#so it changes from a blunt and short child’s body to a sharp and long adult body | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

celestialarchon · 4 years ago

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400+ Followers Celebration!

various genshin impact x f!reader

warnings: fluff/crack/NSFW implications, jokes and innuendos. reverse Isekai storyline and a LOT of attention on reader. SPOILERS FOR IN GAME. Archon spoilers!

As much as you tried, connecting and staying in reality was too hard. It was always the same outcome, finding yourself whisked away to another fantasy land through media. Normally your obsessions didn’t last long, but one game had completely sucked you in. Maybe it was the stress of the nightmare year 2020 or maybe it was the fact that Genshin Impact was everything you loved and more, but you couldn’t get enough. It was getting out of hand as even your roommates had began to play because of the way you romanticized the game. Acquiring most of the five star characters, building several strong teams, and finishing almost all the quests in roughly 5 months.

As an insomniac, it was easy to grind through the game until the sun came up. Sometimes you wondered if it was strange that an adult would be so enamored with a game but shrugged it off. It’d been a hellish year, you deserved to treat yourself.

Yet another night spent entirely on the dreamy land of Teyvat. You yawned and stretched as the sun peaked through the blinds and cursed yourself for not noticing the passing time. Removing your head set, you yawned again, feeling a wave of drowsiness wash over you. It was strange, you’d only been up one night and you were already so tired. Your home was quiet, all the roommates sound asleep as you crept into your bed under the covers. The stuffie you adored so much was soon in your arms as you drifted off, wishing to dream of traveling the world of Teyvat.

An extremely loud crashing sound woke you from your deep sleep. Instinctively you shot up, your arm moved on its own aiming for the space around you and swinging quickly and forcefully. Your fist made contact with something and you shrieked as the strange shadow crumpled. You flew out of your bed and away from the safety of your covers, grasping for the light switch.

Your panicked screeches only grew louder as the figure on the floor groaned and stood upright, still fumbling for the lights. Fingertips finally brushed the switch on the wall and you flipped the lights on. The sudden brightness blinded you for a minute and the mystery person as well. It hit you how stupid it was to turn on the lights in your room as soon as your eyes adjusted. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins as you rushed to the door. You could hear heavy footsteps from the other room. Other people were home you needed to get to them.

“Shiiiiit,” The strange person groaned again, “I drank too much.”

The voice was familiar and made you freeze for a moment. Mentally slapping yourself you darted out of your room but ran straight into a wall. Well, that’s what it felt like, but there wasn’t a wall outside your door. The force of the collision knocked you on your ass and you yelped as you hit the floor.

“Oh? What’s this?” The supposed wall turned to look at you, eyebrows arched as he stared down at you.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor as you looked up at the familiar man. That smooth voice, the long hair, the eyepatch. This had to be some sort of weird dream. No matter how hard you tried to move, your body wouldn’t obey. You heard steps from behind you and glanced back to see another Mondstadt troublemaker. A disgruntled anemo archon was slowly approaching you.

“Ehe, fuck, she hit me hard.” Venti giggled nervously.

“Poor thing,” Kaeya held his hand out to you, “Did the mean little twink scare you?”

The room was spinning, so you took the cryo pirate’s hand. Your jaw was probably still on the floor. His grip was strong and cool, it was bringing you back down to the reality of the situation you were in. Oh, the irony. You were not dreaming. Awestruck, you peered behind Kaeya into your living room to see even more Genshin characters just vibing. The esteemed geo archon was drinking from your favorite mug, two troublesome harbingers bickered in the corner of the room, a certain librarian was flipping through your books, both travelers were attempting to learn how to play uno. It was unreal. A pirate was flirting with a silver haired beauty.There was an astrologist examining your fish tank, an alchemist and a child terrorist asleep on your floor, and a fucking adeptus perched on your couch like a gargoyle.

Your roommates were nowhere in sight and your home was crowded by your fictional lovers. The absolute chaos of it all sent you over the edge. High pitched, clearly unstable laughter erupted from you. What else could you do? Cry? That wouldn’t change anything. All eyes shifted to you as you leaned on the wall, clutching your abdomen and giggling like a madwoman. Kaeya shifted away from you, allowing the others to get a good look at you.

Finally composing yourself, you stood up straight and introduced yourself, “Hello, why are you invading my home?”

“Hey girlie! I’m Childe,” The cheery harbinger nearly skipped up to you shaking your hand, “but you can call me daddy.”

Your face reddened at his bold introduction but you clicked your tongue avoiding his eyes.

“Hello, cutie. I’m Lisa.”

“Albedo, and this is Klee.”

“I tend to go by Zhongli.”

“Beidou! The lovely lady by my side is Ningguang.”

“Adeptus Xiao.”

They all introduced themselves so politely, you almost felt bad for acting a bit crazy. However, that feeling was quickly swept away by Kaeya and his sharp tongue.

“Kaeya, but I believe you already know that,” he smirked at you, “May I ask why you aren’t wearing any pants?”

“Oi, what?” You looked down and gasped.

Venti’s drunk ass had sent you into fight and flight mode so you had forgotten all about your night time attire. You were in an oversized Genshin Impact shirt without any pants on. Shoving Venti out of your way, you rushed to your room to dig for pants. Oh, how you wished you hadn’t forgotten about laundry. You hastily grabbed a pair of shorts that really didn’t do much except cover your underwear.

“I have shorts on now. You just can’t tell because of my shirt.” You declared entering the living room.

Some of the more promiscuous characters giggled at your embarrassment while Zhongli facepalmed and the most serious of them all, Scaramouche and Xiao, simply scowled. You sat on the end of your couch furthest from everybody else, nervous. Nobody had answered your earlier question. Apparently your discomfort was lost on the Adeptus Xiao, or he just didn’t care. He was in front of you in a flash, pinching your face and glaring at you.

“Why did you call us here you foolish mortal?” His tone was more annoyed than murderous.

Zhongli slapped Xiao’s hands away from your face and sat down next to you, “Be nice. She doesn’t know either.”

You nodded at this, and the room erupted in murmurs. Zhongli slipped his arm around you, patting your shoulder sympathetically. Lumine tossed the Uno cards down and glided to you, taking strands of your hair into her hands and beginning to play with it. Perhaps it’s because you played as both the travelers but the three of you seemed to silently click. Scaramouche and Childe began to argue again about something silly. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a certain bard and the charming Sir Kaeya raiding your liquor cabinet.

It was too overwhelming to argue. Lumine took her time playing with your hair while the others attempted to figure out how to go back to their own world. Xiao crept closer to you, truly like a cat. Beidou and Ningguang fawned over you and invited you into their relationship several times. You politely declined, knowing they’d have to go back to their world. It was disappointing and a bit frustrating.

Your wish came true but it was too good to be true. Albedo seemed to notice your silence. He gently maneuvered his adorable little sister off of him and approached you. His eyes were filled with curiosity, your silence only made his thoughts wander further.

“Can I experiment on you?” Albedo was blunt.

“Huh?” You blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“I’m not sure if that was brave or stupid,” Childe snickered, “Has he always been this bold?”

“Tch,” Scaramouche rolled his eyes, “Thats a terrible pick up line, mad scientist.”

“Leave my cutie alone!” Lisa yanked Albedo away from you defensively.

The room was filled with protest at Lisa’s words. Zhongli merely sighed and pulled you closer. Venti’s dumb ass was floating around your living room hiccuping. Xiao was wedging himself between you and the arm of the couch. It was insane. Beidou and Ningguang noticed the two Liyue men snuggling up to you and marched over to the three of you.

Ningguang tried to pull you away from them while Beidou aggressively smacked at Xiao. Xiao was hissing at the beautiful captain and Zhongli was attempting to intervene. You shoved them out of your way and stood up, panicked by the attention. Lisa caught you as you tripped over your own feet but landed face first into her chest. She stroked your hair but was interrupted by Albedo grabbing your wrist and mumbling about experiments. The single moment Childe and Scaramouche got along was to pull you from Albedo but it became a quick tug of war over you.

Somehow, Klee was still asleep and Kaeya was just watching all of it go down.

“Cheeeeeeeeers, bitch bitches,” The Knight slurred.

“Enough.” Lumine and Aether both intervened.

Aether held his hand out to you, “You don’t have to pick now, but please say you’ll come with us?”

“You belong in Teyvat,” Lumine smiled at you warmly.

“So,” Aether continued “What do you say, outlander?”

All eyes were on you as the words left Aether’s lips. What would you do?

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luvnami · 4 years ago

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𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 | 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 (here) | 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 - Second part to ‘Ocean’! Hope you enjoy it :> Reblogs, comments, shares and likes are really appreciated!!

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @getousuguruwife @amjustagirl @aliteama

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - Amnesia, Memory loss, Blood, Mild gore, Death, Blood loss, Corpses, Food, Manga spoilers, Pre-canon and canon compliant to a certain extent, Nightmares, Relationship Issues (lack of communication), Overthinking/Anxious Thoughts, I criticise Nanami’s choice of clothing

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Nanami Kento's life has been... Good, bad, and everything in between. He (and many others) thinks he's mature, independent, the definition of what a proper adult should be like. But really, the only way he's made it this far is because you've been holding his hand the entire time.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5k

Nanami decides to enter university and get a degree. He casts a life of sorcery behind and turns a blind eye to curses that peer at him curiously on the street. When you text him and ask about how life is in the city of Tokyo, he replies that it would be much better if you were here with him. You choose to ignore the meaning between the lines and tell him that he’ll do great in university; you’re sure of it!

Truth be told, his parents are more than glad to fund Nanami’s ventures and encourage him to do so. As a result, he finds himself engulfed by the world of rigorous studying. Lectures and tutorials drain his time from morning to evening, not to forget project meetings and whatever the hell ‘socialising’ means.

But campus life is invigorating. He wakes up to the smell of coffee and his roommate singing a foreign song with a catchy tune and has time to enjoy a lovely breakfast before he heads off for morning classes. Everything is done in his own time. No one rushes him to save the lives of innocent civilians, nor does the weariness of a day’s fight linger in his bones.

Quietly, gently. That is how Nanami’s time in university goes by. Writing essays on analysing market trends or a project on that sociology elective module he chose is nothing too tricky, especially when one compares it to sorcery.

He learns to relax, unwinding in the golden hours of the evening with a Murakami paperback and a steaming cup of coffee by his side. Nanami meets new people — people who have never heard what a curse is (though he does find his witchy neighbour intriguing), people who have families at the furthest ends of the earth. Their companionship is refreshing.

You, meanwhile, earn a nice sum from working at Jujutsu Tech. You don’t work directly with curses (something which Nanami is thankful for) and enjoy your time surrounded by nature, treating the younger students with a smile and warm cup of tea.

You and Nanami decide to move into an apartment where the commute is halfway between both schools. It’s a nice change of pace, really. You wake up next to each other in the blinding morning light, still entangled in the cheap (and slightly scratchy) duvet you got on sale. Nanami presses a kiss between your brows. You smile, your hand warm on his skin.

“Good morning, Ken,” you croak as the sunlight frames your face.

You lean forward and place your head against his chest. Nanami’s hand strokes your shoulder lovingly as the both of you make small talk on the day’s events, then laughing when he makes a cheesy (and slightly indecent) joke about what he enjoys eating for breakfast. Your heart soars in your chest, catching the upwind and slicing through the clouds. It feels like heaven.

But the sea does not always remain calm and peaceful. Its tides rise and fall with the waxing and waning of the moon, and waves can come crashing down on boats that dare sail through its treacherous waters.

Nanami buries the constant nightmares of Haibara under his pillow, waking up in the middle of the night with your arms around his waist. He pretends he does not see the curses that linger in the corner of his lecture theatre, nor the ones that stare back in the bathrooms. Nanami slips a pair of spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. His fellow classmates call him intelligent, quiet, but kind.

He wants to believe that, too.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami joins a hedge fund company after graduation.

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do, Ken?” you ask over the table.

The restaurant you had booked for dinner boasts of its month-long waitlists and seasonal menus. You poke at the raw fish that sits on your plate, Nanami holding a glass of amber liquid. He watches its colour swirl under the dim light.

“The pay is good. We’ll be comfortable.”

“I don’t care about money, Ken. I’d rather you do something less stressful and be happier.”

“Let me try it out for a year or so. That can’t hurt, right?”

He smiles, you smile.

Your hand slips into his comfortably over the table, and your eyes meet in silent understanding. You squeeze his hand.

The company changes Nanami. Some things are obvious — the way he now parts and combs his hair back with wax, the pressed suits that line your shared wardrobe, the work phone that buzzes with notifications every minute of the day. Others are more… subtle. He comes home later and later each night, occasionally staying over in the office. His alcohol consumption increases. You spend the weekends alone.

It’s gotten to the point where you’re lucky if you eat dinner with him once a week. You’re busy with your own work, too, but you assume that Nanami would be able to come home on at least the weekends. Your mind begins to drift.

Is there a colleague who wears a skirt too short, a manager who touches his shoulder a second too long? It’s been at least four years since you and Nanami had gotten together, and you still don’t know his stance on marriage or children yet. Does he love you, or does he love his job more?

You fall into a pit of doubt and despair. Perhaps you should have been a lesser burden on Nanami. He spent so many hours taking care of you back then, wearing himself thin between missions, that the idea of him getting tired of being a caregiver to someone who didn’t remember him at all was… possible; reality, even?

There’s nothing original about you, either. Your handwriting is the same as a girl you’ll never remember from middle school, the way you text influenced by the students you work with. Maybe you laugh too loud. Or you’re too fat, too skinny, too quiet, too noisy, too blunt, too shy, too clumsy. So what made him love you? Or was he just in love with a previous version of you that you weren’t now?

It feels like you’re staring into a mirror when you try to remember who you used to be with childhood journals and photographs. The same face, the same body, memories that don’t make sense and a head that has become a blank canvas. A parent’s child, a teacher’s student. Unable to reach past the glass.

You don’t know who you are anymore with how you’ve changed to please Nanami — a person of personalities that switches in the blink of an eye. So why does he still keep you in his rented heart that’s full of other tenants, and under the contact name ‘Dear ♡’? You place the button in a drawer amongst a mess of spare keys, bits of tissue paper and promotional pamphlets.

It’s tiring. Nanami’s head is in the clouds as you share a parfait, and you ask him, “Kento, do you really love me?”.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Of course I do.”

The eyebags that are on his face have been there since two weeks ago. Nanami can’t remember when the last time was when he got a proper night of sleep, and currently, he’s thinking about the new client that-

“Kento,” you interrupt. “You’re exhausted.”

You point your spoon at him for extra emphasis, the tip of it having a dollop of whipped cream.

“Pointing your utensils around is bad manners.”

“Never knew you cared about table manners.”

“Well, now I do.”

You lick the spoon clean and eye Nanami. He returns a tired stare before his gaze falls to the side and he lets out a sigh. He almost wishes that you would stop bothering him about this and let him go back home. There are so many emails he needs to send, and he can’t sit still without checking the stock market every hour or so.

“Do you want to break up?”

The words come easier than expected.

“Huh?! What makes you say that?”

“You seem like you want to.”

“You can’t just assume things like-”

The girls sitting by the next table fall quiet. Nanami thinks that they’re eavesdropping on your conversation; you think so too. You glance quickly at them and they pretend nothing had ever happened, hiding their looks of surprise as they shove spoonfuls of dessert into their mouths.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

You sound irritated. Nanami pays with his card, grabbing his things as you step outside of the cafe first.

“Slow down,” he mumbles and pockets his wallet.

You whip around.

“You can’t just assume things like that, Kento.”

“Fine, I’m sorry.”

Staring at him, your eyes seem glazed over. Tired, maybe. Tearing up, maybe. Maybe, maybe. Many maybes. Nanami doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s been going on with you, actually. You seem distant, out of reach when you’re lying in the same bed as him. Is it the money; is he making enough to make you happy?

Nanami reaches out and tries to hold your hand (when was the last time he had done that?) when his phone buzzes. He retracts his hand and reaches for his back pocket, but you grab his wrist. He looks at you.

“What are you doing? Let go.”

Irritation laces his voice.

“Don’t answer that.”

“Are you crazy? It’s from work. I have to.”

“Work this, work that! You spent the last year basically married to your office and the one time we get to go out together, you want to work?”

Your voice is sharp, slicing Nanami’s hazy conscience. He watches as it pools at his feet, a gust of fresh air tickling his skin. He relaxes his wrist and you pull your hand away. Passersby glance at you briefly before continuing their daily commute, not bothering to give you a second glance.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s okay,” Nanami replies.

The both of you stand in the street, suddenly feeling as if you’ve drifted away from one other unknowingly. Like a boat in the ocean, Nanami rocks with the waves that splash gently on his hull. Everything is blue and vast around him. He can’t see the land.

Nanami thinks about that girl at the bakery. The way she always cried out ‘Come back soon!’ every time he left as if he wouldn’t return a second time. And then he thinks about the clients he serves, all outfits and jewellery that easily cost half his salary. They shove money into his hands, expecting even more in return without a word of thanks.

“Hey,” Nanami says.

He reaches out across the waters and grasps your hand in his. You look up, eyes brimming with tears. He swipes at the corner of your eye with his thumb. Understanding washes over him and he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Nanami whispers sincerely.

That night, he calls Gojo when you’re safely tucked into bed. Nanami tries to ignore how the older sorcerer cackles at him and hangs up once the call is presumably over on his end. He slips under the covers as you turn over in your sleep, resting against his chest. Nanami kisses your brow.

He gets his first night of good sleep in a long, long time.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami falls back into the rhythm of sorcery. He trains for a good month until he gets his stamina and strength back, obtaining a new weapon from the school for his missions. Gojo seems oddly delighted to see him return, laughing when Nanami’s out of breath from a workout.

“Ken,” you say, wrinkling your nose when he steps out of your shared bedroom. “You’re going to work in that?”

Nanami adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, staring at you.

“Is this not appropriate?”

You observe him from head to toe. The leopard print tie, blue shirt and tan suit — you resist the urge to tell him he’s so close to looking like a pimp. Out of all the lovely suits that Nanami has, he chooses to wear this one?

“It’s a bit bright, that’s all,” you laugh.

“I thought I would go with something eccentric. You don’t get to wear this at the office,” he remarks, striding over to the kitchen to grab your packed lunches.

You remain quiet and fiddle with a loose thread on your own suit jacket.

“Something the matter?”

“Oh! Nothing at all. Let’s go.”

It’s more convenient now since the both of you work at the same place. Nanami drives to Jujutsu Tech every morning and picks you up in the evenings as well. He detests how Gojo makes fun of him for it, calling him a ‘lovely husband’. It makes your cheeks warm, and you duck your head before Nanami can ask you anything about it.

Peace reigns true for a few months. The morning routine is a nice change of pace compared to Nanami’s previous job. You’re able to spend more time together, even to the point of going grocery shopping or watching a movie with takeout on Friday nights.

Nanami relaxes only a little. Compared to office work, this is probably just as bad. First of all, he has to see Gojo almost every day and have him talk his ear off. Secondly, he returns to being the balance between life and death for civilians once more. It’s not a task he enjoys. However, he harbours that the thanks he receives and the lives he saves are a good enough exchange.

Years come and go, as do students of Jujutsu Tech. Nanami sees more dead sorcerers and exorcises more curses. You quietly type away at a laptop, filing their deaths and completing any tasks you’re given from the higher-ups. It seems that life has slowed down once more and you return to a monotonous pace.

You wonder if your relationship with Nanami will progress any further. It’s been close to nine years and yet… nothing has developed beyond living together or the odd weekend date. That’s not to say that you don’t love Nanami. You do, honestly. He treats you well and listens to your occasional nagging to put his stacks of books away, but you want something more. You crave the thought of getting married, to be lawfully his and maybe start a family. But, contrary to belief, Nanami isn’t opposed to it when you bring the topic up over dinner one night.

“Marriage?”

His chopsticks pick off a portion of grilled salmon and he brings it to his mouth with some rice. He chews, swallowing.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been together for so long, you know? So it kind of seems natural for us to do so.”

