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twstgarden · 9 months ago

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❀ ❝ 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗶 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲? ❞

━ malleus draconia x gn! reader (reader can be yuu or an oc/twstsona) ━ thoughts of the possibility of falling in love with your nightly visitor continue to disturb you even during the times you were supposed to focus on your quality time together.

no spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia’s arc!

do not steal or translate without my permission.

buy me a coffee here and ko-fi here if you want to support me, commissions are open

“modern architectures seemed to have adapted new designs for their gargoyles. why, i even came across one that resembles a human face. it is quite intriguing, really. i have grown accustomed to seeing gargoyles that usually take the form of different creatures of the night, so seeing that human-like gargoyle sparked some interest in me that i wish to show it to you,” rambled malleus before he frowned, “however, my so-called phone could no longer capture images. it breaks easily, it’s unfortunate.”

you sat as you replied with a soft hum, your chin resting on your hand as you looked up at him with a rather longing and lovestruck gaze. you were paying attention to his ramblings, truly, you were! it just so happened that you were looking at him with an infatuated gaze.

hearing only a hum from you, malleus turned his head to look at his companion. with a raised brow, he spoke, “hm? are you alright?”

his question snapped you out of your thoughts. a soft blush dusted over your cheeks as you felt embarrassed of having been caught staring, “oh, sorry. um… so, did you capture it with… maybe a regular camera?”

once more, there was a frown on his lips, “no, but i will make sure i get to capture its uniqueness and aesthetic the next time i come across that gargoyle.”

it was somewhere around midnight when you decided to accompany malleus in the backyard of the ramshackle dorm, and you spent the past 30 minutes listening to him talk about his findings during his strolls for his gargoyle research club activity.

you loved listening to him speak. his voice was deep and resonant, yet so dulcet and soothing. you would never get tired of listening to him all day. when he speaks with clear passion and excitement laced in his tone, he resembles a young kid who had just gotten some candy – so endearing and oh so innocent, but you had to remind yourself that this was no ordinary man. this was the crown prince of a nation, a man respected by many and feared by many more.

still, who gives a damn about titles when you can enjoy his presence for as long as you want? as long as the moon stays up in the sky and the sun has not risen, you can guarantee his presence in your dormitory.

were you falling in love?

what nonsense. of course not! who could afford to fall in love at a time like this? what you needed to focus on was your return to your world, not fall in love with a prince who may soon be betrothed to someone else.

oh, but that smile…

malleus smiled as he caught you staring once more, lost in your gaze. with a teasing chuckle, he spoke playfully, “am i so captivating that you can’t seem to tear your eyes away?”

what a beautiful smile.

that question alone made you look away immediately. was it too obvious? surely, he was only teasing you, but it was as if he hinted that he knew you might be falling for him. you laughed a little and replied, “i was spacing out! i wasn’t staring or anything…”

“spacing out, hm? does something trouble your mind?” asked malleus. the playful air seemed to have dissipated, replaced with an air of concern and care as soon as you told him you were spacing out.

“not at all,” you replied with a smile, “i was only imagining what that gargoyle with a human face would look like.”

are you falling in love?

again, with such questions! having the desire to spend more time with the man and looking forward to your nightly meetings does not equate to falling in love. you merely wanted his companionship. he was the only one visiting you late at night, keeping you entertained and listening to your troubles. he was more of a friend than anyone else in night raven college – ace and deuce are a category of their own.

there was never a single night he’d bail on you. not a single night had he let you be alone. it had become a tradition at this point for him to always be standing by your window once the clock struck 12. he never arrived empty-handed; there was always a thoughtful gift in tow or an engaging tale of adventures of the people he knew – mostly lilia’s adventures. other times, it would be a treasure trove of fascinating facts on random yet intriguing subjects. with him, each nightly meeting was an enchanting experience, always concluding with the bestowal of a meaningful gift, the creation of lasting memories, or the gain of fresh knowledge.

a knowledgeable and kind-hearted friend.

that’s how you’d always describe him. that’s what you’d always tell yourself. he was nothing more than a knowledgeable, kind-hearted friend. why must your admiration of his character equate to romantic feelings? even friends can find one person cool and not wish to have romantic relationships with them.

oh, but you love holding his hand…

it was another night in night raven college, another night spent with your midnight visitor. he was discussing certain gemstones that he had in his collection – his hoard, a term better suited for his kind. the discussion seemed normal at first glance until he looked at your left hand and held his right hand out for you to hold after taking off his glove.

“may i?”

curiosity washed over your senses as you tilted your head but placed your left hand on top of his anyway. his gentle caress on your knuckles sent shivers down your spine, his hands felt so smooth and oh so gentle, yet you knew of the underlying strength that was concealed within his lovely hands. the same hand that finds ease in cracking a coconut open gently held your own – as if he was afraid of accidentally hurting you.

as his thumb tenderly brushed against your bare ring finger, he spoke, “a beautiful golden ring would best adorn your hand, perhaps one embedded with your birthstone, don’t you think?”

this was merely a casual conversation between friends – a topic of discussion relating to gemstones turned into rings. this is normal, is it not? you hummed in reply as he continued to hold your hand, “a golden ring embedded with my birthstone? that sounds lovely.” a soft laugh then left your lips, “i could not afford to buy one, however.”

hoping he would comprehend your attempt at making a poor joke, you looked at him with a smile. he let out a soft chuckle, leading you to believe he was amused by your jest until his response completely caught you off-guard.

“why buy one when i can have one custom-made for you?”

your smile dropped as your expression turned into shock.

“pardon?”

that night was memorable, and certainly had its surprising elements compared to your other nightly meetings. you thought he was joking about getting a custom-made ring for you, but he had given so many hints and statements that he was completely serious – he even took your ring size. you did not stop him. perhaps it was just another one of his many, many gifts that he had bestowed upon you.

your vague knowledge of fae tradition made you recall a hint of a connection between faes and the art of gift-giving – that exchanging of gifts was an intrinsic part of their nature. you were entirely unaware of the customs and traditions surrounding gifts in briar valley, but surely, gift-giving is a way to show how much one appreciates an important acquaintance, is it not?

after that meeting, you started to realise the growing number of attempts on him holding your hand – whether you’re walking side by side or sitting together on the bench – he would always attempt to interlock his hand with yours in a way that seems respectful. his hand would gently brush against your own while he was talking, giving a hint that he wishes to hold your hand but would rather have your consent first.

you did not hesitate. you smiled and continued listening to his words as you interlocked your fingers together, gently squeezing his hand as he had not worn his gloves like usual. there was a brief moment of his eyes lighting up and his smile growing wider once he felt your hand on his, but then reverted to his usual expression as he continued to share stories with you.

your nightly meetings had extended to daylight hours. you were no longer confined in the moon’s appearance in the sky to determine how long you’d spend your time with him. you did not mind being seen by everyone else in the academy hanging out with the hotshot dormitory leader of diasomnia – who cares about them?

as long as malleus continued to spend his time with you, you’d spend your time with him. your blooming connection had soon become known to everyone else, and those from his dormitory were more than happy to finally see their dorm leader making friends. well, lilia was the proudest, but sebek still has his suspicions.

it has been a long while now since you have established a connection with the lonely crown prince. his companionship was all you could find on all the times you yearned for someone to hang out with. things were going smoothly, and your relationship with malleus kept blossoming every day.

have you fallen in love?

that question now haunted you once more.

have you fallen in love?

you shook your head as you sighed, trying to think of something else as you sat on diasomnia’s comfortable couch. their lounge was spacious – able to fit more than 20 students at the same time, but you’d rather not stay in the lounge if it gets crowded. the leather couches of their lounge were certainly of high quality as once you took a seat, you felt yourself sinking into the soft depths of the sofa.

malleus was sipping on his tea while the other three kept conversing about their recent school activities. upon hearing your sigh, malleus glanced at you and placed his teacup down, “are you feeling tired?” you shook your head in response, “no, no… not at all…”

have you fallen in love?

perhaps you did. your eyes stayed on malleus for a while as you thought of all the reasons you were drawn to him. malleus had a regal and powerful aura, everyone knew that, but there was also a hint of innocence and loneliness behind that powerful mask of his. you were one of the few people who have witnessed the real side of malleus draconia, while everyone else only knew him as a powerful fae prince.

malleus had the most beautiful set of green eyes – striking and sharp, yet so ethereal and comforting. his eyes showed all the feelings his facial expressions could not, and when it twinkles at the sight or mention of things, he is particularly fond of, you feel a sense of peace within you – as if you felt happy seeing him happy.

for so long have you denied your thoughts and dismissed them as merely friendly observations. you thought he was beautiful, and it should be normal to find someone beautiful, no? you think vil is a beautiful man, but that does not mean you are in love with him, so what makes malleus any different?

but that’s the thing.

malleus draconia’s allure was a level of their own.

his beauty was not like vil’s elegant charm or neige’s endearing appeal. malleus embodies a beauty of ethereal quality – to you, he is a man of enchanting grace and elegance, shrouded in mystery and often veiled in reserve.

have you fallen in love?

after pondering on your inner thoughts, you can proudly answer this question with confidence.

yes, you were.

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tacko3d · 2 months ago

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SO COOL GUYS!

So Fab came out this week. A bit of an underwhelming launch :/

Cause it came out with a ton of missing features, the search function wasn't working right, payout info is still on the old platform, Sketchfab asset licenses aren't importing properly and not only that, orientations are kinda messed up. But I literally have 300 models, so its too much to sift through because of that.

But its cool we get 100% commission till the end of the year.

What bugs me about Sketchfab licenses not importing properly is that I have a ton of models that aren't bundled into my Unreal Engine packs and I've always liked to use the Marketplace's importer as a quick way to import my own published works into my projects. But now the assets I was kinda hopping to use haven't migrated properly. Idk if they'll fix this soon or not. Because theres so many assets now and the team isn't that much bigger now. RIP SKETCHFAB, I LOVED YOU (Unrelated video)

youtube

I've been very inactive in art lately. Becuase I was prepping for this launch. And I've been anything but extremely over prepping for something that came out VERY underbaked.

But here's the link to my store. If that doesn't open, fab.com/sellers/Tacko3D

(so glad fab finally did something about those UE marketplace links. DREADFUL THINGS)

I hope you'll find something thats useful to you and consider throwing a coin to your witcher.

No promises, but perhaps i will consider porting assets to the Unity store. Becuase 1, Unity has that Unified Render pipeline coming (fucking finally)

and 2, I like money but also I'd like to extend more support to other devs.

Render Pipeline is the number 1 reason I never ported assets to unity. Trust me, the work had been started. But Universal Render Pipeline is not my favorite.

Anyway, heres the lyrics to Like a Prayer. I didn't watch Deadpool and Wolverine. I just like this song.

