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wayward-travelers · 5 months ago

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FFXIVwrite 2024 - #1

Word count: 1640 Rating: G Characters: Hanae, Raminas (random Dalmascan NPC invented for this) Archive Of Our Own version (easier to read on there imho)

Prompt: Steer

In the dead silence of Garlemald, the crunchy sound of your steps is the only one you can hear. A lone hyur with only far away mountains and a city in ruin for company, struggling not to get stuck in the snow. It's a mistake, you think, not quite for the first time, and the shivers down your spine agree with you. You're too young. Too inexperienced. What even took you to think you should help those who brought your nation to heel? Yet the Contingent doesn't have many hands to spare... and you volunteered. So you keep going, deaf to the warning of your soul—and as your destination appears before you, your pounding heart drowns out even the crunch of your steps.

You had hoped your first words would be firm. Clear. But every syllable bumps into the next and whatever comes out of your mouth is from a Spoken race in name only. In front of you, the Hrothgar looks utterly unimpressed.

"I would like to meet Ms Corvus," you finally manage after clearing your throat, your face a bright red now (you tell yourself it's from the cold, but you know. You know.) Then you state your name and your mission: you come with an offer from the Contingent. Peace and mutual aid, should the captain find their terms agreeable.

The Hrothgar somehow looks even less impressed now, but still moves his giant body from the doorstep and allows you to enter.

A welcomed warmth greets you and blinds you all at once. As you take off your glasses to clean the fog obscuring your sight, an Elezen—maybe?—joins you and offers to guide you to his leader. Well. Perhaps it was indeed a mistake if you think this is anything other than an order. But you follow anyway, and by the time your glasses are back on your nose, you're in a well-lit room decorated with taste, if soberly.

When you turn back to thank your guide, he's already gone.

You are alone.

Times passes with only the regular ticks of the clock for company. Occasionally, you hear bouts of laughter coming from somewhere else in the apartment (children, you think), but alone you are and alone you remain. You dare not sit down on a chair, comfortably as they seem to be, for fear of being deemed too familiar. But when, eventually, the smell of food reaches your nose (was it your stomach that rumbled so?), you start wondering if you've not simply been forgotten.

The warning of Maxima Priscus comes back to mind in time to stop you from venturing outside the room: the Sky Pirate is a woman of character, which is to say that she doesn't take lightly to challenges on her authority. With what was left of the Garlean nobility too busy pretending governing when they couldn't even provide for their citizens, they were the competition. The Contingent. With its offer of protection and food and the promise of more where it came from. And thus you are here, to try to convince her that competition is unnecessary when you could just become allies.

The unlikeliness of your success is a strange sort of reassurance, but it finally seems to bring you back to your senses. You look around, taking in the view with attention now that the nervousness has passed a bit. And while you're not any kind of expert of art nor finely crafted goods, you recognize the Corvosi style of some of it—not least of all the beautiful mirror hanging on a wall.

A mirror that screams at you for looking so unkempt. Unbecoming, your mind supplies before you mumble: "Oh, right. I'm an ambassador. Kinda. Shit."

After what feels like an eternity of staying still, you finally dare moving from your spot—and leave behind a puddle of water with a wince. It's not your fault, you tell yourself. The snow on your coat melted, but nobody offered to relieve you of it and they're the ones making you wait. You try to forget the beautiful wood underneath (surely it won't appreciate this much water tainting it) to focus on your reflection in the mirror and put some order back in your hair.

Just as you finish carefully folding your coat on your arm, a hidden door open in the library on your right. You almost jump out of your skin and quickly stumble to get back where you were—not unlike a child caught red-handed stealing candies. That the woman who entered the room shows all the tells of a disgusted mother doesn't help, so you straighten your back to whether the storm.

(It strikes you, however, that if not for the whiteness of her hair, she looks every bit like the Domans with which you've break bread. A bastard, you remember. The child of an adulterous Garlean noble and a maidservant.)

"I am Hanae Corvus, captain of the Argo and proud daughter of Garlemald. You came to talk to me, yes? Then talk. - It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ma'am. I'm Raminas and I come today as a representative for the Alliance Delegation. We've heard you work to provide food and shelter to survivors and hoped we might find an agreement to fashion a new era of prosperity and peace for Garlemald with your help."

The words might have sounded better out of a Morbol's mouth—or so you interpret the disdain in her eyes.

"Is that how you've convinced them at Tertium? - I'm not sure I'm following...? - The Senate is full of senile cowards who would sooner take pride in our downfall than being useful. If you haven't seen the station they now call home, let me tell you how it is: warm and full of food. They think themselves leaders and justify their greed while those they pretend to lead die to the weather and hunger. That is why the "Alliance" convinced my peers at Tertium to demean themselves by surrendering to your conditions. We have no need of you here. - We didn't come as invaders... - Then you are fools."

At a loss, are you? She seems to think so, too.

"We will not force you to adhere to our ways—this gets you a sneer, though she's letting you continue—but we can help you provide for more people. - We have enough. - How? comes your question before you have enough time to think before speaking. - We have enough. This is all the knowledge you need."

You knew it would be difficult, but the idea that just on this side of the ruins there might be enough for everyone sounds wrong. The reports mentioned that the Argo was used to carry resources to Garlemald, you remember, but surely her funds aren't bottomless?

"Raminas, was it? - Yes, Ma'am. - Well, Raminas, allow me to guide you through the situation we are currently in so you can better convey my response to your masters. You came here to bring the war to Garlemald after we lost a few of our provinces and found a desolated land for your efforts. This allows you to act as forgiving saviors. A strike of sheer luck that leaves you free of atrocities in the eyes of history, and us at your mercy.

You are young, so I do not belittle you for not seeing through the lies of experienced politicians. But you should know already that if they have nothing to gain from your presence here, they will have you withdraw—and your 'help' with you. Thus do I refuse to consider you allies.

We, Garleans, will steer our nation in whichever direction will allow use to thrive with dignity, for I will not bet our people's future on those who have everything to gain from keeping us low."

What is there to answer to that, except, perhaps, what you hope might provide weight to the integrity of the Contingent.

"The Scions will make sure no political leader would abuse you."

She laughs. It is not a joyful laughter.

"This is less comforting that you think, Raminas. - Is there truly no way to convince you of the purity of our intentions? - No. - But we don't have to be enemies. - And we are not. Not unless you start taking more than is willingly given. So go. Help those idiotic enough to believe the lies. I will remain here when you won't and I will take care of them when you won't."

The end of the conversation is a blur. You don't try to convince her again. It's useless, and both of you know that now. But you wonder as she leaves the room if in fifteen, twenty years, you too will be as jaded as she is. You hope you won't.

A man comes to collect you—it's the best way your mind phrases it. You put your coat back on as you follow him inside the corridor, recognizing him as the one you took for an Elezen earlier. Only at the door leading you outside does the Garlean talk, telling you that Captain Corvus' men will ensure you arrive safe at your destination.

As he closes the door behind you, your eyes catches the golden symbol of Faram the Father decorating the hallway. You may be no fine arts expert, but you recognize a stolen sacred symbol of your faith when you see one. Yet already the Hrothgar places himself between you and the door, and you are forced to leave with no chance to retrieve what has nothing to do in this place.

And thus do you walk back to deliver her message, the crunch of your steps drowned out by the pounding of your heart, with only far away mountains, a city almost entirely in ruins and the watchful eyes of thieves for company.

#FFXIVwrite2024 #OC: Hanae #my writing #endwalker spoilers #it's fortunate I never intended to write every day for the event :'D #anyway I hope you enjoyed this introduction of Hanae #please forgive the mistakes #I'm sure there's plenty but I just don't see them anymore :'D #also I think it's the longest piece of writing I've done in *years*

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konmarkimageswords · 1 year ago

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What Is Our Life

WHAT is our life? The play of passion. Our mirth? The music of division: Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be, Where we are dressed for life’s short comedy. The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is, Who sits and views whosoe’er doth act amiss. The graves which hide us from the scorching sun Are like drawn curtains when the play is done. Thus playing post we to our latest rest, And then we die in earnest, not in jest.

The Conclusion

Even such is Time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wander'd all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.

My Last Will

When I am safely laid away, Out of work and out of play, Sheltered by the kindly ground From the world of sight and sound, One or two of those I leave Will remember me and grieve, Thinking how I made them gay By the things I used to say; -- But the crown of their distress Will be my untidiness. What a nuisance then will be All that shall remain of me! Shelves of books I never read, Piles of bills, undocketed, Shaving-brushes, razors, strops, Bottles that have lost their tops, Boxes full of odds and ends, Letters from departed friends, Faded ties and broken braces Tucked away in secret places, Baggy trousers, ragged coats, Stacks of ancient lecture-notes, And that ghostliest of shows, Boots and shoes in horrid rows. Though they are of cheerful mind, My lovers, whom I leave behind, When they find these in my stead, Will be sorry I am dead. They will grieve; but you, my dear, Who have never tasted fear, Brave companion of my youth, Free as air and true as truth, Do not let these weary things Rob you of your junketings. Burn the papers; sell the books; Clear out all the pestered nooks; Make a mighty funeral pyre For the corpse of old desire, Till there shall remain of it Naught but ashes in a pit: And when you have done away All that is of yesterday, If you feel a thrill of pain, Master it, and start again. This, at least, you have never done Since you first beheld the sun: If you came upon your own Blind to light and deaf to tone, Basking in the great release Of unconsciousness and peace, You would never, while you live, Shatter what you cannot give; -- Faithful to the watch you keep, You would never break their sleep. Clouds will sail and winds will blow As they did an age ago O'er us who lived in little towns Underneath the Berkshire downs. When at heart you shall be sad, Pondering the joys we had, Listen and keep very still. If the lowing from the hill Or the tolling of a bell Do not serve to break the spell, Listen; you may be allowed To hear my laughter from a cloud. Take the good that life can give For the time you have to live. Friends of yours and friends of mine Surely will not let you pine. Sons and daughters will not spare More than friendly love and care. If the Fates are kind to you, Some will stay to see you through; And the time will not be long Till the silence ends the song. Sleep is God's own gift; and man, Snatching all the joys he can, Would not dare to give his voice To reverse his Maker's choice. Brief delight, eternal quiet, How change these for endless riot Broken by a single rest? Well you know that sleep is best. We that have been heart to heart Fall asleep, and drift apart. Will that overwhelming tide Reunite us, or divide? Whence we come and whither go None can tell us, but I know Passion's self is often marred By a kind of self-regard, And the torture of the cry "You are you, and I am I." While we live, the waking sense Feeds upon our difference, In our passion and our pride Not united, but allied. We are severed by the sun, And by darkness are made one.

(Sir Walter Raleigh)

Sir Walter Raleigh (1554-1618) was an English aristocrat, writer, poet, soldier, courtier, spy, and explorer. He is also well known for popularising tobacco in England.

Raleigh was born to a Protestant family in Devon, the son of Walter Raleigh and Catherine Champernowne. Little is known for certain of his early life, though he spent some time in Ireland, in Killua Castle, Clonmellon, County Westmeath, taking part in the suppression of rebellions and participating in the Siege of Smerwick. Later he became a landlord of properties confiscated from the Irish rebels. He rose rapidly in the favour of Queen Elizabeth I, and was knighted in 1585. He was involved in the early English colonisation of Virginia under a royal patent. In 1591 he secretly married Elizabeth Throckmorton, one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, without the Queen's permission, for which he and his wife were sent to the Tower of London. After his release, they retired to his estate at Sherborne, Dorset.

In 1594 Raleigh heard of a "City of Gold" in South America and sailed to find it, publishing an exaggerated account of his experiences in a book that contributed to the legend of "El Dorado". After Queen Elizabeth died in 1603 Raleigh was again imprisoned in the Tower, this time for allegedly being involved in the Main Plot against King James I, who was not favourably disposed toward him. In 1616 he was released to lead a second expedition in search of El Dorado. This was unsuccessful and men under his command ransacked a Spanish outpost. He returned to England and, to appease the Spanish, was arrested and executed in 1618.

Raleigh was beheaded in the Old Palace Yard at the Palace of Westminster on 29 October 1618. "Let us dispatch", he said to his executioner. "At this hour my ague comes upon me. I would not have my enemies think I quaked from fear." After he was allowed to see the axe that would behead him, he mused: "This is a sharp Medicine, but it is a Physician for all diseases and miseries." According to many biographers -Raleigh Trevelyan in his book Sir Walter Raleigh (2002) for instance- Sir Walter's final words (as he lay ready for the axe to fall) were: "Strike, man, strike".

#Youtube

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flippityflcp · 1 year ago

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wcrldsaway

They gave him the wrong drink. That’s it. That’s all there is. He hasn’t asked, and he didn’t much care. There wasn’t a single reason that could possibly be a good one, and none of them could even begin to matter. Red tinges his vision, an indignant sniff sounding off as he allows his eyes to wander. Everything said thereafter, all the supporting bits of story laid out for him, fall upon deaf ears. Can you help?He is on it, stepping up and folding his own fingers into the mix. She’s trembling, barely able to keep it together; he’s never felt so secure in his whole goddamn life. So sure. He could easily bring it all down on Henry’s head. Sell him out, get him completely goddamn destroyed. The secrets are right there, waiting to be whispered into the right ears. Her shirt together, he leans forward, pressing the softest kiss to her temple. Her skin is hot. Too hot. “Sure. I can wait until tomorrow.” Beat. “But we’re packing you and the kids up, and you’re coming home.” Where is home, really? His one bedroom bachelor pad, equipped with the bare necessities and not much else. There are some toys, there. Coloring books and a dollhouse, things to keep the kids happy. Just in case. Extra toothbrushes, too. He knows that he’d have to go buy new things, that what he has to offer is likely not their speed at all anymore - but he’d do it in a heartbeat. Take ‘em to their favorite place, tell them to load up the cart, and buy it all with a goddamn smile on his face. Dare to dream, amirite? “That man isn’t calm. He’s waiting, and my girls,” Sera, included, “aren’t goddamn safe here.” He could go one to tell her about his Go Bag, how he is prepared for the day she might call him up and ask to get picked up. Tell him that they have to go. Hell, he’d go anywhere. Likewise, he could tell her about his nightmares. They wake him up, though never fast enough. Imagine attending a funeral for three, and never having the chance to say what needs to be said. And Henry always gets away with it. Somewhere in-between, the doubt comes into play. What does he lack? What is he not offering that he does? What if he bought a big house? Or a better job? Then could he have his family with him? “Ser, please don’t make me beg.” He’ll do it. He’ll goddamn do it. What more is there he could say? Somewhere beyond the door, he can hear the girls shriek. It makes him stiffen, legs ready to spring and muscles going rigid before hysterical laughter follows. Gideon didn’t realize his breath getting stuck in this throat, nor the moment he exhales and sets it free. Silence consumes him for seconds uncounted before he carries on with his thoughts: “Life isn’t supposed to be this goddamn hard.”

It's almost nauseating, the rush of comfort that came from the softest contact. But that moment, just like all of those that the two shared, simply never lasted long enough.

Her lips almost curved upward at his agreement, that waiting until December 26th to for murder was a reasonable request. But at the rest, Sera just about gave herself whiplash ( if she didn't already have it ) with how quickly she looked up at Gideon.

We’re packing you and the kids up, and you’re coming home

Mouth falling open just slightly – wanting so badly to say yes, grab everything and leave then and there. But something stopped her, and that nauseating feeling returned in a less appealing manner. She could throw up, she really could. It was preferred rather than giving Gideon the response that plagued her mind day in and day out.

Thoughts, dreams and daydreams, lived constantly in her head of the life that she never realized she wanted.

