#This character does not have a name so I cannot formally tag them... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaauster · 2 years ago

Note

HELLOOOO LETS KILL OURSELVES OVER HERINES HARASAEON. evil of you to do this when im hungover i already almost teared up literally just seeing kiva have her own character tag. like those are my babies from my silly little head and people are creating beautiful things for them!!!! insanity. let's go:

"I just needed a plot device in order to make that boy talk about his feelings bc he only does it if he's homicidal or inebriated" another horrible day fighting the hella-rin allegations

"She never touches his skin, only his scalp, only when doing his hair." fuck the hangover i need a DRINKKK

ama. my best worldbuilding addition by far but also my mortal enemy

"Rin wants to venture into the realm of the gods, find which one is responsible for time, and hold a knife to its throat. He’d force it to turn back the hourglass and eat his words. He’d get on his knees before it and tell it that time itself, and every word spoken, and every word unspoken, must bend to the queen." this whole thing is quite literally some of my favourite writing of all time this is insane this is tattooed onto every inch of my skin i preach this from street corners i spray paint it on buses i-

THE WITCH HAS SHORT HAIR? INTERESTING

they're all so formal lmaoooo. down with monarchy but my harasaeons are okay ig

DRAKO AND AKILA MENTIONED IN A FIC INCIDENT 2 DEAD ONE STILL WRITING LETTERS

"He was born as an apology and he lives the life of a paragon. He likes to be responsible." nova your days are numbered. when i catch you

YOU EQUATED KIVA'S INFLUENCE ON THE PROCEDURE TO SUNLIGHT WHAT IF I KILLED MYSELF. AND ALL THE LANGUAGE REGARDING SHADOW/DARKNESS WITH RIN. MY LAST STRAW

"Her hand brushes a strand of hair back behind his ear, and he hears, more than feels, the kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be right outside, baby-- baby.”" worst day of my fuckass life

KIVA OBEYS. I CANT DO THIS

clean clay is such a fun addition i love that. also love how official you made the practise of witchcraft bc that's EXACTLY what i want from it like it's literally like talking to any other medical professional

"He spends his time in the sunlight of the library, Kidaro napping on the windowsill, with political treatises, historical scrolls, and the occasional epic poem spread out around him like a hurricane, a method to its madness. He enjoys it. He was always a child with his head in the clouds. He does miss music, though. The palace can get quiet" MY BABY MY BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

RIN IS THE OBEDIENT ONE. KIVA OBEYS. DOG MOTIF HARASAEON IS THE BULLET IN THE GUN IM HOLDING

HELPPPPPP MARY IS KINDA GAGGING HIM HERE LMFAO I LOVE HER

HE TOLD HER ABOUT LILLA????? KING PUT THE VODKA DOWNNNNNNNNNN

"Royal blood, good for nothing but animal feed." NOVA. WHEN. I. CATCH. YOU

AND HE CANNOT ASK DRAKO. THEY'RE BROTHERS THEY'RE MAATUI BUT EVEN AFTER ALL THESE YEARS WILLEM IS SOMETHING THEY CANT MAKE PEACE WITH

'would you still love me if I was a worm?' caught me SOO OFF GUARD IM CACKLING I CANT BELIEVE YOU ADDED THAT

"Rin had created a ten-step plan for the event that one of them met the same fate." HES SUCH A NERD I WOULD KILL FOR HIM

memory so bad i actually checked my kuserian dictionary bc i was like 'oooo ghost being translated to death-shadow is cool why dont i remember that' girl....

HAMMARIIIIIIIII. the way even her name made my stomach flip. what if i cried

got too immersed in the procedure and forgot to live react oops

"he would do anything if it meant he was doing it right" "It’s just that a firstborn is a war. A firstborn is a hurricane with a thousand buzzing wings. It is an omen seared into the back of all their necks, it is once-in-a-generation, it is a gift from the gods. And Rin is not one."

DID YOU. DID YO UFCKNING PUT EPIC OF GILGAMESH IN THIS. DIIIIID YOU FUCKING DO THAHFT. HOW LONG IS THE EYE ABLE TO LOOK AT THE SUN FROM THE VERY BEGINNING NOTHING AT ALL HAS LASTED HE'S BEEN DEAD SINCE THE BEGINNING IN THE STORY OF GODS AND KINGS YOU WERE DEAD BEFORE THE INK DRIED

drako's first thought only being to ask 'will you be okay'. frankly i cant take much more. is this how you guys feel when i talk about them because this is AWFUL

"There were myths, in the burnt edges of the kingdom, that said that there were only ever two Harasaeons. The queen and the heiress, switching places in a cycle like night and day. Hammari and Kiva, two stages of the same life, the snake’s egg and the hummingbird. And then, their reincarnations, Lugalia and-- who? The queen is dead. Long live the queen. It is a form of immortality. Rin shattered it." STOP STOP MAKE IT STOP

the philisophical conversation. is love a form of magic. the chasm of his birth. im going to GET YOU

"Please, Ama. You don’t have to love me anymore. Just remember how it felt when you did." THROWING UP BLOOD

that was. im a changed person i need 3-5 business days to think about this i need to call my mum i need to get drunk i need a fantasy witch to cut my tits off

omg hi!!! so true herines harasaeon group suicide girls night <3 and kiva has made her ao3 debut! she's girlbossing she's literally a debutante she is the queen of all time. yeah

-the witch does have short hair! she's from the east (where the monsters are) and yknow I figure that her powers are used for medicine, but if she didn't have all the safety things put in place (no sunlight, careful runes and careful chants) and just went hogwild on a monster she could basically Shigaraki that thing. monster hunting is her side hustle tbh

-the formal speech was fun for me idk. watched too much BBC Victoria with my mom and now I gasp like a gossiping old lady when I write the phrase "You have my permission to withdraw" bc it's SUCH a power-play it's so good.

-my days might be numbered but so are Rin's

-sunlight and shadow motif with nuance is always sm fun. me when characters are bright and carcinogenic. me when characters are invisible, shadows dogging their own steps, silent and beaten-down and elegant all the same. yeah

-“I’ll be right outside, baby-- baby.”" worst day of my fuckass life too tbh, that's the line that really clicked the whole fic in place for me. kiva loves him but not enough to change him. baby boy good luck taking care of yourself. etc

-dog motif harasaeons you will always be famous

-clean clay and also the oldest sigils Mary paints on Rin are cuneiform if that wasn't clear. mesopotamian aesthetic goes hard

-Mary DOES kinda gag Rin lmao. she's literally so Kanut-coded I can't stand her. she's like 'i won't throw hands with a child but i will permanently invert his worldview with some moderately harsh words and also disrespect the queen if it means showing him that there's someone who supports his evolution wholeheartedly'

-he cannot ask drako!!! grief is something the harasaeons can't stand i think. kiva ignores rin like an open would because she grieves him and lilla. willem is given the same treatment

-"would you still love me if i was a worm" is a tonal shift I wasn't sure about but I think it works. something about siblings defaulting to poking fun at each other when they can't stand the truth. their love must go either unspoken or mocked. they can only survive it with a little humor and a little grace

-rin is the nerd of all time and i love him for it

-i'm gonna be so real death-shadow meaning ghost is something i stole wholesale from Mando'a. like the language for star wars mandalorians. but yknow what the concept fucks hard and george lucas doesn't own the literal mistranslations of his peripheral conlangs

-"It’s just that a firstborn is a war." harasaeons when they have to decide between an insane warmongering eldest daughter and literally anyone else

-yes i did put the epic of gilgamesh in there. yes i was browsing Amazon Goodreads for good quotes in the middle of my economics class. dw about it

-drako asking 'will you be okay' IS how we feel when you drop the saddest lore of all time on us unprompted, yeah x

-Lugalia and-- who? The queen is dead. Long live the queen. It is a form of immortality. Rin shattered it." me when Rin ending the cycle could have been construed as a positive ending to the cycle of generational trauma and violence but instead it is a betrayal to his heritage

-"is love a form of magic" is also one of the central lines of the piece. i wanted to show the deep childlike core of Rin's pain. Tell me a story about how it ends where you're still the good guy I'll make pretend cause I hate this story where happiness ends and dies with you I thought good guys get to be happy I'm not happy. etc. you know how it is

tysm!!!!