Life is a mystery Everyone must stand alone I hear you call my name And it feels like home

When you call my name, it's like a little prayer I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there In the midnight hour, I can feel your power Just like a prayer, you know I'll take you there

I hear your voice It's like an angel sighin' I have no choice I hear your voice Feels like flying

I close my eyes Oh God I think I'm fallin' Out of the sky I close my eyes Heaven help me

When you call my name, it's like a little prayer I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there In the midnight hour, I can feel your power Just like a prayer, you know I'll take you there

Like a child You whisper softly to me You're in control Just like a child Now I'm dancing

It's like a dream No end and no beginning You're here with me It's like a dream Let the choir sing

When you call my name, it's like a little prayer I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there In the midnight hour, I can feel your power Just like a prayer, you know I'll take you there

When you call my name, it's like a little prayer I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there In the midnight hour, I can feel a power Just like a prayer, you know I'll take you there

Life is a mystery Everyone must stand alone I hear you call my name And it feels like home

Just like a prayer (oh-oh), your voice can take me there (oh-oh) Just like a muse to me (oh-oh), you are a mystery (oh-oh) Just like a dream (oh-oh), you are not what you seem Just like a prayer, no choice your voice can take me there

mmm mm (Just like a prayer, I'll take you there) I'll take you there (It's like a dream to me) whoa oh-oh-oh (Just like a prayer, I'll take you there) I'll take you there (It's like a dream to me) oh yeah, oh yeah yeah yeah yeah (Just like a prayer, I'll take you there) oh yeah yeah yee (It's like a dream to me) whoa oh-oh

Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there (just like a prayer) Just like a muse to me, you are a mystery (your voice can take me there) Just like a dream, you are not what you seem (just like a prayer) Just like a prayer, no choice your voice can take me there

your voice can take me there (Your voice can take me there) just like a prayer (Just like a prayer) (Just like a prayer) (Your voice can take me there) (Just like a prayer) (Just like a prayer) (Your voice can take me there) (Just like a prayer)

#wip #artist #game art #animation #ue5 #ue4 #gamedev #3d #blender #art #unity #godot #unity engine #Youtube

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gaywiththesauce · 1 year ago

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Fun Facts about Crashed (Hammered, Wasted Even)!

I'm drafting Chapter 5 rn and,, oh boy Just warning now that this story will get Dark. I write fluff on occasion but angst is my strong suit. I have the mind of an angsty teen that got broken up with over text in 2011.

Chapter 3 is longer than its previous chapters. There are six character prompts in the end notes for this chapter, so prepare. This fic is already over 20,000 words, which means it's the longest fic I've ever written!

This is tagged slow burn,, I also have never written a slow burn before, but I read somewhere that a fic shouldn't be tagged slow burn unless it's over 15K words so... nailed it.

Fun Fact! Tengen was going to be an art teacher at Yaiba University, but I thought it would restrict him too much for what he wanted to do with his art projects. His most popular commissions are of furries, but he is excellent at realism and paints his apartment as if it was destroyed by dynamite.

Another fun fact! Kyojuro's drunk experience may have been based off one of my friend's first time at a college party. He got so drunk within the first hour that I was too worried to leave his side and we left the party at midnight.

Link if you haven't read CHWE yet. It is a RenGiyuu slowburn fic.

#demon slayer #ao3 #chwe✨#rengiyuu #its rengiyuu wednesday !#which means more talking about my fic :)#rengiyu #saucy speaks

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libidomechanica · 3 months ago

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Untitled # 12589

Or art the sweated the Iliad but it be? The stable, still its Arms; the dew on flowry grasp them answer, and better or Winter commence with which elements live in

thee; that’s therefore subdu’d, just whereas from out that I have in thee back again, she measure which he sued. When your heaven for once Ulysses’ whistling purple-pillows and I

hold upon a Harp untun’d by the right iudgement the rose is happy might Inhabitants of the sky: sae warming men to fame, who gave done, we’ll measure; sometimes to thee,

with hoary mount aloft, the sleepe, that therefore him, what she maddest—and sooner letter take carefull break the price, about hiss If you would unders thro’ the spring, have a

hook, and hold, and that blows chillies budded feathers one would ye wonder a summer wings good-bye down on his Bed, when to heart confers wide thier pensive mood;—indeed, Mamma,

I die! She smiling. His graver sully’d the parliament, When a woman; what it did, and Loue, of nights, and smile another lips will acquaintance too upon the altar and

the richest Tincture of Pan from which I escapes, maud their Scent and midnight something art their roots, remember well tied in the other rites hast thou in whom groans, but burn in Cupid

laid out things … and its other fairest charmes, ne let this my heart, while they fed not Living flowrd my ioyfull dreriment. And all night Rauen of evening breathed joy and Northern

autumn sky, and wan fondly in thy comfort heaven, I thinke so sweet, an’ shill the prove the brush with Fillets strike mist o’er young, ’twad be a rug—turned in July, thunder a

summer’s Catalogue of some sylph-like in whose gaps I was aye between then, flying, and candle. As fast and me, gives grace, but diff’ring days: and on the first and long deceased woes

await thee brought. And learns. Restore of peach. Despite his honey dew. Gave our soul, they then, in the birken shall for Venus, play as we passions fit. He short a thermostat we

see or four Miss Rawbolds—pretty ankle is wearied me; and, by thy wide night, if that when most swear, let’s goodly preserved for my pupils like him, and all around. Love does th’

unhallowed both my brave, i’ll seek out the band. The drew: swift I want his course, and shadow fell down ankle glance of a violins proclaim—departing hand on his greatest

them aside in the Western hills round see God commission, or in none, is gone from mortal, while; moment flower, like a bell in us, will die. Column; date, and sweet purse-

mouth’d goblet makes himself in eyes and Dido rag’d Thalestries and vows. But afternoon instead of his bow’d down, like a razor he is stuck in traffic on the shock of the

strength beguil’d, and where sing, that fail it is not mine, thus is myself I’ll seek him the rivers, and more selfsame marriage past, the graveyard. Even by what Shapes the Board with the sails?

These extremes, be vnto her eyes the while doe profanation has such harm on the same, his advantagenet, good at, but this we know, whom three-decker out of business, the God-

born goddess, let us taste thy sacred Rites of and arrow ever met, the mall seek to gain. Was the swan sail with feare of bright, and denied not. This stead. Earth’s return would gazed,

a-doting save grouse till Day we whisper’d: no long time at my face e’er expression, cool, and woes. Dearest charm. Wilt thou dost love grass. When June is turn’d and fail’d, and oh, ’tis time, o’ercast

my lady were praise and Hearts to his knees like Strange to time, ere loue I bore it cannot stay you stop loving me I shaped to the And, while my Nostrils drew with so much.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #193 texts #ballad

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bleachanimefan1 · 4 months ago

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The Midnight Masquerade Part 9

His Butler, Freeloader,

With that, the Jack the Ripper case came to a close. A funeral was given to Madame Red. The first snow began to fall as winter was coming. London returned to its peaceful state, but only for a short time. Recently, there was a strange case involving British men returning home from India being continuously attacked. They were stripped of their belongings and hanged upside down in the middle of the street in front of a coffee shop in Portman Square. Even noble men and soldiers were meeting the same fate. They all had papers stuck to them as a warning that had a drawing of a tongue sticking out. Several of Scotland Yard officers were already at the scene investigating. Police commissioner, Lord Randall and Officer, Fred Aberline.

"Blast it! This is the 20th one now!" Randall growled crumpling up the warning note in frustration. "You haven't caught the culprit yet, Aberline?"

"I'm sorry, sir!"

"Feh, and the glory of the Jack the Ripper case was stolen from us also by that little brat."

"Sorry to be such a brat."

The two men jumped and saw Ciel and Sebastian and Cassandra standing behind them.

"Earl Phantomhive!" Randall sputtered.

"Oi, you! How in the hell did you get here!?" Aberline questioned Ciel but the commissioner stopped him.

"Lord Phantomhive, why are you here?"

"Why else, I'm here to clean up the mess made by a pathetic hunting dog. A crime targeted only by people who returned from India. The victims are not dead as well."

"You can't just!-" The police commissioner growled before Ciel showed him the letter stamped with the queen's seal on it.

"If it was just a highway man, I wouldn't be involved. However, I won't sit by and watch the royal family be insulted." Ciel smirked. The police commissioner glared at Ciel as he started to look at the warning letters taped to the victims.

"The criminals are described as chosen children of sloth and depravity, which is quite accurate. I agree that England would be better off without India's wealthy upstarts."

"They are cowards who are too busy with extravagance and indulged in worthless past times."

"And what's with this mark?" Ciel wondered, sticking out his tongue.

"He's making a fool of us British and the Queen! Targeting only those who return from India means that the criminal can't be anyone else but an Indian barbarian!" the police commission

"Or someone who's trying to pin the blame on them." Cassandra pointed out.

"A woman like you shouldn't even be involved."

"Wow, I didn't know Scotland yard were such sexists." Cassandra smirked, causing Ciel to make a small smile and Sebastian to laugh a little. Aberline's eyes widen a little in shock while the police commissioner gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes at Cassandra.

"You watch your tongue, woman-"

"Maybe, you should watch yours. What would the people think if their only protectors are spouting out accusations?" She smiled.

"A majority of smuggling Indians have a stronghold in the east end. I can see that even city yards don't know what to do with a dark street like east end. It's hard to identify the route or the number of smugglers, right?" Ciel added. "Sebastian, let's go." and the three left.

As they continued walking, Cassandra noticed Sebastian staring at her quietly, shifting his gaze to her every now and then. It was starting to annoy her.

"Is there something that you want to say?" she asked him.

"Tell me, what do you remember the other week during the Jack the Ripper case?" Sebastian asked.

"I'm still trying to forget that it ever happened to begin with. However, I can recall some moments. Grell's not human..." She told him. "And the fact that you're not human as well."

"Anything else?" Sebastian asked her.

"That you have some ties with Ciel." Cassandra spoke and she saw Ciel tense up a little. "Not that I care. Whatever you two have, I don't want to get involved."

"Oh, and I thought you cared deeply for my young master." Sebastian teased. "Even for his safety."

"You do know I can hear everything that you two are talking about, right?" Ciel murmured.

"And do you?" Cassandra asked Sebastian, who blinked at her in surprise. "Will you protect Ciel from every danger that should befall him?"

"What kind of butler would I be, if I didn't." Sebastian smirked. "I am bound to my master until the end."

They stopped in front a dark alley that had some stairs leading down to secret club. They stepped inside and the strong smell of incense filled the air. Cassandra nearly gagged, covering her nose while Ciel did the same.

"That smells awful."

"So, you finally found this place, Earl." Lau spoke. Ran Mao was sitting in his lap. "It feels kind of weird to see me this way, however I always knew that day would come." There were multiple women surrounding Lau, cuddling around him.

"And what kind of day is that!?" Ciel exclaimed.

"So, how have you been? Wasn't your birthday recent? Congrats."

"I don't really celebrate such things." Ciel replied. "I have something to ask you."

"The earl has come all the way to anagura, to ask me about that incident, am I right?" Lau smirked.

"Word spread around fast. I have been investigating that incident. If it's about Orientals, the fastest way to find anything out is to ask who has the strong influence around here. The president of the British branch of the Chinese trading company, KunLun. No, the Shanghai mafia, Qingbang executive, Lau." Ciel spoke.

"I don't like to be addressed that way. It's too formal." Lau sighed.

"Then I'll leave the east end in your care. The number of people who move in and out of this street are under your control, right?" Ciel asked.

"Of course, I have done what you've asked. It's the bribe that allows me to do business in the underworld of this country. So, firstly, I want to ask you one thing. What exactly is that incident?"

Ciel blinked at him in disbelief. "You..."

"It's about the British men that were attacked when they were returning back from their trips from India." Cassandra reminded Lau.

"Ah! That's it! So, you want to arrest that mischievous kid. Since there are no casualties, it must because he's targeting the upper class. Setting an example of the people must be tiring for you, Earl."

"Nonsense." Ciel scoffed.

"Nevertheless, we've walked a long way to get here. So where is this stronghold of Indian people?" Sebastian asked. Lau began to take them to the east street to the stronghold.

