#it's a little late but this is for the national day of mourning. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nellycanwrite · 1 year

Text

A Request

Part 1 of the “The Request” Series || Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader

Summary: As the daughter of the feathered serpent god, you had always felt the pressure of living up to your father’s name. But you never had to worry; Attuma was always there to quell your fears and follow your will to the ends of the earth.

Or, in which Attuma swears his undying loyalty and love for you, even if it meant being as shameless as to declare his love to a princess when he was but a mere warrior.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 10.9K

Warnings: None. Just pure fluffy goodness. If you include a slightly overprotective Dad!Namor then yes, he’s the warning. Maybe a little bit of childhood friends to lovers. A whole lot of Princess x Warrior.

Note: It is worthy to note that I have not included any deep Yucatec Maya phrases (besides the terms of endearment) despite the Talokanil speaking in their native tongue as respect to their language. Therefore their mother tongue shall be labeled with italics.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

K'uk'ulkan had never felt as much loss as he had the day he had lost your mother. Yet there lay bittersweet joy; for the heir to the throne of Talokan had breathed their first breath and let out a cry so strong it beckoned the creatures of the deep sea to their bidding.

You were born a wee thing; weak and fragile as the old shells that littered the floors of the sea. Yet you held strong in the arms of your father as he witnessed his wife lifelessly lay in their shared chambers. The handmaidens and wet nurses all wept and mourned at the loss of their queen, the ocean swayed with the waves of its people's grief. You cried with your father's subjects as if you had understood the passing of Talokan's queen mother, but K'uk'ulkan never shed a tear, no.

He was a king to his people. He was the protector of his nation. A God was he revered by both land and sea.

He was your father.

And he dared not to weep in front of the children he held so dear—for even in the heartache of his loss does he remember the weight of his divine majesty and countenance to his people.

“The queen of Talokan has passed,” K'uk'ulkan swallowed the lump that formed on his throat as he bit back bitter tears. Tears that he will never show his people in a sign of great weakness, “yet she would not have wished for us to mourn in sadness. She brought us a gift that none could ever compare. She would have wished for us to celebrate in her absence for the birth of our child—Talokan's first heir.”

The you who had been presented with a crown and a scepter of your kingdom's rule since your birth inherited your father's features; the ears that pointed to the heavens as a sign of the divine blood that flowed through your veins, the golden skin that the sun had seemed to kiss in great exhalation to your birth, and the wings of heaven bestowed upon your ankles.

You were undoubtedly his child. The heir to K’uk’ulkan’s great nation.

You were loved by both land and sea, perhaps a gift from your late grandmother's love for the surface, for when you visit the land and take gulps of air do you stay breathing and when you step into the rocks of your father's study do you remain kissed by the sun. You did not change into the color of the sea like the maids that have cared for you, instead, you remained the same color as your own father when he sits idly on dry land.

At the tender age of seven did you realize the weight of the name of your father. You aspired to become like him, to fly like him, to lead the people like he did in childish wonder. He showed you the land that your ancestors once owned, the burial sight of your late grandmother, Fen, and the beauty that came with your motherland.

You yearned for the sights of the surface world, craved for the sun that illuminated the sky—not the one that your father had curated all those years ago, but the one that sits amongst the clouds of the surface—and you whispered wistful wishes to walk into the luscious green of the land that was unknown to you.

But your father forbids you to go further than the coves of Talokan's entrance. The sole heir to the throne of your nation should be safe. Protected. You were only allowed to go up into the surface every three months, a leniency that your father had so mercifully given you, and stare at the land dwelling wildlife that would so cross your vision.

You were merely stuck in the watchful eyes of your guards as you gazed with great longing at the mountains so far from your reach and the forests that would call your name.

Despite the love that you had for the beauties of the surface world, you loved your people and your great nation of the deep sea. You loved your father and tried your best to live up to the name of K'uk'ulkan. At the age of eleven you were made aware of your duties to your people. You had made sure that those duties were fulfilled despite the protests of your elders for being so young; that the beloved princess of Talokan need not to carry on the mantle of her royal duties just yet. But you worked hard to outshine your peers to preserve the honor of your father.

K’uk’ulkan could not be any prouder than he is now.

But the pedestal that you stood on was lonely. You did not have many friends, not because your father was protective of you and had guards at your beck and call, but because you were always so nervous to converse with the other Talokanil children.

What if they didn’t like you? What if they decided that your status as a princess would hinder their relationship with you? What if they didn’t see you as a prospect to rule them in the future when your father passes the baton of his majesty to you?

How ironic must it be for the princess of a great nation cower before the idea of friendship to her own people.

But that had changed when your father let you meet two Talokanil children; Namora and Attuma.

You knew Namora as your relative—your father’s cousin, to be exact—and sometimes came and went into the palace when you studied. But you never did get the chance to talk to her. You were far too anxious to try and talk to someone whose aura was as intense as hers, even when she’s just a few years older than you.

“They said they wanted to be your friend, in waal.” my child, he said. Both of them shifted nervously from where they stood, toy spears hidden behind their backs as they fidgeted in place. You noticed how Namora elbowed the boy Attuma on the ribs. He glared at her albeit playfully and said nothing as he behaved.

You have always noticed the two of them from afar when you studied near your father's throne. They were always rowdy, always hitting each other with their spears clumsily. Despite this, they always laughed and took everything in a merry stride. They never ceased to amaze you.

Even though Namora was far smaller than Attuma (or any other Talokanil child your age, really), she always won their little play-fights. Their roughhousing caused other children to stay clear of them, but you always found them fascinating. You never knew they wanted to be your friends. You have never as much as held a proper conversation with them except for a few nervous waves and panicked scrambling on your part when they caught you staring.

“My…friends?” It was your turn to fidget nervously, your hands clasping together and your thumbs twiddling against each other whilst you looked down. You felt the water shift as your father swam towards you, his tender gaze calming you down when his figure covered you from the curious eyes of the Talokanil children.

“That's right. They want to play with you. I'm sure you were wishing for the same, no?” He chuckled knowingly. You felt heat rise from the back of your neck and crawl up your cheeks—your father had seen you staring at them while they were playing almost everyday!

Nervously, you nodded ever slowly. There was no lie to his claims. You truly did wish for them to become your friends.

Attuma's patience must have run out when you were taking your time to reply to your father. You shrieked in surprise when you met the biggest grin you had seen in your life from just above you, an incisor clearly missing in the front of his mouth. K'uk'ulkan laughed and gently coaxed the boy down to your level, his hair flowing gracefully with the water as your father grabbed his ankles and lowered him in front of you.

“Wanna play with us?” You blinked at his straightforwardness. You glanced at your father for help, but he merely chuckled and gestured for you to answer.

“I—well—um…” He was too close to you that you felt like fainting from your own nerves.

“Attuma, don't be rude,” Attuma grunted when Namora appeared by his side and delivered a firm whack to his head with a toy spear. You breathed out a centering exhale before shooting Namora a thankful look. She huffed at Attuma, “you might scare her. And you just swam over the king!”

“I do not mind. But be more mindful next time, Attuma. You must not swim over your elders.” K'uk'ulkan chuckled endearingly at the children's antics. He already knew how rambunctious they would be whenever he passed by them play-fighting.

Attuma nodded with a gapped-tooth grin but K'uk'ulkan doubts he would really listen to him. But that was alright—he has plenty of time to learn respect. The king of Talokan wishes for these children to be their mischievous selves a little while longer and enjoy their carefree lives as young Talokanil.

K'uk'ulkan notices you fidget once again when Namora turns her attention to you, just as eager to make you their new friend. You try to make out words with broken sentences, yet there was no right greeting that would come. You would deflate when Namora would hold the reins of the conversation again. You failed to introduce yourself proudly and your embarrassment made K'uk'ulkan coo—how precious could his princess be?

He chuckles and patted Namora and Attuma on the crowns of their heads, successfully diverting their attention away from you and into his benevolent smile.

“She's a little nervous, but she has a good heart. She also wishes to become your friend. But remember that you have to listen; it is the makings of a great warrior.”

“A great warrior?” Namor's eyes sparkled. Attuma stared at his king with wonder similar to the spark of Namora's eyes.

K'uk'ulkan chuckled and nodded. You chose this moment to swim to your father's side, hiding half of your body behind his own. You looked at Attuma and Namora curiously while they waited for their king's next words.

“A great warrior not only takes a spear and protects their people, but they listen as well. They listen to their people's cries and act upon their needs. It is also your duty to listen to your leaders—for they hold the burden of choice. Never forget that, my young warriors.”

Your father rubbed your back soothingly and pushed you gently forward. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as soon as you were in close proximity with the two Talokanil children.

“Now this is your first task your king asks of you; listen to what the princess has to say, understood?”

They were eagerly waiting for your next words, their bodies barely holding in their excitement. You would have swam away right then and there, but you steeled your resolve and took a deep breath.

You said your name with a stutter, but that did not deter you. Your father gave you a reassuring pat to your shoulder. It filled you with more confidence to look them straight into the eye and say;

“I—I wish to be your friend, Namora. Attuma.”

The children gleamed happily, the water shifting as they circled you in excitement. Attuma had it in himself to wrap his arms around you and giggle with such carefree mirth that it covered you in a sense of welcome. Of belonging.

“You don’t know how long we wanted to become your friend, princesa!” He exclaimed, his arms still wrapped around you firmly. His toy spear now lay discarded on the ocean floor but he didn’t seem to mind.

Overwhelmed with the attention, you stuttered and twitched in his embrace. But you didn’t feel uncomfortable; it was a pleasant feeling to finally have a friend. But you weren’t used to physical touches just yet.

A large hand pried you off of Attuma, your hair whipping around you as you were now brought back to your father’s side. You saw him smile cordially at the boy, albeit strained, as his eyes twitched ever so slightly.

“Now, we have to be gentle with the princess. There shall be no sudden touches in her presence, especially with you, Attuma.”

Attuma blinked and cocked his head to the side, but he didn’t question his king’s instructions.

Years have passed since you have befriended the rowdy young warriors that K’uk’ulkan looked upon with great fondness. You, along with Namora and Attuma, have trained under the wing of your father in the ways of the spear much to your new friends’ joy.

As the next heir to the throne of your nation, you always did your best to meet the expectations that came with the name of the daughter of the feathered serpent god. You would go to the fields of your farmers to oversee harvest, weave baskets with the elderly to help the storage of the new batch of produce, and join the scholars that studied vibranium so you would further verse yourself to the mineral that grew in abundance in your ocean floors.

They were once such a tedious task for you; something that you did out of necessity. But Namora and Attuma made it a point to follow you everywhere you go, help you with the work and doubling the yields of your effort, and they made you smile when you were far too tired after your duties.

Attuma had made it a habit to make you cling on his back as you swam back home. There was no reason for you to get more exhausted than you already were, he told you. And despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself falling into a habit as well.

You found your royal duties far more enjoyable with them by your side, and you absolutely awaited the time of the day where you were relieved of your duties to go and spend your time with them.

“Don’t you find studying boring?” Attuma asked you one day, his meticulous hands polishing his training spear near the drop of the deep trenches. You tilted your head as soon as you seated yourself beside him, your legs dangling on the steep edge.

“I don’t think so…the language of the surface dwellers is fascinating. I find it enjoyable to learn.”

“You’re better off not knowing their language,” Namora huffed as she emerged from the bottom of the trench, a small lamp containing bright vibranium sustaining you with much needed light. She held her training spear proudly by her side, freshly decorated with shells that she found down below, “you know what they did to our grandmothers and grandfathers. I don’t see why you want to learn so much about them.”

“It is my duty, Namora. Once I take the throne I might need to talk with the surface dwellers one day,” you looked down on your lap and fiddled with the jade bracelet your father had gifted you on your fifteenth birthday—one that once belonged to your grandmother, “and I’m just preparing…just in case.”

“We’d be dead before we let any of those surface dwellers see you, princesa,” Attuma nudged his shoulders against yours and grinned, “we’ll make sure you don’t even have to talk to them as long as we’re there to protect you.”

“Did father tell you to say that?”

“What? No!” You gave Attuma a squinted eye stare and hummed. He averted his eyes nervously, his hands now working on his spear with more fervor than before. You and Namora snickered at his plight.

“He did.” Namora confirmed your suspicions. You sighed but left it be. You knew your father was just trying to protect you, so you let him do as he pleases. Although you did not fully understand the depth of the weight of his responsibilities, you could still recognize the great sorrow that came with his hate for the surface world.

And you had kept quiet about your longing to go up into the land; for you knew how it would pain him to know that you bore as much love for the surface as you did for the love you had for your nation.

Attuma cleared his throat and straightened his back, the spear he had decorated with the teeth of hammerheads now lay by his side. He stared at you with such conviction that rendered you speechless in his presence, and the light from the faux sun that your father had created casted him in a glorious light that made your breath hitch in your throat and the feathers on your ankles bristle in anticipation.

“I’ll do my best to train hard, princesa. I’ll become strong enough to protect Talokan—to protect you—so that you won’t even have to worry about any surface dwellers by the time you will inherit the throne.”

You felt more heat rush from your neck and now up to your eyes, his words giving you so much joy that you could possibly even imagine.

You had a friend far more loyal than any of your own guards from your father’s command. And if there was one thing you had learned from your duties as princess, that was the honor that came with a loyal subject.

Your flustered surprise was eventually replaced with giggles when Namora hit Attuma on the head with the brunt side of her spear, her face contorting to one of lighthearted teasing.

“Do you really think you’re the only one training to be by the princess’ side? You’ll have to go through me first.”

“Then I’ll just have to train harder to beat you, Namora,” Attuma glanced at you and gave you a grin, “I’ll be the one to stand by the princess’ side.”

“You’ve never even beaten me once.” “There’s a first time for everything.”

She scoffed. “In your dreams.”

You stopped their little play-fight before it got too heated by pulling them closer to your side, your arms around their necks and laughing with such elation. You were thankful that they came into your lives and became your closest friends, and you would not ever want to see them change as you slowly aged with the sea.

“While the both of you train to become warriors, I’ll study even harder so I could be a queen that both of you will be proud to serve under. I don’t want your efforts to go to waste and serve a leader that’s incompetent.”

“You don’t have to do that, princesa. We shall follow you through the ends of the earth if need be. We already know that you outshine any ruler that came before and will come after you.”

“My father would not be too pleased if he heard you say that, Attuma.”

“He feels the same way, don’t worry.” Namora spoke in turn for the boy. You giggled when Attuma gave you a cheeky grin.

The three of you laughed with glee, unspoken promises now drifting with the currents of the outskirts of the capital city of your great nation.

It’s almost been a century since you have befriended them. A century since you have made your closest friends and aides. Namora and Attuma were always stuck by your side even when there were calls from their king to gather his strongest men. They gave you counsel, they gave you peace, they gave you protection in your times of need.

Nowadays, though, Namora has frequented your father’s side more likely than not—mostly because she was his cousin and his most exemplary warrior. Attuma was only second in skill compared to Namora, but he was still powerful in his own right.

You wondered when would your father hail them as generals; they deserve to be given the title for their service and their wit. You, as the princess of Talokan, can vouch for their competence.

“Where shall we go today, princesa?” Attuma asked you, his gait slowly inching closer to your own.

The boy you once knew had grown into a fine man. He had honed his body to withstand the greatest blows, turned himself into a living shield for your purpose and disposal. You did not want him to go into such extremities, but he always insisted. He even went as far as to hunt hammerhead sharks on his own and nearly killed himself in the process. The bites of hostiles were lodged firmly into his stomach, and the scars that littered his skin became trophies of his successful exploits.

You cried and cried beside him as you told him how stupid he was, how foolish he was to do everything in your name. How could he throw himself into danger just to train himself for your sake? It did not make sense to you, and you reckon that you will never understand the mind of a great warrior like Attuma.

Despite this, he comforted you and held you close to him; told you that he would welcome any sort of pain just so he could protect you from harm's way. You cried again and punched him in his abdomen—you were sure to tell your healers that you would be the one to patch up your reckless guard as an apology.

You felt his warmth from the water that surrounded you as it shifted when he tucked a strand of hair behind your pointed ears. You smiled.

“You can call me by my name, Attuma. You know that.”

“How dare I ever utter your name so casually?” He asked you almost incredulously. You sighed.

“We have been friends for over a century. You can be comfortable with me,” you turned to him with a pout, “please?”

“Is that an order?” He asked you, a trace of amusement from his quirked lip. You huffed and crossed your arms.

“You know I don't like giving orders, Attuma.”

“Then I shall continue calling you by your title, princesa.”

“And what if I ask you this as a request?” You swam closer to him, your pout breaking out into a knowing grin.

Attuma stayed silent, his head turned to avoid your piercing gaze. He felt heat from the back of his neck at your proximity, but he didn't dare move away from you.

You huffed.

“You're no fun.”

Attuma resisted the urge to chuckle. You looked at him in the corner of your eyes and smiled; you knew he couldn't resist it when you tried to make him laugh.

“And what of your errands today?” He asked you, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. You blinked and swam towards him, pling his large bicep into the direction of your father's study.

“We've wasted much time, Attuma. Now come, we are going to the surface.” He nodded in affirmation and led you towards the entrance of the underwater cave systems your father introduced you to as a child. It was one of your favorite places, but your duties called you to the deeper parts of the sea to tend to your people.

As soon as you ascended, you saw the figure of your father dressed in his cloak as he painted murals upon the walls. Beside him was Namora, her mask on her face and her pallor now blue for being in land. You regarded your father with a bow, gestured him with the sign of your people’s respect, and slowly ascended into his study.

“Father.” you called out to him. He paused from his painting and smiled at you, his eyes filling with so much love that it was unlike the name the surface dwellers cursed him to be.

“In princesa,” my princess, he greeted you, reaching out to wipe the saltwater away from your eyes, “what brings you here?”

“It is the time of the year to visit the surface, father. I was just here to let you know before I went.” His face steeled much like the other months across the century you had told him. But it was not in a place of anger—it was in a place of worry for your well-being.

“I trust you to remember all that I have taught you. Return as soon as possible, understood?” You nodded and grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight in assurance.

“You do not have to worry. You have taught me well. And Attuma will be with me while I am out, so I shall be safe in his hands.”

K’uk’ulkan glanced behind you, now regarding Attuma with a nod of acknowledgement as he placed his mask on his face. Attuma bowed his head in respect and tightened the hold on his spear. The king’s brows furrowed.