Her mother always promised her the world, swore that no matter what, Sera was bound for success and greatness and that she would have the world wrapped around her fingers – with the understanding that she would be nothing without her mother, of course. And then, along came some goofy-looking kid who waltzed into her life, swooping her off of her feet and taking her away from the life that tore her to shreds. Henry promised the world too, and fuck, if he didn't seem to have the world at his fingertips. He had stipulations too. And fuck, if Sera didn't somehow feel like nothing without Henry.

And here, right in front of her, was another world. A world that didn't need to be promised, because it was simply just the way things should've been.

But this, the world that turned from a teenage dream to a fucking nightmare was the one she chose. For better or for worse, but the instructions were unclear on what worse was. Sera had no idea how much worse it got. How the words that once were spat in her direction would slowly find their physical form in Henry's hands. How she'd have to spend her nights letting the man tire himself out with whatever means necessary, then crawl in bed beside him while he mumbled promises of getting better, of working on himself. How she would hear herself talking – sometimes yelling at Henry in those arguments, and not recognize her own voice and how cruel she could sound. And sometimes, seeing her own arms flailing around in some weak attempt to fight back and landing a hit or two. She chose all of this, and she was no innocent.

Had that laughter come even a millisecond longer after the shriek, surely, that would've made her throw up.

Sera cleared her throat, eyes full of tears again. "How?" It wasn't a legitimate question, Sera knew exactly how it would go. She'd seen it plenty of times in her head. Scooping up the girls and fading off into the sunset. Those visions, however, were closely followed by doses of reality. It wasn't that simple, and it never would be. Not in her head.

"He won't let me," her voice full of defeat. "Even if I got out, he'll find me. They'll find me. Th-they never leave, and they won't let me," she started, practically croaking the words out, "the guys." They weren't all friends, that much she knew, the small group of Henry's pals that always hung around. They'd interrogated Sera more than once, finding her walking around her own home in the middle of the night. Condescending questions, gentle threats for her to go back upstairs. Whatever the hell they did for Henry, or whatever the hell he did to keep them around was one big mystery that she was a little too terrified to investigate. "A-A-And the girls, they–" a sharp breath. Suck it up. Stop crying. Swiping beneath her eyes, Sera's mind was plagued with all of the what ifs that surfaced every once in a while, drowning her. Til death do us part, that much she felt confident in. It would take herself or Henry dying for Sera to feel completely safe, completely free.

After a few moments of silence, Sera attempted once again to compose herself with a deep breath. She turned back to the counter, ready to attempt to put her makeup back on, to go back downstairs and play house for the rest of the day. "I have to stay." The words hurt to say, and her eyes burned like there were more tears ready to start pouring out again, "I'm sorry."

#serafina.#serafina — interactions.#ft gideon.#i think this is the last gif i have from this very scene #will she be able to continue using them #we'll find out #abuse tw

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v-love · 2 years ago

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Sick jpm with a christmas cold x reader? :)

Christmas Blues (JPM x GN!Reader)

Summary: After spending the day on the roof doing Christmas activities with the ghosts of the hotel, James becomes sick.

CW: None

Taglist: @yes-divine-ruler @evanpetersfav @preselelle @quicksilversg1rl @kaylaperiodqueenslay @theyluvvkoi @bldmoth @nvtallowed

Word Count: 1729

Images/GIFS are not mine.

Laughter and music could be heard from the top of the marvelous Hotel Cortez. Lights were hung up around the hotel as well as some trees decorated with beautiful crystal ornaments. In the recent years, James has allowed the holidays to be celebrated since he loved seeing how much fun you had. As you threw snowballs at your fellow ghosts, James sips on his hot chocolate, humming at the rich taste. While he was playing with his cup, you threw a snowball at his chest, taking him by surprise. “What on earth?” He shouts, his lips curling into an evil smile. James set down his cup and gathered snow into his hands. “Two can play that game, darling!” He said before hurling a snowball at your back. Hearing you laugh and try to throw more back at him, he chases you around. The other ghosts join in, hurling ball after ball at each other. Soon you all got bored and decided to settle down, telling stories of Christmas past. James recounts a time when his mother had gotten him a metal car instead of the wooden one he originally wanted. He expressed how ecstatic he was because the car he received on that morning was so much better than what he originally wanted. Of course, James left out the sad details of the story. His father had said horrible things to his mother when he found out how much the car was worth. James shook his head out of those memories as he listened to you tell many stories of your family and how many gifts you would receive because of how large your family used to be. He loved listening to you speak. He wanted to hear you all day and everyday. Well he could since you both were dead.

Soon the festivities came to an end, James thanking everyone for another fun Christmas celebration. Hand in hand, you and James went to your shared room. “Did you have fun tonight, my dear?” He asks you, kissing your hand gently. “I did, it was absolutely glorious. How about you?” Your hands make quick work of his shirt, hanging it up to dry. It was cold and wet from all the snow. “Of course. I got to see you have fun.” He says as he helps you with your own clothes. After bathing and slipping into warm nightwear, you both settle into bed. James frowns a bit as he notices that he felt colder than usual, pulling you close to him for warmth. “Are you alright? You’re shaking a little.” You ask, placing your palm on his chest. “Why yes, I’m just fine. A bit cold is all, my love. Let’s rest now, I’m awfully tired.” He said, yawning a bit before holding your hand on his chest. Kissing him briefly on his cheek, you both fall asleep.

The whole night was difficult for James. He was shivering and moving around, making you stir a bit once or twice. In the morning, you notice he’s not in bed. “Jimmy?” You call out, sitting up as you look around your room. Coming out of the bathroom and clearing his throat, he smiles a bit. “You’re awake, good morning. Is something wrong?” He says, drying his hands. He sounded odd to you. His normally silky deep voice now sort of…raspy. Frowning, you shake your head. “No not at all…the bed was just cold. James, are you alright? You look…sickly.” His skin looked clammy and even more pale than usual to you. “Oh yes, I’m alright-“ a short cough erupted from his chest. “Oh Jimmy…” you say, getting out of bed and pulling him close to you. “Don’t tell me you’re ill.” You say, cupping his warm cheeks. “No, dearest. I am perfectly fine.” He says, pulling away with a frown on his face. “Just too much yelling from yesterday’s activities.” He tried to convince you. He only called you dearest when he was agitated…or sick.

Your pleas for him to rest fell on deaf ears, making James a bit for agitated. “I’m far too busy. I’ll rest when I need to so please, don’t worry yourself too much.” He said, moving in to kiss your lips before hesitating and kissing your forehead instead. Your frown deepens as you watch him walk out of the room, cane in hand. Now James Patrick March was not the type to take a day off, you knew that. He just went on his daily duties as he normally did. Speaking to guests at the hotel became difficult, his throat hurting more and more by the second. He opted to just nod and keep the conversations short. The staff quickly noticed his now sour mood and made sure to steer clear from doing anything wrong. James wasn’t sick often but it was always difficult for them because he would become incredibly rude. Liz Taylor sighs softly as she listens to your complaints on how quickly he brushed you off this morning. “Darling, you and I both know he’s not going to give in. James is a…difficult person. Even the Countess didn’t want to associate with him when he would get sick.” She says, wincing a bit at the mention of the Countess. You were the only one that was truly considered a close friend, other than Liz, to the Countess. Recently, Liz and Elizabeth had an argument over some boy they both knew. Tristan Duffy. That boy was something else, you had to admit. “But Liz, this is like…another level. He’s even talking different. I’ve seen him twice today but he only nodded at me and left.” You say, sighing softly. “Men are like that. They don’t want to appear weak at all, especially that James.” She says, making you laugh a little.

Just then, you both watch as James stumbles into the bar. “The usual.” He says, panting a bit. His voice almost completely gone, his skin even more clammy, and his whole body shivering. You and Liz made eye contact, nodding as you both had a silent agreement. “Jimmy, no drinks for today. No more working either.” You say and watch his demeanor change. “Just give me my usual Liz Taylor.” James says, his tone demanding and dripping with irritation. You turn him to face you, warm hands on his very warm cheeks. Looking into his eyes you see the walls he’s made to conceal him being sick fall, him sighing and just laying his head on your shoulder. “I can’t…I’m too exhausted.” He mumbles and lets you lead him back to your shared room. James let’s you undress him and dress him back up in the warmest and softest clothes you could find. Laying down, he groans and coughs. “Dearest…” he says, his voice cracking. “Jimmy, that’s enough talking. Let me take care of you.” You say and gently run your fingers through his hair. Relaxing into the warm bed, he actually lets you. You had never done this before but you tried your best. His face turns sour as he drank the cold medicine, shaking his head. “Don’t be a child, Jimmy.” You say and dab at his sweating face. He grumbles and soon falls asleep, looking peaceful for a few moments.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s evening. You come in with a tray of food. “Oh good, you’re awake. Did you sleep well, honey?” You ask as you place the try down, coming up to check his temperature. “You’re finally at a more normal temperature…” you say and finally take a good look at him. “What?” You ask, tilting your head a bit. “Excuse my language but, as shitty as I feel…I would want to get sick again if it meant being taken care of by you.” He says, his voice now more normal. You blush and shake your head, kissing his cheek. “You’re too much. Now eat your food. I made it, it’s chicken noodle soup with bread. It’s my mothers recipe…it always helped me when I was sick. Also tea…iced because you’ll become too hot again.” You ramble, helping him sit up. “Sounds absolutely delightful…thank you my love.” He clears his throat before eating, nodding at the taste. “Tastes divine…I wish I had met your mother when she came by. When will she be coming back?” He asks, chewing on a soft carrot piece. “Next week actually. Hopefully you’ll be fully recovered by then…she’s turning 95 on Thursday.” You look down and play with the blanket. “She’s always asking about you…she always asks why I can never see her and why I look so young at 75.” You both laugh a bit, making him cough. “Wait until she finds out I’m 128.” He says and wipes his mouth. “She’d freak out.” You say and watch as he smiles fondly at you.

“I wish you could’ve met my father.” You say and held his hand. “He would’ve liked you…well no he wouldn’t because you’re 128.” You giggle and watch him roll his eyes. “I already met him, darling. He stayed here back in…when was it?” He says, thinking hard. “Ah yes, 1946. You weren’t born yet, to my understanding they were here on honeymoon. I’m surprised your mother didn’t recognize my name. I’m sure I said hello to them.” He says and sips on his tea. “Really? And here I am, girlfriend of the owner of the hotel they stayed at for their honeymoon.” You say and smile softly. “Girlfriend? You’re practically my wife.” He says, frowning at you. “Yes but technically we aren’t married nor engaged.” Rolling your eyes at him you take a piece of one of the slices of bread. “I suppose you’re right…you’re still my wife.” He says and checks the time. “I need to take more of that medicine you gave me. It’s been…6 hours?” He asks and watches you nod. You give him the medicine and laugh as he scrunched his face up at the taste. “You’ll fall asleep again soon.” You say and clean up, placing the tray elsewhere. “Sleep with me then. I missed your presence today.” He says and you obliged.

“What on earth would I do without you?” He asks and soon became drowsy. “I can’t believe…you’re mine…in sickness…” he doesn’t finish his sentence before falling asleep. “And in health.” You say before drifting off yourself.

Authors Note: yes i know it’s not christmas but for us ricans, Christmas doesn’t end until mid January. hope you guys liked this short little story!! i liked making this a lot because it’s so cute!!

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, dm me or comment!!

#ahs fanfic #american horror story #ahs #evan peters #american horror story fic #ahs hotel #james patrick march #ahs james patrick march #ahs james march #ahs james #james patrick march x reader #james patrick march x gn reader #james patrick march fluff

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manjiroscum · 3 years ago

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my tears ricochet

Character/s: Manjiro Sano, Ran Haitani & Rindou Haitani

Warnings: f!reader, curse words, angst with no comfort, harsh words due to intoxication.

Prompt: Harsh words spoken out of a careless intoxicated mouth hurts more than split lips because it often carries truth in them.

✃WC: 2.1k

Mikey

Laughter booming too loudly through the thin walls of your bedroom, you glared at the wooden door separating you from your husband and his boisterous drunk men. Sleep has never found its way to you since they started this little chatter. What was taking them so long to finish? It was already one in the morning for fuck's sake?! And they left the door to the study open as if purposely letting you hear their clamorous camaraderie.

Having a job to rise early for, this impromptu meeting has been more of an inconvenience than you initially thought it would be. Your husband never went into detail on what they had to talk about nor that alcohol would be added into the mix.

Is it too late to kick them out now? This was still your home as much as it was your husband's so you had the authority to do so, right? And right now, all you wanted to do was sleep and wake up on time. Plus, you'd do their wives, who were probably still wide awake waiting for them in their respective households, a favor.

If any of them held great respect for Sano Manjiro, then perhaps they will have the same for you, his wife.

Swallowing your doubts, you climbed out of the bed, grabbed a silk robe to cover your thin nightgown, and headed to your husband's study. With each step you took, their voices and obvious sounds of fun grew. Light from the door's crack flooded the dark hallway, illuminating your path as your feet padded across the wooden floors.

A moment of hesitation halted you in your pursuit of reaching for the doorknob to announce your presence. But as soon as you regained your determination, eyes weary and crying for a peaceful night, it soon faded when Ran Haitani's question shot through the chuckles like a clear ringing of a bell.

"Now I'm curious. Does our boss have his own fair share of pet peeves?"

"What?" Mikey's voice was clearly one mixed with surprise and confusion. As if he wasn't expecting to be inquired about such a thing, but perhaps it was due to the alcohol in their systems that he allowed such a curious mind to boggle his. "You want to hear what my wife does that makes me feel irritated?"

Your ears immediately perked up. All this time, while you were lamenting on your lack of sleep, they have been talking behind their wives' backs? Was that what they have been doing the entire time?

"Yeah, go on... Tell us, boss! We've already shared ours. It would be unfair not to hear your side." Ran urged, getting a round of agreements from the rest. Everyone, including you, was interested in what he had to say. A part of you hoped that whatever it was, it would either be how you hog the blankets or anything minor that you knew about. Anything that could be fixed or at least, turn a blind eye to. Breath held in trepidation, you stood still against the door.

"Well, I don't know what to say really..." Mikey spoke, deep in thought. "My wife has been pretty much perfect. Although, there are times she worries too much for her own good." He chuckled as if it was the most amusing thought in the world. "I don't know why but it sort of annoys the fuck out of me, but also makes me laugh just how she cries easily when I arrive home late—as if I'd get hurt or something. I'm the head of Bonten, not a spineless wimp. It's not like I'm out there fucking other women in the middle of the night. Who does she think I am?" Shaking his head at the image of you, he scoffed. "Really fucking stupid..."

The others' input on the matter fell on your deaf ears, ringing only with what your husband had to say. Suppose it wasn't anyone's concern whatever he does, but he was your husband and you... you were his wife. And to hear him laughing about all those sleepless nights where you stayed up, sitting in the living room just to get a glimpse of him entering your home, to make sure he had survived another bloody fight... if you had to describe it, it felt like a stab to the gut that you weren't able to hold back a sob. It hurts even more that it was Mikey who held that knife, unconsciously driving the tip to your heart.

All this time, he found your inner turmoil a humorous affair?

Dark eyes momentarily showcasing fear and astonishment met your tearful ones through the crack of the door. Instantly, silence swept the whole house, and just before Mikey could reach for your hand—to tell you he didn't mean what he said—you slammed and locked the door in his face.

Ran

Cooking meals since moving into your boyfriend's house has grown more frequent, but it didn't mean you were already an expert. If anything, you wished your parents or perhaps one of them had a talent for cooking and passed it on to you. Sometimes, you wished you could magically whip up a mouth-watering dish to show your appreciation for him and his endless sacrifices for the both of you. Ran did tell you that a homemade meal would be the best thing to welcome him home other than your kisses. And that alone motivated you to learn.

