randomidk-123
Dahlia
Artist, 20, not the posting type
61 posts
Last active 2 hours ago
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
lewisducts09
Lewis Ducts Cleaning Services
kittyphoenix12-xx
shame on you for spreading idle reports, joan
anmidico
Untitled
hgh-injections-sale-blog
Injections Sale
Text
Pomegranate.
Personally, I love pomegranates and I love pomegranate people but there’s something that feels wrong about you. I feel like lust is a big part of your life and maybe even something you struggle with. You’re slightly off-putting to others and I’m guessing introverted as well. You love your privacy and have a hard time being vulnerable with others. I think you go through life worrying about how others view you way too much. You try so hard to be good, to be worth loving. You’re devoted to consumption and you’re always overwhelmed by something in your life. Whatever you’re after, I hope you get it. You should not live a life that you do not deserve.
if anyone wanted to take my quiz it'll be here :3
#the questions were fun lol#Unexpected and seemingly random question but described me so perfectly what#I also love pomegranates so yay
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rafayel.
who do u guys think among the lads boys would listen to cupcakke, be honest
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
You cooked with this one, this uh..."au"(??) With ratio is so cool im 😱
ꕤ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . thinking about arranged marriage in ancient greece with veritas ratio. just a loose setting that creeped into my mind after reading about the festivities related to marriages back in the old days . . . explicitly fem!reader, because uh, traditional wedding stuff
forced to be wed out of customs, unable to have a say in choosing your future husband. your whole adolescence being taught how to prepare for the role of a wife, how to please — not yet existent — man whom you will be given to.
the flutter of uncertainty, fed with stories of your aunties, and cousins, and women all around you, gossiping among each other about sweet disappointments, crumbles away with the first glance at your new family.
and that is a man who is young, handsome, and well-spoken. is there anything else you could ask for?
as it turns out — desire. but he’s not interested. not even looking at you from above the scrolls, the complicated tools, and the empty space when he’s deeply thoughtful.
you almost feel like you’re failing. aren’t you pretty enough for him? does he dislike you? and, worst of all, what will become of you if you’re not a wife and a mother for his sons, when that’s the only meaning of life you’ve been taught?
the wedding night? as much as you dreaded the closeness with someone barely less than a stranger, the cold stab of being left alone caused you to weep for hours, until the break of the rosy dawn.
confused and estranged, with your head filled with questions almost spilling from the cage of your mind…
and no answers.
the reality is different. but not yet known. to reveal the secret, to know the concepts brewing in his head, that is, for you to explore on your own, for the first time left with a certain determination in your hands.
and that is also when his amber eyes peek a glance at your face from afar, just as curious to know if his new wife can match his genius in the upcoming years together…
276 notes
·
View notes
Text
One of, if not THE BEST childe fics out there holy shi
THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS
pairing: childe / tartaglia x f!reader
wc: 4.4k
choosing to love him is choosing endless bloodshed; all of it is yours.
(alternatively — the metamorphosis of a god through the eyes of his keeper.)
warnings: suggestive / mentions of sex, nudity, profanity, angst, mentions of murder / death, ambiguous ending i think, almost canon compliant
note: 4.4k words and i don't think even this has a plot. WHO CARES dedicated to @shoyostar bc i never stop talking and @crysugu :3 here he is!
Before he was ever Tartaglia, eleventh of the Harbingers, he was a timid child.
He feared the simple things — speaking to neighbours, strangers, the mailman. He never went to the market alone, not without his parents, not without his older brother to hold his hand. Neighbourhood boys called him names and you called him sweeter things, bringing him in for hot chocolate because of his red eyes, holding his frozen hands in a lukewarm basin.
Your town was on the coast but he rarely saw the water; he was afraid of drowning and even more afraid of sinking, even though you could see the ice was six inches thick through the sides of the fishing holes scattered everywhere. Not even the men would crack it, fathers that ate at the head of the table, yet he thought he’d be the one. Nor did he trust anyone to save him.
Childe was Ajax before he was anything for anyone else, his name from myth. Eagle. He was born a Greek tragedy; hero, for most.
He was fourteen when he disappeared. Your mother said he’d come back home, kids get mad. Your father said a bear got to him, a weak thing like that — your whole neighbourhood looked for him after he vanished.
He was gone three days in the woods but he told you he’d been gone for months. He was underground; you asked if it was Hell but he said it was much more. When he crawled back up to Morepesok, he was a different person.
He looked you in the eye and told you he was finally ready to fight.
+
You didn’t believe he was lost for three months until you watched him hold a sword.