"So, when are you going to drop this investigation business and come work for me? I could use a woman such as you." Lau asked Cassandra. "Not really my type of thing. Besides, do you even know where we're going?" Cassandra narrowed her eyes at Lau. Lau blinked, looking around and smiled sheepishly. He had gotten them lost.

"You!" Ciel growled in irrigation. Then an Indian man dressed in rags began to walk over to them and bumped into Ciel.

"It hurts! My ribs are cracked!" He cried out. Ciel stared at him in disbelief while Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

"From a small bump like that, very unlikely. Even from such a small child." She remarked. Ciel glared at her.

The man continued to cry out in pain causing more people to come out and they began to surround the group, giving them dirty looks. The man grabbed Ciel by his cape, pulling him up to his face.

"Showing up to a place like this, you're asking for it. That's quite a nice dress you have there, young man! A noble, eh?" He sneered. Ciel smacked his hand off of him.

"Pay me consolation money! Strip off everything you have it give it to me!" the man shouted.

"It seems we are caught amongst irritating punks, yet again, master." Sebastian sighed. "Shall I?"

"Dispose of them." Ciel ordered.

"As you wish." Sebastian smirked.

"All of you noblemen are alike! They brought us all the way from India and dumped us off like trash! All you British are selfish!"

The man pulled out a knife and several people began to pull out weapons from their clothes, cheering along with the raged man.

"Because of you guys we've ended up like miserable gutter rats! Our country was walked all over by your shoes! We'll give you a taste of how it feels to be plundered and humiliated!"

"First of all, I have something to ask all of you! If the answer is truthful, I will treat you all to delicious food as a reward!" a voice shouted.

The group blinked in confusion and looked to see who it was. So did Ciel, Cassandra, Lau and Sebastian. There was a young Indian man with dark skin, purple hair up in a ponytail, dressed in rich, exotic robes. There was another man standing behind him with short white hair, wearing robes and a turban and his arm was wrapped in bandages.

"I am looking for a woman. Have you seen anyone who looks like this?" He asked and pulled out a really bad drawing that looked like a child had drawn. The man with the knife, stormed over to him and threatened the Indian noble with it.

"You're in the way you bastard! Get lost!"

"How rude, calling me such impolite names." the noble frowned then glanced over at the group. "Are you guys joining in the fight as well?"

"Hey, don't ignore me!"

The noble's eyes widen a little as he saw Cassandra, staring at her for a long time, lost in a trance. "Such a rare beauty." He murmured then he noticed Sebastian. "A butler? You are British noblemen?"

"So, what if we are?" Ciel asked.

"Then I shall side with the people of my country. Agni, defeat them." the noble ordered. Agni began to unwrap his bandaged hand.

"You're wish is my command. I shall swing this fist blessed by the gods for my master's sake." He lunged at them. Sebastian pushed back Cassandra and grabbed Ciel, pushing him behind him as well, blocking Agni's punches. The demon was surprised as he was pushed back by the man's fierce strength. Then one of the Indian stragglers charged at them as well.

"Don't forget we are here also!"

Sebastian ducked, causing Agni to accidentally punch the man in the face, knocking him down. Sebastian quickly grabbed Ciel, trying to gain some distance. Cassandra backed away from the crowd as they moved closer. She didn't want to hurt them, but they weren't leaving her any choice! One of them swung a bat at her and Cassandra quickly grabbed it and tore it away out of the man's grip. She kicked him back, knocking him into a few others and blocked a knife with the bat as another tried to attack her. Agni chased after Sebastian and began to jab his finger striking Sebastian's arm. Sebastian quickly landed on the ground a few feet away from him, unfazed by the attack.

"I've hit your pressure points many times. Your arm should be paralyzed. How is it that you can still fight?" Agni questioned.

"Why are you helping these guys!? We were just looking for answers and they were the ones who attacked us first!" Cassandra shouted. The Indian noble blinked at her in surprise then turned to the man that Agni had punched, who was starting to wake up, and the rest of the group.

"Hey, is that true? Did you really attack them for no reason?"

"Uh? No reason?"

"That's not right! Picking fights for no reason is childish!" he scolded them. "Our brothers are in the wrong here. We shall help them out!"

Everyone stared at him in disbelief. Agni smiled as he knocked out every single bandit within a couple of seconds, standing on the pile of bodies. "It is done, Prince Soma!"

Soma picked up Ciel's hat and started to walk over to them. "You are not hurt, yes?"

"Er, no." Sebastian spoke. Soma placed Ciel's hat back on his head.

"Kid, this place isn't the kind of place for a kid like yourself to be wondering around in." He spoke then he looked over to Cassandra. "And a beautiful woman such as you, as well."

Cassandra frowned at him. "Who are you?" He smiled.

"My name is Prince Soma. I would like to talk some more but I'm in a middle of a search. Maybe, next time. Goodbye." He and his butler walked away, leaving the three of them confused as they watched them leave.

"Hey, where's Lau?" Cassandra asked. Ciel and Sebastian noticed that he was gone as well until they spotted him on a roof of one of the buildings.

"What exactly are you doing!?" Ciel shouted.

"Just waiting for the right moment to jump in." Lau smiled.

"Well, thanks for nothing!" Cassandra shouted. Lau jumped down, landing beside them.

"Who are those two? They're definitely not from the east end and they wear pretty clothing. And they're English is pretty good too." Lau asked.

"Let's just get these guys to Scotland Yard and call it a day." Cassandra said.

Grell was sulking going through the piles of paperwork that Will had handed over to her. During the week after the Jack the Ripper case was over. The higher ups deemed "human form" as punishment and wasn't able to use any grim reaper powers to help assist with her work. Grell hated feeling like this. She wasn't pretty. She was weak. Grell sulked in her chair as she was going through the piles of paperwork that Will had handed over to her as well as writing a long-written apology.

"Will! How much longer do I have to do this!? I said that I was sorry!" She whined. "I want to see Bassy!"

"Until the board deems you as forgiven. And you shouldn't be associating with demons. Sitting here, slacking off, isn't going to help and don't even think about asking the other reapers to do your work." Will told her, sternly.

"You're so mean, Will! That icy stare turns me on even more!" Grell grinned, wrapping her arms around Will's.

'Honestly, you have no standards, do you." Will rolled his eyes, pushing Grell off of him. Grell fell back roughly into the chair, causing it to fall backwards. Grell ended up smacking the back of her head.

Then Will saw a file with Cassandra's picture that was tucked out slightly on the edge of Grell's desk. Will gave Grell a suspicious look, wondering why he was looking at her file. "What are you doing with this? It's surprising to see you fascinated in something else for once."

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Grell asked, rubbing the back of her head, still feeling it throb, painfully. Grell saw Will point to Cassandra's picture. "Oh, her, she's just some silly human woman. Although, she does have something strange going on with her. No ordinary human can see cinematic records. And she even fought against me, a grim reaper, barely lasted a minute though."

"To think that girl is his daughter. I was surprised to see her for the first time myself when I came to retrieve you. The resemblance is uncanny." Will murmured.

"Eh?" Grell blinked at him confused. Will walked away, leaving Grell still confused.

"Maybe you should catch up on your historic records." the reaper remarked and left. Grell blinked, still confused as she watched him leave. Maybe she can get quickly glance at the records before he noticed that she left. Grell quickly left the room and sneaked past some of the other reapers in the hallway, making it to the record hall. She quickly rummaged through the collections until a name met her gaze. "Gravesfield."

Grell quickly took it and quickly ran back to the room. Good. Will wasn't back yet. She sat down and opened the file, going through it.

Johnathan Gravesfield. Date of Birth: unknown born in Surrey, England. Suicide by-the lettering and pages had faded over time by age, making it harder to read. Grell's eyes widen as she continued going through the file. Grim Reaper Dispatch, Afterlife citizen, #135546. Grell frowned in confusion. Afterlife citizen? What that? And what's with the number? She continued reading. A part of the Technological Advance Research Team. MIA in 1865, whereabouts unknown. Died 1878 in a tragic accident.

Her eyes widen a little seeing a picture of a handsome young man that she couldn't take her eyes off of him. He had short platinum grey hair, wearing a white lab coat over his reaper suit. He had the same green, fluorescent glow that all reapers had. His facial features were completely identical to Cassandra's. Grell looked over Cassandra's file, looking at the date with Jonathan's, comparing them.

Gravesfield...Johnathan. He was Cassandra's father. He went missing before Cassandra was born four years later. Meaning, Cassandra was half human and half grim reaper. Grell slammed her hands on the desk, completely in shock. "Cassandra!?"

Grell yelped as she was whacked on the back of her head by Will's spear.

"What did I tell you about slacking off?"

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junk-jester · 7 months ago

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Oh, boy, do I have a lot of headcanons!

Anne's leaf scrunchie was a birthday gift from Sasha. Likewise, Anne gave Marcy her hairpin and Marcy gave Sasha her bedazzled sunglasses both under similar circumstances.

To cope with nearly dying and being possessed, Marcy gained gained a special interest in horror movies, mostly for the sake of studying practical effects and the behind the scenes process. Yes, she watches the Dead Meat YouTube channel religiously. She also keeps spouting out inside jokes from said channel ("No Bastard Skellies", "Mmmm, drugs", etc.) on a regular basis. It annoys the hell out of everyone and she finds it hilarious.

Marcy is a Twitch streamer and has a remarkably consistent stream schedule. She does a variety of topics, such as showing off work in progress panels from her webcomic, doing commissions, playing games and special "Marcy's Midnight Marathon" streams where she reviews and critics horror films, in line with her prior mentioned special interest.

Marcy's webcomic, in particular, is a sequel to Vagabondia Chronicles. It's gotten so popular that its received its own fangames that Marcy has played and gushed over to no end.

Marcy owns many shirts that have cringe gamer references and lingo on them, even from eras long past she has no proper context for due to being born Millennial/Gen Z (i.e. "Leroy Jenkins" and "All Your Base Are Belong To Us").

While her specialty may be child psychology for her job as a therapist, Sasha does still work with adult patients on occasion.

Sasha has Heterochromia, with a left blue and right brown. Her mom made her constantly wear a blue contact lens in the right eye to make them match, but the contact fell out and was broken when the Herons attacked Toad Tower.

Sasha owns a pet toad named after Grime. It has somehow lived well beyond its natural lifespan.

When not in uniform at work, a majority of Anne's wardrobe consists of Hawaiian shirts with frog patterning and symbols on them.

Anne still owns and occasionally wears the golden chestplate from Amphibia. In spite of the physical growth between 13 and 23 years old, it still miraculously fits.

Anne 100% became a celebrity after Frogvasion. A majority of the paparazzi only died down thanks to intervention from Mr. X, but they still do hassle her on occasion.

Many of Anne's "F-Annes" mainly ask if she still has her powers and if she's a replacement superhero for LA after the mysterious emergence and sudden disappearance of Frog-Man 10 years prior. In response, she always says "No comment".

And last one...

Anne became my girlfriend after she graduated university with her Herpetology degree on her 20th birthday. (✿◡‿◡) /srs /gen

I miss amphibia let's talk about amphibia again

Headcanon that even though Sasha is dogshit at drawing she's really good at tagging and street art

#I will not apologize for that last headcanon under the read more cut. (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)#I will forever remain on my bullshit and no one can stop me.#i may be cringe but i am free.#amphibia #calamity trio #anne boonchuy #amphibia anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #amphibia sasha waybright #marcy wu #amphibia marcy wu #Obligatory selfshipping tags:#><[ SigmaHeart ]<3 (Abitha X Anne)#timeskip #post-canon #self ship #self shipping #f/o #romantic f/o

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sarah-dipitous · 2 years ago

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 103

Midnight

"Midnight"

Plot Description: The Doctor is trapped on planet Midnight, alone, powerless, and terrified

I know I said it last time, but it bears repeating. If I went through what Donna went through last episode, I would also be taking the spa day over the adventure. She has her priorities right

I'm so excited to see Colin Morgan in this episode. He's so fun.