“If you bring Namora with you—”

“Father,” you cut him off, “I will be alright. I will not do anything to endanger myself nor Attuma. I will merely visit the borders of the reef, is all. I’m sure our warriors have already scouted the area before they were called back.”

“In waal…”

“We always go through this every three months. I do not doubt your worries, but place your trust in me and the warrior I have chosen.”

Attuma straightened his back a tad bit, his chest rising in pride. He met eyes with Namora and grinned behind his mask. Namora simply replied with a silent roll of her eyes.

K’uk’ulkan swallowed a lump on his throat and sighed. He knew you were right. He trusted you enough that you would be safe, especially when someone as skilled as Attuma were to be by your side. It was the surface that he did not trust. It took so much from him and his forefathers even before Talokan came to be. He did not want to lose you to the claws of the surface world.

He would have volunteered to come with you, to make sure you were safe, but one look from Namora was all he needed to know that he was needed in the council in just a few moments.

He sighed. There was no stopping you when you had your mind set on a task.

“Stay safe.” He gently held the back of your head and ducked down to meet your forehead. You hummed and closed your eyes, squeezing his hand in assurance.

“You sound as if I am going to war,” you joked, “I shall return safe. I promise. It is not something that I have not done before.”

“You know your strengths, my daughter. But be wary, still. Negligence is the first sign of weakness,” he separated himself from you and turned towards the wall mounted with spears. He took one of his own and gave it to you, the vibranium of the weapon shimmering under the light of the luminescent algae. It felt balanced. Powerful. He then smiled, “and never forget your weapon.”

You chuckled and bowed your head in respect, the spear now by your side.

“Yes, father.”

K’uk’ulkan turns to Attuma and beckons him forth. The warrior obeyed with no hesitance and bowed before his king. You watched as your father nodded to himself and placed a hand on Attuma’s shoulder.

“She’s a bit of a handful, so look after her, Attuma.” You gawked at him.

“Father!”

“I will do as you say, in ajawo,” my king, he said. The warrior dared to look up and showed his conviction to his king, “I will keep her safe—even when she is a handful.”

“You did not have to agree with everything my father says!”

Namora cleared her throat and cheekily chimed in. “K'uk'ulkan is our king. Whatever he says we agree to, princesa.”

K’uk’ulkan ignored your huffs of protest and Namora’s silent laughter as he squinted at the man, the hand that lay on his shoulder now tightening in warning. Attuma held his ground and did not yield to his king’s hold. He knew the reason for his king’s aggression; it came from a place of protectiveness. You were his only daughter after all.

And Attuma was a man who held a century-long love for you, something that K’uk’ulkan wasn’t particularly fond of.

But you were too stubbornly attached to him that no scheme that K’uk’uklan thought of would separate the two of you. He was far too wrapped around your fingers to fully say no to your whims. The king’s only saving grace is the fact that you were far too oblivious to notice the affections of your own guard.

K’uk’ulkan felt a sliver of sympathy for Attuma. Just a tad bit.

He narrowed his eyes. “And there shall be no…detours along the way, understood? Keep the princess safe, no more than that.”

“Yes, in ajawo.” With a final nod, K'uk'ulkan released his grip from his warrior's soldiers and bid a final farewell before being led out by Namora to the depths of Talokan. She gave Attuma a knowing glance and bowed her head before you.

“Be careful, princesa. The world will incur K'uk'ulkan's wrath if you return scathed.” She joked. But knowing your father, you did not doubt that he would burn the world if you would come back harmed in any way; more reasons for you to stay careful for your visit.

You smiled. “I will be careful, Namora. Do not worry. I have Attuma with me as well.”

She nodded and followed after her king to the water, now disappearing into your view. You faced Attuma and gave him a grin.

“Let's go visit the surface.”

You knew the underwater caves like the back of your hand. You weaved through the dark waters, greeting the guards hidden by the rocks. They bowed their heads and regarded you with the gesture of your people, a courtesy fit only for the daughter of their god and king.

You smiled to yourself when Attuma swam forward when sunlight peeked through the entrance of the surface, his spear drawn and ready by his side. He looked so focused and attentive, his whole body on high alert. You giggled as you reached him and held his hand, squeezing it tightly while looking into his eyes.

“You are too stiff. Nothing will harm us here.” You told him. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

“I am your aide. It is only natural for me, in princesa.”

“I only wish for you to be at ease, Attuma,” you tugged him to the direction of the light, the sun now making itself known to the both of you. Attuma squinted at the sudden brightness; he wasn’t used to seeing something as intense as the real sun, after all. It was his first time visiting the surface world, “you will love the sights, I promise you.”

Attuma felt wrong to be swimming beside you like you were equals. No aide of the high blood of Talokan should even dare to swim in stride beside a warrior who bore no rank. But by your side, he felt safe and welcomed.

He did not feel fear despite it being the first time he had ever visited the surface world. Rather, he felt it to be…intimate, in a way. You trusted him wholeheartedly, put your safety in his hands as you ventured outside the safety of your own kingdom, and shared the experience that he knew to be significant to you even if you did not tell anyone your sentiments.

But he knew. He always knew.

And he would protect you in great fealty as you explore the land that you so loved, even though he knew it would anger his own king to grant your taboo affection for the surface world.

Away from the prying eyes of the other Talokanil, he allowed himself to indulge in his selfish desires and swam closer to you; your shoulders almost touching, hands tightly intertwined, and his heart finally free of the formalities that came with being your guard.

He let himself become a man whose soul reached out to you in longing.

Your heads broke through the water and were hit by the rays of the golden sun. You let Attuma adjust to the light for a few moments, his hands shielding his eyes as he tried to view the sun from between his fingers. You watched his skin slowly turn blue as the air hit his skin, and you had to smile ever so slightly as you watched him marvel at the green forests just across the beach.

“Your mask.” You reminded him, the hand that was intertwined with his tightening in your hold. He nodded albeit meekly, seemingly embarrassed to have forgotten to equip himself in the midst of his awe, and let go of your hand to make sure his mask was secure.

Attuma already missed the warmth as soon as he willed himself to part from you in a respectful distance, now aware how shameless he was to have succumbed to his own desires.

You guided him to the rocks that overlooked the beach, just by the edge of the corals that your people have grown to create a border for those who visited the surface. It was a reminder on how you were never truly free to roam the surface and discover the riches beyond your own kingdom.

The stories your father had told you plagued your mind, but beyond the violence that your forefathers have witnessed, robbed of the land that was yours by birthright, you wanted to see for yourself the motherland that your grandmother loved. You were angry at the surface dwellers, yes. You raged at the thought of the conquistadors that tainted your ancestral home.

But you never did loathe the surface. You just wanted to connect to the land of your ancestors that you were stripped of.

You were broken from your thoughts when you heard the squelch of water on rock. You looked beside you to see Attuma in full attention, his visage that of a man in full guard. You would have laughed if you saw him so serious in the midst of such a peaceful afternoon, but you knew how much his duty to you and your king meant to him.

Attuma stood by your side whilst you leaned back and rested your feet on the water. You patted the space beside you, but he shook his head. You pouted.

“Join me to rest. You are not bound by the rules of my father here,” you told him, your face cracking into a mischievous smile, “be at ease, Attuma.”

“Is that an order?” He gave you a glance, his eyes twinkling under the sun. Only now did you appreciate his dark gaze. It was as intense as it was full of life. You giggled and patted the empty space beside you once again.

“A request.”

He stared at you for a few moments, his eyes locking into yours and sending shivers down your spine. You held his gaze, the water on your skin turning cold when the breeze hit your flesh. With a huff, he put down his spear and sat next to you, his hand dangerously close to your own.

“If you’ll allow me.”

In silence did you bask in the beauty of the faraway beach that should have been inherited to you by your ancestors. The lands that stretched across the plains and the jungles of vivid colors would have been yours to rule by your father’s side. It pained you to know that you cannot even set foot on those beaches.

It was the order of your father. The order of your king.

An order to protect you from the surface dwellers that took your grandmother from him.

It only served to remind you that—despite the feathered ankles that promised you freedom—you were caged in this lonely corner of the earth, away from the adventures that you wanted to experience in full.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked your guard, your eyes following the birds that idly preened themselves on the branches. Attuma stared at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips turning into a smile as you leaned forward in interest.

“Quite so.” His heart skipped a beat when your eyes twinkled in amazement, your gaze never wandering from the land.

“Would it be shameless of me to long for the surface?” You asked him suddenly. Attuma shook his head quickly.

“Never.”

“Speak your mind. I did not ask you to indulge me and curry my favor,” you sighed and wrought your fingers together, your hand now leaving the proximity of your guard’s own, “I ask you for counsel, Attuma. You are one of the few people that I trust.”

Attuma was silent as he mulled over your question. An aide to the heir of the throne must only listen and follow their whims. The will of their masters were the will of their followers; he dare not disobey such courtesy.

But in the freedom of the duty that binded him to such rules by your order, he granted himself full autonomy.

“It might be so, in princesa,” you looked at him curiously. He held the urge to submit to you, to take back the words of his own opinion, and continued on, “you are the heir to Talokan, the nation built on the suffering of our ancestors who fled the land to hide in the sea. To long for the surface is a defiance to their dying will.”

“But we were robbed of our ancestral lands. What if I long to get it back? To let our people walk in the motherland that we once came from? To let them see this; the beauty that they were deprived of when we were chased off our own inheritance?” “Then you should be prepared for war.”

He looked directly into your eyes, ones that held such young wisdom and hope. But he knew from the countless battles he fought that to reclaim the stolen land you wished to rule is to declare a fight that you were far too merciful to lead.

“To reclaim the right that we once owned…you must be ready to shed blood; both the blood of the surface and the blood of your people. But to declare battle you must reveal our nation. Our king’s will shall not allow such a thing.”

Attuma watched as you lowered your head, trapped in the swirl of your thoughts as you continued to deliberate the weight of his words. He flagrantly allowed himself to reach for your hand first, draw circles on the back of your hand tenderly, and scooted himself closer so his hulking gait would protect you from the prying eyes of the world.

You squeezed his hand with yours, your breath stuttering at your next words.

“And what if I still desire to reclaim our land back, Attuma?” You looked up and held his gaze, your eyes now steeling itself to one of conviction.

He smiled.

“Then I shall shed blood for your will, in princesa.”

You searched for any sort of hesitation in his strong features, to try and coax out any sort of loose ends of his loyalty. But you saw nothing of such sort; there only lay pure faith to your very existence, one that you recognize as unyielding.

You stared at him right in the eye. It was piercing, cold. One that beckoned utmost honesty from your aide. It was not a simple decision to make—even the words you have uttered this very moment would be considered blasphemous. Outright treacherous.

“Even if it means to defy the orders of your king?”

He did not waver as he replied.

“You are the one that I serve. My loyalty lies with you.” He took his spear and knelt before you, his one knee digging into the rock in which you lay. He pierced his weapon down into the earth, took your hand to rest upon his cheek, and presented himself to the utmost fidelity.

“Have you not sworn your service under the name of my father?”

“I have sworn nothing,” he practically growled, his grip on his spear tightening, “I long for nothing more than to swear my piety to you. I am indebted to K’uk’ulkan; I revere him as my god and king. Yet I cannot stand the thought of offering my loyalties to anyone else but you.”

You felt your heart throb against your chest, your eyes stinging with wet tears. It was a feeling foreign to you. The waves usually wipe your tears away at the bottom of the sea. But here on land, you wore your heart on your sleeve. It was an overwhelming feeling, one that urged you to cover your mouth to stifle your joyous sobs.

In the face of the man you had grown up with, in the presence of such undying loyalty did you fail to mask your elation. Yet your head was muddled with confusion—why was he always so devoted to you? Why would he risk being cast out when your father still sits on the throne and swears his loyalties to you? Why was he so willing to defy the orders of his king for your selfish whims?

You knew the weight of a warrior's oath. It was not something to be taken lightly. Warriors would swear upon the names of leaders who have fought countless battles, led the charge to warfare, and those who were considered gods like your father.

You were none of those.

You were not your father.

“Why?” You asked him, your hands trembling against his cheek. “Compared to my father, I am nothing. Why would you swear your loyalty to me when I have nothing to give you in return? It will still be years—centuries, even—before I could inherit the throne and bear the title of queen mother. So why?”

Silence fell between the two of you, the waves of the high afternoon playing the symphonies of its motherlands. You felt like you were suffocating despite the beauty that surrounded you while you waited for him to speak.

Finally, Attuma slowly raised his head and kissed the palm of your hand. It brought a wave of heat from the back of your neck to your cheeks, and even the tips of your pointed ears warmed at the gesture.

“Will you allow me to speak out of turn?” He asked you, his voice uncharacteristically soft. You blinked back the tears that obscured your vision and nodded.

“Speak your mind, Attuma.”

He breathed in a stuttering breath, the hand that held yours tightening and trembling. It made you nervous; a warrior such as he, the embodiment of a shield that protects his nation, stuttered and shook in your hold. He could overpower you at any second, purge the world of your existence, but here he was, weak and vulnerable in your presence.

He locked eyes with you, those gorgeous oaken eyes stared deep into your very being without reservation. You found yourself feeling faint, as if you have fallen into a pleasant trap that you weren’t too keen on getting out of.

And with a steady voice he said;

“I love you, in princesa. I always have since we were children. I only breathe to serve you, only live to please you. If you so asked me to burn the world and slay your enemies, then I will show you the ashes of their bones on a jaden chest. If you asked me to become your shield, then I shall parry every blade for you and protect you with my last breath. If you asked me to become your spear, then the blood of your foes shall dye the sea in red…”

He paused as he drew closer, the heat of his body enveloping you in a sensation of great adoration. He gripped your hand tighter, his lips lingering on your palms as he leaned further into your touch.

“...and if you asked me to become your beloved, then I will become the most faithful man you would ever lay your eyes upon—for your joys are my joys, and your sorrows are mine to bear.”

You felt your throat constrict, the heat from your face now traveling down to the tips of your fingers down to the very ends of your feathered ankles. Your wings bristled and shook, your breath hitching at every breath, and you felt the sudden urge to look away from those unwavering eyes. But the gravity of his own magnetism was enough to drive you back in; to never tear your gaze away from the man that confessed his love for you.

Though this begs the question; did you love him back?

Attuma must have misunderstood your silence for rejection, so he slowly removed your hands from his cheeks and bowed his head in shame.

“I have spoken out of turn. I apologize,” he held his spear tightly, but he never removed himself from his bow—a sign of his submission to you, “whether or not you accept my feelings, I will still stay by your side. I will serve under you, make my oath in the witness of K’uk’ulkan of my loyalty to you. I will ask for nothing more.”

Your heart broke at how easily it was for him to apologize. No person should ever apologize for the feelings that they bear. It only proved how devoted the great warrior was to you; for him to present his feelings of love to you and still offer his loyalty in the face of rejection.

You recounted the days of your youth down to the decades worth of memories with him. How could you have been so blind to have ignored the signs of his affections? How blinded were you with your duties that you allowed yourself to turn away from the subtle declarations of his feelings for you?

How foolish were you to actually dismiss your own feelings for him? You love Attuma. You always have.

“Why have you not said anything in the century we have been together?” You asked him, your voice low and meek. You did not want to lose the warmth of his skin, so you gently lifted his head with both of your hands and let him meet your eyes.

You saw the gaze of your warrior waver.

“My duty is to protect you. How dare I be so impertinent as to bear feelings for the daughter of my own king?”

You shook your head and leaned in to rest your forehead against his. You heard the clatter of his vibranium spear on the rocks and into the water below. But you simply did not care at that moment.

“You are never impertinent, not when I bear the same love for you as you have for me.”

You heard his breath hitch. The hands that lay dutifully to his side now flying up to your face and hold your cheeks so delicately. In the large and dependable hands of your warrior did you feel safe and loved. It was unlike the other times that he had shown you affection when you were merely just friends.

What were you now, you wondered, now that you and him share the same feelings.

In that moment of solace did Attuma realize his place, but he did not dare remove his hands from you. He ghosted his fingers over your pointed ears, tangled his hands with your wet hair, and held you tight like you were the most precious thing in the sea.

He was but a mere warrior—a shameless peasant whose hands had brazenly touched the skin of his master.

“I am just a warrior without a title. You cannot possibly love me as I am.”

“But I do. I just have never realized it sooner, in yakunaj.” My love, an endearment that made Attuma’s heart flutter and weak against your hands.

“And when we are in the eyes of scrutiny, what then should you do?”

“It matters not, my dear warrior.”

“But your majesty—!”

“Am I not the heir to the throne of Talokan? Am I not the princess whose rule is imminent in the witness of your king? Of whom I shall love is a matter of my own choice that not even the feathered serpent god could refute.”

You drew in closer and wrapped your arms around him. He was strong and powerful, but in your arms did he surrender himself. He was not the warrior you knew him to be. In your arms, he was just a man who held a century worth of ardor.

“I dare not disgrace you, in princesa. I have nothing in my name but the battles that I have fought as a mere soldier.”

He removed himself from you and held you tenderly by the cheeks. You leaned against his touch, completely surrendering to the feelings that you have long since ignored since the beginning. He inched himself closer and continued to speak with great affection.

“But if I would be so bold to ask for you to wait; wait for me to garner titles of my own, build the foundations of my exploits, and ask you again to become mine, would you be so merciful as to grant such a plea?”

You stared at his resolve, the gaze of the man you have realized you have loved now asking you for the mercy to wait. You cupped his strong jaw and caressed his cheek with your thumb as you said;

“I will grant you mercy, in yakunaj, only if you fulfill my wish.”

He became alert, his body ready to grant your desires.

“Anything, in princesa. Anything for your majesty.”

“Then I wish for you to call me by my name, I beg you. We bear more than just pleasantries of warrior and royal.”

He gave you a smile, one that even his mask could not hide, and leaned in to touch his forehead against yours.

“Is that an order?”

You smiled.

“A request.”

It was merely a few decades later that the great capital city of Talokan was abuzz with the whispers of a great blessing bestowed upon their royal heir. It lit the fire of pride within the citizens of the hidden nation, a pride that K’uk’ulkan wore with high regard as he descended to present himself on the forefront of his throne.

Their darling princess, the radiant pearl of the deep sea, was ready to assume the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s legacy.