By the barrels on the fishing dock, boys fought with wooden blades. Girls would watch and sit on box crates, swaddled up to their ears, cheering on whichever one they liked that week. They’d watch as they hit each other, splinters snagging on coats, knuckles gone white from the cold and how tight they held their handles.
When Childe stepped up for the first time, they snickered at him. The boy who ran away from home, coming to join the sword fights. It was a joke and they laughed.
(You saw something in his eyes that day and it scared you. There is nothing more terrifying than a child with bloodlust.)
He beat the kid so badly that they put thirty stitches in his forehead, and you were left to do patchwork on the bomb.
Cutting coloured wires, you dabbed Childe’s red cheek with a warm cloth, wringing it out in the bowl of water that separates the two of you. He was calmer then, in front of you. Not that he wasn’t before; it was less of not being calm and more of craving victory, more of a test of his newfound gift.
“I told you to stop,” you mumbled, “hitting him, I mean.”
“I stop, he starts. I won.”
“What did you win? Where's your prize?”
Childe looked at you dumb, with his dumb childish eyes that no longer held hate. Maybe it was somewhere, hidden, beneath the water you drown in, but instead the surface held a glare of wonder. He was Ajax again, always hopeful.
He hissed when you dabbed his skin with something other than water, something that stung. “I—”
“No one wins in war, Ajax,” you scolded. “You’ll see someday.”
“I won’t be in a war.”
You scoffed, your hand gripping his jaw when he tried to run away.
“We’ll see.”
+
You’re seventeen when he stumbles inside your house, the wooden door cracking against the wall as he slumps to the floor.
Your feet are cold when you step away from the wood stove in your living room, dropping to your knees, holding his face in your hands that are always so much warmer than his. They cradle his flushed cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead; he’s gripping at a pulse in his ribs.
“I’m fine,” he assures you, before you start to cry, “just tired. I’m just tired.”
He eases the door shut, his head tilting back against the wall. His hand rests on your knee, squeezing it like he’s grounding himself, counting on the fabric of your pants to do it for him. You touch the icy veins that run over his knuckles and he comes back to life.
“What happened to you?” you rush, your family asleep down the hallway. You turn the dial on the oil lamp beside you, watching the fire reflecting off of his dirty cheeks.
He laughs, pulling your wrist off when you smack your hand over his mouth with a lousy ‘alright, alright’ and a glance towards your parents’ bedroom. “Me?” he coughs out.
“You should see the other two.”
(You don’t know what told you first, but you remember going cold.)
“What do you mean?” you whisper. You can’t stop whispering, you can’t stop shaking. “Ajax, what did you do?”
Childe’s smile tilts itself crooked. “I killed them,” he says.
His voice is so quiet it cracks under the pressure to not be heard.
(He’s smiling, but he’s crying. It doesn’t look like he means to. He doesn’t know he is.)
You want to run. You notice the smear of blood on his jaw again—is that even his? His hand still clutches your knee but you only now notice the red his palm stains it with, the red on the side of his torso. You want to run.
(You should run.)
You don’t run. Because it’s Ajax, and he’s tired of running tonight. Why would you?
“It’s okay,” you say with a nod and a shiver, like shutters in a hurricane. You’re both crying, and he’s against your chest, and he’s still so fucking cold that it’s migrating to you. “Stand up. Ajax, stand up—”
“I can’t,”
“You can, you need to get in the bath.”
“I’ll wake your—“
“If you were ever worried about that, you wouldn’t have come here, so Ajax would you please—“
He breathes out, muffling his groans as he staggers to his feet. You’re not of much help but at least your hands, your shaking hands, are telling him you’re there. And that’s enough.
“I love it when you say that,” he grimaces, shuffling towards the hallway. “My name.”
+
Childe misses your eighteenth birthday by ten minutes.
You ate dinner with your family at your favourite pub, his siblings wrote you cards and pulled your ears, you tied your hair loose and flirted with the pretty guy who fed the boat lines. You don’t like him all that much, but he looks nothing like your neighbour and for you, that is a fine enough reason to talk.
Stones hit your window at ten past midnight, and Childe stands in the snowy alley outside of your bedroom. He wields another pebble and tilts his head.
Your window’s too old for you to ignore me.
You pull on your coat and boots, scarf too because he talks too much, and head outside into the night, creeping out the back door. You cross your arms, walking over to where he stands just outside of the lamplight.
“Hiding?” you ask, stopping in front of him.
Childe laughs like nothing’s wrong, digging through his back pocket with his gloved hand, handing you a box. “Happy birthday.”
“It’s not my birthday."