Your gut twists nervously. The steam from your miso soup rises silently in the air, wisps of white smeared out at the edges.

“Sure.”

“Huh?”

“Sure, let’s get married.” Nanami says.

You have to physically close your mouth and your eyes are widened in shock. Your heartbeat accelerates that much faster.

“Are you serious?”

“Well, were you serious when you asked me that question?”

Heat rises to your face.

“As you said, we’ve been together and living under the same roof for quite some time. Marriage seems like a plausible idea.”

“Then let’s-!”

“But I have one condition.”

Momentarily, your heart wavers. Nanami finishes the last drop of miso soup in his bowl and balances his chopsticks on top of the porcelain. As usual, his plate and bowls are scraped clean.

“I’ll only get married after I stop being a sorcerer.”

Your face twists in confusion as you try to understand where Nanami is coming from. You don’t get it — didn’t being a sorcerer mean that Nanami faced death everyday and that he should be taking advantage of what time he has left? But, of course, you don’t mean to curse him into an early grave like that. Except… Except that your face visibly falls and Nanami takes notice of it.

“I’d rather not have my life entangled with curses more than it should be. Once we both earn enough money and have a nice savings account, we can retire and go do whatever we want. Besides, I’ll invest. It’ll be more than enough.”

You remain silent and stare at your half-finished dinner. Nanami reaches over the table and takes your hand in his.

“Can you give me some more time, please?”

You don’t reply.

☆*: .｡.

“Did you hear about the new first years?”

“Mm. The one who died, right?”

“Gojo wants me to mentor him for a while.”

Nanami’s hands are positioned on the steering perfectly. His palms guide the car carefully through the steep roads that climb up to Jujutsu Tech. You flip through a checklist of things you need to do for the day.

“Will you be heading out of school?”

“Probably. There’s a scene I need to check out.”

“Stay safe, alright?”

“Of course. You too, don’t forget to have your lunch again.”

Nanami pulls into the parking lot of the school. Leaning over the clutch, he presses a kiss to your hairline. You gently peck his jaw.

“See you tonight. I might not be able to pick you up, so get Nitta to drive you.”

“See you, Ken.”

Nanami watches as you open the car door and step out. You turn back, giving him a wave and smile through the window. He returns the gesture. Once you’re out of sight, Nanami pulls out his phone as he sits in the car. He thumbs through his emails and his Adam’s apple bobs as soon as he sees the confirmation sent to him. A loose sigh worms its way out of his chest. He pushes the door open and steps out.

The rest of the day is spent teaching Itadori Yuuji about the sanctity of being young and simpleminded. Sorcery isn’t child’s play — especially when there are lives involved. He watches as Itadori’s face crumbles at the mention of the transfigured humans. He wants to comfort him, place a hand on his shoulder and tell him that it isn’t his fault.

They have a quick debrief of the situation with Ijichi before parting ways. Nanami shoulders his burden once more, watching as the car pulls away in the direction of Yoshino’s home.

As night falls, Nitta drives you home. She’s chatty, serious about her job and does it well. You smile when she gushes about how lovely Nanami must be at home, and, oh! Do tell him to lighten up at work.

You thank her when she drops you off. As you walk through the lobby of your apartment complex, you make a routine stop by the mailboxes. Junk, bills and… a box? You flip it over to see who it’s addressed to; perhaps Nanami had ordered something online. However, your name is printed neatly across the label.

The first thing you do when you get home is to open the box. It’s small, probably not more than a hand’s breadth in length. Your pen knife slices through the tape cleanly and when you push aside the flaps, you spot two velvet boxes sitting in a mess of paper filler. Your fingers tremble when you pull one of them out and open it.

A silver ring sits in the furrow of a cushion with Nanami’s name on the inside. Your heart skips a beat and you reach into the cardboard to pull out the second ring box. This one is a little larger, with your name engraved on the interior side of the band. It must be Nanami’s, then.

It’s already well past 6p.m. as you dial his number with your lower lip between your teeth. You pace around the house, bouncing on the balls of your feet. What were these meant to be? Promise rings? Engagement rings? You hadn’t dared to slip the one with Nanami’s name engraved onto your finger just yet.

“Hello?”

Nanami’s breathing is laboured. Your heart falls and you stop in the middle of your living room, staring ahead at nothing.

“Ken? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… just a little hurt. It’s nothing serious.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve called Ijichi to pick me up, don’t-”

“So it is serious, then!” you cry out in horror.

“No, no. I said I’m fine. Look, did you receive the rings yet?”

“I did, but that’s not the point now. Are you safe?”

“I-”

You hear Nanami’s phone clatter to the ground and the thump of his body on the floor.

“Kento?” you whisper.

He doesn’t reply.

☆*: .｡.

You’re seated on the floor of your shared home, an oversized pajama shirt stolen from Nanami’s closet swallowing you. Sunlight pours in through an open window at two in the afternoon and the quiet hum of vehicles outside can be vaguely heard.

Clip, clip, clip.

One hand holds a nail clipper, while the other cradles Nanami’s fingers gently. The blond watches you absentmindedly while you trim his nails. He had insisted he was perfectly capable of doing them on his own, but the glare you gave him made Nanami sink back into the sofa.

He was hurt after a fight with Mahito — the wound on his side made him grimace whenever he stood up, and Nanami found himself relying on you more than he wished to. Thankfully, he had passed out from blood loss and pain but nothing too devastating had happened. That didn’t change how concerned you were about him, though. You try to forget how you had hailed a taxi just to rush back to Jujutsu Tech to see Nanami lying in the sickbay with a blood drenched shirt.

Nanami thinks it’s childish. When was the last time someone had clipped his nails for him? Was it his mother? A warm breeze wrings itself through the window. You run the pad of your finger over the cut edge, feeling for any sharp portions.

Nanami stares at the top of your head. Your fingers feel uncharacteristically soft against his own calloused ones — wielding a weapon in battle wore his palms down at the end of the day. He doesn’t particularly want to admit he likes it.

Nanami is a man of truth. He hates lying, and definitely doesn’t tolerate beating around the bush. But if he spoke as he thought, told you everything he felt about you as often as it came like the wind, how would you react? He clutches his heart in the aching hand of a budding teenager, the fears of facing a cruel world fresh in his mind.

Being a sorcerer means facing death on a daily basis, especially with the increase in curses with modern times. It doesn’t help that with both of you on the field, it means double the chances. Sorcerers never die without regrets.

Nanami wishes he could love you more, let you explore each crevice of his heart without fear of leaving you; being left behind one day. He doesn’t want to curse you if he dies. He doesn’t want to become a burden to you any more than he should be.

Clip, clip, clip.

“Is it too short?”

You glance up briefly at Nanami and brush the hair out of your eyes. He stares down at his fingers and feels them over with his thumb. He shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine.”

You nod and move on to his next hand. You’re systematical about it — trimming off most of the grown parts in three portions, then a couple tinier clips to finish the job off. A nail file sits on the ground beside you, the tiles of the floor cool against your bare legs.

“Hey, Ken?”

“Hmm?”

“I heard that there’s a new bakery opposite that popular department store. I was thinking of going to take a look later. Do you want me to get anything for you?”

“Nothing too sweet would be nice.”

“Okay.”

The living room falls back into a comfortable silence.

Clip, clip, clip.

☆*: .｡.

It takes a few more weeks before Nanami is cleared by Ieri to return to regular sorcery work. He tries to rest in the downtime he has, he really does — but the itch to get up and finish Mahito off has him restless.

At this, Gojo sends Nanami and you off to Hamamatsu on another curse investigation for a change of scenery. Gojo doesn’t want to admit it, but he had mumbled to you something about taking care of Nanami’s mental health. Maybe the beach would help? You told him he sounded like a doctor from the 20th century. You’re not one to refuse a free trip outside of Tokyo, though, so you and Nanami pack your luggage and troop off to Hamamatsu on the Shinkansen.

“Thank you.”

Nanami’s fingers curl around the ice cream cone handed to him, the sun scorching his back. It’s too hot for this; for anything, really. He makes a mental note to give Gojo a good stare of disapproval once he returns to school.

Why did the mission have to be on the warmest day of the year? With how the heatwave makes perspiration trickle down your back, though, the dangers of facing a possible special grade curse is the least of your worries right now.

“It’s so hot!”

You eagerly lap at the soft serve, savouring the cold, sweet treat. Nanami wanted to take a photo of the ice cream, but- oh well, you’ve begun eating, and the horrendous heat would have probably melted it before he found a good angle, anyways.

Protected by the shade of a shopping district, Nanami and you had agreed to find refuge for a few hours — the curse could wait till the sun began to set. Besides, it would be more likely to turn up after dark.

“How does yours taste, Ken?” you ask and peer over at his cone.

He had gotten a cookies and cream flavoured one, despite how you egged him on to try out the local eel flavour. Nanami was not going to ruin his taste buds just like that, thank you very much.

“It’s alright,” he says, licking traces of ice cream off of his lips. “Could do with a little more cookie.”

“Wanna try mine?”

You stick your cone into Nanami’s face. He’s greeted with your half-eaten soft serve, where your tongue has made a path of its own against the original swirl. He eyes you carefully and you offer the cone to him once more.

“That’s unhygienic.”

“Oh, come on, Ken! We’ve kissed before, sharing saliva on ice cream is nothing compared to that.”

Heat rushes to his face, though Nanami assumes a composed facade. He blames it on the weather without hesitation. Not wanting you to tease him anymore, he leans forward and nips a tiny portion of your ice cream off of the tip.

“Yummy, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.”

“Want to try mine too?”

The words leave his lips on reflex. Nanami wonders when he’s begun letting you try his food — when he used to be so adamant that no one could even touch its container or look in its direction (thanks to Gojo’s greedy fingers). You nod excitedly and lick off of a portion.

“It’s good!”

What was the first time he had said it to you? Over oden in the winter; over those disgustingly sweet slurpees you insisted on from 7 11? All those small moments that had built up culminated in Nanami’s affection and understanding towards you. The way in which you offer him a bite of your food without expecting anything in return; is that what love is like?

“You’ve got some ice cream on your face,” Nanami says.

You instinctively use your tongue and try to clean it off. “Did I get it?”

Nanami shakes his head. “It’s on this side,” he replies, pointing a spot on his own face.

You try again, to no avail. Nanami sighs.

“What would you do without me?” he asks monotonously, using the pad of his thumb to wipe it off.

You stand there, frozen for a second when he leans in. His promise ring is cold against your cheek.

“Kento?” you whisper.

Under the light of the shining sun, he presses his lips to yours, shielding you from warm rays and the glances of passersby with his back. You let out a muffled sound of surprise as you taste cookies and cream, your eyes fluttering shut instinctively.

Nanami isn’t a fan of public affection. God forbid Gojo see him kissing you, really. But as he leans back and watches your half-lidded eyes stare up at him, he asks himself if you’ve ever received his own sort of love in return.

A relationship’s all about give and take; but has he given as much as he should have? Has Nanami loved you in a way that matters? Life is a fleeting concept to all sorcerers. Should he die and leave you behind, Nanami wonders if he would pass without any regrets. Did he do enough when he tugged the covers over your shoulders when you fell asleep on the sofa, was there more he could have done even after buying you that watch you had eyeballed for the past few months?

There’s that sort of incompetence that curls up in his chest on sleepless nights, even with you tucked into his side. It makes his head spin and his heart fall into a bottomless pit. With all the eyes of juniors and students that look up to him, Nanami can’t help but wonder if he’s truly as good as everyone thinks he is. Being a sorcerer holds little problem. But what about a lover, a husband?

He couldn’t save Haibara, so how dare he think about…

“Kento,” you swallow. “Ken?”

Nanami snaps out of his daze. “Huh?”

“I dropped my ice cream,” you whisper.

He swivels his head and spots your cone face down on the sidewalk. His own cone drips down his hand, the melting liquid staining the sleeve of his suit. For once, Nanami’s mind runs blank.

“Kento? Are you okay?” you ask gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Mm?”

Nanami’s careful to avoid the pool of melting ice cream as he steps closer to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. Your breath hitches as his cologne invade your senses.

“I love you. Let’s get married.”

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stra66otkiller · 4 years ago

Text

ELI CLARK SWF/NSFW HCS

sfw:

he’s a darling, truly. he was something akin to a kicked puppy when you first arrived to the mansion. meek, yet intimidated, he was someone you felt that needed taking care of

poor thing looks like he’s having a tough time on a cipher? here you come with your overzealous and overbearing parental love for him.

the whole manor can see how you view him, and really, they all think you’re clinically insane

eli clark was one of many men, but he was not the weak or the lost at all

in fact, he was someone with a tendency to act passive aggressive or have a short temper at a cipher if something wasn’t going right. he was the type of person to ignore you if he feels that you’ll disturb him in the future, the type of person to avoid speaking to anyone at all costs because he thinks he’s higher power (although he’ll never show it)

surely, he is kind, he’s sweet, but there are his moments that the other survivors can see that you don’t get to see

eli loves your personality. loves how you attend to his every response or move. he loves how you take care of him. he finds it adoring when you worry over simple injuries or when he goes out alone and he finds you waiting for him anxiously

he treats you like a god. his god.

everything you do he is unimaginably amazed by it that it’s almost annoying to watch

whenever he’s not near you, he sends brooke to watch after you, but sometimes he forgets brooke is watching you and tries to find you himself which leads to a lot of interaction with the hunter

not to mention, he loves it when your smile, which is cliche in a sense but he loves it. he immediately responds with a smile of his own, whether a small or huge smile on your face, one will find its way onto eli’s face no matter what

he unconsciously leans into your warmth and feels bad when you shuffle to get away. as if a boundary was established that was never there before, yet it washes away the moment you start to coo over him again

and by all means, eli is NOT the funniest. he can’t be unintentionally funny like norton or naturally good at cracking unneeded jokes like kevin, of which you always laugh to (unfortunately), but he does try

his attempt at humor that matches your humor always goes horribly wrong that others cringe watching it. while you find it adoring, and he finds it as another reason for a nervous breakdown when you’re not around

around the other survivors he’s simply that nice one with the owl that occasionally cracks from stress. but to you, the other survivors can tell he looks like an angel descent from heaven and blessed upon you as a babysitter

it was the day of his former fiancé’s birthday, gertrude, that he had realized what was happening

you were so kind when he would vent to you, and you to him, but when he spoke about his past fiancé he wanted a reaction. call it selfish and him a horrible man but he wanted something that showed you had interest in him — just something

but alas, he saw nothing but genuine comfort, raw sweetness dripping from your voice that he so dearly wished to be words that expressed jealousy over his past lover

you saw him as a child. someone who needed supervision. the realization hit him when the other survivors would call you his mother or laugh between your interactions

it only made him cry into your hands, he tried to guise his sudden despair with remembering gertrude, trying to push himself into your lap as if it would help. all the while, fat tears rolling down his face because he feels worthless — he feels alone — and stupid

so then he chooses to do something stupid and spills everything

it’s complicated when he explains it, but when you finally understand the words that were coming out in sobs and stutters, and the tears pooling at your clothes, you then press a soft kiss to the under of his eye

albeit its almost awkward, for you, doing that aloof smile on your face when you’re lost is what makes him confused, but your hands on the side of his head numb that confusion down to silence, and his skin burns where your lips touched

you tell him he’s adoring. literally. there isn’t enough synonyms for adorable to describe him

he questions shyly, sniffling even, that if the relationship could be more

and you agree, although, hesitantly

you saw eli as courageous, cute, hardworking, and sweet, but none of those traits or himself made you scream for romance. and maybe the guilt ate you up, and that’s why you agreed

however, he worked hard to change that perception of him as time passed

he increasingly became more active and bashful during your new relationship. he had a tendency of asking for hugs and small kisses here and there, his cheeks would blossom with red when you would just stare at him long enough

he’d try to prove to to you that he didn’t need supervision. as much as he loves you around him, he wanted you to see him as dependable

sometimes he would coo over you which certainly made the manor erupt in fits of laughter when your face deepened to dark reds never seen before

eli, occasionally, would slip and mention something of gertrude, but you usually don’t pay mind to it. you’re understanding of his situation and you don’t find the need to fight over it when you’re both stuck in the mansion

he finds his occasional slip ups as death. he profusely apologizes and follows you around anxiously to make sure you don’t go to anyone else but him (you can tell he sends his owl at unneeded times), he tip toes around you but becomes blunt when he feels as though you’re mad at him (you’re not, but his anxiety-driven head thinks you are)

the only way you assure he’s fine is by staying by his side and talking to him a lot. and i mean a lot.

eli relies on communication, even if he’s horrible at it, he wants to make sure he’s doing everything right, something you truly adore

nsfw:

sensitive and sloppy. that’s it.

when you kiss him on the cheek it makes everything inside of him twist and burn, his legs wobble when he walks sometimes, but on the lips he truly feels as though he’s going to pass out

he moans into the kiss, trying to follow desperately but ultimately submitting and shaking under you when you pull away with a smile

kisses are usually very sloppy, not that he’s trying to but your simple peck on the corner of his lips makes him go haywire, drool collecting at the sides of his mouth

refuses to touch you. will not lay a hand on you. he’s so scared of hurting you, as though he’s too rough or you don’t like it. he worships you, he wants you to feel like a god when you are one

sometimes his hands ghost over your head or hips in fear of hurting you, you can only watch as his orgasm makes his hands flinch or scrunch up his clothes with an immeasurable amount of strength to avoid touching you

he loves initiating small acts whenever too

occasionally, coming to wrap his hands around you and shoving his face into your neck to pepper kisses along your collarbones, but he’s always too scared to go further and needing your guidance for the rest

you love to give him head at any given moment. tears start to pool into his eyes when you suck particularly too hard at the skin of his cock, or when he feels the tip hit the back of your throat

he loves it when you swallow his cum but also hates it. he apologizes and says it’s dirty but he can’t help feel more aroused when you swallow around him

eli’s favorite position is cowgirl or doggy-style

you being on top allows for you to lead and him to submit to you. whining when you go too fast or too slow, and you only laugh meanly before speeding up

he also loves cockwarming. something about being connected to you so intimately is really arousing to him. sometimes you’ll find his hands trying to push you further down his cock to hold you into place, crying about how good it feels to be inside of you and how warm, and how your walls are milking him

doggy-style, even in a more submissive position, you still have power over him

again, eli loves communication, just telling him he’s fucking you so good, calling him pup, or even baby, his hips are immediately stuttering into yours like a dog in heat

“it feels good, right?” he questions with a stutter, letting out a sharp grunt into your neck when your walls clamp up against his cock

unlike others, he doesn’t curse. but he will call you beautiful while he’s pounding into you. and sometimes he’ll call you his

even if he came already, he’ll listen if you tell him to keep going. the sensitivity leaves him spinning and coming once more

something you find cute is that jealousy sex is nothing rough. in fact, it’s so tame. eli takes his time to kiss you and thoroughly remind you that you both were dating, even if it means he’s crying into your shoulder while fucking you slowly

he’s so vocal to the point you’d rather just listen to him during sex. he whines uncontrollably when you slowly sink down onto his cock, praising about how big it is and how it might not fit

loves being called pup!!! during sex!!! outside of the bedroom it’s disheartening, but when he’s fucking you so sloppily after a bad day, drool coming from his mouth, and he’s whining into your ear, hearing you call him pup has him coming inside of you immediately

sadly, he does not like coming inside of you. he worships your body and thinks of his cum being inside of you is dirtying you. he tries to avoid it and comes into his hand

he basically treats you like a god outside and inside, so when both of you are finally spent, he’s the one getting up and cleaning everything. his aftercare is so intensive, especially if he came inside of you, he wants to make sure everything is out and you feel comfortable

#eli clark #identity v #idv #idv seer #idv eli clark #identity 5 #identity v eli clark #identity v seer #eli clark x reader #seer x reader #idv fanfic #identity v fanfic #eli x reader #fanfic

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mythicamagic · 4 years ago

Note

“Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!”