#tbosposting on main

9 notes · View notes

rebelsandtherest · 3 years ago

Note

I read one of the comments in the tags of the fic and found myself thinking through it deeply. The one talking about Alfred moving from his father to the father of his country. I really liked that, I felt like England had a very noticeable foil in Washington that I notice in fics like this. Arthur’s absence and blatant rejection of who Alfred wants to be, whereas Washington is literally just like ��tell me straight up who you want to be and I’ll respect it.”

Do you think Alfred tries to “replace” Arthur as a paternal figure? Maybe he’s using Washington in an attempt to feel what he missed out on growing up and always longed for? Or does he lean more towards just having two paternalistic figures?

It also made me think about what Alfred is really wanting in a paternal figure. Maybe England and Washington both occupy opposite extreme ends of the spectrum of what Alfred wants? Arthur is too disinterested, distant, aloof, and condescending towards someone he regards as a lesser status in some sense. Whereas maybe Washington is too formal, maybe TOO respectful? Does he see Alfred as almost an otherworldly being that should be respected rather than loved? Or am I wrong and Washington is actually just closer to the ideal parental figure to Alfred in this universe? Idk I don’t know much about their dynamic lmao

I must know Arthur’s opinion on Alfred having some rival paternal figure though. He could NOT be happy at all about that, even in modern day haha!

Oh wow, thank you so much! That’s very insightful and a really interesting take on their relationship. To be honest with you, I wasn’t thinking too deeply about either of them being Alfred’s father figure here, I was more focused in trying to figure out how the characters would exist/act at this particular moment in time. But the foil of Arthur and Washington is interesting!

As I’ve said before, I think that Washington liked Alfred a great deal, but always treated him with some uncertainty. Not just because of what he is but because he’s just…. Very young. And that’s bro bad, but Washington is carrying a lot od responsibility and he would do anything for his country - and Alfred by extension - but he cannot view the kid both as country and as a child. He looks at Alfred and tries to see what kind of man he’ll become, but then Congress interrupts with their petty disagreements and he’s drawn away from Alfred the boy once more.

I suppose in my view, Alfred has never, to this very day, had a single solid father figure in his life. He’s had many father figures at many times in his life, but there was no one there the entire time while he was growing up and finding his footing, and to be frank, it shows. Alfred was raised by a thousand fathers, some of them terrible, many of them kind but preoccupied, most of them human, and a few of them generous in their affection. To be honest, I think the general neglect that brought Alfred up from the cradle helped develop his need to wander, to find the next thing, the next home, the next frontier. He’s been searching all his life for emotional safety and love, even though he never be able to identify that that’s what he’s after. Belonging might not be what he’s looking for when he turns his sights to the west, to the sky, to the stars, but maybe along the way he’ll find a treasure map to that missing something he doesn’t know the name of. The thrill of the hunt keeps him moving.

#hws america #hc

29 notes · View notes

transmasc-wizard · 3 years ago

Text

due to surprisingly popular command: the Gilded/Rotten antagonists!!

tagging the europeans that unfortunately have to be asleep rn <//3 @idkjustgowithitok @thejostenator

this gets a bit long, just bc i have picrews of them, so i'll put this under the cut! also like. cult tw. two of these people are very much in a cult

picrew i used: https://picrew.me/image_maker/582810

[ID: a picrew of a woman with black hair and pale skin. She is dressed in yellow and black with laurels on her head and an inquisitive expression. her eyes are brown. The background is yellow with sparkles. end ID.]

FIRST!!!!!! HER!!!!!!!!! this is Mara, and she is not technically a Big Bad, but boy does she antagonize <3

Mara is first introduced on the second heist. she's a pretty high up member of a cult, and also the primordial gods' special little darling bestest girl. (those are not actually related.) she's got all sorts of fucked up blessings that mean when she's killed she does not,,,, die. just changes a bit. gets all body horror monstery and whatnot. its funky

she has prophecy powers, and sells her prophecies to the main gang to help with their heists. but her prices are, uh. shitty and highway robbery basically. she gets on many people's nerves. but i love her so who cares <3

[ID: a picrew of a man with light brown skin and braided brown hair. He is smirking and has brown eyes. He's wearing golden laurels on his head and has white and black clothing. the background is gold. end ID.]

bastard man.............. BASTARD MAN. he is very much a "love to hate" type character imo. terrible person but charismatic and fun in a morbid way. he also, uh.... does not yet? have a name? whoops. in my head he's goldguy. bc. gold.

he's like... supremely terrible from a moral perspective. tortures people, head of the cult, etc etc. he's really cunning and basically only trusts Maia (as much as someone can "trust" Maia). he CANNOT fight. he is an absolute twig of a man. his smarts very much make up for it though.

he's the guy Hemlock is stealing from! specifically, Hemlock is trying to steal his entire vault full of gold and jewels.

[ID: a picrew of a man with pale skin and red hair. He looks angry. His eyes are green and he has two light scars on his face. He is wearing formal green and black clothes. The background is green and black. end ID.]

eugh. bastard man. not in the fun way. i just hate him

anyway hello all!!! look at Brother!!! placeholder name. obviously. this is Victory's brother, and he is an asshole bastard who let his and Victory's youngest sibling die entirely for greedy money reasons, and i HATE HIM

Victory's heist involves stealing a very very expensive and very very prized painting from him. they got arrested in the first place for burning his whole house down, this is literally the only remaining original possession he has, and they are just that fucking spiteful lmao. and it is deserved <3

there are! technically more! however i dont have a good idea of their appearances and they don't have names so for now. this is all. i hope it was enjoyed :3

#wip gilded/rotten #nicola.txt #mara #<- went back and found this and tagged it after 2 fucking years bc she became integral to religious lore of an entirely separate wip #her lore isnt even the same i just want her picrew

13 notes · View notes

outofangband · 4 years ago

Text

Maedhros at the Palace at Alqualondë, Part Two

Previous Part

Next AU masterlist + explanation Other masterlists

CW: abuse of power, gaslighting

Fun fact! This AU was originally going to be about Thingol! It’s different enough that I might still write it actually, I’ll make a longer post about it soon

I used formal but modern grammar here for the most part (exceptions are intentional) to indicate the difference between elven and Valarin dialects when translated into English. I’ll go into more about this later, it’s kind of hard to explain but I hope this is ok and that the language is in character enough.

