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adhamhocaoimh · 2 years

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Poor Murdered Pablo • Smoked Bulbinella • Bormes les Mimosas • The Allotments of Fate • Witness/Paticipant • The Old Way • Poetry • Heartsick

It’s a nod to Neruda I suppose. He always wrote in green, you know. To poor murdered Pablo, green was the colour of hope, Ruadhrí explained. I suppose I felt an affinity with Neruda. We served the same interests, if not the same perspective. While he had hope, I had regret. We were looking at the very same concern, he in the waiting and I in the nostalgia. So I chose blue in greens place.

A dull report of heavy rain murmured across the thatch of the lodge whilst they sat in the lamplit drawingroom after dark. As the poet rested against his palm Caleb pushed a thumb against the back of his blade following the grain of a piece of pinewood.

As in feeling blue? Having the blues? he asked, bringing the knife up on its edge and smoothed out a curl and carved a bend. Woodshavings fell to the floor in a slow and spiralling descent.

Partly. Blue is also a colour of sincerity. Tranquility. I suppose I always saw something regal in it. I would have named her queen were she mine to name. Alas, a loss, Ruadhrí replied, looking first to a tiny bottle of bloodbrown tincture and then back to his thirsty glass. He filled the tumbler with Caol Ila, pale as bulbinella. He drained it and filled it again. It's difficult to capture the beauty of the woman. Not a woman. The woman. The woman that one has spent a lifetime regretting was not a part of his life.

Why did you leave? His face furrowing, Caleb brought the point of the blade to one side of the ellipse he had shaped and delicately engraved a tiny almond. He looked to his companion and asked, Or did she quit you?

The poet sighed.

In the end we left each other I suppose.Though it was my hubris. My youth. My stupidity. We had been living in Bormes les Mimosas, young lovers and had been inseperable for years. I wrote feverishly but fruitlessly. She, a waitress at a local café. We were fast approaching the beginnings of poverty, and she had been reasonable long enough. Or unreasonably patient with me and my years of lunacy. My appetites for oblivion had held me hostage for a long while whilst I held her as my consenting captive. She confronted me in the shade of a great palm tree upon a corner between Place Gambetta and Rue Jean Aicard, not far from the Hostellerie du Cigalou. It was approaching midday and I had already drank away the hangover, and then some more. She was upset. She was concerned. As she had every right to be. And I was not to reasoned with.

The poet paused a moment, seemingly searching the tumbler he handled before drinking it down again. Reaching for the bottle he said, She struck me. I spat blood at her. The last I saw of her she was turning a bend at Boulevard de la République with a handkerchief at her face. For the blood or for tears I cannot say.

Caleb stopped carving. More wisps of pine peeled to the floor.

Of course, I came to realise what I had done. I waited for her return. Or some word. Or some letter. After a month had passed she arrived only to leave with her things. I wept. She kissed me. She said that she needed to leave. She told me to look for her some years later. I, being callow and wounded did not even walk her to the door. Neruda would never have been so rude.

Ruadhrí looked from the scotch swirling in his palm to the remnant embers in the hearth. He rose to throw on more kindling.

And of course, looking for her was as worthless as the waiting. I sold my first collection a year after I realised she wouldn't be coming home. Abject poverty and perfect misery I suppose were not without their advantages. Though if It were mine to do I would trade every word. It seems a terrible cruelty, fate and its allotments.

He retook his seat at they both sat for some time in the semidark. Caleb finished scratching at a now herringboned pine wing.

I never had much faith in fate.

The old man chuckled, sipping at his drink.

Fate is what you will console yourself with when you become a witness, instead of a participant.

A witness? he asked as he blew wooddust that arced from the feathered and arching wing and held it at eyelevel against the fire.

You can become a witness in two ways. One will either sicken or age and become less useful. That or one will become useless through pain. Simply give up. Embrace whatever thing hunts them and let it savage away. One hands ones life away. Life never comes back to you. You have let it leave and so you watch it vanish but from the moment you unhand your hand from its hand, there is no way to bring it back.

In whatever case, you become the kind of uselessness that people think to throw away. Did you know amongst some of the nomads there were members of the tribe tasked with putting the few who were falling behind out of their misery? It was a kindness, I suppose.

Caleb set down the halfbird and turned toward Ruadhrí. He took a glass of his own up to his nose and breathed in the whisky. It was floral smoke. On his tongue it was pear and caramel. The poet filled his own.

You're just full of wonderful, terrible specifics old man.

I am only a poet. We most usually are well read. Didion once said that we tell ourselves stories in order to live. I barely even tell stories. I pen unclear allusions and obscure meanings in a desperate plea to say the same thing over and again in some vague hope that she will hear it or read it and know it was for her. Even now after all of those words I am still to say the thing I truly needed to say. Which is of course that I am sorry. I am sorry that I failed you. No more and no less. Were I to do so nobody would print it and nobody would buy it so nobody would read it and she would still never hear it. Could I, I would have drafted a letter and mailed it to the city where she lived if I only knew the city or if I only knew she would want to hear it.

The old man looked back to the fireplace and his eyes seemed glasslike and Caleb thought it a deep bloodless wound that held the old timer. Nursing his tumbler he held that for all the fussy aesthetics and blue ink on blue pages from a pen as old as he himself was that the poet was like any other man or other soul who let something go they shouldn't have.

Maybe I just don't understand poetry.

In the moment the poet looked back he seemed so much older. Words are just words. Poetry is another matter. If there has not been been a poetry in man since before man had words then there was a need for it for there was a use for it. To try and give a form to formless things.

Seems to me a lot of useless longing to measure.

Ruadhrí shook his head and drank down his scotch. If there was a word deeper than love I would said it and as there was not I had to try and name it. But every name I gave it was just her name. I'm not sure that women can know those kinds of things or if they simply carry it better. Usually because in that light they've turned their eyes to better men. Men who don't have to miss them.

Caleb looked back to his carving for a moment, Maybe they've figured out there's no use in going around heartsick.

Ruadhrí, inebriate, cradled his head against his wrist and filled another glass of Caol Ila. The wet around his eyes disappeared into deepening crevasses pooling coaldark under the lamplight.

So. We become our consequences. We become what happened yesterday.

Caleb, my friend, we will all become something that happened yesterday, regardless.

#fiction #short fiction #short story #pablo neruda #poetry

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liquidlucc · 2 years

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You Learned to Swim in France

AKA A fluff piece based on talking to strangers about the love of your life lol

Read on AO3 Here!

Moving in with Harry had been so natural Draco had hardly even realised he’d done it. Had hardly noticed when all of his clothes ended up at Harry’s; day by day, the good robes hung up next to Harry’s Auror robes in his wardrobe. His shampoo and conditioner had to come to Harry’s. He always showered there anyway and he wasn’t using the man’s 3-in-1, absolutely not, he’d rather actually die. And so what if he spent more nights at Grimmauld than he did at his tiny London flat? Well. By the time his lease renewal had been up, he’d… Well, he couldn’t exactly say he didn’t realise that he spent almost no time there, and after a quick conversation with Harry, which had mostly consisted of Draco babbling and the stupid, smug look never leaving Harry’s face as he’d insisted, ‘Of course you’re moving in, you daft git. Who else is gonna drag me out of bed to make him breakfast?’

Living with Harry full time was different than coming over, obviously. But… Draco hadn’t realised how different it would truly be until he was there. Some mornings were much of the same, good morning blowjobs and tea, laying in bed till noon. But then there were the days that they would go to the shops that Harry frequented, and that was where Draco was most out of his element. It was great, going to all these places, meeting the people who knew Harry as a regular, making comments about how this is the man they’d heard so much about, and it was confusing.

What was even more confusing was that the muggle chip shop owner on the corner knew he’d spent his summers in France, and had even greeted him in french one morning.

Or how the woman who owned the bookshop knew that Draco had an affinity for old romance novels, something he’d only ever told Harry.

Or, even worse, how the workers at the clothing boutique near Harry’s work had heard of him! And known he had an affinity for green, had helped him pick out a lovely scarf and-

“Why does everyone around you seem to know about me?” Draco had been dying to ask, and even the question didn’t seem like quite enough. He wanted to know how they knew so much, why they knew such small details, like his favourite colour, the type of tea he liked, where he learned to swim. Still, as he always did, Harry seemed to understand. And, even more, he looked a bit… sheepish about it.

“Well. Uh.” He started, clearing his throat as he set a glass of wine aside, their dinner mostly gone. This was the time of night that they usually spent watching those weird muggle shows on telly, or listening to the radio. Just enjoying each other and the closeness and ease that living together allowed. But Draco couldn’t help himself. It had been eating at him for weeks.

“I talk about you, sometimes. Maybe a bit more often than I realised.” Harry finally explained, and Draco felt himself flush, grabbing his fork and stabbing at a piece of veg on his plate simply for something to do with his hands. “It’s not meant to be oversharing or anything. I just get a bit excited is all. People will be talking about the news, about what tea they need at the shops, something like that, and I just… I think of you. And I have to mention how my boyfriend learned how to swim in Paris. Or how you only like Earl Grey if it’s been prepared perfectly, and the second it goes cool you won’t touch it. Or how you take your showers so hot I’m surprised your skin hasn’t burned from it.” He looked genuine, if embarrassed, and Draco couldn’t help the way his heart melted, just a little.

Because Harry remembered all those little things, things said casually, offhand, on dates or during pillow talk, moments when Draco had let Harry in, if only a little, to who he’d been before, to life between the moments of fearing for their lives as teens. And Harry had grasped at that, taken it in and catalogued it in his mind, and the next time someone brought up that they liked their eggs a certain way, well, it was only instinct that led Harry to tell everyone who would listen that Draco absolutely hated eggs, unless Harry made them.

“I try not to do it when we’re in wizarding spaces, I know how they can be, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, it’s just… instinct.” He repeated, shrugging, as Draco stood, making his way around the table.

“You’re a sap, and a git. And an utter fool, for thinking of nothing else to talk about but me.” Draco laughed as he made his way over, running a hand through Harry’s curls and looking at him as though he were the only thing in the world. The traffic outside their window disappeared, the sound of the neighbour dog howling like mad, the clinking of cups being cleaned by a charmed sponge, it all seemed to fade away as he looked into those green eyes. For a moment, he thought he must understand, to some extent, why Harry went on about him so much.