AN: ...yeah so I'll post part five in a few hours and THAT will be the ending to this Ex Sesshoumaru saga. Smh. I wrote too much of this. Read the other chapters - here.

----

She can't recall how it started.

It wasn't as though either of them had woken up one day and decided to pursue something. They'd become 'companions' of sorts- not quite friends, not casual acquaintances either. Kagome spoke with him while sitting on the grassy hillside, wearing full miko garb and explaining about future technologies.

Talking turned into meeting up regularly. Meetups turned into secret rendezvous.

Kagome wagered she'd been a source of intrigue for the demon lord. A window into the future. He listened with rapt attention and intelligent, sharp eyes. His questions were short and to the point- humour dark and smirking. Kagome found him endearing, in an irritatingly proud kind of way.

She learned about demon culture and his shining, unblemished heritage. How his ancestors had created magnificent weapons that could cut through stormy skies and block out the sun.

Kagome really couldn't say how it started.

He still hadn't been keen on humans, deeming them weak. A few were the exception to the rule. Kagome had figured that was enough. To be counted amongst those few meant she was 'special.'

She felt special, kissing him. Being loved by him made Kagome glow golden, radiating power and contentment. He encouraged her to train, to build up her reiki to new heights so that she might shock and amaze like no other miko before her. To go beyond the title of 'Shikon Miko.'

But centuries of bigotry didn't just 'go away' overnight, nor was it cured by love. He still thought of humans as beneath him. He loved her despite her humanity, not because of it.

In hindsight, Kagome shouldn't have been surprised by his reaction to her hypothetical question.

"If we ever have kids, do you think they'll be recognised as heirs?"

"What?"

Kagome shifted atop a pillow within his room at the Western Stronghold, setting down her book. "I'm just saying, I know your court is still pretty old school with how they feel about Hanyous. Think it'll impact our kids being able to take over the Western Lands?"

What a naive question. She'd been so wrapped up in how he made her feel- Kagome hadn't stopped to consider the possibility that he hadn't changed enough. Not enough for such a question. She'd asked hoping to be assured. That he'd comfort her with the knowledge that any children they had would be respected.

They wouldn't end up like Inuyasha. Ignored. Cast out.

Sesshoumaru had looked at her with such a perplexed, complicated expression. He spoke slowly, as though breaking the news to a child.

"A Hanyou will never rule the Western lands."

The surprise had set in- like she recognised the handle of the knife buried into her gut, but the pain hadn't registered yet. She'd questioned him, of course. His explanation wasn't any more encouraging.

"Hanyous only live a few centuries. I cannot entrust something as important as the longevity of these lands to one, nor can I guarantee they would mate a demon to extend their lifespan."

"Why don't you just say what you mean?" she uttered coldly, betrayal simmering in her blood as she stood. "You don't want one. You don't want an imperfect kid with me."

"That is not what I-"

"You don't have to say it," Kagome glared. "It's there, behind every word you just said. When were you gonna clue me in on this, huh? And what the hell is your plan?- because if you intended to keep me as a fucking mistress all this time while you play happy families with a pure-blooded bitch then-"

"No-" he snarled, terrible and thundering. Sesshoumaru got in her face, large hands curling in her hair, thumbs stroking the shells of her ears, trying to soothe. "I would not have you be Izayoi. You would be my mate. I would make you my Lady. We may have pups."

"That's very considerate of you," she sneered, flashing blunt teeth. "And where's this pure-blooded youkai kid coming from, hm? Because I sure as hell can't give you one."

Golden eyes slid away. It was as though a part of him knew, recognised that his duty would put him at odds with what they'd created together. He looked young, suddenly.

"I will create an heir with an inconsequential demoness."

"Inconsequential?" Kagome stared, hysteria bubbling up inside her. She broke away from him, his touch feeling unwanted, cold. "You'd use some poor woman just for that?"

"You are attributing human emotion to this," Sesshoumaru uttered, gaze flicking back to her. "She would be honoured by it. Her family would want for nothing-"

"Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!" Kagome burst, tears blurring her vision. "Can't you hear yourself? You'd still have to sleep with her, with a stranger. She'd carry your child for months, only to be torn away from them? Or would she live here? Would I have to see her every damn day and know- be reminded that I and my child weren't enough for you?!" her voice broke, a wave of emotion slamming her in the gut, only just registering and truly feeling the implications of her words.

His expression cracked, eyes widening, recognising he'd hurt her. Long claws unfurled.

"Kagome-"

"No! No, I'm done," Kagome backed away.

Years of sadness and mistrust loomed over their relationship suddenly, where before there had only been lazy mornings or evenings spent resting her head on his thigh, listening to long claws plucking the strings of a koto and inhaling rich, spicy scents of smoke from an ornate pipe.

"Don't talk to me. Don't even look at me," blue eyes swimming with tears glared. "Thank you for clarifying everything, Lord Sesshoumaru. I just wish you'd told me this two years ago."

He tried to touch her again- only for the miko to slap his attempt away with a crackling hiss of holy energy. Sesshoumaru was forced back, his hand steaming, narrowly avoiding being burned as Kagome backed away.

She'd never seen the look of pure, unadulterated surprise and distress contort his regal features before. But Sesshoumaru was proud. Sesshoumaru was a being carved from stone, who could not be moved by the words of a mere mortal.

He let her go.

Kagome didn't so much as grab her bag. She hitched a ride on Ah Un and made for Kaede's village. It wasn't long before she'd said her goodbyes, propelled by distress and anger into a hasty decision.

She jumped through the well, never to return.

It was a terrible, disappointing end to her feudal fairytale.

---

Rising slowly, Kagome blinked tired lids open, coming to a silent conclusion in the cold light of day. Picking up the phone, she called Natsuki and scheduled a meetup.

Promptly breaking up with him.

He didn't seem terribly shocked by the news.

"So… are you going to him after this?" He asked point-blank.

"What?"

"That silver inuyoukai I sensed on you last week. Figured you had something else going on."

Stiffness rendered her shoulders tense. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "for making you feel that way. I'm not going to him, but I have been thinking about him."

"Heh, you've been thinking about him but not going? Sounds difficult."

"It is," she smiled, reaching over the table and squeezing his fingers. "Goodbye, Natsuki."

The way he'd eyed her hand, just for a moment- warily- as though wondering for half a second if she'd taken her pills, only strengthened Kagome's resolve.

She knew what she wanted now.

---

Dressing up that night, she wore her best things. The nicest pair of earrings, shoes, right down to her dress and underwear. She did everything to allow herself to relax, soaking in a tub with candles littered around the edge beforehand.

Glancing at her pills on the nightstand, Kagome grabbed her purse before leaving, having not taken them all day. The effects should've worn off by now. Walking down the stairs, she experimented with a light flex- pink static racing over her skin in a faint crackle.

Dark hair fanned out, soon settling about her shoulders. Kagome took a long, indrawn breath. Life flowed through her veins. Her heart pumped, alive, healthy. Too long had she soaked herself in misery and settled for any half-decent demon cock willing to tolerate her power. Her species.

No more.

Kagome headed straight for the youkai bar.

She slipped in, a known regular by now. Unlike usual though, after grabbing a drink she didn't content herself by sitting at the bar until a tall dark and handsome stranger approached her. Kagome downed it to ignite a fire in her throat, hissing quietly and setting down her glass before easing around grinding bodies on the dance floor.

Standing in the centre, with speakers booming, vibrations thrumming through her- multicoloured lights flashing overhead in the much too dark room, with sweat and youki plastering to the air like heady vapour, Kagome took a breath. Beefy hands met her waist, intending to 'dance' with her - before she let reiki flow.

Younger demons immediately backed off, spooked by the mere suggestion of power. The hands left her body as she met their gazes. If they wanted to touch her, they'd have to reach her.

Dark eyes turned to the miko, intrigued. Some started to approach, but she gradually turned the facet of her holy powers higher. Bigger, more arrogant males kept moving closer. They could match her, tame her. She was just a priestess, after all. They hadn't been anything substantial in centuries.

Kagome held her head high on the half-empty dance floor, pink energy now static and visible, racing over her body like a live wire. And still more poured into her aura, seeping out like a huge barrier. She wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

Even the bravest stopped, all demons now pressed back against far walls, snarling at her, some evacuating the bar.

Kagome's heart shuddered. Her shoulders fell. All that, and she still hadn't let everything out. Maybe she was supposed to make herself smaller. Maintain the air of an unassuming priestess by a big strong demon's side. Settle. Accept it. What had she been expecting?

Feeling foolish and a little selfish for spoiling everyone's night, Kagome stepped back with the intent of recalling her energy.

A palm met the pink barrier, a sharp sound ringing out like the crack of lightning. Youki -familiar, dominating, unique- crashed against her aura, creating a plume of sweeping mists. Through the pink haze, Sesshoumaru stepped forward.

Unlike his usual modern look, the glamour was absent this time.

Kagome's eyes widened, oxygen briefly freezing inside her lungs. His markings were on full display. Seeing him again, really seeing him, awakened a strange feeling inside her.

Kagome grit blunt teeth, refusing to soften. She allowed another wave of her reiki out, creating a blazing inferno that licked along the wooden floors and sent every other demon fleeing.

Golden eyes narrowed slightly, but Sesshoumaru kept his palm raised, long hair whipping around him.

As reiki slid through the gaps of his fingers, he took a step closer. Followed by another. Red youki buffered its natural opposite, creating sparks and wafts of charged steam. He walked around the room, slowly tightening the circle around her like a predator closing in, though not without effort.

Kagome had never felt anything like it. She'd never let so much loose before. She could even keep going, she could-

Sesshoumaru's hand closed over her wrist, eyes hazed red. He panted, face lingering close. "Enough. I can withstand you, dear one," he said in a rush, light burns dotting his cheek and forehead. "But those outside cannot. You could obliterate every demon within a 5-mile radius if you wished, but I know you do not want that."

Kagome blinked, shaken. Catching her breath suddenly, she trembled, holding onto him.

His presence stabilised something, allowing Kagome to slowly begin reeling blistering power back. Her body weakened, forehead finding his shoulder as pink power receded back inside. Wild youki died down not long after.

And that was how Kagome Higurashi was barred from the only youkai establishment in the city.

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #asks

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years ago

Text

Heartless - pt. 4

A/N: Finally finished this at 1am in the morning. I can’t wait to go to bed. All the love <3

Oh, you had to love James. You really had to love James, hadn’t you?

“JAMES!” you wanted to barge into the room but they were locked, so instead you started slamming your arm against it. “OPEN UP YOU GORMLESS WANKER!” you continued to slam as James on the other side widened his eyes at Sirius who was staring at the door, then at James.

Sirius grinned and put down his book. “What did you do?”

“I- uh-”

“I WILL B-B-BLOODY MURDER YOU!” you continued to scream.

“Bloody hell, mate.” Sirius laughed. “She’s seriously pissed.”

“She’s delicate on the topic-” he stopped as he heard the door knob jiggle, widening his eyes in fear as you slammed the door open with a deadly look in your eyes, darted only to James and James only, who was backing away behind his bed. “Heeey... you look......clean.”

Your eye twitched. “I am on my bloody period! I have back pain! AND YOU LEAVE ME WITH A FREEZING COLD WATER!?!” you bellowed through the room as Sirius only continued to look at you, wrapped in a large towel and your hair up in a bun. He hadn’t seen you like this before, not only half naked in front of him but also burning red from anger and screaming so loudly. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! DO YOU HAVE A GOLDEN COCK OR SOMETHING TO USE THE WHOLE GODDAMN HOT WATER?!”

“I was shaving...”

“WHAT?! A GORRILA?!”

“Hey-” he pointed his finger at you as Sirius laughed, letting out small giggles. “I like to take time- you know I’m cold a lot of times... plus I told you I’m going to shower-”

“YOU ROTTEN SPOILED CHILD- LITTLE FUCKER-” you gripped your wand and pointed it at him as he did the same.

“You know the rules, (y/n)! No wand fighting! We promised mum. She’ll kill us if we break another wand-”

“She won’t have to kill you BECAUSE I WILL!” you threw the wand away and started chasing him around the room with your hand tightly holding up the towel.

The chase didn’t take long as your back started to hurt again, making you let out a small whimper and then with your hand losing the grip on the towel, you just stopped chasing him in general.

“I’m telling dad.” you said as you made your way to the door.

“NO!” James ran after you, pulling you by the arm that held on to the towel around your naked body and pulling it with him.

“JAMES! GOD!” you tried to hide your naked body as James felt confused.

“I’ve seen you naked plenty of times when we were kid- OH!” he remembered that Sirius was standing right behind him. He wrapped the towel around you as you grabbed it away from him.

“YOU BLOODY PILLOCK!” you slapped him on the back of the head.

“YOU’RE THE ONE STORMING INTO MY ROOM HALF NAKED!” he shouted back at you. “You know Pads-” he pointed at Sirius behind him, finding him looking at your legs. “HEY!” he snapped his fingers in front of Sirius and catching his attention. “Eyes up here, mate.”

Sirius couldn’t help himself but back away with his hands up in defeat, looking at James, then glancing up at you with a small blush under his eyes.

That same blush caused one to appear on your own cheeks but you tried to hide it behind the anger you were feeling as well.

And just before James could say anything else that would put Sirius into more embarrassment, you crossed your hands over your chest and cut in. “I’m telling dad, James. He has the right to know that you’re using all the hot water-”

“UUUUHHHHHHHH!” you all heard a shout from the bathroom. “BLOODY HELL!”- it was your father taking the shower and you could never see fear spread faster in James’ eyes as it did that moment. “JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER- YOU BLOODY TWAT.”

“I think he already knows.” you smirked, backing away from his room and giving Sirius one last glance before you disappeared into your room.

James ran to his bed and started pulling out his things- most importantly, his cloak. “If he asks, I went for a run-”

“At 11pm?”

“YES!” James shouted before looking at the source at the footsteps that approached and covered himself with the cloak.

Fleamont made his appearance- not wrapped in a towel like you did but in black underwear and a shirt over. His eyes were filled with murder just as yours were before- now he knows who you get that feisty anger from.

“Where is he?!” he roared through the room. “JAMES!” he shouted through the room. “I know you’re in here and I know you’re under a cloak. You can’t leave without getting past me.”

“Can I leave?” Sirius asked uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his head but Fleamont didn’t budge, focusing on slight movement in the room that would give James up.

Sirius slipped out and grabbed his jacket, making his way out of the house before any yelling would start.

He hated yelling in the house- for plenty of reasons. That was why it was best to just stay out of it. So he told Euphemia that he’s going for a short walk and be back soon. She gave him a comforting smile and nodded.

---

He was walking along the trail, leading far into the field of nothingness. He preferred the grass touching him, hugging his shoulders and brushing along his fingertips as a tender summer breeze blew placidly against his face.

And he smiled, throwing his head back to the day the two of you were standing together, holding together so close- the closest the two of you had since the two of you had known each other. He could still smell he coconut on your skin and the fresh shampoo from your soft hair.

‘ “If you want to win her over- let her talk about what she loves and encourage her doing it.” he whispered in Sirius ear as he passed him by, gesturing a pencil between his fingers as he let out a laugh and left the three of you at the tree.

Sirius looked up as the last rays of sunshine washed over your skin. Your hair was let down in wonderful waves- you put effort into your hair as much as you did into your light makeup, laying there and talking to James, observing him with adoration.

You were stunningly graceful- always had been. “This is pretty good.” ... ‘

He didn’t even know where these thoughts and feelings for you were coming from but they seemed so pleasing to him. To think of you and smile, to see you and feel his heart flutter, to hear you and make his soul dance. Oh, he knew he was in trouble when he saw your naked body and feeling the need to tear that towel off as soon as you wrapped it back around yourself.

He sat down on the grass and started rolling himself a cigarette, his mind on you during that whole process. When he lit it up, he laid on his back and let his eyes wander on the stars.

‘It’s sure peaceful.’ - he thought to himself, inhaling and letting it scorch his throat before letting it out slowly. ‘You know there is something in our dynamic, me an you-’ he continued to think, imagine he was talking to you as an image of you appeared in front of his eyes. ‘- to be able to be so blunt to one another and still be there because of James and I know she hates me most of the time because of it but to see that frustrated look in her eyes; to see that nose wrinkle on its bridge and the way her cheeks rise up to her eyes, flooding with redness. The way your anger would wash over you, speak all the things nobody would- with her sharp tongue, cutting my heart every time but it feels good- being hurt by her and I don’t know why. Am I crazy to think that? Or is the way she hurts me the only hurt I want in my life. With her I know what to expect- I know she won’t hold back on words to call me but sometimes just to see her talk to me, to give me attention feels good-’

“I don’t know.” he sighed outloud, covering his eyes with his arm. “We’re so toxic for one another.”

‘But what about that night when she held you? Didn’t you feel it?’ - the voice in the back of his mind started speaking. ‘She’s not bad. It proved she’s not as heartless as she pretends to be around me. She was gentle for the first time towards me that time and it’s like- I loved it. I loved the way she held me and the way she smelled. I wanted to stay in that embrace of hers forever but I can’t think like that. She doesn’t fancy me. Plus she’s James’ sister. He would never be alright with this- not that it would ever happen.’

But the way you looked at him that night couldn’t get out of his head. He thought that maybe... maybe but you couldn’t. He was imagining this. You could never... you were just being a friend, just like James. Just because you are a girl doesn’t change anything. James probably looks at him like that all the time.

...

No, Sirius.

“Yeah, no.” he let out a laugh, grimacing a bit then thinking of James again. “I mean... no.” he stopped thinking, smoking the entire thing and shoving it into the grass.

He stood up and started making his way back.

----

When he entered the house, he immediately looked up at the clock that told him it was almost midnight. He closed the door gently and went to hang his jacket on the hanger but as he did that, as quiet as possible, he heard some clattering in the living room. He peered in and saw you rocking on the sofa, holding over your stomach and shaking a bit.

“Hey.” he came close to you as you shot your head to him. “Are you alright? You’re shivering.” he put his hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. It’s just cold and I’m waiting for the water to boil for my hot-water bottle.” you smiled.

“Hot water-bottle?”

“It’s for my cramps. It’s really helpful.” you continued to smile, despite the fact how much your cramps were clenching you from the inside.

He made his way to sit next to you, pulling his sweater off him and offering it to you. “You know you’re really pale from the pain?” he offered you a gentle smile as you eyed the sweater. “Oh, come off it, (y/n). It’s just a sweater.”

“I know- it’s just. I’m not used to it. Caring Sirius, I mean. ” you took the sweater from his hands and put it on yourself, finding the long sleeves fall off your arms and making you let out a giggle. “I can totally smack you with these.” you started flopping them around, causing him to laugh.

“What happened to James?”

“He’s pouting in his room.” you glanced at the stairs. “Dad told him that he’s going to work with him on the garden for mum. Some hard labor.”

“James and hard labor?” Sirius laughed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Exactly!” you let out a laugh, letting the conversation die into the silence.

“How’s your back?” he asked and you looked at him.

“Oh, fine. I didn’t take the pills today, if that makes you happy?”

“Oh, I’m quite jolly as you can see.”

“Like you were when James pulled the towel off me?” you eyed him and saw his cheeks sunk into a pool of roses. You let out a laugh and pushed him a bit. “I’m just teasing you.”

“Don’t.” he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to laugh it off by looking away. Before anything else could be said, the water started boiling and Sirius jumped to his feet. “I’ll get that.”

“It’s not a doorbell, you know.”

“I know!” he shouted from the kitchen and fanning his heat from his cheeks. You can’t know. It’s just embarrassing. He looked at the water and around the kitchen. “How exactly does a hot water bottle look like?” he asked, still looking around.

“It’s like a sock with a purple owl knitted in!” you shouted from the other room.

“What?!” he exclaimed, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around the room until he saw a sock and a purple owl knitted in. “I can’t pour this into a sock- oh!” he let out a laugh, seeing as the sock was holding a bag made of silicone. “Nevermind.” he said and grabbed the sock, hearing you laugh in the other room.

It made him smile, hearing you laugh- especially if he was the one making you laugh. It made his heart flutter like it did before.