Random clarification: The exact age difference between different members of the house of Finwë actually differs throughout Tolkien’s notes and there aren’t really a lot of clear answers. I do personally headcanon that Maedhros is younger than all of Finwë’s children although he is not much younger than Írimë and Arafinwë who were still children when he was born.

I’m slowly writing something in chronological order but I’m taking requests for short pieces from anywhere in the timeline

One night’s lost sleep should not cause noticeable distress among the highborn elves but Nelyafinwë (the name still brought a twinge of distaste to his lips, even now) looked to be in poor condition at the early hour Arafinwë entered the room he had left him in. Eyes were widened, hair askew as he twisted around to look at his visitor.

“I hope you did not spent the night struggling against these, Russandol,” Arafinwë says calmly, moving forward to examine the restraints, debating whether or not to remove the leather from his nephew’s mouth. The younger elf tensed visibly as his fingers moved towards the straps on his face.

“I mean this for your own sake, of course. No harm will come to you here. There was no need to remain in such a state of agitation.” Despite his calm and even tone there is no denying that his words are almost mockingly empty; Nelyafinwë is naked, strapped down, completely vulnerable and Arafinwë knows perfectly well how much the younger elf detests this so vividly and why.

“I will remove these now, provided you remain calm.” Nelyafinwë doesn’t look anything resembling calm but Arafinwë moves to undo the straps around his head, carefully pulling the leather piece from his mouth.

He pants softly for several minutes as the other straps were removed. When his limbs were freed, he sat up, knees pulled to his chest in an attempt to cover himself. The look he gave Arafinwë was a deeply uncertain one. There was no avert animosity to it but the elf king was nevertheless cautious as he moved around the bed as though he might be sprang upon at any moment. Nelyafinwë’s eyes did not leave him as he walked to the cabinets and removed a sheet. His pace was slow, deliberate as he stepped back into plain view and offered it out to his guest.

“I will retrieve your clothes from the guards later today, Russandol. In the meantime you may use this.”

A small gesture of acknowledgment as he pulled the sheet around himself. Arafinwë wondered if Nelyafinwë was aware of how poorly he hid his apprehension. He wondered too if his half nephew would trust in it or simply dismiss it as paranoia caused by the traumas of the past.

“Thank you, Lord Arafinwë,” Nelyo says curtly once he has settled his arms in front of him again.

The king nods in response before walking over to the small table by the door and returning with a glass of a breakfast juice, something like a thin smile playing on his lips as Russandol eyes it.

…

It should have taken a bit longer for the effects to take hold, perhaps he had been too heavy handed with the mixture.

Arafinwë takes the glass before the younger elf’s grip becomes too unsteady. Nelyafinwë’s eyes appear rather blurry and unfocused but he’s still lucid enough to be angry.

“You had no right to..” he stumbles on a word and Arafinwë coolly cuts him off.

“No right to ensure the safety of my subjects when I am housing a kinslayer, however temporarily?” The look Nelyafinwë gives him might be described as dour but he does not, or perhaps cannot retort.

“Besides,” Arafinwë continues smoothly, “I was under the impression that being held in restraints brought back unpleasant memories. Is this not a reasonable alternative?” He searches his half nephew’s face; a blink that might have been a prelude to an argument had he been more able to articulate,

“I have read the reports of the healers who initially treated thee following thy rescue from the Iron Prisons. I know of thy tendency to lash out should you receive enough provocation.” He was given another blink, the expression clearly impudent but there was nothing Nelyafinwë could do to argue so Arafinwë went on, his face closer to the other’s now, his voice softer, “You are not the only one to return from the clutches of the Dark Foe with the disposition of a wounded animal but I would not be remiss in saying that you are one of the most dangerous cases. Both because of thy previous actions and because of the rather…unique connection that you shared with Him.”

This brought a reaction. Nelyafinwë actually made an almost convulsive gesture with both arms as though attempting to throw himself up and off the bed.

“None of that, now,” Arafinwë chides softly, pushing him back with minimal force, “But really, Russandol. This was precisely what I spoke of.” Arafinwë eases him down again on the bed, allowing him to keep his sheet to cover himself. Nudity was not typically a source of shame among the Eldar but the Fëanorian became so agitated with his clothes taken. And he could not afford for Nelyafinwë to become so agitated. Yet.

Nelyafinwë can’t see it, he can barely keep his eyes open but there is the slightest hint of satisfaction on the king’s face as he stood and turned to leave.

Author’s note: I should add here that Arafinwë actually knows a decent amount about Maedhros’s trauma in Angband. He’s seen the healer’s reports including Nolofinwë’s wife’s private journals. I headcanon that Anairë is a healer and after the events of Silm she becomes very good at treating survivors of torture and long term injuries from their experiences on Arda. Arafinwë asks her to borrow her notes on a different case and she agrees, trusting him to not look through the private parts of her journal. But he does read them. They contain not only her own observations but very personal details of Maedhros’s torture that he had confided in Nolofinwë. Ara also has information from what his own son has confided in him.

Tag list: @elarinya-nailo @iwenttomordor @mozart-the-meerkitten @tears-and-lilies @oswaldinator3000 @much-ado-about-whumping

#the silmarillion #maedhros #Finarfin #Arafinwë #splinters like jewel shards #short writings #I’m going to be in the car for awhile for travel which is really stressful

54 notes · View notes

beaubokuto · 4 years ago

Text

━ smile a crooked smile

pairing: koutaro bokuto x f!reader

genre: best friends to lovers, royal!au, angst, fluff

summary: koutaro bokuto was the light amongst the darkness that was the kingdom of peredine. but being in love with a flame can only last for so long before burning out.

for the #tooruluv2kparty contest hosted by the lovely @tooruluv !!

prompt: “falling in love with my best friend...it is the most destructive thing i have ever done.”

tags/warnings: angst, royalty, swearing, medieval, fantasy, friends to lovers, characters age up throughout the story, minor depictions of violence (dueling, a little bit of blood, open wounds, the creation of a scar), stealing, made up words and phrases, mentions of domestic violence

You met your soulmate at the age of six. As just a mere child, you had found a piece of yourself in someone else.

It was the first day of schooling. On the first day, it nearly always consisted of crying children begging to stay with their parents and teachers pretending that everything was okay.

You had walked to your first day alone.

As you took the steps that lead to the small building, you walked by a small boy sobbing into his mother’s chest. She was petting his head and whispering something to him that you couldn’t hear.

He was the only one left outside.

“Look,” His mother said, this time in a voice a tad louder. Just enough for you to hear. “She is being brave and going in all by herself.”

The boy turned to you, tears in his eyes and face a shade of red that you never witnessed before. He looked on either side of you, assessing the fact that you were by yourself, and turned back to his mother.

“I can do it.”

The boy wiped the tears that stained his cheeks and gave his mother one last hug, barely a second, before rushing to your side. You hadn’t realized that you paused on the steps. It was as if you were waiting for him.

“Hi.” The boy was a little small compared to you, still baby fat and full cheeks. “You’re alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Not anymore!” He smiled. You felt the need to squint. “I am Koutaro Bokuto and my dad isn’t here because he’s a knight, so that’s my mama. She said you’re brave.”

