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writingescapades · 11 hours
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Rights
Another fic from my Ayato / merchant Reader stories. You don't have to read the others for it to make any sense.
Ayato hobbled after Thoma, legs aching from sitting in one position for too long. He had done it again. He shut himself in his room and focused on his work for three days continuously, only stopping to sleep. He was a disgusting mess by the third day and Thoma had all but chucked him into the bath. But the momentary inelegance was worth the work achieved. His sanity restored, Ayato found himself walking with Thoma around the state, seeking out his heart.
You were with the horses, brushing down your horse. It was his gift to you after you restored your wagon. While the lift of the trade ban helped Inazuma rebound and brought in many travellers and traders, Inazuma was still catching up with the other regions. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could replace the engine powered wagon you had. So, Ayato bought you a horse. Enamoured with the creature, you took special care over it, and it eased Ayato’s heart knowing that you weren’t quite so alone in your trade travels.
He watched you, quietly awaiting the moment you would acknowledge him. To see your eyes sparkle, grin widen, and the happy sing-song way you spoke his name. Only you could bring him to his knees with that one move. He bid his time as you gave your horse its final run down, put your tools away, and gently stroked the animal’s neck. Then you turned towards the door. Your eyes glimmered. A smile burst forth from your lips, and Ayato found himself starting to smile back as he anticipated your voice.
“Thoma! So glad to see you!” you sang then turned to Ayato questioningly. “Who’s your friend, Thoma?”
Thoma stuffed down his snort as best he could. Ayato would make him pay, but it was worth it.
“This here is Lord Kamisato,” he said.
You nodded then nudged your horse out of the stables.
“Oh yes, I heard of you from your sister,” you called out as you passed the two men. “Be seeing you”.
Thoma peeked at Ayato’s face and then scurried out after you. He could not keep the laughter down after seeing the frozen face of the Kamisato Lord. Half confused and half frustrated emotions caked under the layer of formality that was second nature to him. Slowly the Kamisato Lord edged his feet over to the voices outside. He crept nearer and nearer till his shadow covered yours. You ignored his presence and continued to speak with Thoma.
“You have a lovely horse,” Ayato interrupted.
You looked at your horse with pride. “Yes, she is wonderful”.
“Who gave it to you?”
“My husband”.
“Oh? Where is he?” Ayato teased.
You shrugged. “Who knows? Last I saw of him was three days ago. We were supposed to spend the three days together before I had to go on my trade route, but the fellow disappeared on me”.
Ayato’s eyes dimmed. You spoke pleasantly, but the anger was apparent. How could he not notice when he himself requested your presence, only to waste it all on work. For a man who claimed to place family first, Ayato had failed you.
Ayato gave a glance towards Thoma. The retainer nodded and left the couple to figure out how to say farewell in the midst of a battle.
“Must you go?” Ayato asked.
“Must you work?” You retorted.
You were biting him, and Ayato knew how much more you were holding back. He sighed and tentatively wrapped his arms around your waist. When you didn’t step out of his light hold, he placed his chin on your shoulder. This was his favourite position, the one place where he felt the most at home. He was able to watch your administrations while talking and occasionally teasing you in your work. But now, he used this position to communicate his apology.
“You look tired,” he murmured, glancing at the corners of your eyes, aching for them to turn and face him with all your anger.
“I rode here from the other side of the region”.
“I’m sorry”.
“I lost a good customer”.
“I’m sorry”.
“My feet are sore”.
Ayato looked down and saw the bandages poking out of your shoes. Alarmed he bent down and wrapped his hand around your foot.
“Hey!” you snapped, but Ayato interrupted.
“You can’t leave in this condition”. In his worry, he realized too late that he had slipped into the tone accustomed to giving orders. A tone he never used around family, especially you.
Your spine stiffened. Lips drew into a thin line. You stared down at him.
“What right do you have?”
You didn’t finish the sentence, but Ayato could. What right did he have calling you his wife, his family, when he had just ushered orders upon you? What right did he have showing concern when he blatantly ignored your existence and wasted your time. His concern was a sham. A slap to your face. Slowly he let go of your foot and watched it carry you to the gate. You had every right to carry yourself to whatever future you envisioned for yourself. Shame to the one who tried to stop you.