He’d gone on just as much about Harry. The broom shop he went to knew that Harry could handle whatever he had on hand, even if it was just a charmed kitchen broom. The grocer knew that Harry was lactose intolerant, but still ate enough cheese toasties to feed an army. And so really, was it any surprise that Draco was so, so obsessed with this man, he’d scream it from the rooftops, tell everyone and anyone who would listen just how lucky he’d gotten, to have him, to know about his life and who he was.

He kissed Harry then, slow and sweet, and for once, Draco, who normally felt so cool and collected, felt so full of love he might just burst.

And he had a feeling that no matter how long it had been, they’d still go on talking about each other to strangers, to friends, to anyone who would listen.

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

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Charlie’s New Friend // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Charlie’s fallen for the casting director and Kenny’s right hand for Julie and the Phantoms. After a day doesn’t go the way it should the cast meets a little newcomer changing the dynamics with Charlie.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, single!parent!reader, pure fluff

Words: 5.3k

A/N: Hi! In this fic there’s a stuffed animal and it’s important to speak about in this note. I found the stuffed animal on a website for Canadian Wildlife Federation that uses the money from each purchase to support the research and programs for species at risk. The Snowy Owl stuffed animal features in this fic has the proceeds go to protect the Canadian Arctic!

Website to the Canadian Wildlife Federation Adopt an Animal

Masterlist

Everyone has bad days when it happens, you often blared ‘Bad Day’ by Daniel Powter, in their lives. No stranger to those days it seemed today was the recent worse one when your coffee machine broke, your tea cabinet was barren, and Faye decided to dirty your shirt. Then the daycare called informing you of necessary renovations to bring it back to Code. That left you to do the one thing you really didn’t want to do.

You had to bring your daughter to work on the set of Julie and the Phantoms as Faye’s father was filming in England. You had no doubts he would have dropped everything to care for her if he was in the same town let alone state. The positive was that Kenny was aware of your situation and had pleaded for Faye to visit set.

“I need to go to the store after work.” You mumbled over the irritating children’s music that Faye adored. That or the flashing lights on the television during the half-hour each night you got supper ready.

Parking in your assigned spot you made quick work of release the baby carrier from the secure bucket. Faye slept through the entire transition to the stroller with the component that locked the car seat on it.

“Let’s rock ‘n roll Tink.” You told the sleeping infant with the baby bag slung over your shoulder and the pretty light purple blanket covering Faye’s tiny body.

Now while Kenny knew about your daughter, the rest of the cast was definitely unaware given you often passed on dinner. The few times you had joined was when Faye’s father was in town to see your shared daughter.

“Who’s this cutie?” Tori asked, stepping in unison with to view the adorable little baby with brunette curls hidden by her little toque.

“This is my daughter Faye.” You whispered as a suckling sound came from Faye’s open mouth as little snores came out, “Daycare is closed for renovations, and I don’t have a backup plan.”

Tori’s eyebrows raised as you dropped a somewhat surprising fact about part of your life you kept quiet. In no way, shape or form did you feel ashamed by Faye’s existence. Faye’s father was hands-on and very supportive, even if Faye had been a surprise.

“I never knew you had a child.” Tori blinked melting as the infant cooed in the stroller hidden from the sun via the visor.

Tori’s scrutiny of the little baby allowed her to catch the similarities such as the nose and mouth, but the rest was the father. There was something in Faye’s features that tickled her mind as if she had seen them before.

“It’s not something I like to flaunt. I prefer keeping my work life separate from my personal life.” You informed the seasoned dancer and choreographer.

A few more words of conversation commenced until Tori was called over to Paul with a clipboard in hand. The incessant feeling of eyes peering at you on the walk to the modest trailer you shared with Tori. It was easier for crew members to share trailers with the little time you typically spent in them.

With practised ease, your hands unstrapped Faye from her stroller into your arms where she cuddled into your neck. For the most part, Faye was an easy-going baby with an affinity for cuddling, but of course, that didn’t make her perfectly well behaved.

“Best be getting over to the office.” You cooed at the suckling sound Faye made with her fist pressed against her open mouth.

Kenny had personally hired you after working on Descendants as a casting director with healthy mutual respect. Often if at the time you were free, you found yourself working with the legendary man. He was lenient with the new addition of Faye as well, going as far as to see he was a great-uncle.

“Would this be Miss Faye?” Kenny asked from his seat at the head of the table with a handful of filled cars.

Jeremy, Owen, Madi, and Savannah sat with the newest script for the next episode leaving you to avoid looking at Charlie. Now it the typical Wattpad storyline you had fallen for the Canadian actor who reciprocated the feelings. A few hangouts and flirting, but he had no clue about the most significant piece of your life.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t have a sitter, and the daycare had unforeseen extensive renovations.” You spoke softly bouncing as Faye’s little body tensed up with a whimper.

“I’ve been begging you to bring her on set. It’s about time.” Kenny retorted walking swiftly to coo over the little girl. His action bringing the cast members closer, Charlie’s solemn stare never leaving as he came closer.

“She’s so cute! How old is she?” Savannah questioned as the brown-eyed little girl blinked at the multiple faces.

“Eight months now. My little surprise.”

“Definitely a surprise for sure,” Charlie mumbled just on the cusp of everyone being able to hear, but Faye had all the attention.

Within seconds Faye had found herself in the arms of Owen with funny faces to get the little baby to laugh. Savannah, with your permission, had started snapping pictures of Faye’s interactions with everyone. Kenny had retreated to his computer while Charlie pulled you just outside the door.

“You have a kid?” Charlie hissed keeping distance between the two of you as the situation settled, “We’ve been on a handful of dates, and you kept your baby a secret?”

Your heart sank, “Do you know the chances of a guy dating someone with a kid? Joshua Jackson’s character in Mighty Ducks talking with his coach? Guys left his mom in the dust when they caught a glance of him.”

“You know me.” Charlie stressed glancing over his shoulder at the distracted group of young adults. Faye’s giggle drawing awes from every single individual in the room, even Charlie’s lips quirked at the sound.

“Charlie, that little girl is my blood. Every single decision I make has her in mind. I wasn’t keeping her from you maliciously.” You informed him trying to meet his gaze, “Her name is Faye Eloise. She adores music and this tiny fox her uncles got her.”

Charlie’s shoulder lowered slightly, “She is pretty cute.”

“Her laugh is my favourite sound in the entire world. She’s a replica of her father more than me.” Your lips lifted gazing over Charlie’s shoulder to Kenny, engaging in a one-sided conversation with Faye.

Charlie’s green gaze examine our expression pinned on the tiny little human you had bonded for months with. The pure adoration coating your features softened the ball of anger in Charlie’s belly, that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt. But seeing the fundamental protective instincts you displayed, your body coiled to dash to Faye. Your gaze that periodically ensured Faye was safe.

Charlie saw the maternal love that poured out of you that he often caught in his own mother’s eyes. That very thought led to an in-depth conversation with his mom later when he was in the safety of his bedroom.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jeanette spoke with her phone on speaker. The silence drawing her concern, “Charlie? Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure. That girl I’ve been seeing?”

“Y/N, she’s on the crew with Kenny. She’s all you’ve been talking about lately, and you’ve already told me she may be The One.” The words caused Charlie to involuntarily smile at the call after the second date with you. Charlie didn’t feel half-hearted, he felt with his entire soul.

“I still think she is, but she’s a package deal,” Charlie admitted scrubbing one hand through his hair sending the bandana keeping his hair out his face to his lap.

Jeanette took a moment in cleaning her kitchen to sit at the island to click the phone off the speaker. The phone resting against her ear, she gave her full attention to her youngest son.

“Charles. I don’t want to ask you this, but is she pregnant?” Jeanette questioned, holding her breath in complete anticipation. She’d like a few grandkids but preferably when the time was right for her children.

“No. Mom! I didn’t get her pregnant.” Charlie groaned at the hesitant toe tipping into a conversation he’d rather not relive from his teens, “She has a daughter.”

“And? Is that a deal-breaker for you? You talk like she’s the love of your life Charlie, you’ve never spoken about any of your previous girlfriends like that. You’re not even officially dating her either.” Jeanette replied, watching Meghan settle in for an episode of her current favourite show; the only Gillespie child visiting at the moment, “Are you willing to walk away because she had a child?”

“Faye is absolut-“

“-sounds like you answered the question with the adoration in your voice. You don’t have to run to the nearest chapel to get married. If you love both of them, give it a shot.” Jeanette advised her son smiling when Charlie’s breathing evened out more.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Jeanette knew in her very marrow that in time she would meet little Faye, call it mother’s intuition but she was sure of it.

It was the week of hell with the daycare still shut down, your back up babysitter on vacation and Faye upset. Charlie barely spoke to you as he tried to find his footing in the new dynamic and the space he had rightfully asked for. It was hell seeing him at work and only speaking for work requirements.

“Sh.” You hushed bouncing with Faye curled in your arms as her mouth twisted, “As a casting director and Kenny’s complete faith in me. I made a suggestion to Soyon.”

A line appeared between your eyebrows as Faye’s snuffled against your soft hoodie while trying to focus on the cast. The boys, Madi and Booboo sat in the room for a short meeting during the time the next scene was being set up.

“Kenny and I talked about your personal connection to your characters. There’s the smallest disjoint some of you have. Kenny’s always preached about everyone having a voice and to make suggestions.” You could cry as the ache in your arms increased from holding Faye, she’d cry every time you tried to put her down.

Mom life when you can’t put your baby down to pee alone in peace. Faye getting her shots and recovering from a stomach bug didn’t help.

“Are you okay?” Madi asked, catching the expression that came and went in seconds. The cast watching as you continued to walk around the room with Faye.

“I’ll be fine.” You shrugged the concern off closing your eyes to ground herself once more juggling the concern for Faye with your job, “Soyon and I want you to put a personal detail in your character’s style. If you think of anythi-“

Faye’s sharp cry echoed in the room, “Shh. I’m so sorry guys. I’d put her down, but she won’t settle-“

The cuts ended when Faye was gently tugged from you into a warm chest and soft coos in the little baby’s ears. Your sore arms dropping as Faye’s weight was coaxed into Charlie’s body and your jaw dropped. Charlie’s rhythmic pace and soft coos turning into a lullaby easing the baby.

“Wha-“

“-can’t have the little boss upset.” Charlie shot a coy smile resurrecting the confidence in the relationship. The smile grew when Charlie’s tiny nod at your unspoken question eased you.