“I guess.” You walked again. Bokuto followed. “You’re brave, too.”

He sent another bright smile. This time it was accompanied by a twinkle in his golden eyes.

The friendship only grew from there. You would sit together during reading, play together during recess. He would wait for you on the steps every morning just to walk into the building together.

This continued into advanced schooling, into your preteen years and into high school.

He became a true friend.

At the age of ten, four years into your friendship, he asked you to have dinner at his house.

“Why?” You asked in return.

“I think it would be a good idea!” Bokuto took a bite of his lunch. “I can show you around! And my mother is a great cook.”

“I do not think...”

“Don’t think!” He pointed at you with his spoon. “Just agree!”

The thing about Koutaro Bokuto was that he was never formal. He would talk to teachers as if they were his friends; he would laugh at the King if he had the chance.

He was the only one you were informal with.

“Fine.” You slapped his hand away from stealing a bite of your lunch. “Meet me in the town square tonight?”

“Yay!”

That started your routine dinner. For years, you would either meet with Bokuto or arrive at his house for your final meal of the day. Bokuto’s mother would greet you every time with a smile that mimicked Bokuto’s and took your tastes into consideration while cooking.

Bokuto had a life that you wish you had. His parents were married, but his father was a knight who worked in the castle a majority of the time. He had two older sisters, one who was working towards becoming a teacher and one who was only two years older than you two. They would laugh and smile together, discuss each other’s days.

You couldn’t remember the last time you and your mother had spoken since your father left on a mission to another kingdom.

A garden lined their backyard, and you found your peace in the flowers.

The line between love and friendship is rather thin. You love your friends, of course. But, when does that line blur and shift into something else entirely?

You feared you knew the tightrope of love.

The year between your first and second year of high school was the year Bokuto became taller than you.

He grew overnight, it seemed, as he arrived at your doorstep. His shoulders were muscular against his giant frame. You had to gain your bearings for a moment.

You found yourself staring.

“You seem smaller.” He joked, obvious to his recent growth and broadness.

“I suggest you bite your tongue.” You rolled your eyes.

You were going to say another quip, something about gloating in the presence of a lady, when you noticed a bruise on his cheek. It was purple against his naturally sunkissed skin, boiled at the surface of his cheekbone directly under his right eye.

His father.

You reached to trace the bruise that marked his skin. He must have forgotten about it; he sent you a confused look as you placed your hand on his cheek.

“It was him again, wasn’t it?” Your thumb brushed the purple. Bokuto winced, but only a little.

“It is all right.” He took your hand off of his face and intertwined your fingers with his. “We will be late for school if you continue to stare.”

Holding hands was not something new to the friendship. Oftentimes, you would find your hand on his or fingers interlaced. Bokuto would grab your hand, and you would allow him to do so. It was a common occurrence.

But his hand in yours felt like flames. He was attempting to comfort you, telling you that it was all right without using more words.

That he could endure the pain his father inflicted.

"Twist your waist.” Bokuto giggled from across the grass. “You cannot possibly think you are doing this correctly.”

You sighed. “Kou, I am throwing knives. You are the one that is good at this. I am not.”

“You are good at everything you do.” He walked to your side.

He had placed a false target on several trees, lining from close to pretty distant from where you stood. The two of you spent most days under the leaves; there was a dock that lead to the seas close by, and you preferred the smell of the salt anyway.

“This is the hardest part.” Bokuto stood directly behind you. You had grown used to his height and broadness, yet you still felt small with his chest at your back. “Here,”

His hands found your waist, clasping you at your sides. He turned you in a quick movement, only at the hips.

“Do you see?” He was far too close for you to breathe. “Now repeat that motion, but aim at the same time.”

You inhaled when he took a step back. You felt the oxygen enter your lungs as if he had taken it away in his mere presence.

You did as told, moving your hips as you held the knife in the same way he taught you. Letting it fly, the knife landed in the second-most outer ring of the target on the tree.

Bokuto cheered. You smiled, noticing the improvement.

“I was right.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and leaned to your head. “You are good at everything you do.”

You wanted to tell him that you were still not hitting the middle, but you could not bring yourself to damper the mood. You pressed your side closer into him, instead, “And you are always right.”

Being the son of a King’s Knight, Koutaro Bokuto was invited to many of the castle’s festivities. There was a hierarchy according to profession, meaning that the richest were the ones who worked for and with the castle (The High Order: Knights, Cooks, Messengers). Many of the Magick and Medics lived with favor to the castle as well.

You always stared at the Castle of Kageyama from afar. The castle sat on top of a giant hill that overlooked the rest of the kingdom; it was dark and always seemed to have a black shadow cast over it. You could only imagine how large it was if you were closer.

Bokuto and his sisters would tell you stories of balls, dinners, meetings. Sir Bokuto was high in the chain of command after General Shimizu, and that created a favorable blanket for the rest of his family.

This particular time, Bokuto received an invitation to a ball for Princess Miwa. She decided to step down from the crown, not wishing to be a Queen and planned to travel to the other kingdoms and discover new things. The ball would be her departing gift.

Bokuto asked you to come alongside him.

“Kou, I would not even know what to wear.” You laughed. “I do not even know how to dance.”

“I want you to come.” Koutaro Bokuto pushed you. You fell onto his bedroom floor. “You do not need to dance to have fun. I am always bored at these events without you.”

“Are you able to invite me?”

“Yes, why could I not?”

“I would need a dress.”

“I can do that.”

You looked up at him from his floor, his eyes twinkling in hope and anticipation. How could you tell him no?

“Then I will go.”

The dress he brought to you was blue, mimicking his tailored black and white jacket and slacks with the same colored blue accents.

You surprised yourself at how beautiful you could become, had given effort. The dress was one of his sister’s, but it fit you perfectly. You even did a spin in your mirror.

When you arrived minutes later at his doorstep, Bokuto was the one who opened the door.

He was surprised, too. With wide eyes, he blinked at you. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You replied. You hoped that he would not notice the blush on your cheeks when he took your hand.

You realized that your soulmate was Koutarou Bokuto at the age of fifteen. As a teenage, you had found a piece of yourself in someone else.

At the ball, he was someone new in your eyes. He smiled at everyone, talked to every person as if he knew all of them by name, waved at the cooks and they waved back. It was completely different than any atmosphere than you had witnessed.

You could not take your eyes off of him.

He left you for a moment, something about retrieving drinks, and you found yourself alone. All you could do was watch him from through the crowd. He danced through the people as if he did it everyday, easily weeding through them and greeting some in casual conversations.

He was glowing.

“For you, m’lady.” Bokuto said to you once he returned. The cup was of red liquid that smelled like fruit. “It is pretty good, though I am unsure of what exactly it is.”

“Why thank you, my liege.” You joked. You took a sip, the sweetness of the drink honey on your tongue.

“Good, is it not?” He took a drink after you took a second sip.

You nodded.

“That is enough of that.” He snatched the cup from your hand. You were going to protest, the words on the edge of your lips. “I believe it is time for a dance.”

“That juice must be expensive, we cannot just leave it.”

“They have plenty.” Bokuto took his hand in yours and nearly dragged you to the middle of the ballroom floor. “Follow my lead.”