As your citizens have revered your father as the god king of your people, they have revered you as the same; a deity whose hands extended to the waters to create a shield of protection, a divine being whose mercy radiates the warmth of a thousand suns, the daughter of the feathered serpent god whose wings carried you through the winds of battle through the century. Your chest bloomed with unending bliss when you realized you've lived up to the name of your father—an entity that you've molded yourself into the likeness of.

You had held the expectations of the name of K’uk’ulkan to your very heart, and you were thrilled at the fact that your father had acknowledged your efforts in the witness of your people.

Your kingdom cheered and praised your name as you descended into the throne room from above, the feathered headpiece similar to your father’s symbolizing your authority as heir apparent of Talokan. Your father extended his hand for you to take, and you had done so with such grace befitting of your title as radiant pearl of the sea.

And there he had presented you with a throne of your own, just below the teeth of the monster of the deep oceans that he had slain many years ago. It was decorated with the finest of jade, vibranium, and gold with the likeness of an open shell. Compared to his throne that was decorated with the splendor of his long battles, yours was the embodiment of the abundant riches of your nation.

It was a symbol, perhaps, that the toil of your father’s work had borne fruit of great wealth to Talokan and passed down to the generations that would come next.

The radiant pearl of the sea had finally assumed her reign as heir apparent after a century of her rule by the feathered serpent god’s side, and there was no one in the kingdom who would oppose to the majesty of K’uk’ulkan’s daughter—not because she had the blood of their king in her veins and the feathered ankles that proved her divine lineage—but because of her love for her people and the duties that she had so diligently carried with grace.

K’uk’ulkan swam to your side and guided you to rest upon your new throne. It was a new feeling for you, one that could not compare to the childish wonder that you had just sitting on the lap of your father when you were still a wee babe. In the high seat of your throne did you overlook the citizens that had adored you, watched as they bowed their heads and put their hands in the likeness of a serpent’s mouth as respect to your inauguration.

As much as you loved to see your people acknowledge you, you could not find a glimpse of your best friend and secret lover. To you, their opinions were the only ones that mattered. It would not feel as joyous as it is if they were not to witness your greatest achievements.

Where were they, you wondered. They promised to be here in time for your ceremony.

“Something troubles you, in waal.” your father beside you, the feathers from his headpiece tickling the sides of your cheek. You gave him a smile, one that masked your worries, and found comfort in the hands that gripped yours reassuringly.

“Namora and Attuma are not here,” you supplied him, your eyes scanning the crowd of your people, “I worry for them. They promised they would come.”

K’uk’ulkan smiles and brings his hand to caress the base of your neck tenderly and rest his decorated forehead on your own. Your breath, which you didn’t realize had become labored, instantly calmed at the mere comfort of your father.

“Quell your nerves, my daughter. They will come.” With a knowing smile, your father separated himself from you and swam up to sit in the jaws of his own throne. The people all cheered while chanting the words of praise to Talokan’s honor.

K’uk’ulkan puts his hand up slowly and everyone falls into a hush. The air was still buzzing, the water under your command feeling the energy of everyone’s bated breaths as they awaited the words of their king.

“We honor the place of my only child as the rightful heir of Talokan. She has proven herself worthy of such a title for a century, and the seas have blessed us with such excellence that no one could dare defy. The future of Talokan is bright.”

Your people cheered and hollered, yet your eyes still strain to find your best friend and lover. You tried your best not to feel upset, but you felt a painful twist on your heart.

Where were they? It was unlike them to break their promises, especially your beloved warrior, Attuma.

“Not only do we celebrate the coronation of my daughter’s place in my council, but we celebrate the oath of our two new generals.” your father continued, your head snapping up at the familiar silhouette of your secret lover up the grand entrance of your underwater throne room. Your heart settled and you smiled in great pride as your father presented them at last.

“Namora and Attuma, the new grand generals of Talokan.”

They extruded such power as they descended ever so slowly, the light of the vibranium sun creating a halo of light around their bodies. They wore new armor that suited their character; the likeness of the spines of a lionfish adorned the body of your best friend, Namora, and the skull of a hammerhead shark and the spikes of its teeth littering every crevice of Attuma’s plated armor. Both of them held their respective weapons made of vibranium, and you could only smile at how proud you were for them.

You couldn't help but ogle at the sight of your warrior. You had kept your word and waited for him to finally gather his own accomplishments before asking for your hand. But that did not stop you from sneaking off and relishing yourselves in each other’s company. No one had ever suspected anything yet, but you gathered that your people were still under the impression that Attuma only bears one-sided love for you.

Oh your poor love, you didn’t mean to make him wait for so long.

You wondered when he would finally ask for your hand, to finally make your blooming romance known to your father and your citizens. It filled you with warmth just thinking about the possibilities.

You and Attuma locked eyes as soon as they had finished their descent, his eyes raking across your figure sat on your jeweled throne. He felt the need to kiss you right then and there, a privilege he had not yet taken across the decades of your secret romance in respect to his promise. He dared not touch you so inappropriately when you were not yet his, but he was sure to finally claim you as his own.

You were a jewel in Attuma’s eyes. A gem fit to be heralded around in great praise to your charm. Although your beauty spoke wonders of your outward appearance, you were a strong warrior, maybe even as strong as Namora. You are wise like your father, and you cared for your kingdom in the ways that a mother would.

You were crowned princess of Talokan, heir to the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s majesty, and the future queen mother of your nation.

Attuma could not even begin to describe in words such a blessing that fell into his hands so tenderly.

As soon as they were done taking their oath, bowed before you and K’uk’ulkan to swear their undying fidelity to your nation of Talokan, Attuma and Namora shared one look before your warrior ascended alone, careful to keep his gait below your eyes and on the feet of your throne. Your people fell into a hush, the momentary celebration ceasing to wait for Attuma’s next words.

“In princesa,” he started, his eyes looking up to lock eyes with your father, “K’uk’ulkan. If I may speak.”

“Attuma,” he regarded the warrior, his head held high in authority, “what do you wish to say?”

“My fealty lies with no one but the princess,” he bowed low and presented presented his spear by the jewels that adorned your throne, “the oath I shall take is one reserved to be of service of her, and if she wills me to serve under you, K’uk’ulkan, then I shall do so with no question.”

You waited with bated breath as your father stood from his throne and descended to stand in front of your warrior. Your heart thumped in your chest as you saw your father inch closer to him, his hand now resting on his shoulders and urging Attuma to rise.

“You have done a great deal for the name of my daughter, but the decision is hers to make.” K’uk’ulkan started, his voice carrying nothing but tender command. He turned towards you and beckoned you forward. You did so without question and swam beside your father.

“Do you accept his oath, in waal?”

There was no other answer for such a question. It was something that you had dreamed of since the beginning of your blossoming romance, the fantasy that you had always dreamed to come into fruition.

With a smile that would outshine the stars of the night, you eagerly replied.

“I shall accept your oath with open arms, Attuma. My dear warrior.”

Your people broke into joyous cheers as Attuma rose from his bow. You turned to pick the spear by the feet of your throne and presented it to him with a proud grin. He replied in kind, kissing the vibranium shaft that touched your hand as soon as he had received it. Heat traveled up your neck and into the tips of your pointed ears at the gesture, your fingers wringing together in bashful fluster.

K’uk’ulkan smiled at the exchange, but he could not help but urge you away from the warrior and back to your throne. He could not help himself—you were far too precious to be in the presence of a man who fancied you all his life.

The king turned to Attuma and regarded him with a nod and gesture of Talokan’s respect, the warrior replying in kind.

“Serve her well, Attuma.”

Before K’uk’ulkan could return to his throne, Attuma rose high and proud, brandishing his weapon only he could ever wield with such power. A show of strength, if you will, that left the people at awe at the display of his prowess.

“My king! If I may be so bold, I have something to ask of you.” He declared, his voice loud and strong. Your brows furrowed in confusion at such a statement; what else did Attuma need when he had already pledged his service to you?

You held the urge to giggle when your father turned with an amused chuckle of his own.

“What is it?”

Attuma turned towards you, the both of you locking eyes. And in that moment, he sent you an affectionate grin.

And then realization hit you.

He wasn’t going to—!

“I wish for your permission to court your daughter, the princess.” Murmurs and excited gasps spread across the hall. You see Namora grinning to herself staring at Attuma, impressed. Your cheeks burned with heat, your chest pounding at how incredibly mad Attuma was for declaring something as bold as a courting during your coronation as crown heir.

But it was something that you absolutely loved about your warrior, no matter how insane he was to declare his desire to court you in front of the entire kingdom.

Your father stiffened, his eyes steeled and ready to pounce at Attuma. He had to hold himself back—there was no reason for him to needlessly attack his finest warrior just because he expressed his desire to court you. He could not even dismiss such thought; the titles and the achievements of Attuma held far more worth than any man in Talokan.

From where it stands, and with your close relationship with the warrior, he was by far the only man worthy of your affection.

And so, with a reluctance that held every possible threat in the world, K’uk’ulkan replied.

“Prove to me your worth, Attuma, for the radiant pearl of the sea does not need an incompetent suitor to court her.”

“Father!” You hissed quietly. You felt your father’s animosity course through you in waves. You had to resist the urge to groan and sigh; he was so protective of you.

But Attuma did not seem phased as he spoke steadily.

“By your will, K’uk’ulkan.”

In the eyes of your people did you swim beside your father and held his arm reassuringly. His steely gaze finally fell as he looked at you, and you allowed yourself to swim to the level of his ears and whisper, “Please be gentle with Attuma, father. I also bear feelings for him.”

He looked at you like he was betrayed, but he was not surprised. How could you not have told him about your budding feelings for the warrior?

Then again, he knew the throes of a woman when it came to sharing their romantic feelings, so he did not blame you for keeping it a secret from him, your own father.

“How long have you known?”

“A few decades,” you smiled sheepishly, “do not be so hard on the warrior that I have chosen. He means it in good faith, and he has done nothing to cross any boundaries set by your command.”

“Are you sure?”

“I swear it upon my name and crown, father.”

Your father pondered on your words for a little while longer and resigned with a sigh. You pressed your forehead against your father’s and giggled.

“Thank you for your leniency, my king.”

You separated yourself from your father and swam forward to Attuma. He gave you a cheeky grin, one that screamed unapologetic mischief. You shook your head, amused as his antics, as you raised your hand to cup his cheek.

“My father has given his word; prove to him that you are worthy of my hand so we will be together, my dear warrior.”

He dared cup your hands that feathered along his strong jaw and leaned into your touch. You could feel your father’s piercing stare, but the both of you ignored it, too engrossed in your own little world in the watchful eyes of your nation.

“Is that an order?” He asked you, his eyes boring into yours with such intensity that would have sent you immediately to your knees.

You leaned in close until your lips met the base of his mighty headpiece, the jagged teeth of the hammerhead shark that he had slain digging firmly into the skin of his forehead. When you parted, you stared into his eyes; the eyes that held nothing but veneration to your glorious name.

And with a tender whisper to your beloved, you replied.

“A request.”

Anyone up for a Part 2? >:))

Taglist: @haideehaids @xnodamsel

1K notes · View notes

itadorey · 11 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

pairing: childe x reader summary: in which you, the late signora's apprentice, have been assigned to take over one of the two empty harbinger roles, and childe can't help but worry about you. or alternatively, childe tries to rizz you up in the middle of la signora's funeral. wc: ~1.6k notes: more of a character study based on the "a winter night's lazzo" trailer. reader has a vision but it's only mentioned briefly.

the air is almost stifling as you look around, trying to ignore the mournful tune coming out of columbina's mouth.

the silvery metal of the coffin at the head of the room catches the light every so often, glinting just enough to catch your eye no matter how hard you try to keep your gaze elsewhere. it seems to mock, you, a reminder of the mentor who taught you so much yet told you so little. you don't miss her, of course you don't. from the very beginning, you knew you were merely another pawn for her to use; someone who she thought was talented, but ultimately disposable. that thought alone makes you feel some kind of morbid pride when you realize that you've managed to replace her.

a low hum comes from beside you, and you refuse to turn when you feel a certain redheaded harbinger lean in closer to you, nudging you with his elbow as he did so. childe lets out a small, frustrated huff when you refuse to meet his gaze, choosing instead to tilt his head down towards you. you can feel his hair brushing against your cheek and breath tickling the shell of your ear, an annoyance so great you finally break and face him, ready to tell him off. pulcinella starts speaking before you can do so.

"we are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade. in honor of her sacrifice, all work should halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing."

your gaze is immediately drawn away from childe and towards pulcinella, your fingers twitching at his words. the action doesn't go unnoticed by childe, and he reaches over to grab your hand, pouting when you scowl and scoot away. his attention is quickly brought back to the rest of the harbingers, and he can't help but roll his eyes as someone else begins to speak.

"merely half a day?" pantalone says, chuckling lightly as he repeats pulcinella's words. you can't help the shiver that runs down your spine; pantalone's voice alone is enough to instill caution into you. "people may say that the northland bank's rue currencies are blood and tears, but mayor, even speaking as a banker that sounds a little unconscionable."

childe can't help but stare at you, watching as you nod your head absentmindedly. he's interested in your lack of emotion. sure, you're agreeing with pantalone's statement, but nothing about your demeanor suggests that you're actually upset about la signora's demise. you're just bothered with the lack of respect being given to a fallen comrade. a part of him is annoyed, all his delusions about comforting you in your time of grief dissipating in that very moment. another part of him is impressed; he can't deny that the tsaritsa really does know how to pick her harbingers.

"rosalyne died in a foreign land," arlecchino's voice is loud enough to drown out columbina's singing. "but you heartless businessmen and dignitaries always with a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland. you couldn't hope to understand, so why don't you keep your mouths shut! we don't want to make the children cry."

there's an almost unnoticeable exchange between you and arlecchino, the two of you nodding at each other before looking away. childe's eyes don't leave your face as you sigh softly, directing one last glance at the coffin before turning your head to the side.

"hey, c'mon now," childe says, his tone a little too bright for the current situation. "even i don't think this is the right time or place for a fight."

there's a brief second in which you whip your head around to meet his eyes, mild surprise visible as you process his words. childe finds himself wondering why he spoke. (he tells himself that it's to respect la signora's memory).

"utterly risible," sandrone says. you can't help but roll your eyes, glaring at her as you try to figure out who her words were aimed at. childe frowns when he notices your attention is no longer on him, and he chooses to burrow into his scarf as he scoots closer to you. he blames it on the cold.

the conversation turns to scaramouche, and you tune out capitano and dottore as they speak. you couldn't care less about the missing harbinger; sooner or later you would catch up to him and take back what the tsaritsa wanted. columbina's singing seems to get louder, almost taunting you as you do your best to avoid looking at the coffin. you're reminded of the day you were called into the tsaritsa's audience room, her hand colder than the snezhnayan snow as she rested it on your shoulder and told you that you would be taking the place of one of the two former harbingers.

"rosalyne would be proud," the tsaritsa had said. "you should feel honored."

your fingers trace the outline of your delusion, catching on the ridges of the gilded metal that keep the gem in place. you know it's almost identical to a vision, but the gifted delusion feels much, much heavier. you think you're going crazy.

childe nudges your knee with his, drawing you out of your thoughts. you look over at him, an amused smile on your face as you notice him snuggling into his scarf. he's closer than he was earlier, you realize, his outer thigh pressed up right against yours. you pretend not to notice, instead relaxing your posture and allowing your leg to fully rest against his. you blame it on the cold.

a soft gasp leaves your lips when childe grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours before pulling you off the bench you had been sitting on. you glance around, watching as all the harbingers approach rosalyne's coffin and take their respective places around it. you stare at your hand, still intertwined with childe's, before you glance up, being met with an infuriating smirk. you huff as he pulls you to his side, grip tightening slightly to make sure you stay in place beside him.

"let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice, and with this nation endure for all time," pierro's words catch your attention, childe's hold momentarily forgotten as you stare at the first of the harbingers. "in the name of her majesty, the tsaritsa, we will seize authority form the gods. absolute peace; such is the gift from the tsaritsa, such is her majesty's benevolence. now you rest in this coffin, encased in layer upon layer of ice."

pierro pauses to stare down at the coffin, and you find yourself absentmindedly placing your free hand upon the cool metal. there's a slight shake to your hand that makes your brow furrow, unsure as to why. you're not scared, and the nervousness you feel is not nearly great enough for you to be shaking. your muddled reflection stares back at you as you keep trying to discern your emotions, and you're only brought out of your pensive state when you feel childe squeeze your hand. you glance up to meet pierro's icy gaze head-on.

"but rosalyne, i promise you, your final resting place will be the entirety of the 'old world'," pierro finishes, speaking his final words without looking away from you. there's a tense silence that follows, each of the harbingers waiting to hear your response. you glance down briefly, your previously shaky hand having gone still in the time it took pierro to speak. you feel childe fidget, your silence dragging on as a miniscule smile appears on your face. you drag your gaze up to give pierro a firm nod, receiving one in return before he turns and walks out of the room. pulcinella and pantalone are quick to follow, the latter shooting you a curious glance and letting out a low hum before disappearing.

"well, well," childe starts. "shall we go get some food and celebrate?"

at your confused glance, childe simply smiles. "you were so nervous you were shaking! but don't worry, you've proven yourself."

you pull your hand out of his grasp when he begins to walk, your face feeling warm as you realized you had been holding hands the entire time. "no thanks, i have things to do."

childe's eyes follow you as you stalk towards the door, an eyebrow raising when you pause at the exit and turn to face him once more. "and i wasn't nervous!"

"no?" childe immediately responds, a flirty lilt present in his voice as he crosses his arms. "then why were you shaking?"

"because," you start, a dangerous grin spreading across your face. you've finally figured out what you were feeling earlier. "i realized that being a harbinger doesn't make me nervous. it makes me excited."

childe huffs out a laugh as you finally leave, shaking his head in amusement before he runs a hand through his hair. he's left staring at the door until he hears arlecchino's muffled snort, and he turns to her with a warm face as he realizes that she'd heard your entire exchange.

"you don't stand a chance," she says, making her way to the exit as well. "but it'll be fun to see you try."

"fun indeed," childe mutters, glancing at rosalyne's coffin one last time. with a soft laugh, he places his hands into his coat pocket, trudging towards the door and already missing the warmth you had been providing not even ten minutes prior. "this'll be interesting."

rbs are appreciated <3

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #childe x you #tartaglia x you #genshin imagines #childe imagines #tartaglia imagines #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact #genshin impact scenarios

369 notes · View notes

trans-ace-lee · 8 months

Text

That Darn Cat

Author's Note: So sorry for the very, very, very late upload and me being almost nonexistent on this website. In short, a bunch of life changes happened, and I 1000% don't get paid enough to do as much work as I have to do.