He slowly arose. But. Deep down, the Kamisato leader was nothing but a shameless man when it came to what he wanted. And he would use every trick in the book before finally giving up. Following after you, he spoke in a quiet voice.
“Please allow me to retie your bandages. You can leave after that”.
Whether it was the pain, his voice, or the blessing of some archon, Ayato was grateful you turned around that day. Your feet were red, bruised, blistered and though you said nothing as he washed and applied medication, he saw how tightly you clenched your hands. You really did drop everything, endured anything just to come back to him, and he ignored you. For what? An angry voice screeched at him as he watched you sleep, the journey and your wounds finally getting to you. For Inazuma. It was the calm, rational answer, but for once Ayato found himself disgusted with the answer. It was, inadequate, almost selfish when compared to the person currently resting their head on his lap.
Back at the gate, if he chose Inazuma again, you would have slept on the bare floor, still wounded. Or you might have collapsed from the pain with no one around you. You would only huff and say you were used to it, but Ayato wondered what kind of human he was becoming if he accepted such a response. As he ran his fingers through your hair, he realized that this was the first time he had ever displayed such affection. Truly, I am a monster. He had a right to protect, but he found himself begging for love. He glanced down at you, then at dawn sky. He would have to choose soon, but for the moment, in this twilight, the Kamisato leader found himself lulled into a gentle sleep. A familiar, childish feeling of dealing with the problem tomorrow left a tiny smirk on his face. You would no doubt fixate on it in the morning, if you weren’t already enraged at finding yourself cocooned in your husband’s arms, hours behind your trade route. But for the moment, he had won one battle.
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writingescapades · 5 days
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Oh, it's international bat appreciation day fellas.
Using this opportunity to show the last drawing I made about these two I've never posted lol.
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writingescapades · 8 days
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counting backwards — throwing muses. 0.8k words.
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Fog has found a comfortable residence nestled in Aventurine’s brain—a bustling one, strangling clear thoughts and fond reminiscence and expertly avoiding those gnawing memories he wished it would swallow.
He looks into the mirror, he shows his teeth. He hopes, to others, it looks like a smile and not a snarl—though, to him, he still looks afraid, and he swears he can still see the yellowing he had earned after so long of not being able to care for them (despite how the gold of his wealth had cancelled it out long ago and chased it off).
It was voracious, clamoring like a starved man, armed with an achingly empty stomach at all times; it was nimble, and it trembled whenever he did—with hunger, sickness, the cold, or fear, he didn’t know, it was a toss up—skin melded to bone. Yet, as much as it ate at his clairvoyance, it didn’t grow—it just… lingered, in the corner of his cluttered head, emaciated and shaking. It stared at him. It had his eyes, and the same blond hair.
He keeps practicing. He wants his expression to be bright like a future that is looking up, like the sun during the first glimpse of it after rain, and infectious—but it was bright like a warning sign, like the sun beating down on an arid and drought-stricken desert, and diseased. That wouldn’t do. His sight was bleary, and his hair was a mess, and he fell asleep in last night’s clothes; nothing about him screamed refined or expensive or high quality or worth anything at all.
It felt fearful, in a way, but it cared for its host just as the weather outside did. Maybe even less. It rained for Kakavasha, but this? This didn’t change for a thing. All it did was fast forward the time on the clock. All it did was steal from him, little by little, thread by thread, coin by coin, unraveling, rusting, wasting. But that was fine. He had money and memories to give now. He had the means to feed both himself and it. He was generous—he always was, but now he could truly afford to be without sacrifice.
For as long and well as he had played the role of carefully crafted, embellished with gold and beholding bones of wrought iron, every rotting rope making him up was one rainstorm away from snapping.
Speaking of Kakavasha, he didn’t remember much of him. All that lingered was the fear, because as much as he washed the blood—his kin, his kills—off of himself, that little frayed part of him, wide-eyed and with no more tears to cry, remained playing dead under its current.
He combs out any tangles sleep had imparted in the strands of his hair. He washes it out—the scent of the soap doesn’t take long to leave him with a headache, so he rinses and replaces it with equally migraine-inducing conditioner. He combs through it until he no longer looks unkempt or unwell.