“Belated.”
You glance between his rosy cheeks and the box before you take it, looking towards the end of the alley to avoid his stare. Because guys like Childe don’t look away — you know better than to look back.
“Thank you,” you murmur, tucking your hands back into the warmth of your pockets.
Childe nods; you don’t open gifts in front of him, you know better than to do that, too. He knows better than to think you would.
You look at his hands, eyebrows furrowing. “Leather gloves?”
“So you noticed?”
“How? You couldn’t afford long johns last year.”
Childe grins. “I got a job.”
“At the tank house,” you say, crossing your arms. “Which, you had last year.”
The look in his eyes tells you he’s in deep — he doesn’t seem to care about it as much as you do. “I’m a Harbinger, now.”
“You—”
“I’m the youngest—”
“You’re the dumbest,” you grit, sticking a finger in between his ribs. “You're eighteen — what kind of achievement is that?”
He takes a deep breath, his lungs pushing your finger back until it falls defeated. “I didn’t expect you to be happy, believe me.”
“Why,” you whisper, “would I ever be happy to watch you sell yourself to killers?”
“You know I’m no better,”
“Oh, Ajax, if you think that’s what I know then you’re more stupid than I thought.”
There’s no real reason to excuse the blood on his hands other than the fact that they’re so gentle when they hold yours.
There’s a voice down the alley and two drunk men in hats and coats wave your way. You grimace, but Childe waves back.
“This is why you’re outside. You don’t want them to know where you live.”
“Or where you live.”
You grit your teeth. “Yes, because it’s great that your allies are a threat your family.”
“You’re not my family,” he says, “that’d make things weird.”
Your eyes well and you swallow, looking back at the men who stare at both of you. They murmur amongst themselves and you try to ignore them, but it’s hard when Childe won’t look away.
A breeze of snow from the rooftops drifts over you, and you look at him one more time. The last, you try to pledge to yourself. “Don’t leave with them.”
“It’s too late now and you know it.”
“How the fuck would I know it?”
“Don’t cry,” he tells you, much softer now that he knows you didn’t realize it yet, “I’ll come home, I’m not gone forever. If anything, I’ll come back richer. No one will sleep cold.”
“You’ll come back to spoil your family with blood money?”
“I’d spoil you, too,” he adds, “but I know better than to try that.”
There is a heavy silence between the two of you. It isn’t the weight of his gold or the weight of him not coming home; it is the weight of lead, of gunpowder. The weight of the bullets that his two new friends that wait in the street have loaded.
Childe takes your arms, tugging your hands from your pockets, frowning at your white fingertips and cracking knuckles.
“Take these—”
“I don’t want your dirty paws,”
“Well, I don’t want your dry hands. And when I come home, I’ll need them.”
Childe drives the knife deeper, twists it through your chest, and slips off his gloves. He places them in your hands and just snickers when you pocket them. “No worries, I’ll just get a new pair.”
“Great.”
He nods, starting down the alley. He knows you well enough to understand that you don’t want to say goodbye, not when you know you’re saying goodbye to how things were before. Instead, he just calls over his shoulder.
“See you at Christmas?”
“Why even come back?”
“Right,” he chuckles. “I wanna see your gift next time, though.”
Then he leaves, and he doesn’t look at you again. You suppose he’s been trained to do that, but then again, you can’t remember a time where he has looked back at you, anyway. He’s never looked back at anyone before the end.
+
He comes home every Christmas, just like he promised.
Each time he does, he drags you out to a cabin outside of town, one so hidden in the woods that you almost thought he built it, and he fucks you like he missed you before he was gone. Not enough to leave the Fatui, but enough to come home once in a while. And once in a while is all you're gonna get, so you don't let it go.
He comes home, tells his family all about his life as a businessman, a toy salesman you once heard, and then sneaks you out so you can love him as loud as you want. Then, you eat the fish you bring, he tells you how much he missed the sturgeon in Morepesok, and he's gone before the sun comes up.
Childe lets you go with a tired breath, watching the fire beat against your glistening skin as you sit on the edge of the bed. The warmth of him courses through you like a river current and you fix your hair with weak hands, biting the tie that was around your wrist. “I feel your eyes, you’re not subtle.”
“I wasn’t trying to be,” he says simply. “You’re beautiful. More beautiful now.”
“You said that last year.”
“Next year, too.”
You roll your eyes, back straightening when he looms behind you, his naked body against yours. His hand sneaks around your waist and his lips press against your shoulder blade, kissing until he gets to the juncture of your neck and collarbone.
“Ajax,”
“I know,” he says against your skin, “gotta eat.”