“Is there anything you’d like added to your character? Outfit suggestions?” You inquired catching the hesitant gaze of the young actress.

The Puerto Rican teenager had quickly become a game-changer for the production as a first time with such an incredible talent. The second you saw Madi’s audition tape it had sealed the most critical role; Kenny adored the audition tape you had forwarded so fast.

“Could we do something for my mom?” Madi asked, biting her lip as your eyes encouraged her to delve deeper into the request, “My mom is in the army, and I’d like to pay homage to her?”

Your hand landed on her own in a squeeze, “We can absolutely do that. Head over to Soyon when you have a moment. What about you, guys?”

The three boys had gone quiet as Faye settled into a sleep you had been begging for since she missed her morning nap. Charlie had gone from softly singing to humming in the infant’s ear while Jeremy and Owen watched.

“Do you think Luke could carry the Rabbit’s Foot?” Charlie whispered, resting his head against the infant in his arms.

“I’m sure Soyon would have no trouble with that. Jeremy, Owen if you figure something out just let Soyon know. All suggestions are welcomed.” You informed the duo before starting to reach for Faye.

Charlie stepped back while the 2/3rds of Sunset Curve left with Faye still held securely bouncing a small degree. The scene warmed your heart as Faye slept for the first time in what felt like years.

“I can take her if you want.” You told the actor with arms already reaching out to him but contradicting your expectations he’d back off.

Charlie’s green eyes focused solely on the tiny mouth opened just slightly with the soft breaths wafting from her small frame. At that moment cradling the small life the wall separating him shattered; the love flooded his veins, and he knew. He would fight anyone that hurt the little angel with no consequences in mind.

“I’d like to hold her longer. I need the practice for when you need a nap.” Charlie replied, shifting his gaze onto your form. Charlie’s heart clenched at the unsure glint in the eye of Faye’s mother.

“Oh.” You simply spoke stepping closer to the man that had easily stolen your heart, holding your entire world in his gentle hands.

“I know it won’t be easy, but I would really like to give us a real chance. No secrets anymore. The minute I saw her, my heart melted, but I got scared, and I’ll always carry that regret in my life. I want to be here for you and for Faye.”

Charlie fell into the father figure as easy as breathing creating a bond that almost made you jealous with the ease. He adored playing music during Faye’s bath time, and in the special bath time with bubbles, he would create a beard; it sent Faye into giggles every time. He absolutely loved when you brought Faye to set.

Leaving Faye in Charlie’s capable hands, you had taken your break from work to freshen up in the washroom. Grabbing a quick bite, you rushed back to Charlie having gone over your time by a complete accident.

“I am so sorry! I got distracted by-“ You were almost surprised the sudden stop in motion would cause a burnout. Working through lines was Jeremy, Owen and Charlie; Charlie new accessory being a baby sling with Faye strapped against his chest.

“Hey, Babe! We have no filming the afternoon of Friday, it’s blocked for Madi. Jer and Carolynn offered to babysit. We could do a date night.” Charlie fully turned to face you lightly bouncing to keep Faye settled.

The sight of Charlie with Faye securely in the baby sling, one that you didn’t own and was the best one on the market, was incredibly sweet. It was at that moment that you just knew that Charlie was The One and you are deeply in love with him.

“They don’t have to. I was planning on telling you tonight that Faye’s father is in town, he has Faye for Friday to Sunday. You informed Charlie as he walked closer to tug you into his embrace with Faye.

Now while you had been dating Charlie for two months at this point, the topic of who Faye’s father hadn’t come up. It was a topic that found its way for discussion, but his name never came up; it didn’t matter.

“Oh. we should give them a moment.” Owen whispered to his fellow actor and friend. With a withering glance, they froze in their places.

“Why? Faye’s father is an amazing guy. He has a specific time for calling Faye, we have a group chat for Faye. We send pictures and updates to him.” Charlie informed them, “There are no hard feelings. We all trust each other even if I’ve never met him.”

When Friday came along, it sent Charlie into a near-constant state of panic with the thought of meeting Faye’s father. He couldn’t sit still, well it’s Charlie he can’t sit still, but this was nervous energy. He’d contribute little to the conversations with eyes periodically checking the time.

Charlie was alone without you or Faye on set, you had let Kenny know the significance of the date. Charlie had left your apartment with a kiss from both you and Faye in order for the apartment to be cleaned up.

“What’s up with him?” Madi inquired as her tray made contact with the table shared by her ghostly trio. Jer sent a look to Owen before answering.

“It’s the weekend that Faye’s father will be in town. Charlie’s freaking out about meeting him.” Jeremy supplied typing a reply to Carolynn from just before lunch.

“Oh, is he worried about Y/N getting back together with him?” Madi asked jabbing the straw into her drink. Her brown gaze watching Charlie’s leg bounce like a jackhammer.

“No. Not about that. His scenes are done so he’s waiting for Y/N to pick him up.” Owen stated, leaning back as the man in question took off running in his street clothes to the parking lot, “Did he leave burn marks with that sprint?”

In the typical routine that never stopped the flutters in his stomach, you leaned over to hum into a kiss. Breaking apart Charlie caressed your finger gently before straightening into the passenger seat. Out of habit, he checks over his shoulder where Faye was strapped in her car seat.

“Oh, one moment,” Charlie exclaimed jumping out of the vehicle to open the back door. He quickly in to kiss Faye on her forehead, “I missed you Bug.”

Faye’s giggled in response as Charlie closed the backdoor to return to the passenger seat with a beaming grin. Charlie loved his girls with all his heart even in the short amount of time he had been in their lives.

“We’re meeting at his place.” You told the Canadian actor focusing on the drive, “He’s been renting a place since Faye was born. It’s easier for everyone to not stay in a hotel or an apartment.”

Charlie hummed in response, watching as you left the general vicinity of the set for one of the gated communities. It wasn’t the incredibly high-end community, but it was on the pricier side, but it was safe. His eyebrows raised at the houses the vehicle passed as he sang for the baby in the back.

“This is where he’s renting?” Charlie scoffed scanning the vast neighbourhood of houses, “Whoa.”

The chuckle fell from your lips as you pulled into the driveway of the address you had received via text messages. You had barely stepped out of the vehicle when Charlie already had Faye’s car seat in his arms. Cradled in the crook of his arm he held out his free hand to intertwine with yours.

“Any advice before we go in there?” Charlie questioned glancing at Faye gurgling with her stuffed Snowy Owl.

So passionate for nature, he had found an organization that sells the stuffed animals of animals in jeopardy. The money from sales of the stuffed animals when to saving the animal bought, so when he got Faye the Snowy Owl, it put money towards saving the animal. Faye adored her stuffed owl just as much as the person that bought it.

“Just be yourself. Tom and you are similar in terms of people down to earth and close with your family.” You informed him of pushing the button for the doorbell while Charlie stared at you.

“His name is Tom?” Charlie asked thinking back to the messages he had added as Faye’s father, he felt stupid he didn’t know the name of the guy who was a big part of your life.

“Did we never introduce you in the group chat?” You questioned as the door opened to the 5’8 brunette and glittering brown eyes.

Charlie’s eyes widened at the first physical appearance of your ex and Faye’s father standing in front of him. Tom was the same height as Charlie with brown eyes and a pale complexion but a childlike aura. Tom’s eyes met Charlie’s before they beamed down to the happy baby.

“’ello. Come on in.” Tom ushered you and Charlie into the home straight to the living room, “I’m Tom, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Charlie.” The Canadian actor spoke, shaking his hand with an equally welcoming smile as you gently took Faye out of her car seat.

“Hi, little Holly.” Tom cooed as his now eleventh-month-old child lunged into his arms with loud giggles, “That’s a cute owl you have there.”

“Y/N!” The overjoyed announcement came from Tom’s young brother Harry holding the camera that you’d never seen more than a few metres from him.

Faye’s uncle quickly squeezed you in a tight hug before pulling away to scan your form as if something drastic had changed. Charlie awkwardly watched as he settled into a little family, he wasn’t familiar with.

“Charlie, this is Tom’s younger brother Harry. Harry this is my boyfriend Charlie who I met on the set of his show.” You gestured for Charlie to come closer and just like that the three guys acted like they’d been friends for years.

You and Charlie didn’t linger at Tom’s house more than an hour to give Tom’s the entire weekend with his daughter. Of course, you would worry about her the whole time, but you also knew Tom didn’t need any help. You completely trusted him, but you can’t help it when the child is yours.

“Where’d you get Faye the owl?” Tom asked, leading Charlie to beam in excitement.

“Oh! Well, I use my platform to bring awareness and support to the environment internationally. The Canadian Wildlife Federation has a website that sells adoption kits for animals. Every purchase of the animal in their Adopt-an-Animal program funds the research and critical conservation programs for at-risk species.” Charlie used his hands as he rambled on, “By adopting this stuffed Snowy Owl it further funding for conservation efforts to protect Canada’s Arctic environments.”

Tom’s lips pulled into a grin, “My brothers and I have a charity we use to host events to raise money for the smaller charities. Maybe in the future, we sit down for a deeper conversation? You can send me a few links that I can share as well.”

“We have dinner plans. Keep me posted?” You interrupted, leaning into Charlie’s warm side with a kind smile to Tom.

Goodbyes shared you left the house with Charlie to the vehicle he adamantly asked to drive with that charming smile. The radio on low you watched the scenery go by.

“Tom’s an amazing guy. Family-oriented, kind, supportive, charitable and a really nice guy. Why did you guys break up?” Charlie asked, glancing at you from the corner of his green eyes. Your eyes, however, kept focused on the blurry landscape.

It wasn’t a way to avoid the question, “We became acquainted on Instagram back before he landed the role of Spider-Man. Over time it developed into a relationship that wasn’t serious or long term. We actually broke up a week after we conceived Faye.”

The two individuals stared stock still at the screen of black, white and shades of grey on the monitor. The tiny little bean moving around with the consistent thudding in the background. Your lips parted as the doctor’s words of a positive pregnancy, repeating like a broken record. Tom’s handheld tight as he digested the news.

His ex-girlfriend of three months, you to be precise, had been the safe place for a fetus to grow. Estimated gestation of eleven weeks it felt the two young adults spiralling with the large what-ifs making their presence known.