Thanks for being so patient with me. This a sequel to Wow Fantasstic Baby and is a product of my brain just going feral. If that what it takes to write fics, then that's what it is, I guess.

Tagging @myreygn @otomiya-tickles @ticklishfanart and a special shoutout to @parker-fluff for being my test subject to @italeean (I hope this is a nice wake up call Elle).

It was no secret that Tsukishima was an observant person. Both on and off the court, his teammates and friends know that although he doesn’t say much, he’s always watching and thinking. Thus, it came to no one’s surprise that he had picked up on a substantial amount of Kuroo’s likes, dislikes, routines, and habits in the few months they had been dating.

Despite the latter’s mess of a hairstyle, Tsukishima had found that he loves running his fingers through Kuroo’s hair and scratching at the base of Kuroo’s neck; his boyfriend, of course, loves it too. He adores the way Kuroo melts into his touch and how Kuroo hums under his breath, recording these little moments in his heart to be played over and over again until the day comes when he can’t remember.

Tsukishima isn’t the kind of person for grand gestures. He shows his love through small, handcrafted gifts made from the leftover scraps from Yamaguchi’s many art projects, daily updates about what he’s doing, sending pictures, finding scented candles that remind him of his loved ones, and reminders about important dates like quizzes and doctor’s appointments.

But lately, Tsukishima notices that the third year’s replies to text messages and phone calls decrease in frequency. It’s not as if he doesn’t understand. Third years have college entrance exams, plus his duties as a volleyball captain with a team going to nationals. He has his own exams and volleyball practice to attend to. Sure, he wants Karasuno to beat Nekoma if given the chance, but he plans on giving his boyfriend a needle-felt cat and maybe a kiss, no matter the outcome.

Instead of mourning the time he’s losing and whining to his boyfriend to pay attention to him, he finds himself worried about Kuroo because he knows that trying too hard not to let go is like trying to hold onto wet sand. And, yet part of him is still insecure because this is his first relationship, and he’s terrified of messing everything up. He has a small but strong support system, but they’re people who know the deeper parts of him that he hides behind walls.

After blurting these fears out loud on accident while talking with Kenma to double-check if his observations are correct, Tsukishima finds himself with a free bus ticket to Tokyo. During the many hours it takes to get from Miyagi to Tokyo, he can’t help but think he’ll see a side of Kuroo that he’s never seen before.

Regardless, he wants the latter to open up to him and show him every side, the bad, the sad, the ugly, the calm, the cheerful, and everything in between. In time, he hopes to do the same.

This afternoon, on the rare day that Kuroo takes a break from studying, his boyfriend is practically sprawling on top of Tsukishima’s lap while Tsukishima runs his fingers through the former’s hair.

“I want, uh, want to do something for you,” Tsukishima says, his face heating up a little as he breaks the silence in the room.

“Hmm?” Kuroo mumbles in response, “But you already do so much for me, love.”

Tsukishima debates hiding his face behind his hands. He absolutely adores how Kuroo still makes him feel like a giddy little kid, as surprising as it is to imagine him that way (Yamaguchi won’t stop making fun of him, not that he minds).

“I know…” He takes a deep breath and leans down to plant a kiss on the back of Kuroo’s neck. “You’ve been really stressed lately, and I just want to help relieve your pain in any way I can.”

Kuroo pushes himself up on his forearms so he can look Tsukishima in the eye. Kuroo’s gaze is filled with such warmth and understanding that Tsukishima falls in love with him over and over again. No matter Tsukishima’s limited and feeble attempts to comfort his boyfriend, Kuroo always treats him with such kindness and grace, letting him warm up at his own speed. He admits that opening up again is hard, but he’s willing to do it for Kuroo.

“All right. What do you want me to do, then?”

Tsukishima bites his lip. Okay, maybe he hasn’t thought this through enough. He tries to think of something, anything that he can do to erase the tension lines in his lover’s face and the stiffness in his lover’s shoulders, until a small voice in the back of his mind has him fighting back a smirk. “Can you lie down on your stomach?”

“Like this?” Kuroo asks, stretching himself out on Tsukishima’s bed with his arms crossed over his head.

Tsukishima slings his right leg over Kuroo’s body and sits down on his butt.

“Ooh. I think I’m going to like this.”

This time Tsukishima actually smirks now that Kuroo can’t see him. He expects his boyfriend to squirm or even at least twitch when he squeezes Kuroo’s sides. What he doesn’t expect is to hear a loud shriek followed by rapid giggling. “I’m just trying to give you a back massage, darling. Won’t you be good and stay still for me?”

The only response he gets is a shaky fuck off.

“Tch. I guess someone better teach this naughty cat a lesson.” He grins at the way Kuroo immediately starts squirming at his words. “Oh? The flirty tom cat can’t take what he dishes out. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you to behave.”

Okay.

Tsukishima knows he should feel a little guilty, but his boyfriend’s squeaks and snorts of protest as his drums his fingers on Kuroo’s sides. But he loves the way the latter shakes his head from side to side, making his bed hair even messier than usual. Scratch that, he kind of loves everything about the figure cackling even harder than Tsukishima had been before when he skitters up Kuroo’s ribs.

“Naaahaahahat there,” the latter begs, trying to grab Tsukishima’s hands.

Kuroo fails every time.

“Hmmmmm?” he says while alternately poking each side of his lover’s ribs just to see him jump. “Then…how about here?”

The cackling gets replaced by a long howl that’s almost painful to his ears.

Good.

He snickers. “Attention neighbors of this small apartment with hopefully thick walls, I need to report a murder. Cause of death some fingers resting on a set up very, very, very ticklish underarms.”

Leaning down next to Kuroo’s left ear, Tsukishima asks, “Left, right or both.”

And he thought his boyfriend was a little sadistic when Tsukishima was getting tickled the last time.

“FUUHUCK,” Kuroo screams, his arms clamped to his sides.

“Oh, it can’t be that bad. I’m not even doing anything.” Tsukishima squints at the shiny dot on his lover’s face. “Wait? Is that a tear I see?”

Kuroo whines.

Tsukishima, with some strength he didn’t even know he had, flips the latter over and pins Kuroo’s hands over his head. “Nope. That absolutely won’t do. I want to see that cute face of yours.”

It takes everything in him not to coo at his boyfriend on the spot as he looks down with a soft smile on his face. Kuroo’s face is flushed, more so than any match he’s seen him in. He relishes the way Kuroo tries in vain to hide his face in his arms. Even the bright red color of his ears matches his face.

Kuroo is so hot like this.

Another squeak of protest breaks the silence.

Tsukishima’s smirk returns at the sound. “Sounds like someone is a fan of that.”

“Nohohoooo.” Kuroo replies, now giggling and squirming from anticipation.

“Now, raise your arms above your head and keep them there.”

“WHAT,” his lover squawks, mouth agape.

He plants a kiss on Kuroo’s forehead. “You heard me love. Or…do I need to do something a little more drastic?”

“I-Ihii…whaaa…?” Kuroo replies, his face growing redder and redder by the second.

“Cat got your tongue? Don’t worry I have an even better idea for you.” He uses one hand to pin both of his lover’s wrists and uses the other hand to grab the latter’s chin so they’re looking at each other. “Please move dow-no, you will move down so I can sit on those pesky arms of yours.”

Somehow Kuroo’s face grows even redder at the command but scoots down like he’s told, albeit while glaring at Tsukishima. Nope. Tsukishima is definitely not proud of himself for that one. Not at all.

Turning around, yet still keeping a strong grip on Kuroo’s wrists, he uses his right leg to pin his boyfriend’s right arm and his left leg to pin his boyfriend’s left arm until he’s more or less just kneeling on them. “Yes…Yes, this is much better,” he says with a low hum that rumbles in his chest.

Kuroo pouts up at him. It’s so fucking adorable that Tsukishima wants to take a picture, so he does as the former only pouts harder at the action. “You don’t want to bully your poor boyfriend, do you? You wouldn’t do something like this to him, would you?”

“Sorry, dear.” He uses his right hand to massage circles onto the base of Kuroo’s neck. The all-familiar hum follows as he moves up the back of the latter’s head and kneads on his scalp.

Once Kuroo is sufficiently relaxed, he digs a single finger into the center of Kuroo’s right underarm. His lover almost leaps off the bed with a high-pitched squeal. It’s music to his ears.

“SHIHIIT,” Kuroo screams before breaking into desperate laughter and flopping around like a fish out of water.

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Tsukishima teases, “It’s just one little finger. How bad could it be?”

“IIIHIIT’S BAAHAHAD." His boyfriend’s legs wave back and forth in a frantic matter, reminiscent of something straight out of a horror movie.

Kuroo has many sides, sides that Tsukishima has yet to see, but he thinks this might be his favorite. In everyday life, both on and off the court, his lover is calm, cool, and poised. This side of Kuroo is a wild beast he can’t wait to tame. He wants to learn which buttons he can push, and perhaps what his boyfriend will do in return.

“Hmm? I don’t know. I think you can get more desperate than this. I guess we’ll just have to see, then.”

“FUUHUCK OFFF!” Kuroo tries to hiss but it ends up sounding like the high-pitched sound of a tea kettle going off.

Tsukishima settles into a rhythm. Alternating between left and right with a single finger right in the center has Kuroo practically wailing. Spidering around the edges until little hiccups and snorts start to filter through his lover’s laughter. Raking his fingers from the middle of Kuroo’s ribs up to the bottom of his biceps makes him blubber and babble like a brook filled with rocks of all shapes and sizes.

And, once Kuroo almost gets used to the pattern, he wiggles all five fingers into each underarm which has the former straight up screaming like he’s being murdered.

After the nth round of this routine, because Tsukishima has all but forgotten…oops, Kuroo’s begging and pleading becomes incoherent.

“FUUHUHUUU! NGHHHH! NAAAAA MOHORE!”

“Really, more?” Tsukishima asks. “Don’t forget, you asked for this.”

Tears stream down his boyfriend’s face as his laughter finally goes silent. “I…c…an’t…”

“Okay. Okay. I think you’ve had enough, silly,” Tsukishima replies with a chuckle, crawling off Kuroo’s arms and helping the latter sit up. Biting his lip, he says, “I didn’t take it too far, did I?”

“What!” Kuroo squawks, waving his hands in front of his chest and then covering his face with his hands. “No. no. I…uh…kindoflikedit.”

Oh.

“Say it again.”

Kuroo tries to hide his face in his hands again. “Nooooo,” he whines. “You already heard it once. I’m not saying it again.”

“Oh come on,” Tsukishima says, bending down to give his boyfriend another kiss, “Be good and tell me again, clearly this time. I want to hear every word.”

Another sound akin to a wheezing kettle comes out of his lover’s mouth. “Oh. My. God. You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“But I can, and I will,” Tsukishima replies. He could get used to this. Kuroo all flustered for him. “Now say it.”

“Nooooooo.”

“I’m waiting.”

“...Fine.” Kuroo takes a deep breath. “I. Liked…it.”

“Well…I guess that makes two of us, then,” Tsukishima peppering Kuroo’s face with kisses until his boyfriend is giggling.

“As long as I get to get my revenge, of course.” Kuroo reaches over to squeeze Tsukishima’s thigh just to hear him squeak.

If he was a different person, he would be pouting, but he settles on prying his lover’s hands away from his face and planting a kiss upon his lips.

“But…We need a safe word or something, so we know for sure if we go too far,” Kuroo says after their lips part, his voice coming out more breathy than normal.

“Mhmm. Yeah. I don’t want to actually kill my boyfriend.”

Kuroo glares back at him in a playful manner. “Based on today, you’re sure as hell going to get as close to that as possible.”

“You love me anyways,” Tsukishima replies while pulling Kuroo into his arms.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

#tickle fic #haikyuu #tsukishima kei #kuroo tetsurou #kurotsukki

81 notes · View notes

kiryoutann · 1 year

Text

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

I appreciate the likes, replies, and reblogs! Thank you so much. If you like what I do, you can consider donating to my Kofi. Once again, thanks so much!

Grief is so hard to hide, isn't it?

Childe despised it. He despised how the illumination along the corridor's walls seemed to dim as he was moving through it. He despised how the people gathered outside his father's door bowed to him before lowering their heads once more with grave expressions.

Childe despised that he had to go through something like this again.

When the big door was opened, Tonia and Teucer's sobbing from next to the bed were the first thing that caught his ear. It was soft but, had the ability to cut his long-dead heart. On the other side of the room, you are standing next to his mother, stroking her shoulder and attempting to sooth her.

Childe despised grief since it reminded him of his mother's expression whenever he spoke of Anton.

“Ajax,”

His mother called out in between her sobs. His blue eyes were fixed on her, watching her struggled to gather the last of her energy to approach him and give him a weak hug. Why was she hugging him?

"Your father.." A sob. "He... he's gone."

Snezhnaya's king, King Alexander II, is gone. He's dead, and the only thing left to give the dead was a funeral. The royal family held it the next day, sending their nation into mourning and leaving both the royals and the people dressed in black.

However, not a single tear fell from Childe.

All he did was stand next to you while watching the funeral process being carried out. Beneath the memorial chapel, blue eyes follow the outline of the casket where his father lies.

Again, not a single tear fell from Childe.

“Ajax?”

It wasn't until you gently tugged on Childe's sleeve that he realized he was buried in his own thoughts. When he meets your eyes he can't help but wonder what you think of him now you see his face without the tear stains on his cheeks. He should be grieving, which means he should be crying, right?

Meanwhile, from your eyes, you notice that his blue eyes look even emptier than before.

You took a breath before saying, "We'll be returning to the palace soon."

“..Oh.” He gave you a delayed response.

But, you make no complaint about it. You gave him a quick peek through your black birdcage veil before hooking your hand on his, gently pulling to guide him to leave the building.

Childe detested grief because he found it weird.

The two of you stopped when a group of aristocrats came towards you both. One of them is Duke Maxim, whom you remember from having tea with you just before the incident. They bowed respectfully before rising to their feet.

“Your Highnesses.” Maxim greeted, turning completely to Childe then. "To encounter you again in such a setting... how unfortunate."

There is something about his voice that you don't like, even if you are unsure of what it is. Childe next to you is still in silence, either he doesn't know what to say or he is deaf to what is being spoken since he has been lost in his own thoughts during the entire funeral.

You chose to be the one who opened your mouth, “Duke Maxim, is there something you want to say?” you ask.

Maxim's face is hardly covering his real expression right now. Perhaps it's because of your tone, or perhaps he regards you as someone who doesn't deserve to hear what he has to say. Yet, he had little choice because Childe stood there with no response.

"I simply wanted to remind you that the meeting discussing the succession should be held today."

Now you know exactly what it is about his presence here that you dislike. Maxim did show respect for the deceased by wearing black like other nobles attending funerals, however, he lacked the modicum of common sense that told him that for someone to bring up the subject of inheriting the throne when the late king's coffin had just been closed was inappropriate.

Your jaw stiffens from your attempts not to curse him then and there. "Excuse my impoliteness but, can you show a little self-awareness? We just laid to rest the late King.” You didn't hide the venom dripping in your voice.

“Forgive my rudeness, but it appears Your Highness is unaware of the importance of a new king for Snezhnaya.” One of them opened their mouth. You fixed your sharp eyes on the arrogant looking man in military uniform.

It's so miraculous you haven't flung one of your high heels in their face.

"Would holding the conference on the day of the burial change anything?"

The rhetorical question comes from you, answered by none. You still try not to raise your intonation and cause a scene but, it feels impossible when they appear in front of you with their foolishness.

Your hands wrap around Childe's arms tighter than before, protective in case they intend to snatch him away from you (though you know that's unlikely). “Give my husband some time. If you're intelligent and empathetic in the slightest, you'll know you have to give him at least a week to process everything." you demand.

Neither of them dared to open their mouths after that. Wise decision, you think, considering your patience is growing thin.

One of them broke the silence with a faked cough. "Ahem, We will be back tomorrow morning then, Your Highness."

Both you and Childe gave no response to him, he used the opportunity to continue, "For the discussion regarding the succession and also the investigation of Prince Shiva."

Instantly, your eyes open wide to find the man trying to hold back his grin from coming out. He knew very well what he had said. The confusion and anger on your face is too obvious for them not to notice, yet they see no threat in it.

"Why on earth would you do that?" You grind your teeth.

"Surely that is obvious. All of this took place during the late king's meeting with him. It is only natural for us to suspect him.”

“But, Shiva couldn't have done such a—!“ You stopped when realization hit you.

Isn't this exactly what you thought the day before? Didn't you also suspect Shiva? Something whispering to you is not a coincidence for the King to show the exact symptoms of poisoning as you did before his death.

If you, his own sister, are unsure that your brother is completely clean, what about others?

On the other hand, your words that you cut yourself off put those bunch of nobles under the impression you too had realized it. Now, they have no intention of covering up their grin, they look at you with a look as if they have won something.

"What's wrong, Princess? Have you nothing to say?”

Hold it, (Y/N), you tell yourself as you take a deep breath to quiet the raging emotions inside of you. A second later, the burning fire that was your anger miraculously disappeared as if someone had splashed water on it. Rational thought comes back to you, it whispers so you don't give them what they want.

"No," you respond. "It was very understandable. So, you are free to do as much investigation as you like on my brother." But, if Shiva is proven to be innocent, you will be the first person I feed to wolves, you want to add but, didn't.

When you turned to look at Childe, he still had the same straight face and blank stare. Now you feel guilty having to argue with these people in front of him. A smile you forced on your face for them.

"Please excuse us." You softly motioned your husband to walk past the nobles.

Childe remained silent throughout the carriage trip to the palace. He only glances up when you put your hand on his to give him a gentle squeeze; for the rest, those blue eyes find his shoes to be the most interesting to look at. Because of that, you assumed he would remain that way for quite sometime. That is until you walk him into his chamber.

“Please rest, Your Highness.”

That's what you said after Childe sat down on the couch near his bed. Just as you were about to bow to excuse yourself to give him some alone time, he opened his mouth unexpectedly.

"Aren't I a horrible person?"

The moment it came out of him, you couldn't help but notice the emptiness in his voice. You straighten your posture again as you gaze at his attempts to give a thin, bitter smile. It was so terrifying how he looked no more alive than a wolf on the verge of death.