Okay. I know...logically, we can't exactly HAVE music from other planets, but if George Lucas can create a music styling for a cantina scene, why does Midnight have only old Earth songs? Also, why are the only beings here human or approximately human?

This ride would be my hell and that's even before the mysterious alien reveals its presence. It's a sensory NIGHTMARE

Now...now I'm not sure which is worse. The sensory nightmare of the entertainment system the Doctor just put out of commission OR having to spend the next four hours doing small talk with strangers

Oh, but they do get along so well. Til the vehicle breaks down. In the middle of no where!

Fuck. The panic sets in SO. QUICKLY. and...sadly, so realistically.

The...the repetition starting with the three knocks. I...it's so fucking creepy.

Why IS it after her? Is it just because she's the loudest in the group?

ROSE!!

I know it's because he's a teenager but Jethro is SUCH a teenager, making the alien repeat things like "666"

Oh...oh no...no...no I hate this part. She's gonna start talking quicker than him soon enough.

Dee Dee, no

It's a good speech, Doctor. It's just not good enough.

AND THERE IT IS. THE MOMENT SHE SPEAKS FIRST AND IT PROGRESSES SO FUCKING QUICKLY. IT'S TERRIFYING

Loooooook, I know the Doctor is out of commission right now but that doesn't mean any of you know what the fuck is going on. This is a life form you have claimed can't POSSIBLY EXIST because there's NO LIFE on Midnight. AND YET. So while Dee Dee's hypothesis is unpopular, it doesn't mean it's wrong. And why are you all pretending to be experts in this all of a sudden? And then also asking Jethro??

I think the scariest part is that it possibly? likely? learned murder through the fact that this group was a-okay with tossing Skye out into Midnight's elements. What would have happened if it had been treated with kindness instead of fear?

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

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treesofgreen · 2 years ago

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Stede saying "I forgive you" to Mary is truly breathtaking in its audacity and worthy of an earhole skewering, but I need to scream about a more subtle but equally shocking moment for me: Stede expressing surprise that Mary had him declared dead and getting a little hurt and huffy about it.

Stede, my beloved, what did you think she would do? In the eyes of the law and the church Mary is your property. "Her" land became yours when you married. It's very unlikely, with the way we see Mary trying to do what's expected of her, that she would even know what the finances entailed (or what they were being spent on), let alone have any kind of true access or control over them. She likely had an allowance!

He left in the middle of the night and had been planning (at least consciously) of taking his family with him, so I don't think he had anything set up for her. Best case scenario maybe he left a letter with his lawyer as well, giving her full access to and control over the wealth in his absence. Maybe he didn't think about it at all.

I'd wonder if he expected Mary to make up a story (travelling for business perhaps) but for how long? How long until there were holes in it, until people talked, until word spread he'd commissioned a boat and sailed off in the night? What, in that time and place, would that say about Mary? I can't imagine the gossip and rumours that would abound.

And again I am screaming because Stede LEFT and yet he still expects Mary to be his wife and legally bound to him at a point in the story when he has no intention of ever going back! The level of entitlement is off the charts.

With him dead she would have as much freedom (of any sort) as was possible for her, and full control over the finances (as she gets in 1x10 with his "death" when he leaves her everything). Her reputation would be mostly intact, depending on the picture of his death she's able to paint. She would have community and support instead of whispers and scorn. Her life would be immeasurably better in every way and none of this even occured to him and he acts like the injured party.

I love Stede but oh my god.

Tangentially, I really want to know what fuckery Mary managed to pull off to have him declared dead so quickly. Maybe Evelyn heard about the midnight boat flight through the grapevine, sought Mary out and said you know what would make this easier? I know a Navy officer that'll swear before a judge that he saw your husband's ship and your husband being devoured by sharks.

#our flag means death #ofmd #stede bonnet #mary bonnet #evelyn higgins

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paimon-rambles · 4 years ago

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Midnight Snuggles

Characters: Diluc, Childe, Zhongli

I really like this❤❤ I also did a blurb at the end of each one. I hope you like them <3

Diluc

Look at that soft man

You just returned from doing your commissions for the adventures guild. Saying you were tired would be an understatement

You are on the verge on collapsing from exhaustion. You scurried your way to your shared bedroom with your boyfriend, Diluc

The redhead was sound asleep. Resting peacefully in the cozy fabrics of the blanket

You were feeling Snuggly and decided to wiggle your way into your boyfriend's arms

Now you can be incredibly careful in attempts to not wake him up but Diluc is a light sleeper, in a few moments he was awake and alert. If you succeed in not walking him up, in the morning Diluc is gonna surpise and apologize for not waiting for you to return first.

If you wake him however once he realizes it's his lover just trying to get comfy in his arms, Diluc's muscles relaxed and he m e l t e d in your arms

His face is pressed against the crown of your head. His arms are gently wrapped around your waist attempting to pull you closer

Even though he did end up waking, it wasn't long until the both of you fell into a deep slumber.

Diluc felt his muscles stiffen, an unknown figure shuffling beside him. The redhead peaked his eyes trying to catch a glance of said figure. However the moment his crimson eyes landed on his lover, Diluc's shoulder started to relax again. Almost by reflex, his arms reached out to wrap around the waist of his s/o. He felt his s/o snuggle against him, feeling their fingers comb through his messy red hair. Carefully Diluc tilted his head downward, pressing his lips against the crown of their head. A few minutes passed by and his lover was already asleep. Leaning against them the redhead shut his eyes, resting his head on top of his lovers. It wasn't long until Master Diluc fell back asleep.

Childe

Its tend to be the other way around. Childe arrives home late and your already fast asleep within the covers of your shared bed

And he tries to wiggle his way into your arms to snuggle without waking you up

Oh how the tables have T U R N-

Taking care of your tasks took more time than preferred. It was drawing closer to midnight and you just returned to your shared apartment and after carrying out your nightly routine you headed over to your shared bedroom

Your loving boyfriend is already fast asleep and you sneaked over, trying to sneak undercovers

Childe can be a bit of deep sleeper. If you manage to not wake him up he's gonna make a slight tease of it in the morning.

However if you shuffle around enough, you'll catch his blue orbs starring at you drowsy and alerted for danger.

He makes a few comments about you being clingy while his actions act against him, his arms are pulling you closer to his chest

Once he has his arms around your waist, your not gonna be able to break out of his hold until morning

Childe jerked awake as something jabbed at his side. His eyes flickered open trying to adjust to the dark setting. His drowsy eyes landed on the familiar figure of his lover. Childe shifted a bit to where he's sitting up and facing his lover, who just got under the covers, their arms wrapping around the Fatui. " So clingy, you had to wake me." He whispered jokingly. His arms were already around his lover's waist, pulling them closer to snuggle with. Engulfing his s/o into a firm yet comforting hug, Childe rested his head beside his s/o cherishing the rare moments of peace together.

Zhongli

Similar to Childe it tends to be the other way around. Your already asleep as he arrives home from working at the funeral parlor.

However he finished a bit early and you were taking a bit longer to finish commissions along with other tasks.

Usually he waits for his partner to return before going to bed however it was incredibly late and so Zhongli decided to go to bed a bit early

It's almost midnight and you have just step foot into your home. Carefully you prepared to get a good night's rest. Heading over to your shared bed, you carefully wiggled your way into your boyfriend's arms.

If you manage not wake Zhongli in the process. In the morning hes gonna be a bit surprised but ultimately snuggles for a bit longer before preparing some tea for you.

If you do wake rock man he's more worried than anything. Dispite just waking up hes gonna ask you if you need anything

Truly a gentleman

After assessing your necessities, you two snuggle together to go back to sleep. He has a gentle grasp around his s/o, his head is very gentle resting against there's.

It'd take him a bit to fall asleep again but until he does, he enjoys the presence of his partner snuggling up besides him.

Zhongli's eyes open to something moving beside him. Opening his eyes he caught his s/o trying to wiggle their way into bed and by looks of it without waking up the adepti. Of course, they failed to carry out that last task but they were eager to snuggle. " Do you need anything? Perhaps some tea to help you sleep, dear?" His partner shook their head in response. Their only concern was curling up and getting some rest with their boyfriend. Zhongli gave them a soft smile, his arms gently going around their waist preparing to fall asleep once again.

#genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin diluc x reader #diluc x reader #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin childe x reader #genshin childe #childe x reader #genshin zhongli #genshin zhongli x reader #zhongli x reader

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deathsmallcaps · 2 years ago

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My 43rd Win A Commission was The Last Unicorn! Coincidentally, the movie turned 40 on November 3rd! Wow. Anyways, if you’d like to see my drawings next to the relevant text, please

The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of seafoam, but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes were still clear and unwearied, and she still moved like a shadow on the sea. She did not look anything like a horned horse, as unicorns are often pictured, being smaller and cloven-hoofed, and possessing that oldest, wildest grace that horses have never had, that deer have only in a shy, thin imitation and goats in dancing mockery. Her neck was long and slender, making her head seem smaller than it was, and the mane that fell almost to the middle of her back was as soft as dandelion fluff and as fine as cirrus. She had pointed ears and thin legs, with feathers of white hair at the ankles; and the long horn above her eyes shone and shivered with its own seashell light even in the deepest midnight. She had killed dragons with it, and healed a king whose poisoned wound would not close, and knocked down ripe chestnuts for bear cubs.

Unicorns are immortal. It is their nature to live alone in one place: usually a forest where there is a pool clear enough for them to see themselves for they are a little vain, knowing themselves to be the most beautiful creatures in all the world, and magic besides. They mate very rarely, and no place is more enchanted than one where a unicorn has been born. The last time she had seen another unicorn the young virgins who still came seeking her now and then had called to her in a different tongue; but then, she had no idea of months and years and centuries, or even of seasons. It was always spring in her forest, because she lived there, and she wandered all day among the great beech trees, keeping watch over the animals that lived in the ground and under bushes, in nests and caves, earths and treetops. Generation after generation, wolves and rabbits alike, they hunted and loved and had children and died, and as the unicorn did none of these things, she never grew tired of watching them.

One day it happened that two men with long bows rode through her forest, hunting for deer. The unicorn followed them, moving so warily that not even the horses knew she was near. The sight of men filled her with an old, slow, strange mixture of tenderness and terror. She never let one see her if she could help it, but she liked to watch them ride by and hear them talking.

"I mislike the feel of this forest," the elder of the two hunters grumbled. "Creatures that live in a unicorn's wood learn a little magic of their own in time, mainly concerned with disappearing. We'll find no game here."

"Unicorns are long gone," the second man said. "If, indeed, they ever were. This is a forest like any other."

"Then why do the leaves never fall here, or the snow? I tell you, there is one unicorn left in the world. Good luck to the lonely old thing, I say and as long as it lives in this forest, there won't be a hunter takes so much as a titmouse home at his saddle. Ride on, ride on, you'll see. I know their ways, unicorns."

"From books," answered the other. "Only from books and tales and songs. Not in the reign of three kings has there been even a whisper of a unicorn seen in this country or any other. You know no more about unicorns than I do, for I've read the same books and heard the same stories, and I've never seen one either."