He was falling in love with you. This was far from good. He has to stop- stop romanticising you.

He came back into the living room with the sock and found you curled up in the sofa, with his sweater and your hair let down, which weren’t before, he felt water get caught in his throat.

He licked his dry lips and smiled. “Here you go, madam.” he placed it into your lap and plopped himself down on the sofa casually.

“What a gentleman.” you smiled, placing the sock on your uterus and then looking at him. “You should serve me more. It makes being pissed at you a little harder to manage.”

“Don’t get used to it, Potter but you’re right. We should enjoy this moment of us being normal for once.”

“Hmm...normal...”

“Normal, yes.”

“Wouldn’t believe we could ever manage that- if you asked me this a month or so ago. I think I’d just laugh.”

“Yeah... it’s kind of exhausting though.”

“Yeah. We had to rest a bit.”

“We’re getting old.”

“Speak for yourself, Black.”

“You speak for yourself- you with your back in the age range of 80.” he mocked and you laughed.

“That’s because of you.” you poked his shoulder and he looked at you confused. “You threw me on the floor, you twat.” you poked him again.

“That’s why your back hurts?” Sirius tone got a bit lower and his eyes filled with guilt- guilt you didn’t see.

“Well, let’s hope it’ll stop before school starts. I really do feel like an 80 year old woman at times.” you laughed, getting on your feet with your sock. “And this grandma has to go sleep soon. You should too.” you turned to him and found him watching you there. “You alright, Sirius?”

He twitched, getting back from his thoughts and looking at you, getting his broad smile back on. “Yeah... yeah. Goodnight, (y/n). Sleep well.”

“You too.” you smiled, feeling your heart flutter as he smiled. “Goodnight, Sirius.”

#sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #james potter #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders imagines #marauders fanfictions #marauders x reader

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regulusfate · 4 years ago

Text

Soldier, I can’t love you [ but I do ]

Part Two

ship: nottpott — harry x theo

word count: 3586

tw: injuries, mentions of death, swearing, war

He missed Tracey. And Millicent. And Blaise.

He missed Pansy’s biting comments if only to keep him on his toes, and her softer touch when his tongue fumbled with his feet on the days his eyes couldn’t keep up.

He had no idea if any of them were alive.

He missed bodies of warmth. Body heat. That’s what he craved the most. Some humanity. Being alone , only the birds reply to his morbid tests of fate.

“There’s a room free.”

Hands are hoisting him up, and he’s back to dangling off Potter's arm, attached to his shoulder - and he’s not sure why that’s important but then, last he’d seen Terry Boot, the man only had one arm, they were always lucky in one way or another.

He would hate being vulnerable, and he does, his skin crawls at little at the eyes of the few figures scattered across the room. He would, except it’s been too long of a fight to care, as long as he survives, they could have his dignity.

Some of it. Not all of it. His pride is one of the few things left.

“Potter,” they’d made it to the bottom step when someone joined them, and Theo wanted to hiss something but his mind wouldn’t cooperate as his foot hit the wood.

“Zach,” something in his voice catches Theo’s attention, rough and scratchy like his growing hair, and tired, but tender.

Smith was alive then. He’d been caught once before, and it was plain on his face, the ripped skin pulled back into scars, the soft blue of his eyes hardened into a storm. He no longer looked like the pompous ass he’d been, he looked like a puppet on Potter’s strings, watching him with the likes of prayer, and Theo found that didn’t scare him.

It should’ve. But it didn’t.

“Hannah’s fever broke. We buried Susan with the others.”

It should’ve surprised him how blunt they were being. But it didn’t.

For a moment he’s not sure Potter’s going to say anything before he reaches out and claps the blonde on the shoulder. Zach sways a little beneath his touch.

“Get some rest.” And then Potter is nodding to someone behind them, and Lily Moon is there tugging Zach away rather roughly, and he hears Thomas pouring a drink.

They had different definitions of rest apparently. Lily Moon. Maybe if she made it, the others had too. Small hopes. But at least they were two slytherins still fighting. Not fighting. Surviving.

Theo lets himself be taken to a room, it seems automatic and so he’s not as surprised as he wants to be, when the small room is definitely Potter’s even if it’s only come and go.

There’s a scent, and a small figurine of a knight that’s sharp edges are tinted red. He doesn’t have to look to know Potter’s palms most likely have matching indents. They all did things to keep themselves from drowning in ghosts. There’s not much to it, they probably all look the same but somehow this one, this ones claimed.

“I need to check your leg.”

Comes the quiet mutter, as he’s deposited on the bed, that’s just about big enough to fit two bodies. There’s a second bed. He thinks. But it remained untouched as Potter moved about the room.

They were dimly lit by candle light but Potter moved automatically, pulling up a loose board to tug out medical supplies, and slipping into the bathroom attached to the room. It’s easy to forget these had once been fully running, occupied places.

Theo doesn’t remember what happened for a good few minutes, as his eyes flash open and he can’t remember closing them, his torso lurching forwards, and he can’t remember leaning back against the headboard.

Potter’s hand steadies his chest absently, and Theo found his eyes drawn to his leg with some morbid curiosity as he finished tying the bandage with the nature of man who’d done this one hundred times over. Swiftly, quickly, and with barely so much as a word.

Theo supposed it would be the same if Potter dealing with his own, alone.

He frowns suddenly.

“Are you not hurt?” It’s a demand really, but the flicker of a smile on Potters lips is what aggravates him.

“I didn’t take a dive down a cliff and drag myself to a cave.” He drawled, and Theo can’t stop the blush on his cheeks, but it might be a fever.

“It was not a cliff, and I did not dive. It was an escape route and it worked.”

He snapped, more of a growl, but he doesn’t have much time to worry about that goddam smile or whatever Potter found so amusing as the raven haired man is leaning over to tug Theo’s jacket off and he freezes.

“What are you doing?”

Potter sighs and steps back to run a hand through his hair. He’s looks as tired as Theo felt, and that question was back on his lips how had he known Theo was there ? what had he been doing ?

“You can’t sleep in those, you need to change.”

If he groans, and is reminded of himself as an eight year old not wanting to go to tutoring, he deliberately ignores it.

“I can do it myself.”

Potter raises an eyebrow, and purses his lips, tossing a bundle of clothes towards him.

“Okay then.” The ‘call me if you need’ is silent but Theo catches it in the simplicity. And he’s moved across the room and back into the bathroom.

The top half was easy enough, though it felt weird to wear the clothes he was given, a t-shirt and what he assumed were rags for jeans. Trying to get them on was harder. It was awkward, and he fumbled, cursing every bloody god under the sun, and had half manoeuvre his way into them when he’s slipping against the wood and catching himself on the bedside table, breathing harshly through the lightheaded wave that struck his head.

His mouth was dry and he liked his lips, clamping his eyes shut.

“Potter,” he rasped and winced, feeling it fall short of anything resembling a word. “Harry.”

Movement, and then quite suddenly a hand, and he feels his head being gently guided downwards, and it’s bumping against a bone, and he takes a breath. Potters collarbone.

He reaches instinctively to steady himself against Potter’s forearm and for a long moment it’s just his heavy breathing echoing through his ears. He doesn’t have the strength to be embarrassed as his leg aches too much and his body shivers, and Potter’s so gentle that it hurts his head to think about.

He’s lying down, and Theo hates it, that it’s a surprise, but at least the bed is soft. There’s a shuffling and he can’t bring himself to open his eyes, and a blow, he knows the light has gone out.

Potter hasn’t left yet, Theo doesn’t know if he will.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

A beat of silence and only their heaving breaths for a moment. Theo winced, but didn’t back down as his lips find the only thing he could quite comprehend with clarity in that moment.

“Because if it’s about the kiss-“

“No it’s not about the damn kiss, I liked the kiss,” his voice cuts through sharply, roughly, before it softens a little “You know that”

And he did, at least, he had hoped so.

“Potter,”

He grunted, and Theo rolled his eyes. He wondered if he was just stood there in the darkness or heading towards the door.

“How did you know I was here?”

This time he does open his eyes, and it’s the way those eyes look at him, their ever gentle green like sloping leaves held above a rock pool, so incredibly tender. And Theo feels his throat close up around the air in his mouth and the words seeking out.

“I was avoiding you, not ignoring you. I had hoped you would be less of a target.” Then Harry is sighing heavily.

“But I thought that about a lot of people.” And look where it’s got them left unsaid.

Theo snorted humorlessly, and cast him a dry glance.

“Because the child of a comedenti fighting for the light isn’t a target?” Sarcasm seeps from his tongue , and he feels his shoulders relax despite the ebbing and surging of pain in his ankle. Something he had not lost, how they saw him was still under his control.

The term death eater was made taboo three years prior. The chose comedenti instead. eater , in latin.

Not very original but then, time is thick and fast like the clinging ghosts, they didn’t have enough of it, time or air. All close to becoming ghosts anyway.

Still, his father was a death eater, and that phrase would forever be ingrained in his brain.

“Did it help?”

For a moment he thinks he’s hearing things, straining his legs and his ears, and there’s a heavy handed thud in the shadows of flesh hitting wood and a grunt.

“Did what help?” He wondered if his leg was bleeding too much. “And would you just get over here.”

He’s snapping before he can stop himself but there was too much noise. Potter sighs again, and Theo scowls, yanking back the covers clumsily. “Get in, I’m cold.”

“I - I don’t know..”

Well Theo didn’t bloody well know either. He flinched, when a body clambered in beside him, and then they’re lying side by side. Potter’s not wet either. But Theo didn’t remember seeing him change. Oh, the bathroom.

“W’re you watchin me?”

Theo felt his voice begin to slur against his lips, hardly a whisper, in the cool darkness pressed into the former Gryffindor’s warmth. He coughs.

“No,” a pause and his eyes are clinging to some final moment of consciousness.

“I had people looking though. Just incase.”

Incase of what ? He’s not sure he wants to know. But still, he’s grateful for Harry.

“You still r‘membr the kiss-?”

“Sleep, Nott.”

It didn’t take much for Theo to obey that command, his body slipping into the gallows of exhaustion.

#hp fandom #harry potter fandom #harry potter #theodore nott x harry potter #theodore nott #harry x theo #nottpott #nottpott fanfiction #hp golden era #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding war

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letterstomilen · 4 years ago

Text

the death of rex lapis (hopefully)

Zhongli, Vampire Alternative Universe (warning: this is mainly expositional bc ive had fun playing around w the idea of how zhongli would be if he was a vampire so idk where this’ll go! there is some childe/zhongli but not much!! anyways happy birthday zhongli i love you :) Zhongli does not make a good vampire.

Immortality is meant to make you smart.

But what people forget is that you don’t live that long because of wits. Immortality does not mean you are capable; it means that you were foolish enough to get bitten and didn’t think much of it later.

He wasn’t clever when he was held by Guizhong, who smiled sweetly at him as she looked at him, her hair brushing against his skin and cold hands curling the ends of his hair. And certainly not sharp when he failed to notice that her heart wasn’t beating and she seemed to look more at his neck— ”You have a very fine neck,” she informed him when he asked, and he nodded, assuming that it was one of those things sculptors just happened to notice—than his eyes for the majority of the night.

Whether it was out of guilt or disinterest, he doesn’t know. Zhongli would like to think that it was out of guilt, because prior to the night, they were friends. And after she bit his neck, she held him in her arms, whispering story after story as he stuck by fever.

The pain was unimaginable. First—there was shock. And then minutes later, while he wondered why the room smelled more like sweat and blood than incense, he realized that he was still held down.

This must be what quarry feels like, he thought then. But now he knows otherwise; prey would never be held so gently and lay there limply if they could help it. He, while being drained every bit of life, was a willing, sitting duck.

That was before the pain, of course. When she finally let go of him to wash her face—he recalls this clearly: her wiping her face, then licking the blood off her hands with the relish of a child on her birthday, before leaving to the bathroom—he laid there paralyzed. It was, he’s discovered, a bit like being drunk.

Only that the alcohol left his insides in unimaginable pain for days on end. He stumbled when he tried to stand; babbled as he struggled to speak. Even now he only remembers brief flashes of it, when he tore the skin on his arm with his newly grown canines, or hours of rejecting food that he could not quite stomach.

In reality, he was a child—a baby, really, if you were being blunt about it. The weeks that followed were horrendous and perhaps it’s a blessing that he spent the majority of them inhibited, the metamorphosis shedding every part of him that he was comfortable with. But as the days went on, the pain gave way to numbness and numbness gave away to strength.

And when he finally regained enough consciousness to form a coherent sentence, he asked Guizhong why she did it. She, with the certainty of somebody that’s lived for longer than he had, answered, “Well, you’ve always been interested in how the world would change after you were gone. Isn’t this now your chance to witness it?”

Fanaticism with history and predictions could only get you so far. To witness it—wasn’t that just a dream? And because he assumed that rocks were eternal and could not erode back then, he nodded in agreement.

It was a mistake.

Six hundred years ago, Zhongli underestimated the length of his lifetime. One day he’d be talking to somebody about their newborn and it would only be a blink later where their newborn was six feet under, hailed for having a long and blessed life. (What made a blessed life? It couldn’t have been the years –he concluded that every year he was more cursed than before.) Relationships were scarce because he forgot that not everybody experienced time the same way he did.

Days, contrary to his belief, were not fleeting seconds but rather twenty-four hours long. They composed of both the night and day, waking and sleeping hours instead of mindless walks that ended with him apologizing profusely before his fangs were embedded deep into somebody’s throat.

Somebody suggested for him to just do it in an alley and leave them there to be found at morning. But that was too disrespectful—uncouth even. He preferred to invite them into his home, graciously taking their coat and ushering them inside to a table filled with food. Venti always commented on how polite he was to the very end, taking extra care to cook food that he knew they liked—“Last meal before execution, huh?” he’d comment. “Very romantic.”—and making them comfortable until the very end.

That’s not how it started of course.

He tried starving himself at first—much to Osial’s amusement. On a night out, where Zhongli was more attuned to the heat and beating hearts of the people around him than the delicacies laid out, Osial took it a step further by passing him a cup with a thick, maroon liquid that sloshed around in it.

It smelled finer than the silk flowers that littered the gardens, and when he took the cup, he felt one step closer to the damnation Guizhong always spoke of. The worst part was that it didn’t churn his stomach—instinctually, he felt more delighted than he ever felt, a smile cracking his worn face as he inspected the goblet. Only when did he take note of Osial’s smug expression, the glint in his eyes that reminded him of an elusive professor, and the way he watched him carefully the way a parent would watch a child take its first steps, did he hesitate.

It wasn’t benign; it was as if he expected him to trip and fall over after attempting to take his first steps, taking pleasure in both the failure and success. Because both would end with Zhongli crossing the line one way or another, wouldn’t it? And there was nothing more enjoyable than sadism to somebody that’s seen it all already.

Right now he is fighting a losing battle. But he would rather starve than lose it here, so he hands the cup back to him, feeling a little more of his willpower crack.

Animal blood, by all accounts, is disgusting. It’s oily and sometimes he’d get sick, ending the night more ravenous than ever as if his skin were tightening around itself. You couldn’t just drink it—especially if you didn’t know where the animal has been. First you had to kill it neatly—a quick breaking of the neck would suffice, as strangulations were often drawn out—and then you had to clean it.

There was something almost humane in the process. Countless butchers have done it before, so he felt comfortable doing it himself.

It was only when he sunk his teeth into the carcass that he felt more like a vulture than anything else. The blood only staved off his hunger for short periods, so it was more of a painkiller than a sufficient meal.

And Osial found the whole thing to be hilarious.

“How unfortunate. If only Guizhong didn’t choose somebody that insisted on drinking animal blood, then it’d be more enjoyable. You know—if you open your mouth a little wider, you’ll look a bit more like the starving beast you are.” Then he dipped a finger in the cup and licked it as if it were chocolate, sweet and rich.

“Yes… Perhaps I should move onto better things. Do you think vampire blood is like wine? Or would age spoil its taste? I imagine that to a starving beast, there would be no difference—no matter how rotten your blood is, it’s still blood after all.”

Osial laughed and spit the blood out. “Well, you’re not wrong. This animal blood may be disgusting, but to you, what’s the difference?”

He wore his cruelty like a well-fitting suit, the creases shaped like ill-natured grins. Zhongli wondered if that will be him hundreds of years from now, but maybe Osial was always this unpleasant. Guizhong spoke of him the way somebody would talk about their ill-tempered cousin—sure, he’s awful to be around but he’s been a part of the family for so long already.

At the very least, he can provide a good meal. The question will always be for who, and his appetite is insatiable concerning all matters. Some vampires preferred a more barbaric approach of finding somebody, killing them, and then throwing the body away. Others—like Osial—treated it more like a game, drawing it out.

Sometimes he’d target entire families and call it a “feast” inviting others to join him. They were gruesome affairs that ended with many drunk on blood for weeks at a time, and even though he never went to them, he always heard about them.

Directly from Osial of course. Who seems intent on highlighting every small detail, every bloody death or desperate guest that was less than willing in the end but, Osial would say with delight, weren’t they all? As a matter of fact—and here was when he’d bring Guizhong into it, dragging her out of her room with her blueprints and models—Zhongli was very willing, wasn’t he?

“Up until he realized that he had to drink blood,” he’d say, as if he finally reached the punchline for a joke—then Osial would throw his head back with laughter.

And it’s not as if he hadn’t before. Sometimes, if he hurt himself, he would’ve licked the blood. But that tasted metallic—it was nothing like the delicacies that other vampires would set out, naming the meals by age, defining trait (sexual activity, lifestyle, etc.), and gender.

It took him fifty years for his willpower to break down. And he did it in front of Barbatos, who simply watched as he drank, not speaking of the way Zhongli drunkenly rambled for hours on end nor the way blood trickled down his neck and stained his clothing.

The deaths after that were easier. It was almost disappointing how he managed to replicate what Guizhong did with such ease. When he set the serviette over their chest before sinking his teeth into their jugular, he felt just like her.

Only when did he clean them up before burying them did he truly feel at rest. At the time it felt like appropriate compensation—a substitute for the promise he failed to keep for himself. The whole ordeal of washing the blood out of their matted hair and drying it out as he laid them down alleviated the sense of unease.

Guizhong would often watch him while he did it, pointing out certain anatomical features as she did. Her hands would trace over their veins, pressing down on the blue as she spoke. Osial joined them once, but he was so perturbed by the attention Zhongli dedicated to the process that he left immediately.

That was centuries ago.

He, sometime down the line, traded in these rituals for slaughter and abandoned that for mimicking the human lifestyle.

Barbatos would say that it’s been badly done, of course.

“You make the worst human,” he once said, as he watched Zhongli struggle to stomach garlic bread that he offered him.

Which could be why he’s now cornered by a vampire hunter.

The Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is often frequented by vampires all around Teyvat—there are rumors of blood dealings with underground groups but the Milileth has never investigated it—and Zhongli, with no danger signals, happens to be one of them.

It doesn’t help that he works there too. The irony that all these years later he never quite rid himself of dealing with dead bodies isn’t lost on him.

And he did hear about the Fatui, because word about people hunting vampires travels fast in a country as busy as Liyue.

“Sir,” the vampire hunter informs him kindly, “you do know that this is a hub for vampires, right?”

The voice isn’t what shocks Zhongli. Neither is the maroon mask that’s hanging by the side of his head—one told to be notorious among only the most vicious of hunters—or the thin outlines of weapons in his clothes.

It’s his eyes. They’re a bright blue, usually associated with the sea on bright days, but they’re more akin to the vampires that Zhongli has seen before with the wild glint in his eyes. It’s jarring with the smile that he adopts as he asks, and he imagines opening his mouth to a pair of fangs.

He knows that he won’t find them though. If the rumors he hears are any indications, the Fatui are above recruiting any vampires that’ll threaten their operation.

“Ah. Yes. I do. I’m the consultant here, you see,” he explains politely.

And shouldn’t that be an indication that he’s a vampire? Hu Tao is notorious for her strange tastes. And he must know of the deals she makes with underground groups, the money and blood that’s traded between them.