“You’d think they would feed you in the castle.”
“Hardly a castle, sweetheart."
“That belt says otherwise,” you mumble, standing, making him let go. You pick up your underwear from the floor, too hot to wear anything else. “It’s custom.”
He snorts, flopping back down on the bed. “Birthday gift.”
“From who?”
“Ooh, jealous?”
“Of someone who doesn’t know who you are? No.”
Childe hums a laugh, giving a look in agreement to the ceiling that you catch out of the corner of your eye. He rests a hand on his chest, watching you sweat in the heat of the fireplace, smiling at the life he has for the next four hours.
He clears his raspy throat. “You finally wore it. The gift.” He snickers, “I only waited two years.”
You look over your shoulder at him, pulling your cami over your head. “I wasn’t gonna let money rot.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“What?”
“The stone. Do you know what it is?”
You stare, face hot. You’re partially embarrassed to not know, never having left Snezhnaya and let alone your town, but you’re curious enough to shake your head. Childe smiles like he knows that you wish you knew enough to say yes.
(You hate that he’s travelled the world you used to tell him you dreamt about. The one you made him dream about, too.)
He scoots up to lean against the headboard, and you take the invitation to come back to the bed. You crawl onto the mattress again, sitting beside him as he moves the clasp of the necklace to the back of your neck, and the stone to the front.
“They call it Cor Lapis,” he says, “it’s in Liyue.”
“Oh.”
He lets go. “It’s not rare, but I like it.”
“You spend a lot of time in Liyue, it makes sense.”
“So you do read my letters,” he says with a grin, cocking his head and holding your hand. “What else do I say?”
“What about the necklace?”
“Huh?”
“If it’s not rare, why get a custom-made necklace?” you ask. “Expensive for such a simple stone.”
Childe’s eyes drop back down to the necklace, holding it out from your neck and in line with the light of the bedside table lamp. It glitters in his eyes and you’re sure it does in yours.
“Cor Lapis is dull,” he tells you. “It doesn’t actually glow until it’s cracked open.”
You look at the cut edges of the stone, framed in gold. It’s small, but it’s something that looks like Childe gave it to you. When your mother saw it, she said it was beautiful and asked when he was home last.
You focus on the fingers that hold it.
“I found it a lot like you,” he says, his voice lower, his eyes finally looking up to face you head-on. “Heart of gold.”
“I don’t need to be cracked open."
“You have been,” he corrects, “you are right now.”
He’s right. He’s so fucking right that it hurts your head to think about and hurts your chest to acknowledge.
Childe’s hand runs up and under your shirt, showing your skin. “And you’re glowing.”
You sit in the silence inside your open ribs and give him a small smile, standing up to shake his hand off of you.
“I’ll let you tell me that next winter, too.”
+
Next Christmas, you stay in bed. Childe cradles your necklace again but doesn’t tell you about Liyue because you don’t ask, too proud to ask twice.
Instead, you lay against his chest, littered with brand new scars you didn’t see last time. Some you watch, others you look away from because they run too deep for you to need to know how he got them. Year by year, you get more quiet.
Childe does, too. He hasn’t lost his boyish charm but it shares his body with something else now.
“Why don’t you come home before Christmas?” you ask. “Once, even. Teucer’s birthday?”
“It’s not that easy. If it was, I’d be there for every birthday. Yours, theirs.”
You purse your lips, rolling onto your back to stare aimlessly at the ceiling. “Right,” you whisper.
“Don’t do that,”
“Why do you say that like I’m fishing for empathy?” you ask casually, scoffing a laugh. “You used to have some, you know. Before you were a fucking hitman.”
“You have no problem fucking said hitman, so please, if you now raise any sudden changes of heart, I should probably know.”
You look at him coldly and he shakes his head. “It’s not like I want to hurt you.”
His arm gets heavier around you, weighing you down against his side. You fight it off when you sit up, turning to look down at him. Déjà vu washes over you both.
“Do you honestly think that I’m talking about me?” you say through laughs. “I’ve gotten used to your wounds, Ajax, it’s not about me.”
“I—”
“How about your family?” you say. It shakes the cabin walls, even though you weren’t loud at all. “You have younger siblings who idolize you and older ones who know better than what you tell them. Do you think they’re dumb?”
He stares at you. You ask, “You remember them, don’t you?”
“I remember my siblings, yes, thank you for aski—”
“Did you know Teucer made a sword?”
Childe’s next sentence fades into a sigh, and his lips purse as he shakes his head.
You cross your arms. “It looks just like yours.”