That fog is still here. He should remind himself to grab his keys, just in case.
He hooks his finger in the corner of his mouth, pulls it back a bit further to check for any plaque or pieces of food left on his molars. There is none. He keeps looking. He straightens out his clothes, stares and bores holes into every last crevice that could hide a tell. He stares and stares. He remembers a time when he had no reflection, only sand and kin, only a guess at what he looked like. That was long ago.
In the mirror, when he still only saw himself in the faces of his family, mauve hair fell, and her voice still echoes: “What’s worth more to you, Kakavasha—the life in your veins, or the gaze you share with those incinerated bodies?”
What is more important to you, Kakavasha, the blood that keeps your heart that deserves nothing but death beating, or the blood that makes you Avgin, that ties you by something indisputable to the only thing you ever learned how to cherish?
That was what she meant. It was a stupid question.
He fixes his shirt one last time. He grabs his keys.
He knew how to answer, then, and he still does now, because he would drain his arteries of every last drop if it meant seeing them unpainted with theirs again—for the color to return to their faces, the life to their dull eyes—
He closes the door behind him with a soft click.
But that can’t happen. So he will continue to dress his wounds, cut his losses, and survive, until he inevitably joins them.
(He will never join them. They are dust, scattered in fragments across space. He will be buried in a lavish coffin.)
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writingescapades · 10 days
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Vines on Stone
A/N: Look at me unravelling a moment into a long story and writing about kisses. I'm growing at a writer! Hopefully.
You were strong. The way you carried yourself through battle and work, so composed, so put together. He loved it. Envied it. He who wrapped himself up, coiled and curled around life itself. How can he be anything to you?
You were friends. Actual friends, and though Aventurine had difficulty accepting this, he knew he craved more. He could tell you wanted more too. How else could he explain the special shine your eyes took when they noticed him? Or the ease and comfort you felt around him that he both relished and puzzled over. Yet you always kept a distance, insisting that he had to focus on healing himself before pushing what you both had and understood into uncharted territories.
He understood your hidden words, but he also understood himself. The part that didn’t want you to leave every night. The part that wanted to bask everyday in the morning lull and not just when you both had a late night or early morning mission together. He wanted more than just your hands, or the arm grabbed to pull each other in and out of danger. The more he wanted, the more he grew around you, hoping desperately one day to crack through your stone and pull out the emotions you neatly buried. But you were strong. Resolute. And as much as he loved that about you, it was killing him now. He was only human. What’s one more sticky situation in his murky life? So he did the only thing he could you, trick, and twist until you found yourself in the current situation.
He was spread out on the floor, limbs curled around your ankles, not letting your get up so easily. His eyes stared into yours asking the same question he had just spoken. Don’t you want this? Even now he could see how much you cared for him. Even though he instigated the fall, even though he knew you knew he instigated the fall.  Your arms instinctively fell parallel to his face, keeping your body from crashing on top of him. Damn you and your morals! Let him get hurt this one time if it meant having you in his arms! You looked down at him, concerned for his safety, but he detected something new, hesitation. He longed to glide his hands up your arms, past the shoulder and neck to your face and bring comfort. He wanted the same. But he laid himself bare. You knew everything about him and now he could only watch you, awaiting the final judgement.
You knew his story from the bits you pieced together over your time together. At first it gave satisfaction to give comfort to Aventurine. Then you gained pride whenever you addressed each other as friend.  You never smiled so much at calling another person you friend, as many pointed out. Somewhere along the line friend took on a different meaning for you. Best friends. Soul friends. Bonded friends. Then, then what? Each time you both outgrew the husk of the name you gave the current stage of your relationship, but you both were too scared to reach for the next rung. Even though you longed to hug him around the shoulders. Even though you wanted to be the one person what made his demeanor light up with joy. Even though, right now, you just wanted to place your hand around his head and ask if he was alright. It was too fragile.
Was it? Aventurine wondered. After scrapes, burns, bullets, and backstabs, Were you both so weak to the intangible? In addition to life and work, Aventurine had pushed you, seen what truths you could really stand. He didn’t need you and discovered that you didn’t really need him either. So what kept you both so attached beyond vocabulary and definitions? You had given him so much space in your heart, why wouldn’t you let him do the same? Do you want this? His arms asked as they slowly wrapped around your waist.