“Oh!” the hunter’s expression brightens as he clasps his hands together. “I heard about you! I got to say—when they told me that the consultant was knowledgeable on all things Rex Lapis, I was expecting an old man.”

He doesn’t wait to explain who Rex Lapis is. This, of course, is a given seeing that Rex Lapis has become a household name, infamous for his butchery of both vampires and humans alike. But a hundred years later, Zhongli hoped, people would forget about him—or maybe get rid of the fanaticism in their voices when they spoke about him.

It’s quite discomforting, really.

“Well, I am old.”

He laughs, “Yeah, yeah. You hardly look older than me. Call me Childe—I was hoping that you could, ah, answer a few questions I have on Rex Lapis. The 77th Master said that you’d be available and more than willing. She.. actually, here you go!”

Zhongli takes the paper he offers him, which says If you ask him anything, he’d be more than willing to spend the rest of the day answering it! in her rough cursive that he’s grown to dislike. Of course—the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is not beneath fraternizing with vampires or the Fatui.

But he prefers this much more than the vampires that stare at him as they struggle to place him in their ancient hierarchy. And this does work in his favor, he thinks. A vampire hunter wants to know more about him, Rex Lapis—wouldn’t this aid him in finally meeting his end?

So he politely smiles and gives him back the note, not missing how warm Childe’s skin is in comparison to his own. It’s been years since he’s touched a human without the intention of killing them, hasn’t it?

More than suitable then.

“Of course. What would you like to know?”

#this is completely self indulgent my bad #osial #guizhong #zhongli #genshin impact #vampire zhongli

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boxoftheskyking · 4 years ago

Text

Something Good, Part Nine

it’s a short chapter, but it has been A Day and I want something nice

I guess a warning for unpleasant surgery talk. And just so many commas.

In which Wei Wuxian sees Wen Qing

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

The process of removing one’s golden core is not something Wen Qing described in depth ahead of time. When he’d asked—after she’d finally consented to helping him, after hours of argument, her wide eyes haunted, her small mouth pinched, lips bitten raw with all the reasons it’s a terrible, terrible idea—she’d just shaken her head and changed the subject.

Wei Wuxian was, honestly, expecting something much more ethereal. Possibly psychological. Maybe a meditation that brought him face to face with his greatest fear, the feeling of his soul being ripped apart, a litany of all the reasons he never deserved a golden core in the first place.

When Wen Qing tucked a cushion under his head on the rocky ground and unrolled a set of sharp and polished knives, he’d suddenly found himself unable to swallow.

She did have him meditate, trying to lower his heart rate, which took the better part of an hour.

“I feel like you’re lulling me into a false sense of security,” he’d murmured as she rubbed little circles into his temples.

“It’s not a false sense of security if you know what’s coming,” she’d said, blunt and gentle as always.

He never had a high opinion of his own stoicism or elegance. He’s no Lan, after all. But if Wei Wuxian has any strength it should be a tolerance for pain. Sure, as a child he’d cried when a street dog tore through his calf—the scar long since worn soft, a patch of numbness on his leg now. But when the hunger pangs ripped through him and the rain soaked him through to shivering, even as a child he knew he’d get more scraps with a smile and a laugh than by looking pathetic and weeping out his fear. And there were moments, later, after a slap or an ear twist from Madam Yu, when she watched him closely and waited for him to cry out. And when he didn’t, she’d meet his eyes and there was something complicated there, something that looked almost like respect. He was probably imagining it, his mind trying to mold his world into a soft woolen nest around him. But it felt real.

So he was cocky. If he could swagger while lying prone on the ground with his shirt off, trousers rolled down almost to the point of immodesty, he would have. He let Wen Qing bind him down—”If it makes you feel better, sure,” he’d drawled, winking at her.

“I’m about to move your intestines around with my hands. Do you really want to tease me right now?” She’d glared, but when he’d paled and clenched his fists she’d brushed his hair back from his cheeks like a mother.

He remembers the Before so clearly. That nest again, warm and fluffy and smelling like the clean earth beneath him.

He was awake, technically, for all of it. But it’s only flashes in his memory. Pain, of course, pain, pain, so much pain it almost ended up boring. But above all of it was the wrongness. Hands—beloved as they may be—in places no hands should be, pulling at things he never knew could be pulled. The final severing—so physical, so intimate, but also a rending of his mind, his soul, all his feelings of strength, comfort, completeness sliced out of him. It was like his body was a book, thin as paper, and each word meaning wholeness, meaning power, meaning family, meaning Wei Ying is cut out, one by one. Delicate, precise, irreversible.

It leaked, long after he was sewn up. Puddles trailing behind him everywhere he went. Little bits of Wei Ying, soaking into the dirt.

All of it runs through Wei Wuxian’s mind as he sees his friend, finally, after two years. She presses her fingers to her mouth, lips trembling even as Wen Ning runs up to her and hugs her around the middle. If he could feel more than one thing in this moment he’d be endeared by the normally shy and formal boy grinning from ear to ear and bending to rest his head on his sister’s shoulder.

“Wei Ying,” she breathes after a long moment, and Lan Wangji’s head snaps to her so quickly Wei Wuxian is surprised he can’t hear it.

“Wen— Lady Wen.” Wei Wuxian bows.

“Wei— Are you well?” She absentmindedly sets Wen Ning upright, who is looking between them now with concern on his face.

“Yes, thank you.”

She takes a step down off the path toward him, ignoring Lan Wangji completely. “Were you— They wouldn’t tell me where you’d gone. I didn’t know if you were—”

“I am well, Lady Wen. I’m here, working in Cloud Recesses. The Lan Sect of Gusu is honorable and I am privileged to serve them.”

Lan Wangji stares at him, sword clenched in his long fingers. The three adults stare at each other, the air between them ready to snap. And then Lan Jingyi’s paperman reaches Wen Qing’s shoulder and begins to climb her hair.

“Ai!” she cries and swipes at it, but the paperman grabs onto her hand and continues his mission to Climb.

Wei Wuxian grabs for his master talisman and in a few quick strokes knocks the paperman to the ground. Lan Jingyi turns to him, pouting.

“Lady Wen,” Lan Sizhui pipes up. “Are you going to marry Ba— Hanguang Jun?”

Wei Wuxian can’t look at them, either of them, any of them. He uses Jingyi’s pout as an excuse to go to him, sit down and pull him into his lap.

“It’s all right, A-Yi. You did so well! Did you see how well he climbed?”

Jingyi tucks his head under Wei Wuxian’s chin.

“Ah, she’s so pretty,” Yao Hualing whispers to Su Meiling.

“Wen Qionglin,” Lan Wangji commands, even as always. “Will you and the other junior disciples please show Lady Wen to the dining pavilion?”

“Yes, Hanguang Jun!” Wen Ning says brightly, and Wei Wuxian hears the children gather up their papers and scramble up to the path. He gives Jingyi one last squeeze before letting the squirming boy go.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji says. “May I have a word?”

Wei Wuxan says nothing, but he rises, slowly, brushing off his legs. By the time he turns around, they are alone.

“How—” Lan Wangji cuts off, glaring off to the side and blowing out an angry breath. “What are they wearing?”

“Who?”

“The children. What. Are they. Wearing.”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian pastes on a smile and scrambles up to the path. “Yes, Second Master Lan. I made them play clothes!”

“Play clothes.”

“Well, yes. You can’t expect them to play in those stuffy white robes. I’m the one that has to do the laundry, after all.”

“Where did you get the fabric?”

“Curtains! Old curtains from the library pavilion. Isn’t it clever?”

Lan Wangji closes his eyes for a moment. “The junior disciples. Of the GusuLan Sect. Are running around. In old curtains.”

“Yep!”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, closes it. After a moment, during which Wei Wuxian brushes more dirt off his trousers, he finally speaks again. “You know Lady Wen.”

“Yes. You remember, we met during lectures here in Cloud Recesses.”

“But you—”

“You are a lucky man, Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says cheerily, walking past him up the path. “Wen Qing is a fine doctor, and a fine cultivator. She will make a fine wife for the Second Master of Gusu.”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian freezes.

“You know her well.”

Wei Wuxian inhales, exhales. “She was a friend of mine. I did have friends, Lan Wangji. Before everything. Maybe it’s hard to imagine, the wicked Wei Wuxian. But I did.”

Lan Wangji says nothing. Wei Wuxian continues up the path, alone, scrubbing his eyes dry with his sleeve.

Part Ten

#assorted writings #something good #the untamed #cql #mo dao zu shi #just a couple feelings

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nite-shay · 5 years ago

Text

A leg to Stand on - Togata Mirio x Reader

AN:

Idea: Character finding out their S/O has a prosthetic limb. (Think automail from full metal alchemist).

Sorry for any misspelling or grammar mistakes.

Togata Mirio x Reader

He wasn't supposed to find out, at least not like this.

You were going to tell him, of course. It wasn't something you could hide at least, not for long. A mechanical prosthetic leg wasn't common even in the world of quirks and heroes. While you weren't ashamed of your leg, it wasn't something you flaunted. You were proud of yourself for your body and your accomplishments, but... life felt simpler when people saw you for you, not for what you were missing.

Your love life, if you could call it that, was proof enough of that. It's incredible how many assholes there are in the world. What was more incredible was how you seemed to attract said assholes and DATE them.

One broke up with you after on a treadmill at the gym. Coward did it over a text message.

Another one though your leg was a weakness and bad for his future image.

And then there was your most recent ex. While they were accepting of your metal limb, they thought it would be best for you to get out of the ‘hero business.’ They kept saying how dangerous it was for a 'normal' hero, but for someone like you, it was a death sentence. After a few fights, they played their final card; It was either them or the hero's life.

You could never give up being a hero.

After that, you swore off dating and decided to just focus on your career.

Everything was going great for a while.

Then you met, Togata Mirio, also known as the hero Lemillion.

The sunshine boy wasn't like anyone else you ever met. You ran into him and your coworker Amajiki at a ramen shop near your work. After a shy introduction from Suneater, Mirio invited you to join them. You two really hit it off and chatted like old friends. Amajiki (per request of Mirio) started inviting you to their outing, and you quickly built a friendly relationship with Amajiki, Mirio, and Hado. You were enjoying your time with them, especially with Mirio, but you never could work up the courage to ask for his number.

Luckily, Hado shipped the two of you... hard….

Hado blunt comments about how you two would make beautiful babies (she even went as far as finding an app that merges pictures together to show you what your child might look like), along with other playful ‘hint hint’ comments force the blonde in making the first move. Two dates and a couple of weeks later, you two were officially boyfriend and girlfriend.

Dating.. hell just being around Mirio made you the happiest you had been in a long time...

Maybe that's why you hesitated when you thought about how to bring up your leg.

It's just… you were nervous. You liked him...alot.. maybe even loved him. Of course, Mirio was a hard man not to fall for. And it went far beyond just his looks. His passion, his personality... ok, his looks. Everything about him radiated positivity and life. Put a half-dead plant near him, and the damn thing will jump back to life.

If he did have a flaw, it was he was too perfect. You knew in your heart he would be accepting of your leg and your career, but...

You didn't want to mess anything up, and you really hadn't been dating too long...

Six months might seem like a long time but, given the fact that you were both heroes. It made your schedules a little... wonky, to say the least. Though six whole months have passed, you've only gotten to spend a month actually together in total. But that was the hero's life for you.

While it wasn't always ideal, you both understood, and fortunately, you had technology on your side. Texting, emailing, and calling made the time apart more bearable.

You felt like a giddy school girl as you checked your phone throughout the day. Reading the little message he sent you throughout the day, helped with getting through even the toughest of days.

But today was different.

After weeks of planning, both of you finally had a day off together and planned on spending as much time as you could together.

There was going to be a festival held in a local park nearby that you loved going to every year.

Mirio was dying to see a new comedy movie that just came out and, of course, no date we complete without a nice dinner at the local ramen house, the one you first met at.

Your day was set!

You had just finished brushing your lush (Y/Hair color) hair when you heard a knock at your door. You quickly check your appearance in the mirror before welcoming the expected visitor at your door. Your outfit was simple, (cute/cool) and appropriate for the adventurous day before you. A pair of your favorite pants and (favorite color) tank top. While it wasn't summertime yet, the day was going to be warm and slightly humid.

Mirio arrived at your apartment earlier than expected, and he looked amazing. He stood in the doorway, wearing a black t-shirt and tan cargo shorts that fit him too well. Not that you're complaining, you would soon cut your own tongue out before telling him ‘ya know babe, your butt looks too good in those shorts. You should go change.’

You haven’t taken that many hits to the head yet.

Without any hesitation, you stepped into his warm, welcoming embrace. The feel of his arms around you reminded you that it really had been way too long since you’d gotten to see him. So long, in fact, that it took the two of you a little longer to leave than planned when a quick greeting kiss turned into a heated ', I missed you so much' makeout session. The moment your lips touched, the world around faded away, and there was only the two of you. But before things went too far though, one your neighbor, old miss nosy, interrupted. Apparently, neither of you remembered to shut the front door for some privacy. The sharp huff and her snide comment about hormonal young people these days were enough to pull you from your daze. After rearranging your clothes and locking your door, the two of you were off to enjoy your day.

And oh, what a wonderful day it was.

Even with the slight change of plans.

Aizawa called Mirio around lunchtime and asked him to pick up Eri after school. The UA teacher was being called out to an emergency assignment and wouldn't be back till later that night. Mirio felt bad after telling you over lunch, but you weren't upset. In fact, you were excited to see Eri again and suggested that you include her in your outing. You enjoyed spending time with her. You especially got a kick out watching her and Mirio interact. The brotherly and sisterly bond they shared never failed to bring a smile to your face.

Everything was perfect…

… until a villain attacked…

The three of you were making your way to the festival. You walked beside Miro while he carried Eri on his shoulders. You'd been in an in-depth conversation with the curious young girl, and before you realized it, you reached a rough part of town. Unfortunately, this was the shortest path to the fairgrounds. But with the two of you being heroes, you weren't too worried.

Oh, how wrong you were…

You should have taken the bus.

You through as you dodge another attack from the villain in front of you. You had to be mindful with attacks you dodged, Mirio and Eri were crouched on the ground behind you. Mirio took massive damage from the villain's surprise attack. Parts of his face, the exposed skin on his arms and neck were an angry red and blistered. His breathing was harsh and uneven.

Eri huddled up next to him, was scared but uninjured. Even with Mirio's injuries, he kept himself between the young girl and the man you were fighting. The villain had a dangerous quirk, allowing him to attack with scalding hot steam. Thank goodness for the quick reflexes of your blonde boyfriend. The villain came out of nowhere with a blitz attack aimed right at Eri. With speed only a skilled hero would have, he simultaneously pushed you and Eri out of the way of the blast. But doing so left him completely defenseless, taking the full force of the attack.

In slow motion, you watched Mirio fall while you were left holding the young girl in your arms. Your fury rose as you eyed your injured lover and grinning villain. Quickly you tell Eri to run before you rushed the attacker in front of you. He was preparing for another attack, but before could, you hit him with a hard left, drawing his attention to you.

At some point, Eri ran over to check on Mirio.

"Mirio." you dodge another attack " If you can move, get her out of here. I got this guy!" You tried to counter

"I'm not going to leave you!"

"Just go!" Your quirk was strong, but it wasn't suited to fight the man in front of you. Your best bet was to hold him off until another hero arrived. His steam made it hard to dodge and even harder to get close for a counter. Every dodged, every counter made your skin boil. Finally, after what seemed like forever, you see an opening.

"Gotcha!" You yell, aiming your fist for the man's face.

The villain grinned as he emitted a burst of steam around his whole body. The skin on your hand and arm were instantly burned by the heated moisture of the air. You couldn't help but shout out in pain as you jump back, cradling your injured arm.

"(Y/N)!" Eri's voice echoed through the alleyway.

"You don't stand a chance. So just give me the kid, and I'll let you and your little boyfriend live." He taunted before gesturing over to Eri, who was shaking in Mirio's arms.

"No way. I won't let you take her…"

"What are you? Some hero wannabes?" He sneered.

"Try the real deal." You scoffed back at him.

"Ahhhh, I thought I recognized you… your (Y/Hero Name), aren't you? And is that Lemillion, behind you?" He laughed. "Oh, this is too perfect! I get to kill off two heroes and rid the world of that demon child too? Today's going to be a good day!" He attacked you again with even more determination than before. You manage to dodge most of his attacks and even land a few blows of your own. However, the little damage you could do was nothing compared to the damage you were receiving.

"Are you blind or stupid? Why are you fighting so hard to protect that little brat?"

"What can I say? I tend to take my work home with me."

"That's not what I mean. I mean, why would you fight to protect her?" He rolled his eyes. "It's her fault, Lemillion is quirkless."

" Do you really have nothing else better to do than pick on a little kid?" You weren't going to fall for whatever trick the villain was trying to pull, but a slight look of confusion must have shown on your face.

"You don't know, do you?" He taunted

"That's enough!" Mirio yelled as best he could before he started coughing.

"What Lemillion? Didn't you tell her what happened to you?" He was now looking passed you to your boyfriend behind you. Eri had started shaking as she tried to bury her face into his chest. Whatever the villain was talking about, was clearing affecting the two behind you.

"Shut up!" You attack again. You hated seeing Eri so upset. But what scared you was the look on Mirio's face. Typically, he smiled, even in the face of danger. You could count on seeing his dazzling grin to get you out of the toughest of situations. Not this time, though. You could see anger but also a look of sadness as he hugged Eri close to him, whispering something you couldn't quite make out.

"Let me fill you in little hero. That brat behind you, she's the reason your loverboy back there lost his quirk. It's because of her that he'll never be the hero 'should' have been. All because of her and her damn quirk." He smirked as he continued. "You see, she has the ability to destroy other quirks." You were shocked as you listened to the villain in front of you. You never really asked what Eri's quirk was or how it was they met. Of course, you heard rumors that Mirio was quirkless. You never saw or heard of him using his quirk, so you never really asked about it. Honestly, you really didn't care. He was a damn good hero and an even better person. "Don't you see how dangerous that kid is? She could destroy everyone's quirk! Your's, Mine, Everyone! I'm doing the world a favor by getting rid of her." He chuckled menacingly. "Guess you could call me the hero in this situation!"

"Who the hell do you think you are…" Your teeth ground on each other as your anger rose to a new level.

"What?"

"What gives you the right…" Your voice rose as you took a step towards the villain.

"The right? Honey, I'm a villain. I do what I want when I want." He chuckled.

"Villian or not. That wasn't your secret to tell…"

"Huh?" That confused him.

"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TELLING SOMEONE ELSE'S SECRET?!" You launch yourself at the man. "You have no right to do that to someone!" You throw another punch only to meet a wall of steam. It wasn't as hot this time. You must have caught him off guard. That or you were just too mad to feel the pain. "People process things and will let others in at THEIR pace, not yours! People have secrets, and that's fine!

It's also okay for them not to tell anyone, but it's never okay for someone else to tell it FOR them!" You jump back to catch your breath some as you prepare for your next move. You looked back over your shoulder and beamed at the teary-eyed girl and your now smiling boyfriend.

"Mirio… Eri... I understand why you didn't tell me about your quirk or your relationship… I get it... That's a big secret to have. But know this, I will protect you, and I will never see you any different from before. I know what that feels like." You winked. "I have a secret, too, ya know… Something I haven't told either of you yet…" You turn to face the villain who had just gotten his second wind and charging up for the attack. And a powerful one at that. Without any hesitation, you rush the man in front of you.

"(Y/N)! "Eri's fearful voice echoed through the alleyway.

"This is where you die (Y/Hero Name)!" The man engulfed his body in vapor hotter than before. Without any hesitation, you swing your leg in a high kick at the man's face. The vapor destroyed the material of your pants to reveal shiny metal where soft flesh should have been. While you weren't able to see, you could feel the impact of your attack. The contact you made was sold and amplified by your rage, sent the man flying to the alley wall behind him, knocking him out cold.