“Brotherly love, toys are harmless.”
“Who do you think will stitch his eyebrow? Or sneak him into the bathroom after he comes down from his first kill—”
“I never asked you to be my keeper,” Childe says, the grip on your hand tighter than it was before.
“And look how it turned out, anyway.”
Childe leans back against the bed frame and thin pillows he’s stacked up, looking anywhere but at you.
He’s older now and hardened into someone you can’t recognize, but he resembles a lot of the boy he was born as. He still doesn’t look you in the eye when he apologizes, not when he means it.
“Do you want me to leave?”
You stand, finding your clothes on the floor. You’re too hot, so you put on your underwear and shirt and leave it at that. “I brought fish. Rest while you can.”
+
It’s July, and Childe comes back to Morepesok in the middle of a blizzard.
Glasses rattle in behind the bar and you dry the ones from the sink, since the hot water ran out an hour ago. The pub’s empty but your shift still stands, even though no one dares to go outside when the storms are this bad, and it’s only you and a few stragglers left to pray the windows don’t shatter when the breeze hits you from the coast.
Every time you catch yourself in the counter’s reflection, you see your necklace, and you wonder what the beaches in Liyue are like. You can’t swim here without freezing to death and you can’t dream in relentless snow, so you let yourself think of him sometimes.
(Warm, swimming in streams. You wonder if he ever got over his fear of drowning when he realized he wouldn’t sink.)
Air whistles through old panels and teases the fire that burns in the seating area, and there’s a quiet hum of voices that dim the crackle of the logs you throw in every half-hour. A glass slides off the counter and breaks in the wind.
You gasp and jump, stepping back, stepping forward when you hit something — someone. You turn around and Childe stares back, snow on his eyelashes and his hair damp from hail and the sweat beneath his hat.
“Why are you here?”
“Oh, you’re so welcoming. Need help?”
You scoff, kneeling with a brush and pan, guiding the glass back into a pile. You don’t answer his question. “They don’t really mean it when they say 'Christmas in July,' you know.”
“You were the one who told me to visit more, right?”
You nod, standing again, dumping the glass into a bin. “Outside the bar, staff only."
Childe slowly raises his hands in surrender, stepping quietly out from the back and rounding to face you again. He leans on the freezing counters, looking around the room. “You work here?”
“A normal person job, yes.”
���So boring.”
“Why’d you come back?” you ask, going back to washing glasses. “When do you leave?”
Please, stay. Just for once, stay.
“Tomorrow.”
“Do they ever let you off your leash for more than a day? Or do you just hate snowstorms that much now?”
“They have gotten worse since I’ve been gone,”
“Or you’ve just been gone long enough to forget where you come from,” you suggest, glancing up at him again. “The Fatui do still operate here, right?”
“Lower your voice, eh?”
“Sorry. Forgot.”
Childe purses his lips, looking around again. He lowers his head. “The cabin’s open.”
“There’s no way we can make it through the trees blind.”
“I can get us there.”
“Do you remember you got lost in those woods once?”
He grins when you look up. “Well, you know you don’t learn without getting lost. I know them now.”
You crack a tiny smile back, one that probably gives him way too much hope. He watches you put glasses away, he relaxes when he sees the necklace you still wear; even if you started wearing it two years late.
You shake your head. “I’m not coming to the cabin.”
“Why’s that?”
“You should spend the day you have with your family.”
“You—”
“Don’t make things weird.”
The moment is bittersweet and Childe isn’t stupid enough to challenge it, so he just laughs. You try to but it comes out funny.
“So that’s it?”
You swallow the lump in your throat. “It’s always been your decision, not mine.”
And nothing you have ever done has been anything I’ve wanted.
Childe nods, biting his cheek. He knows that people who live in the woods often die there, too. He never really made it out. “Show me out, then?”
You give in, walking him the short distance to the door. He rests with his hand on the knob, gently moving you away from the door so the breeze doesn’t freeze you in place. He tugs his hat on and notices the gloves he gave you years ago hang by your coat on the standing rack.
“When should I come back?”
He watches you breathe in, he watches you breathe out. “Come back when you’re coming home.”
Childe doesn’t try to reason or to ask what you mean, because he knows what you mean.
Don’t.
With a nod, he smiles. It shows with a weakness that no Harbinger should still have with them; you think this might be the death of it.
“I’ll see you around, then.” He opens the door.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “Bye, Childe.”
The door shuts. You don’t hear the snow crunching beneath his feet until a few seconds later, and you keep your ear against the door until you don’t hear them anymore.