Glancing at the clock once in a while, you waited for the tuna casserole in the oven to finally be ready, eyeing the edges and the chips to see if they began to turn brown. The apron you wore was stained with all sorts of ingredients, making you take note to pop it into the washer after dinner. And speaking of dinner, it was already eleven in the evening and your boyfriend was still not home.

Averting your gaze away from the oven for a moment, you grabbed your phone and began typing a text inquiring about his whereabouts. Tonight was movie night and Ran did promise he'd be home before nine. Yet, his lanky form nor his flirtatious tone was nowhere to be found in your abode, leaving you all worried about what might have held him up.

"I'm home..." A drawl broke you out of your spiraling thoughts. You almost ran to the door to greet your boyfriend, relieved he is home. But just before you could kiss his cheek, you slightly backed away at the strong scent of alcohol and cigarettes on his form.

"Baby, where have you been? I thought you'd be home bef—"

"Sanzu wanted us to have a few bottles together so Rindou and I... went." He reasoned sluggishly, sighing in exhaustion as he slipped out of his suit jacket. "I'm starving though. Puked my fucking guts out a few minutes ago. Did you... cook something?" His gaze landed at the oven, sniffing the air before cracking a smile. "Smells good, babe."

Shaking your head at how he was clearly hammered despite how well he held himself, you led him to the table and sat him down. "Of course you'd be hungry, you drank first before having dinner. Just eat a bit and drink water, okay? I made tuna casserole, by the way."

Pitcher in hand, you poured him a glass of water and then checked the casserole. Seeing that it was ready, you grinned akin to a child winning an award at how it turned out perfectly well. Patting yourself on the back, you sliced a small portion for your boyfriend and a bigger one for yourself. Tummy growling, reminding how you were quite hungry while making dinner. But you didn't want to eat alone or snack while waiting because you wanted to enjoy this night together.

"Here you go."

"It looks good, babe." Ran smiled, took his fork, and began digging in. Sitting down, you hummed in content as you observed his expression. It was one filled with satisfaction, until it slowly morphed into bewilderment and then, disgust in mere seconds.

"This is, fuck, it's... ugh." Ran stood up, brows furrowed hard while heading to the sink to spit the tuna out. Appalled at his reaction, you too took a bite of the casserole and true to his words, it was disgusting. Washing his mouth with water, Ran gagged and then, turned to you in confusion. "Why on earth would you do this? Is this your way of punishing me for being late? Feeding me spoiled food? Are you trying to food poison me?"

At the accusation, you stepped back. "What? No! There's no way I'd serve you spoiled food. I didn't even know..." Sighing, you card your quivering fingers through your hair in frustration. "I didn't know, baby. The tuna must've gone spoilt while I was—"

"You should've thought twice before serving me this! This is fucking disgusting." Blame it on the alcohol you might, but Ran's voice rising—accusatory and filled with annoyance—made you cower back. You didn't even know you started crying until he pointed it out in an exasperated tone. "Oh, and now you're crying? Dinner, one I could eat, is all I asked for and this is what you do? I work hard to put a roof over our heads, food in our refrigerator—and this is what you do? Waste those ingredients and make awful shit like this every day? No wonder you don't improve!"

Possessed by anger and driven with hunger, you grabbed the casserole and threw it into the trash bin, avoiding his glare and demands as you head for the front door. You weren't doing this tonight, nor any other night. Coat in your hand and stomach empty, you left Ran with his jaw on the ground. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you walked into the cold evening air, not knowing where to go.

You wished your eyes were deceiving you. Wished, prayed—hoped that they were while you stood there in silence, watching your boyfriend remove his shoes tiredly. The necklace the two of you bought with matching pendants after you graduated college was missing around his neck while yours sat faithfully around your neck. Both of you swore never to take it off unless it was a dire situation, but here he was, inebriated after a round of drinks with his brother and didn't notice your pointed stare.

Rindou

It wasn't until you blocked his path to the bathroom that he pinched his eyebrows in confusion, wondering why you wouldn't respond to his kisses or inquiries on how your day went. Rolling your eyes at his questions, you then jabbed his chest with your index finger.

"Where's your necklace, Rin?"

Blinking at you, he then looked down at where you were pointing. Seeing that the necklace he religiously wore was missing, he then sighed. "I must've... left it in the hideout. It's been a long day, angel. I'm exhausted and Mikey was yelling our ears off, it slipped my mind—"

"Yeah, but do you have a reason to take it off during work?" You barely whispered, eyes downcast as your mind began conjuring multiple scenarios on what must have transpired at Rindou's office for his necklace to just disappear. It pained you to demand him for answers, especially now that he was quite lethargic and the mattress calling for him. But your buzzing thoughts wouldn't leave you alone. "Tell me the truth, Rin. I won't be angry. Did you leave it here?"

"I already told you, it slipped my mind—"

"But—"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Hands grabbing you roughly by the arm, Rindou's face was mere inches from yours as he barred his teeth at you in wrath. "How many times do I have to tell you, woman? It fucking slipped my mind! If you want to find it, be my guest—I don't have the fucking time tonight and I just want to sleep. If we can't fucking find that shitty necklace, we can just buy another one tomorrow. It's fucking cheap anyways so you don't have to worry your pretty little head, okay?"

"Cheap? Shitty necklace?" Echoing his words, you felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach as your eyes started to get glossy. Pulling away from his grasps, you chuckled humourlessly. "Is that how you viewed it all along? Shitty and replaceable? What's next? Gonna say I'm the same?" Wiping your fallen tears, you moved away from his reaching hands—knowing all too well that his string of apologies was about to spill out of his lips. "Don't fucking talk to me, Haitani. Don't even breathe my way. I don't want to see your face right now."

🎐taglist: @haruphilia @thesimpsclub @blueparadis @nameless-shrimp @tobidabio @wakasa-wifey @wakaslut

#pat.✍️fics #tokyo revengers angst #tokrev angst #mikey x reader #manjiro sano x reader #ran x reader #haitani ran x reader #rindou x reader #haitani rindou x reader

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songbirdsingingthings · 4 years ago

Text

You and Your Everything - Shouto Todoroki x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

MHA Masterlist - Main Masterlist

WARNINGS: Your parents being the absolute worst, a few minor curse words, a lil angsty

Requested by Anonymous:

HI i love your writing and i saw that your requests were open? i was wondering if you could do like a shoto x reader but instead y/ns parents are like the opposite of shoto and endeavor? like for an example how shoto wants nothing to do with his dad and and all y/n wants to do is please her parents or make them happy since they never pay attention to her like that? both house holds are still toxic but i feel like thatd be an interesting dynamic

A/N: This was so interesting and cool to write! Obviously, the subject matter was much angstier and sadder than a lot of the stuff I have written, but I found writing this, like, entire paragraph of dialogue of Shouto (you’ll know it when you see it) to be so entirely incredible. I just kept on writing. Thank you so much for this awesome rec!

Word Count: 1.8K

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Kana Y/L/N. Please leave a message. BEEP”

“Hi Mom, it’s me again. Just calling to remind you that third years are allowed to reserve a box for their parents in the Sports Festival arena! I saved one for you and Dad in the front row, which are the best seats in the whole place. The Festival takes place tomorrow, as I told you guys about three months ago so you could put it on your calendars. I’m, uh, looking forward to seeing you again! Love you, bye!” Pressing the red circle that represented an “end call” button, you heaved a sigh and looked through your recent calls. Nine recent calls that your mother had missed within the last three days. Ten that your father had. They’re just busy, you tell yourself, trying to ease your mind. They’re just busy right now, but they had said that they’d come. They’ll come. Your thoughts had consumed you to such a point you didn’t even register the little nudges to your side.

“.../N? Y/N?” You blinked quickly to rid your consciousness of its prior dilemma and turn your head to the side. With heterochromatic eyes blinking fondly at you matched with a slight frown of concern, your boyfriend prompts the same question that had earlier feel upon deaf ears. “Y/N, I was asking if you are alright. You seemed a little… not here when I asked you just a minute ago.” Shouto’s voice, like always, is level, however little hints of emotion always tend to slip in between the cracks of his pronunciations. Like now, for instance, you hear the traces of worry cling onto his words.

“Oh, sorry, I was just leaving a voicemail.” You say simply. The sentence that left your mouth would seem normal to any person that you were friendly with. However, Shouto knew the implications. His shoulders seemed to tense as he took your hand. You squeeze his hand to reassure him. “Don’t worry Sho, they’re just really busy people. I’m sure they definitely carved time out of their schedules to come and watch me. I just need to make sure I get into the tournament round so I don’t waste their time.” You say, laughing a little dryly. Shouto doesn’t smile at the joke you made at your own expense.

“I just don’t get it.” He says, which makes your smile drop into a frown. “Why do you try so hard for them.” Your spine straightens at his words and your grip on his hand loosens. “Y/N, they’re awful people-”

“They’re my parents and I want to make them proud.” You say swiftly, a slight grimace on your face. Silence settles between the two of you, that is, until you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. Jumping up immediately and grabbing your phone, you take a glance at the caller ID. Your heart sinks as you see it’s a random telemarketer, and click decline call. You look back to your boyfriend, which was a mistake, because his eyes pooled with pity. Not feeling quite right in the space you were in, you grab your school bag and stuff your phone the furthest down it would go. “I’m going to go freshen up before dinner.” You decide, nodding towards Shouto and walking away a bit.

“Do you want me to come with you?” His suggestion on a normal basis would make your face flush and your heart beat a bit faster, however today you just wanted to be alone for a bit.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll see you at dinner.” You say quickly.

“Y/N.” His grip came softly around your wrist, tugging you back a bit to face him. “I’m… I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I just love you,” he said those last two words a bit softer than the others, “and I want to see you happy.” Butterflies took flight in the pit of your stomach as you held Shouto’s gaze, his heartfelt and earnest words weighing heavily within your heart. Your frown wobbles into a smile as you lean in to place a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I know.”

“Did you see me out there?!” You cheer, careening down the arena hallway towards where Shouto was waiting with open arms. You leapt directly into them and was quickly picked up and spun around in a little circle.

“I did, you were incredible.” Shouto gushes, his cheek squished against yours. You laughed joyously as you felt his arms squeeze you closer to him, your heart racing with both leftover adrenaline from your second round tournament match and the feeling of love from your boyfriend. However, your laughter and the embrace you were tucked into died down when you heard the faint clearing of a throat, causing both of you to turn towards the sound. If you were looking into a mirror, you’re sure you would see your eyes grow to the size of saucers and your jaw dropping just a tad at the sight before you. There, standing about ten paces away, were your parents. Your mother, with her hair tied back in an uncomfortable looking bun with her freshly pressed pencil skirt and matching career jacket. Your father at her side, his suit and pants looking as sharp as ever. And the expressions they held…

“M-mother? Father? You two made it?” You stammer out, dumbfounded at their appearance. “But I, uh, didn’t see either of you in the stands.” You admit, earning a nonchalant expression from both parents.

“Well, with that lackluster performance that you executed, did you really think we would want to show our faces? It’s bad enough our colleagues know of you and all your little failures that you like to categorize as triumphs. Honestly, you really thought that we would want to be on camera for the entire world to see?” Your mother’s bored tone and biting words struck you hard. You felt your spine straighten and your hands stick to your side as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“But… I won.” You said, so soft that the sound of someone’s heartbeat could overpower it. If your gaze wasn’t stuck to your parents’ forms, you would have seen Shouto’s eyebrows narrow, awaiting for the oncoming onslaught.

“Good Lord, you want to call that a win? It makes me wonder how you ever got into this school or passed any physical examination in your class.” Your father’s tone, just as bored and apathetic as your mother’s, sent trembles down your spine. You clenched your fists and jaw to try and prevent crying. But, of course, it was of no use. The tears trickled their way, one by one, down your cheek like raindrops on a car window.

“And you’re crying now. Fantastic.” Your mother retorts, turning her to your father now. “I told you we should have sent her directly to the Hero Public Safety Commission. Would’ve toughened her up in no time-”

“CAN’T YOU SEE SHE’S UPSET?!” You almost didn’t recognize his voice. The soft spoken, pensive Shouto Todoroki that you knew to be your boyfriend rarely got upset. When he did, it was almost always in the middle of a battle or fight, just as he was about to use a special move. But this time, it was pure rage and anger that clung onto his words. Your parents, now sprouting an expression of slight surprise turned their attention to the seething red-and-white haired boy at your side. “All she ever does is work to make you happy. Day and night, twenty-four seven, it’s for you. And now here you come, strutting back into her life with some agenda on how she should fight and how much of a so-called failure she is?! Well screw that! You don’t get to have an opinion when it comes to her! She has been trying to get a hold of both of you for months on end and getting no more than the same damn message from your voicemails, telling her that you’re too busy for her!” Shouto’s face was red now. His fists were balled up and the tiniest flecks of flames were flaking from his left side. “And then, you’re now finally here, and you come with this holier-than-thou attitude! Y/N L//N, your daughter, is the most incredible and capable person I have met in my entire life. The fact that a person like her can rise like a phoenix from the ashes that is your attitudes and parenting styles is a miracle, because in every way, shape and form, she will forever be a marvel. To me, to our classmates, and to the entire world. I just can’t wait to see the look on your sorry asses when the time comes for her to give her thank you speech after becoming the number one hero, and you don’t hear either of your names mentioned once.” The silence is deafening after Shouto finishes speaking. You feel your whole body trembling and can recognize that there are tears falling down past your cheeks, but nothing else. Nothing else, until that constricting feeling that you felt bound to you to your parents’ approval starts to loosen the moment Shouto takes your hand in his.

“Let’s go.” Your words, merely more than a whisper, is all it takes for Shouto to wrap and arm around your waist as he marches past your dumbstruck parents, towards a private room. The second Shouto clicks the lock shut, you let yourself break down. Sobs racked your body as you clung onto his shirt, his arm, and his love. “They’re supposed to be my parents. How… I can’t even do anything.” You hiccup into his tear-stained gym uniform, the one identical to yours (without the blotches of tears).

“Hey, shh, you’re okay. You’re fine.” Shouto says, his reassuring words grounding you. “You will get through this whole… mess, okay? I know you can. All you need to do is take it one day at a time.” You nod into his chest and let your head lie there as the tears finally started to cease from falling.

“You, uh, probably have to get ready for your match, right?” You sniff, moving one of your hands up to your face to rub at your nose.

“I’m fine here.” Shouto says, wrapping his arms around you. “Y/N, you really were incredible out there. Do not let them make you think otherwise.” You nod again as you feel Shouto begin to play lightly with your hair. “You are enough. More than, in fact. They might think otherwise, but I don’t. I love you, and your smile, and your everything.” You were too fried emotionally to say anything back, but Shouto knew. He knew that it would take time to finally break from your parents’ psychological hold over you and that he would always be there at your side.

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

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[CN] Gavin’s Blessings Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 祝福之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 28 April 2021 ]

In this desert, there are two legendary figures.

One is a young girl blessed by God, and the other is a bandit who strikes terror in people.

God will bestow the most valuable riches in the world to the young girl in the future, which makes everyone want to own her for themselves.

There is only one person who has absolutely no interest in her -

The bandit who has already seized all the gold, silver and jewels.

On this gloomy night, scorching heat seems to cover every inch of land.

A crowd is packed into the cage of a horse-drawn carriage. Lowering my head, I tighten the scarf on my neck.

All of a sudden, the carriage halts outside a large gate.

Bodyguard: We want to make a transaction with your chief, and we guarantee that you'd be satisfied.