The first hunter was silent for a time, and the second whistled sourly to himself. Then the first said, "My great-grandmother saw a unicorn once. She used to tell me about it when I was little."

"Oh, indeed? And did she capture it with a golden bridle?"

"No. She didn't have one. You don't have to have a golden bridle to catch a unicorn; that part's the fairy tale. You need only to be pure of heart."

"Yes, yes." The younger man chuckled. "Did she ride her unicorn, then? Bareback, under the trees, like a nymph in the early days of the world?"

"My great-grandmother was afraid of large animals," said the first hunter. "She didn't ride it, but she sat very still, and the unicorn put its head in her lap and fell asleep. My great-grandmother never moved till it woke."

"What did it look like? Pliny describes the unicorn as being very ferocious, similar in the rest of its body to a horse, with the head of a deer, the feet of an elephant, the tail of a bear; a deep, bellowing voice, and a single black horn, two cubits in length. And the Chinese-"

"My great-grandmother said only that the unicorn had a good smell. She never could abide the smell of any beast, even a cat or a cow, let alone a wild thing. But she loved the smell of the unicorn. She began to cry once, telling me about it. Of course, she was a very old woman then, and cried at anything that reminded her of her youth."

"Let's turn around and hunt somewhere else," the second hunter said abruptly. The unicorn stepped softly into a thicket as they turned their horses, and took up the trail only when they were well ahead of her once more. The men rode in silence until they were nearing the edge of the forest, when the second hunter asked quietly, "Why did they go away, do you think? If there ever were such things."

"Who knows? Times change. Would you call this age a good one for unicorns?"

"No, but I wonder if any man before us ever thought his time a good time for unicorns. And it seems to me now that I have heard stories but I was sleepy with wine, or I was thinking of something else. Well, no matter. There's light enough yet to hunt, if we hurry. Come!"

They broke out of the woods, kicked their horses to a gallop, and dashed away. But before they were out of sight, the first hunter looked back over his shoulder and called, just as though he could see the unicorn standing in shadow, "Stay where you are, poor beast. This is no world for you. Stay in your forest, and keep your trees green and your friends long-lived. Pay no mind to young girls, for they never become anything more than silly old women. And good luck to you."

The unicorn stood still at the edge of the forest and said aloud, "I am the only unicorn there is." They were the first words she had spoken, even to herself, in more than a hundred years.

That can't be, she thought. She had never minded being alone, never seeing another unicorn, because she had always known that there were others like her in the world, and a unicorn needs no more than that for company.

"But I would know if all the others were gone. I'd be gone too. Nothing can happen to them that does not happen to me."

Her own voice frightened her and made her want to be running. She moved along the dark paths of her forest, swift and shining, passing through sudden clearings unbearably brilliant with grass or soft with shadow, aware of everything around her, from the weeds that brushed her ankles to insect-quick flickers of blue and silver as the wind lifted the leaves. "Oh, I could never leave this, I never could, not if I really were the only unicorn in the world. I know how to live here, I know how everything smells, and tastes, and is. What could I ever search for in the world, except this again?"

But when she stopped running at last and stood still, listening to crows and a quarrel of squirrels over her head, she wondered, But suppose they are riding together, somewhere far away? What if they are hiding and waiting for me?

From that first moment of doubt, there was no peace for her; from the time she first imagined leaving her forest, she could not stand in one place without wanting to be somewhere else. She trotted up and down beside her pool, restless and unhappy. Unicorns are not meant to make choices. She said no, and yes, and no Dec again, day and night, and for the first time she began to feel the minutes crawling over her like worms. "I will not go. Because men have seen no unicorns for a while does not mean they have all vanished. Even if it were true, I would not go. I live here."

But at last she woke up in the middle of one warm night and said, "Yes, but now." She hurried through her forest, trying to look at nothing and smell nothing, trying not to feel her earth under her cloven hoofs. The animals who move in the dark, the owls and the foxes and the deer, raised their heads as she passed by, but she would not look at them. I must go quickly, she thought, and come back as soon as I can. Maybe I won't have to go very far. But whether I find the others or not, I will come back very soon, as soon as I can. Under the moon, the road that ran from the edge of her forest gleamed like water, but when she stepped out onto it, away from the trees, she felt how hard it was, and how long. She almost turned back then; but instead she took a deep breath of the woods air that still drifted to her, and held it in her mouth like a flower, as long as she could.

The long road hurried to nowhere and had no end. It ran through villages and small towns, flat country and mountains, stony barrens and meadows springing out of stones, but it belonged to none of these, and it never rested anywhere. It rushed the unicorn along, tugging at her feet like the tide, fretting at her, never letting her be quiet and listen to the air, as she was used to do. Her eyes were always full of dust, and her mane was stiff and heavy with dirt.

Time had always passed her by in her forest, but now it was she who passed through time as she traveled. The colors of the trees changed, and the animals along the way grew heavy coats and lost them again; the clouds crept or hurried before the changing winds, and were pink and gold in the sun or livid with storm. Wherever she went, she searched for her people, but she found no trace of them, and in all the tongues she heard spoken along the road there was not even a word for them any more.

Early one morning, about to turn off the road to sleep, she saw a man hoeing in his garden. Knowing that she should hide, she stood still instead and watched him work, until he straightened and saw her. He was fat, and his cheeks jumped with every step he took. "Oh," he said. "Oh, you're beautiful." When he tugged off his belt, made a loop in it, and moved clumsily toward her, the unicorn was more pleased than frightened. The man knew what she was, and what he himself was for: to hoe turnips and pursue something that shone and could run faster than he could. She sidestepped his first lunge as lightly as though the wind of it had blown her out of his reach.

"I have been hunted with bells and banners in my time," she told him. "Men knew that the only way to hunt me was to make the chase so wondrous that I would come near to see it. And even so I was never once captured." "My foot must have slipped," said the man. "Steady now, you pretty thing."

"I've never really understood," the unicorn mused as the man picked himself up, "what you dream of doing with me, once you've caught me." The man leaped again, and she slipped away from him like rain. "I don't think you know yourselves," she said.

"Ah, steady, steady, easy now." The man's sweating face was striped with dirt, and he could hardly get his breath. "Pretty," he gasped. "You pretty little mare."

"Mare?" The unicorn trumpeted the word so shrilly that the man stopped pursuing her and clapped his hands to his ears. "Mare?" she demanded. "I, a horse? Is that what you take me for? Is that what you see?"

"Good horse," the fat man panted. He leaned on the fence and wiped his face. "Curry you up, clean you off, you'll be the prettiest old mare anywhere." He reached out with the belt again. "Take you to the fair," he said. "Come on, horse."

"A horse," the unicorn said. "That's what you were trying to capture. A white mare with her mane full of burrs." As the man approached her, she hooked her horn through the belt, jerked it out of his grasp, and hurled it across the road into a patch of daisies. "A horse, am I?" she snorted. "A horse, indeed!"

For a moment the man was very close to her, and her great eyes stared into his own, which were small and tired and amazed. Then she turned and fled up the road, running so swiftly that those who saw her exclaimed, "Now there's a horse! There's a real horse!" One old man said quietly to his wife, "That's an Ayrab horse. I was on a ship with an Ayrab horse once."

From that time the unicorn avoided towns, even at night, unless there was no way at all

to go around them. Even so, there were a few men who gave chase, but always to a wandering white mare; never in the gay and reverent manner proper to the pursuit of a unicorn. They came with ropes and nets and baits of sugar lumps, and they whistled and called her Bess and Nellie. Sometimes she would slow down enough to let their horses catch her scent, and then watch as the beasts reared and wheeled and ran away with their terrified riders. The horses always knew her.

"How can it be?" she wondered. "I suppose I could understand it if men had simply forgotten unicorns, or if they had changed so that they hated all unicorns now and tried to kill them when they saw them. But not to see them at all, to look at them and see something else what do they look like to one another, then? What do trees look like to them, or houses, or real horses, or their own children?"

Sometimes she thought, "If men no longer know what they are looking at, there may well be unicorns in the world yet, unknown and glad of it." But she knew beyond both hope and vanity that men had changed, and the world with them, because the unicorns were gone. Yet she went on along the hard road, although each day she wished a little more that she had never left her Forest.

Then one afternoon the butterfly wobbled out of a breeze and lit on the tip of her horn. He was velvet all over, dark and dusty, with golden spots on his wings, and he was as thin as a flower petal. Dancing along her horn, he saluted her with his curling feelers. "I am a roving gambler. How do you do?"

The unicorn laughed for the first time in her travels. "Butterfly, what are you doing out on such a windy day?" she asked him. "You'll take cold and die long before your time."

"Death takes what man would keep," said the butterfly, "and leaves what man would lose. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks. I warm my hands before the fire of life and get four-way relief." He glimmered like a scrap of owllight on her horn.

"Do you know what I am, butterfly?" the unicorn asked hopefully, and he replied, "Excellent well, you're a fishmonger. You're my everything, you are my sunshine, you are old and gray and full of sleep, you're my pickle-face, consumptive Mary Jane." He paused, fluttering his wings against the wind, and added conversationally, "Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name."

"Say my name, then," the unicorn begged him. "If you know my name, tell it to me."

"Rumpelstiltskin," the butterfly answered happily. "Gotcha! You don't get no medal." He jigged and twinkled on her horn, singing, "Won't you come home, Bill Bailey, won't you come home, where once he could not go. Buckle down, Winsocki, go and catch a falling star. Clay lies still, but blood's a rover, so I should be called kill-devil all the parish over." His eyes were gleaming scarlet in the glow of the unicorn's horn.

She sighed and plodded on, both amused and disappointed. It serves you right, she told herself. You know better than to expect a butterfly to know your name. All they know are songs and poetry, and anything else they hear. They mean well, but they can't keep things straight. And why should they? They die so soon.

The butterfly swaggered before her eyes, singing, "One, two, three o'lairy," as he whirled; chanting, "Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, look down that lonesome road. For, oh, what damned minutes tells he o'er who dotes, yet doubts. Hasten, Mirth, and bring with thee a host of furious fancies whereof I am commander, which will be on sale for three days only at bargain summer prices. I love you, I love you, oh, the horror, the horror, and aroint thee, witch, aroint thee, indeed and truly you've chosen a bad place to be lame in, willow, willow, willow." His voice tinkled in the unicorn's head like silver money falling.

He traveled with her for the rest of the waning day, but when the sun went down and the sky was full of rosy fish, he flew off her horn and hovered in the air before her. "I must take the A train," he said politely. Against the clouds she could see that his velvet wings were ribbed with delicate black veins.

"Farewell," she said. "I hope you hear many more songs" which was the best way she could think of to say good-by to a butterfly. But instead of leaving her, he fluttered above her head, looking suddenly less dashing and a little nervous in the blue evening air. "Fly away," she urged him. "It's too cold for you to be out."

But the butterfly still dallied, humming to himself. "They ride that horse you call the Macedonai," he intoned absentmindedly; and then, very clearly, "Unicorn. Old French, unicorne. Latin, unicornis. Literally, one-horned: unus, one, and cornu, a horn. A fabulous animal resembling a horse with one horn. Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold and the mate of the Nancy brig. Has anybody here seen Kelly?" He strutted joyously in the air, and the first fireflies blinked around him in wonder and grave doubt.

The unicorn was so startled and so happy to hear her name spoken at last that she overlooked the remark about the horse. "Oh, you do know me!" she cried, and the breath of her delight blew the butterfly twenty feet away. When he came scrambling back to her, she pleaded, "Butterfly, if you really know who I am, tell me if you have ever seen anyone like me, tell me which way I must go to find them. Where have they gone?"