It was a familiar weight used by both of you when you leapt off building with only a cord to keep you both alive. Your left knee instinctively went down, as if getting ready to launch off the roof. So many times Aventurine placed his life in your hands as you guided the two down to safety. So many times you let your back be exposed knowing that Aventurine’s hands stood on guard, gun in hand. As ludicrous as it sounded, you loved those moments together, hovering right above death, both hearts pounded from exhaustion and fear. The excitement that took off as your body adjusted again and again to being airborne. You always cupped his head in your hands in those moments. What was so different this time?
We’re landing. You both had been much closer in other situations, but those times survival took precedence. Now neither of you could die, only be mortified, and hurt too deep to heal. His arms had slowly pulled you down. He could feel your hands behind his head. Still you kept your head above his, watching him carefully. He had his habits formed out of secrets and past lives, and he expected no less from you. But right now, he wanted to move his hands up your back and to your head, cocooning you in his love. There. He confessed. Would you acquiesce?
It always surprised you how little you needed to accept someone like Aventurine into your life, past the layers of stone you placed, down to the quiet inner self you protected. You let him relax and get stuck within you but always feared if he would do the same with you, if he had the capacity, if you would be a terrible human for accepting the love he was clearly dying to express. But he had curled around your heart and cracked it, and even though you both could hear the wails your heart made for him, you didn’t rip him off. You still let him take root and he still gave you the choice to be without him.
Facing everything, Aventurine gave you the last trick he had, a genuine smile. Seeing how happy he seemed, how excited he appeared towards life and an unknown future, you reflected his smile and crashed into him. Hands wrapped around each other, urgently delivering long withheld caresses while lips chased one another. It was messy, scary, uncertain, but fun. And although you both would tire out quickly from the period of stress, there was the bud of a new comfort. One that promised its own excitements and hesitations. But for the moment, you both basked in tahe shade of a long withheld love.
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writingescapades · 10 days
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NEEDLEFELTED P CUZ I WANT TO HOLD HIM SO BADDDD!!!
Don't mind the little white hairs infront, I forgot I had grey wool with me until I ran out of white. Didn't enough brown unfortunately 😔
And I made his coat like a lil cape cuz I thought it was cute 🥹💖
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Precious bby boi
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I LOVE HIM SM 😭😭💖💖💖💖💖
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writingescapades · 10 days
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That one liar dude idk his name
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writingescapades · 10 days
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the blue fairy 💙
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writingescapades · 10 days
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Drawing him so I can cope with the fact that I cannot play Lies of P yet 😭😭😭😭😭
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writingescapades · 10 days
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I like this fit
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writingescapades · 10 days
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we have bloodborne at home
the bloodborne at home:
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writingescapades · 14 days
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Peafowls II - Peahen
Very few people knew when he really came back, and Kakavasha preferred it that way. He was welcomed back by Topaz and Ratio, but soon left alone in the spare bedroom. He didn’t have to wait long. Funny how despite the many months he was away, he could still pick up on your presence. You were finally together but there was no happy reunion. There was just a tense atmosphere and two people stuck behind habits ingrained into their bones.
He looked away from you and you knew why. He was giving you a choice. To show vulnerability? A test of wits? Or anger? What did you want to show him? You looked at his back. Did you even want him? Ignoring everything, did you want him truly?
How would you feel if he went away, disappeared again? If the last memory of his was his back? If that was the last memory of him in his world?
Your chest tightened. He was human. He could die. He would die. Could you live with it? Your chest tightened. You should be brave, make the first move. Dare to indulge for once, to wager against a regretful decision.
His back was right there. You should just move. But you leaned against a desk and clenched the edge hard in your right hand.
His back was waiting. He should just say something. But your chest tightened harshly, and your throat began to close.
Calm down. You closed your eyes. Calm down.
He’s not dead yet.
He’s right here.
You inhaled deeply, willing the emotion down.
You’re fine. He’s fine. Nothing’s going wrong. Don’t get emotional. It has no use here. Truth does.
Say something!