Along with the gradual opening of the gate, what enters my vision is a high wall made of clay, and what looks to be a heavy guarded campground.

The carriage passes through a long sheltered corridor, halting in front of a large bonfire. After that, the slave owner pulls us down from the carriage roughly.

The slave owner before me is someone who commands great respect, and relies on human trafficking to earn huge amounts of money.

Slave owner: Gavin, I’ll go straight to the point.

Hearing the rumoured name, I lift my head towards the man seated on a chair.

Amber eyes reflect the flickering flames, shrouding a strong, dangerous aura.

He leans against the back of the chair, his taut clothes drawing the outline of his figure, revealing faintly discernible muscles.

He gives me a cold glance, then shifts his somewhat arrogant gaze away.

...this person is Gavin.

In this land, there’s nobody who doesn’t know him -

It’s been said that he has a magic carpet that can go up to heaven and down to Hades. It’s also been said that it’s simply a guise for his extraordinary power of wind control.

Not only that. For many years, he’s been stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, and is a thorn that can’t be pulled out from the hearts of the powerful.

Just as I’m thinking about this, the slave owner tears down my scarf, gripping my neck forcefully.

Slave owner: See this mark? She’s MC, the young girl blessed by God.

Young girl blessed by God?

Watching the desperate slave owner and Gavin in front of him, I force out a laugh.

Ten years ago, this inborn mark was bestowed meaning by a well-known wizard -

Wizard (in a flashback): Ten years later, our God will give her the most valuable riches.

Since then, I became the “treasure map” that everyone wanted, leading a life of being continuously captured and escaping.

Slave owner: Gavin, as long as you leave me alone in the future, she belongs to you.

Only the quiet sound of the burning bonfire is in the air, filled with a great sense of oppression.

Supporting his head with his right hand, he appears to turn a deaf ear to what the slave owner said.

Slave owner: Ten days later, the blessings will manifest! Riches might appear in an unending stream, and by then, you can do whatever you want!

Gavin: You travelled all the way here... to make me let you go?

A chilly wind suddenly disperses the sultriness of the surroundings. His slightly narrowed eyes are a contrast to the flames behind him, not at all masking his annoyance and derision.

The powerful aura assaults the senses, and the tips of my toes subconsciously shift backwards.

The reason why I allowed myself to be captured by the slave owner was to beat him at his own game, and get close to Gavin. But would I really be able to obtain information from such a powerful man?

A sense of unease surfaces, but I quickly suppress it.

The king said that as long as I helped him get rid of Gavin, I could obtain eternal freedom -

I have to give it a try.

Moonlight and flames intertwine and are reflected on Gavin’s face. Alarm surfaces on the slave owner’s face.

With forced hearty laughter, he tosses me aside. Respectfully, he fills Gavin’s cup to the brim with wine.

Slave owner: I’m sincerely here to do business with you.

Gavin glances at the wine glass by the side. With a curl of his lips, he picks up the glass, swaying it slowly.

He lowers his head and lifts his eyes slightly, the light in his pupils distinct.

But in the next second, he turns his wrist. The strong scent of alcohol diffuses in an instant.

Gavin: This wine is a little dirty. When you walked through this gate, you should have known what would happen.

The moment Gavin speaks, his men immediately surround the slave owner and his group.

Slave owner: ...you! Doing this just means both sides lose!

The corners of Gavin’s lips arch upwards, and there are hints of arrogance in his eyes.

Gavin: You seem to have forgotten one fact. I won’t lose.

After the final drop of wine slides off the glass, he releases his hand, and the wine glass strikes the table.

Along with a muffled sound, Gavin brandishes a scimitar and waves it at the feudal lord.

[Note] A scimitar is a short sword with a curved blade that broadens towards the point :>

The sharp blade reflects cold light as it brushes the nape of the slave owner’s neck. Gavin keeps his eyes fixed steadily behind the slave owner.

Gavin: Remember this. I never have to get the things I want through transactions. Get out of my campground.

The feudal lord doesn’t care about anything else, tumbling and stumbling out of the gate along with the bodyguard.

Peace is restored to the campground. A row of us are unshackled one after the other.

After attaining freedom, continuous sounds of appreciation can be heard from the crowd. However, I secretly glance at Gavin, who is afar off.

When everyone else has left, I brisk walk over to him.

MC: My name is MC. Gavin, I want to join you all!

The clamour suddenly stills. Only Gavin lifts his head unaffectedly.

Gavin: Why?

MC: Once I leave this place, I’d just get captured again. Everyone says that you’re the most powerful and most incredible person in the world, so this would be the safest place...

Gavin: This place isn’t a shelter. And I have no need to guarantee your safety.

Gavin interrupts me, his gaze focused on the rag used to wipe the blood off the blade’s tip.

MC: I won’t freeload. If my blessings manifest, I can give it all to you!

Gavin shoots a sharp gaze at me, lingering on my neck briefly before shifting it away.

Gavin: The root of your “so-called” blessings is merely empty talk.

MC: But that wizard said...

Gavin: So what if he’s a wizard? I’ve never pursued such illusory things. Such blessings might simply be a joke for the greedy. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem useful to my campground. So, MC, I don’t need you.

Gavin’s words nail me in place. He looks at me directly, and I can tell from his eyes that he has absolutely no regard for the blessings, as well as my presence.

For so many years, I’ve been a treasure map in the hearts of people, and a glittering treasure.

But in his eyes, it’s as though I’m not a young girl who was blessed by God. I’m simply MC.

Even if the prophecy said that the riches would manifest ten years later, those who are greedy would think that might just be the beginning, which is why everyone has been coveting this fantastic wealth.

But nobody has ever been like Gavin, telling me that it could be false.

My heart involuntarily quivers, as though something that I’ve always firmly believed in is beginning to stir.

I take a deep breath, brushing away the restlessness in my heart.

Whether or not I’m taking action according to plan, staying here is still the best choice.

I definitely have to stay.

MC: I’m not useless. Since young, I often get hurt while running away, so I’m very good at tending to wounds! Please give me a chance. I can prove myself!

He doesn’t speak, and simply looks at me quietly. Those amber eyes are deep with flittering light, as though he can see through me in an instant.

I clench my fists secretly, trying my best to look natural.

After an oppressive silence, he lifts his chin slightly. One of his men walks to me.

After I’ve finished bandaging all the injured people in the campground, I look at Gavin sincerely.

Gavin: Since you want to stay here so badly, I won’t stop you.

MC: Thank you. I just want to stay alive.

Those amber eyes narrow slightly when he hears this. Only the spluttering sounds of the burning wood remain in the air.

Gavin: In order to stay alive, you don’t care about anything else?

MC: ...yes.

All of a sudden, rapid footsteps can be heard from the gate. One of Gavin’s men leans over to him, and says something that I can’t hear.

Gavin glances at me, an unreadable smile flashing across his eyes. I stand in place, my heart feeling prickly.

Gavin: Go ahead. There aren’t any “outsiders” here.

The man nods respectfully. Straightening up, he faces the crowd.

Man: The Oasis Flower Garden that the new king ordered to be constructed has been completed ahead of schedule. The location of the coronation ceremony has been changed to the flower garden. Various neighbouring countries have also prepared countless treasures, and will be presenting them during the coronation ceremony.

After a moment of silence, a ray of sharp light flashes in Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: Let’s go to the flower garden.

MC: Hang on, you’re going to steal the king’s objects?

Hearing information regarding the king, I can’t help but exclaim softly.

Gavin doesn’t seem to care about important information being disclosed, which makes me feel even more uneasy.

Is he very assured about his own plan, or is he suspicious of me, and deliberately wants to see my reaction?

Gavin: Is there a problem?

MC: ...n-no.

Gavin: Since the plan has been changed, we need to check out the flower garden beforehand. Those who know how to draw maps, step out.

His men look around at each other, none of them volunteering to step out. Looking at the silent surroundings, a risky idea formulates in my mind.

If I’m able to check out the area with them, I could find an opportune moment to tip the king off.

With this thought in mind, I take a step forward.

MC: ...I can. I’m very attuned to directions. As long as I walk through it once, I can remember everything.

In order to prove my point, I pick up a twig and draw the path I took earlier in the sand.

When I’ve finished drawing the details of the campground, the men reveal shocked expressions.

A sense of inquisitiveness even appears in Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: When the time comes, I’ll send someone to the flower garden with you. But this place has never limited anyone’s freedom. You can leave whenever you want.

Gavin’s words seem indicate something. After speaking, he turns around and leaves. Meanwhile, my heart, which had been hanging in the air, is finally set down.

I’m officially responsible for the logistics work in the campground.

Based on my observations over the past two days, Gavin would head out with his men, then return from a rewarding journey.

He distributes the money strictly, ensuring that they are given out fairly to those who are in need and poverty-stricken.

Today, the night has just set in. As usual, Gavin returns with his troop.

He stands among the crowd calmly, but his brows furrow at certain times. Realising something, I carry the medical kit and walk towards him.

MC: Gavin, did you get hurt?

Gavin: I'm fine. Go help the others.

MC: In that case, pull open your clothes and let me have a look.

Gavin: ...

MC: Many people who need assistance are waiting for you. If you’re really injured, I could help to heal your wound much more quickly.

After giving me a deep look, he finally sits down, pulling open his clothes.

Underneath his clothes, aside from wounds oozing with blood, I can also see various scars.

MC: Some wounds wouldn’t leave scars if tended to properly.

Gavin: I don’t have the time to tend to every single wound.

He speaks casually, as though these scars are unrelated to him.

Seeing him like this, the guilt deep in my heart seems to tear me apart indistinctly.

Perhaps these mottled wounds have given hope and direction to countless people.

With no idea how to face such emotions, I simply tend to his wounds carefully.

MC: You’ve worked hard.

Gavin: It isn’t hard work. Life is meant to be difficult.

His voice is calm. I can sense that his somewhat scrutinising gaze is focused on me.

But I don’t have the courage to lift my head.

Eventually, the people in the campground start to get used to me tending to their wounds, including Gavin.

We’re much more familiar with each other as compared to a few days ago. Occasionally, we’d even engage in conversation.

MC: ...don’t you have a magic carpet or something? Why are your injuries so serious this time?

Gavin: There was a trap.

MC: They obviously did bad things, but not only did they not feel guilty, but also schemed against you?

Gavin: My life is worth a lot of money to many people.

Gavin speaks lightly, and a disdainful smile appears on his lips.

Gavin: It doesn’t matter. They won’t succeed.

I purse my lips, subconsciously exerting less force.

MC: Please be more careful next time, and don’t add on to my workload.

Being directly glared at by me, Gavin feels a little uneasy, his eyes subconsciously averting to the side.

Gavin: ...I’ll do my best.

Over the next few days, he truly doesn’t get injured again. But because of this, I have fewer opportunities to meet him.

For some inexplicable reason, I start finding all sorts of reasons to meet Gavin -

Making sweet snacks, handing over supplies... I use everything that can create a connection between us.

Maybe it’s just a misperception, but I can always capture a subtle emotion in his eyes.

Those nice-looking eyes affect my heart involuntarily.

Until one day, when he returns and walks past me, straight towards his room. I hurriedly follow behind him, burrowing sideways through the doors that are about to close.

MC: Why did you start avoiding me once you returned? Did you get hurt!

Gavin: ...no.

Without a word, I hurriedly sweep my eyes over Gavin. When I catch sight of the traces of blood on his waist, I lift my head to glare at him.

Gavin: ...

Under my gaze, he averts his eyes a little awkwardly.

Gavin: [totally not lying] Cough. Oh, turns out I got injured. I just realised. I’ll have to trouble you to tend to it.

Before I even open my mouth, he hurriedly stifles the words I’m about to say.

I release a sigh, reaching out to open the medical kit. I suddenly think of something.

MC: I heard that a child hit you with a stone yesterday?

Gavin: It’s just a trivial matter.

MC: That’s not what I’m referring to... you probably don’t feel good, do you. You’re obviously helping them, but you’re treated as a bad person.

Gavin: It’s very normal for me to be treated as a bad person.

MC: But you aren’t one!

After blurting this out, I lower my eyes unnaturally.

I suddenly feel warm breaths. Lifting my head, my vision is overtaken by him.

Gavin: Then what am I?

MC: I... just think that you’ve done so many good things, and shouldn’t be misunderstood.

[Note] If I were the writer, I'd make MC say: “You’re my boyfriend from another universe where you’re a sexy special agent from STF and we go through lots of angst together like the time you left me alone in the Ferris wheel during that one date.” And then I’d get fired.

A peculiar emotion flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t continue, and he stares out the window.

Gavin: Pack up your things later. You’re heading out tonight.

Realising that he’s referring to checking out the flower garden, I’m stunned for a moment.

It seems that these relaxed and comfortable days have made me forget my goal from the beginning.

When I return to the central area of the campground, I discover that Gavin is standing there.

MC: Didn't you say that you’d be sending someone to the flower garden with me?

Gavin: I changed my mind.

A flying carpet hovers in front of me, leaving me dumbfounded on the spot.

Gavin: Scared?

MC: I-it’s fine. It’s just that I’ve never seen a magic carpet, and I don't know...

Before I finish speaking, my feet are off the ground as Gavin takes me into his arms.

It’s as though the scorching heat of his fingertips are able to melt me. Only the sounds of the wind and my heartbeat remain in the entire world.

Gavin: There’s no need to overthink. Just be careful not to fall off.

Gavin leaps up, sitting steadily on the carpet.

With my face red, I prepare to shift away from him. The carpet soars towards the sky, and the frightening sense of weightlessness makes me involuntarily grab onto his waist.

MC: Hang on! Could you let me sit properly before flying!

What I get in response is a soft chuckle, carrying with it some mischievousness.

Gavin: If you don’t want to fall off, hold tight.

After the wind rustles at my ear for a long time, we finally descend at the destination. Without even taking a few steps, I suddenly hear the sound of disciplined footsteps in the vicinity.

At the same time when I turn to Gavin in a panic, he pulls me behind a stone pillar nearby.

The stone pillar isn’t large, and we’re forced to stick together.

Because we’re pressed so closely together, his breath is akin to a gentle feather, brushing my face.

The itch causes me to tremble involuntarily. Gavin hurriedly reaches out to wrap me in his arms.

Gavin: Don’t move.

A soft command drifts to my ear, and I can only nod stiffly.

When the nearby footsteps disappear, I release a breath and prepare to leave. However, he turns around, pressing me against the stone pillar.

Gavin: Are you deliberately trying to get discovered?

MC: Of course... not! It’s because what you did was very ticklish!

I retort softly. In order to prove my point, I stick close to him, vigorously inhaling and exhaling through my nose.

MC: You find it ticklish too, don’t you!

In an instant, our breaths seem to intertwine, and an inexplicable heat secretly climbs up the back of my ears.

Gavin averts his eyes unnaturally, and he releases the hands propped on the wall.

Gavin: Let’s go. There isn’t much time left.

Beneath the clear and tender moonlight, the gentle night breeze and his reddened ears are especially obvious.

Fortunately, the second half goes smoothly. We walk around the flower garden meticulously before returning to the campground.

The moment my feet stand steadily on the ground, I use the excuse of drawing the map to run swiftly back into my room.

Staring at the blank sheet of paper, the pen in my hand doesn’t descend for a very long time.

...am I really going to continue with this?

[Note] Imagine if Gavin actually just wanted to go on a date with MC but didn’t know how to broach the topic because he’s Awkward™ so he decided to take her on a romantic stroll by “chEcKinG out tHE FlOwEr GarDEn”

Ever since returning from the flower garden, I especially cherish the few days I have left of this peaceful life.

While chatting with the men, I unintentionally learnt that all of them used to be bodyguards in the palace. And Gavin was their leader.