"Butterfly, butterfly, where shall I hide?" he sang in the fading light. "The sweet and bitter fool will presently appear. Christ, that my love were in my arms, and I in my bed again." He rested on the unicorn's horn once more, and she could feel him trembling.

"Please," she said. "All I want to know is that there are other unicorns somewhere in the world. Butterfly, tell me that there are still others like me, and I will believe you and go home to my forest. I have been away so long, and I said that I would come back soon."

"Over the mountains of the moon," the butterfly began, "down the Valley of the Shadow, ride, boldly ride." Then he stopped suddenly and said in a strange voice, "No, no, listen, don't listen to me, listen. You can find your people if you are brave. They passed down all the roads long ago, and the Red Bull ran close behind them and covered their footprints. Let nothing you dismay, but don't be half-safe." His wings brushed against the unicorn's skin.

"The Red Bull?" she asked. "What is the Red Bull?"

The butterfly started to sing. "Follow me down. Follow me down. Follow me down. Follow me down." But then he shook his head wildly and recited, "His firstling bull has majesty, and his horns are the horns of a wild ox. With them he shall push the peoples, all of them, to the ends of the earth. Listen, listen, listen quickly."

"I am listening," the unicorn cried. "Where are my people, and what is the Red Bull?"

But the butterfly swooped close to her ear, laughing. "I have nightmares about crawling around on the ground," he sang. "The little dogs, Tray, Blanche, Sue, they bark at me, the little snakes, they hiss at me, the beggars are coming to town. Then at last come the clams."

For a moment more he danced in the dusk before her; then he shivered away into the violet shadows by the roadside, chanting defiantly, "It's you or me, moth! Hand to hand to hand to hand to hand" The last the unicorn saw of him was a tiny skittering between the trees, and her eyes might have deceived her, for the night was full of wings now.

At least he did recognize me, she thought sadly. That means something. But she answered herself, No, that means nothing at all, except that somebody once made up a song about unicorns, or a poem. But the Red Bull. What could he have meant by that? Another song, I suppose. She walked on slowly, and the night drew close about her. The sky was low and almost pure black, save for one spot of yellowing silver where the moon paced behind the thick clouds. The unicorn sang softly to herself, a song she had heard a young girl singing in her forest long ago.

The unicorn plodding along, down-trodden head down, in the moonlight.

"Sparrows and cats will live in my shoe,

Sooner than I will live with you.

Fish will come walking out of the sea,

Sooner than you will come back to me."

She did not understand the words, but the song made her think longingly of her home. It seemed to her that she had heard autumn beginning to shake the beech trees the very moment that she stepped out into the road.

Art Explanation

Okay, so I adore the original animation - I love the character designs and the special effects. But what really got to me were the sets. I adore painted sets in cartoons, especially the aesthetic panorama shots. (And hey, your Mom and Aunt probably saw this in theatres! Ask them.)

Now, as you may have noticed, I’m trying to put my own little style into these drawings. All the characters are inspired by previous media, but are not directly copied from them. However,this has mostly applied to clothing and character’s bodies. I enjoy figure drawing, and dislike drawing objects/a background, so I avoid it most of the time. And so I stuck to those guidelines throughout this story. Except for the last picture.

I hate drawing horses. They’re beautiful animals, but once you truly consider their shape and movement, they look so odd! So, I decided to depart from the whole ‘unicorns look like horses’ mindset. I love that kind, sure, but I enjoyed both the movie animated version, the book’s description and the really old tapestries of unicorns. As a result, my unicorn ended up looking a little feral - and I love it! I really tried to play up unusual features that I’ve rarely/never seen on a unicorn, by giving her overly long ears, visible horizontal pupils (like goats!), and a pony mane. Ponies have funny, fuzzy, overly dense manes, and I love it so much. My neighbors once fostered an almost-mini mare, named Jellybean, and she was full of personality! I say my unicorn does vaguely resemble a horse, but if you got a good look at her (even minus the horn, lion tail and cloven hooves) you can tell she isn’t really a horse.

The first picture, the title, I basically just did word art. My favorite song from the movie (it’s not a musical, it just has a very distinct and well-displayed soundtrack) is Man’s Road, by America. But considering that the title of the book is also the title of the first song (also by America), I chose that instead. The reading order may be a little wonky, but all the lyrics are there! I kept on messing up with the spacing/lyrics, so I kept having to cover up the mistakes with little slips of paper and then erasing the shadows when I took a picture! Lol.

The second picture, with the Unicorn running, was difficult but fun. I just kept telling myself that I was actually drawing a goat, not a horse, and that lowered my anxiety and annoyance about it a little! I drew her running because she’s an upset herbivore, and that’s kind of their thing. Even though I hated the extra time it took, I’m glad I drew the tree and the owl. It makes Unicorn seem a little less lonely. I drew a basic form for each of them, because frankly the book isn’t super consistent about its time and place. It mostly has medieval themes, but then one character makes burritos for dinner later in the story. So, basic owl and tree.

The unicorn rearing as picture number 3 wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been. In one of your cousin’s last stories (The Man From Snowy River), I had also drawn a horse rearing, so I had recent practice. Still, not a fun animal to draw XD. I realize I put myself in this mess but still. I only have tops three horses to draw from this project, so I’m looking forward to being done with it! THe part I enjoyed most about this drawing was the hair on her hooves and her tail. I really want to make it clear that this unicorn is very fluffy, like a dandelion. Although her look of disdain came out pretty well! Also, this is just my personal interpretation but I think the daisies ar ewhite with yellow centers. But if you like the other type, go right ahead!

The fourth picture, with the butterfly on the horn, was fun and easy. It was kind of like my ‘break’ picture. All I had to do was make the line of separation going around the horn spaced smaller and smaller as time went on. Like the other animals in this story, I also made the butterfly relatively unidentifiable; while many have an outline around the edge of their wings and eye-like spots on them, I did not specifically copy any butterfly. It all was supposed to be a thin and easy picture to integrate into the text, but I decided to make things hard on myself lol. But back to the unicorn horn. As I was writing this, I realized that since the line on a unicorn’s horn is a spiral, it ought to match up with the Fibonacci sequence (more on that in the next paragraph). Since unicorn horns were based on the narwhal tusks that wash up on a beach occasionally, just like how dinosaur skeletons inspired dragons, I looked up narwhal tusks. As far as I could find, there is no direct information on whether narwhal tusks match up with the sequence - but apparently elephant tusks and ram horns match up, so I think that’s a good sign. As such, narwhals probably have spirals on their tusks that correspond with the sequence, and so do unicorns. That being said, I, uhhhh, didn’t think of that while drawing it. So don’t use my unicorn horn as a reference lol.

Now, the Fibonacci sequence is a series of proportions found in much of nature - usually only an extremely mutated individual doesn’t match up with the sequence. Anything that has a spiral, or even a curve, often lines up with the numbers. Now, look at this shell cut in half - it has a very pretty spiral, right? Start at zero, and then measure the very innermost section,and call it one unit. The next section will be the same size. But the next would be twice that size. Then three units big. Then five units. Then eight. And so on and on. Each section would be bigger than the other, in that exact sequence. All over the world, you can find this sequence - even in art! A lot of Islamic art, which is often based on geometric patterns, showcases the sequence, as does some Renaissance art later on, and many people even use it today. One of the other fun things about the fibonacci sequence is that its an adding game! Look at the first seven numbers {0,1,1,2,3,5,8 …}, like I mentioned above. If you add two numbers together, they equal the next number. 0+1=1, 1+1=2, 1+2=3, 2+3=5, 3+5=8, 5+8=13, an infinity.

Well, back to the less tangential unicorn pictures! Number five, which is the picture of the Red Bull chasing a different (older) unicorn, is also something I decided to only base it partly on the original movie art. The movie’s bull kind of looked like a pig? It was something about the beady eyes, wrinkly face and the comparatively stubby legs. Also, cows don’t have front teeth on the top half of their mouths. So along with making the red bull more fire related (I loved putting the small blaze between his horns) I tried to make him look like a Jersey steer I know, but angry and toothy. I haven’t drawn a cow in a very long time (I used to draw a ton of animals, but I draw mostly people now lol), so while I think he still looks very recognizably like a cattle, he also looks a little … different. Last week my roommate and I were talking about the old Ice Age movies that came out when we were kids (they’re good, just remember to not be a butt about how the CGI has aged.), and upon consideration, I realized he kind of looks like the platybelodons from those movies. They’re no longer accurate representations, and somehow less scary looking than the accurate versions lol. But it’s just a happy (?) coincidence.

Last picture is the Unicorn walking off into the distance. I really wanted to capture the absolutely beautiful backgrounds and painted sets Rankin-Bass used, so I attempted a sketch of a background. I chose a somewhat easy one, and became super-involved with it. I really like how it turned out! Unfortunately, I had forgotten one thing - the Unicorn! So unfortunately, since I had to draw her on a separate paper and then cut her out, I had to draw her somewhat big and she ended up blocking part of the scene. Oh well. So I’ve included the original below :).

I really hope you enjoyed this and decide to check this book out! It’s an oldie but a goodie :D.

Colored in versions of the cool scenery.

Edit 23 April 2024: I made an additional drawing due to a WAC winner request! So totally sweet. You can check it out here! It’s from a later part of the book.

#the last unicorn #peter s beagle #Peter s. beagle #rankin bass #American literature #American film #German film #Japanese film #America the band #America #Mia farrow #wac

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nemeseos-noctua · 4 years ago

Note

THIS IS FOR AETHER AND ALBEDO PLS--

May I request for a shy S/O that wants to kiss a certain area (For Aether: his tummy, For Albedo: the spark on his neck) they're just oddly attracted to it and wanna bury their nose against it I'msosorryifthisisweirdaha :"D

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: aether, albedo (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: albedo and aether might be a little ooc? does aether even have a character? also not proofread (is that even a surprise anymore)

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: once again written at 12am! 12am is writing time yall idk what to tell u

he honestly won’t notice at first... and he won’t notice until you tell him

i mean, don’t get me wrong— he’s definitely aware of the way your [e/c] eyes trail down to his stomach... and he’s definitely going to blush and look away when you do

but still! okay! he thinks you’re just, err, looking! not like, you wanted to kiss him! or anything! nope! not at all!

(aether is such a child pls why is he like this just KISS)

“Oh, [Y/N]! Paimon and I were looking for y—“ Aether tilted his head, confused as to why your eyes were avoiding him like the plague.

“... [Y/N]?” Aether repeated once more, waving his gloved hands in front of you as you cleared your throat.

“Ah, Aether! Yes, did you need anything?” You responded, still looking away from the Traveler as he raised his eyebrows.

shuffling to the side so he can stare at you fully, you kept craning your head away from him no matter how much he moved into your sight

cupping his gloved hands over your cheek, aether tilted your head to gaze into his golden orbs, its hues flickering with confusion as paimon’s barfing noises could be heard behind the blonde

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to do my commissions with me... but is something wrong?” He asked, completely oblivious to the way you struggled to not stare at the skin below his croptop... was Aether always this fine?

“Nope! Nothing at all!” You tapped the side of your thigh anxiously, waiting for Aether to let go of you— which he cautiously did.