Your feet matched the timing with his as he forced you to dance. The flow of the music seeped into your ears. You could feel lightness grow in your chest as the two of you danced in the festivities, fast music and laughter mixed together into a yellow light.

You never knew that the inside of the dark castle could glow such a color.

Koutaro Bokuto and you were one in the same, circling around each other and dancing to a rhythm you could only feel rather than hear. You were out of breath, sweat gleaming on your forehead, and your legs were tired. But you continued to dance. His smile matched yours, golden eyes shining with the reflection of you.

Perhaps being in love with him was similar to a dance. Unbearably exhausting, but you wish to do it forever.

You would hide your feelings, you decided. You had stared at the ceiling of your bedroom for what seemed to be hours. Your mind bleeding in thoughts and scenarios of you telling your best friend that you were in love with him.

If you knew him at all, you knew that Bokuto was dramatic. He would tell you that everything was fine, that he did not love you in the way you loved him, and he would do everything to make the situation seem casual and normal, only to make things astronomically worse.

You did not want that.

Hiding your feelings, masking them under the platonic love you shared, would be easiest. Perhaps they would go away in time, perhaps they would be replaced by someone else.

You did not even know what love entitled, anyway.

A crumbled napkin hit your face, causing you to look up with a glare. The lunch room of the high school was full of students, eating and chatting and enjoying the little free time between classes.

“Our final year of school and you still decide to drink milk instead of juice.” Bokuto laughed, blatantly ignoring the scowl you were sending him.

“Would you prefer I grab a juice next time, just for you to steal it?”

“I am no thief.”

He was, though, you thought. Because he had your heart in the palm of his hands.

“Sure you are not.” You jokingly agreed, though you rolled your eyes.

Keiji Akaashi was a transfer your final year of high school. He was younger than you and Bokuto, but quickly found place in your friendship.

The two of you were walking to the peer, doing nothing other than walking off the sweat and weakness of just training and practice fighting in the woods. Bokuto loved to spar with you, hand to hand; “It is great practice for your future husband!” He would joke.

As you walked along the sand, you caught sight of Akaashi spearing fish in the shallow water. With every draw of his spear, a fish would be on the end. He hadn’t missed a single shot.

He was almost beautiful, the way he stood in the water. His dark hair reflected off of the blue that glittered in the afternoon sun. You looked at Bokuto, your best friend, and thought of how it never matched to him.

“You are excellent!” Bokuto complimented, catching Akaashi off guard. The boy turned around, spear in hand, and shoved the fresh fish into a netted bag at his side.

“I hear you are amazing with knife throwing.” Akaashi said. He walked closer to you smoothly; it was as if the water was no barrier for his feet. “I am a mere fisherman.”

The boy seemed to not do well in social situations. His words were carefully thought, said in a manor of formality you only witnessed when village people spoke to the High Order or royalty.

“I have watched plenty of fishermen.” Bokuto crossed his arms over his chest. You had to look away before you would get distracted in the veins that marked his muscle. “No mere fisherman can catch every fish as you can.”

“Perhaps I can teach you, if you wish to teach me some of your knife throwing.”

“I can do that. I taught this one here how to, and now she is the best knife thrower in Peredine. After me.”

You scoffed at his superiority and pushed him in his side. Bokuto only chuckled and pushed you back.

“How long have the two of you been a couple?” Akaashi asked. He was becoming more casual after noticing your informality, you noted.

“She is only my best friend.” Bokuto flicked your forehead. “We have been best friends since the age of six.”

“He would not stop talking, so I had to give in to his friendship.” You told him. You were not wrong, which made your joke better. Bokuto laughed.

Bokuto turned to the netted bag that hung across Akaashi’s chest. “What are you planning to do with that?”

“I planned to sell them.” Akaashi shook the bag, sending drops of water into the tide below. “I am trying to save up to a moonful. Hopefully I can enter the knight program come summer.”

“Head towards the center of the town.” Bokuto advised. “They would love fish, they usually end with what the fisherman and peer do not have.”

“Thank you.”

“You can sit next to us at lunch tomorrow.” Bokuto said. “I invite you to the sanctuary.”

Akaashi spared you a glance. You shrugged. “He has invited you. You must attend, now.”

The entirety of your life, you had wished for more.

You would walk the streets of the village hoping for more. The village, especially near the center. It was dusted in browns and beiges, dirt and dust. Moss climbed the side of buildings and horses stood on the streets.

You would not hope to live in the castle, surrounded by white and light and food for days. You would not hope to be royalty, or to be a member of the High Order.

You would hope of travel. You would wish for what was beyond your island; you would wish for being... away.

You understood why the princess left.

Then your mind would remind you of Koutaro Bokuto. He was the only reason for your stay. Your family was not an avid presence, or a presence at all for that matter, and you had one other friend that you only recently became acquainted with.

Bokuto was your only reason for staying.

Despite every fiber of your being wishing to leave, you knew that you could not. The worst part of it all, is that you knew that if you were to tell Bokuto that you wished to leave ━ if you were to tell him that you wanted nothing more than to get on a ship and travel far, far away from Peredine and the Kageyama castle and the knife throwing every day and the walks on the beach ━ he would tell you to go.

He would tell you to live your life. He would tell you to write him every day and visit when you can. He would have a smile so bright that it burned.

How could you possibly leave someone who shined that brightly?

Shining that brightly would only end in destruction, you feared.

You already felt the inside of you withering in hopes of him returning your love.

You remembered the last day that Bokuto smiled.

It was nearing winter, cool air replacing the warmth of autumn. Leaves scattered the ground in every place imaginable. The entirety of the village seemed to be blanketed in brown and orange, reds and yellows.

You walked hand in hand, fingers interlaced and swinging with each step.

“Let’s spar!” Bokuto turned quickly, trying to catch you off guard. He might have been quick, but your reflexes were slightly faster.

With a swish of your wrist, you sliced his face with a knife. He had been the one to tell you to “always be prepared” and wear the knife attached to your thigh.

The moment your knife connected with his left cheek, you knew what you had done. He did not collapse, but reached up to stop the bleeding.

“Oh!” You immediately dropped the knife to check his face.

He was bleeding profusely, the hand he clapped to the cut doing nothing to stop the flow. You must have had a deeper motion than you thought.

“I’m all right.” He muttered, but there was a gargle beneath his tone. He was choking on his own blood.

“No, no. We must go to a Medic.” You said. You wanted so badly to move his hand out of the way to assess the wound, but you knew that it would only be worse.

“Yes, let’s do that.”

You held his elbow and rushed back through the trees. Leaves crunched under your feet, matching in footsteps. Blood dripped onto the ground in a trail.

You reached his home before long. You left him to run into the kitchen, finding his mother cooking. She dropped the ingrediants that she was working with the moment she viewed your expression.

“It’s Koutaro.”

You followed his mother out of the kitchen and to her son, who was still actively bleeding. She brought his hand out of the way to finally━ finally━ see the wound.

You had cut him across his mouth. It started just under his nose, across the left side of his lip, to his chin, and curved back into the middle of his left cheek. This may sound rather vulgar, but the skin was very gross and you wondered how it was still attached.

“We must go to the Medic. Now.” She turned to you. “Grab a towel from the kitchen and catch up to us.”

You nodded and ran into the kitchen, finding the cloth and rushed to walk with them to the Medic.