As for why they became bandits... looking at their solemn expressions, I didn’t continue probing.

I decide to focus all my energy on the map, treating it as a small “atonement”.

But my progress is even slower than imagined, and I only manage to complete it the day before the operation.

Stepping outside with the map, I see a familiar figure on the roof.

Struck with an idea, I shift a ladder over and prepare to climb up. However, because it isn’t tall enough, I end up pausing awkwardly mid-air.

MC: ...

Just when I’m wondering if I should call out to Gavin, the flying carpet suddenly appears near my feet.

After a moment of hesitation, I climb onto it in a sorry state. Gavin’s figure gradually appears in my vision.

Illuminated by the moonlight, he props himself up indolently, indistinct arches appearing at the corners of his lips.

MC: The map has been drawn.

Gavin: You’ve worked hard.

Just as I’m about to turn around to leave, the sky filled with stars enters my eyes. The stars sparkle in succession.

MC: ...could I stay here for a little longer?

Gavin: Here, nobody can meddle with you. You're free to do whatever you want.

Free... Hearing this term subconsciously makes me feel startled. In my peripheral vision, a shooting star soars past the sky.

MC: Ah, a star is falling!

I’m pleasantly surprised by the sight I’ve never seen before, but realise that Gavin’s brows are tightly knit.

MC: You don’t seem to want to see this sight?

He looks at me, his shining golden eyes turning a little dim.

MC: ...it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. After all, everyone has secrets they aren’t willing to share.

Gavin: Secrets?

MC: Mm. That’s why life is so tough. It’s because secrets are difficult to talk about, yet they refuse to release their grip.

Gavin: I don’t have any secrets.

Gavin says this bluntly, looking at me.

Gavin: That shooting star earlier has a lot of meaning behind it.

The lights and shadows in Gavin’s eyes stir, leaving me unable to identify the emotions within them.

After a moment of silence, his voice drifts to my ear again.

Gavin: An elder once told me that no matter what one does, the stars are able to see it. But if a shooting star were to appear in the sky, it meant that it faded away because it saw too much evil.

Even though his tone doesn’t change much, I can vaguely sense something.

Gavin: Which is why I changed from leader of the bodyguards to a bandit.

I’m stunned for a moment. Gavin turns his head, looking at me.

Gavin: What? You thought I’d hide it?

MC: I...

Gavin: This isn’t a secret. The people here have never avoided the past.

MC: Why?

Gavin: There isn't a special reason. I once thought that as a leader, I’d have more power to uphold justice. Afterwards, a choice to sacrifice a few hundred lives to save a nobleman appeared before me.

MC: Which side did you pick?

Gavin: No matter the side, I wanted to save them all.

He stares afar off, a scorching colour flashing in his eyes. The wind seems to respond to him, causing leaves to rustle.

Gavin: I won't let a single life vanish in front of me. But many people threatened me using my capacity as a leader. Which is why I no longer wanted that title. I just want to be Gavin, and do the things I genuinely want to do.

In the night breeze, the corners of his lips turn upwards. Pride and resoluteness are transparent in his eyes.

My heart quivers. Fragments of the past few days involuntarily surface before my eyes -

How he returned triumphantly with loot, along with wounds of varying sizes.

How he often places somewhat simple and crude “thank you gifts” in front of the gate of the campground.

At first, I thought these rumours of Gavin were just false compliments. But after seeing them for myself, I am fully convinced -

Gavin is worthy of all the praise.

Thinking about this, my heart seems to be tugged roughly by something.

MC: If only I had met you earlier. That way, I wouldn’t just be the young girl who was blessed by God, and...

I suddenly pause, my honest thoughts stuck in my throat.

Gavin: Wouldn’t what?

Those amber eyes watch me quietly, as though waiting for what’s weighing on my mind to pour out in torrents.

MC: You’ll be heading out tomorrow, so rest early. If possible, I hope the stars can see everything I do, and that they wouldn't fall.

I control the stinging sensation in my eyes, showing my sincerest smile.

He seems to be stirred. The brilliant starlight reflects in his eyes, and my figure seems to become clearer.

But my vision gradually turns blurry, as though something is about to fall.

A faint light appears from afar. Holding the letter that I spent a night writing, I walk to Gavin’s door.

MC: Sorry. I think some words can’t be said in person. If there’s another chance, perhaps we could... get to know each other afresh.

Watching as the letter disappears at the other end, I feel a weight being lifted off me as I walk out of the gate.

Tonight is the king’s coronation ceremony.

There aren’t any celebratory gifts from the neighbouring countries. There aren’t any flatteries from imperial concubines or ministers. There are only soldiers hiding in the flowering shrubs...

And me, who is pressed onto the floor.

King: Did you think that I didn’t plant other spies aside from you?

The king eats grapes indolently, strong distaste flashing in his eyes.

MC: ...

King: As my slave for so many years, you should know the consequences of betrayal.

I couldn’t care less about the king’s threats. All that’s in my heart is worry.

Worry that Gavin didn’t see my letter. Worry that he’d follow the plan and come to the flower garden, and into the king’s ambush.

Just a while ago, I admitted everything in the letter -

According to my understanding of the king, he would definitely deploy forces in the flower garden to guarantee his safety during the ceremony.

It also explains why the palace is akin to an empty city, and can be easily infiltrated.

A sizeable amount of wealth fleeced from the common folk is in the treasury. If they could be returned to their original owners, it should lighten much of their burden.

This is the only thing I can do as compensation.

With this thought in mind, I look up at the brilliant sky-filled sky. My mind doesn’t hold back, and specks of time spent together with Gavin courses through it.

I take a deep breath, doing my best to remember this starry sky forever, leaving behind no regrets.

All of a sudden, a cold wind rolls up beside me. At the edge of my vision, a figure appears along with the wind.

The faraway figure gradually becomes clearer. Gavin is standing on the flying carpet, his expression so gloomy that it’s terrifying.

MC: Gavin, what are you doing here?! Leave quickly, there’s an ambush here!

Right after I finish speaking, arrows fly towards Gavin in succession, but they’re all rolled together by the gale in an instant.

Gavin looks down, his eyes filled with a fury which has reached its limits.

Gavin: Did you think about the consequences of touching one of my people?

King: Men, take him down!

Realising that arrows are ineffective, the bodyguards brandish long swords, closing in on me.

A gentle wind protects me. At the same time, a familiar voice drifts from behind.

Gavin: Hold tight.

He kicks away the person who was restraining me, then carries me on his shoulder.

I subconsciously struggle, but realise that I’m gripped tightly by him, as though he’s telling me -

That he’s angry.

Twisting my head to peer at his expression, I can only see the distinct outline of the side of his face from my periphery.

After the flying carpet leaves the ground, a fierce wind suddenly springs out of the flower garden.

In an instant, the magnificent flower garden turns into a mess. The king dangles upside down from a sculpture, and looks to be in a huge predicament.

With a cold “hmph”, Gavin soars faraway, the flower garden behind him turning smaller and smaller.

MC: Gavin, could you put me down... I’m already safe.

He ignores me, and the rustling wind is the only thing left in the surroundings.

MC: Sorry... I lied to you.

Gavin: I already knew from the start.

He continues staring out, responding coldly.

MC: In that case, why did you still come here?! I already told you in the letter not to...

Gavin: Because I want to bring you back.

MC: Why...?

Gavin: Since you joined us, you can’t leave that easily.

I release a resigned sigh, muttering softly.

MC: You clearly said that I could leave whenever I wanted to.

Gavin: You believe a bandit’s promise?

MC: You...!

Not knowing what to say, a soft chuckle drifts from behind me.

He exerts slight pressure, as though verifying something. Then, he sets me down, drawing me into his arms.

MC: I even thought you’d keep carrying me on your shoulder and not let go.

Gavin: I actually wouldn’t mind. But I still prefer this.

While saying this, he tightens both arms around my waist.

A sense of security instantly charges into my heart, but it also accidentally tears open the guilt that I've buried in the depths of my heart...

MC: Gavin, you had your suspicions about me from very early on, didn’t you.

Gavin: I had my suspicions at the start. But afterwards, I realised it was unnecessary. Because I knew that you wouldn’t harm me.

His gaze is brilliant as he looks at me, mixed with an unquestionable emotion.

MC: [blushing] Why do you keep looking at me like that?

Gavin: I can’t do that?

MC: [blushing] Of course you can’t. You can’t get used to being a bandit and do whatever you want...

I retort indignantly, my face red as I avert my eyes.

Suddenly, a scorching hand covers my face, turning my face back forcefully.

Gavin: You’re right. I’m used to being a bandit and doing whatever I want to. So, MC, let me take a good look at you.

He carefully sweeps his eyes over me. As I gradually come to my senses, I realise that he’s checking to see if I’m injured.

MC: Gavin, I’m not hurt.

Seeing the concern in his eyes, my heart feels a stinging sensation. No one has ever cared about me like this before.

Even though he knew that I didn’t have good intentions from the beginning, he didn’t blame me at all.

The familiar campground once again enters my vision. From afar, I see that everyone’s tidying up boxes filled with treasures.

MC: Did they go to the palace?

Gavin: Mm. I had to bring you back, so I let them go there by themselves. After sorting out the inventory, they will return the items to their original owners.

MC: In that case... could we head to the roof for a while? Today’s also the day my blessings are manifested. Whether it’s real or not, it’d be revealed very soon.

In a moment, we land on the roof. My heart uncontrollably turns anxious.

Gavin: The most valuable riches in the world?

Gavin stands beside me quietly, stretching out his hand.

The full moon hangs overhead, and the night breeze blows gently.

In an instant, the pearls and jewels in the boxes on the ground suddenly fill the night sky, glistening underneath the moonlight.

Countless silver coins and jewels soak in the moonlight, setting a contrast to the flickering stars, as though they are newborn stars.

Gavin: Are these your blessings?

Gavin turns around to face me. All the light in the world seem to be stored in those amber eyes.

Gavin: If you’re wondering about the meaning behind these blessings, let me shoulder it with you. Your fate will not be directed by anyone. MC, you can just be MC. I don’t care if you’ve been blessed by God. What I want is you.

The starry sky casts a faint halo over Gavin, becoming the most dazzling colour in my eyes.

My world seems to be shining into a ray of light, and the interlaced paths of what lies ahead in the future turn clear and bright.

All of a sudden, I realise something with certainty -

This is just the beginning. He will bring me along to be acquainted anew with this beautiful world.

A gentle gust breezes past, and the lower hem of Gavin’s clothes flutters.

His lips move slightly, and his voice burrows into my ears along with the wind.

Gavin: All of the blessings for you - I’ll fulfil them myself.

🍷 MOMENTS 🍷

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving in the open country.

MC: Because most of this trip will be in the open country, we have to do our homework in advance!

Gavin: When it comes to safety, there’s nothing to worry about with me around.

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving outdoors.

MC: Are you surprised? The first phase of the trip is starting!

Gavin: Great. In that case, leave the rest of the arrangements to me.

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving outdoors.

MC: I felt that you’ve been working really hard lately, so I wanted to take you to a faraway place to relax~

Gavin: Actually, it’s enough that you’re around.

🍷 Phone calls: First l Second

🍷 More translated dates: here

🍷 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #almost couldn't finish this because I kept getting nosebleeds whenever gavin's sprite appeared on the screen #the way to a man's heart is by treating his wounds #the way to a woman's heart is by being gavin

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adorethedistance · 4 years ago

Text

READING MY BOYFRIEND’S FANFICTION?? - Owen Joyner x Influencer!Reader

JATP masterlist

Requested: OMGGG!! Could you do a an Owen fic based around his girlfriend being an armature youtuber/social media influencer (shes also an actress and they met on set and have been dating for a while) and it’s “reading/reacting to my boyfriend’s fanfiction” ? You can do whatever you want with the fanfic part it’s just a concept that has been running around in my head for a while. LOVE ALL YOUR WORK!!

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, very mild

Words: 1460

A/N: A fic?? From Ace?? Hi. I’m off spring break officially and so my stress has dissipated immensely. School was becoming so much these last two weeks and I thought I’d be stressed or worried, but I’m actually fine? It’s weird lol so I decided I could be productive with my stress-free moment and post a little fic for y’all. I love this prompt, and before any of you writers panic, I’m using my own fics for the fanfictions because I wouldn’t want to put y’all on the spot like that. Also this is my 3000 post! thought that was cool lol

“Do you wanna do the intro?”

“I think I have to do the intro.”

“Okay, go for it.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out a heavy breath in exaggerated preparation for my (some would say lengthy) intro. “Hello, hi. Yes, okay, this is Y/n Y/l/n vlogs, welcome or welcome back to my channel!” Once Owen finishes his statement I’m so stunned I can’t generate any sort of response other than a slacked jaw semi smile.

“That was not even close. Do you know my intro?”

“I got the first part right!”

“You’ve lost intro privileges,” I turn back to the mess of lights and tripods in front of me and ignore the disaster of an intro Owen offered. “Oh, hello, hi! I am Y/n and this is: Reading My Boyfriend’s Fanfiction!”

“That’s basically what I did.”

“No, it is not! It’s ‘oh, hello, hi. I am ‘name’ and this is: ‘title of video’.”

“You don’t ‘welcome to my channel’?” Owen’s voice has dropped to a hushed volume as he genuinely inquires about the segments of my usual introduction.

“I do not.”

“Don’t use any of this,” he pleads when making direct eye contact with the camera. “Mister Sid. Editing Sid, please don’t embarrass me.” His pleas fall on deaf ears, knowing that I’ll be using the footage in full.

“Anyways. Butchered intro aside, I am Y/n and today I am here with my lovely “So Many Stars” costar and scene partner, Owen Joyner!”

“I’m also your boyfriend.”

“That too,” I give Owen’s pointed comment a soft place to land, “So, yesterday--it was actually like, two weeks ago, I don’t know why I said yesterday--a little while back, I came across a tweet telling me someone had written a fanfic about us-”

“Did you read it?”

“On Wattpad. Of course, I read it. There are only three chapters up right now and they’re all in the 2-3k range so it was a quick read.”

“2-3k?”

“Words,” I reply nonchalantly as I unlock my phone. I bookmarked a few one-shots beforehand for us to read, and I’m slightly cocky about my selections. Owen then responds with an outburst of shock.

“2-3 thousand words is a short read?” I merely give him a blank stare.

“Judging by that reaction, Owen hasn’t read any fanfics in his life.”

“Is that not long to you- That’s what she said.” Owen cuts me off with his own stupid joke and I briefly sigh before answering.

“No, that isn’t long. Baby, I’m here for that 130k slow burn enemies to lovers on AO3 with the ‘only one bed’ and ‘locked in a closet’ tropes.”

“The what?”

“Oh, we have so much to catch you up on.”

__________________________

“So I saved three fics, an angst, a fluff, and a smut. Which do you want to read?”

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“Oh my- okay. Angst is the sad shit, it’s what you read when you need your heartbroken and a good cry. Smut is pretty much in the name, it’s explicit content that will undoubtedly get this video demonetized, but that’s okay because we do have a sponsor. And fluff is the cute moments, domestic and sometimes mundane romance that makes you smile like an idiot and put the device down to screech into a pillow.” Throughout my whole explanation, I can tell Owen was becoming more and more lost, so I opt to give him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“Let’s start with the fluff just to ease into things.”

“Smart choice. This fic I have saved is called ‘Baby Fever’ and the summary says ‘you and Owen spend a day at the zoo babysitting Baby Shada, and her presence sparks conversation about adding a new presence of your very own’.”

“That sounds so ominous.”

“Here, I’ll read the narration and reader’s POV, and then you’ll read your own dialogue.” Owen nods and leans over my right shoulder to read off of my computer screen.