“Pregnant. That’s a baby.” The words came out shaky on the British man’s lips, “I put that baby in you. You are carrying my child, but it’s your choice if you want to keep the baby. It’s your body going through the changes.”

“I’d like to keep baby H.” You softly responded, sharing a smile of disbelief as it settled that a life-changing event would come to fruition in six months.

“We tried to make it work, but it became obvious that the spark had been gone for too long. I’ll always care for him and love him, but I’m not in love with him.” You told Charlie as he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant chosen for the date.

“He’s a really good guy.”

“He’s an amazing father. I lucked out in the romance department, to be honest even if it didn’t work out with Tom.”

The topic was shelved for lighter conversation based on the things you missed on set today. Owen almost broke his nose in some stupid stunt that Charlie was involved in while you recounted the new music Faye had taken to.

Julie and the Phantoms renewed for a second season with a few new characters being introduced such as paramedic Lucy. Lucy would be a recurring character on the show with a connection to the boys. Julie would detest the woman that she believed was trying to replace her mother, and that would cause tension with her father. It would bring in a storyline for Ray manoeuvring his way through the guilt of finding someone attractive other than his wife. Beyond Ray, the boys would know Lucy as she was a rookie paramedic called to their accident site in the ‘90s.

With the new character and some more recurring ones, Kenny had wholly placed his trust in your again. Working from home due to the pandemic you compiled an extensive list of potential actors.

“Supper is ready.” Charlie breathed leaning down to kiss your cheek in the home office you shared together.

In his arms was Faye who had recently turned two years old with bouncy brown volumized curls with your eye colour. Faye loved being outside in the backyard or short hikes with Charlie vigilantly keeping an eye on her walking. Often you let the hiking be their thing together while you had the alone time or worked.

“Smells good.” You breathed kissing over to kiss the little girl, “Hello Tink. Are you excited to see Nana and Papa?”

“Mhm!” Faye spoke with her eyes twinkling at seeing her English grandparents with their silly accents. With her grandparents came their rambunctious uncles Harry, Sam and Paddy and her favourite family member Tessa.

“Daddy can’t wait to bring you to where he grew up.” Your fingers gently pushed the rebellious curl off her pudgy cheek.

“Then Dad and Mom can go on their honeymoon.” Charlie joked with a peck on the cheek of his little girl.

The glint of the ring on Charlie’s finger screamed at you with the recent memory of the intimate wedding. It had taken place a few months ago with your family and friends in attendance with Tom as well. He had even stood up with Charlie and even had a charming speech.

Gillespie Wedding

The Brit shuffled on the stage just before the guests all wearing masks and spaced following guidelines for the pandemic. His own black mask hung off one ear as he stepped up to the microphone.

“Hello, my name is Tom.” He introduced himself setting his eyes on the wedding party table with a grin, “Some may find it off for an ex-partner to be a guest at the wedding let alone being a part of the wedding party. Some of you know that I share an absolutely gorgeous and rambunctious little toddler with the bride.”

Faye waved enthusiastically from her seat beside her mother earning a chuckle from the attendants.

“I was blessed with meeting Y/N and having a daughter with her. We’re not like a lot of ex-couples because we remained close friends. She was open from the moment she knew there was something with a certain Canadian actor. The three of us created a group chat to share updates for Faye like when she popped her first molar tooth. The was a period I never want to relive” Tom laughed shaking his head with his deep brown eyes scanning the crowd, “Charlie had no clue that I was Faye’s father and his expression was priceless.”

“I never mentioned his name to Charlie! I never even realized until we dropped Faye off. Charlie knew Tom is an actor but not one of the Tom’s in Marvel.” You shouted over the laughter from the guests.

“We bonded, and we’ve never had any issues with our places in the lives of these darling young women. Faye has a loving mother and two fathers that will help her navigate life and protect her. I want to tell Charlie this: when Faye graduates from high school and maybe university if she decides to continue formal education and her wedding. You’ll be walking her down the aisle with me. I consider you one of my best friends, and there is no one else in this world I would trust with my little girl. I wish the bride and groom lifelong happiness in the new chapter. To Charlie and Y/N Gillespie!”

Now months later you had moved into a four-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles with Charlie and Faye. For the time being the third bedroom was rented out to Owen when he was in town to lower your rental fees and give him a stable residence. For a four-bedroom apartment, it was on the smaller size, but it was close to areas for Charlie to hike.

“How are you feeling?” Charlie murmured helping you off the couch revealing the bump you had been sporting for a while.

Baby Gillespie was healthy and robust and very much a surprise to the young couple. Charlie was sure the baby would be a boy while you full-heartedly believed Faye would have a little sister.

“Can’t wait for this little bun to be in our arms.” One hand coming to rest on top of his hand over the warm crewneck sweater.

The sweater came from a package of gifts Madison’s family had sent to celebrate the news of the baby on the way. The sweater was a light grey colour with the outline of phantom blobs with their guitars. The only addition was a baby phantom blob with over-ear headphones with a pacifier in the mouth. Absolutely adorable and a gift to be cherished.

“I still think if baby G is a girl, we name her Lucy.” Charlie teased leaning forward with the belly, keeping him at a distance.

“We are-“ The words unheard as Faye made her appearance known on the baby monitor keeping an eye on the toddler. Charlie was turning the corner from the living room to grab the little girl.

“Hey, sweet Angel.” Charlie’s soft words came through the speaker with the same care he’d shown her the entirety he’d known her.

You really did luck out with a beautiful daughter adored by both her fathers she had wrapped around her pinky. The paternity of Faye didn’t matter to Tom or Charlie, both mutually respecting each other with no ill will. The two male actors had grown a lovely friendship on mutual interests and passion for the environment and charity.

The fond smile grew as your eyes found the picture from Faye’s first birthday; her hands high in the ear coated in the smashed cake. Pudgy cheeks a rosy pink with Charlie and Tom on each side kissing her cheeks. Tom’s brother Harry had caught the candid picture with Faye’s infectious smile and surrounded by the love of her family.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @parkeret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds @siriuswvrld @princessvader15 @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle @joshy-obx @lovesanimals @oopsiedoopsie23 @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you @jaskiers-sweetkiss @lostrandomfangirln @must-be-a-weasley-92 @jatp-holland @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland @dasexydevitt13 @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost @marinettepotterandplagg @ssprayberrythings @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon @zukoshonourr @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl @all-in-fangirl @kinda-really-lost @tenaciousperfectionunknown @badwolf00593 @blowakissbabe @talksoprettyjjx @thesweetestsinner @kaitieskidmore1 @writerinlearning @aiofheavenandhell @sageellsworth05

#charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie x reader #luke patterson imagines #jatp fanfic #charlie gillespie #caitsy and ash productions

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liquid-luck-00 · 3 years

Text

Magical Mayhem

Day 16: Magic @maribatmarch-2k21

Ao3 *** Here *** Part 2 *** Part 3

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette may or may not have been messing with the spells in the grimoire. She also may or may not have accidentally reversed the spell binding the kwamii to the miraculous. In honesty that relieved almost all of her stress and weight that was thrust on her.

Unfortunately, the kwamii decided to each placed a blessing on her. That had led her to her current predicament. Sure Hawkmoth had been defeated but that didn't solve the liar Rossi problem. Her previous friends were no more than acquaintances at this point. Her own parents believed the liar over her.

So when her classmates, Lila finally getting her hands dirty, pushed her down the stairs, she let her magic wash over her. A duplicate fell and crumpled at the foot of the stairs. The right leg and left arm were in an unnatural position. Blood pooled from the head, growing ever larger. She herself went invisible and floated above them all.

No one moved, no one said a word. Not until a scoff and footfalls of one Alya Cesaire descended the stairs. "Really girl," she stepped into the pool of blood and grabbed the girl by her hair pulling her up. “Stop faking for attention. No one believes you.”

“Miss Cesaire, please have some respect for the dead!” Madame Mendeleev broke the tension, a sharp breath was heard from the collective in the courtyard.

“She is just faking it.” Again she rolled her eyes. No one noticing the three silvery orbs circling the scene, nor that every phone, computer, tablet, television was streaming this event.

“She is unresponsive, there is no movement of her chest meaning she isn’t breathing, and... and the pool of blood is too big. She is dead.” The teachers voice was no more than a whisper but it didn’t need to be.

"She can't be..." Alya dropped the girl’s corpse she just noticed she was holding up, bloody foot prints retreated with her.

"But I am dead." Marinette said as she floated above the corpse, glowing slightly, transparent, and wispy. "For those of you who don't know me, my name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I was the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous jewels. I was the hero of Paris, Ladybug." She smiled sadly around her.

"End Transmission." she blinked out of existence. "oh wait." She returned. "A blessing and a curse." Two of the three silvery orbs descended and landed in each hand. One exploded in green and landed on those who hurt her not only physically, mentally, and emotionally. The other spread red and descended on most of the world's populace. "And freedom." the last orb showered silver and all Kwamii on earth were freed. The spells to bind them erased.

And with that she once again let her magic flow within her body and left Paris behind her.

In hindsight, that might not have been the smartest idea. Magic attracts magic after all. Granted she found that out when she was submerged in glowing green water.

She pulled herself out of the pool. "Okay note to self, don't do that again." she muttered to herself, but her exit was short lived as there was a sword at her neck.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" A boy's voice growled at her.

"Alternate question." She offered, "Where am I and what is that?" was asked while pointing at the pool she just exited.

He didn't respond to her, at least not verbally, instead he pushed her to get up and walk with the sharp end of his blade. She didn't see anyone on the walk, but there were constant auras, it was almost claustrophobic. They got outside and then things clicked.

She was no longer in her world, the fact that the acid green pit was fueled by chaos magic, was an after thought in her mind, to the cliche looking ninjas in front of her.

"Nanda Parbat." slipped from her lips. "The home of the league of Assassins, The Lazarus Pit," turning to the man in front of her, “Ra's Al Ghul, the Demon's head," turning back to the boy. "Damian Wayne, the next Robin." The two males hadn't responded to her. "Great I got pulled into a comic book world." she huffed in a muted whisper.

"How do you know that child." was sneered by Ra's finally breaking the silence.

"I apparently know a lot of this world," sass not failing her, she shot back. A vision of an attack that would happen in maybe an hour flashed in her mind. "Have fun with that Ra's." she smirked. "see ya around Wayne." she teleported away.