Adrenaline still pumping, you run over to check Mirio and Eri. Just as you reach them. Backup finally arrives. A couple of offers and some heroes swarmed the scene. Apparently, someone had called in the fight happening in the alleyway, but with the festival going on, it took longer for them to respond.

"Mirio! Are you ok?" You crouched down next to him, checking over both him and Eri.

"Yeah, I'm ok… What… about you…. Eri?" His breath was uneven and hard as he spoke.

"Were ok." You said in unison.

Two EMTs arrived, immediately running over to the three of you. They were more concerned about Mirio and wanted to take him to the hospital. He, of course, fought them, saying how they needed to check you and Eri first. True, the burns on your up arms and hands were severe but weren't life treating. Mirio, on the other hand, had more pressing injuries. The first attack from the villain damaged his throat and lungs. So the paramedics were more focused on getting him to the hospital.

Without hesitation, you and Eri jump in the back of the ambulance with him. Much to the protest of one of the EMTs who was bandaging your burns. The ride back to the hospital was quiet. Eri didn't look at you the whole time. You felt bad. She was shy and to have someone say all those mean things about her... A kid… made you want to go back and kick that villain one more time for good measure. But Eri's safety and Mirio's health comes first. The doctors quickly got Mirio into a room and hooked up to a line of oxygen. One of the nurses was able to apply some minor healing to make his breathing a little easier. However, he would have to wait a little while before someone with the proper quirk could heal his lungs completely.

So there the three of you were. Eri didn't look up at you for the longest time, and it finally took Mirio talking to her to get her to look at you. The villain's comments really upset Eri, and she thought you now hated her because of what happened to Mirio. After a lot of reassuring, tears (from all three of you) and hugs (lots of hugs), Eri finally smiled at you again.

About that time, Aizawa entered the room. His mission got canceled last minute. He heard what happened and rushed over to check on Eri. After a few more reassuring hugs and promises to see each other later. Aizawa took Eri home, leaving you alone with Mirio. You were quiet for a while as you sat in silence, not sure what to say. Luckily, Mirio being Mirio, knew just what to do. He slowly slid over as much as the small bed would allow and raised one of his arms up.

"Come here..." He gave you a soft smile, and without hesitation, you climbed into the bed with him. This was something you both need right now. After some careful adjustment due to your injuries, the two of you found a comfortable position. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my quirk or about Eri."

"It's fine, believe me when I say I know a thing or two about what to bring up and when." You joked as you patted your metal leg. "Some things... aren't first date or even six months of dating conversations." He couldn't help but chuckle before finally getting a good look at your leg.

"I... didn't know about your leg... What happened?"

"There was a villain attack when I was a kid..." You whispered as thought back to that day. After telling him the whole story, he couldn't help but hold you tighter to himself. "After that... I decided to be a hero. I'm sorry I didn't tell you soon... and that you had to find out this way... Bet it was a bit of a shock, huh?" You glanced away slightly but stayed in his embrace. You felt bad for not telling him sooner. You mentally scolded yourself as you stare at your exposed metallic leg; if you hadn't been so afraid of telling him, you could have ended the fight sooner. It could have ended better. Mirio knew you were kicking yourself about the attack. He leaned down and gave you a sweet kiss on your lips. The blonde man knew you well, and you leaned into the kiss. True to his nature, the sunshine boy could break through the darkest doubts you had about yourself.

"A bit but not in a bad way... I was just surprised! But... now that I think about it... it does make sense..." His sheepish expression made you feel better until you fully comprehend his answer. After a kiss like that, you almost forgot you asked a question.

"Huh?"

"Well.. you have a little cans of oil in your medicine cabinet, and you have an unusual amount of tools for someone who doesn't have a vehicle... "He quietly reflected before a look of surprise washed over his face. "And on top of that...Tamaki said that Fatgum stepped on your foot last week, and you didn't even flinch!" He examined with his trademark grin.

His expression, along with his remarks through you into a fit of laughter. Hearing your laughter made his heart soar as he joined in. The fit was made worse as you remembered the look on Fatgum’s horrified face when he realized it was your foot and not a bunched up part of the carpet, stepped on. He apologized profusely and was surprised when you brushed off the incident.

"Poor guy. I thought he was going to cry!" You roared as you both continued to laugh until a coughing fit from Mirio finally claimed you both down. "So…. Do you have any plans tomorrow?"

"Not really. Bubble girl gave me the next few days off to rest up. What about you?"

"Fatgum was upset I got injured. I believe his exact words were, 'now, as much as I love fried chicken, don't bring your extra crispy butt into work for the next few days? Got it chickadee?'" You did your best to imitate the BMI hero's accent, which only causes you to go into another laughing fit.

"How about we hang out at my place tomorrow? What is Hado called? Netflix and chill?"

"I'd like that." You grinned as gently snuggled against Miro's chest.

Thanks for the read! If you want see the other stuff I’ve done, click the link bellow!

MasterList

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #togata mirio x reader #mirio x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #togata mirio #lemillion x reader

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hadestownmodern · 5 years ago

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Fight (1/?)

You said angst? Here’s part 1/? of pre-baby Orphydice angst for you!

This will probably get a title change too at some point....

-Danielle

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

Eurydice jiggles her key in the lock of her apartment door, clouded vision and faulty craftsmanship making the process twice as arduous. The lock seems to scream back at her in response; a refusal to enter, a why are you here? A frustrated groan escapes her lips. Eurydice jams the key back into the lock with force, jerking it side to side and pulling on the doorknob until it flies open under her strength. She slams it behind her, throwing her bag on the floor with a huff and setting up the long, pole-like master lock with a second-natured sort of unease.

Turning to face the shoebox studio apartment, Eurydice feebly attempts to shake off the tears that now spill over, run down her cheeks and her chin without so much as a warning. It’s been so long since she’s been in this place for a night, so long since she’s had to settle herself on the lumpy mattress on the floor. She can’t bring herself to it, to the place she’d spent so much time wondering how her life would turn out-if she’d ever get out of the place she’d worked so hard to afford for herself.

Being back is a slap in the face-a failure in more aspects than just a simple move.

She treats the night as a permanent settlement not to add on to her pain, but to cut down any sort of possibility or optimism she might have. It’s easier this way, she thinks, to find finality in it all. Abandoning hope before it settles in her heart is easier than losing it unwillingly. She’d started this mess, tangled him in her web of doubts and insecurities, in the inner workings of her mind. She hadn’t been able to shut herself up, had been too loud-to sharp-too unforgiving. She’d been everything that her father had said to her all those years ago, everything her mother had tried so hard not to be. In an instant, Eurydice finds herself wishing that she weren’t so similar to the woman who taught her to ride a bike-who listened to her sing and brushed her once long, cascading waves of dark hair while whispering words of love. She wishes she weren’t like the woman who couldn’t be saved from herself.

She holds on to her rounded stomach. She wishes.

Shuffling around, Eurydice has to reach back into the not-so-distant depths of her muscle memory to recall where everything is. There are several smaller things in her bag, things she’d reached for with the vision of boxes outside of his door, of it’s over, of seeing him only while passing their child back and forth. The possible instability is the last thing Eurydice had wanted for the child she’s just gotten used to longing for, and now that shifting vision her anxiety had created is quickly becoming a reality.

He’d be the better parent. She knows this from the softness of his voice, the natural instinct to hold, to love, to nurture without so much as a thought. Orpheus is the one who’d helped her learn to love-not only him, or their child, but herself. Without him, Eurydice feels a shakiness she hadn’t felt since childhood-since her father had willingly let her go time and time again.

It’s better to run before being thrown out.

Eurydice sinks down onto her bed; the tiny mattress in the corner of her studio apartment can’t be classified as much else, but she’d been proud of it. Now, it feels inadequate. Tucking herself in , feeling the empty space beside her, the weight of her changing body feels much heavier than it had been. Thoughts of a baby lying beside her-tiny, fragile, helpless-in this space barely even suited for herself has her cringing. Being a mother isn’t something she’d planned for; it’s a thought that had grown comfortably on her as time wore on, as she’d become attached to the idea of a little family. Every vision in her head had included she and Orpheus as a team and then slowly, as two people that would grow together for as long as they’d live. She’d let herself succumb to those thoughts of undeniable comfort. She’d let herself feel too deeply.

She’d ruined things once again.

She can’t handle the idea of taking off her ring-the thin band with its tiny stone fit on her finger as if it were meant to be there. The thought of giving it back hurts more than anything, and it makes the bed cold, the apartment darker and more frightening. She coughs, a sputter through her choked back tears. Her body shakes as she lets her feelings consume her.

---

Orpheus is a wreck; he walks into the bar ten minutes late for his shift, Hermes staring at the clock wondering where he could possibly be. His boy-responsible, hard-working, self-critical-had never been late to work before. Eyes red and puffy, lips forced into a shaky smile, he slips his apron from its hanger and ties it clumsily around his waist. He is a fumbling mess, cocktail shakers and ice scoops falling from typically skilled hands. Hermes watches him carefully-the way his long limbs trip over themselves, the way his voice is low and quivering as he talks.

Persephone slides onto a stool near her pseudo-brother with one eyebrow raised, her eyes trained where his is. Their son slides her a glass of red wine with a quick greeting before focusing back in on his work. She whips her head around to Hermes.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He was late today. On top of that he’s nearly broken three or four glasses and it’s only been half an hour. He’s not right.”

“He hasn’t said anything to you?”

“I haven’t asked.” He shrugs, effortless, without excuse. Persephone straightens her posture, clears her throat. Hermes sighs. “Sister, he’s old enough for you not to go meddling. If he wants help, he’ll,”

“-Orpheus, you look like shit.”

Her blunt nature has her son turn around, caught with wide eyes like a deer in the headlights. It’s then that both Persephone and Hermes are able to see the line of puffy red skin beneath his eyes, the expression both vacant and overrun with thoughts.

“’Rydice’s upset.”

“She’s upset?”

“We got into a fight.”

“Is she upstairs?” Persephone stands up from her stool, stretching her shoulders and grabbing her purse. Orpheus moves quickly to the front of the bar, one hand out to stop her.

“She went home-not home, not our home. She went back to her old apartment.”

Hermes is hit with the passing sight from earlier in the day-Eurydice clamoring up the stairs, unlocking the door only to return a moment later with a bigger backpack, half-opened, her feet moving slowly back down the wooden stairs. She hadn’t even said hello to him as she’d passed, wiping fervently at her eyes and keeping her head low. He hadn’t thought much of the sight then-Eurydice had been coming and going from here to school to her multiple jobs since Thanksgiving weekend. He hadn’t let himself see the minor details the way he does so easily on his son. Where Persephone would have stopped her, he’d let her go.

“Persephone,” his tone is gentle, but still warning. He puts a hand on her shoulder and she shakes it off. Younger, stubborn as long as he’d known her, Persephone stays true to form as she puts a hand on Orpheus’s shoulder.

“What did she do to you?”

“Persephone,”

“She has your child, Orpheus. She has your child and she has your ring, she can’t just run off like this.”

“She’s not running.” His words are laced with doubt but he stands his ground, as unsettled in his own truth as he is. Flying to her defense is as easy as loving her had become; her dark eyes filled with admiration, the way she laid lazy in bed with her head on his chest. She craved more than holding his hands, her body pressed close to his. She spoke softly to him and harshly in defense of herself. She kept her guard for everyone but him, it had seemed. She’d been so short with him then that he hadn’t known exactly what he’d done wrong. He’d been hurt by her quick, lashing words, the way her gentle demeanor had turned dark and cold, how she’d left him standing in the store by himself. The moment felt like one long, hellish nightmare. He thought he’d been doing things right for once. He’d been blindsided.

“I can’t do it, Orpheus. I can’t.”

“You can’t do what?”

“I can’t accept her pity. I thought-I thought she was different, and now she’s throwing her money at us? I just,”

“’Rydice,” He’s a soothing presence, his hand running up and down her arm.

“We can do it on our own. It might be hard, and it might suck for a while, but we can do it. We don’t need handouts or pity.”

“She just wants to get something for the baby.”

“You see things through your own lens, Orpheus. She doesn’t think we can do it. She doesn’t think I can do it, and she’s probably right. People use their money to make their own futures and to manipulate everyone else’s.”

“She’s not doing that.”

“I didn’t grow up knowing what it was like to have money. I didn’t grow up getting new things every time I asked. I barely grew up with enough to eat. You need to understand that we can’t afford these things-we’re not going to be able to give this baby the life you had.”

“The-the life I had?”

“Orpheus,” She huffs, taking a frilly dress from his hands and holding it up to eye-level. It’s a beautifully crafted dress, a muted pink made from fabric that feels more like butter in her hands. There’s a matching diaper cover, all ruffles and frills, and the ensemble brings a pin-prick of mist to her eyes. “We can’t afford all of this.”

“I understand.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.” He stops then, eyeing the dress Eurydice had put back on the rack. The basket full of tiny dresses and bows and shoes is everything he’d been hoping for, everything he’d dreamed about since holding Junie for the first time. Eurydice has a far-away look in her eyes, a glassy cloud rolling over the adoration they’d had when she’d first held a newborn onesie.

“We can’t keep pretending that this is normal-we’re not some thirty year olds settled perfectly into their little white picket fence marriage. I’m broke. We met a few months ago. We’re getting married and we’re getting to know each other because of this baby and I’m sorry that this is what you’ve got, but it is.”

He stops short, unsure of how to respond. The information has barely registered, thrown at him all at once through a voice grown suddenly cold. He’s taken aback by her-the way she steps further from him, refuses to look in his direction. The air is thick between them, Orpheus slowly opening and closing his mouth as he attempts to craft a response that’ll bring her back to him.

“That’s not why I asked you to marry me.”

“Orpheus,”

“-is that why you said yes? Because of the baby?” His voice squeaks at the last syllable, disbelief in his shortened breaths. Eurydice is not able to answer him quick enough-the hesitation in her thoughts is unbearable, a crushing blow to his heart. He’d been told time and time again that he moved too fast-fell too hard, loved too openly. A sweet boy-a kind soul- but a too much personality. Orpheus looks at the stack of clothes in their basket. A onesie boasting about the best dad ever stacked right on top, picked out by a grinning Eurydice.

He pulls a handful of hangers from the basket and thumbs through them, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

“I’m going to put these away.”

“Orpheus,”

“-It’s okay.”

“I didn’t,”

“-I have to go to work. I,” he hesitates upon the three words he’d said too soon, nervous about driving her further away. He can’t see the way she leans in subconsciously, the way her eyes close and her lips part slightly. When she opens them again he’s kissing her cheek, his hand on her hand. “Think about it.”

He’s not even sure what he means by the phrase, only that for the first time since meeting her, he wants to step away from Eurydice for a moment. Before he can get out of the store Eurydice’s sent him a text, and he stops short to read it over in hopes that the words might change.

“Staying at my place tonight. I’m sorry.”

#hadestown #hadestownmodern #orphydice #young parents orphydice #orpheus #eurydice #danielle writes #and posts to the wrong blog for the thousandth time

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my-wonderland-imagination · 4 years ago

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Mother Russia's Ice Tiger

Chapter Two: Warm Kitty

Otabek’s Point Of View:

I frowned slightly as I looked around the banquet hall, there was a lot of people. It made me worry about Yura, he wasn’t very good with crowds when he wasn’t on ice. Everyone always treated like a weak, vulnerable child, not the ferocious tiger he really was… Though, I was the only person to see the true person under his mask, the adorable, little kitten who loved a good cuddle and fluffy blankets. It was fun being with Yuri, he always dropped his guard around me and just let himself be... Well himself. He would pout and sulk if something didn’t go his way, but that’s what made him so precious to me, because the things he pouted and sulked about were always about me, my clothes, my bear, my bike, even my cuddles, he’d complain if my arms weren’t wrapped tight enough around him and that he wasn’t close enough to me, even if he was in my lap.

My Yura, my kitten. I was lucky, so lucky to see him again. After our first encounter in the ballet school... I wanted to see more of him, I wanted just him. He put me in a trance with his beautiful dancing and those lively green eyes of his... The unforgettable eyes of a soldier, that’s what really drew me in. He captured my heart from a young age and I can honestly say, I’ve never been happier. I couldn’t imagine anyone else having my heart but Yura. He was the one thing that pushed me to try my best at skating, to exceed all the limits and push further. He’s what inspired me to continue skating, to try and win no matter what. And after our fateful encounter in Barcelona, he still hadn’t changed, only got a little taller, a hundred times sassier and had a foul-mouth. Now I’m not one for cursing but whenever Yura shouted a cuss word, it sends a shot of heat throughout my body. As if I couldn’t get enough of his voice, the thought of the dirty words leaving his angelic lips with that musical innocent tone that was his voice made me shiver with delight. He was downright sinful, from his gorgeous blonde hair that usually covered half of his face, the fierce attitude he had when arguing with someone(usually about why cats are superior), the sweet tone of his voice when he’s tired and just wants to be held close and tight, the beautiful green of his eyes that can cause you to get lost in without care, the soft, pink lips that he chews on when he’s anxious or thinking. My mind slowly starts wondering to his body, the height of the delicate tiger that fits perfectly under my chin, the small soft flesh that covers him, perfect size for my arms when we cuddle, the long shapely legs that slowly lead up to- DAMNIT I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep thinking about him in that way when theres people around, it’ll cause me more problems than what I have to deal with already.

Sighing, I look around and try to spot my Yura, desperate to see him to calm my own nerves. Nodding unconsciously at what my coach says to the new sponsors, I spot him sulking next to Viktor, pout on his lips, arms crossed angrily, but his eyes searching frantically, scared and desperate for something. Soon they land on me and relief fills them, but the fear still doesn’t leave them, I knew this was a bad idea for him.

“And Otabek is just ready to take gold next season, he’s got so many new ideas and dances ready to go. You just can’t stop him once he starts-” my coach babbled on, gesturing at me. The sponsors nodded and turned their attention to me, eyes expectant for me to play along and tell them something they want to hear. Clearing my throat, I put the champagne glass down and smile bleakly at them,

“I apologise to cut this meeting short but I’m afraid I need to go and talk to one of the competitors, I promised we’d discuss the new season and possibly doing a piece together, if not just choreographing something for them.” I say dryly, my voice monotone and devoid from any sort of implication on whom I wanted to speak to.

“That’s Otabek, always ready to go back to training, striving to do his best and win that gold.” my coach says and slaps my shoulder with a forced laugh, I just gave them a half smirk and nodded towards them,

“If you’ll excuse me.” I say and turn around, walking away from them and towards my Yura. He watches me come closer and sighs audibly in relief, moving forwards to meet me halfway but gets stopped by Lila who whispers something to him and pulls him to a elderly couple. I could hear them from my position, they were cooing at him and started pinching his cheeks, talking about how adorable he was and how he was such a well trained little girl. I could see that he was getting angrier and angrier by the second, so could Lila, Yakov, Viktor and everyone else but the couple in front of him. He was ready to blow, I could see it and I knew that was my cue to step in.

“Excuse me sir, ma’am but I’m afraid I’m going to need to steal Yuri away from you two. I had promised to speak to him about the upcoming season and the new choreography, we thought we might do a duet perhaps or I sort his next piece for him.” I cut in, their ramblings cut short with my blunt tone. My hand gently wrapped itself around Yura’s wrist and slowly tugged him closer to me.

“Oh yes of course! Wow, you skaters sure mean business for next year, I can’t wait to see!” The lady said which turned my thoughts dark and menacing,

‘Oh yes, I’m sure. It will surely be a season to remember.’ I chuckled lowly, my lips turning up at the corners,

“If you’ll excuse us. Ms Lila, Mr Yakov we may be a while so I’ll make sure Yura gets back safely and on time.” I say, turning my gaze on her and Yakov to let them know that I was taking him away from the banquet. Yakov just nodded at me and shot a look at Lila when she opened her mouth to argue, which made her look over at Yura and shut it closed at the look on his face.