Childe let out a laugh that shook his shoulders but, never touched his eyes.

“My father died but, I didn't shed any tears. Am I not a cruel son?” He isn't waiting for your response because he knows, he is the worst person in the world.

Childe despised grief because he didn't know what to feel about it.

With a room this big, your cursing should have echoed. However, what his hearing now captures is your footsteps getting closer. Stop, he thought. How can you be so brave to approach someone so cruel that he doesn't cry over his father who died the slowest and most painful death possible?

"I'm not even grieving." He let out a scoff. "Perhaps they were right when they said I didn't have a passion for anything but bloodshed. Perhaps they were right about me being heartless—”

It was the warmth he felt when you closed him in your arms and drew him into your embrace. Those blue eyes widened. You bring him further to rest his head on your chest. At this point, you don't care if he can hear your heartbeat; the fact that you're this close proves that you don't see him the way he sees himself.

Soft, ginger strands between your fingers as you stroke his head. “There is no right or wrong way to grieve.” You spoke softly. "Everyone handles it differently, therefore no one has the right to judge you, including yourself.”

Childe believes he really does not deserve you. This is a luxury that no amount of money in the world can purchase. In your arms, he unfolds, not a single part of his cold, dead heart is left untouched by your comfortable glow. He never wanted anything so much than to drown in everything about you. His secret becomes your truth, you are the air he would kill to breathe.

As if he'd spent his entire life practicing for it, his hands found your waist and hugged you tightly.

Inside his head, he wondered while performing autopsies on past memories. If only someone treated him like this every time he asked about Anton in the past, would he have a better understanding of grief? If only people didn't force him to bury everything about him, would he not mistake the emptiness in his chest for the absence of a heart?

Childe nuzzles up to your chest. "Don't go.” He spoke quietly. “Stay with me."

You've experienced a lot of déjà vu during the last several days. This time, you're reminded again with the memory of when Childe came to you drunk and said exactly the same thing. You don't know what to feel now you realize there's no alcohol involved in this one.

Nonetheless, through your questions about the meaning of his words, you made your choice.

You stayed.

It was late at night when Laura arrived at the address you gave her. She pushed back her hood, sweeping her dark eyes across the exterior of the luxurious mansion where the Crown Prince of Liyue stayed whenever he visited Snezhnaya. Unlike other nobles, Shiva always preferred to reside in the home he purchased over the Emerald palace.

Even though the eyes of the guard guarding the gate were sharp, Laura tried to muster up the courage to approach them.

“State your business.” The voice was firm and fast, leaving no gaps for her to make excuses.

In an effort to get the bravery to speak, Laura swallowed. "I-I have a letter from Euryphaessa to His Highness Prince Shiva." She's hoping the guard would let her in using the alias you instructed her to use.

It appears to work. The expression on the two guards' faces changed to one of curiosity before one of them ran through the gate to announce the arrival of this guest.

Soon after, he came back and led Laura into the building. After passing through a large door, she stopped in a room with a luxurious spiral staircase that was his main focus.

"Why did she send a letter all of a sudden?"

Laura almost jumped out of her skin when she heard his baritone voice. When she turned around, Shiva was already standing some distance away from her in his bathrobe. His damp hair dripped with water drops that touched his skin, creating the illusion that it glittered in the light of the chandelier. The Liyue imperial family was undoubtedly gifted with attractive appearances.

“A-ah.. that..”

Instantly, she lost her ability to form words under those piercing gazes. In order to spare her life, Laura hastily handed the letter into his hands. She watched as he tore open the unwaxed envelope and pulled out the paper inside.

Shiva raised one eyebrow before starting to read.

Brother,

You're returning to Liyue, right? On this sad day, I cannot leave my husband who is still in mourning. Under any other circumstances, I would definitely escort you to the harbor instead of sending a letter.

Are you alright? Remembering what happened makes me tremble. Even now, I become frightened every time someone brings me a cup of tea.

Shiva paused for a moment. You're afraid? It felt strange and worrying at one time. Nonetheless, he pushed the thought aside and continued reading to the third paragraph.

Upon your arrival in Liyue, please take care of your health. Now that you've matured, I hope you'll be wiser. Do you still often train with General Alatus? Endure all your difficulties, I believe it will bring positive consequences. Rest is always necessary; avoid staying up too late.

“No wonder she rarely writes letters. She's really bad with words.” he commented.

Someone told me that your expression is scary. Usually, I wouldn't have given this any thought, but, for some reason, I am now. Sometimes, I wish you could smile more. People will easily like you if you do. It would be great if my brother had more reliable acquaintances. Can you do that? I believe you can. Other than that, I don't think I have anything else to be concerned about. Now that I've said it, I hope you'll heed my wise counsel.

After writing this, I'm reminded of the moments I spent with you. Do you remember what we used to do when we were kids? Do you recall how we almost ruined all of Dad's important letters because we were too intrigued about the contents?

After reading the fifth paragraph, Shiva furrowed his brows as his mind searched for his past memories. The day you and him almost ruined the Emperor's important papers..

Something clicked in the back of his head.

Reading letters to improve your skill to decipher their hidden messages is a passion shared by the two of you. But, why are you suddenly bringing up that?

As he read the next one, Shiva's presumption was proven to be correct.

The contents of this letter I wrote are important, so please ensure that you understand my worries.

Your dear sister, (Y/N).

Shiva swept his eyes over the letter, re-reading it looking for the 'content' of the letter that worried you. His brain thinks what kind of secret code you put in it. For him to understand what you actually want to say, how should he read this letter?

Ancient letter code? No, you won't use it since it's possible that he has forgotten how to crack it. If you wanted to send a letter while trying to disguise its true message, you would choose the simple way yet, still ensuring it's not entirely obvious that someone other than Shiva can understand it.

Shiva stopped thinking. What if..

Laura wondered what brought his eyes back to the top of the letter. As she recalls, you only gave her one sheet, however, Shiva acted as if he was trying to memorize every word in it.

What was really in that letter? she thought.

Meanwhile, Shiva was trying to test his assumptions. From the start of your letter until the end, he carefully reads the first letter of every sentence. His breath caught as it made a complete one after reaching the fourth paraghraph.

Y O U. A R E. U N D E R. S U S P I C I O N.

Those four words were enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

There was a long tense silence for Laura, it felt like the calm before the storm. The next thing that happened, Shiva's shoulders shook from the silent laughter that escalated and echoed in the room. He pushed a strand of hair that tickled his forehead while reading the letter for the umpteenth time.

"Ha ha ha! Goodness, she really is something!”

Shiva crumpled the letter until it was shapeless. He landed his eyes on Laura with a big smile that sent chills down her body.

“You!” He pointed at her. “Tell the Princess that I understand her worries.”

There was a dangerous stir in his irises as he unclenched his fist and let the paper fall onto the marble floor. When Laura was about to nod in understanding, Shiva opened his mouth again.

"And one more thing,"

The most arrogant smile graced his handsome face.

"Tell her, that no one can touch me."

Though she didn't fully understand what he meant, Laura nodded quickly before bowing to take her leave. She had never been so eager to leave a room this quickly. Her wobbly feet almost knocked her over as she was in such a hurry to reach the door to give you his message.

"He said that?"

You asked Laura after hearing what Shiva told her to tell you. You see her giving you a nod through the mirror.

Evidently, sending him a letter in secret code was the perfect move. To be completely honest, when you first started writing it, you weren't sure if Shiva would get the sense of what you were saying. Even though Laura is now obliged to stand by your side, it is still possible that she will read your letter and use it as a chance to threaten you back if you write it too obviously. One could never be too careful.

You also avoided meeting him so that Snezhnaya's nobles didn't think you were working together. Shiva now knows what might happen in the future, therefore you should start looking into the incident on your own.

The jewelery box on the dresser was opened, revealing various kinds of expensive jewels inside. You took the necklace with the yellow gem and handed it to Laura.

"You have done well."

“T-thank you, Your Highness!” She immediately received it from your hands.

Though you can't really confirm Shiva is completely clear of this incident, you hope it's not him. If Shiva later fails to keep his word and gets 'touched' by the nobles, it's not impossible for them to suspect you, considering you were also at the same table as the King yesterday.

But, if it turns out that Shiva poisoned Snezhnaya's king—Childe's father—then, which side should you take?

A knock on your bedroom door was heard before you found the answer. It swings open when you tell them to come in and shows Countess Sasha. She approaches you, gives you a polite bow before stating her purpose of coming.

"Your Highness, someone is pleading to see you."

You furrowed your brows, "Who?" You don't recall having an appointment with anyone.

"It's Duchess Anna."

You can't hide the uncertainty on your face. Princess Anna? In this situation, what could she possible want to say? When she requests a meeting without an appointment, especially while the entire palace is still in grief, you want to call her out for being impolite, but deep down you are left wondering what compelled her to do that.

With a sigh, you say, "I'll meet her."

One of the drawing room is where you stand after the door closes to give you and the brown haired woman in the seats some privacy. Anna hurriedly stood up to bow to you before raising her head again.

“Your Highness—”

“How impertinent,” You interrupted her without even a smile on your face. “to ask me to meet you outside of an appointment and while we are all still in mourning. Unless you are not grieved by the tragedy that happened?”

A loud gasp escaped her red lips. “No! T-that's not it, Your Highness! I'm come to inform you of an important matter!"

"You ought to be." You said. “Start talking."

Duchess Anna bit her lip in frustration, you really don't spare even small talk. Though, it's quite understandable considering your relationship and what she has done to you (even if that was from your manipulation). She took a breath, preparing herself which you thought was too much of a waste of time.

"About His Highness agreement with my husband which was cancelled,”

Although her words cause you to raise an eyebrow, you choose to keep quiet and let her continue.

The expression on your face should be enough to tell her that you don't like where this conversation is going. Yet like most people, Anna has a cause to defend—in this case, she is fighting for herself.

"I beg you to convince His Highness to make a new agreement with him."

Anna is a lot of things that you can't describe. But, you never thought she would be this lowly. You clicked your tongue in disgust, making sure it was loud enough for her to know the sight of her sickened you.

"And why should I do that?" you ask.

The Duchess locked her jaw, both from frustration and embarrassment at seeing no difference in your expression after hearing her request. “Please, please! I will do whatever you ask of me in exchange for it. Maxim—my husband—threatened to divorce me if I couldn't resolve the situation!” Her voice was full of despair.

Maybe under different circumstances, you would pity her. However, the agreement she was referring to involved Liyue in it, and you forbid anyone to lay a hand on it.

A scoff escaped you. “Is this what you mean by 'important matter'? Not only are you utterly ignorant, you're also disturbing my time of grieving just for things like this.” Your voice is full of poison that shows the shock on her face.

“Your Highness!” Anna screamed as you started to turn around to walk out of the room. “Your Highness! You will regret this!”

How dare she to say that. You gave her one last glance and found her face red from anger. Duchess Anna.. would she come up to you and slap you like the last time?

The next thing she said froze you in place.

“Something bad is going to happen!”

What?

What does she mean by that?

Before you could turn to her and ask what she meant, the familiar excruciating headache made you lose the strength to stand up. Unknowingly, your hand reaches for the doorknob to support your unsteady legs.

A vision. After a long time of not getting one, you receive one in the worst situation. In the next second, you get a glimpse of what the future holds.

It was a man—no, a group of men whose faces you couldn't see clearly. They huddled around a big table to discuss about something. One of them tapped his full ring finger on it to get the attention of the whole room.

"Then it's decided." he started. "On the second day of the throne succession conference, the great plan will be carried out!" He said proudly, “Prince Childe will get what he should have had a long time ago.”

A small vial filled with purple liquid was displayed before he continued with his voice unable to hide a smirk within it.

“This poison is the perfect gift for him.”

The vision ended there as you tried to collect your breath. Your heart is beating too fast for you to realize that your maids are already around you worrying about you.

No..

Fear abounds. You clenched your trembling fists. Behind your head, you draw conclusions from what you just saw.

Someone is planning to kill Childe.

AbbyBianx, ness

@thelovelydiviner @r0ttenhearts @tsunotaro-san @yguchild @a-random-bored-person @ajaxstar @dandelimoonus @deemayaz @sxztus @meiraloves2dmen @bananazzzen @sugarxbxby123 @httpmitsuya @kaiyoschaos @ganyuzuri @enviouspeanut @justreadings @nat1203 @creamiepudding @childes0nlywife @hieraethx @r0se-r4men @cyn9 @bluelovesleep @sucrosia @undecidingfate @funicidals @geozhong @chipzho

If I wrote your username wrong, please let me know TT_TT For those who can’t be tagged, please make sure the setting for "Allow this blog to appear in search results” is turned on.

162 notes · View notes

tightjeansjavi · 1 year

Text

Endings Create New Beginnings

Burning in a Hopeless Dream | The Prologue: Part 2 (final part)

(Joel Miller x f!reader)

A/N: I genuinely feel like this might be the most complicated piece I have written in the sense that I went out of my comfort zone a little bit. Rather focusing on dialogue, I used a lot of descriptions of what the reader is going through, what she is mourning and what Joel is feeling as she goes through this. To be completely honest with you? This is beautiful. It’s tragic in the sense that these two people have no idea just how meaningful they will soon be to one another. I feel like I have done them a justice by writing their true beginning. There are dark themes throughout this piece so please tread carefully. Please read part 1 before this piece and while this is Joel and Gwen’s story, I have written it as a readers perspective. There are no physical descriptions of the reader.

Thank you for reading ♡

~word count: 5.1k~

Summary: after losing your lover, and friends of 5 years, you find yourself running straight into Joel Miller, and his partner, Tess Servopoulos. You don't know it then, but your life is about to drastically change forever.

Warnings: dark themes, depression, mourning, suicidal thoughts, guilt of one’s death, feelings of being trapped, isolation, dark thoughts in both the reader and Joel’s mind, hinting at soulmates without directly stating it, stubbornness, banter, empathy, jealously, secret pining, feelings of denial, mistrust, anxiety, brief depiction of a knife wound, stitches, alcohol consumption, confusing thoughts, fear of the unknown, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of the reader, (+18) minors dni!

Songs Used:

“I Wonder” by Shawn Mendes

“The Alcott” by The National and Taylor Swift

“Lift Me Up” by Rihanna

“The View Between Villages” by Noah Kahan

“Everything Has Changed” by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran

“My Cell” by the Lumineers

“Second Chances” by Gregory Alan Isakov

“Dear Patience” by Niall Horan

“After the Storm” by Mumford & Sons

You quickly came to the realization that Joel and Tess’s ‘empathy’ only stretched so far. You weren’t even sure if empathy was the right word to use, especially when it came to Tess. She had no issues showing her glaringly obvious distaste towards you. You really couldn’t blame her, simply for the fact that only a mere few hours ago, you had thrown your knife at Joel’s face. If you were in her shoes, you would have felt the same way that she did.

Joel and Tess didn’t take you to the QZ right away. It created a rather awkward, and tense situation given the circumstances. Your mind played tricks on you, and made you believe that maybe the pair had changed their mind. Maybe they were going to kill you after all. Joel could smell the stench of your fear from a mile away as he slowed his heavy footsteps down.

“Easy.” He spoke softly to you. “We have to wait for nightfall before we can sneak you in. There’s a set curfew that starts at 6pm, till 6a.m. Tess and I are always breakin’ the rules, and this ain’t our first rodeo. FEDRA only patrols specific blocks at a time. Our apartment isn’t far from the main entrance. So, once it’s late enough, we’ll sneak you in through the tunnel system. You won’t have to worry about runnin’ into any QZ residents either. If we do happen to be caught by FEDRA, you run, and you don’t don’t look back. Do I make myself clear?” His back was resting along a nearby tree, arms crossed over his chest. His tone may have been soft, but you averted making eye contact with him regardless.

“How long have you and Tess lived in the QZ?” you scratched the outside of your arm absentmindedly. The rain had since long passed, but your clothes were entirely soaked through. Joel could see your body trembling, shivering from where he was leaned up against the tree.

“A while. I’ll be honest, ain’t no one really keeps track of how many days, months, years have gone by. They’ve all blended together for me at this point.” He gave a small shrug of his shoulders before he gently pushed himself off the tree, taking a few steps towards you. “Hey, are you cold? Would you like my jacket?”

You took a hesitant step back when he approached you and Tess scoffed at your inability to recognize that Joel wasn’t going to kill you. He wasn’t going to harm you. She turned her nose up at the fact that you were still acting like a frightened cornered animal.

“No thank you. I’m fine. Please..don’t come any closer to me.” You whispered.

Joel let out a visible sigh as he shrugged his thick layered jacket off of his body. “You’re gonna catch a nasty fuckin’ cold shiverin’ like that. Take the jacket.” He firmly demanded as he held the coat in his outstretched hand towards you. “I won’t come any close to you, but take the damn jacket.”

You knew he was right and despite wanting to show a hint of stubbornness, and to prove that your brain hadn’t entirely been fried by trauma, you reached for his coat, grasping the material between your fingers. You briefly made eye contact with him as you slipped your arms through the sleeves. The material was warm, warmer than you had expected. The outside layer of fabric had a residual scent of whiskey, pine, and woodsmoke. A wave of nostalgia washed over you, and Joel could see the emotions swirling through your pupils, as if they were trying to tell him a story; mapped out delicately in your irises.

“Thank you.” Your tone was barely above a whisper.

“Don’t mention it.” He returned to his prior position against the evergreen, arms crossed, stern gaze falling on you.

When the sun began to set, and the sky grew into an endless black pit, with only the pale moonlight to guide you, Joel and Tess guided you to their secret entrance into the QZ. A series of underground tunnels that ran under the QZ. Smuggling routes that Joel and Tess knew by heart.

The tunnels had you feeling claustrophobic in some moments. With only Joel’s flashlight as a light source, it was easy for your heart to start racing in your ribcage. Everytime you could hear the sound of Fedra trucks driving above ground, you squeezed your eyes shut tight. You had heard hushed whispers of what the quarantine zones were really like and more than ever now, you were missing your close knit camp with your once living friends.