“You actually start the fic.”

“‘You ready, little one?’” The instantaneous actor mode Owen slips into has me howling with laughter at which he looks at me confused. My gasping for air makes Owen laugh empathetically despite still being unsure as to what’s killing me at the moment.

“Why are you laughing?!” He yells, dramatically shaking my shoulder.

“Just the way you jumped into that, I wasn’t prepared for you to turn on the acting charm. Okay, uhhhh, ‘I bite back a laugh when I hear Owen’s voice coo from the back seat’.”

The two of us go back and forth between reading the narrative, bouts of laughter, commentary on the accuracy of Owen’s character, and we finally manage to finish the 2.5k fic in about forty minutes.

“‘When he looks up from CJ’s tiny body and recognizes the familiar ‘baby fever’ look in my eyes, he smiles and utters a simple-’.”

“‘I told you so.’”

“That was cute! I like the tie-in of having us watching over Baby Shada- or, sorry, you and ‘y/n’ watching over Baby Shada.”

“They wrote me kinda funny, I don’t think I’d ever fabricate a life to make conversation with a stranger due to baby fever.” My jaw drops slightly and before Owen can respond to my reaction, I cry,

“That is such a lie!”

“What?”

“You absolutely would do something like that, are you kidding me?!”

“No, I would not!” Owen punctuates every word with the utmost offense. He has the same look in his eye as when he was proving himself to be the cleanest phantom of the three on the Sunset Drive podcast.

“You literally told the guy at Home Depot yesterday that we were buying plants for our child’s nursery!”

“Okay, that’s different-”

“How is that different? That’s the exact same thing as fanfic you!” Owen’s furrowed brow and dropped jaw are a sight to be seen as he leans away from me, bending at the waist to stare at me with defiance. I raise my eyebrows pointedly as I await a response. Instead of actually producing a response, Owen lunges forward, grabbing my waist in his hands and squeezing gently. The feeling makes me screech and gasp of laughter from surprise and also being ticklish.

“Owen! Owe-STOP, I’m gonna drop my laptop!” I manage to say through my laughter and with one final grab, he releases me from his hold. It takes a minute for my laughter to settle but once I do, the two of us are simply breathing heavy and staring at one another with giddy smiles on our faces. In a moment’s clarity, I turn to look into the camera lens to talk directly to my editor,

“Sid, don’t use any of this. And please don’t cut to this after we finish reading to make it look like- things were happening.”

“Actually, I think you should, Sid. Just cut to right there and make the world think we-”

“OKAY, thanks for watching, bye!” I quickly stop the recording before Owen says something we’re unable to recover from. I hear him laugh gently behind me as I set my laptop down on the coffee table behind the tripod. Coming back to the couch, I move to plop down but before landing successfully on the cushion next to my phone, Owen grabs my body and moves me to sit on top of him.

“You are crazy, you know that?”

“Hmm. Crazy for you, maybe.” His cheesy line makes me scoff but smile nonetheless. I reach my right hand up to caress the side of his face as we sit cheek to cheek.

“Remind me to never film with you again.” The gesture is sweet and the sentiment is not which makes Owen laugh and he presses a soft kiss to my cheek. I lean back into him so my back is pressed flush with his chest as he lazily wraps both arms around me.

“You say that now but you’ll regret it when you wanna do a ‘boyfriend does my makeup’ challenge video.”

“Nah. I’ll just call Charlie to-” Without allowing me to finish my sentence, Owen is digging his fingertips back into the tissue of my sides and I squeal with laughter once more. This time the torment is short-lived and Owen releases me after a sweet, reconciling kiss. “Do you have baby fever now?”

“It was cute and all, but not really, no.”

“That’s too bad,” I stand up from my spot on his lap to grab my computer and hold it to my chest, “I was gonna say we could practice some baby-making.”

And with that, I turned on the balls of my feet, heading for my bedroom when I heard Owen stand up eagerly, quick to follow.

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell@n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki@vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul

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iaal · 4 years ago

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Hi there, this is probably quite an odd request but how about Adultrio + Pariston with a S/O who is horrible in bed? Like, the S/O in question makes tons of dick deflating comments & jokes. Can’t give a blowjob to save their life, touches like they are patting a dog or horse etc?

Thanks for the ask that was fun to write!The hc takes place after the first night with the reader, not a crush anymore but not a s/o yet because for most of them I don’t imagine them letting the situation last. It’s a tad crackish, except for Pariston, I always end up writing him darker than what I had planned.

Hisoka:

*Cracks knuckles*

Looks like there’s a lot of work awaiting him.

He would only put up with it with someone he was interested for others reasons, mostly fighting, and he’d think it would be a waste to just walk out of the door and never come back.

He just can’t believe how someone can be THAT bad at something supposedly instinctual.

That in itself would amaze him, to be this atrocious it’d almost be an art form.

Bluntly, after your first night together he would tell you that for the first time in his life he was genuinely unsure if he could finish.

Of course he did, it’s Hisoka, but the admission coupled with his dumbfounded expression would make a point of how arduous it was because of you.

But worry not, his ego just can’t let him pass on the opportunity to show his worth as a teacher so it’s not game over yet.

Sure, he could just gag and bind you and do all the work but it wouldn’t fix the core of the problem.

Besides, it’d get old fast if that was the only option.

He’d be surprisingly diligent in his lesson.

Sex, even the fun kind he likes, is serious business.

Hisoka would start from the very start, not even the touching part yet.

The first lesson would be how to not absolutely murder the mood with your remarks.

For that he’d put his hand between your legs, caressing you very slowly to work you up and building up a rhythm, encouraging you to be vocal.

If you make any comments that break the mood he would stop for a bit and resume from the beginning, going back to his sluggish pace and gradually increasing the movements of his hand again.

For the next part he’d not shy away to show you directly how he wants to be touched, explaining his favorite spots and the right way to handle him.

The only thing left would be to put your newfound knowledge in practice.

After a few days and many trials and errors he’d at least make a decent lay out of you.

Now that you’ve got a grasp on the basics the real fun would begin.

He stills has a lot more to teach you until you’re ready to pass his class.

Chrollo:

He’d try, really try, to not say anything at first.

After all, a first time with a new partner is rarely great, maybe you were nervous and it’ll get better after a few try.

But as you didn’t show any sign of improving he’d have to face reality: you have no idea what you’re doing – worst, you seem to unintentionally sabotage his own effort to show you the right way.

That would pretty much kill his libido for a while and Chrollo would weight the pros and the cons to just end it here and there.

The choice wouldn’t be easy, he wouldn’t have wanted you to begin with if you didn’t interest him and you had no value outside of the bedroom.

And when the balance tilts more towards the pros than the cons he’d decide that it’s time to put some efforts in the relationship.

Without saying that you’re awful, he’d tell you that the sex isn’t great for him and if you’d be okay with letting him try some different things.

Namely absolute obedience in bed.

Normally Chrollo already tends to be dominant but he’d still be flexible and wouldn’t have a problem giving up control, or at least as much control as he’d allow.

Not with you. You can’t have nice things.

He’d direct your every moves and the only words authorized out of your mouth would be the ones he asked you to repeat.

Once he sets a goal for himself he invest himself a hundred percent in it and he’d be a strict instructor.

Of course he’d make it enjoyable for you too, not wanting you to end up disliking sex with him but going halfhearted would lead to punishment.

The problem would be that Chrollo can easily deal with someone who’d fight for dominance, he can deal with brats, he can deal with a shy inexperienced partner… but you… you’re just bad.

Even when you try your earnest to follow his instruction the result would somehow still be terrible.

As if you were tone deaf, but for sex, like sex deaf.

He’d still intend to finish what he had started and he’d have faith in himself, he know that with enough time and dedication he’d get the results he wants.

If you have to spend 3 hours a day with his cock in your mouth until you suck him right so be it.

Illumi:

The least bothered of the lots.

He doesn’t really need you to be an active participant and he’s selfish enough in bed to get his own pleasure as long as your legs are open for him.

Your comments and jokes would met his deadpan gaze and an order to shut up if it’s too distracting but he himself would be well versed in the art of awkward remarks.

Illumi only really shines in bed when he’s a bit pushed to make effort.

If you don’t challenge him out of his comfort zone he’d do the absolute minimum as foreplay and piston inside you to finish.

So it would be a match made in heaven but not a very enjoyable one.

Sure you could ask him to get you off but he wouldn’t put much effort into it.

You’d have to get better in bed by yourself if you want to be satisfied and that means finding the words that would work on him and how to get him really worked up.

Enough for him to really get in the mood and not use you as a glorified fleshlight.

Without guidance the road would be strenuous to say the least, not only you but you’d have to make Illumi follow suits.

With both of you being the bottom of the barrel in term of sexual prowess, and Illumi being fine with that, you’d have to carry the both of you.

Porn and online forum would be your only help with various degree of success, it’s not like you still had friends to call and you’d be too mortified to ask the butlers.

You’d want to give up more than once, to just lie on the bed and take it but after a few weeks you’d start to see changes.

Illumi would let you suck him off for more than a couple of minutes, he would insist a bit longer on the zone that just earned him a sweet sound from you…

A few month in and your hard work would really start to pay off.

You’d start to know some of Illumi’s button to push and he’d pay enough attention to get you off without you asking.

There would still be a long road ahead but you did it, you can finally stop counting the cracks on the ceiling.

Pariston:

He would be delight with the fact that you’re a disaster in bed.

Never in a million year he’d have imagine that you, the target of all of his attention and affection, would be that big of a disappointment.

And that alone would make it even more worth it.

Pariston would be torn between the need to humiliate you immediately or playing the long game to be sure to make maximal damage.

Eventually he’d want to play with you longer.

He’d put all this heart on making you feel good, making you cum as long as your body can take it, not stopping for your cringy lines, even encouraging you to do as you please.

He’ll be sure to be prepare for all the next times.

Without you knowing he’d start to film you.

Even if the sex was lacking, the thought of the shame you’d feel when he’ll reveal that you had an extensive bad porn filmography and had no idea would be enough to make him hard.

In your everyday life he’d already start to show subtle signs of abuse and would solidify his control on you.

In bed he’d make no effort to guide you, you’d be as bad as your first time.

When he’s sure that you’re irremediably hooked he’d show you his videos collection and you’d have no choice but watch it all.

Not only it would be mortifying to know he has immortalized all of your intimate moments on tape you’d be horrified to see by yourself how bad you are.

The worst being the Pariston in the videos.

In all the positions where you couldn’t see his face he’d be stifling a laughter or biting his hand to not let you hear his hilarity.

You’d be completely floored to notice that more that once he’d use his phone to look at porn to finish, that would explain why he loved doggy-style and blind folding you so much.

It would be shattering and you’d spent all night watching, with Pariston beside you making comment on the funniest part, this time laughing openly.

He’d fuck you at the end of the last video.

You’d be silent and motionless, the perfect broken doll.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hisoka #chrollo #illumi #pariston #adultrio #smut #ask #hisoka headcanons #chrollo headcanons #illumi headcanons #pariston headcanons #adultrio headcanons #tw humilation #I started wanting to do crack #then it went the smutish way #and it ended up dark hc #that was quite a ride to write

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whitexwingedxdoves · 4 years ago

Text

head over feet [request]

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/her Warning: Fluff, Swearing, Death of Animals mentioned. Prompts: “Are we on a date right now?” & “Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming” Summary: Daryl finally agrees to take you on your first hunting trip after bugging him for weeks but you find something you didn’t exactly plan to find. A/N: THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!!

Finally, after pestering the stubborn man, he caved and let you join him on a hunt. Admiring the way Daryl stalked his way through the forest, you followed blindly trusting every step he took would lead you to food. It wasn’t lost on you how easily you could irritate the man, he was just so grumpy, acted like he didn’t have a funny bone in his body – which was a lie, he’d made you laugh plenty with or without meaning to. Though it seemed you breathed a little too loud this time and his head snapped in your direction, giving you his signature glare. You eyes rolled and immediately you put up your hands in defence watching his back straighten out and giving you all his attention. “Ya breathin’ too damn loud!” you shot him a puzzled look, he couldn’t be serious. “an’ ya keep slammin’ ya feet on the floor! Ya gonna scare wha’ever’s left out there” you couldn’t help but look at the man in disbelief as he kicked the floor around him, attempting to find something to track.

You managed to keep quite enough for the rest of the hunt, though you didn’t find much… a couple of squirrels and a snake which Daryl insisted on cooking up right away. You worked on the fire as he skinned the snake so effortlessly. It didn’t take long for him to hand you your own portion of cooked snake, once upon a time you’d have rather gone hungry than eat snake but now you actually had experienced hunger you’d do anything to avoid that feeling. You watched the man in front of you tear into the meat like some sort of caveman which never failed to make you smile.

“are we on a date right now?” Finally breaking the silence, you tucked into your food though you found it extra amusing how quickly your words stopped Daryl from attacking his meal. He shifted on the spot, avoiding any sort of eye contact with you, almost embarrassed by your words. You chuckled softly after swallowing your first bite. “Oh come on Dixon! I was only joking!” your laughter continued as he grunted in your direction.

Your joke did raise some of your own questions about the mysterious man. You had known him for a long time and unlike everyone else he seemed to keep to himself. You’d not seen him pining after some girl… or guy. You cocked your eyebrow in his direction as your tongue fought with a piece of stubborn meat between your teeth. “What the deal with you anyway?” the sound of your voice made him jump a little.

“Whatcha mean?” he mumbled, throwing the stick that once had snake meat skewered over it.

“I don’t think I've ever seen you bat your eyelashes at someone, what’s the deal? Daryl Dixon too hard core for love?” you teased a little, pulling some of the meat from your stick and nibbling at it. At this point the crackle of the fire was the only thing stopping your ears from falling deaf in the moment.

The archer picked at twigs that laid around him, chewing on the corner of his lips, his nervous energy was so apparent, you’d have put money on everyone back home feeling it there. “Daryl?” you pushed a little. As he picked his head up, he shook his head slightly, pushing his stray hairs out of his face, yet he still didn’t say anything. It started to make you feel slightly guilty for bringing it up but still far too curious to drop the subject. The sound of his sigh made a knot appear in your stomach, see you never admitted it to anyone but despite his grumpy exterior the man had a special hold on your heart.

“a’ don’ ever see ya wi’ anyone?” he retorted finally, a smile picking up on your face as you watched how frustrated he seemed.

“Doesn't mean I don’t like no one!” you pushed back, the smirk never leaving your lips.

“a’ don’ ever see ya flirt wi’ anyone” his response much snappier this time, your eyes rolled at the man, allowing you laughter to make its appearance again. You shifted yourself closer to the man, now sitting directly next to him.

“You don’t tend to notice it when it’s happening to you!” you whispered softly, your eyes scanning him for a signal that he felt the same way you did, though you were doubtful. He was still very much fidgeting, perhaps he didn’t hear you or maybe he didn’t understand. He did, he just refused to believe it, he’d believe his ears were playing tricks on him before he’d believe you had been flirting with him.

“Hmm?” He finally looked up a little in your direction, his face screamed confusion.

“I am, well and truly, head over heels, into you. Daryl Dixon!” you admitted, choosing to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and knot in our throat. You didn’t have much time to register your words as he lent forward, planting his lips firmly on yours but only briefly before pulling away. You watched his cheeks turn a slight blush colour as he went back to fidgeting. “Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming” you giggled slightly, watching the man shy away from your gaze. Eventually, you had enough, caressing his chin with your finger tips, you tilted his head and placed your lips back onto his. It was softer this time, you took your time with it allowing your lips to get fully equated to his before it grew hungry. Your hands explore the back of his neck, allowing his long hair to get entwined with your fingers. You relished in the feeling of his hand on your cheeks, it made you feel weak but in the best way possible. He pulled away slowly, resting his forehead on yours, the smile on your lips wouldn’t fade, your eyes slowly fluttering open meeting his.