This time she had a better handle on her powers, granted she never really used her powers before this. She just knew what they where and what they did. How she had so much control may have been because of how magic worked with the miraculous in her world. But here it was completely different, magic had another way of working. Which might be how she had popped into a red cushioned armchair in-front of a roaring fire and two people?

A man had blue eyes, blonde hair and a kept, unshaven looking beard. He wore a long tanned duster jacket, white button down, tie, and slacks. And a woman(?) who had purple skin with darker purple markings. A fin? horn? crest? in a darker purple still. With a magenta cape.

"Um... Hi," she awkwardly. "I'm still trying to figure all this out."

"You are not of this world are you?" The woman asked. Mari shook her head in response. "What world are you from?"

"I have no idea and before this morning I never thought I'd answer that." she chuckled nervously.

"Bloody hell, then how did you get here?" The man decided to cut in.

"Would you believe that tiny pocket gods blessed me with magical powers and now I'm here in a completely different world, which I could have sworn was a comic book world before this morning." she began to ramble.

"Kwamii." The woman spoke. Marinette had looked up and nodded to the question. Was it even a question, it seemed more like a statement. But the woman continued after her nod. "They are present in a few other universes but not in this one."

'Huh' was the answer by both Marinette and the man.

"Your raw capabilities and affinity with magic seems to have been amplified by these blessings." the woman continued.

“Alright why don’t you show us what you can do love," standing, grabbing a cup from next to him, he waved her to follow. "Name's Constantine. Your's?"

"Marinette." she answered swiftly with a small smile.

"That," pointing at the woman, "is Black Orchid, or a bloody pain depending. She is the incarnation of the house itself."

"House?" she mused aloud. “Oh the House of Mysteries. I think I remember a bit but not much on it,” she scrunched her nose and tried to remember. “Ya no apart from the Dark timeline movies I've got nothing."

"What do you mean by that child," Orchid asked from beside her.

"Well in my original world this was all a fictional, a world with several incarnations and timelines." She rambled again.

As they entered a large room, Constantine had her attempt several spells. He then proceeded to lecture her on correct pronunciations, visualizations, and everything in between. Suffice to say that was how her magical training started in this new world, her new start.

She is down one abusive environment. Gained powers she is just learning to control. Got a new drunk uncle who can function like her on just as much caffeine and limited sleep. A sentient home that may be smarter than her phone and even more badass. And the knowledge that an asshole demon head just got his ass kicked. Unfortunately, she knows how this will play out, but just how much can she change without disrupting the timeline too much. Or if this even one of the timelines written out from her world, guess she will just have to live and find that out herself.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gifts from the Kwamii

Tikki = luck

Plagg = destruction

Trixx = shape-shifting

Pollen + Wayzz + Longg = magical capability

Nooroo + Duusu = flight

Mullo = Languages (understanding + speaking)

Sass = foresight

Roaar = enhanced strength + stamina

Fluff = borrow/time/speed force

Kaalki = teleport/gate

Stompp + Xuppu + Ziggy + Barkk + Orikko + Daizzi = immortality

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha @animegirlweeb @jumpingjoy82 @thedragonbug

#dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #miraculous x dc #maribat #ml marinette #john constantine #maribatmarch2021

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docholligay · 2 years

Note

Reinako "You never believe me! If I told you right now that I love you, would you even believe me?"

Romance! I'm great. 843 words

Rei knew that there were things bound in since the first version of them had served for the moon kingdom. Some of these, like allegiance to the princess, an affinity with the God of War, her sense of Sight, were all easy enough to accept for Rei.

But then there was the question of serving under Minako.

She would have said Venus, but she would be wrong. Even knowing what Venus was, it would have been easy enough to follow her onto the battlefield, easy enough to answer her command, if it could be said that Rei could easily answer to anybody’s. But Mina? Another question entirely.

Rei was, in many ways, meant to be her second in command, and yet it always seemed like she was more of a prosecuting attorney. Today was no different, the two of them holed up in that little cabin at the edge of a vast and foggy forest, poring over the information open to them while Mako fed the rest, and Pluto distracted them with overlong stories.

It was a strange little compound, something Mina had found on a website that suited their purposes so perfectly Rei had been immediately suspicious. The tiny one room cabin, with the tin roof and the postage stamp porch, looking out over the deep valley of green in front of them. They said it used to be a fire watch station, and everything else on the grounds was in service to that.

The fire was coming from inside the cabin.

“We have to get ahead of this.” Mina was looking down at the large sheet of butcher paper she’d placed between them, notes scribbled in corners like little dust bunnies.

“Getting ahead doesn’t mean killing someone, Mina.” Rei hands were firmly at her hips as the rain pinged off the roof.

Mina chuckled. “I mean, sometimes it definitely does.”

“Not this time.”

“Hey Rei,” She sat back in the hard wooden chair and crossed her arms, “Quick question, have you ever considered being up your own ass instead of just having Usagi’s hand up there?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Hands came down on the edge of the table.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize I was being so unclear.” Her voice rose, and she leveled her gaze at Rei, “Quick being Usagi’s fucking puppet and think for yourself! Is what I fucking mean.”

“I am thi--”

“Oh no you fucking aren’t!” Mina threw down the pen and stood up, “You’re thinking about Usagi’s fucking sniffling crying fit when we have to ice someone, that’s what you’re thinking about! Nothing else comes into the fucking equation! I have told you everything about this, and what the fuck other kind of conclusion are you gonna make?”

Rei leaned more heavily over the table, growling. “I think you pick the facts you want to pick.”

“Why?” Mina threw up her hands. “You think I get my jollies off this?”

“I don’t know why you do what you do,” Rei huffed, “But I don’t think you’re right.”

With that she turned and walked out toward the tiny porch, the one where you looked for smoke, the one where you scanned the horizon and looked for trouble in whatever tiny corner you might be looking in. MIna saw the disengagement for what it was, and followed in hot pursuit.

“Oh yeah, tell me your reasoni--”

Rei spun around, aking the most of the few inches of height between them. “I don’t think you eve--”

“You don’t have an--”

“YOU don’t have any--”

“I’m trying not to get you fucking--”

“You’re trying to get done--”

“Oh fuck you Rei, I’ve thought ab--”

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU.” In Rei’s head, there was a thunderclap, though the rain was steady and uninterrupted.

MIna stopped and looked at her, taking a step back and looking out at the mist and wet.

“You never fucking believe me about anything.” She paused, and turned back toward Rei, “If I told you, right now, that I loved you, would you even believe me?”

Rei could have been ready for any blow, but that one. Her hand unconsciously went to her chest, and she shook her head. Tactics. Mina was all about tactics. This was a particularly brilliant one.

“I don’t believe you because YOU’RE A LIAR, MINAKO.”

“Do you think I’m lying about this?” Mina walked to her, and kissed her deeply, her hand curving around the back of her neck, the sweet peach intoxication of her filling all of Rei’s senses.

She pulled away. Tactics.

“Was that a lie, you think?”

“I--” Rei stopped. No, was the answer. No, it didn’t feel like a lie. Not at all. It felt like the realest thing in the world, to Rei.

But Minako was a liar. Minako was a tactician. Minako was clever and cunning. Minako was Venus, wasn’t she? Rei had to follow her into battle, but she didn’t have to follow her here. It was a trick. It had to be.

“Yes.”

This time the thunder was real.

#holligay p/valentine’s day #doc writes

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mega-ringsandthings-world · 3 years

Note

I'm always down to talk about Gale!! Do you have any headcanons you haven't shared? Any about his family?

@warriorlid14 I do!! I think I just posted an ask about his mother, Hazelle, and I cannot express how much I love her. She's strong, yet caring and maintains a neutrality when Katniss and Gale are going through a rough spot. I think, had Katniss ever married or otherwise joined the Hawthorne family, Hazelle would have made a lovely mother-in-law to Katniss and they would have grown very close. Also, from the brief interaction we see between Gale and Hazelle after the whipping, it's clear that they themselves are very close, and I love that! I figure that Hazelle was a young mother, and so she is lively and energetic when not bogged down by too many worries, and so she and Gale are very friendly and share a deep bond. There is no mention made of Gale's father, except that he died in the same mine accident as Katniss,' but I like to think he was a less broody version of Gale, talented and handsome, and very charismatic and loyal. I headcanon also that Gale likes good clothes! I spoke about this in terms of Katniss, but I also think that Gale enjoys good things. It's just that his circumstances never permitted him to actually have anything material that he could, in fact, properly enjoy. There is passage in the books when Katniss meets with Gale, and she offers him some gloves Cinna made for him. And he seems to actually like them, despite his reservations! So I believe he would like to have nice things, and specifically good clothes, if the opportunity ever arose. Also, a lot of Gale's personality is shrouded in worry and fear and anger, (as is almost everyone's in thg) but he seems to be quite sweet and expressive in those rare moments we see beyond that. Also a romantic, albeit in a subtle way. nd this may be hard for some people to see or understand, but Gale loves, strongly and deeply, and is loyal to those he loves, as well as very entuned to the misfortune of others. We see this in his (very successful, for what he could do) efforts to evacuate 12, and in his volunteering to rescue Peeta, who at that moment in time, was almost one-for-one the sum total of his problems. I headcanon that he hates orange juice, if only because Katniss likes it and it would be funny as hell to throw that tiny wrench into the mix. She gets him to try some after the war and he says it's disgusting. He also likes dark chocolate. And he eats lean and green. Katniss shows an affinity for rich foods and things that are sweet and high in proteins, pots of chocolate and pastries, rich stews and bacon and eggs, meats and bread rolls, (as she should, she's never gotten enough to eat and she should enjoy eating!) But I figure Gale would never lose the semi-vegetarian eating I headcanon him to have, he likes fresh fruits and greens, wheat breads, meats like beef and venison, and teas. Oh, he'd like green tea! Again, same principle as with the orange juice. He's a good dancer too, because district 12 is said to have folk dances and such, and Gale has many little siblings that would naturally want to dance. Hazelle taught him, because he'd watch her dance at New Years/the harvest festivals, and wanted to be taught as a child. Although it's hard to get him to dance for real, of course. Okay this is getting long, sorry! But I hope some of this interests you!

#thg #the hunger games #gale hawthorne #thg meta #I have #so many hedcanons and thoughts on Gale #but never anyone to share them with!#so if anyone wants to ask about them #!!