Before he was ever Tartaglia, Childe, eleventh of the Harbingers, his home was in the woods he got lost in. Not underground, but in a cabin, with strong windows and shutters the colour of your eyes.
+
It’s the second Christmas you haven’t seen Childe or the woods. You haven’t checked if he’s stayed there and the stories Teucer tells you are old, but there’s a chance he’s still burning a fire and laying in bed, glowing with heat.
Either Childe hasn’t come back, or he just hasn’t told you he has. Either way, you don't make an effort to know.
Somewhere in Liyue, there’s an ore mine with your name carved above the entrance. The men talk about you when they wheel out carts of jade and ore, wondering how you reached so far up to tell them you were there.
In Mondstadt, an outpost sings a folk tune about a girl who heals wounded soldiers.
In Inazuma, a village calls a seashell by your name. It started with the kids, who said a man from a different place told them all about it. An expert on it, they said. They haven’t called it anything else since.
In Sumeru, your laugh runs through the river.
In Natlan, a painting hangs in a bar of a woman dressed in fire, a ribbon on her wrist and her hair everywhere else. When asked, the artist says he was inspired by a man who spoke of a girl with a heart of gold.
In Fontaine, they serve grilled sturgeon, only cooked by wooden stove.
Childe sits down in a town in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, and he sits in front of five kids who look just like the ones back home. Freezing, and curious.
He lets them fawn over his attire, bug him for all he’s worth while they’re tucked inside of a barn to avoid the cold. He answers every question about his job selling toys with enthusiasm and without guilt, promising to someday come back with some for them. Then, they ask him to tell them a story — one they haven’t heard before.
Somewhere in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, a tale is told about a girl who travelled the world.
#childe x reader#tartaglia x reader#genshin impact x reader#childe angst#childe x reader angst#genshin x reader#genshin angst#genshin impact angst
386 notes
·
View notes
Text
Blade Imagines
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
How unfortunate of you.. here you tried your best to parry his attacks, although it became futile as the impact of both of your weapon makes you stumble yet remains on your feet, putting all your weight and grip on your hands and feet.
Blade had a sinister smile on his face, his look makes it clear that he wants to kill, only spill blood with the use of his sword.
The mara..
"Blade!" You called for his name, as much as possible trying to avoid wounding him, yet what difference does it make? He heals, the wound heals. You groan when he kicks you on your side, barely blocking it with your other hand when you notice in the peripheral vision of yours, still you went flying due to the force he puts to kick you.
You groan, and a shadow looms over you just when you open your eyes Blade was in the air with the sword ready to strike you down. Rolling over to avoid him, all you did was parry, avoid his attacks, never once you inflicted a wound, your weapon never makes contact with his immortal body.
Standing up, you look around for a mere moment before you block his sword again, stupid enough to use your arms which causes you to bleed.
Fuck..
You kick him on his stomach as you try to form a plan to calm his mara down.
Blade was quick to get up, he fight and fights like he was made for it. You're getting tired, and beginning to be reckless, your moves faltering as your body began to hurt from the wound and slashes he inflicted.
All you did was avoid and block, yet with his brute force it even took an energy out of you.
"Why would you say that?"
"The mara... In my case, it is different from others. I can't trust myself to be with you if it strikes once more." He spoke in almost a whisper. Blade remains to lay his head on your lap as you play with his hair.
It has been a while since he showed this much affection, you know of his lack of showing and touch. Thus this moment, you always cherish it whenever he lets himself be vulnerable to you, only you.
Blade has his hand on your thighs, his thumb caressing the flesh as he stares from the distance, but your eyes remain on him, not on the stunning view you were staring at just a few moments ago before he came.
"Is it why you are always hiding from me?" You chuckle, braiding his hair messily. Blade didn't answer.
"It does not matter, as long as you return to me, it is enough." You kissed his hair, and Blade turns to look at you. He palms your cheek which you lean on to.
"I want you to run away from me when the mara strikes."
"Is there nothing I can help you to calm it down?" You worry, because you know there will be a day you have to face him with the intent to kill anything that he deems killable.
"I don't know. Kafka is the only one that can control it."
Then you have hope, you smile, "I'll make sure to call her when you are not yourself."
In a secluded place, with your phone being broken by Blade, there was no hope of calling the only person that can calm him. You are alone with Blade, he made sure you would be so that no one can interrupt your one sided battle.
"Blade, it's me." You tried to call him, summoning your weapon when he strikes again and you fall on your feet from the force. He grabbed your arm tightly which causes you to drop your weapon and he kicks it away from you, from his grip you are sure he broke your hand, making you scream in pain.