“So it is a date then!”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon request #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd x you

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shih-coulda-had-it · 3 years ago

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Headcanon gran was mute in his younger days like the only people who hear him talk was people close to him nana etc. But still a man of few words like hearing him talk was if hell froze over (after nana died he had to start teaching so communication was a must) defiantly know sign language.

I like this headcanon! It fits well with what's been given to us, which is Sorahiko being relatively silent until Nana's dead. Extra notes: From multiple Google searches, JSL is mainly taught to the deaf, and even in the community, there are divisions amongst vocabulary. Japanese Sign Language (JSL) has three forms, and uses fingerspelling and mouthing as supplemental context tools.

This ficlet is in Toshinori's POV because I couldn't quite lock down on when I wanted this version of Nana and Sorahiko to have met.

It’s Toshinori’s first time meeting Shimura’s partner, and he is not ready.

He had thought he’d been ready for anything, that first afternoon he chased Seventh Wonder down the path along the canal: a gentle pat on the shoulder before discouragement, derisive laughter, or worse. But against all the odds, Toshinori’s earnest (and frantic) pitch found a willing listener.

Seventh Wonder introduced herself as Shimura Nana three months ago. She advised him on workout routines, and on weekends, she went through grappling maneuvers and recounted stories about life as a pro-hero.

Toshinori hadn’t dared to let himself think Shimura was treating him as anything but a charity case. But last month, Shimura’s stories had acquired a different, almost conspiratorial tone. She also began instilling in Toshinori a rudimentary knowledge of Japanese Sign Language.

(This latter development is blithely reasoned away as dexterity training. As for the former...)

Last Sunday, Shimura revealed herself to be in possession of a transferable stockpile Quirk.

It remains a miracle to Toshinori that Shimura trusts him not only with the knowledge, but also the actual future of holding One for All. Of potentially fulfilling his dreams to lift Japan out of its paranoid, panic-ridden state. Sure, the drawbacks are scary (All for One? Blowing off his limbs?) but Shimura assures him that she has plans.

One of these plans is her partner, Gran Torino.

Toshinori knows practically nothing about the man. Shimura doesn’t gossip, and no matter how Toshinori scoured the Internet, he couldn’t even find a picture. The most he has is what’s on the Nippon Hero Association’s online registry.

Gran Torino. Quirk: Jet. Active for three years as opposed to Seventh Wonder’s nine.

He reflexively slows his pace to the meadow where Shimura trains him, eyes widening at the stranger standing beside Shimura. Tall, imposing, clad in a brown leather jacket and denim jeans and Western cowboy boots. His hair is silver. He is gesturing at Shimura and mouthing in time with his decisive hand movements, but try as Toshinori might, he cannot hear a sound.

Shimura signs back, smoother, until Torino (it’s got to be Gran Torino) disgruntledly brushes his sternum and sets his fists waist-high for a second. A concession. For what problem?

She glances around Torino and spies Toshinori, who is stock-still because he might have been the cause of an argument between Shimura and her partner. She smiles; Torino grimaces with a tight-lipped frown. “Yagi-shonen! Come over here, don’t be shy!”

“Shimura-san,” Toshinori greets, rushing to close the distance. “Sorry if I’m late!”

“Ah, no,” says Shimura. “It’s more like we’re early.”

To Gran Torino, Toshinori executes a quick bow and comes up with his hands fumbling through an introduction. “Good morning,” he says, clumsily spinning and crooking his fingers. He’s learned this. He’s learned this. “My name is Yagi Toshinori. It’s nice to meet you.”

Torino blinks down at him. His expression is unreadable.

Toshinori gulps. “Did I do it wrong…?”

As Shimura hums a noncommittal sound (which is universal for, ‘Well, it could’ve been better,’ which Toshinori is certainly not about to disagree with), Torino critiques Toshinori’s attempt in a single soul-evaporating word.

“Hasty.”

“Sorahiko,” Shimura chides in a fond tone, and she knocks her shoulder into his, friendly and affectionate. Torino exhales through his nose; he shoves back before straightening his spine. The difference between Torino and Toshinori’s height extends.

“Gran Torino,” the man introduces himself in a low, clipped voice. He fingerspells this, and his actual name, until Toshinori crabs onto the impromptu lesson and commits the signs to memory. Once he’s met Torino’s standards, Torino says, “Hn,” before falling silent.

Shimura seamlessly picks up the thread of conversation. “Have you had breakfast yet, Yagi-shonen?”

“Ahahaha,” says Toshinori. “I had a slice of toast?”

“Hm. Well, it’s your lucky day. We haven’t had breakfast yet either! Here, here, take this,” and Shimura hoists a picnic basket into Toshinori’s arms, “and Sorahiko, you’ve got the duffel.”

Unimpressed, Torino signs, “And you?”

“I,” says Shimura, offloading a meter-long duffel bag into his arms and unzipping it briefly, just to pull out a rolled-up blanket, “am picking out a breakfast spot.”

Torino snorts.

The breakfast spot ends up being under a tree; the blanket absorbs the dew leftover on the grass immediately, but Toshinori would be willing to suffer the dampness every day if it meant being gifted a bento for breakfast. The ovular box is filled to the brim. Rice, egg, pickled vegetables, grilled salmon…!

“Shimura-san,” says Toshinori, awed, “did you make all this?”

“Nope! I wasn’t even allowed to touch the pan.” Shimura passes over an additional thermos. Uncapping it allows miso-scented steam to waft away.

“Torino-san, thank you for the meal!”

“Hn,” Torino grunts.

The first few bites are pure, uninterrupted bliss. A good breakfast, however, comes at a price. Toshinori is only halfway through the pickled vegetables when Shimura announces, “Sorahiko is here to help you prep for the entrance exam into U.A., Yagi-shonen.”

“What?”

“They’re increasing the difficulty of the exams,” she informs him. “The physical component in particular.”

“I thought it was just an obstacle course,” says Toshinori, a tad bewildered.

“Ha! That information is outdated by, uh, Sorahiko, when did Recovery Girl complain…”

Torino flashes three fingers, and doesn’t seem to need to add any other signifier, because Shimura gets the answer right on the first try.

“Right, right, three days. So three days ago, Recovery Girl called us up to complain about how her colleagues are reacting to the escalating pro-hero turnover rate. Lots of, ‘we need to demonstrate the reality early if we’re going to winnow out the spineless applicants,’ y’know?”

“Oh,” says Toshinori faintly.

“So,” Shimura continues,”you should expect to walk away from the entrance exam with some bruises. Lots of bandages too. Unless!”

“Unless?”

“I’m right, and having the Gran Torino here providing, ah, supplementary combat training will put you ahead of the legacy students!”

“That’s not… illegal?” It’s one thing to mask grappling maneuvers as play-wrestling in an abandoned meadow, and even then, Shimura was quick to tug them both back onto their feet. It’s a whole other thing to train Toshinori, whose records will show him distinctly unconnected, to beat out his peers.

“It’s a little bit illegal,” she confesses. “But so is giving you One for All, and we can’t exactly do anything about that.”

“I don’t have to go through the heroics program,” Toshinori says, even though he really, really wants to. “You could save One for All until I graduate high school, and then I won’t be a minor.”

Shimura smiles at him like a promise. “If I say you’re getting One for All before U.A., then you’re getting this Quirk and getting into your dream school, Yagi-shonen. You will, of course, be earning it. And then everything is unquestionable!”

Gran Torino clears his throat. Shimura looks over, and her brow furrows in concentration. Toshinori catches a few words by lipreading.

“Questionable relationship,” he signs.

“Ah. Yeah, that’s still true. Can I get away with ‘Shimura-sensei’ without a credential?”

“Flimsy.”

Toshinori has a sudden idea. “Ah, Shimura-san… what if I called you Shimura-shishou?” Hm. That sounds wrong. This is the pro-hero who’s practically giving Toshinori a second chance at life; she is deliberately fixing fate, intending to give a Quirkless kid a Quirk of unimaginable potential. Seventh Wonder, Shimura Nana - she deserves the greatest respect. “Oshishou?”

Her eyes widen. So do Gran Torino’s.

“Ah,” says Shimura, stunned.

“The Nippon Hero Association was talking about apprenticeships,” he reminds her.

Torino signs to Shimura, “How old is he?”

“Fourteen.”

“Less than a year to fifteen,” Toshinori adds. He may or may not have looked up apprenticeship laws. So long as the administration doesn’t pry, then he could just be a scrappy student with civilian origins. And then once U.A. would get into the swing of things, Toshinori would be old enough to potentially be apprenticed.

Not that they would ever sign paperwork. Shimura has been adamant about keeping Toshinori safe, and being safe means his civilian life needs to be squeaky-clean.

“I’m definitely not certified to be a master of this profession,” says Shimura. “Are you comfortable with this, Yagi-shonen?”

“Yes,” says Toshinori. He says it firmly, implacably, trying to invoke the same tone that once persuaded Seventh Wonder to stay on the ground and hear out a Quirkless kid’s dream. “Without a doubt, oshishou.”

She huffs and looks down at her half-eaten breakfast; her ears are turning pink. Silently, Torino reaches over and touches her wrist. Toshinori hurriedly returns to his own meal, feeling like he’s intruding on some moment.

And softly:

“Alright, Yagi-shonen. Alright.”

#bnha #yagi toshinori #all might #torino sorahiko #gran torino #shimura nana #nanahiko but like pre slowburn #shih.txt #asks #thealphabearart #toshinori is too polite to ask why and when jsl became a thing for them #therefore it's up to the reader :)

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kurowrites · 5 years ago

Note

Wangxian prompt: Wei wuxian is born deaf. Lan wangji who uses little words and has trouble expressing himself finds a new way to talk by learning sighn language from Wei wuxian.

Bet you weren’t expecting this.

---

There is a boy that has come to Cloud Recesses with the other young disciples of the Yunmeng Jiang sect, and he is loud. He cannot take part in the lectures, and he does not speak, but still, he is here. And when he is around, everyone knows. From time to time, Lan Wangji sees him making gestures at Jiang Cheng, and then Jiang Cheng will frown. And the boy will break out into infectious laughter, bright and strange and unlike anything that Lan Wangji has ever heard.

He wonders why the boy is even here, when he cannot hear. He wonders why the Yunmeng Jiang sect would bother to educate him in cultivation at all, since he will never be allowed on a night hunt. In the dark, with only his eyes to guide him, it would be too dangerous for him, and for those who depend on his support. He will never become a full-fledged cultivator.

And yet, he sometimes sits in class, and for the rest of the time, he is allowed access to the library at Cloud Recesses while everyone else is in class. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren permitted it, though why they did, Lan Wangji does not know. For all his constant mischief-making, the boy pours over the scrolls and books in the library with a serious expression whenever no one is looking. Lan Wangji once catches a glimpse of his notes, and they are extensive. He also seems to sometimes be using a kind of shorthand Lan Wangji does not recognise.

That boy might just be very, very smart.

Whenever Lan Wangji enters the library when Wei Wuxian is there, Wei Wuxian will wave at him and make a sign. Lan Wangji thinks he is probably just trying to say hello, but he is unable to quite figure it out.

As soon as he sits down and starts to read or write himself, Wei Wuxian will start pelting him with pieces of paper. All of them contain some kind of message.

Lan Zhan, what are you doing?

Lan Zhan, can you get me access to the forbidden section?

Lan Zhan, stop ignoring me!

Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan

I can see you reading and ignoring each and every one of these, and you make me sad.

That last one is followed by a sloppily drawn sad face.

Lan Wangji glares at him and finally writes out a reply.

Work.

Wei Wuxian laughs boisterously, and his laugh is beautiful.

One day, Wei Wuxian must be bored, because he sits next to Lan Wangji and starts badgering him, pulling his sleeve, and reaching for his wrist to get Lan Wangji’s attention. When Lan Wangji finally looks up, his usual glare in place, Wei Wuxian gives him a little wave, signs something, and then touches Lan Wangji’s chest. Lan Wangji is nearly ready to jump up, when Wei Wuxian repeats the same motion again, determined.

It takes him a moment, but then he realizes.

It is not just a hello. Wei Wuxian has been saying his name all along.

Hello, Lan Zhan.

With trembling fingers, he reaches out and touches Wei Wuxian’s chest. And Wei Wuxian gives him a brilliant smile, and signs something different.

Wei Ying.

It’s simple things that he learns at first.

Book. Brush. Give me. Hungry. Eat. Sleep.

Good night, Wei Ying. Good morning.

No. No, Wei Ying, stop that.

He has to use that last one a lot, accompanied by Wei Ying’s laughter.

Wei Ying gets along well with Wen Ning. Wen Ning has a slight speech impediment, and it is clear that the boy takes to conversing by signing with something akin to relief. He picks up the most important signs quickly, and it does not take long for them to start having conversations with each other. Nie Huaisang is another one. For all that he is lazy during class, he is a quick study when it comes to getting involved into mischief together with Wei Ying. And when either of them is at a loss of words, there are always Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli to help. Jiang Yanli in particular, Lan Wangji notes, signs along with her speech habitually – does it even with other people’s speech – so that Wei Ying’s eyes automatically look for her whenever someone is talking and he wants to know what is being said. Jiang Cheng too seems fluent in conversing with Wei Ying, and especially fighting with him, both of them signing at each other with large, emphatic movements.

Lan Wangji keeps watching them all. He wished he could express himself that well.

(He can. He just does not dare to do it just yet.)

Wei Ying practices sometimes with Jiang Cheng, has his own sword, but Lan Wangji notices quickly that he has another issue besides his lack of hearing: His balance is slightly off, sometimes, and Lan Wangji knows he is trying to hide it, but it is another disqualification as a cultivator. If he loses his balance at the wrong time, he is dead. It hurts Lan Wangji a little, the thought that so much promise will never be able to blossom. Not in the society they have been born into. They will never see him as more than a liability.

Wei Ying cannot hear the guqin, but he seems fascinated by the instrument. He sometimes joins Lan Wangji when he is practicing, listening to him play and yet not hearing him.

One day, Lan Wangji is struck by an idea. All cultivators are aware of the technique generally called Chord Assassination, and they know of its deadly effect. What most people do not know is that there is a lot of room in between trying to kill someone and just playing the guqin with absolutely no intent at all. So he plays a note and sends it towards Wei Ying, not with the intent to kill, but with enough force to push someone back.

Wei Ying is out of the path of the sound before Lan Wangji can even process it. He nearly falls over a chest in the process and just barely catches himself. Wei Ying looks at him with big eyes.

Are you crazy? Are you trying to kill me?

No. You can feel it.

Of course I can! Murderer!

Most cannot.

Wei Ying looks at him, more confused and less angry this time.

Most cannot feel the spiritual energy of the guqin. Only its effects.

Oh, that look in Wei Ying’s eyes. He has awakened something, he has no doubts.

(It turns out Wei Ying likes to listen to Lan Wangji play the guqin because it gives him mushy feelings inside. Lan Wangji has to lock himself in the Jingshi for a bit and tell himself repeatedly that Wei Ying has no way of knowing what he has been playing a lot lately.)

(Wei Ying is like ‘this has to be good for something’ as he digs through countless old texts, and that might be how he figures out the Compass of Evil.)

The first time Lan Wangji openly signs to Wei Ying in front of other people, their audience is shocked. They didn’t know that Lan Zhan learned to sign, and none of them have ever seen him speak for so long. And no one has any idea at all what he’s saying. (Except Jiang Yanli, who is also there and who will not say a word, only smile serenely.)