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newathens · 3 years

Text

in honor of everything that happened on aug 18th the good and the bad here is a scene from secrets that has been collecting dust for a year and may never get its moment but it is where luke castellan gets a chance to speak and it deserves to b seen at least once

LUKE:

Fresh donuts sat up on the counter, the sweet smell of frosting wafting through the space. The place was warm; their air conditioner busted. It was a random Wednesday at eleven in the morning so there weren’t many bystanders, though the few that were around kept stealing glances towards me. A mother lost in thought touched her cheek and when she caught me looking back, ducked her head. I kept tapping the tabletop with my knuckles, wondering how hard I’d have to whine to get the waitress to give me a chocolate glaze. She’d already passed by three times out of worry.

The shining, silver bell shook and rang as the diner door opened.

He stood in the entryway for a long moment, taking in the length of the diner. It took him two tries to notice me, but when he did, the neutral expression he’d worn shifted into a deep frown. He approached the booth slowly and held my gaze all the while.

“Not funny,” Hermes said. I smiled with all the gusto of a fourteen-year-old.

“Sorry,” I said, voice dropping several octaves as I aged ten years. “I couldn’t help myself. Too soon?” He took a seat without another word. Blonde hair, blue eyes—nothing much had changed; in fact, there wasn’t a trace of greying hair to be found. He seemed fit, youthful. “I thought we’d leave some mark on your complexions.” He gave a tight smile and said nothing, but in the silence I noticed it. An airy presence, circling around me much like the scent of the pastries. It wasn’t threatening, just curious, like a snake amongst the forest floor.

He was checking me.

I did the same to him and watched, rather gleefully, as his eyes widened in recognition. It felt strange, kind of annoying. Is this how gods’ felt? Striped raw, bodies vibrating like giant batteries next to one another?

His search turned up short, but mine didn’t.

“Jean pocket, out with it.”

He sighed and placed a gold iPhone in the middle of the table. The caduceus shimmered on its back.

Oh, look who it is! Martha said.

“Nice to see you,” I said.

I didn’t say this was nice!

“And you too, George.”

Hey, Luke, he said, if you take over his position, will you get to keep us?

“I’d hope so, you two are a riot.”

“Comical,” Hermes said. “Both of you keep quiet.” We looked at each other again, ready to speak but unsure how to start. The waitress beat us to it.

“How can I—oh!” She nearly snapped her pencil in half. Her eyes were wide on me, then on the next booth over, then to the other side of the diner. “Wasn’t there, I mean, there was a child—”

“Can I have three of those delicious looking donuts, miss?” I asked. The waitress bit her lip absentmindedly.

“Sure thing,” she said, “And you?”

“Nothing,” Hermes said, then his eyes glowed. “Thank you, and apologies.” The waitress stared blankly, then walked off without another word. The donuts from the counter disappeared and reappeared at our table.

“Thanks,” I said.

He let out a tired breath, “Lukas—”

“Yes, father?”

His expression soured, wind rattled the windows, but then it softened, his eyes shut. I stared at the caduceus, quiet now. He sat back in his seat, placed a steady hand on the wood, and stared out towards the street. Towards the shops and sidewalks familiar to us both.

“We’re here to talk, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then explain.”

Hermes had the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, eyes closed. As the silence stretched on, the conversation played over in my head. Again and again and again. The whole time he barely said a word, not unlike him. . .but not all that comforting. The diner was empty now, though I hadn’t realized when it happened. No weapons, those were the terms, but it would be a lie to say that my palm wasn’t itching to call Backbiter to it. Martha and George slithered around the staff mimicking some sort of animated phone case.

I should run.

He stood without warning. I followed.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he turned and left. Again, I followed.

Late summer heat wrapped around us like a blanket as we exited into midday. The area was lively, busy shoppers and cyclists, joggers and freshly-washed cars. Sun shone down heavy on their exteriors and I squinted against the glint. It was way too bright—

“There’s no one here,” he said. I turned. He was waiting on the sidewalk, body facing north, towards the path that would take you further inland. Away from the main strip, closer to the suburbs. “Just you and me.”

“Right,” I said and shoved both hands deep into their pockets. I knew where we were going.

Higher up the heat wasn’t as oppressive. Hot winds blew now and then, rustling dry leaves and pushing the scent of saltwater up from the bay. I breathed deeply out of reflex. We walked in silence. I kept our strides in rhythm. That was until I saw it.

The beat-up white house with green hinges that had fallen into disrepair from neglect and misfortune was almost unrecognizable. A new coat of paint covered the siding, the chipping front door had been replaced, and curtains blew out of wide open windows. A lush, green lawn surrounded the property, split in half by a clean walkway bracketed with a rainbow of flowers. There wasn’t a single discolored, mildewed, decaying stuffed monster to be found. I jogged forward in spite of myself.

“What did you. . .” I turned back. Hermes had slowed, taking in the scene much the same as I. He looked at me. “What did you do?”

“Luke, this isn’t,” he stared at the house and his face twisted, “I haven’t done anything.”

I swallowed a dry mouth and ran up the walkway, all caution lost to the innate yet unearned fear for a loved one. The door rattled under my fist as I knocked repeatedly, frantically. Hermes took his place on the tiny porch beside me.

“Hello,” I shouted. “Hello, is anyone home? Hello!”

“Coming! Just a moment,” a gentle voice rose from the depths of the house and a few moments later, a woman opened the door. Blonde hair, not frizzed, interrupted by streaks of gray. Green eyes; forest green, not neon. Healthy skin, not sickly. A warm smile that only grew wider as she took us in.

“Mom.”

“Luke,” she said and pulled me in to press a kiss to my forehead. I went as rigid as ice; she didn’t notice. “And look at you,” she said to Hermes, who hid his shock well. He had a smile on, pressed a kiss to her cheek, but I could tell somehow, that he was as clueless as I.

The spell.

“Come on you two,” she ushered inside. “I’m baking.”

“Cookies?” I guessed. It was the wrong thing to say. She stopped midstep, hand on the doorknob, and stared at me. Both eyes open, mouth in a frown. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she blinked and shook her head, as if pushing away a stupor.

“No, pie. Do you like cookies?” She led us into the house. It was quiet, a television played low in the front room. Varied, jewel hues covered the walls, hiding the dirty eggshell they used to be. Tarps covered some furniture, though they were clearly being used. The wood floors shined from a polishing. The entire space smelled of pastry. Hermes followed faster than I. “Luke,” she called. She was leaning out the kitchen archway. “Lemonade?”

“Sure,” I said but couldn’t move. Then Hermes called my name and I scoffed.

The kitchen was different too. All the grime had disappeared. All the appliances updated. The old, retro table had been replaced with a long wooden piece, and on top of it, were strawberries. Buckets and buckets of strawberries, contained in plastic, straw, wicker; anything that would hold them. The sweet scent was nearly overpowering here. My mom held out a full glass and brought my hand to it to make sure it didn’t drop.

“Strawberries?” I asked.

She looked at the table, “Oh! Yes, I’ve grown quite an affinity for them,” she shrugged. “Not sure why but. . . they’re pretty aren’t they?” A beep sounded.

“May,” Hermes said as she pulled a tray from the oven. She looked over her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“May, are you alright?”

My mother smiled—with a gorgeous set of pearly whites. Not possible, her teeth had yellowed and rotted years ago. “Of course, I am. It’s a beautiful day and I have two of my favorite people right in front of me.”

“May,” Hermes said a third time, this one pained. I realized where I felt confusion, he felt hurt. My mother noticed. Her smile dropped and her eyes along with it. “May, the last time I saw you. . .it didn’t look like this.”

She placed the tray on the stove and took a heavy seat at the table. The towering strawberries seemed to suffocate her figure. “I was very different, wasn’t I? But I don’t like to think about it. Why not have some pie and then you can go? I don’t expect you to stay very long.” She looked at both of us. “You never can.”

Hermes huffed in misery. He came to sit by her side. I felt like I was watching a television show. This couldn’t be mine, this couldn’t be my parents.

He took her hand, “I don’t mean to put you through pain but I’m a little shocked. Your condition. . . wasn’t exactly fixable. I’d like to know what happened.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “About a year ago, I woke up. . .at least it felt like that. The presence of that thing disappeared, mostly. I could think straight again. I started cleaning up, there wasn’t anything else to do. The calendar on the wall was from the nineties. Found out someone had been paying the bills all this time,” she touched Hermes cheek and he smiled. “One morning I started working on the lawn. . .” she gave a sad, little laugh. “Apparently, I’d gained a reputation. The neighbors were so worried they tried to take the shears out of my hands, but once they realized. . .they helped me. People helped me fix up the house, gave me food, took me to the dentist, taught me how to use these new phones. They were so kind,” she sniffled. “I really didn’t deserve that much kindness.”

“Of course you do,” Hermes said but she lifted her head towards me.

“I don’t remember much. I get glimpses, pains even. But what I can recall, none of it is good. The memories. . .and the visions. Luke, honey, I’m so sorry.” The air was so thick I could’ve cut through it with Backbiter. I scuffed my boot against the linoleum. Silence snaked its way through the kitchen, like Martha and Geroge slithered on that phone.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Mom,” I said finally.

“But there is,” she tried. “All that happened, the things I did, and then I just let you—”

“There’s nothing you have to apologize for,” I said and the air shifted from thick to frigid. Hermes’ jaw tightened, but he didn’t move his gaze from my mother. Whatever. “So did you chuck all my old stuff? Not that it matters, I’m a little too old for Power Ranger pajamas.”

My mother wiped at her eyes, “Oh no, I haven’t touched your room. Go take a look, it’s all there.”

The tiny, off-white carpeted room with one square window was exactly how I’d left it a long, long time ago. The bureau had one drawer open. Angry crayon marks covered a low corner of the wall. The small, twin bed was made, but wrinkled. I walked up to it and ran a hand across the blanket.

I had the sudden urge to stay.

It hit me like a brick to the solar plexus, knocking the wind from my lungs. Anger followed soon after. What are you thinking? I thought to myself.

You could go to college.

You lost your right to a future.

You don’t get to leave, Annabeth’s voice echoed.

Through the window I could see the road; children playing across the street; a man starting up a lawn mower. It felt surreal, freakishly abnormal.

Maybe this was a type of punishment.

“What are you thinking?” Hermes asked. I hadn’t heard him enter.

“I’m thinking I’m too big for this bed,” I said and turned towards him, hands in pockets. His cadecaus was out now. The snakes slithered the length of it, restless. “Not that it matters.”