“Very well, training won’t be until tomorrow afternoon at 1 pm sharp, don’t be late little ballerina, am I understood?” she asks, causing Yura to nod at her. Nodding my head one last time, I turned and started pulling Yura out of the banquet room and out of the venue. Pulling him towards my bike, I turned around and pulled him into my arms, wrapping them around him tightly, tucking him close to my body. He slowly deflated into me, fingers gripping onto my jacket tightly as his breathing quickened then slowed.

“You ready to go, Yura? We can go get some ice cream before we go back to the hotel to make our fort.” He just nodded against me and slumped against me, suddenly drained of energy.

“It’s okay kitten, I got you.”

#yurio #yuri on ice yurio #otabek x yurio #otabek pov #yuri on ice #viktor x yuuri #ice skating #figure skating #i don't know if this good or not #i hope you like it

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iamtaran · 5 years ago

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Rendezvous* AU

Jaskier is a professional, usually. He had worn out all the rough edges of this particular character over the years until it felt almost more comfortable than returning to being Julian at the end of the week. It may have taken a few years to curb his decidedly modern mouth and gain the respect of his fellow re-enactors, but during the open weekend when the visitors poured in? He was always on pointe. Spending the greater portion of an entire weekend in performance, in character-- it exhilarates him. The joy from the visitors, their laughs and surprise and unprepared blushes when he singles them out for a bit. If he could, he would eat it and live on it forever. Except, well, a man has to eat real food as well, and Jaskier had skipped breakfast in his rush. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. This particular Rendezvous at Alafia River always has more bakers, potato roasters, and poorly disguised Highland Games food carts peddling fish and chips than one could shake a stick at. Jaskier had simply followed his nose. It wouldn’t be a problem... Except the baker is the most attractive man Jaskier has ever clapped eyes on. “Essi, Essi, Essi,” he chants. “Essi, you’ve- I swear, if you don’t turn around-” “Jaskier, for god’s sake,” Essi hisses, sandwiched between a wooden stall and the shielding curtain of his body where she is attempting to subtly adjust her slipping décolletage. “I’m a little busy.” “Not too busy for this! Essi,” he whines. A hand smacks his arm, hard. “I’m not getting thrown from the Voo over a nip slip you f--forking child,” she grumbles into her cleavage. That adjusted, she nudges his shoulder out of the way. “Now, what are you whining about?” She looks, as usual, gorgeous, even with the momentary fashion crisis. No one looks better in crisp white chemise and dusty rose robe anglaise in linen. Well, except- “Him.” *** (*A Rendezvous is a historical reenactment/ living history event that may last an entire extended weekend, an entire week, 9 days. Participants camp on-site in pre-1860s period clothing, using as much historically accurate gear as possible and disguising any absolutely necessary modern amenities to keep from breaking immersion. Sometimes, the last weekend of the event is open to the public non-participants to wander through, purchase from artisans and craftsmen, often including folks from local tribes, and enjoy the musical or martial performances, historic rifle ranges, archery, delicious food, hatchet throwing, and more. This encounter may or may not be inspired by a memorable Rendezvous encounter as a visitor.)

Jaskier has never in six years seen this particular baker at this particular Rendezvous. Would that I had, he thinks somewhat wildly. It’s not one thing, really, that catches his attention, which sometimes does happen. He has fallen in love with a stranger’s heavy-lidded eyes, or a singular profile, or even the way someone tucked their legs up under them in a library chair. It is the way his pale, silvery hair wisps and half-curls around his face and across his forehead, where heavy brows furrowed in concentration. It is the shocking softness of his mouth compared to the granite cut of his jaw and the roughness of his stubble. It is his hands. Jaskier thinks they might be the most beautiful hands he has ever seen. The strength, the gentleness, the competence with which they folded and kneaded, then with swift, short turns tucked the dough into a boule to add to the nearly filled board behind him. Jaskier isn’t the only one watching. The man, whether it be what Jaskier sees or the smell of his already-baked loaves, has drawn a crowd. (And he really does suspect it is a mixture of both. No one should look so good with the sweaty, unwashed Rendezvous look. Most people look as you might expect after a week-long historical camping trip. This man looks like a rugged wet dream.) Even as Jaskier looks, the baker slices the top of the dough with a slender knife frankly dwarfed in his grip, settles the boule on the board, and with a sharp flick of his elbow slides the whole dozen of them into the mouth of the clay dome oven radiating heat at his back. Even presented with the man’s astonishing back (and astonishing backside, lord, blessed be the fall-front trousers)--even then, Jaskier finds he can’t stop staring at his forearms, revealed by his rolled shirtsleeves. “Oh, you’ve got it bad,” Essi murmurs, and laughs when he jumps. “Well, go on. Go buy your bread and flirt with him. I’m going to get chowder from the fish and chip tent.” “But- Essi,” Jaskier flounders, “we, it- the performance!” They had planned to spend the last couple hours of morning trolling the main drag and the surrounding lines of tents and stalls, singing and playing, he on accordion and she the violin. They even have a couple new bits he is dying to run through. Jaskier thinks of his wallet and all the tips they might be making even now and whines. That being said, his eyes draw back to the dimple along the muscle of the baker’s forearm without his permission. Essi pats his back mockingly. “Frankly, my dear, I refuse to perform with you like this.” “Excuse me! Like what?” She doesn’t deign answer. Instead, with a wink, she steps back into the crowd, calling, “I’ll meet you at the Live Oak Stage for the noontime performances!” and leaves him there. Which is also when Jaskier hears the first keening notes of a familiar song. He already knows he is ruined before turns to take in the scene-- the baker with the fiddle pressed under his chin, the bow so delicate in his blunt-fingered hand that Jaskier’s heart leapt into his throat. The angle of his wrist, the tilt of his brows-- then he glances up through unexpectedly dark lashes and his amber eyes flash golden in the light. “Oh, Jesus wept.” *

As it would turn out, the handsome baker’s name is Geralt, and his rendition of Tiersen’s sur le fil is so beautiful that Jaskier can’t help but draw closer, like a moth to flame.

As it also turns out, the baker whose name is Geralt lowers the well-worn but immaculately tuned fiddle after the one song, allowing Jaskier to step close enough to embarrass himself. He gets half way through a too-long ramble about Tiersen’s works and praise for the man’s performance, and I’m a musician myself, can’t often be convinced to pick up a fiddle but-- when the baker grunts, points to the not-exactly historically accurate but not-not period appropriate accordion in his hands and asks, “Do you know La Noyée?” Which is how they end up playing together for the next thirty minutes until the bread has baked.

Which is also when Geralt introduces himself and gruffly thanks him, mentioning how his assistant usually accompanies him but he gave her the morning off, and then pays him in bread with a healthy slab of butter and aged cheese on top. Jaskier learns quickly that he is a man of few words. Somehow, however, he can read the sincerity in his thanks in his minute expression. They had drawn in quite a crowd, and Geralt is quickly made busy on the next batch of orders.

Jaskier knows when his presence is in the way. He is a little sad to go, but still, he knows he will be buzzing with the energy of their performance and the electric current that had passed between them every time Geralt glanced his way to time his accompaniment or signal a flourish. That can be enough. “Well, it’s been- ah, absolutely lovely playing with you, dear Geralt, but it seems I will only be in the way from this point- can’t bake to save my life, I’m afraid-” as he begins to slip away.

“Bard.” Jaskier freezes, surprised. Geralt cleans his hands off on his equally floury apron and pulls a tiny folded up pamphlet from inside its deep pocket. Jaskier takes it without thinking, on autopilot. “I’m part of a demonstration around 2, over at the fencing pit next to the musket range.” Jaskier can’t be blamed for how long it takes his brain to catch up with the unspoken invitation; but when he does, he beams.

He goes, and is promptly bowled over to find Geralt changed from his frankly too-flattering baker’s smock and fall-fronts into the traditional kilt and shirt sleeves of a highland foot soldier-- sans coat. Jaskier sees why when he lunges forward into a fast-paced mock battle with a broad sword that he slings about as if it were light as a rapier. Jaskier is... he needs to sit down.

He spends the rest of the weekend finding every excuse he can to go visit Geralt the too-handsome baker, and gets to meet his apprentice, who is also his daughter. Jaskier is stricken dumb for all of two seconds before he realizes they get on like a house on fire. Geralt has to chase them off when their chatter on historic social norms, musical trends, and current pop stars gets to be too much. Then they both have lunch with Essi, and the conversation turns to hsitoric fashion, materials, and ends with the two ladies roasting his poor man dandy outfit alive. He stands up for himself nobly. The high waisted trousers make him look trim! And braces were designed in the early 1820s, just like the accordion, thank you! Yes, he DOES know that it is considered terribly risque for his braces to be visible and not worn beneath a coat, why do they think he did it? No, he doesn’t think that they clash with his silk cravat in the least! He might be a rake and a rogue but he is still cultured. And well bathed, unlike most of the brutes around here! Essi calls him a floozy; Ciri, 16 and the least shy girl he has ever met, agrees. (He loves the two of them all the more by the end of it.)

Jaskier plays with Geralt a couple more times, after Essi gives him her blessing. She had found a bluegrass group in desperate need of a violinist after theirs abruptly came down ill, and she is more than happy to flirt with their cellist there, especially since they pop up stage in the middle of the Rendyvoo garners huge crowds of tip-happy listeners. She does chat with Ciri when she stops by, however, and Geralt. Jaskier doesn’t hear what happens, but she manages to get the big man to flush. Jaskier wonders on it for the rest of the day. Will she reveal her secrets??

The Voo ends and Jaskier is a besotted wreck. He tries quite hard to make his goodbye to father and daughter not the least bit tearful-- and immediately fails when Geralt pulls out a smartphone and gruffly tells him to put his number in.

They live much closer than they might have assumed. I can’t decide if Geralt really does own a bakery, or if that’s just his somewhat secret hobby and in reality his profession better matches his dangerous strongman persona-- a garage, a historic fencing and swordplay gym, perhaps a high-paid security professional. All of them have some interesting possibilities, I’ll be honest. Regardless, working Rendezvous’s and ren faires is half hobby half side-profession. Jaskier is thrilled to find that, since moving to the area recently, he and Geralt will be working a lot of the same events. He is excited a completely normal amount.

Y’all know what’s up. Wooing. Courting. Two idiots who don’t recognize their emotions (because, yes, Jaskier might have realized Geralt is a looker, but it takes him much longer to realize what the fuzzy feeling in his gut is whenever Geralt is particularly soft, or speaks gently to his daughter, or smile when their huge great dane comes barreling out to greet them and oh, no.) Also, historic costumes that just, they just really inspire some thirst.

If y’all think for a moment Geralt looks any less handsome in modern clothes, you are surely mistaken. Jaskier despairs the first time he sees him. It’s just... it’s not fair!

Except the local ren faire comes around and it’s Geralt’s turn to despair. He may, in fact, never recover. Y’all know that post that’s been going around...

ok fin. that’s all i got, i hope yall enjoyed.

#the witcher #fanfic #geraskier #taran writes #historical reenactment AU #yes there was a real baker who was real handsome #he pulled out the accordion and his assistant the fiddle and played a yann tiersen song i can't remember the name of but recognize every tim #and my gay little heart went OH #do i want to be you or are you just fantastic?#jokes on you baby taran #the answer was both

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fortitudina · 4 years ago

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DETAILED CHARACTER BIO QUESTIONS.

Name: Cillian Diarmuid Brockhurst ( Kye-Lan )

Nickname(s): Ci ( Kye ), Brocky, Snipes.

Name significance/meaning: Cillian ~ This name has several known meanings, including “war,” “strife,” and “bright-headed.” The word cille also means “associated with the church,” so the name is often associated with the word “church” or “monastery.”

Gender: Male

Age: 32

Birthday: 11th November

Deathday: ~

Star Sign/Astrology Sign/Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Location: Los Angeles

Birthplace: Los Angeles

Ethnicity: Irish-American

Nationality: American

Race: Caucasian

Physical Appearance: Clean cut and well presented average height male with brunette hair and blue eyes.

Skin Tone: Sandy-Tan ( https://www.schemecolor.com/skin-pastels.php )

Complexion: fair, smooth & soft.

Eye Color: Old World Blue ( x )

Natural Hair Color: Brunette

Height: 5’10” / 1.78m

Weight: 77kg / 169 lbs / 12st 12lbs

Body Type: Mesomorph

Build: Muscular / Athletic

Posture: Healthy [ x ]

Birthmarks: Strawberry mark on his right hip.

Scars: Gunshot scar on the right side of his chest & left side of the hip region of his abdomen. Stabbing scar to his abdomen and one on the back on the right hip area. One on the back of his neck.

Left Handed/Right Handed/Ambidextrous: Right handed

Age Character Appears to Others: 32

Dyed Hair Color: undyed

Usual Hairstyle: Short

Tattoos: Army tattoo on right bicep

Piercings: none

Makeup Style: ~

Clothing Style: Smart-casual

Clothing Size: Chest ~ 32inches / Waist ~ 26inches / Hips ~ 32inches

Shoe Style: Steel-toed boots, sneakers, oxfords.

Shoe Size: 10

Nail Appearance: short, well kept.

Eyebrow Shape: Straight ( x )

Features: Soft features overall; perfectly symmetrical

Face Shape: Oval

Facial Hair: Light stubble

Voice: Deep

Distinguishing Feature: Smile

Extrovert or Introvert: Ambivert

Personality Traits: Cheeky, Compassionate, Loyal

MBTI Personality: ESFJ-A

Optimist or Pessimist: Optimist

Temperament: Cheeky disposition

Mood: Cheerful

Attitude: Positive

Strengths: Caring, Kind, Giving

Flaws: Blunt, Hero Complex, Brash

Mannerisms: Smirking, quirking of eyebrow, cheeky grins

Habits: fiddling with pens or small objects

Morning Person or Night Owl: Morning person

Pet Peeves: idiots, bad lying, loud eaters, slow people ( walking etc )

Favorite Sin: Gluttony

Favorite Virtue: Patience

Weakness: Loved ones or friends & colleagues getting hurt / involved.

Strengths: Sharp-shooter, Skilled hand-to-hand combat.

Expressiveness: strong use of both facial expressions and hand movements.

Ruled by Heart or Mind: A little bit of both; more heart though.

Mindset: Positive

Philosophy: “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit”

Motivated by: Food, Justice, Happiness.

Everyday Speech: “The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it.”

Life Motto: “Don't count the days, make the days count.”

Energy Level: High

Memory Level: Eidetic (Photographic) Memory

Disabilities: none

Phobias: Incredibly small spaces.

Addictions: Does pizza and poptarts count?

General aptitude: Fluid Intelligence

Mental Strengths: Problem-Solving, Psychoanalysis,

Mental Weakness: Not a Genius

Physical Strengths: Physically fit, keen hand-eye coordination,

Physical Weakness: weakened cervical vertebrae from an old injury during a tour in Afghanistan

Past Illnesses: Chicken pox twice as a kid

Major Surgeries: Surgery to pin his cervical spine. Surgery to remove various bullets.

Accidents: Had several bumps and scrapes whilst at work.

Stability: Very Stable

Allergies: Pollen, Shellfish

Job Title: Detective

Company: LAPD

Career Type: Police

Education: High School, Military, Police Academy

College: ~

Work Ethic: Hard-working

Job History: Sniper in the Army, Beat Cop, Detective.

Income: $74,000 per anum

Political Party/Organizations: Doesn’t do politics

Volunteer Work: Helps at the Veteran’s housing association.

Dream job: Got it

What job would s/he do poorly at: Doctor

Career satisfaction: Love the job

Diet: Coffee and any food easy to grab on the go

Favorite Foods: Poptarts, Barbecue-based, Chicago stuffed crust pizza.

Favorite Drinks: Coffee, Beer, Cranberry juice.

Favorite Movie: Top Gun

Favorite Music: doesn’t really have a favourite

Favorite Book: doesn’t have time to read

Favorite Place: Does bed count?

Favorite activities: Running, Shooting, Cooking

Favorite time of day: Morning

What makes them happy? Catching the bad guys, seeing friends & family happy.

What makes them sad? Losing someone close to them.

Hobbies: Shooting, Running, Cooking, Singing

Interests: Films, Artwork

Favorite animal: Hyena

Loves to do: Wind people up and be cheeky

Hates to do: Paperwork

Inspired by: Former Army Colleagues

Raised by: (family) Mother and Father

Parent Status: Married ~ alive

Mother’s Name: Siobhan Marie Brockhurst

Mother’s Age: 63

Mother’s Background: Irish

Father’s Name: Patrick James Brockhurst

Father’s Age: 68

Father’s Background: American

Relationship with Mother: Close

Relationship with Father: Okay..

Parenting Type: Strict

Only Child? One of Three

First Born, Middle Child, or Youngest? Middle

# of Siblings: Second of three siblings

Relationship with Siblings: Close to brother; Distant with sister

Extended Family: ~

Family Relations: ~

How has family life shaped the character? Helped to both break him and make him who he is today

What they like most about their family: They will all get together for holidays and birthdays

What they dislike most about their family: The religious side

Children: Nil

Pets: Two Dogs

Best Friend(s): Doesn’t have one.

Worst Enemy: ~

Many acquaintances or few close friends? Few close friends

Sexual Preference: Any

Orientation: Pansexual

Relationship Status: Verse Dependent

Marital Status: Verse Dependent

First Love: Carlie Anne Vaugn

Current Love or Aspiring Love: Verse Dependent.

Notable Ex-Lovers: Azrael Mortem

Top 3 Loved Ones: ~

Top 3 Disliked Ones: ~

Who knows the character best? Eoghan, his brother or Lupita, his work partner.

Childhood: Cillian had a fairly stable upbringing; his parents in a strong marriage and with an older brother to help teach him the ropes, Cillian did well during his early school years and thrived in all of his subjects.

Adolescence: As he got to high school, he joined the football and soccer teams; being rather sporty as a child meant his fitness was impeccable. When he finished High school, instead of going to college, Cillian got in with the wrong crowd and ended up being arrested for Breaking and Entering and several counts of theft.

Young Adult: Went through Military training then, Cillian’s Regiment was sent to Afghanistan where they served three tours before he was shot in the Line of Duty after going through Hell being tortured with one of his comrades.

Adult: After being medically discharged from the army, Cillian took a year out for convalescence before joining LAPD. Given his history with the army, he soon shot up through the ranks until he became a Detective. He will also play the role of Police Sniper/marksman if they have to go into particularly tough situations that require an overwatch.

Moments/Experiences that shaped them: Getting into the wrong crowd after High school. Being sent into the Army. Being captured and tortured during his final tour in Afghanistan.

How have they changed as a person throughout their life? He has matured a considerable amount and become regimented and organised as an adult, with a respect for the law and bringing justice.

Major regrets: Getting involved with who he did as a teenager and ending up getting arrested.

Biggest life lessons learned: Don’t get arrested.

Religious Beliefs: Catholic

Upbringing: Strict & Religious

Core Values: Dependability, Consistency, Loyalty, Reliability, Integrity.

Morals: Always tell the truth, Treat others as you want to be treated, Be dependable, Be forgiving, Have integrity, Take responsibility for your actions, Have patience, Be loyal, Have respect for yourself and others

What does s/he believe is evil? The force in nature that governs and gives rise to wickedness and sin.

What does s/he believe is good? Morally excellent; virtuous; righteous; pious

Risks Worth Taking: Those that keep both the city and loved ones safe.

Important milestones: Making Lieutenant in the army. Reaching Detective in LAPD. NOT DYING whilst in both the Army or LAPD.

Achievements: The Purple Heart as a result of his capture & suffering endured during that time.

Failures: Getting Arrested as a teenager

Lifestyle: Busy

Character Traits: Hard-working, Brave, Compassionate, Honest, Successful, Fighter, Mischievous, Thoughtful, Sassy, Humorous, Helpful, Independent, Loyal, Courageous, Responsible.

Culture:

Main Goal: Have a long and happy life, full of hard work, fun and family.

Minor Goal: Drive the damn car at work.

Desire: There are several.

Biggest mistakes: Getting in with the wrong crowd.

Life lessons: Not everyone is going to like you.

Dream Life: The one I have now

Worst Nightmare: The Hell I endured whilst on my final tour.

