, thinking that they can disrupt our mission here? Granted, you are the first one to approach myself directly — but we know your sort. The arrogance of you! You’d see the Imperium remain steeped in shadow and ignorance if it kept your position safe.”

Genuine anger bleeds into your voice, and your throat tightens. You cough into your hand, cursing the sudden flare-up of — what? Allergies? Gunshots echo outside; lasgun facing lasgun. The Primarch has returned home, and is not best pleased with what he finds.

Kagha’s lips skin back, showing her teeth. “You stupid xenos loving bitch — you have no idea what you are doing here.”

”I know exactly what I am doing here. Following my Lord Primarch’s orders. You are the heretic who claims to know better than the son of the God-Emperor —“ you break off into another bout of coughing, this time more strenuous. It feels like something is clawing up your throat. The door to your chambers crashes open, Cato Sicarius storming in, wreathed in smoke, spattered with blood.

“Careful!” you yell out at the gunfight outside. “Don’t break the stones on the shields!”

”We know that,” Sicarius snaps at you. “We are well-aware of the Deathwatch’s tactics —“

Whatever he was about to say is amputated as you double over and vomit. A dark grainy substance puddles at your feet, like recaf-grounds. Behind you, Kagha sniggers.

“So, so clever — but didn’t think to check the tea, did you?”

Oh for the love of the Emperor’s left bollock — you curse your oversight. She’d poured the tea. Ample time to slip poison into it, even though you had been watching her the whole time, because Inquisitors are nothing if not swift with their petty, lethal blows. You choke on another upsurge of bile, pain now radiating from your stomach, and collapse onto the floor.

The next two things happen so swiftly as to be synchronous. Kagha reaches for her hairpin, presumably to activate some kind of suicide device, and Sicarius leaps towards her. Before she can complete whatever last-ditch resort she was planning, Sicarius has flipped her upside down, holding one scrawny ankle in each of his gauntleted hands. Kagha shrieks in astonishment — a shriek that soon turns to a wordless, senseless wail of agony as the Astartes moves his forearms, just a little, and rips her in half. Gore showers him, and you avert your eyes, but you can still hear the wet slop of organs falling to the ground in a bloody puddle; the popping and breaking of bones, rent apart like matchsticks.

“That is my woman,” growls Sicarius — or, at least, you think he does. The world is starting to blur at the edges; the pain is receding — or perhaps you are receding, falling away into the dark. Your last image is of Sicarius bending down to you, reaching out. And then it is all black, as black as the void between stars.

—

You blink awake to cool white light, and soft white linen. For an absurd moment you think you’ve perished, and this is the Emperor’s rest — an endless bed, where you can sleep as much as you wish (sleep being the one resource you were always so scarce of).

Then —

“Ah, the wench awakes. Good. I was getting sick of looking at your sleeping face.”

Cato Sicarius sits by your bed, a paperback book open on his knee. The title reads Duty and Love: The Steamy Romance of a Kriegsman and a Sister of Battle — but before you can comment on it, he’s whisked it away, hiding it in one of his armour’s many compartments.

”How long — how long has it been?”

Your voice is rough; your throat aches. Sicarius tosses you a canteen of water.

It’s metal. It’s Space Marine sized. You can’t catch it; it hits you in the chest and bounces off, leaving another bruise to deal with.

“Next time, catch better.”

You have no idea how to respond to that. With shaking hands, you unscrew the lid and gulp at the icy water.

“The poison ate through your oesophagus,” says Sicarius, conversationally. “Just as well it spared your tongue — a mute diplomat is no use to anyone, and we would have had to get someone new aboard. Can’t be doing with that.”

Perhaps it is your drug-induced delirium, but you smile at him. “Are you saying you’d miss me?”

”Absolutely not. Give me that.”

He snatches the canteen back, spilling water over you both. It’s his canteen. There’s a jug of water on your bedside table, and he gave you his canteen — but before you can dwell on that , Sicarius is back to grumbling.

“We had to divert our entire mission because of you. Lord Gulliman was not best pleased that the Ordo Xenos was causing trouble for him and his, so we had to go halfway across the galaxy to Kagha’s home base. He’s spent the last five days putting every Inquisitor he can find to the sword. Burned a couple of planets that were still perfectly useful just because they wouldn’t tell us what we needed to know.”

There is far too much there for your sluggish brain to process. You manage: “Five days?”

”Yes. You’ve been out for six. That poison almost killed you. It didn’t. Fortunately.”

You stare down at your hands. They are almost as pale as the sheets: sunless, drained. “And the Primarch —?”

As if in answer to your question, the door opens, and Roboute himself enters. You immediately try to greet him properly — stand, curtesy, even salute — but your body won’t obey, and you just manage to tangle yourself up in your sheets, tumbling from the bed. The Primarch catches you before you hit the ground, swaddling you up in your linen like a newborn babe, settling you back onto the bed. His armour is tarnished, swathes of it stained rusty with old blood, and he reeks of smoke. Deep shadows hang under his eyes. He looks like he has come fresh from the battlefield.

“There,” he says. “Better? Glad to see you with us.”

Your arms are pinned to your sides, which is just as well, since you suddenly want to stroke his tired brow, comb your fingers through his hair.

Roboute looks over at Sicarius. “Thank you for your watch, brother.” To you, he adds: “Sicarius stayed —“

”Here because I was ordered to, and now I must leave to attend to proper business,” says Sicarius, all in a rush.

Gulliman stares at him. And stares at him. Then looks at you. Then back at Sicarius.

“…is that really what you want to say,” he says, in a tone of infinite, weary patience. “Really. After all this. That’s your parting riposte.”

Sicarius stands up straight, throwing up a parade-ground salute.

“I fulfilled your orders, my lord. Watched her for the five days and nights. But now I have to return to my battle brothers for my actual purpose.”

Gulliman stares at him for another long, long moment. You twitch in the cocoon that Gulliman has forced you into, feeling deeply awkward but not entirely sure why.

“Last chance,” says Gulliman. Sicarius frowns.

“Not sure what else I should say, Lord Father.”

”Right,” says Gulliman, and sighs, turning back to you. He tucks you in more firmly — clearly intending it to be a comforting gesture, but managing to strait-jacket you to the point where you think your fingers are going numb. “Theoretical: the potential of losing you drove me to depths of fury that I had not felt in quite some time. This was in part due to the Inquisitor’s meddling, but largely to do with the prospect of not having you by my side.”

He strokes your hair gently.

”Practical: when you are well enough to stand, you will come to my quarters and we will have nice non-poisoned tea. And we can talk. And enjoy one another’s company.”

You squeak. “S-sounds like an excellent strategy, my lord. Yes. Please. Would like to play my part for you and the Legion and —“

”Perhaps not the entire Legion,” says Gulliman. “Not yet, anyway. Oh, and Sicarius? Why are you still here?”

Sicarius’ face is frozen in a rictus of pure, delirious rage. “No — no reason at all Lord Primarch. I will…I will take my leave.”

No one can say Gulliman did not give his idiot son a chance. He leans forward and kisses you gently on the forehead, pausing to inhale the scent of air. It smells of home.

#Gulliman/reader #sicarius/reader #big space men bad with feelings #cato sicarius/reader #cuck cato

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