Tess was the first to climb out of the hole in the ground, surveying the area while Joel offered you his hand and carefully hoisted you up. The streets were quiet sans the distant shouts of FEDRA soldiers. Joel was already nudging you up the street, gun drawn at his side. You were overwhelmed with the newfound stench of the quarantine zone. A mixture of filth, soot, and ash burned your nostrils and watered your eyes. The smell of rotting flesh nearly had you gagging, feeling lightheaded. Had they lied to you? Why did they bring you here? Was the quarantine zone just disguised as a raiders commune? Joel promised he wouldn’t hurt you, he promised–

“Hey, hey. Easy now darlin.’ You’re safe. That smell? It’s..not what you think it means.” He whispered under his breath as he gently grasped your arm. “When FEDRA brings in potential new residents, they’re put through a series of screenings and tests. If you’re found to be infected..they administer a shot that puts ya to sleep. Pretty much is like euthanizing a dog, or a cat. After they put you to sleep, your body is burned in a huge pit. It’s one of the more grueling jobs in the QZ, but it pays well with ration cards.”

Tess was already a few lengths ahead of you and Joel as she impatiently waited for the two of you. “Uh, any day now would be really fuckin’ nice.” She harshly whispered through the dead of night.

“C’mon. Our apartment is just a couple blocks east. We gotta move fast though, alright?”

All you could do was nod as Joel nudged you in front of him to keep moving forward. He couldn’t see your face, but he just had a feeling that his jacket was bringing you some form of comfort similar to the way you felt earlier. You were indeed using his jacket, and the nostalgic smell it gave off to pacify your apprehension. Whether or not Joel saw you turn your face into the collar, was the least concern on your mind.

Whiskey, pine, woodsmoke. Whiskey, pine, woodsmoke. Whiskey, pine, woodsmoke.

Home. Home. Home.

Joel and Tess’s apartment was not what you were expecting it to look like. There was an odd sense of comfort that the small living area particularly gave off. Perhaps it was the dense multi-colored quilt that rested along the weathered couch. The quilt itself looked well loved, and you imagined being wrapped in it must have felt as close as a warm hug did. She gave the best fucking hugs. She’s dead now. You left her for dead. Her body is rotting away in the earth, and the insects have made their home in her flesh and here you fucking stand. You hadn’t even heard Tess shuffling around in the tiny kitchen behind you. You hadn’t detected the sound of a liquor bottle being popped open. Nor the splash of amber into a chipped crystal glass. All you could hear were her distant screams, and your ears painfully ringing in your skull.

“..Darlin?’” There was a certain edge to Joel’s voice. A low rasp that was ridden with exhaustion, and his own terrors. He wanted to tread carefully when approaching you. He wasn’t sure why he gave a damn in the first place. Why did his last shred of humanity fall upon your trembling shoulders? He could see your lower lip wobble in the faint reflection of the grime covered windows. He knew your friends were dead. Raiders had murdered them and you ran. There was more to the story. There were always more pages left unturned. Whatever words were written on your parchment, he imagined they were painful. The kind of pain that had you clutching your fist to your chest, clawing at the skin to rip your heart from its strings. The kind of pain that wrecked silent sobs through your body. Where tears were un-shed because your body had spent them all. The kind of pain that dried your soul to dust, ash between your trembling fingers. The kind of pain that would have your arms squeezing your broken body so tightly, you couldn’t breathe. Rocking yourself as a mother would rock a crying child except, no one was there to hold you. No lullabies were to be sung, no soft touches were to be felt. No one was there to tell you that the world wasn’t always this cruel. That the sun would always shine another day, warm your skin, feed your soul. That you wouldn’t feel trapped, clawing desperately to reach the surface as the current drags you further and further into darkness. Waves crashing, tumbling, jostling what is left of your withered being until you give up. Phantom shadows, enveloping you in a never ending chill. So cold. So alone. So broken. So beaten.

Joel knew the inner turmoil that you were facing as if it was the back of his hand. It was in a sense. He too knew of indescribable pain not that long ago. When his own soul was turned to dust between his fingers. When her body went cold in his arms as he clutched her to his chest. When he felt like breathing was the hardest thing to do. When his own tears were spent, deep salty caverns laid their claim on his cheekbones that used to ache from joyous laughter and smiling too hard. He knew of the pain you presently endured all too well.

His hand gently clasped over your shoulder, squeezing the worn fabric that encased your skin in warmth. “C’mon. I’ll uh–I'll show you to your room, okay?”

You shuddered from his touch, feeling your senses being knocked back into you like a wrecking ball turning concrete to rubble. You pulled away from his touch, caving in on yourself.

You felt his hand retract and fall to his side. He let out a deep sigh as he made brief eye contact with his partner that wasted no time on giving him the “I told you so” look before she downed her glass of whiskey in one harsh gulp, slamming the glass down on the counter with a crashing thud.

The sudden sound sent your body jolting as you followed Joel’s heavy footsteps down the narrow hallway. He pushed the door at the end of the hall open, standing off to the side. “It ain’t much, but you got a bed to sleep on and a decent blanket to keep warm. I’ll have to convince Tess to lend you some of her clothes. I imagine you ain’t got much in that bag of yours. Anyway, you should get some rest. You’re safe now.” His arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against the peeling wallpaper.

“Thank you.” Was all you could muster out as you stepped into your new living space. Joel was right. It wasn't much, but it was more than you had in years.

“You’re welcome.” He softly pulled the door shut to give you the privacy that you didn’t realize you were desperately seeking. You listened to the heavy creaks of the floorboards beneath his boots disappear. You stood there for what felt like hours before you slowly sunk down onto the old mattress. You didn’t move. You didn’t cry. You didn’t sleep. You sat there all night long staring into the void as your mind ran excruciating circles. Head rocking like a pendulum with no end in sight. Eyes glazed, lifeless, dull, ghostly. As if all the wondrous color had been sucked from your soul. The world through your eyes now was dark, dismal, tenebrous. A swirling black pit oozing with sorrow. Dripping in overflowing guilt. Like toxic sludge bubbling and bursting through the cracked crevices in the fragments of your vanquished heart.

It's all my fault.

I did this.

I caused this.

She’s dead.

They’re dead.

Here I am, surrounded by darkness in an undeserved warm bed.

Wishing I was dead too.

Two broken heartstrings, bleeding the sad sad blues. Separated by thin walls, peeling wallpaper, creaky floorboards. Two shattered souls; unbeknownst on how devoted they would soon grow for one another. Silent sobs, nightmares, darkness consumed. Struggled breaths, dealt the same cards; fortunes foretold, they have met before.

You mourned the loss of your lover and friends for what felt like endless years. In reality, it was two weeks of you isolating yourself in your room. Two weeks of numbing yourself to the pain where all that was left was the outer shell of who you used to be. Where was she now? You had yourself convinced that part of your soul died along with the ones that you loved. Maybe it had, and maybe that part of you was never going to reach the surface again.

You soon learned that Joel Miller was a persistent man. He respected your privacy, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t go out of his way to make sure that you hadn’t offed yourself in those two long weeks. He would leave food outside your door in hopes that you wouldn’t let yourself wither away entirely. Each morning, he’d find the wrapped jerky, and long since stale biscuits untouched.

On the nights where Joel was unable to relax into sleep, he’d quietly, and carefully untangle his limbs from Tess’s before leaving their shared room. He’d find himself seated against your door, back aching at the uncomfortable angle he was in. For whatever reason he was feeling desperate to know anything, and everything he could about you. Your name, where you were from, did the sorrows and grief of your past haunt your dreamless nights just as his did?

“Can you just fuckin’ let me know you’re alive behind this door? ‘Cus I’m sitting here with an achy back for whatever goddamn reason so the least you can do is let me know you’re alive. Would greatly appreciate it.”

He was met with no answer from the other side of the door.

“Can you tell me your name, darlin?’” You heard his whisper through the thin door that separated him from you. Maybe he needed to take a softer approach, despite the fact that Joel Miller was anything but soft.

“I can’t tell you my name.” You spoke soullessly through the impending darkness that surrounded you.

So you weren’t dead behind the door, thank god. He thought to himself.

“Why can’t you tell me your name?” He pressed you further.

A pregnant pause, seconds ticking by as he awaited your answer. The floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you slowly rose from the crumpled sheets, and padded quietly to the door. You sunk down, back against the thin wood right where he was resting on the other side.

“Because everything that’s mine is a landmine Joel. Every single fucking person that knows my name is dead. Every. Single. One. They’re all dead. You’re better off not knowing my name or who I am, or where I came from. Knowing someone’s name is personal. It becomes a personal interaction and I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want anything to do with that.” You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin against them with a heavy sigh.

“Now listen, I ain’t into all that superstitious crap. So you’re tellin’ me that you think everyone who knows your name is like fuckin’ doomed or somethin?’ That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever fuckin’ heard darlin.’” I ain’t gonna die if you tell me your name.” He fought the urge to scoff but you could feel his demeanor through the door.

“Well, fine. What about you? What’s your story?..Joel…?” You paused, realizing you only knew his first name.

“Miller. Last name is Miller, and wouldn’t ya like to know, darlin.’” He was smirking to himself as he crossed his arms over his chest taking in a deep inhale before exhaling.

“Well, yeah. That’s why I asked.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not tellin’ you anythin’ ‘bout myself till you tell me your name.” He stated as a-matter-of-factly.

“Oh? Well, guess that just means you’re gonna be sitting there for an awful long fucking time, Joel Miller from Texas.”

“How the hell did you know I was from Texas? Is my accent really that thick?” His eyes were open now as he gently rested the back of his head against the door.

“Yeah. It’s a pretty obvious southern accent. Hard to miss it.”

“Fair enough. How about this, can you give me the first letter of your name?” He was still on the topic of your name? For fuck sakes, did this man ever give up?

“No.” Was your immediate response.

“C’mon. Just the first letter, and then I promise I won’t ask ya again. Deal?”

You rubbed your fingers against your temples taking a deep breath when you realized that Joel was absolutely persistent in the most insufferable way possible. You mumbled out the first letter of your name begrudgingly.

“Was that so hard to tell me?”

“Yeah, it was. Now can you please fucking drop it? I don’t want to tell you my name, and I’d really would just appreciate the fact if you would just fucking accept that, alright? Thanks.”

Joel could sense your frustration through the door as his nails picked at the skin around his cuticles till they would tear and bleed. The light sting of his skin being split open was one that was familiar and oddly soothing. “Alright, darlin.’ I won’t pry any further. You have my word.”

A few minutes of silence had passed between the two of you. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he turned his body, resting his cheek along the splintered wood with a heavy sigh. It was frustrating to him that he couldn’t quite figure out why he was so immediately drawn to you. That he was causing his back to ache even more and for what? Just so he knew that you were alive? Why the hell did he care so much?

This became a routine for the two of you on the nights that sleep would not come. Sometimes you’d sit in complete silence and other times Joel would press for you to talk about anything. He wanted to get to know you, in whatever way you would allow him too. It was a challenging task and you proved to be tougher than he thought.

You never wanted to admit it, but Joel Miller wasn’t the most awful company to have in the odd hours of the morning.

It took just about a month for you to find your footing. Your body physically could not handle mourning what was no longer physically there in your grasp. Your brain was constantly in survival mode. Even now when you clearly were safer than you had ever been before, your brain hardly let you rest. Joel was not lying when he said that the most grueling jobs in the QZ paid handsomely in ration cards. You took every shitty job you could get your hands on. It was a good distraction from the constant thoughts racing through your mind. It was tricky, but somehow you had avoided working any jobs with your new “roommates.”

Despite your efforts to remain neutral with Tess, you still managed to evoke the woman in showing a deep distaste for you. She was far more intimidating than Joel was. It was obvious who was the brains of their operation, but you were also aware that Tess packed a lethal bite. It was only a short time ago that she threatened to gouge your eyes from your skull.

Some weeks you wouldn’t see Joel or Tess for days at a time. Not that it really bothered you because having the apartment to yourself had its perks. The biggest one being you didn’t feel like you had daggers trained on the back of your head. The downfall was that you were alone with your thoughts..and they weren’t going away.

“You enjoyin’ those late night chats with our new house guest?” Tess bitterly asked as Joel was patching up her arm alongside a crumbling alley outside the QZ. They had just traded a couple guns for some pills when 2 outsiders ambushed. Joel of course made both thugs regret that they had ever been born, but Tess had a fairly large gash along her forearm from a switchblade. Luckily for her it wasn’t muscle deep, but she’d still need stitches.

“What’re talkin’ about Tess?” Joel met her burning gaze as he dabbed away the blood. There was a stray sweaty curl blurring his vision and he paused his movements when she gently brushed it away.

“You don’t know what I’m talkin’ about? Bullshit, Joel. The walls are paper fuckin’ thin. Look, don’t you think she’s more than capable of bein’ off on her own? I agreed that we not kill her, but for fuck sakes. I don’t like the fact that she’s livin’ with us.” Tess didn’t want to admit outloud, but the main reason for her distaste towards you was because she viewed you as a threat. To what exactly? Well, it wouldn’t take a rocket science to figure out that Tess Servopolous was finding herself growing jealous anytime Joel diverted his attention from her, onto you. She knew it was silly, and a little embarrassing at the core, but Joel was hers. She was his, and she’d be damned if anyone got between that.

“Do’ya hear yourself right now? Look, you wanna be mad at me because I just wanted to make sure she didn’t off herself during those two weeks? Fine. Go ahead and be upset with me. I know it ain’t like me to take in strays and bring ‘em home. You and I both know that if we left her in those woods, she would have died. Hell, if Tommy were here? He probably would have killed her as soon as she threw her knife at my face. Do ya remember when he and I found you? Alone, and afraid? It wasn’t that fuckin’ long ago that you were a shell of yourself too, Tess. Tommy and I took ya in. We could have killed you, we could have left you for dead but we didn’t. Not long after you told me what happened to your husband and son. You told me about your loss, and the sacrifices you made to stay alive. I get it, you don’t like her for your own reasons, but you ain’t all that different from each other.” He concluded as he finished stitching up her wound, wrapping it firmly in some cloth before he grasped her hand and helped her up from the rocky ground.

“Fine. All i’m gonna say is that she’s gotta start pullin’ her own weight ‘round here too. You’re the one who said she might be useful to us. So, lets get some good use out of her. Today was a perfect example as to why this operation ran much smoother with three people.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll be goin’ on runs with us soon enough.” Joel zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder along with his rifle. “Let's go home.”

It was springtime now. The air was warmer, there were birds outside the window that could be heard. The sun shone brighter. Despite all of this, you still felt trapped. Trapped in this apartment, trapped in your thoughts, trapped in a droning routine that was draining you day by day. You were desperate to get out. To let your lungs breathe the fresh forest air once more. Your wish was manifesting faster than you thought it would. Joel and Tess were meeting up with their two unlikely friends, Bill and Frank. Tess was against the idea at first, but you learned that Joel could be incredibly convincing when he wanted to be. That’s how you ended up outside the QZ walls after months. Joel would never say it outloud but he wanted to give you a taste of normalcy after everything you had been through. He wasn’t expecting you to thank him or anything. You owed him your life, this was true. However, he’d never ask you to repay him. He only hoped that perhaps you and him could become friends. If friends was even the right word for the journey you and him would find yourselves enduring together.

Frank adored you the moment he laid eyes on you. You believed that people had many different soulmates in their lifetime. Frank had to be your platonic soulmate in every sense. The older man was like a breath of fresh air in your lungs. His hugs reminded you of home, and his eyes were welcoming and kind. He doted you as his “little bird” when you explained why you couldn’t tell him your name. Soon enough you were being whisked into his world of art, music, books, and the simple pleasures in life that you weren’t sure if you’d ever have the privilege of experiencing again.

He showed childlike excitement when you gushed over his artistic abilities. He had all different sizes of canvases in his art room. Many of which were paintings of his polar opposite lover. He also loved to paint nature, flowers, and his favorite plants. The colors were warm, vibrant, and full of life.

“One day I'll paint a portrait of you in the wildflowers out back, how does that sound to you little bird?” His warm arm was wrapped loosely around your shoulder, a warm smile gracing his gentle features.

You were almost certain that you had met Frank in a past life. You felt as if you had known this man forever, and now you were catching up over coffee, and spilling secrets of your shared pasts. You adored him just as much as he adored you. “Wait, there’s wildflowers out back? A whole field of them?” You looked up at the older man with a bright full of life smile. You couldn’t remember the last time you had smiled this hard.

“Yes! An entire field of them. They’re all in full bloom. Would you like me to show you?” He offered you his elbow like the true gentleman he was.

You nodded enthusiastically, grasping his elbow gently as he led you out into the backyard. Your eyes watered when you gazed upon an entire field of different species of wildflowers that sprouted up between the tall thick wild grasses. Asters were your favorite, as Frank came to learn. They were all beautiful of course. Butterflies danced around your head like a fluttering halo. Their delicate wings were different hues of purple as you carefully plucked the flowers into a homemade bouquet.

Joel had been watching from afar. His arms were crossed over his chest, broad muscles bulging through the worn fabric of his flannel. He was half paying attention to the conversation Tess and Bill were having as he was too distracted by you. There was something so surreal to him, seeing you relaxed, and in your element. Could flowers truly bring one person that much pure joy? What was so special about these particular flowers? Did they remind you of home? Were they your favorite? Or did you simply just think they were pretty? Joel wondered as his jaw clenched tightly. Why were you able to find happiness in the littlest of things, and yet he couldn’t. He wondered what it would be like to see the world through your eyes at that moment. A world full of color and life. A world that wasn’t black and white.

Joel Miller wondered, and it terrified him.

He wondered if he was always being real. He wondered if he always spoke his truth, or does he filter how he feels? He wonders why he is so afraid of saying something wrong, when he never claimed to be a saint. He wondered why on the loneliest nights when he would cry into his hands, it conditioned him to feel like he was less than a man.

He wondered—

And then you met his gaze. Eyes sparkling under the warm rays of the sun. A soft smile gracing your lips. A smile different from the one you portrayed around Frank. No, this was a smile that would make any man weak in the knees. A smile that would send a man to his early grave if he never got the privilege to see it again. A smile that would now rot Joel Miller's brain to mush for the rest of the day. A smile that he felt like only he was supposed to see. A smile that had him wonder if one day you’d be by his side and promise him that the world would end up alright.

Your smile hit him like a freight train colliding with his body over, and over again.

It was true, Joel could not stop thinking of the way you smiled at him earlier in the day. He thought about it at the dinner table where he was sitting across from you. He thought about it when he found you and Frank seated side by side at the piano, giggling like two drunk fools after a few too many glasses of wine. Heads leaning against one another like old friends.