You clenched harder against the table, fingertips turning white. Why was it so hard?
Did he say something? You heard noise. His voice. Closer.
His back was gone.
Gone.
He called out to you, concern laced in his voice. All games and pretenses were down.
“You’re fine,” you blustered out.
Damn! Calm down! Don’t be useless now. Where are your words?!
He called out to you again, “Are you—”
Humiliation spread throughout. You were not!
“Don’t hide yourself. Not in front of me. It’s okay. After all we’ve been through. I deserve it”.
The tears pooled out. You shut your eyes, scrunched them up tight. You don’t understand. You deserve much more than tears.
“You’re fine,” you warbled out before sinking to the floor.
Kakavasha sank with you, arms wrapping around trying to cushion you. You buried your head in his lap, ashamed of your face. Your arms gripped his clothes.
“I’m fine,” he whispered.
He didn’t fully understand the situation. But his uncertainty was gone. How could it linger when he could fell how tightly you gripped his clothes taking care not to pinch his skin. The sudden vulnerability. The tears. You caved, but he didn’t see it that way.
“Ah my goddess blesses me with rain once more,” he teased.
A snort. Two chuckles. The tears stop as quickly as they came. Then Kakavasha hears a low voice carrying the fortitude he was familiar with.
“I’ll do better than your goddesses”.
“Oh,” he cooed. “How so?”
“I’ll love you”.
There it was. The words he was dying to say and terrified to hear. Those words you both danced around since you first partnered together. It was unfair of him to desire it really. A malicious part of him wondered though. The goddess blessed him, and he suffered all sorts of miseries. What would your love do to him? What more would he have to endure? Could he even bare it?
But don’t you want this?
Yes. That really was the thin line. Kakavasha never wanted the goddess’s blessing. He was barely holding onto life with the weight it held in his mind. But the weight on his lap? He could bare it. This goddess who sobbed on his lap because she loved him beyond her own comprehension. He wanted it.
“Thank You”. Why you wanted to love him, he didn’t know. He just started to believe in it, but was still too scared to question it. His soft thanks whispered into your ear would be the first of many thanks he would say as you built each other and your relationship, but it would transform, and one day Kakavasha would bestow you with an “I love you”.
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writingescapades · 14 days
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Peafowls I - Peacock
It was your book that started the whole escapade. Here he was, a senior manager with the IPC. A man with a troublesome past, a burdensome present, and an uncertain future. Blessed by the goddess, he still gambled with his fate and let all outcomes rain over him. Pretentious, he waved his feathers to razzle, dazzle, and take back what stolen from him.
And you?
You were the Chief Information Manager of the IPC. A silent figure in the background that most people forgot about or groaned over. You did you job and because you did it well, you were partnered with him. A new project meant generating, accessing, creating, and storing information and given the precarious nature of this new project, Aventurine found that he had to work closely alongside you in order to see this project through.
At first, he thought this would just be another project with another IPC member. He wore his sunglasses but waited for the inevitable questions that failed to soften the speaker’s malicious thoughts. He waited for the brisk attitude and the clear desire to be anywhere but around him. But you smiled at him. You greeted him, and you asked him how he was doing.
He watched you. Your reputation preceded you. You came ready with information and questions. You knew how to extract information out of others, and you knew where to keep it safe, secure, and away from prying eyes. Focused. Responsible. Brilliant. So what were you doing working for the IPC? Wasting your talent with an unsavory crowd? It was clear you actually enjoyed your work, but there were other organizations desperately in need of the same role. If you went out into the market, people would chase after your skills. What kept you here?
He fell into his flattering speech. He called you his friend. He told you to use and misuse him as you liked. You gently brushed off his charms. You smiled when he called you friend, and you frowned when he told you to twist him about your fingers. But you didn’t comment much else. Warm but distant to everyone, not just him. Antisocial. Afterall what else would you call reading at a casino? Everyone dresses to impress at a casino. It’s just a part of fitting in while subtly communicating to desired parties. Yet there you sat, near the bar, in plain clothes, engrossed in a book. He saw the glares the bartender threw at you. Your association with the IPC was all that kept him from kicking you away for a paying customer.