#metaphorically speak in a sense i guess. to the audience #no i do not expect anyone 2 read it but if u like luke at all. i think u might feel warm and fuzzy and heartbroken at the same time <3

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dzamie-oc · 3 years

Text

05 - Space

Space prompt, eh? A good a time as ever for some hammer-space dragon! Featuring Sylvia, the loveliest little gold dragoness in the Dragonslayer Guild Hall.

Length: 2200 words Rating: M (noncon vore. Not sexual, but it’s still noncon and vore) Summary: Victoria, a dragonslayer in training, learns an unforgettable lesson about how hammerspace dragons work, and perhaps about assuming mundane explanations around fantastical creatures.

Minors DNI with this particular story. I am hella uncomfortable with the idea of y’all openly interacting with vore.

-----

“Hey, Sylvia, any chance I could borrow a gold coin? Need to test the magical affinity of this thing to some elements, and gold’ll do just fine,” the cheetah asked the little golden dragon perched on his shoulder. “Y’know, before I permanently affix the actual part.”

“Yeah, gimme a second. Hand, please.”

Behind them, Victoria watched the pair work - or, well, she watched Dzamie work, while Sylvia mostly just watched him from closer. She had initially stopped by to ask the katul about one of his swordwork lessons, but he seemed busy, so she was fine waiting... for ten minutes longer, maybe. A bit more if she thought she’d get to cuddle the adorable little dragoness. Yes, time and time again, Dzamie himself had repeated that every dragon can kill an incautious slayer, and it was almost always in reference to Sylvia, but the woman found it hard to take it seriously. Not that she’d ever say it aloud. Even if it turned out not to be true, Sylvia seemed to take pride in her rumored “danger,” and Victoria liked the little lady too much to rain on her parade.

A loud hiss filled the air, then Dzamie waved a gold coin in his hand back and forth, steam rising up from his paw and the coin. “What’s he doing that does that?” the human asked herself, aloud.

Dzamie, however, was the one to respond, without looking up. “Oh, fire spells come easy to me, so I use ‘em to quickly dry off stuff Sylvia gives me. Gives the workshop a certain smell, but it’s not really enough drool to bother humans.” His voice dropped to a mutter as he looked over his work, then nodded and spoke up again. “Yeah, that’ll work. But, yeah, if you ever catch me after a swim, I do the same thing to myself - just, with a silencing spell when there’s people around.”

Having been unofficially invited into the conversation, Victoria walked closer. The katul was working on what looked an awful lot like a gun from a video game. “Huh, forgot you did cosplay,” she remarked, “and, wait, why would what she gave you be wet?”

Two pairs of eyes swung to look at her, one tiny and yellow, one more her size and, well, also yellow, but with a purple aura around them that soon cleared. “I trust him to return items from my hoard,” Sylvia said, “and, naturally, anything I don’t bag up for protection gets wet.”

Victoria looked around, trying to find where the little dragoness might have put a hoard that she could somehow reach from Dzamie’s shoulder, to no avail. Luckily for her, Sylvia easily read the human’s face, smiled, swished her tail, and said, “Hmm, tell you what. You’re nice enough to me, good enough pets and all that.”

“Oh, is she the other one who’s been giving you strawberries?” Dzamie asked. He was looking back at the prop again, where a finger wreathed in green fire poked at a floating spell circle of the same color.

Sylvia huffed. “Anyway! Would you like to see my hoard, Victoria?” The golden dragoness sat up as tall as she could to deliver her next line, “just be aware that if you try to steal from me, your life is forfeit.”

Any tiny, intimidating effect she might have had was immediately discarded as her furry, feline perch moved his arm and sent her tumbling onto the table. In spite of herself, Victoria laughed. “Sorry, sorry!” she said, “it’s just, the timing. I would love to see your hoard, Sylvia. Assuming it’s not just that coin. Uh, no offense, you’re just, well, you-sized.”

Dzamie interrupted again, muttering “alright, let’s see if this doesn’t explode this time” as he picked up his project in one hand. “And Victoria, pop quiz! Zero percent of your grade. What species of dragon is this adorable golden derg?”

“Don’t call me a derg.”

“Adorable golden dragon,” the cheetah amended. The device in his hand whirred and glowed with his green magic, and successfully failed to explode, at which he gave a satisfied “heh.”

Victoria leaned against one of the other tables, trying to recall. “She’s a... hammer-something. Not hammerhead, hammer... hammerspace!” she said with a confident smile.

Dzamie nodded. “Fantacular. Just making sure you might know what you’re in for.” He turned to Sylvia. “I’m gonna go test this out proper. Back in a few.”

The dragoness on the table walked over to the edge and sat down, facing Victoria. “Okay, then, just set your sword... somewhere and give me your hands.” As she did so, unsheathing the weapon and laying it flat, Sylvia continued, “I never figured out whether it’s easier for you if I go slow or fast, but I like slow, so I’m gonna go slow.”

“Oh, and you’ll want to ditch the rest of your armor,” Dzamie added, gesturing to her with the toy gun, “trust me on this, it’s uncomfortable and then you just have to clean it unnecessarily.”

Victoria glared at him. “Sure, Teach, let me just strip down right in front of a male katul all alone in this room.”

Dzamie passed his prop to his other hand, then held up his fingers as he counted off, “okay, one, Sylvia’s here with us; two, just because I fit the stereotype doesn’t mean you should use it; and three-” he lifted his project, “- the only reason I’m coming back here in the next half hour is if this thing explodes on teleport. ...which you better not,” he muttered at the prop. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

For a solid minute, Victoria stared at the spot he’d vanished, almost daring him to teleport back in. Sylvia coughed to get her attention. “He’s not wrong, though. I don’t know about armor maintenance, but usually people prefer to be in comfortable clothes.” The little dragoness turned her head away and flicked her tail back and forth. “If, uh, if they wear any, but people like that are few and far between. Look, it is pretty cramped on the way to my hoard, but I’d be an awful friend if I insisted you get rid of things that aren’t weapons.”

“Things that aren’t weapons?”

The golden dragon gave her a flat look. “Can you really blame me, a dragon, for not trusting dragonslayers with weapons?”

“Fair point.” Victoria sighed. After a moment more of internal debate, she started to remove her armor. She asked Sylvia for some help, and before long, she stood before the hammerspace dragon in a sports bra and athletic shorts, glad that her friend was a dragon and not a katul, or a human.

Sylvia looked her up and down; Victoria jokingly asked if she thought she was hiding knives or something. “I... already checked, actually. Just thought dragonslayers wore something more underneath. Laundry day?”

The human grimaced. “It’s done, just... I wasn’t thinking earlier. Er, so, hands?”

“Hands!”

Victoria tentatively held her hands out in front of Sylvia, who pressed them together with her little paws. She brought her muzzle right next to the woman’s fingers, then looked up and said, “just so you know, I’m not letting you back down from this.” Before Victoria could ask what she meant by that, the dragoness opened her jaws and lunged forward.

She could hardly believe her eyes. Her arms looked just fine all the way down to her wrists, but there... they simply weren’t. Sylvia’s snout started, and her arms stopped. Her hands were surrounded by something warm, squishy, and wet, and when she tried to move them or pull them apart, they were pressed back in on each other. Then, a wave of pressure rolled down the hidden hands, and Victoria watched as more of her forearms also shared her hands’ plight. She wiggled her hands more, but there was no change. It took a few seconds for her mind to finally piece it all together: Sylvia was eating her. Somehow.

Another swallow pulled her elbows in, locking her arms out straight. In the back of her head, Victoria knew that she really ought to be panicking, that being eaten by a dragon was something she should not be going calmly into. But still, even as she bent over to the table, leaning down towards the dragon’s tiny body, it was hard to really take it seriously. After all, if she turned her head, she could see that not one of Sylvia’s scales were out of place, so CLEARLY the tiny dragon couldn’t be swallowing her.

A moment later, and she no longer had that problem. Her head was buried deep in somewhere dark pink, surrounded by hot, wet flesh, and any time she moved her arms or twisted her head, all she heard was wet “shlrk”s and squishes as she was guided back into position. The dragoness’s next swallow came more quickly, as though anticipating the human’s reaction:

Now that her eyes were no longer trying to tell her she wasn’t being eaten, Victoria came to the obvious conclusion: her friend had betrayed her trust for a meal. However, she found that she wasn’t scared, or terrified. Be it her own natural inclinations, or her, admittedly incomplete, training as a dragonslayer, Victoria instead found rage. With a primal yell, she twisted and turned, thrashing her arms to try to choke or even gag Sylvia, and she kicked one knee up, trying to feel her way into slamming into the tiny trickster. Unfortunately, the next thing she felt was her knee pinned against her belly, joining the rest of her upper body in the tight, slimy tunnel. Dragon drool got in her mouth, so she spat and sputtered as her hips, shorts, and other thigh were engulfed by the irrationally long throat. Between the heat, the steady, almost soothing noises of wet throatflesh squishing against her skin, the humid, heavy air, and simple exertion, Victoria soon found the fight slip away from her. Ankle-deep in what she thought was a very small dragon, the human sighed and let Sylvia close her jaws after her foot without a struggle.

When her head pressed against the ring of muscle, Victoria had resigned herself to her fate as dragon food. After all, the only person who knew where she was was Dzamie, and that katul would probably demand something-

Her head ran into something solid, and a clattering sound entered her ears, rather than just the constant squelching of wet flesh. Victoria opened her eyes, then sat up and- well, sat up, brushed her hair and Sylvia’s drool from her eyes, and then really opened them to see...

A pile of assorted coins, gold, silver, bronze, and more, bars of precious metals, gems of many colors, piled up nearly as tall as Victoria, herself! A trio of abstract sculptures - possibly part of a set, Victoria reasoned, though one could never really tell with that much abstraction. And, for some reason-

“So, how is it? I’m glad you calmed down eventually,” came Sylvia’s voice from all around.

“There’s... a train engine...” was all Victoria could say.

The little dragoness laughed. “Haha, yeah! One of my earlier additions, actually. I bet every hammerspace dragon does one of those, ‘okay, but CAN I eat that?’ things; I just decided to keep mine for a while, as a trophy, and over time, well, it’s a bit sentimental now.”

“You ATE and KEPT an ENTIRE TRAIN OUT OF THE-?!” the human shouted, dumbfounded, then faltered. “Uh, what’s it called, train house?”