Because of their family being one of the High Order, they lived on the hill below the castle. The Medics were only a little higher on the land, their neighborhood close together rather than spread out along the grass.

We entered a house, not bothering to introduce ourselves with a knock. The family was eating a meal at the table, standing immediately at the blood. A mother, a girl, and a boy your age.

“We need your help.” Bokuto’s mother said. She must have known the family, because the Medic flew to Bokuto’s side.

“Aiko, the sewing set.” The mother ordered. The girl took off down the house’s hall, disappearing into the dark. “Asahi, the herbs.”

You watched from afar as the Medics worked on your best friend. He would grimace in pain, tears painting his cheeks. They laid him on the dinner table, replacing the food and dishes with his body. They were effortless in their movements, as if it was every day that they fixed a man with a gaping hole in his cheek.

“He will be all right.” The boy said from your side. He watched alongside you, as his mother and older sister finished their healing.

“I know you.” You did not look up at him. You could not take your eyes off of Bokuto. “You are in the same school year as I am. Asahi Azumane.”

“Yes.”

“I did not know you were a healer.”

“I did not know that you loved Bokuto as you do.” He replied.

It was three weeks for the cut to turn into a heavy, thick scar. It was three weeks of Bokuto’s absence.

He claimed that he was too ugly for you to see him. He did not want to see anyone, his mother told you after your hundredth visit to their home.

After the third week, he greeted you outside of your door.

“I cannot miss anymore school.” He said as a greeting. “And I cannot miss anymore of you, can I?”

Before you could take another breath, you leaped into his arms. He hugged you back, effortlessly, chuckling into your neck.

When you pulled back, you viewed the scar that curved on his face. The stitches had been removed. The scar was lifted, pink and bruised still; you could not help but want to cry.

You had done that.

“I am so incredibly sorry.” You said as you scanned the scar. You wanted to touch it. “Please accept my deepest apologies.”

He pushed your head playfully. “Do not apologize. I am the one who taught you to do that. I am a bit proud, if I were to be completely honest.”

You pouted, but he only sent you a smile.

A smile that only lifted to his right side. His smile would be forever crooked.

Because of you.

Bokuto would not stay because of you.

You knew that he wanted to leave someday. You knew that he wished to travel and fight and be himself. It was rather hard to be yourself when everything and everyone around you expects brilliance.

You could not tell him to stay when he told you that he wanted to be a knight. It was already something that you knew. He wanted to be a knight, to work on the King’s Court and throw knives for a living.

To be a better one than his father.

With a smile, the edge of his right lip the only one to reach the full length, he told you, “Do you think I would be a good knight?”

How could you possibly tell someone who shined that brightly no?

To be a knight on the King’s Court, there was a series of things you must do. Spend a moonful to be admitted━ a rather large sum, train in the castle for months━ dueling, fighting, training to the brink, and finally win a duel against the General or the King━ your choice. If you were to fail, you would have to pay another moonful to reenter.

You have heard that some people had been training and failing for years.

However, Koutaro Bokuto was confident. With his family being well off in terms of coin, he paid the castle his moonful.

“I start this summer.” Bokuto stated. Excitement drenched every feature. “Akaashi paid his sum, too, and will be coming along!”

“Akaashi is a year below us.”

“He will graduate early, his transfer from Hittaku allows him to leave when we do.” He explained. You hadn’t thought of that. “He will do amazing with his spear, perhaps that can be his specialty.”

As he rambled about becoming a knight with Akaashi, you let your mind wander. He would leave you come summer, and he would be taking Akaashi with him.

You would be alone.

The start of winter arrived as quickly as a blink.

Snow replaced the leaves beneath your feet, hiding the dirt and grass you walked every day.

You wondered if your love would be similar. Hidden and masked.

Koutaro Bokuto had a sweet tooth.

He loved desserts. He would beg after every dinner to have something sweet. He would pay for small chocolates and creams from the village center.

You were surprised that he was broad and large instead of overweight and rotting.

“Thank you!” He gleamed at the clerk, who handed him a bag of chocolate covered berries. The clerk thanked him back, adoring the generous tip that Bokuto had given.

“I think your addiction to sweets will be the reason for your inevitable destruction.” You told him, holding his hand as you walked through the town square.

“That must be why I am addicted to you.” He joked, handing you one of his chocolate covered berries. You accepted.

“I am not sweet.”

“Oh, you are correct.” He pretended to think, popping a berry into his mouth. “Perhaps that is why you are addicted to me, then.”

He had no idea, you thought.

The snow had been incredibly difficult that year. Clouds and snow casted the kingdom in white every day, baring the land and stealing away the darkness. What was once hidden in the thick trees was exposed.

One afternoon, the snow had slowed. Several feet lined the ground and hovered in the branches. Yet, you found Bokuto outside, throwing knives into trunks.

You were walking to the peer, prepared to trade some of your saved food for something better with the pirates and traders that never seemed to leave the beach. You dropped your bag and rushed to your best friend, kicking up the snow as you did.

“Hey, Kou.” You announced as you approached. He must have heard you, snow was not an easy feat to run in.

But he hadn’t. He was focused primarily on the target in front of him. With no gloves on, you could see the redness stinging his hands. Tears stung his cheeks as well.

“Kou, hey.” You stepped in front of him as he started to aim another knife. He threw it, the knife flying past your ear and into the bark behind you next to around five other knives. “Look at me.”

He wouldn’t. His tear stained face was red in coldness, matching his bare hands. He was not dressed to be outside.

“Look at me.” You reached for his face. He did not hesitate to let his face fall into your hands. “What are you doing out here?”

“I ━” Bokuto finally looked at you. You immediately felt a burning in your chest; his eyes were dull and more brown than gold. “I have to be better if I am to be a knight.”

“You are excellent.” You tried to warm his ears with your gloved hands, but also tried to examine him at the same time. “And you cannot get better if you overwork yourself. Or if you manage to get sick.” You wiped some of the dried tears away. “What happened?”

He did not utter another word. Instead, only more tears left his eyes and he collapsed into you. You stumbled against his weight, but held him with every ounce of your being.

His cheek was cold against yours.

“I’m sorry.” Bokuto muttered against your ear.

You did not know what he was apologizing for. “Everything is all right.”

Seasons changed quickly.

The snow melted, cascading the land in dead grass and leaves attempting to grow again. Attempting to live again.

You wished to stop time. There must be Magick Folk somewhere with that ability, to stop and freeze time. You knew that there was not.

The grass started to turn green, bright and vibrant.

Summer was arriving sooner than you wanted.

You could feel a rush of emotions at the thought of your best friends leaving. You were never one to be sad, or get emotional at all; but the thought of being alone left your chest aching in a way you never experienced.

You held back tears. For the first time in your life, you thought of crying about Bokuto.

Keiji Akaashi was a great person to be friends with. He never pushed his boundaries, he knew when to speak and when it was best to sit in silence. He always seemed to know exactly what to say and when.

He would also tell you the honest truth, which was refreshing against Bokuto’s natural optimism.

“You love him. I am correct, right?” Akaashi asked you.

You were sitting in Bokuto’s garden, waiting for him to arrive. He was the one who wanted to go for a walk, after all.

You sat up, looking to him. “You cannot tell him.”