Had there been many times you've been wounded while protecting your home, you are familiar with the pain, still.. it hurts.
Your back meets the wall when Blade kicks you, and you feel your ribs being broken from the impact.
It hurts.
Everything hurts.
You know of the pain, but not this pain where the love of your life inflicts the pain.
You try to sit up with the remaining strength you have, leaning on the wall. With the blurry sight, you see Blade making his way towards you, the sword on his hand glows faintly. You look at his face, there is nothing you can read, whether there will be a hurt look on his face, or regret, anything. But there was none. Perhaps the task on his mind was to kill you, maybe that you can formulate as he stands in front of you.
Your chest hurts, it was only then you had realized that his sword plunged on your chest.
Ah, this must be it for me.
You both look at each other, one that shows no emotion, the other with a pained expression. You lift your hand to hold the bandaged hand that impaled you.
"My love... Are you satisfied?" You mumbled, each time you opened your mouth the pain in your chest worsened, but you continued.
You tried to pull out the sword, but he pushed deeper, causing you to groan in pain, he kept you pinned on the wall with his sword.
He won't even let himself be touched by you.
With the strength you have left, you still tried to reach for him, your hand meeting his face and you pull him closer and gentle, eager to at least kiss him before you go.
"Blade.."
You never knew if your lips met his.
130 notes
·
View notes
Text
The way you included both is mwah
despite everything, it’s still you—?
11K notes
·
View notes
Text
Zayne: Do explain how you two got into this accident.
MC: We were driving and there was a deer on the road and Rafayel didn't notice so I said, "Rafayel, deer!"
Zayne, frowning: And?
MC: Tell him.
Rafayel:
Rafayel, sighing: "Yes, dear?"
332 notes
·
View notes
Text
I need a sticker for surviving 2023 so I made one and thought I’d share it with you all too. Reblog to give everyone stickerssss
24K notes
·
View notes
Text
1. BUSINESS IS BUSINESS
HEY HEY LOVER | NEXT
Taglist: @yuan4i @hearts4ajaxx @ameleii @fischlfy @cheeseinhaler @mewvillette @jiminscarmex (/35)
Synopsis: Being a member of Marechaussee Phantom and the right hand of the Iudex of Fontaine University: Neuvilette has never been an easy job. Now hearing that the infamous Fatui Harbingers transferred, you could only pray to gods that you can keep your sanity still, but what if a certain ginger tries to enter your not-so-peaceful life? Will you remember him again?
Reblogs r vv appreciated:3
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
1. BUSINESS IS BUSINESS
HEY HEY LOVER | NEXT
Taglist: @yuan4i @hearts4ajaxx @ameleii @fischlfy @cheeseinhaler @mewvillette @jiminscarmex (/35)
Synopsis: Being a member of Marechaussee Phantom and the right hand of the Iudex of Fontaine University: Neuvilette has never been an easy job. Now hearing that the infamous Fatui Harbingers transferred, you could only pray to gods that you can keep your sanity still, but what if a certain ginger tries to enter your not-so-peaceful life? Will you remember him again?
Reblogs r vv appreciated:3
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
HIS ARCHON CHIBI???OMBDWEFUJDQA
*SCREAMS* OTOME VN VIBES AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
HOYO PLEASE I'lLL REMAKE IT IN RENPY JUST GIVE ME THE ASSETS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PL
257 notes
·
View notes
Text
MY HEARTTTT OH MY GODDD
imagine. for a moment - silly times with neuvillette.
you two are out shoveling snow off of your front porch (he offered to help, you didn't think twice about it and said yes.) it had snowed heavily the day before.
once his section of snow is all piled up into a neat, fluffy hill of white - you sneak up behind him. without warning, you use all of your bundle of strength to push him into the large (and, thankfully, soft) snow pile. it works-
but not without him spinning to catch you in the act and grabbing your arm! all so you fall down with him. you squeal in surprise and wiggle furiously before finally meeting your fate - face first into the snow next to him.
then, he has the audacity to chuckle right next to you and say,
"got you."
399 notes
·
View notes
Text
killing the cockroach for you
ஐ ft. kaeya, diluc
ஐ summary. inspired by real events T^T
ஐ warnings. none, SFW
Kaeya
you’re frozen in fear the second your eyes lay on the biggest cockroach ever known to man that's just hanging out on the wall, 3 feet away from kaeya’s office doors. You shuffle towards his door using the tips of your fingers to quietly knock on his door, fearful that any loud sound or movement would result in the bug scurrying away. “kaeya…? kaeya help, please…” inside his office, kaeya hears the fear saturated in your hushed voice and is immediately on high alert. Dropping everything and rushing to open his office doors, “y/n? whats going o-,” you shushed him and held out your arm to stop him from making any more sudden movements. His face is twisted with concern and reaches out to grab your arm trying to get you to come inside his office, “angel, talk to me you’re worrying me here.”