He thought about it during the odd hours of the night while Tess was asleep at his side. He stared up at the ceiling, picturing what it would possibly be like to be loved by you. Your smile was etched into his brain like a fucking tattoo. He blinked, and it wouldn’t go away. His thoughts were flooded with you.

darlin’, if my memories of you were ever stolen from my mind, my only hope is that you’d forever haunt my dreams, as someone I used to know; who is now a phantom of my past unknown.

Fin

Tag List: @chaotic-mystery @peterhollandkait @yuly @soft-cryptids @dinsdjrn @myrealmofchaos @itskenziebb @lovers-liability @korynnekorynne @ems-alexandra @kirsteng42 @casssiopeia @novemberrain-writes @goodwithcheese @loquaciousferret @sarahhxx03 @777-wonders @bonglorddaryl @mirasantidotes @luvrking @finnsbubblegum @last-girl @pedrostories @yazsos @pedgeitopascal @wildemaven @sourccream @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @amanitacowboy @morning-star-joy

79 notes · View notes

alexx013 · 1 year

Text

A/N: Hii, I'm finally posting the second part to the "friend who starts ghosting you" story. Angst -> comfort/fluff Characters: Kaveh, Tighnari TW: bitchy friend Written in: Second person Part 1

Kaveh

It was a cloudy but warm Wednesday. The gloomy weather definetely didn’t help with the long lectures at Amurta, so it felt like they lasted for days. Today you learnt about some of the unique to Sumeru types of animals and had to write an 10 page essay about one of them. You chose dusk bird and walked to the main area of The Akademiya to get to the House of Daena. If you wanted to do well, you needed a lot of materials that would help you.

As you walked past the main hall of Akademiya, with the pretty fountain in center you saw your childhood friend – Aarnav with some other people. You used to hang out a lot, but since he decided to join Vahumana you barely talked. He found new friends, and the dark ash-haired boy with his face covered in freckles you knew dissapeared. You walked up to Aarnav and asked:

“Hii, how’s life? “

You didn’t achieve a response however, he looked at you with his nose scrunched from disgust and one raised brow. Then Aarnav walked away, as his friends followed you.

“Ou, that does hurt” you thought to yourself “I spent all of those years by your side and you..”

You thought that the best way to clear your thoughts was to go write this essay. You’d be productive and have something else to think. You walked into the House of Daena, now surrounded by millions if not billions of books. The light scent of wood coming from the bookcases and furniture eased you up a little. You made your way towards the section you wanted and picked up a few books. You took out the necessities from your bag: paper, pen, pencil, some sticky notes to brainstorm ideas on where to put something, and got to writing.

“There are many unique species of animals native to Sumeru. From mammals, even to amphibians. Today I’d like to focus on a species of bird living in the jungles of this nation – Dusk Bird...”

As hours went by, it was already early night. You still sat slumped on your chair writing the goddamn essay. You still had 2 more pages to write, and it didn’t stop you from thinking about the encounter earlier. You lost 2:0.

Then you felt a hand on your arm and a slightly worried voice saying:

“Sweetheart, it’s already late. Why are you still sitting here?”

You turned around and looked at the owner of the voice – your boyfriend Kaveh. He looked quite pretty in the faint lighting coming from the lamp at the desk, yet you could see dark eyebags caused by him staying up to finish one of his projects again. You stood up and sligthly wincing from the pain in your lower back hugged the male. He was warm and had a slight scent of Mourning Flowers, he held you close by the waist pressing his forehead against yours. Then with a quiet voice, as not to startle you he asked:

“Hard day?”

To which you nodded. He took your hand and while gently grasping it pressed a light kiss on your forehead and added.

“How about we take the homework and go to my house. You look like you need a self-care night. Then tommorow, if you still feel bad we’ll go to your favourite place to clear your mind. Or to Port Ormos”

To which you replied:

“But... my homework”

He shushed you and packed all of your things into your black bag. Then offering you his hand, and holding your bag in the second one, he lead you out of the Akademiya. When you were at the entrance placed between pots with leafy plants on both sides you stopped noticing that it started to rain. When he looked at you in confusion you told him that the weather changed. Both of you started searching around for something that would protect you from the rain. You heard him whining:

“When did it start to rain? Oh no, I forgot to bring an umbrella ;--;”

You made a run for it, and 20 minutes later stood outside of his and Alhaitham’s house. The grumpy bookworm opened the door and went back to his book while both of you went inside. You followed Kaveh to his room and took the comfy clothes he picked up, and made your way towards the bathroom to change. You were now wearing a comfy white, oversized shirt and some orange sweatpants. Kaveh joined you in his room few minutes later carrying a light, woven box with a lot of stuff inside. He took out some sheet masks, eye masks, nail polishes, two adorable makeup headbands, a cleanser and a moisturizer. He gave you a froggo one, and put on his one with little lion ears. Then, while handing you the cleanser he asked:

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

You looked at him, thinking for a while and replied:

“I don’t know”

He lightly smiled and said:

“That’s okay, take as much time as you need. If you want to talk, I’m always here”

He booped your nose and continued with the self-care routine. The night passed quickly, full of laughter and breaks for cuddling. You even convinced Alhaitam to paint his nails with both of you, somehow. Well, he agreed to only have one nail painted but that’s still a win. Some hours later you fell asleep in your boyfriend’s embrace with a little smile on your face.

Everything was gonna be okay

Nari

It was a cold, rainy day. You roamed around terrain surrounding Gandharva Village fulfilling your duty as a Forest Ranger. You walked on a grassy path as raindrops hit the trees, and then fell onto you ending their journey sinking into the grass. As usual you were tasked with eliminating any monsters nearby which could pose a threat to the village. The monsters that lived in this area were thankfully mostly Fungi and Hillichurls. Those are easy to defeat as opposed to abyss mages, especially since you did not own a vision which could break its shield.

As you stood at a crossroad you saw a group of Fungi in the distance. You took out your sword and ran towards the enemies. You took the easier ones with a few slashes, while dodging the attacks of the bigger ones. Now that you were left with only two of the more difficult ones to fight you corrected your standing position so it would be easier to land a good hit. But those fuckers decided to fly up, so you reached to your belt with many useful things and chose a few daggers Tighnari made for you, throwing them at the Winged Cryoshroom and Dendroshroom. They fell onto the ground with a huge impact which allowed you to kill them with more ease.

Some hours later, when you finished your patrol, you stood at the entrance to Gandharva Village. You saw your friend standing on a bridge nearby, talking to someone. He was from Fontaine but moved to Sumeru to live a more peaceful and closer to nature life. He had ashy blonde hair and green eyes, his name was Félix. You happily walked up to him and said:

“Hiya, long time no see”

To which he looked at you and then walked away, friends walking behind him. You stood there stunned, that wasn’t the first time it happened, but like why… why?

You decided to go to Tighnari’s hut, he always knew what to do. As you walked inside of his cozy home, filled to brim with books regarding different animal or flower species and healing methods, you smiled slightly. You really liked both this place, because it eased your mind, and its owner. Speaking about the owner, the fennec fox – human hybrid (aka a Valuka Shuna descendant) was sitting on a stool and intensively reading a book with a bottle green cover. You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his neck nuzzling your face in his hair. His ears twiched as he said:

“Good afternoon, dear”

He gently grasped your hand drawing little circles on it with his thumb as his tail slightly wagged and then Nari asked:

“How did the patrol go?”

You kissed him on top of his head and replied:

“Mhm, it went okay. But after that…”

He stood up, putting a bookmark between the pages he was reading and leading you towards his bed (because I don’t think they have the space for couches) making you sit on it. Then he walked up to his tiny stove and poured water into a traditional, ceramic kettle with leaves and flowers drawn on it. Then he looked at you with those soft eyes and asked:

“What type of tea do you want, dear?”

To which you replied

“Anything would be fine. Thank you, Nari”

Tighnari chose a jar with light green tea leaves and colorful chunks of fruits ranging from green to pinkish red, taking it out of the cupboard and putting it in the tea strainers. Then he hummed as the kettle let out a whistly noise meaning the water was ready. He poured the water into the cup and brought it to you as the liquid inside changed colour from transparent to light brown. He put the cup on his nightstand and said:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

To which you nodded, as he opened his arms letting you hug him as much as you need. You gently embraced him, resting your chin on his arm as you felt his hands wrapping around you. You took a deep breath and started talking about how your friend, who you have known for quite some time, has become more and more distant lately to the point where he would just ignore you. And you just didn’t know what to do about it, you didn’t want to lose him. When you finished tears were streaming out of your eyes, but it felt good to be finally able to talk about the topic. Tighnari took your face and while swiping your tears with his thumb said:

“If your friend is abandoning you, it means he wasn’t worth you, dear. Don’t waste any more time trying to save a friendship, which can’t be saved”

He kissed your nose and reached for the tea he made earlier, giving it to you. He smiled and said:

“Harra Fruit tea, will make every sadness disappear"

He hummed, stroking your back as you drank the tea. It was good, the soft notes of fruitiness mixed with the typical green tea taste. When you finished drinking, he set it aside on the nightstand and took your hands in his. He drew lil shapes on them and asked:

“Dear, why do you always have cold hands? That means that your body is constantly in a survival mode, that’s not good. If you want, you can tuck your hands into my tail”

To which you happily buried your hands in his fluffy black and green tail. Both of you made yourself comfortable, one leaning on the other and sat there as nothing besides the wind, the rain hitting the windows and gentle voice of Nari reading the book out loud disturbed the evening.

Soon you forgot about the encounter with your “friend” earlier.

That didn’t matter anymore

#genshin impact #tighnari comfort #tighnari x reader #tighnari x y/n #tighnari x you #kaveh comfort #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you #kaveh x y/n #genshin comfort

108 notes · View notes

cailencrow · 9 months

Note

halloooo, little teeny tiny question… what was it like when you were participating in the Law of Talos tournament????

Hello! Law of Talos is around 15 years old now and I can recall many late nights, drawing into the early morning on sheets of printer paper using only a BIC pen as my art tool. I wasn't talented with photoshop and my shading skills were fairly poor, so I scrambled to do my best with what I had. It was stressful and anxiety inducing at times but always exciting for the most part. I wasn't in the best place financially or emotionally during that time, and my interactions online were all I really had to hold onto to stay sane in those days. The OCT community was a mixed bag of people and personalities and unfortunately with the territory came cliques. Law of Talos was a private OCT, invitation only, and a clique was behind its creation and many of the members of that clique were participants in the tournament while others were judges. It wasn't the most welcome environment if you were someone on the outside of the clique, and it was clear that certain people were being favored to win before rounds even started. The amount of bias towards certain participants was constantly palpable during the tournament and I don't suggest anyone who wants to run an OCT ever follow Law of Talos as a example of how to do it. I will say that I did have fun penning Eric Pockets' story. He's been an OC of mine since 2001 and getting to re-imagine him as we got to meet him in Law of Talos was rewarding. He's near and dear to me and I am proud of a lot of the work I put into that OCT. As well, many of the characters from Law of Talos were extremely fun and I had a blast back then discussing character interactions with the other competitors I was friends with. I lament never getting to face certain competitors, as I would have loved to have Eric do battle with characters like Steffi, Murphy, Chimbley Sweep, or Spoiler. A lot of good people entered into that tournament and some I am still good friends with to this day. One is even my roommate. I've discussed with Unknown Person my ideas for what an Eric vs Karl would have looked like and I will always mourn what could have been. I still, to this day, take umbrage with how my character was handled in the round where he was taken out. I do not think it's very sportsmanlike in a tournament where your character is fighting someone else's character to refuse to feature your opponent's character and it is unfortunate that that tactic was used in a couple of my opponent's submissions. Random unexplained demonic possession occurring during a steampunk tournament? Never did sit well with me. I suppose I can say that Law of Talos served more as a cautionary tale for me? My next OCT after that, Escape from Nevara, was somehow even MORE of a shitshow and almost didn't launch with how mangled the leadership behind the tournament was. OCTs are tricky things to run and you need calm, unbiased leadership at the helm with a good, solid idea to serve as a foundation. Ebon Spire to this day stands out to me as the perfect OCT, run well with unbiased judges and a group of participating artists who (for the most part) respected the story and the other competitors and the tourney actually had an ending wrapped up in a nice bow. It's a rare gem in the sea of failed or rotten OCTs. So, I had fun during Law of Talos and I'm glad I got to be a part of it in the end, but it was rife with problems from the get go. Practically a third of the participants dropped out before Round 3 and it was indicative of the health of the OCT itself. It will never cease to amaze me, however, how popular Karl became though, and the fandom that has arisen around Karl, Climber, and the Castle of Nations, paired with the renewed obsession over Law of Talos, is a constant bizarre delight. I'm glad that something I took part in almost 20 years ago is somehow entertaining a new generation of people and y'all in the fandom are adorable. I might not have had the best experience but don't ever let me yuck your yum. Enjoy what makes you happy and be kind to each other.

#old man yells at cloud

19 notes · View notes

timmymyluv · 2 years

Text

act five.

of the let others wage war-you, happy child, marry.

future tsar/tsesarevich!timothee chalamet x princess!reader x romanov prince!louis partridge

series masterlist

act i

act ii

act iii

act iv

main masterlist

Summary: In foreign land, you travel with your family to England to celebrate your sister Alexandra's marriage to the Prince of Wales. Facing the daunting reality of growing up, and losing your family spread across the continent as your royal profile rises, you learn power comes at a price.

Notes: and finally I'm writing again! I hit a little writing rut and was afraid this would be a filler chapter but every chapter is important and drives the story forward. I hope you enjoy it and please comment & send lots of love and feedback. Thanks!

“—it seemed as if she could dream her life away in such luxury of pensiveness, in which she made her present all in all, from not daring to think of the past, or wishing to contemplate the future.”

― Elizabeth Gaskell, North & South

Crowds cheered as they assembled in droves by the dock, a cloudy, gloomy early September day as your family embarked on the royal yacht the English sent on their behalf called the Victoria and Albert. Hearing your national anthem sung so proudly, you watched Alexandra tear up, moved by the patriotism of her people, and the anguish and grief of leaving her home country for her marriage.

As the boat left the coast, you all waved to your people before you began your hour long journey across the Baltic Sea, then crossing into the English Channel to make your way to your sister’s new motherland.

Feeling her frail, boney hands in yours, you clutch her tight towards yourself, an affirming, comforting squeeze to appease her nerves to the best of her ability. A gentle smile towards her, and she cannot help but mirror your expression, at ease knowing you were there for her.

Falling asleep in her arms, the flickering moonlight peaking through the blinds until you had arrived at Kent in broad daylight. The sun had risen, much earlier than it usually did in Copenhagen or even as far as Aarhus, and the crowds that gathered easily outnumbered the Danes back home. No wonder they said the sun never set in the British Empire, for in every corner of the Earth, touched their influence.

The weeks leading up to the toned down matrimonial service in St. George’s Chapel, cramped and paltry rather than the palatial Westminster Abbey out of the queen’s desire to remain in mourning for her late husband the Prince, and keep it an intimate, brief affair with only a minimal guest list and the most important individuals present only.

Whenever you were not busy socializing with the guests as part of the bride’s side of the family, ceremonial teas, brunches, dinners, fundraisers, rehearsals, dress fittings, you would drown yourself in your ink and parchment.

While your fiance explored Italy, Greece, before making his way to France to join his mother, you wrote to him daily, reaffirming the love you had for him even from a distance, worryingly asking if he still felt the same even after time apart, which he was glad to silence and quiet with his sweet, honeyed promises.

"You tell me that I hold the happiness of a certain person in my hands", she wrote to Timothee. "If that is true, then his happiness is assured forever… this person loves me tenderly, and I love him in return, and that will be my happiness… you can be certain that I love you more than I ever can say"

Setting aside your quilt and roll of parchment by your bedside, you tuck into bed, feeling your warm sheets against your feet and blow the candle before you fall into the sweet embrace of slumber and nightly rest.

…

Blurry visions that you struggle to make sight off plague your peripheral vision. Arrived in haste with tired feet, you are drawn into a crowded, drawy bedroom in an unknown location, surrounded by pitiful murmurings, and ravaged sobbing.

The hastily yet pompously dressed congregations parts for you to make through, the dim light shining down of what appears to be your dear Timothee in his bed, heavily weakened in his pale complexion, teary eyes, and swollen phalanges, looking dreamlike and angelic in his off-white cream blouse stained with sweat and droplets of blood from his throat and nose.

Beside him stood his mother, looking frailer than ever, barely hanging on in her angular, emaciated form, tight fingers gripping on her son so taut as if he was to fade away right in front of her.

Across from Timothee on the bed that stood in the centre of the bedroom was his younger brother, the Grand Duke Alexander, tall and muscular as he crouched down and wept into his brother’s shoulder with no restraint.

Hearing you approach with hesitant footsteps, both mother and son look up at you with mirroring images of dismal grief and wracked desperation. In his blissful serenity, intoxicated by the morphine and painkillers prescribed hopelessly by his throng of doctors that gathered from all over Europe, Timothee manages a faint, yet reassured beam.

“How beautiful is she my Dagmar, right Mother?” He croaks, and as if on cue, his mother bursts into screeched wailing into her son’s arms.

Feeling your own tears brim, you shake your head profusely, in denial that he was slipping from your grasp, that life was to leave him.

“We have done all that we could, Your Royal Highness. We had mistaken his symptoms of fatigue, back pain and sensitivity to light for rheumatism but it was not so. He is suffering with cerebro-spinal meningitis, and we had taken too long to discover it that it has spread up to His Imperial Highness’ brain and spine. We are truly sorry, Your Royal Highness.” The jittery, trembling voice of the grey-haired, eccentrically mustached doctor only felt like daggers that went through your heart.

Taking your hand into his, as unsteady and frigid as it was to your sweltering own in the height of the summer heat, Timothee gathers all of his strength to join your palms into his brother Alexander’s much larger hands, settling it adamantly against his chest, skeletal and bony from the weight he had lost in rapid succession.

“Pug, Sasha- when I am to pass, you must fulfill not only my responsibility to Russia, as Tsar- but to my Dagmar. You must take her hand when I am no longer on this Earth. You must-promise me.” He whispers before he is interrupted by a gruesome cough, his phlegm laced with nasty infected mucous and porous blood.

Sasha defiantly refuses incipiently, begging implorably and insisting that his episode of illness will pass, that he will live to walk down the aisle to make you his wife, and rule Imperial Russia as Tsar, but his hope dimmed by the second.