Favorite Memories: Winding my brother up. Making Detective.

Least favorite memories: Getting Tortured

Things they want in life: Family. Love. Fun.

Things they don’t want in life: Suffering. Pain. Heartache.

What obstacles are currently in their way? Work.

Any secrets: Yes, but if you think he’s going to tell anyone, you’re idiotic.

Worldview: It’s just a little bit fucked.

Personal Hero: Former Sergeant Major.

Internal Conflict: Questioning if he’s good enough for his job at times.

External Conflict: Seeing the scars upon his body and being reminded of each event; wishing he could get rid of them all.

What others think of them: Fun and loveable; a genuine and caring guy.

What they think of themselves: an idiot; not good enough.

What they wish they could change: What they did in the past.

What they wish they could have: less strict father.

What gets them fired up: Liars. Suspects who think they’re clever.

Their definition of a good life: A steady job with a family and friends surrounding them.

Risks worth taking: Anything that keeps both family and friends safe.

Things they take for granted: Coffee. Beer. Time at times.

What inspires them: Seeing justice get served.

What they have doubts about: being good enough.

What makes them feel alive: The thrill of the chase.

What makes them want to do better: Any case they do not solve / Criminal that doesn’t get a guilty charge.

What do they want to be remembered for? Being a good and loyal man.

How will the character change? He might become a husband or a father? Perhaps even Lieutenant or Captain of LAPD some day.

#* CILLIAN { HEADCANON }

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hollowedpeacher · 5 years ago

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There was a delightful breeze that came through the air as the Mayor admired the crowd of people coming together to celebrate his birthday. Although he knew it was the barbecue that drew the crowd, it didn't stop him from feeling pride in his town as he hopped on the stage to make a speech. The Mayor tapped the microphone getting the attention of the townspeople with a smile on his face until suddenly a screech came ringing out the speakers.

Everyone in the square reached for the ears, covering them as the sound rang out for a minute and filling the air. It was like nails on a chalk board, causing shivers up spins for forcing. But instead of comforting silence, a distorted voice echoed out from speakers surrounding the stage. "Hello Peaches," the voice began smugly, as if they were smiling from behind the microphone.

“I bet you thought you were safe, nice and cozy in this oh-so-wonderful town. Did you think you could spend this weekend guzzling booze and cradling the karaoke mic with those cotton candy-coated sticky fingers without hearing from me? This weekend may be all about fun and games, but just because you try to ignore the problem, doesn't mean it goes away - isn't that right Angel Barbosa?"

The crowd turned their heads, all looking for the brunette among the sea of people who suddenly appeared to be thirsty blood sharks. While some appeared to be satisfied with the bubbling caldron of drama on the stage before them, many were hungry for more. The shuffling of everyone's feet, in conjunction with their murmurs, created a dull, chaotic roar amongst the crowd. "The Barbosa name is know to be strong, superior and loved. But how would people feel knowing that their matriarch isn't taking time off for a break like those who have the luxury of being ignorant for the weekend? If they knew little Barbosa came home to a place of abuse and to take care of mommy dearest, that'd certainly change the connotation of that powerful name. Such a cross to bare. I do hope chemo is treating your mother well."

To believe that the Peacher's reign was over was a long shot. The townspeople knew that this entity always came for the throat, and in cases of utter desperation, the whole flock. And while the square quickly filled with hungry whispers, musing about the Barbosa family and where exactly Angel’s mother had been all this time, their thoughts were cut short as the voice carried out from the speaker once again, menacing and coming with a vengeance.

"While we're discussing health problems, why don't we take a look closer at someone with much less power? Perhaps you've heard of her - the quiet little field mouse, constantly turtling in the corner with a blunt in hand to ease that anxiety that will certainly make her heart stop one day. Sweet, dearest Clementine,” the voice continued, drawing out the blondes name painfully slowly, savoring each syllable. Eyes darted around the sea of people in search of their regular waitress at the Giant Peach as the voice began once again. "It's a shame you can't set off on a journey to Oz to find a new heart. I'll share a quote that you can empathize with from the wonderful wizard himself: hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable. The tin man was enthused to discover that the heart-shaped clock he was given ticked. But you know what it's like to be living on borrowed time. Shhhhh. If you listen close enough, folks, you can hear the sound of the irregular heartbeat speeding up, and up, and up, and up—”

By now the crowd was searching for where the voice was coming from with no success. They should've known by now that once the Peacher took the microphone - it was quite over for whoever they laid their mark on. And while there were many desperately searching for the source of the voice, following the trail of dozens of wires leading away from the stage, their efforts were futile and led them to dead ends. The Peacher was good at this. The Peacher had been doing this for years. Their empire wouldn’t come crashing down because of forgotten wires. Not a chance.

"Let's call it ladies night, shall we? How do you feel about that, Lennon? Or should I say Jazlyn?” The voice coo’d, letting Lennon’s real name roll off their tongue with ease. “What? Did I strike a chord? I'm surprised to see you out, Rapunzel. You're usually cooped up in the towers. How did you ever end up in a place like Peach Hollow? You may have traded San Francisco's streets for suburbia, but you never stoped looking over your shoulder. It's tough shaking off that kind of pain, isn't it? I do hope you have a good therapist or the number to a private investigator on speed dial. You never know whose creeping up behind and when they're going to strike."

With every name and every secret that spilled out from the speakers, the crowd in the square grew more restless. People began backing away from the stage in fear of being the next target while others continued their search for the victims, questions ready, prepared for attack. In a flash, friends turned to strangers, changing everything anyone knew about their friends, and opening their eyes to the truth that their small town in the middle of Georgia was not as picture-perfect as it was made to appear. The veil was being lifted, exposing the dark truth that lay hidden behind the climbing vines and looming trees that lined their streets. The truth was, finally, coming out.

"Hot off the presses. Two of our Peach Hollow dames are with child! While one of our mamas has done a one-eighty from their past, it seems Scarlett has not changed her ways at all; the effervescent juggler of men. Have you settled on the one who helped create the thing in your womb? Can you say with certainty who is sharing your seed? Or is he just another faceless man you've had wrapped around your pale, perfectly manicured finger, much like your college professor? Do you love Dominic the way you loved the man before him? Wonder how many papers you would have failed if you weren't riding away on that stallion? And a married man too? Do you ever wonder if his wife found out? Guess she'll know now.”

The Peacher questions fired off like bullets from a gun, shooting off in every direction without even a second between to recover. They were sharp and to the point, the barrel aimed to kill. On stage, the Mayor shuffled nervously from one foot to the other, his sunken eyes scanning the faces of his residents, the residents he vowed to keep safe and protect, no matter the cost. And instead they were being attacked with accusatory words and hurtful questions. It seemed no-one was safe, and he could do nothing but pray it was the end.

"Why don't we end off this wonderful evening with the thorn in the Peach Hollow garden? Rose Harmon. Until death do us part is not meant to be taken literally, you know? Let's play a game of twenty questions in lesser words. Was the body still warm when you packed your bags? Did you know the batch was laced? How does one recover from something like that? What are you on now? Meth, Coke? Can you even say her name? Be careful, Rose, don't think Finley is with the guy upstairs if you know what I mean, and the reaper may be coming for you next."

A gasp filled the air as the bright, vivacious woman who’d worked nearly all booths that afternoon had her dirty laundry exposed for the world to see. At this point, a quiet hush had fallen over the crowd. People abandoned their desperate search for the source of the voice, and instead stood in silence. Whether they accepted the words was up for debate - but if there was one thing the residents of Peach Hollows knew, it was that The Peacher, despite how vile and violent they could be, was never wrong. They simply provided the information. And now, it was up to everyone else to pick up the pieces.

"Clearly Peach Hollow was bred on the foundation of honesty. Look around; all of you have your secrets. This isn't meant to stir up drama. What am I? A fucking gossip columnist? TMZ? No, I'm the person lurking in the shadows, the person sitting in the booth near the back, or waiting in line at the bathroom. I’m the person that ensures all wrongdoings are brought to light, that we pay for what we've done. Whether it's a business deal or illness or an abortion that you thought you could hide, I will know. Soon enough, the town will know. Peach Hollow is not a safe place to be, and it won't be as long as the chase is on. Oh, how could I forget? Happy birthday, mister Mayor. I hope you liked your gift. You should have seen the look on your face."

And suddenly, everything was quiet.

#plot drop #peaches:important #peaches:event #peaches:event004 #tw death #tw drugs #tw cancer #tw overdose #tw medical #tw stalking

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isitgintimeyet · 5 years ago

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Road To The Aisles

AO3

Another weekend, another chapter. Hope everyone has a great weekend.

Thanks to everyone once again. Your response has been great x

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @happytoobserve @wickedgoodbooks for all their support

This chapter is not really nsfw, just a bit suggestive in places

Chapter 9: A Nuptial Intention

Mary: You are exquisite. You're timeless. And you have the love of a man named Steve. A man who, while you were away having meetings about mozzarella, said to me: 'I can't believe she picked me. I can't believe I'm marrying the most incredible woman I've ever met.' So that tells me that this marriage of yours is not only gonna work, it's gonna last forever.

-The Wedding Planner

The sun was just beginning to set as, with stomachs full of Mrs. Crook’s chicken casserole and apple pie, they made their way outside to sit by the fire pit that Murtagh had prepared. Jenny and Claire wrapped tartan blankets around themselves as protection from the chill of a typical Scottish summer’s evening. The post-prandial whisky they were all freely drinking also helped to fuel their internal heating systems.

“Is this the whisky that we’re launching in Japan?” Jenny swirled the amber liquid around her glass before sniffing it and taking a large sip.

“Aye,” Brian responded. “What ye’ll be working on when ye come back tae work.”

“I’ve loved ma time at home with the bairns but I’m ready fer work now, and the Japanese launch sounds so exciting. Ian was telling me about the advertising agency and --“

Brian laughed. “No shop talk this evening, lass. Ye’ll join us fer our meeting Monday morning, then?”

Jenny hesitated and glanced across at Claire.

“No, go Jenny. Seriously, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Actually I’ll look after the kids for you, if you want.”

“Ye want tae look after all three children? On yer own?” Murtagh smiled.

“Nah, only two. I’m taking William intae the distillery wi’ me. I want tae show him round, ye ken.”

“Show him off, more like.” Murtagh commented.

“Aye, weel, why don’t we all go in Monday morning?” Brian joined in. “Claire can mind the bairns for a while, if that’s alright, while we have the meeting. Then we can all have a bite tae eat in our new café, see what we think about it. Sounds good?”

There was a general murmur of agreement. Brian rubbed his hands together. “Right, it’s a plan.”

Jamie watched Claire, sitting on the other side of the fire pit, next to Jenny. She shifted in her chair and tucked her feet under her bottom with the blanket tight around her. The firelight played with the natural highlights in her hair, glimpses of gold and auburn amongst the brown. Her whisky eyes gazed into the fire, unfocused, dreaming. Those whisky eyes, Jamie thought. Whisky eyes…

He filed that thought away for Monday’s meeting and brought his attention back to what he really wanted to discuss with his family.

“Speaking of plans…” Jamie began as he felt Claire’s gaze switch to him, burning as hot as the fire. “... er… plans, aye. Claire and I would like tae get married this year. Here at Lallybroch.”

“That’s great news.” Brian was genuinely pleased. “But, Claire, is that what ye want? Dinna do it tae please us. It’s yer day, after all.”

“It was my idea, Brian. I would love to be married here at Lallybroch.”

“As long as it’s what ye want. So, we’ll need tae hire a marquee. When were ye thinking of having it?” Brian pulled his phone out of his pocket and started rolling through screens, hunting for the calendar. “Time’s pushing on fer this year, ye ken. It’s July now.”

“You hire a marquee for the Hallowe’en party every year, don’t you?” Claire looked over at Jamie. Memories of that party ran through her mind. Instinctively, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Jamie smiled softly, her glass face making her thoughts obvious to him.

“Ye’re no’ thinking about a Halloween-themed wedding, are ye?” Murtagh’s blunt question brought Claire back to the present.

“Weel, I dinna think we have tae look verra far for a witch, ye ken,” Jenny muttered.

Murtagh burst out laughing. “Ye’re no’ wrong there.”

“We thought tae have the wedding the week before the Halloween party, then that gives time for the marquee tae be redressed with pumpkins and cobwebs. And if Isobel could take William back tae Geneva on Sunday, then Claire and I could have a week’s honeymoon somewhere, providing she lets me change ma days with him.”

“And we’ve already asked Jamie to be the ring bearer.”

“Aye, I ken. He was that proud. He’s going tae wear a kilt wi’ the men and stand at the front wi’ his Da and his Uncle… that’s what he said.” Jenny hesitated. “Och, sorry, that sounded awfa presumptuous there, about Ian. I mean, I…”

“Weel, I’m sorry Jenny but…” Jamie paused for a second before a broad smile crossed his face as he looked across at his oldest friend. “Dinna fash. Of course I want ma childhood friend tae be ma best man. So Ian, will ye do me that honour?”

“Weel, I’m no’ really sure. I may no’ be available on that day.” Ian returned Jamie’s smile. “Joking. Of course, I would be honoured tae stand by yer side. Thank ye.”

Brian raised his glass. “I think this call fer a toast. Tae Claire and Jamie… slainté.”

As the fire died down, blankets and whisky were no longer enough to ward off the chill of the night. With silent agreement, they all gathered up glasses, blankets and, in Jamie’s case, empty biscuit wrappers, and headed for bed.

Murtagh walked alongside Claire and, with a hand on her arm, pulled her back from the others.

“Jes’ wanted tae check on ye. Are ye alright... wi’ Jamie taking William intae the distillery tae show him off? I dinna want ye tae be upset or…” he looked slightly uncomfortable with his display of concern.

Claire smiled. “Murtagh, thank you but I’m fine with it. Truly. I wouldn’t want Jamie to treat William any differently than he would any child we’ll have. And I know this is exactly what he will do with them. So don’t you worry about me… but I do appreciate it.”

“As long as ye’re alright, lass. Our Jamie can sometimes be a wee bit headstrong, ye ken. Let me tell ye, ye’re the best thing that could have happened tae him. And tae get married here at Lallybroch. It’s jes’ wonderful. His Mam would have loved it.”

And with that Murtagh reached in his pocket for a handkerchief and quickly walked off ahead of Claire, back into the house.

****************

Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny with not a cloud in sight. With six adults and three children to feed, breakfast was a slightly chaotic event. Jamie sat and gave William his bottle while Claire made toast topped with Mrs. Crook’s home-made raspberry jam. Ian took wee Jamie upstairs for teeth cleaning and a wash.

Jenny sat with Maggie, sharing a bowl of porridge. “Ye still taking ma son fer a walk this morning, man tae man?”

Jamie nodded as William gave a soft milky belch in agreement.

“He’s verra excited tae go with ye. He’s been thinking about yer wedding and has some suggestions fer ye. I’m no’ sure quite what they are but Ian’s been reading a lot about cowboys tae him. Jes’ warning ye.”

Claire excused herself and left Jamie and Jenny chatting in the kitchen as she headed back to their bedroom to prepare for the morning.

She came back downstairs to find Jamie alone in the hallway. He caught her arm and backed her against the wood panelling, his body close to hers, one hand resting on the wall either side of her head.

“Where’s William?” Claire looked around.

“Och, Mrs. Crook has dropped by and doesna want tae let hold of the wee man. He’s fine, being royally entertained. She didna approve of ma actions, but is besotted with the result.”

He reddened slightly, remembering the tongue lashing Mrs. Crook had given him on a previous visit. She had drawn herself up to her full five foot one inch height, reaching up to shake her finger at him as she scolded him for his irresponsible behaviour.

“Anyways,” he continued. “What are ye up tae this morning, with those wee denim shorts on and that t-shirt with yer nipples poking through the size of cherries?”

Claire glanced down. “They aren’t poking through, Jamie.”

Jamie moved even closer, placing his legs either side of Claire’s. His breath was hot against her skin, still carrying the scent of strong coffee and sharp raspberry. “Weel, I ken they are no’ at the moment, Sassenach, but if I nibble yer ear jes’ so… and run my tongue around yer sweet lips…”

Claire playfully pushed his chest. “Jamie, no, not here. You’ve promised your nephew a walk and…”

Not discouraged, Jamie continued to lightly kiss along Claire’s collarbone. She reached her fingers into his hair and pulled his head away.

“What is it with you and Lallybroch? Every time we come here, you’re like a sex-starved adolescent.”

“But with a better technique, I hope Sassenach.” He muttered quietly into her ear. “I dinna ken… all I want tae do is take ye tae ma bed and fuck ye. I want ye tae make those wee noises when ye come and then I want tae make ye come again as ye cry out and call ma name. And tae ken that it’s me and only me that does that tae ye, there’s no’ greater feeling than that. Ma cock is hard jes’ thinking about it.”

He ground his hips against her to prove his point.

A small cough came from somewhere behind Jamie.

“Unca, are ye no’ ready fer our walk? Mam has put sun cream on me and William, so we’re ready tae go. Are ye, Unca?”

Jamie took a couple of deep calming breaths before answering.

“Aye, lad. Jes’... er… jes’ give me a moment. I need to have a quick word wi’ yer auntie. Tell yer mam I’ll be there presently.”

As the little boy ran off, Claire dissolved in giggles. Jamie discretely adjusted himself as he pulled away from her and sat on the stairs, still breathing deeply before eventually following his nephew into the kitchen.

“See you later,” Claire called after him. “Looking forward to it.”

**************

With William firmly strapped to Jamie’s chest, Jamie set off on the familiar path to the grove of trees and then onto the nearby pond. His nephew strode alongside, occasionally having to do a quick run to keep up with his uncle. Jamie reduced his stride and slowed down to accommodate the four year old’s legs.

At first they walked together in companionable silence, broken only by the sound of their feet on the well worn path and the occasional squeal from William. He kicked his legs excitedly.

“William likes this.” Wee Jamie commented.

“Aye, he’ll like the feel of the sun on his bare legs. I dinna think he likes his sun hat, mind. But there’s a lot of new sounds and sights fer him to learn.”

“And smells.” Wee Jamie spoke mischievously. “I just did a bottie cough back there.”

“Ah well, better out than in, I dare say.”

As they reached the pond, Jamie’s memories turned to many years before, when Murtagh had taught him how to skim stones. Now it was Jamie’s turn to pass this onto his nephew, and eventually his son.

Under Jamie’s instruction, the little boy scoured the waterside for suitable stones, bringing them to him for approval. With a large enough supply to hand, Jamie crouched behind his nephew, guiding with his hands until, on his own, the little boy managed to set a stone skimming once across the still water.

Flushed with success, Wee Jamie went to join his uncle, now sitting on an old tree trunk.

“That was grand,” the little boy told his uncle. “D’ye think I could teach Maggie and William tae do that?”

“ I dare say ye could. But no’ yet. They’d be too busy trying tae eat the stones, would they no’?”

Wee Jamie sat quietly for a minute, kicking his heels against the tree trunk.

“About yer wedding, Unca, I been thinking. Mebbe ye, me, and Da can arrive on horses… come galloping over the fields.”

“Weel, that's a grand notion. But think about the mess. All the people in their finery treading in the horse shi- poo.”

Wee Jamie giggled. “Ah no, I dinna think about that.”

“And we’ll all be in kilts, ye dinna want yer thighs chafing, do ye? And remember we dinna wear anything under the kilt, we dinna want tae be getting a sore willie either now, do we?”

“I suppose no’... Da says kilts are handy -- ye can stand up and piss anywhere. Can I do that then Unca?”

“Aye lad, and if it’s snowing I’ll teach ye tae write yer name in the snow. Anyway we best be heading back, William’ll soon be wanting his milk.”

Jamie started walking away from the pond with his nephew skipping alongside him. He looked down as Wee Jamie took his hand.

“And remember laddie,” Jamie smiled. “Not a word tae yer mam about the pissing.”

“Nah,” Wee Jamie agreed. “That’s jes’ between us men.”

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Road To The Aisles #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #modern au #chapter 9 #More wee Jamie

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