Aventurine played a few hands. Each time he won he found himself glancing at you. You were right in his periphery, but you never lifted your head from the book. It was to become a repeated occurrence, the only thing changing was the book you read or the game he played. Finally, one night, he decided to indulge his curiosity and ask what you were reading. You mumbled the name, your attention not yet pulled away, towards him. It irritated him, though he couldn’t understand why. So he called you out, asked you why you were even here when you could go home and read.
Now you looked up at him, and Aventurine saw eyes that revealed nothing. He rested his head over his folded arms and watched as you rested yours on your palm. Neither person spoke, though for different reasons. Finally you sighed and looked at him with a small smile.
“Because I’m your friend, aren’t I?”
Aventurine stayed silent. He watched as your smile turned more mischievous as your waited for his response. Were you really here because you thought of him as a friend? Unable to answer the question or face you, Aventurine left that night. But something changed in your relationship. You became chattier and he often had to watch his words least you thew him a quip. He found himself asking for your thoughts as he planned. It was, fun. Nice. Certainly entertaining. You didn’t stop reading at the casino, but now you both went and left together. He was often the one to lead you to the casino, but you lead him out into the night air.
It was here, in twilight, when most were between sleep and rising, that Aventurine found answers to his questions about you. He saw your kindness. He saw your humour. He found himself slipping, forgetting who he was and just enjoying the moment. You were dangerous. What’s more, Aventurine saw your true character, the way your face warped to hide the insanity that lay thinly underneath. The sudden change in your personality when someone passed a snide remark about him. The way you stood by his side with your head held high. But he wasn’t a fool. He knew you were acting by your principles and not for him personally. You were harsh, and he told you so one night.
You stared at him with stiff eyes and tight lips.
“It’s who I am. To change would be to lie to myself”.
Oh, you had a story to tell. But, it slowly dawned on Aventurine that he cared too much about you to ask for that story, to try to pry it out, or go behind your back. He started to wonder. To dream. Hope. Did you feel the same about him? Is that why, despite curious eyes, you never asked too much about him? Did you already cast judgement on his soul? Or did you just not care about him? Was he just another story in the hundreds you razed through? He didn’t know which outcome he desired enough to gamble upon.
“You see things too intensely,” he found himself saying to you one day. “I think that’s why you’re so disenchanted by life. You can only find admirable people in your books”.
Yet despite his premonitions, Aventurine found himself drawn towards you. He had long stopped wearing his sunglasses around you. He always strutted for himself but was pleased if his dance caught your attention. You walked calmly ahead in life while he danced around. Sometimes he stumbled and wondered if you would leave him behind, but you always slowed down, stopped, and held out your hand, waiting for him just as he waited for you. You desires overlapped despite the difference in personalities.
“Is it so wrong to desire power if it’s only over your own life?” You had asked him one day, and he found himself unable to oppose you any longer.
He tested you, told your things to gage your thoughts and reactions. Instead of running away, he realized that you two started to dance around each other. Promising everything but that which neither was willing to barter.
“We’ll crown ourselves with crests of spurs,” you said softly as your looked out into the land. It had been a tiring day and for once, Aventurine just wanted to collapse into bed. He had too many wishes of you being there beside him, but it was still to frightening. Still to early. Not yet, but maybe, maybe one day.
He didn’t tell you his plan. He didn’t tell you what was about to happen, and his only regret was not being able to see your face crack one last time before he disappeared.
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writingescapades · 21 days
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clingy bf
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writingescapades · 29 days
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Shoutout to @azullumi and @crystallinestars for writing impeccable Aventurine posts. Really the only motivation to get me through the week at times.
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writingescapades · 29 days
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Everyone when Boothill appeared: “Country boy I love you, leeeeh”
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writingescapades · 1 month
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I’ll be honest. Didn’t care much about HSR until Aventurine
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writingescapades · 1 month
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How P deals with you going away.
Unintentional pause in writing because life got busy. But been wanting to write this bit for some time, so here it is!
He wants to know where you’re going. It’s mainly out of curiosity. His world is only Krat, so the idea of you going somewhere far away where he can’t reach is new for him. Once he understands the geographic distance, his immediate question is whether he can come. He doesn’t really understand why he can’t come. He can protect you from danger and help you out. He also knows how to stay out of your way if need be. Heartless reader, how can you leave him alone. But, when he understands that this is something he cannot be apart of, and that he has to wait, he falls into silence.