As Timothee makes his last breath, a single tear flows down his cheeks, and you are overwhelmed with grief that weighs on your chest and entire being. Embracing him so securely your knuckles turned white and your chest pressed firmly against him as you vociferously wail above the similar sounds of the flock that huddled around you.

His mother Maria Alexandrovna and the silhouette of who appears to be his father the Tsar Alexander II, whom you have barely met and only recognized from portraits and sparse carte-de-visites, clamber to clumsily pull you off from his lifeless form, overcome with their own grief.

The seconds become hours, then days, to weeks and months that fade into one that time becomes incomprehensible. Falling in and out of sleep as you are in a daze that cannot be broken, rotting and melting into your bedsheets, refusing to wear anything but black, clothes fitting too loosely as you become so slim, so frail in your mourning that everyone in the royal circle worried about you. If only you could wake up from such bereavement, such melancholy-

You abruptly sit up from your bed, drenched in sweat and salty tears that trickled down into your collarbones and chest. Your laced chemise clung to your skin as you had dramatically pushed away your jacquard duvet in your restless dream.

Hearing your heartbeat thump so loudly against your ribcage that you can hear it vibrate against your eardrums, you wipe away the tears and perspiration that smothered you in such a dreadful, compelling dream that was all of your fears coming to the surface.

Calming and soothing yourself as you wrapped your arms around your knees, reminding yourself that it was only a dream, only your subconscious that has been overwhelmed and exhausted from the events that had been preoccupying you in a foreign country that gave you an insight on the future that could await you.

Striding away covertly into the quiet, yet well furnished kitchen in the cottage your family was to remain in before your return to Copenhagen, Dagmar reaches shakily for a glass bottle of water and pours into a small glass for herself.

Gulping, pouring the cool water down your parched throat gives you slight but much needed relief from your state of desperation and skittishness. Pondering in the darkness with nothing but a miniature lighted candle in hand, you bite away trivial tears before you pour another glass for yourself.

You do your best to return back to slumber in your mattress, but it is never to the same depth and comfort as before your dream. You fear you will never sleep the same again, if your dreams could become so severe, so ghastly that it will spill into your waking life.

…

Queen Victoria requests for your presence after an early supper and horseback riding race down the track in Balmoral Castle.

You winced as you falteringly trodded towards her office accompanied by a trusted Scottish companion of hers who had been personally sent for your company and speak with her alone.

Ruffling your unruly curls that had been flying freely as you rid your stallion and beat the Queen’s second son Prince Alfred, the Duke of Edinburgh closely, before being scolded by one of the senior officials present for your lack of protocol due to your dearth of a riding hat that proper ladies, and more especially, royal princesses were supposed to adorn.

“Her Royal Highness Princess Dagmar of Denmark, Your Majesty.” The royal herald announces your arrival as you stand rigidly by the gold engraved cream door, fiddling with the smooth cloth of your hoop skirt anxiously.

“Let her in, and shut the door. I would like to speak to her alone.” As her quiet yet profoundly dignified voice echoes in the room, her thrush of servants and maids leave the room promptly, before the door is shut emphatically behind you.

“Come my dear, you stand there as if I would bite you.” Queen Victoria jests, as you stare at her with round, frightened eyes before you curtsey hastily and make your way across her oak desk.

“Your Majesty, it is an honour to be in your presence and to be requested for a private audience with our dear Queen. to what do I owe the pleasure?” Looking up from your feet, you glance politely before you speak in a rehearsed tone, your hands folded closely in front of you.

A glimmer passes by the elderly Queen’s ostensibly expressionless round, plump face, her silver and grey hair sticking through her signature onyx hued velvet fascinator pinned to the top of her head. You gulp nervously as if you were scolded as a child once more.

“It has come to my attention that my second son, Alfred, has claimed you as an object of his fancy. He finds you very pleasing, pretty and fascinating enough that he would very much desire to request for your hand in marriage. I am not opposed to such a match, as much as I do not fondly look forward to another Danish match in our family. However, it would work fabulously well in which you could live in a household close to your sister.” She challenges you almost pointedly, and you balance in your head how to manage not to offend such a demanding, prideful yet protective matron figure.

“I am warmly grateful that Her Majesty believes me to be as equally worthy a marriage prospect into the House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha as my dear sister Alexandra, but I regret to inform you that I am already bethrothed to the Tsesarevich Timothee of Russia, Your Majesty.” You reply as a matter-of-factly.

Staring at you with a knowing smirk, as if you had passed the test she had set up so dramatically for you to possibly falter, but impressed with your wit in the abridged bantering she had with you.

“I am aware of those events, and I am sure Alred is no fool to be unaware either, but you must answer me honestly. If the Tsesarevich had not asked for your hand in marriage, would you have considered his?”

You pause, deep in thought as you weighed your probabilities. Alfred was not anything close to a looker, sharing the same hooded, heavy blue Saxe-Coburg saucers that looked almost forlorn, permanently sleepy. He had been kind and slightly teasing in the faint encounter you had with him in the tracks, but not enough to judge his character accurately.

“I would always take the time in getting to know and familiarize myself with his character before I would accept any proposals of matrimony, Your Majesty. I will speak genuinely in that I do not believe in a love in first sight, especially for a minor Princess of my standing, where marriage can make or break my future. His Royal Highness is a great man who will do many great things, but I believe that I am not fated to be his lifelong companion and he will meet his match in due time. I adore and cherish my sister entirely, fully, more than myself but I do not wish to live under her shadow either, your Majesty.”

“You prideful, insolent girl! I had always known you were more intelligent, more spirited than your sister, but never to this degree.” You gulped nervously as her voice raised in pitch, leaving you aghast how such a petite woman could control the room with so little on her part.

“I admire your strength, little Dagmar. You will need that vitality, that backbone if you are to survive in the chaos that is Imperial Russia and all that is Saint Petersburg. You remind me of myself in my youth, that drive, that determination to break out of the family that had coddled and sheltered you. I pity, no- I fear the man who is to marry you, dear. You are a woman that cannot be tamed, cannot be controlled.” Queen Victoria smiles beratingly with a slight chuckle at you, shaking her head and you cannot help but mirror her grin.

…

152 notes · View notes

themology · 2 years

Text

childe x gn!fatui!reader x implied!la signora. “only time will tell”

ao3 link. | part one. part two. | blog navigation / masterlist. | buy me a coffee.

notes: follows the events of the new teaser with it's own little tale, do i like childe or signora enough to write for them? no, did i randomly had a fic idea while cleaning my desk and decided to write this immediately and impulsively after the trailer blew up in every social media platform i have? yes, enjoy.

summary: only time could tell anything about to befall in the lives of those who continued to live, waves of unexpected events and others that are not. but the young harbinger had been desperate, he had waited for so long, time will no longer tell him what to do or when to wait, he needed you. he wants you.

warnings / contains: maybe angst, yearning, childe has a yandere-ish behaviour but it’s nothing too bad, non mutual pining, unrequited love, you're fatui but not a harbinger the fic will explain it lol, not proofread we die like rosalyne

pairing: childe x gender neutral!fatui!reader x implied!unrequited!la signora.

word count: 2798+ words, at least 4 minute read.

"we are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade"

the zapolyarny palace is as cold as it could get, it was cold, it has always been cold, and this specific event upheld in this place did not made it any better, the presence of the harbingers with you did not helped one bit, and though humans emanate their own bodily heat in order to survive the harsh climate of your nation, it's ironic to say that there is not a single human in the palace before you... structured and forged by coldness and brutality, there is no humanity in the ghostly air,

"in honor of her sacrifice, all work should halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing"

you sighed harshly ( but silently in order to bring no attention of your presence ) as the harbingers pantalone and arlecchino engage in a meaningless fight about what is right or wrong, for who is brave and a coward, remembering to take note of their foolishness in the middle of such an event.

"rosalyne died in a foreign land..."

"─always with a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland..."

"...you couldn't hope to understand"

"so why don't you keep your mouths shut."

clearly, they do not have a single respect for each other, clearly, they do not care about rosalyne, clearly, they're not a tad bit loyal to the tsaritsa, only loyal to their own desires and nothing more, it was plausible enough to state that you could almost see through them, as you stand behind their shadows and observe everything, as if you were one with the darkness and it is one with you, as if you were the night itself.

when the news of rosalyne's death reached your ears you were certain that the ice around you had elevated in a much more brutal temperature, whenever you rose to your feet, you felt like the darkness is swallowing you whole, your legs were wobbly, as brittle as a frail stick, but you managed to reach the quarters of the tsaritsa, only having to realise that she had known about the news already, and with an expression as sad and sultry as yours, she had requested for you to visit the funeral in her behalf,

you are not a harbinger yourself, you don't have a certain place in their ranks as someone who serves the majesty,

but you had forced yourself to at least come into the light in such an unfortunate happening, out of all the meetings and forums that had been hosted in this place, it had to be the funeral of your beloved... and it was too late to wish that you would rather spent hours listening to their meaningless diplomatic chitchats... you wished you never get to bid your good bye to the woman in the already closed casket, sealed away to oblivion, never to be opened, to be kept forever, left to tarnish until the linings of gold in her coffin fades away into nothing.

you remembered that the tsaritsa smiled, a pitiful smile, saying that rosalyne would've had loved you, and that she truly did, and you almost hated her for it... knowing that such creature as yourself can never be capable of love, only capable of depending on it, depending on it's factors and how it affected you ( maybe ), but you chose not to care anyways. you had been in the presence of rosalyne for as long as you had remembered, and whatever you had felt with your days with her was anything but despise and loathe.

the cryo archon had created a child out of ice, snow and starlight to perform her orders; you were meant for revenge... at least, that's what you know for yourself, and that's what people had addressed you, and you bring your glory, your existence, her orders with your eyes glowing bright with the blue flame of vengeance your 'mother' has implanted in you, bringing agony to those deserving and not.

how should you know about black and white when you aren't exactly taught about it, you rarely had time to spend your days with the cryo archon as if you were actually family, as if she was a mother and you were a child... of course, you know about the black of the night and the white of your mothers hair, the black of crows and the whites of clouds, but how should you know that in the snowflake crusted chest of your mother is a black heart pounding?

you were blinded, sure, and you do not care, and even if you wished to oppose her, you have nowhere to go, you are no match for the archon who sits in a throne of icicles with a cold, powerful demeanor, you had been hated by everyone in every corner of teyvat, not only were you a fatui but you were the closest to ever be associated with the very archon who wished to put destruction to everything... people will not treat you kindly with your associations

...and though your heart was as soulless and black as it can get, hidden beneath the garments of coat white frost and million moras fur hood, you had always loved rosalyne, even though her hurt is buried deep for another.

rostam... was it? at least they are together now, even though it would be a hard swallow to pill knowing that you are all alone now.

the harbinger columbina had stopped her soft humming as soon as you finally stepped out of the shadows and into the light after their meaningless discussions that you could not afford to care about... all the harbingers had stopped what they were doing, probably too wary to the anything stupid in front of you,

and that's when childe had caught a glimpse of your form just as you did to his just before, when he ushered that putting up a fight in such place and in such event will be a fruitless, meaningless activity... your lips were written in a straight line, eyes heavy with a hint of despair and annoyance dancing around your dull irises as the harbingers shivered at the sight of your presence among them.

you placed a hand at the top of where rosalyne was now sleeping, hopefully in peace and prosperity, where the anger inside her had died down and where she was finally calm... you fought the urge to even move a muscle in your face to contort a sadden expression or a salty tear, you know well there is no place in snezhnaya to mourn, and even though the harbingers had known of your association with the fair lady, they chose not to say anything, understanding that you, visiting this place was well served and justified... childe had known of it all, he knew how hard it is for you,

"continue whatever you wish to speak, let this end immediately." you demanded, because you could not take another hour in this sorrowful place. bringing a cold stare towards childe who was already looking at your figure, he said nothing as he continued to stare,

"let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice, and with this nation endure for all time"

"in the name of their majesties, we will seize authority from the gods..."

you all bowed your head in respect even though childe continued to eat at your presence as if he was a hungry man and you were a meal, it was obvious he was staring at you, he was three bodies from where you were and it's easy to spot where his eyes were, though, he doesn't not care,

he had seen you before, obviously, but it was rare to see you once again after your little meetings, they all meant the same thing anyways, it's for the nation's well being and for the job that has to be done, and not for his own selfish desire, not for him to have you just for a little while, just to get to know you better or even touch you, it kills him to not be able to be beside you,

a part of him wish he hadn't met you at all, because since then he had grown fond of the idea of having you by his side despite all the consequence that he could face and all the heartbreaks, you were irresistible, too much of a temptation, he couldn't control himself... you love the person he despised even though he knew she doesn't love you back, and he could only be a bit pitiful... and more angry for treating you in such a manner,

you should've been loved, should've been cared for, and he knows he can be the only one to do that for you, and if there are others to do so, let the archons damn them... you are only his.

with him, he'd give you the entirety of teyvat if that's what it takes to make you happy, to shrink everything as if they're meaningless, nothing, only to be in the palm of his calloused, war torn hands, to offer to you, he had touched you once, your hands, skin to skin, and probably it was a way as if a portion of his soul seeped through his flesh, and bones, and skin to tangle with yours, childe knows, and is certain that you were meant to be his just like how he would give himself to you,

he just doesn't know how...

and that angers him a lot, to be close to you and yet you're too far away, it makes his blood boil, he wants to take all of his anger out, but to who anyways? it can never be you, no... he wouldn't lay a violent hand on you. it's not like he can in the first place, it's not like he had the strength, no, never.

as everything died down and bid their good byes to each other and you, childe watched in the shadows as you slumped to the ground, in the same position that columbina was before as you trailed your hands on the coffin...

and as silent as you could master, you let out a small whimper to cry, and that's something that childe should've treasured if he did not care about you, because seeing such powerful and noble identity who is as powerful as the god he worships be vulnerable is something that he rarely sees, you are almost naked to him, showing who you truly were at that moment,

but he cares, and he couldn't afford to see you in despair, so instead of just waiting for you outside to think of a way to start a conversation once you stepped out of the palace, childe hopes that he got to approach you in the right time as he silently made his way towards you,

you paused, sparing a harsh glance to his way when you heard footsteps... before it softened, knowing well who it was, and that made him smile despite not actually showing... that even if he may be invisible to the other harbingers, treating him like a meaningless ghost because of being a newcomer in their noble ranks, he wasn't invisible to you,

"you shouldn't see me in a state like this."

you stated, not moving from your former position as you met your eyes with his, and he simply nodded, indicating that he knows, and that he doesn't care, you'd still be beautiful despite being in the most difficult situation...

in the moments of somber, and despite being sober, your mind was in daze, and after not knowing what to do to calm yourself, you decided to just drink in his presence, he was like an anchor from illusion to reality, it might've take a few months to know that he might be the only harbinger that you actually favoured. you drank in his orange hair and red exterior, the way he was not hard to overlook for being the only... possibly warm person in the room, childe could see it in your eyes, the way you may have possibly admired him in this moment, and he wishes to treasure it.

you let out a small sigh as you removed your hands from the coffin to place it on your lap, childe simply watches your every move,

"i wished she got to see the world she desired."

stated you as you looked down, hair falling in your face as childe decided to not throw whatever chance he had to the ditch,

the red haired harbinger placed a gentle hand on your chin as he lifted your face and eyes up to look at his own irises, he smiled softly in the process, not too much, just a comfortable looking grin on his face,

"we will make that world, together."

you and me, together.

just us.

you were not alone now, at least.

you blinked your tears away a few times, but when childe decided to help, you allowed him, one hand resting on your cheeks to stabilise you and one hand to wipe your tears away, you clutched the other hand back, enjoying the warmth of his gloved hand, you simply stared at him as he cared for you... with him, you will not spare a single drop of tear, or blood... he'll make sure of that.

when you decided to stand up after all of it he stood with you, holding your hands to his tightly, but not forgetting to be gentle, to guarantee that you wouldn't fall back to your knees to mourn some more... he will not let you, his insides ached seeing you suffer.

as you said your one last good bye to the only woman you had ever loved, childe hoped, wishes that this is the time where you spare your hello, to him, a new, fresh beginning, to him and only him...

and finally, you would be able to feel the warmth of a real lover, not one of frost and black lace and heartless deeds... he'd let you feel a warmth warmer than the fire around you, a fire burning inside him, as red as his hair, as red as the blood in his hands that he'll not be bothered to have in order to be with you,

just like what he was doing now, carefully removing the red scarf he wore to place it to you carefully as you watched him in question, he does not answer, and you wished to not question anything else, closing your eyes as you finally felt genuine warmth.

he had waited, a long burdensome time...

childe had enough.

you took his hand when he offered to guide you outside, away from all the bad things in that place, hoping that maybe, you'll leave a certain part of you in this place where you had loved and cared for rosalyne, in this place where it will be locked away and to never be felt again, like a glass shard in an already broken window to never be placed or glued on it again so that not cracks would spread...

childe will mend every broken thing you have it that's what it takes, or maybe he would just accept you as who you are, broken, damned, or not,

and so that all your attention is on him now, only his, your gaze, your body, everything that is yours only for him... you wiped the remaining ghostly tears that was placed on your face, knowing well that in a world of continuous cruelty and battle, there is no place to mourn, you had a job to do, a lifetime purpose.

childe had been waiting, now's the time.

though time was a godless thing, he will not allow such entity to be a god for himself, and though he had travelled far and wide to choose which god to pray, whether it should be the god in the air in mondstadt, or a certain funeral assistant in liyue, or the thunderous god that ended your once beloved's life... to ask for blessing or protection, to wish to curse or damn those around him...

time will not be one of them, he will be no slave.

he will no longer beg, no longer clasp his hands together as he stares far and far away and into the starless sky just to have you, in the many sleepless nights of his... soon he'd sleep without a care in a world and drift to dreamland with you by his side, in his bed, in his home, in his sheets, in your arms.

you will be his, as he is in the possession of yours, and time will not tell, not anymore, only his control, and his command, and his sheer power... he looks back, and smiles a cruel smile as you clutched his warm hand on the way out of the large doors, he clutches to yours back.

even though this may be the saddest day of your existence, it's different for him.

'we will make that world, together.'

you will be his.

additional notes: this was nice, i might do a second part where it's smut and childe confesses yk yk.

get added to my taglist

genshin taglist:

general taglist:

151 notes · View notes