“there's a stupid big cockroach right next to your door, please come kill it,” you practically beg.
kaeya’s shoulders sag as a sigh of relief rushes out of his body, a small laugh bubbling out of him, “what, my princess can’t handle a little bug? needs her strong knight to get rid of the scary monster?”
in any other scenario, you might just say forget it and opt to deal with the situation yourself to save yourself from kaeya’s never-ending teasing, but this? this is different.
you roll your eyes, “yes, yes, i need my very strong and handsome knight to come save me from this vile creature, now will you please get your butt out here and kill this thing?”
kaeya snickers to himself slipping out of the doors as you quickly duck behind him and into the sanctuary of his office, “what would people say if they saw such a highly esteemed adventurer quaking in fear over a- oh gross. oh y/n, that’s actually disgusting. look at the size of that thing!”
“why are you inspecting it? kill it!”
“i don't want to get cockroach guts on my boots!”
“kaeya, if you don't kill it right now i'm never visiting you at your office ever again.”
he sighs in defeat as he finally lifts his leg up, “the things i do for you…”
Diluc
diluc sprints out of his home office the second your shriek rings through the mansion. “y/n?? y/n, are you okay?” he calls out while taking the stairs two steps at a time. he finally reaches your shared bedroom where he finds you standing, hugging yourself goosebumps littering your arms. you look up at him eyes wide and glossy, “i was just wanting to grab something from the bathroom but i looked down and saw a really big cockroach in the sink and i couldn’t-” a shudder rips its way through your body as you recount the events. diluc rubs a soothing hand along your back and presses a warm kiss to your cheek.
“it’s alright, my love, i’ll get it just wait out here for me.”
You quietly nod as diluc enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.
a second later diluc pops his head out, “you said it was in the sink?”
your heart stops and you stare at him wide-eyed, “is it not there? diluc, please don't tell me it's not there anymore.”
“no, no, it's here i'm sure. it’s just not in the sink at the moment.”
“what?!”
“however! however, i will find it and get rid of it i promise, love.”
quick to ease your nerves he disappears back inside the bathroom while you nervously chew on your bottom lip.
a couple of minutes later you hear a loud smack and then the toilet flushes. diluc opens the door and gives you a reassuring smile, “it’s gone now”
you peek at the sink behind him to make sure there is nothing else in there, “you promise?” he chuckles wrapping an arm around your shoulders gently leading you out of the bedroom, “darling, i wouldn’t dare lie to you. though i will say, i’ve seen you take on horrendous beasts and come home drenched in mysterious fluids. i’m a little surprised that-”
you whip around to face him a deep blush of embarrassment covering your cheeks, “don’t you dare make fun of me, diluc” you huff out.
diluc raises his arms in mock surrender as he smiles at you, “all i was saying was that i think it's nice i can be the one to save you from time to time. you’re so fiercely independent, im glad you allow me to shoulder the things you're too afraid to face. like bugs, for example.” you narrow your eyes at him, “you are making fun of me, you're just making it sound good!”
423 notes
·
View notes
Text
Legs literally open for Robin, Aventurine, Acheron, and sunday
A Letter of Invitation From Penacony
Dear Trailblazers,
As the Charmony Festival draws near, I hereby extend my most sincere greetings to you on behalf of The Family. We look forward to seeing you at the banquet in Penacony's The Reverie hotel.
821 notes
·
View notes
Note
howling at the moon rn🦅 arlecchino seeing Lynette and her lover [reader] and reader is just marked UP, covered in hickeys and bites, her shirt just barely covering the claw marks and arlecchino sits there like “when..when did this happen “
And Lynette is standing there with her ears flat against her head and a pout on her face, looking like she just broke something valuable as she goes “sorry father…”
Arlecchino is just in shock at how her seemingly “gentle” daughter was capable of marking her lover this much. The way Lynette is just apologetically curling her tail around your waist, wiping your marks clean with a wet towel, just in shame of how her father caught this behavior has you flushing in embarrassment. Poor Lynette is trying to hide her face as Arlecchino just walks out of the room stunned. A bit shocked, but nevertheless proud of her daughter for following in her footsteps of marking women quite brutally 💖💖
361 notes
·
View notes
Text
Guess who forced themselves into my home (I'm cslling the police)
2 notes
·
View notes