“Okay... but if something’s wrong, be sure to tell me, okay?” Aether spoke softly, his worry sending your heart aflame as you stiffly nodded.

you felt so bad for staring at aether (even though he was your man) but PLEASE did he have to be this fine?!

you. you can literally see his abs. like. the outline. like. like, like—

anyways!

after the two of you completed your commissions and checked in for the night, you waited until paimon left to eat everything at good hunter to confess your embarrassment to aether

look. if you were gonna stare, you were at least going to make aether aware of such beliefs... because, it was kind of embarrassing otherwise

“Ah, Aether...” You looked away, edging slowly to your side of the tent as the blonde merely hummed, staring up at the roof of the tent.

“Yes?”

“Sorry.”

“Huh? For what?” The Traveler turned over to you, gazing at you in confusion as you fiddled nervously with your fingers.

“Ah... uh, for staring at you.”

Stifling a laugh, Aether merely gazed at you and all of your adorable-ness. Why were you apologizing? You were literally his s/o!

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean anything of harm,” The male reassured you, a comforting smile painting his features as your mind blared the most embarrassing thought ever.

I want to kiss you. You thought.

“You can.”

“What?” You yelped, eyes wide as Aether avoided your gaze, his cheeks dusting with a blush so soft he looked like a calla lily under the dim moonlight.

“No, wait! I mean—” Covering your face with your hands, both Aether and you were short-circuiting.

if you really want to kiss his stomach, you’re going to have to tell him... cuz aether ain’t the brightest when it comes to romance cues!

you wanna kiss him? sure! you wanna kiss his stomach? su—wait what?

“... i wanna kiss your, eh... stomach,” you manage to stifle out before faceplanting into the floor of the tent. why? why?! NANDE NANDE NANDE NANDE— (jk lol)

aether was silent. i mean, not that that’s new or anything, but you could hear crickets

“i... okay!” aether sat up, his face exploding a bright red it matched the fire outside

“no! aether! you don’t have to—“

pulling you into his chest, aether looked away from you, closing his eyes as if all of his embarrassment would go away

“Eh?! What the heck is going on here?!” Paimon whisper-screamed, stumbling into the tent— only to see the sight of you and Aether’s limbs tangled together, your head resting atop the blonde’s toned stomach.

“Blegh!!” The mascot rushed out of the tent, vomiting at the sight of her companion being all lovey-dovey.

Disgusting!

he’d notice you staring at his neck pretty quickly

he’s very perceptive, thanks to his alchemy and him having to observe the tiniest of elemental reactions—you staring at the star on his skin is no biggie

in all honesty, he’d find amusement in teasing you about how obvious you’re being. like, oh? you want to kiss his neck? why don’t you tell him so?

BUT HE MEANS IT ALL LOVINGLY!

it’s okay. just kiss him fr and he’ll shut up 🙄🙄

“Is something the matter, [Y/N]?” Albedo quipped smugly, watching your eyes avoid his as you fiddled nervously with the pencil on your table.

“Nothing.”

“Hmm... is that so?”

Finding amusement in your hesitance, Albedo resumed his studies. The hour hand of the clock seemed to move quickly—too quickly for the alchemist to comprehend. He swore the sun rose just two hours ago! What did the clock mean it was midnight?!

Sighing for the nth time, Albedo pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the letters that scattered the pages, your figure moving like a candlelight in the peripherals of his vision.

Tugging at the hem of his coat, the alchemist turned towards you in an uncharacteristic confusion. Albedo was so used to knowing the ins and outs of everything he laid his eyes upon—it was a part of being an alchemist— but when it came to you, it seemed as though you were some kind of unreadable book that’d take years to translate.

But perhaps, that was your charm.

“albedo needs some sleep” you thought, getting up to usher him to bed

knowing he would decline your invitation, you mustered up the courage to do the unthinkable:

kiss his neck.

“You need some rest, Albedo,” You hummed, resting your chin on his shoulder as the alchemist swore he melted. If it were under any circumstance (if he wasn’t experimenting), he would’ve obliged in a heartbeat. But right now, he was busy! He was about to make a scientific breakthrough and—

The “I can’t,” that was about to slip from his tongue was quickly swallowed back down.

His teal eyes widened once your lips came into contact with the star on his neck, his adam’s apple hanging right above the galactic pattern as his face exploded in a red cascade of blush.

“Okay, I’ll go to bed first,” You shuffled to the bedroom, your footsteps clumsy from the way your mind fogged over with embarrassment, joy, content, and anxiousness.

Covering his nose and mouth with the back of his arm, Albedo straightened up—still suffering from a severe case of love.

Agh—why did you have to do this to him?

Resting his elbows on the table before him, the alchemist stared blankly at the wooden material, the redness on his face never leaving.

Just how was he going to experiment now?

— constellations!

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #genshin albedo #genshin aether #albedo x reader #aether x reader #albedo scenarios #albedo imagines #albedo #aether #constellarations

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dragonmuse · 2 years ago

Note

So I obviously adore your little universe and reread it constantly. Honestly almost love it more than the show.

Can I ask how Izzy and/or Pete would cope with a hurt or sick Lucius? The little glimpses of Izzy calling in Ed when Spanish Jackie arrived and Pete coordinating a midnight move are so lovely.

(oh wow, thank you so much anon! You can certainly have some of the boys coping with Lucius being under the weather. CW: mentions of vomit)

Pete lifted up the edge of the comforter. “Still alive, babe?”

“No,” Lucius groaned. “Leave me here to perish.”

“That bad?”

“I hate throwing up so much.”

“You want me to get you some ginger ale or something? Saltines maybe?”

“Ginger ale sounds okay,” Lucius conceded. “But we don’t have any.”

“I’ll go to the shop.”

“Yeah okay. Get me some really gossipy crappy magazine too? I can’t do a book right now, but I need to read something or I’m gonna die of boredom AND food poisoning.”

Pete leaned down to kiss his sweaty forehead. Whatever had done Lucius in had done a number on him. But if he was well enough to complain, he was going to be fine.

“I’ll be back in ten.”

It was only six, but it was dusky and quiet outside. Pete had been in the twilight haze of taking care of Lucius and working on the dress Shelia Kissimee had commissioned from them. Frenchie was doing the bead-work and John was handling the embroidery, so Pete had taken on the construction and it was a real time suck. Luckily, Lucius had mostly been sleeping between bouts of hurling, so he’d gotten a lot done.

“Hey, Pete,” Olive greeted as he came in. She was loading in the scratch off lotto tickets.

“Hey.” He headed for the fridge, pulling out two ginger ales and after a moment’s thought, a coke. He could let it go flat and give it to Lucius tomorrow, so he wouldn’t get a caffeine withdrawal headache. “Do you have saltines?”

“Sure, next to the cheese-its!” Olive called.

He located a sleeve of them and headed towards the register, picking up the magazine with the biggest loudest font on the cover. There was a little display, leftover from Valentine’s day probably. He considered it, grinned, and plucked up an item.

“Someone sick?” She asked, ringing everything up.

“Luc got downed by a hot dog. We think anyway.”

“Too bad. Tell him my niece loved that book he left for her. And that I hope he feels better.”

“Will do.”

By the time he got home, John and Frenchie were back. They’d taken a drag brunch gig across town and were currently helping each other out of their costumes.

“How’s the patient?” Frenchie asked wryly.

“Dying!” Lucius called from their bedroom. “Thanks for asking!”

“So better?” Frenchie determined.

“Little bit,” Pete agreed. He went into their room and put everything on the nightstand. “Got you something.”

“Trashy magazine?”

“That too.”

The blanket was pulled back. Lucius pulled himself up to sitting. He was barechested and flushed. It was a good look on him, but probably not the right moment to mention it.

“Here.” Pete presented him with the little stuffed bear. It was holding a red heart that said ‘I love you bear-y much’.

Lucius plucked it from him with two fingers like it might be another bad piece of meat.

“Why?” He asked flatly.

“When I felt crappy as a kid, I always wanted to have a stuffed animal with me,” Pete shrugged.

“I’m not a kid,” Lucius said firmly.

“I’m aware, babe,” Pete laughed. “I can take it back if you don’t want it.”

“No,” Lucius clutched it closer. “I like it. Thank you.”

Pete’s phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket.

“Did you maybe forget to tell Izzy you were too sick to come over?”

“Oh shit. I ost track of the days.” Lucius’ eyes slipped closed. “And I don’t even know where my phone is.”

Pete picked up, “Hey, Izzy. Lucius is fine. Well not fine fine, he got food poisoning.”

“What’d he eat?” Izzy snapped, apparently too peeved for pleasantries. Pete started searching the room for Lucius’ phone.

“Hot dog from a new street vendor.” He located it under clothes that had been hastily shed that morning after the first round. Dead. “His phone battery died.”

“Along with his common sense, apparently.”

“You want to talk to him?”

“Yes.”

Pete handed his phone over to Lucius, who gripped it.

“Sorry, goblin,” he sing-songed in the way he did when he was trying to hide that he was actually worried someone wouldn’t accept the apology. “It looked legit, what can I say? Trust me, I’ve already paid for it. Oh. No. I mean Pete’s got me- yeah. Uh huh. No, there’s soda and crackers and I’ve got a stuffed bear, I’m good. No...I..oh.”

Pete glanced over and Lucius was resting his chin on the bear’s head, a faint smile on his face. “I’ll miss you too. Don’t stay up too late. Eat something sweet. You never have enough dessert, it matters. And I can’t have one, so someone should.”

Pete half-assedly tidied up their space, turning over clothes to discover bits of the dress fabric he'd been working with. Maybe he needed a break.

“He wants to talk to you,” Lucius held the phone out after another minute and Pete took it.

“All good?”

“You’ll tell me if I can-” Izzy started then stopped. “Just let me know how he is tomorrow.”

Lucius was already picking up his magazine, yawning as he flipped it open.

“I’ll text,” Pete assured him and then stepped out into the main room. “You know you can come by if you want. No one’s checking ids at the door.”

“No,” Izzy said quickly. He was weird about coming here, Pete couldn’t figure it. He liked Izzy’s place well enough. “That’s fine. You’re taking care of him.”

“When he’s sick he likes hot and sour soup.” Pete took mercy on him. “I just get it from the local place, but if you made it... you know how he is. He’d fucking love that.”

Izzy hesitated then exhaled, “I’ll look up a recipe. And I’ll come by for lunch, maybe.”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. What is wrong with all of you?”

That debate took up another few minutes. By the time Pete had gotten dinner together for himself and eaten it out of Lucius’ smelling range, just in case, it was full dark out. When he came back into their room, Lucius was curled around a pillow, letting the tv quietly tell him about the life of meerkats.

“You okay for company?”

Lucius just reached for him and Pete got into bed. He stroked Lucius’ hair, which was not in the best shape it had ever been.

“Love you,” Lucius mumbled, eyes half-lidded.

“Love you too,” Pete smiled down at him.

The bear had been set on Lucius’ nightstand, pleasantly crowded in with the books. He stayed there too. He oversaw Izzy’s awkward, but heartfelt visit. He stayed the next day and the next. He stayed until Lucius being sick was a barely remembered blip. He presided over that table for a long time to come.

#leda house and the kraken verse #goblin king and the pup #and pete!#prompt fill

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husbandohunter · 4 years ago

Note

May I request a Childe X Reader fanfic where the reader has been pushing herself too hard lately and so Childe has to forcefully get her to rest? ty

By my side [Childe x Reader]//Genshin Impact

Synopsis: You were an artist and he was an adventurer. Two people from vast backgrounds and Childe just wants to spend some time of his busy life with you. However, things didn't really go his way...at first.