Another laugh. “No, no, I ate a MOVING train - well, just pulling out, not that fast - and kept the engine car. The passenger car and all the delicious treats within are years gone.” There was a pause, and then. “Don’t worry, though. I’m much nicer these days, keep myself in the green zone.”

Victoria sighed, crawled over to the vehicle, and climbed into a seat. “Well, as far as places to die go, this place at least looks nicer than I expected.”

“Die? Who said anything about that? I’m not letting you stay in my stomach, you’ve got stuff to learn and I’ve got strawberries to eat, given only to dragons who DON’T have anyone stewing away in their bellies. ...willing meals notwithstanding.”

Another sigh, though this time of exasperation. “Sylvia... stomachs digest organic material. I am an organic material. I just hope I pass out before the pain gets to me too much.”

This time, there was raucous laughter, followed by a shriek and a swear. “Uh, sorry, fell off the table. You should attend more dragon biology lessons. And/or ask Dzamie for some notes, though if you do, prepare to have an entire encyclopedia dumped on you. Unabridged.”

“I’m safe?”

“You’re the biggest danger to yourself in there. Don’t smash yourself in the head with a sculpture and you’ll be fine.”

Victoria’s mind was still reeling. Nearly half a dozen earthshaking revelations in only a few minutes was not an easy thing to deal with. “And... you’ll let me out when I ask?”

“Or in half an hour. I want strawberries and that’s when there are strawberries. Oh, but make sure you aren’t holding anything when you come back up, or you WILL be eaten again, and it WON’T be to see all my shinies.”

This time, Victoria decided to take her threat seriously. And she had more reason to not “rain on her parade” about being a deadly maneater.

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ccider · 3 years

Text

and the dust settles

to guizhong, glaze lilies are beautiful. much more than other flowers, and much more than anything she could ever imagine. it is a fact that only zhongli and now xiao know. some may see it as a vanity, and in a way, it is. but to guizhong it is more - to guizhong, it is a promise. to herself, to zhongli, and to xiao.

see, the thing is, godhood comes with prices, and guizhong has to play. her power wanes as the days go by, and she holds up her swords and it feels wrong. less and less pray to her, and guizhong grows paler. her hair falls out in clumps - zhongli and xiao say it is because of stress. all three of them know that is not true. the glaze lilies do not shine as brightly when she sings - something zhongli says is because of her sore throat, as xiao nods in the back.

none of them are ready to accept losing each other. guizhong is not ready to lose.

i. guizhong

guizhong is born in a field of glaze lilies. call it an affinity, if you will, but glaze lilies have followed her ever since. (and with it comes zhongli.)

zhongli brings home a child one day - not any other ordinary one, rather a small child, the size of a newborn fawn, with eyes that blaze brighter than any other sun she’s ever seen. he stares at her, not in wonder, but rather contempt. guizhong knows better than to be scared - she has defeated monsters thousands of times bigger than him. and yet, she is not scared of the tiny devil - she is scared at how he looks at her, eyes void of any emotion. he introduces himself as alatus, pain seeping through the way he utters the name, as if it is cursed.

his name is xiao, zhongli decides, after she sees him fend of hilichurls that attack the nearby field of glaze lillies. he’s fast and his eyes glow with the fervor of battle when he fights. she’s almost sure there’s another meaning to the name - perhaps it’s a story she’ll learn one day. (it’s one of the only time she actually sees him smile.)

life with xiao and zhongli is, in a way, domestic. not as if the war doesn’t rage on everyday just outside her door, but rather in the way she knows exactly what tea xiao prefers, and how zhongli makes her dinner after she comes back home from the village. (he is a good cook, for all his faults. she is rather fond of his bamboo shoot soup - as simple as it may be, it reminds her, in an arbitrary way, of when things were easier. it reminds her of home.) her favorite part of the day is when she is in her workshop, as xiao sits in the corner, big eyes staring as she works on his spear. it has been years since she has gone to battle, but the weight of the spear is familiar in her hand.

guizhong is a soldier. she is known for her conquests upon man, and the fear of guizhong and her two swords is well known - however, for all she has battled, the battlefield is the last place she wants to be. it’s not the blood that scares her - it’s how inhumane she seems. guizhong lusts after blood on the battlefield - it is not a feeling she likes. and yet, as the spear sits in her mind, she remembers the thrill of plunging her swords into humans, watching them cry out. she is brutal, she knows. a monster some may call her - for all of zhongli’s fault, he is not bloodthirsty.

it has become almost instinctual to comb through zhongli’s knotted hair with her hand - it gets longer, and longer, and he looks beautiful. she crafts a comb for him, with the best materials she has. guizhong thinks it will go well with his hair, as the gold ends grow longer and longer.

xiao loves flowers. guizhong cannot recall how many flower crowns he has made for her, eyes twinkling with something akin to mirth and he gets on the tips of his toes to rest it on her head. it is rather out of character for him - some days, xiao doesn’t even look at guizhong. she understands. some days she can’t look in the mirror, when her skin seems a shade to red when she wakes up.

the smell of the freshly cooked almond tofu only seems more enticing with the happy atmosphere, the jellied, sugary dessert making them all salivate. xiao in particular seems to enjoy it the most - taking quick bites out of it when he thinks zhongli and guizhong are not watching, and simply enjoying the taste.

it’s moments like this that guizhong truly appreciates, as she watches xiao become more comfortable eating and relaxing, albeit not under the eyes of zhongli. the boy acts as if he has to prove himself to zhongli - and yet, she understands, as he tries to make zhongli his special bamboo shoot soup, seeing it as a way to prove himself. he burns himself on the fire as tries to use his wind to make the fire grow quicker so the soup will be ready by the time zhongli is home from the market. the gasp of pain makes guizhong’s eyes shoot open from the slightly asleep trance she had been in

xiao looks to her, guilt-ridden as the soup on the floor. he seems to be looking for a punishment - she curses his old master, and assures him it’s ok. the fire starts up again, and together, they make dinner. she doesn’t make comments on the way xiao flinches when she raises her knife to cut the food, just as he doesn’t make one when she tenses up every time someone touches her.

guizhong’s love, zhongli proclaims one day, is enough to cure any man’s disease. he says this while looking at her, his face smiling, but his eyes - his eyes are so beautiful. xiao quirks a semblance of a smile (or maybe it is a smirk. guizhong cannot tell with her failing eyes after too many days spent in the workshop with no light.) he nods his head, slightly, in a way of understanding what zhongli has said.

she smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

xiao has lived with guizhong and zhongli for a few months now. today, they are going to town. xiao clings to guizhong - in a way, she feels like his mother. he’s not very socially active, and yet, guizhong worries for him everytime she seems him staring in the mirror with the same look in his eyes that she gets when she remembers the feeling of slicing through skin.

it is not to say guizhong isn’t kindhearted - for all her faults, she is still a benevolent goddess. she sings to the glaze lilies so the children can pick them and put them in their hair, childish smiles lighting up their tiny faces. she tends to the crops for the older villagers who cannot work as much as they were able to years ago. guizhong is benevolent. but guizhong is bloodthirsty on her worst days.

xiao tends to understand this more than zhongli - zhongli is kind outside and inside. she knows how much it hurts for him to even think of harming another living being, even less one who can think, breathe, and live. he’s vegetarian - so are xiao and guizhong, but only in a way to pay him back. xiao, xiao however, he understands.

xiao’s green hair is seen as interesting by the village’s children - they come up to him, shouting “mister, mister, can we see your hair?”, and guizhong sees the upward quirk of his lips, however subtle it maybe. guizhong notices his hair is getting a bit long too - it is his choice if he decides to let it grow, but she thinks she prefers it longer.

“under the name alatus”, he admits to her one day, “i have murdered many. the feeling of disgust never goes away. so doesn’t the thrill.” she smiles slightly, and takes her to the docks to show him the patch of glaze lilies that grow near there. he picks them up, and he weaves a flower crown with his deft hands. (if guizhong is being honest, the crown is so xiao, rough edges, but crafted to be perfect. sensitive to the touch, but enduring while she wears it in her hair.) she has grown rather fond of him.

none of them are ready to accept losing each other. guizhong is not ready to lose. and yet, she is, as her throat gets sore the more and more she strains it, and the children in the village play with her hair until it tears out. they watch her with morbid understanding. the children have accepted defeat - guizhong will not. (she says this as she coughs into her arms, the tiniest hint of red appearing. the children see this. she hides it in her billowing sleeves, but the damage is done.)

years ago, after watching havria lose her people and herself in the process, guizhong was, in a way, appalled. the death of the kind goddess and her even kinder people weighed heavy on everyone’s minds - the archon war kept taking and taking from guizhong. zhongli came home panting, covered in blood, and his mind was elsewhere. eyes glazed, zhongli would often ask only one question, lying on the bed.

“what reason do we have to live?”

guizhong, years later, has an answer. and yet, the answer seems at the tip of her tongue, resting while she thinks and thinks, so obvious yet so impossible. it aches in her chest when she watches xiao smile for the first time at some village boy that passes, his blonde hair weaved into a braid, when zhongli makes her bamboo shoot soup and feeds her with the spoon, holding her to his chest when she can’t eat anymore.

zhongli makes her feel so loved, so special, so amazing. a feeling she, in many ways, believes she doesn’t deserve. many times in her life guizhong looked to her right and saw her best friend, (her love), right where she needed him. and yet she cannot promise the same for him - dust is fleeting, afterall, spreading and destroying.

guizhong’s dust becomes black as the days go by. her crafting becomes fervent.

her descent into madness is slow. she spends less time with the children and xiao, and more time in her studio, crafting what will be her last impacts on this world.

she wakes up one day and comes to the revelation that her hands are shaking every time she holds them up to her face. (she keeps working.)

“this,” guizhong starts one day at dinner, “this, zhongli, is a mark of our pledge.” she holds up the newest weapon she has crafted - it glistens, gold light pouring out. “everything i know - all my wisdom, is held inside this stone dumbbell. this is my challenge to you.” zhongli’s face is apprehensive - he knows better than to take guizhong’s challenges, having fell into trouble many times before - but this time, there’s something different.

she hands the dumbbell over to him.

pt. 1! cross posted on ao3 and ff.net.

#genshin impact #guizhong #xiao #zhongli #guili #major character death #zhongli fanfiction #xiao fanfiction

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