“I have known since I met you.” He replied. “I would not tell him now.”

“Then yes,” You blinked. “You are correct.”

A string of silence filled the air. It was not uncomfortable; Akaashi was trying to find the words to say.

“You should tell him.” He finally said. “He would want to hear it, before going into the knight program.”

You sighed. You looked at him, sitting beside you in the colorful flowers. “Being rejected is not on my itinerary.”

“What will you do when he leaves? When we leave?”

“I do not know.”

You would be lonely.

That was all you knew.

You would be lonely without the two of them. There had never been a day since the age of six that Bokuto was not a part of. Every single day consisted of him.

You would go to school together, walk together, throw knives at trees together, sit on the beach together. You would go to sleep only to wake up to him.

It was no wonder you found yourself in love with him.

Bokuto hugged you tightly on your last day of school.

You only had limited time left.

The color blue reminded you of him.

He sat beside you on the sand. The beach was beautiful this time of year, just before summer. The water made the air cooler, yet you felt warm.

“I will miss you.”

He was leaving the next afternoon. He would head into the castle, starting his training and taking a step into his new life━ his dream.

“I will miss you too.” You told him, staring at the water.

As the sun sat close to the horizon, covering the ocean in sparkling light, you thought of him. He was the color blue, calm and kind and light and happy.

You opened your mouth, ready to tell him that you were in love with him. Ready to tell him that you wanted him to stay, to sit with you like this, forever. You only closed it.

If you truly did love him, you would allow him to follow his dream.

The knights in training cannot be visited or visit. Only when they become knights will they have opportunities to visit, few and far between. They have the busiest jobs.

Once he left, you did not know when you would see him again.

You stared up at him, watching him as he watched the waves crash far away. His golden eyes twinkled, white hair shifting in the breeze.

He truly was more beautiful than the ocean would ever be.

You were talking with his older sister, listening to her stories. You were happy for her, enjoying the story of her meeting her love in a woman in her travels to Hittaku.

“I need to speak to my best friend.” Bokuto interrupted. You looked up.

His sister waved you away, smiling still. Bokuto had given everyone their goodbyes already. You were the last one.

Akaashi told you goodbye earlier in the day, telling you a brief “Do what you think is right for you, not for him.” before departing.

He would be waiting in the dorm for Bokuto.

The moment you were alone, Bokuto pulled you into a hug. You fell into his chest, cheek pressed against his heartbeat. Strong arms were arm around you.

His head rested on top of yours. “I will miss you the most.”

“I will miss you more than I would like to admit.”

“I will write you with every chance I receive.”

You nodded. You would not cry, you told yourself even as the tears trailed down your face and onto his shirt.

“You are crying.”

You heard the crack in his voice. “So are you.”

You pulled back, not wanting to break the embrace. His arms stayed on yours, and you kept your arms on his forearms.

You took him in for what seemed like the last time. His white hair was pushed from his forehead, golden eyes marked with sadness. The scar looked much better, pink against his tan skin.

His eyes met yours, and they were full of emotions you could not describe. He looked at you as if you were a dimming light in the darkness and he needed you to see.

He leaned closer, and you could feel the breath on your face. He smelled of wood and sea salt.

You could only inhale when Bokuto pressed a kiss to your lips.

The kiss was brief. It was a peck, barely a second before he pulled back to rest his head on yours again. You hadn’t even noticed his chapped lips, or that he tasted like sweets.

It was silent for a moment.

“Until we see each other again?” You offered.

He nodded, holding you against him. “Until we see each other again.”

You decided to travel.

Listening to Bokuto’s sister’s stories, along with some of the dreams you had already wished for, you decided that travelling would be the best option.

You were on the next boat out of Peredine, only a small suitcase at your side and the sun on your face.

You never did tell him that you loved him.

You did not think you ever would. As he hopped off of his white horse, full armor proving that he could only gain muscle, you could not help but feel the same ache in your chest.

He lifted his helmet off, his white hair releasing in a mess over his forehead. He rushed to you, pulling you into a hard hug. You laughed, the familiar feeling of drowning drenching your body.

You both were livelier, your travels and his knighthood.

You smiled at him, listening to him talk about the castle and battles he had been in since you last spoke over a year ago.

You were drowning, but you managed to hover close to the surface. Every breath you took of his familiar and wonderful scent, you could feel the water fill your lungs.

Falling in love with Koutaro Bokuto was easy, but the consequences were excruciating.

glossary

masterlist

59 notes · View notes

mrs-nate-humphrey · 4 years ago

Link

Any fics which feature Milo as a character and look at his connection to Dan go in here. Basically, if you feel like Dan being Milo's parent makes more sense than Georgie being Milo's parent, or if you're just angsty about it. All fics don't need Dan to be a character, but all fics SHOULD have Milo in them (the collection is named Milofic for a reason, haha.)

Types of fic that can feature Milo without Dan, to meet criteria: Milo and his Aunt Jenny, Milo & Rufus, Milo & his godmother Vanessa, Milo Sparks trying to find his dad and researching Dan Humphrey, etc.

ABOUT & FAQ under the cut (or you can click on the link to go to the ao3 page with the Intro & FAQ.)

ABOUT:

If you're wondering WHAT this is, everything's already in the brief description. If you're wondering WHY I made this:

reboot!Milo is not my friend, you guys. I had some super specific headcanons about Milo, and from what I've heard about Reboot!Milo, he is very much not what I wanted to see. And apparently I'm not alone, based off the conversations I've been having with some of my friends & some anons on tumblr! So I figured why not have a collection for people who are still not over GG(2007)'s 4x01, 4x02, 4x03 Milo plotlines. That way, even if the Milo tag gets filled up with reboot!Milo or 'Georgie's son Milo' we have a space where we can be emotional over Dan & Milo.

Think of this as some sort of anthology, a collection of Milofic written by people who love dad!Dan. Or well, nothing so formal. But think of this collection as the common thread that links all our fics, and keeps them together. Like a designated shelf in the library for a specific genre.

FAQ:

Can I add my Milofic to the collection? YES. As long as it's got some kind of connection to Dan, or Humphrey family feels/ etc, you can put it in here. Any length is fine, any language is also fine. The collection is unmoderated, which means your request will be automatically approved. I will read everything, though, and if your fic does not fit what this collection is for, I will remove it. So don't put anything & everything under the sun in here, I'm checking :'))

I don't know who you are, Ivy; I don't follow you on tumblr or anything. Can I still participate? PLEASE. I'm just the person with the post-it sticky notes. You don't need to know me or be my friend to participate. Just add your work to the Milofic collection.)

Can you edit my work if I add it to the collection? No. I cannot. I can only edit your work if you add me as a co-author; and if you do send me a co-author request, unless we've discussed this before, I will reject your request because I'm not comfortable doing that without some kind of discussion, first. So rest assured, even if you add your work to a collection, it's still yours! You don't lose ownership over it at all.

I've heard that collection owners can make works Anonymous or Unrevealed. Will you do that to my work? No. Absolutely not, at any point. I wanna showcase your work so it's easy to find, I want people to find you as a writer. You have my word, I promise. That said, if you're still uncertain, or if you add your work and want to remove it later, it's very easy to remove your work from a collection. Here is how; it's the second subtopic here. If you want to remove your work from a collection, the collection owner can't stop you, to the best of my knowledge.