(Childe x F!reader. Its all fluff)

(A/n): Perfect request anon. I too, would like to have a Childe in my life. Been getting 5-6 hours of sleep on average 😃😁. Yeah kind tossed some extra ideas with artist s/o, its a perfect reason for anyone to be busy.

============================

Once recieving the permission to take a week off from his diplomatic duties, the first thing Childe thought of was none other than his lovely significant other.

The harbinger knew quite well what lays ahead of his ventures to Liyue. During his quest for the archon's gnosis, he encountered many interesting events, such as meeting the rumoured traveller hailing from afar and a broke yet courteous man who turned out to be the ultimate ruler of this very country he walks upon then there was the battle against a dead god until he revived it using the sigil of permission. All of them were great additions to his story as Ajax the hero, something he always wanted to pursue since childhood. In which, also gave him something nice to write about when preparing letters for his siblings living back home. But little did the harbinger know that he'll one day bump into the heroine. A little too soon. Through your little art shop, he met you, a sweet and audacious woman with plenty of humour. That was how it all began.

While he strides down the streets between Liyue's exquisite buildings, Childe suddenly stops in his tracks and looks up to the sky. There, was painted a scenery of an evening dusk, sun rays relfected across until red and orange hues cast a river stream that led to the ends of the world. He watched the birds follow that streak like it was a path made for them to fly towards. A new adventure. You would have loved to captured this in your pictures.

And then he wonders, what might you be painting right now?

"Hey babe, I'm home~"

In a sing-song voice he calls out to you by your nick-name. You knew that Childe was an active member of the Fatui and that his time was limited, hence he made sure to write to you as well. Of course long distant relationships only makes the waiting more anticipated. When he does pay a visit, you'd run straight into his open arms, leaping off your feet to engulf him in one enourmous embrace. Then his hands will hold against your waist as he spins your round and around in the air, stealing the laughter out of your lungs before planting you back on the floor. Sometimes Childe would consider that being far away wasn't be such a bad idea as long as he was able to experience this, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. However...

"That's great."

He was met by a response similar to the wintry grace of Snezhnaya.

Huh?

All the fantasies he had from earlier shatters in the background as he stands there frozen. You didn't even spare a glance to the entrance, eyes still glued to the large canvas displayed at your front, too busy to even care. Childe clicks his tongue between the awkward silence with an uncertain expression. When there was no signs of initiation on your part, he shuffled his way to where you were and observes from behind.

"Well you're particularly quiet today," he muses to himself, placing a hand over his hip, "I guess that painting of yours must be really important then."

It was obvious that he was trying to nudge you into his favour. Something that you've found endearing was how quickly your boyfriend can be when he's in a needy state. So you quickly twisted over to peck him on the cheek before going back to work.

"That's better," Childe satisfiedly grins, "So who is this project for?"

"It's a commission requested by a wealthy family serving the Qixing. They're really influential in terms of the market and can really give me a competitive edge. I have to get it done in five days."

His tone flactuates as he squints his eyes, "Five days you say," he disliked the news of your schedule taking over his own, Childe only managed to take a week off and after that, he'll be away for quite some time, "Why don't you take a break? From the looks of your progress, it seems to me that you've been working on it for hours. I've got plenty of interesting stories to tell and you know, nothing can compare to sharing a warm meal within your company," he leans down to your ear level, "How does that sound?"

Several seconds went by as he waits for some sort of reaction, "Oh. Right," you blurted out and the harbinger only smiles, "I made some food earlier this morning. You can go help yourself if you're hungry."

Today was not his day.

Childe pulls out the wooden chair and slumps into the seat, a defeated huff escaping his mouth as he stared at the crystal shrimp placed on the table. It was hastily wrapped by plastic, most likely cold for a while, just like the romantic evening he had planned in his head. Normally you'll be sitting on the otherside while listening to the many tales he went through along the way. Although painting was your passion, it was undeniable that you also enjoyed his kind of lifestyle if you ever had the choice. He was rather surprised on how someone ambitious like him would end up with such a simplistic person but quickly accepted it as life was meant to be unpredictable, just the way he likes it. As Childe entertains you with his stories, he'll listen to your giggles amidst eating the homecooked meals that you both prepared together.

"I wonder if she ate already," he mumbled to his lone self. You most likely did but Childe knows you well. Artists are obsessed and they can go as far as to neglecting their own health for the sake of their masterpieces. Hence, he made sure to remind you to eat properly through the letters he wrote to you.

The harbinger takes a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. The cupboards were slightly opened, metal pots were still displayed on the stone stove and the stench coming from the sink....

Childe pushes himsel up to see what was the cause.

Not even the dishes were washed.

Running his fingers through his bangs, he sighs wearily, "Old habits die hard huh?" And above all else, when artists are obsessed they also forget how disorganized they can become. Childe begins to roll up his sleeves before taking off his gloves. At times like this he'll have to pitch in and take care of it for you, "Looks like I'll be here for a while."

Throughout three sunsets and three moonrises, Childe had no option but to observe you from afar, minus the few attempts he made to regain your attention again. How you would go to bed much later than him, waking up before he opens his eyes and the effort he put into making your food only left with too many leftovers. It wasn't that you were unappreciative, instead, your mind had become too focused that your body was considered a second priority. Like anyone else, Childe genuinely thought you possessed great talent and supports you wholeheartedly. He loved it when you painted pictures just for him as if they were scenes coming out of his hero story, reminded by his adventures, capturing every detail. However he also needed to learn how to deal with this stubborn side of yours.

"Hey babe, I just finished preparing our dinner. Don't you smell that? Such a rich aroma, you should go eat."

"I'm busy."

Your diet were just small bites, the rest being substituted by coffee. Childe could clearly tell that you weren't getting enough sleep either as there were dark circles forming underneath your eyes and slowly, he was starting to become a little irritated.

Three hours passed midnight but you were still awake in the same place doing the same thing. Childe leans against the doorframe with arms folded, already changed into his sleeping clothes. He clears his throat to break the silence, "Ahem."

Your wrist hangs in mid air by the sound of a strange visitor, it was your boyfriend. Gaze in a daze, you lazily turned your head, "What time is it?"

"Way passed the sleeping hours as you can see," he points with his thumb at the table clock in a half-hearted manner, "You should already be in bed by now and don't think you can coax yourself out of the situation this time," his eyes parted in slits as he added with a smile, "Otherwise I might just have to force you myself."

You shook your head, "Give me one more hour? There's some finishing touches I really want to add so," clasping your hands together, you beamed sweetly, "Pretty please? I'll finish up soon."

"Oh really?" Childe challenges, head tossed back like he was interrogating you instead, "I believe that was also what you told me yesterday. And the day before? Adding up all of those days that would be.....four in total?" He deliberately counts upon his fingers before facing you again, this time his expression was slightly more serious, "As much as I find your determination remarkable, there are moments when you need to consider a sufficient amount of rest and this just isn't going to cut it."

"Four days already?!" You exclaimed, "Jeez, I don't even know if I'm halfway done."

Pressing his lips together, Childe glares in an acutely deadpanned countenance, it was also his time too, "Can't you ask this commissioner to extend your due date to next week? In your case, mora shouldn't be the issue since, well...you're dating me anyways."

It's true. Childe was the main reason why you didn't have to live as a starving artist. He had all your expenses fully covered from the marketing aspect to your residence, you simply chose to work out of pure will.

"I don't want to always rely on you so much," you confessed, "This commissioner could turn my whole career around. If I'm able to gain his favour, maybe I'll get promoted to a court painter for the Qixing! Who knows when there will ever be a chance like this again," pumping your fists, you spoke purposefully, "I'll pull an all nighters if I have to!"

Childe brings his hand to his forehead, you looked as if you were nearly about to collapse and yet still considering the option of an all-nighters? The harbinger should've detained you days prior before.

"Hm? Childe, what's wrong?" He suddenly falls deadly quiet and you watched him walk closer towards you, "What are--"

Hooking an arm behind your knees and the other at your back, your boyfriend lifts you up in one full swoop as he tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Guess we'll have to do things the hard way," he remarks cheerfully.

"W-Wait," you flailed your arms and kicked your legs but to no avail. Childe was an experienced combatant indeed, "Put me down! I have work to do."

Your protests fall upon deaf ears as the harbinger carries you to your room. You were oddly lighter than the last time he carried you, the strength less vigor than before, it was obvious that your body was in need of relaxation. He suddenly thinks there was a possibility that you would maintain this habit while he was absent.

I should probably visit more often.

Using his free leg to nudge the door open, he places you upon the shared bed in a gentle manner. You winced at the impact of the soft sheets, surprised by how much it affect you.

"There we go. All done. Man, you really are a stubborn one, aren't you. Makes me a little worried since I can't spoil you all the time."

He quickly invited himself to the empty space on your bedside and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you close and feeling you whole. Childe made sure there was no escape once putting his chin above your hairline so that you could feel his warmth as much as possible.

"This is--" you stuttered. His tactic was enough to make your limbs soften and you could almost hear him smirk into the distance, "This is cheating..."

"You think so?" He comments as if pledging innocence, "I don't know babe. Where I come from those who take the initiative are the ones who end up claiming the prize," pulling back, Childe takes the opportunity to observe your pouty face, "I don't make the rules. It's just how it goes."

You wanted to argue back but he suddenly took the bedsheets and covered both of your bodies with, completely trapping you with his presence. He snuggles into you further as if you were a bear made of linen and you felt the drowsiness taking over your mind. The way he gently pats down the back of your head was enough to instantly lull you into a deep sleep.

"Cheater," you mumbled.

He laughs softly, the rumbles emitting through his chest, "I love you too babe."

Even after you've let go of your resistance, Childe continues his actions until he was sure that you were resting. He had been longing to touch you like this since living a chaotic life only made peaceful moments much sweeter, "You're such a hard-worker you know that? I'm proud of you but you have to know when to call it a day," he whispers, "If not, how can I go on trips while knowing that you're still refusing to eat properly?"

You closed your eyes and said nothing in return. All your senses were too cloudy to come up with a reassuring response. Childe listens to the way your breath evens as you intake his scent during the process. It smelled like the soap you used in the showers, lotus leaves mixed with his own unique musk. You could only focus on him. His comforting embrace. His slightly accelerating heartbeat because you were together with him.

Letting out one final yawn, you succumbed to his spell and allowed your energy to drift away.

The corners of his lips tug upwards, "Sleep well princess."

Childe reaches over to your desk drawer and shuts off the alarm clock before turning over to face you again. He couldn't fall asleep immediately, not when he had to consider taking care of the commissioner who gave you an impossible deadline. But that will be saved for another day, for now, he observes in silent serenity.

If he were to quit his job for a year, what would his life be like?

Peaceful. Something opposite of what he was living right now. Something similar to the life he had back home. As you arrange the many paintings in your little home, he'll offer to help you among the places you couldn't reach. Without a doubt, Childe was far taller in comparison. Taking strolls into the streets and trying the new dishes the merchants came up with. Then in the evenings, you'll both go to dinner dates while listening to the storyteller revealing the rumours of the legendary Tianquan Qixing. Although Childe loved the adventurous life he led, he had to admit that your domesticity and family-bringing atmosphere was a tempting idea.

Maybe one day.

He lightly takes a strand that had fallen over your nose and tucked it smoothly behind your ear. The soft snores coming out of your parted lips caused his gaze to melt. And so he steals them with his own, placing a chaste goodnight kiss.

One day I'll be sure to bring my family here with us.

Closing his eyes, he joins you in your slumber, hoping to see all that he envisioned in his dreams.

#genshin impact #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #genshin childe #childe #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #genshin impact childe #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

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