He starts becoming Wei Ying’s ears more and more often, and eventually, he also becomes his mouth. (The gap between Wei Ying’s words and Lan Zhan’s appearance is used to devastating effect.)

And because Lan uses his hands much better than his words… Wei Ying understands what it means to be loved.

#kuro writes #headcanon #wangxian #and then they have slightly kinky sex in semi-public places #and lwj will do his best to make wwx make noise #because he has a Thing #yes I needed to get rid of that somewhere #anonymous #deaf!WWX AU #mdzs headcanons

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shiversdownyerspine · 4 years ago

Text

10. Douse

Still alive and kickin, I can’t be stopped!

18+

Expected to be set back on your feet as Axel reaches your screen door, you feel your face flush when you realize he fully intends to carry you out like this in front of his brothers.

At the sound of the handle turning with a creak, you promptly start flailing.

"Axel I can walk, you know I can walk! Let me down!"

Your cries falls on deaf ears. The relentless man releases the door handle to adjust his grip; the hand on your thigh slides higher, taking your dress with it, while his other grabs the back of your knee. Thrashing reduced to a much more controllable wiggling, he kicks the door open and steps into the sunlight.

Squirming and praying your rear is still covered, you try a different angle, "I will answer any questions you have about my Phase, I promise!"

That brings him to a stop. You brace your hands as close to his shoulders as you can and push off, shoving yourself backwards to his front.

With a gasp you slide down his chest as his hand cups your side to steady your quick descent. Your bare feet lightly pat atop the stone of the patio. The oh so cold wet stone.

Jolting at the chill, you look around the watery murder scene before turning your attention to the two culprits standing face to face like they're in some sort of showdown; Otto and Oscar, to their credit, have pristine feet. But at the cost of becoming drowned rats.

You hold back laughter, but allow a wide smile. Their hair is an utter mess.

Otto and Oscar are ripped from their stalemate at the sound of your voice, "I'm sorry to say, but you're going to have to put your water war on pause. We should get this started before the weather takes a turn."

Your next sentence you mutter just loud enough, "That and before a certain somebody gets impatient. And tries to carry people again."

The hand still at your side gives a soft warning squeeze that has you quickly scurrying over in the direction of your patio furniture before he can grab you up. You're not going to take any chances, you'd like to keep your feet on the ground thank you very much.

The younger brothers glance up at the sky to see rain clouds on the horizon. They wander closer to the cottage as you check and make sure the flower bushes close to ground zero haven't been completely flooded. Otto rewraps the hose as Oscar tries to squeeze out as much water as he can from his sweater. After securing the coils back on the hook, Otto slumps down in one of your wooden chairs. Sliding the messy locks of his hair out of his face, he gives Oscar the stink eye as his brother flops even more gracelessly down in the matching chair next to him.

Oscar pauses, taking a closer look at what you're wearing, and smacks Otto's elbow with the back of his hand. Otto glares at his sibling before his attention is directed to you. Admiration lightly flushes the large man's cheeks as Oscar grins at his reaction. Your usual wear is adorable, but they would kill to see you in something light and flowy like this again...and judging from the possessive hand Axel has rested at your back after he makes his way to you, he approves as well.

Trying not to focus entirely on the warmth of the eldest brother's hand, you step carefully to the wooden bench sitting adjacent to the chairs. Taking a seat, your feet lift quickly from the chilly shallow lake below as Axel follows close behind you.

Sitting beside you, the man pulls your knife from his pocket, and begins with a simple, "Explain this."

Your eyes flash stubbornly. Did he really think you were going to make this easy for him? After his earlier stunt? Right.

As innocently as you can, you reply, "Axel that's a paring knife. You cook, you should really know this."

Oscar chokes his laugh down as Otto clears his throat. Unbeknownst to the two of you, the younger brothers had actually been locked in water combat for only a short time; earlier on Otto had gotten distracted by you and Axel, and Oscar had noticed where his tallest brother's attention had been directed. You both have had a captive audience pretty much the entire time.

At least until Axel had made his way over to the screen door with you tossed over his shoulder. Oscar had immediately grabbed the hose and did what he had to do to hide any sign of their guilty observation and eavesdropping. Otto hadn't been amused, but he begrudgingly understood that they may have needed some sort of alibi.

Axel's nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing as he thumbs along the blade.

He drawls, "What do you do with it."

Keeping a straight face is becoming a bit difficult. He is making this too much fun for you.

With slight confusion you reply, "...It's...it's in the name."

The silence from Axel nearly breaks Oscar. Otto has his poker face on and appears unaffected by your antics, but the mirth in his eyes tells a different story.

As for Axel? He betrays almost nothing, maybe a mild frustration at best. But his brothers would bet money that their older sibling is resisting some rather...lustful urges right now. Your teasing bothers the eldest in the worst way...or maybe the best.

Your eyes fall to the knife in Axel's hand. Might as well get this show on the road.

"...But yes, I do use it differently. I use it as an aid for my ability. When I want to change into my Phase, that knife provides me with a method that gives me the most control. If I vary the depth of the cut, I can adjust the time I spend in my Phase."

Oscar glances at the little unassuming tool before asking, "Change for what?"

You shift on the bench, getting a little more comfortable.

"Well. When I first started living here, my forest and lake were in pretty poor condition. Garbage and filth had been left sitting for years, which meant the soil was being smothered by water that couldn't drain the way it needed to. Because of the waterlogging, many of the trees developed root rot."

Cocking your head to the side, you recall the information provided by your environment books. You had spent countless hours reading and notetaking, determined to restore your childhood home.

"Root rot isn't the most dangerous thing, but it can be tricky to identify in its early stages. A little less than half of the pines were infected, a good amount too far gone. Their root systems had basically been turned to mush."

You worried for a moment you were boring the three who may have been expecting something more thrilling, but they appeared to be listening quite intently. They had mentioned hunting and fishing in their lives, so you'd have to remember these three weren't just assassins, they were woodsmen. Maybe this was right up their alley?

"So! The biggest problem I had at the end of the day, was identifying pines in early stages of rot. Not to mention a lack of tools to do so. But I knew that my ability affected my senses, and thought maybe I could use that."

Otto murmurs, "Better senses?"

You pause, "...Yes and no. Um...take my eyesight for example, my night vision. My eyes are better at night but are more sensitive to light, kind of like..an owl's. So in that aspect, it's situational. Better at night, weaker in the day. If there is anything I can call 'better' outright, it'd be my hearing and balance. But not by much."

Fidgeting with the hem of your dress, you fight back bashfulness at talking about a part of your ability that is particularly...bestial.

"When I was in my forest in my Phase, I..was using smell. Normally you smell root rot from the soil, it'll be bad...swampy. But with time and practice, I could smell the rot itself. I can't really describe it other than it's very...heavy."

Decay in particular stood out to you; a combination of sharp and dark, old and new and lost. You count yourself very lucky that you had no urges to consume those types of things, given the peculiar animalness of your ability.

"So, that's what I use my knife for."

You lean against the side of the bench, folding your arms over your belly as you think. There was something else...

"Oh right! You wanted to know um...why I didn't attack you three the first time? To put it simply, instinct plays a part in what I choose to perceive as a threat when I'm in my Phase. It's...decently reliable."

Otto shifts, grimacing at the wet feel of his long johns sticking to his skin, before asking, "To you, not a threat?"

A soft sigh leaves your lips, "I haven't really been in many dangerous situations in my life. But uh...when you three caught me...there was no sinking, overpowering, awful sensation. It was quiet. I was really nervous, definitely, but it felt like...I could wait? So I did."

You smile a little, "Besides, my healing gives me a little more wiggle room in terms of patience."

Oscar shuffling in his seat draws your attention; he does not appear to be happily enduring the texture of his soaked turtleneck, and his frustration is mounting. Refusing to be trapped and uncomfortable any longer, he slips his suspenders off his shoulders and drags the article of clothing up and off his body.

With flushed cheeks, you watch him drop the sweater onto the arm of his chair and relax half-naked in his seat. You try to distract yourself from the handsome man, to rip your eyes away before you're caught.

You succeed, much to your relief. Only that relief is temporary as your eyes land on Otto, whose clinging long johns have been rendered nearly see-through and what were you talking about again?

When Oscar returns his attention to you to see you tense and cheeks practically glowing with your gaze riveted to your knees, he smirks. Oh sweetheart, you can look if you want, they won't bite.

Well. Not too hard at least.

Besides, they've all been looking at you for quite some time. Not to mention having some not very polite daydreams involving you. Do you think of them too? Of their hands and mouths on you, fingers and tongues inside of you, bodies pressed tight against yours?

Curiously, he looks to Axel, whose interest is still on the knife...except its not, not at all. He's watching you, eyes half-lidded with a wicked spark glimmering in their depths. He'd seen your reactions, and if Oscar had to guess, was having some more indecent thoughts of you right now.

You're trying to convince yourself that the burning gazes you feel are simply the brothers thinking of questions...but if that's all it is, why do you feel so naked?

You squirm; it's probably just in your head, but you can't bring yourself to look up and meet their eyes just yet. You need something to keep the ball rolling, before this silence stretches on for too long.

Well...there is something that's been on your mind lately...

"...If..If you don't mind me asking you all a question?"

That seems to break the trance they were in, curiosity pushing through.

Axel encourages, "Go on."

You approach the question gingerly, "Alright..so doing the work that you do...I'd imagine one of your stronger instincts would be protecting yourselves and each other. Avoid hesitation...shoot first ask questions later? And...well?.....you all saw some..weird...woman?..animal?!?..looking thing! With glowing eyes, like something out of a nightmare. Why did you let me live?"

The silence and quiet shifting of their bodies that follows your question is enough to draw your eyes up from your knees.

The brothers had their gazes fixed on you, but after they have processed your inquiry, they falter. Oscar and Otto look to Axel, to you, and to each other. You watch them under your lashes the entire time, a little surprised to see them so...unsure. Axel had settled against the back of the seat, thinking. He seemed far away, lost in old memory.

Otto keeps his eyes trained on his hands where they rest...were his ears a bit red?

He mutters something and his brothers look to him in mild surprise.

He clears his throat and tries again, carefully, "Not..night hag...dream? You are...story?"

Scowling with frustration, Otto sighs, "Jävla engelska."

Oscar elaborates, "From fairytale."

Their admission brings back bittersweet memories.

Content to reminisce, yet a little forlorn, your eyes fall to the water that has submerged the stone floor of your patio.

"You know. When I first discovered what I was..or..what I wasn't?..the very first thing I did was grab any fairytale books I could find. Folklore, myths and legends, anything. We didn't have a very good collection though, and many were basically the same stories, but I had to be sure. In the end, there wasn't anything really like me in them. Of course."

It had been disheartening. You had been so naive; you had thought that maybe you could have found some kind of answer or reason for being the way you were, some kind of history or even family. Myths and tales had to come from somewhere, right? Hold some speck of truth.

Wanting to do something about the soft, sad expression on your face, Oscar lightheartedly teases, "Werewolf?"

It works.

Biting your lip, a grin slips through with a giggle, "I considered maybe something like that, but since there was no..changing under a full moon, I crossed it off the list."

You fidget, a little sheepish as you admit, "I still read any new fairytale books I can find in town. I'm not exactly looking for anything anymore, but...well, habit is habit I suppose."

Every once in a while you'd pull a book from the small collection locked away in your bedroom to read as you were winding down for the night. That or to pass the time as your condition played Keep Away with your sleep.

Axel finally drifts out of the past to join in, "We were told stories in childhood. Women with tails, or hooves. Forest spirits."

Otto hums, "Skogsrå or Huldran."

Oscar grins, "Forest maiden."

When all three had laid eyes on you, they had to fight back the initial knee-jerk reaction that they had encountered a real mythical creature. After the three had retired to their guest room to regroup, a dazed Otto just sat on the bed and stared into nothing while Oscar had jokingly asked if they could keep you.

Half-jokingly.

Their curiosity about you had been...exceptional, but they still had manners they needed to mind. Drowning you in personal questions for hours and hours on end was too boorish, their mother had taught them better. They wouldn't subject their polite little hostess to such disrespect.

With a smile you say, "No tails or hooves here, just feathers and scales. And claws."

A ripple breaking the calm surface of water surrounding the bench has you peering up to an overcast sky. Maybe it would have been better to stay inside after all, but a light drizzle never hurt anyone. You can count yourself lucky that cold water doesn't bother your condition all that much...unless it's a cold season downpour.

The brothers look to your hands, recalling the new information you had revealed to Otto about your victim.

Axel leans in, "Tell us about claws."

You hesitate, considering your response, "Well...they're...basically made of keratin. I think. Like fingernails but stronger. They're not that long, so they can't really be called talons, but they help me grip and climb."

Otto questions, "Not fight?"

Flexing your fingers against the material of your dress, you speculate, "That's...I mean, if I took a swipe at someone I would probably leave a bit of a cut. Although if I went for the eyes that'd be a different story..."

Confusion crosses the brothers' faces. How exactly did you kill the man, then? Was it the adrenaline?

Axel asks what's on their minds, "Can't kill?"

You figured after everything you said to Otto that this would be coming.

"...I know what you're getting at. You want to know how I did..what I did."

You lock eyes with the eldest, bold as you simply state, "I won't be answering questions about that today."

Determination sets the oldest Swede's jaw, "You made a promise to tell everything. Was this a lie?"

Unsettled, you speak before you can think, "Everything about my First Phase, yes! I haven't lied!"

You clap your hands over your traitorous mouth.

Axel blinks, and then slowly, surely, his expression slides into something sly and victorious; you've revealed something quite interesting. Only for a moment do you bear witness to the brothers' growing intrigue before you cover your eyes, head bowing to hide your face in your hands in pure frustration.

Oscar's voice drifts into your ears, "First Phase? More than one?"

You groan, "See, this is my problem. I like you three too much and it makes me slip up in such stupid ways. Fudge muffins."

The three assassins perk up at the additional reveal of your fondness for them, carefully storing that particular little nugget of information away to be closely inspected at a later time. For now, their focus is elsewhere.

Before they can push for a little more clarification from you, a flash of lightning interrupts the conversation. Worried, you turn to the men with a frown.

"We should move this inside, Pumpkin really doesn't like thunderstorms. Not to mention the kittens will probably be scared too."

Oscar is the first to react to the information; leaning far to the side in his chair to peer at the screen door, he can make out a little ball of orange fluff curled tight against the door in misery. You stand, the brothers quick to follow in your lead.

As you head towards the door peering this way and that at your arms and legs, you mention, "Don't forget to check for spiders before heading in. It's been a while."

Otto grunts and the trio do a quick once-over as you pause by the hose to rinse your feet, watching Axel out of the corner of your eye.

Hm. He really didn't check all that carefully...you eye the hose, weighing the risk. Really though, don't you deserve a little revenge?

Yes, yes you do.

Instrument of justice in hand, you take aim and blast him with what water was left in the hose before you have the chance to talk some sense into yourself.

Surprisingly, all the man does is tense up, still like a statue. There's no grunt or bark of surprise, though maybe you heard a sharp intake of breath from him?

Hair disheveled and wide-eyed as water drips from his skin and clothes, he stares at you. His younger brothers mirror his disbelieving expression and you can't help but take pride in the thought that you've successfully surprised all three of them.

You offer him a simple explanation for the impromptu shower, backing slowly away from the hose towards the door to the cottage all the while.

"...You missed a spot."

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Jävla engelska- Fucking English

#the swedes #ikea mafia #tua swedes #the swedes x reader #umbrella academy swedes #tua axel #tua otto #tua oscar #axel x reader #otto x reader #oscar x reader #reader better run as fast as she can for some towels

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