He doesn’t like the idea but knows that it’s a part of life. People come and go. He only hopes that your going will result in a return back to him. Of course, he’s worried sick about your well being, even taking it upon himself to teach you some basic sword moves. He also silently hands you his gun. He doesn’t want you to ever have to use it, but it comforts him knowing that a part of him would be with you. He’s half tempted to just hand over his legion arm to you, he even asked Eugenie, but unfortunately, his arm in your hands would be of no use.
He definitely mopes. Will help you place your stuff into a bag, but when your not looking, will take out an item, so that you’re perpetually packing. You catch on and he can only give a bashful smile at your frown. Will take your shoes for a good shinning before your journey. No, he had no intention of hiding them, what are you talking about.  At night, he will idle about. Not really reading or sleeping, just staring at nothing. He’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do for the time you’re away. It dawns on him how small his world is. He shares his thought with Gemini.
On the day of your leaving, he’s extra clingy. Helps you to get ready, ever really letting you be too far away from him. You’ll be distances apart in a few moments, and since it’s the first time you’re leaving, he’s perturbed at the sudden change. Just before you get into your carriage, he hands you Gemini, well more like shoves it into the carriage before the door shuts. “For Luck” is all you hear before the carriage takes off.
Pinocchio watches the carriage disappear into a dot. He’s the last to return back to the hotel mainly because his eyes can follow your carriage further out than human eyes. But it’s also a quiet moment for him to sober up to the reality that he now has to face the days with you or Gemini in it. He supposes he could always get another Gemini, but he likes the intimacy of you two sharing Gemini. But to face the day without your quirks or Gemini’s chirps, is hard. Pinocchio realizes he doesn’t like being alone.
It's tough and new for him, but he pushes himself to hang out more with the people around them. He shadows them around, quietly helping. Everyone notices that he’s stopped speaking as much. Finally, Sophia hands him a paper and ink, and helps him compose a letter. Pinocchio’s world opens up. You mean he can send you’re a letter and get a reply within the same day??
His letters are terrible initially. Very much a child learning to write, because he is learning to write. He knows the words, but his hands are not familiar with the art of writing. Sophia has to help him a lot here. His first sentences go something like this, “This Pinocchio. Alive? Come home?”. Very factual words, and he impatiently waits for your letters. Despite sending a letter with brief words, he expects you to give him a full story. Will read and reread your letters. Pretty much has them memorized. If you tell him to do things to stave off boredom and loneliness, he will do it and report to you. Over time, his letters and thoughts will improve, but you will always remember and keep those initial letters because of how sweet and honest to Pinocchio they are.
Will start to smile more when he finally hears of your impending arrival. Everyone knows your coming home before the official notice is sent out because of Pinocchio. The human puppet seems to walk with a spring in his step. There is a liveliness about him and he seems more eager and ready to help around the others. The mopey side is gone. On the day of your arrival, he keeps staring at the clock, wishing for it to go faster. Will be the first out there. God forbid your carriage being delayed because Pinocchio will stand there in any weather for hours until he sees you. Today means today for him. But when he finally spots your wagon, everyone comes running out because they all heard Pinocchio’s exclamations of excitement for the first time. You stick your head out of the window and wave at the speck in the distance that you know to be your Pinocchio, and the man is off towards you. Impatience finally got the best of him and he starts walking towards the carriage. The driver manages to slow down, before crashing into Pinocchio. He throws the human puppet a glare, but Pinocchio could care less as he opens the door and all but flops onto you.
You laugh and chastise him for almost causing an accident, but soon find yourself hugging the puppet. He pulls you out of the carriage and, finally, into his arms and carries you back home. Yes, you’ll have to return for your luggage, but you’re home. You’re home, you’re home, you’re home, you’re home. Yes, over time Pinocchio’s anxiety over your leaving lessons, but that never stops him from sending letters if he can’t accompany you, and meeting you half way home.
Pinocchio spends the late night apologizing to Gemini for not giving him the same return greeting.
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