Why don't you just bookmark the work to the collection? When something is added to a collection, it shows under the Additional Tags when you open a work, so our Milofics will be linked that way. If someone wants to go on a Milofic binge read of Milo Humphrey fics and not Milo Sparks fics, your work will link back to the collection, right under your additional tags (so it won't take space in your work / clog up your own authors notes, etc.) Basically, remember how I said it's like a way of grouping our fics together, like an anthology or common library shelf or something? Adding it to the collection makes that common thread exist. THAT SAID. If you're really and truly uncomfortable with having your work IN the collection & would rather it be bookmarked, that's totally valid. Feel free to let me know!

Ivy, I wanna add Milofic as you've defined it to the collection, but I liked reboot!Milo and would like to characterise him that way. That's fine! Just tag your work appropriately (put it in the Gossip Girl 2021 fandom tag, or if not applicable, add an additional tag that says "reboot!Milo characterisation" or something along those lines), since this fic collection exists for those of us who wanted to separate reboot!Milo and gg2007!Milo.

#milo humphrey #milo mutuals - especially milofic mutuals - please reblog to spread awareness #if you're so inclined!#i will be messaging some of you later today re: adding your fics in here #this way even if the tag redirects to milo sparks #we still have a corner of ao3 for our regular miloposting

12 notes · View notes

realityhelixcreates · 4 years ago

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 79: The Rites of Blood and Knowledge

Chapters: 79/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg 13(Blood)

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel) Wanda Maximoff, vision, Bruce Banner

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, In Reference To Blood Mixing Mentioned In The Eddas

Summary: The great ceremonies begin.

The dreams were powerful that night, whisking you off to far away places, off to the increasingly familiar form of the gargantuan space artist. There was a strange nostalgia out here that you were slowly coming to recognize as being not your own. How could it be? You had never physically been here, only visited in dreams.

With green and blue sparkling at your right and left, you drifted along in their orbit, yet another asteroid in a primordial star system.

First Wielder.

The concept filtered through your mind, trailing a warm and wistful longing behind it.

Peace. Eternity. Creation.

Before battle. Before separation. Before imprisonment.

Before all.

The star system was strange: every time you came here, the sun was a little different. A variable star, its brightness oscillating, it was still young and new.

There was only one planet in this system, located fairly close to the star. The presence of the colossal giant perturbed the asteroids and gas around the star, but their great mass prevented them from coalescing.

Comets formed in great numbers from the gas and ice beyond them, whizzing past them, inspiring new drawings. Asteroids clumped up against them; a brush of their great hand sent them flying, to collide into one another, to spin away from their unstable orbit, and join the comets on their cross-system journey, to crash into the singular planet.

The colossus watched with the patience of true immortality, as the planet burned and erupted, filled up with water, and clouds, and sky.

Thoughtfully, they regarded an asteroid they held in one hand, then, with their color-stained fingers, they began to draw.

The wistfulness and regret reached their peak, and you woke up in the empty bathtub, with a thought ringing in your head.

The Wielders always came to a bad end.

******

Loki was somewhat disgruntled to discover that you'd been having these dreams without him. He didn't scold, but his concern was clear. You described them in as much detail as you could, but, to your dismay, he didn't have any explanation for what you'd been seeing while you slept.

It would just have to remain a mystery. The upcoming day was going to be far too busy to dwell on it.

Both you and Loki had dressed in your absolute finest, your armor polished bright, your skirt covered in embroidery, your chest and neck festooned in beads of carved gold and pearl. You still felt a little bit like you were so buried in finery that you became invisible, but you tried to carry it with pride. All of this had been put together especially for you, and that hard work deserved to be shown off.

Loki was so magnificent in his fur-trimmed cloak, and elaborate helmet, you had to firmly tell yourself not to spend the whole day just staring at him all moon-eyed.

Maybe just a few hours.

Today, the Second Feast, was really the main event, as far as this Buridag was concerned. At noon, you would participate in the Blood Taking ceremony, wherin you would 'mingle blood' with the royal brothers, in order to be formally adopted into Asgardian high society. This would cement your status as high enough to advise Loki as one of the most important members of his personal entourage. And before the evening feast, you would perform the ritual that would confirm you as an official Seidkona.

But before that, you would have the time to run around and enjoy the festival.

It was set up like a combination job fair and reenactment fest. Stalls lined the streets and filled courtyards, peopled by the crafters of Asgard. Smiths, armorers, and carpenters, goldsmiths, lapidaries, scrimshanders, and glassblowers. Weavers, spinners, leatherworkers, and dyemakers, artists, musicians, chefs, academics, mages, stonemasons, construction workers, scribes, dancers, and cheesemongers. All the sights, and sounds, and scents, and flavors that made up Asgard were being demonstrated and celebrated.

Your Father and Tara joined you in the streets, and Loki reluctantly released you into their care, having some preparation left to do.

Tara, flouncing around in an apron dress and domed brooches very much like your usual style, gushed over how beautiful you looked, and your father, rather sheepishly dressed in an Asgardian greatcoat and cowl, agreed openly.

“You look like a princess.” he said. “A real one. You...You walk different now. Talk different. You look so strong.”

“Is it me, or are all these people following us?” Tara asked, not very quietly. A few chagrined people in the crowd that flowed in your wake down the street peeled away, and wandered in different directions. The rest either had less shame, or had orders to keep watch over you.

You spared the group a glance. There appeared to be a solid mix of Asgardians and humans, several of which had their phones out. You surmised there would be a new wave of photos of you on the internet over the next few days.

“Keep your cowl up dad.” You advised.

“Want me to run them off?” he offered.

“Nah. I don't really mind if they take pictures of me. Can't really hurt anything.”

“Wasn't so great last time.” Tara pointed out. “I spent a lot of time stanning for you.”

“Well, last time was sensationalized bullcrap. This time is a nice festival. I mean, check out that guy!”

That Guy was a glassblower in his stall, spinning a huge, bubble thin amphora of rose pink glass. You had seen its like before, but never seen one made.

“Oh, they age crystal mead in those! The pink lets in the right wavelengths of light that give it it's shimmering quality.”

“What's crystal mead?” your father asked.

“Don't try more than a few sips, if anyone offers.” you warned. “Asgardians have iron guts. Their booze is way too strong.”

“Yeah, they warned us about that on the plane.” Tara said. “And yesterday, it looked like they had everything divided up by species, so no one got the wrong thing.”

You took them around to various demonstrations: spinners spinning yarn, brewers preparing several of Asgards many alcoholic beverages, apothecaries showing how basic medicines were made, a cobbler putting together a nice pair of boots.

“So, Asgard's really advanced, right?” Tara asked. “Why is everything like Ye Olden Times?”

“Asgard's never had that big a population, even at it height. There just isn't that much demand for mass production. Most things are bespoke, or self-made. Quality depends entirely on the maker, so that, of course, becomes a competition. And that, in turn, becomes a matter of cultural pride. Also, they have thousands of years to get good at what they do, so Asgardian made goods are super high quality, and they judge personal worth by that. I don't think they'll ever automate; it would go against a lot of what they stand for.”

You snagged the three of you a traditional Asgardian snack; fat sausages, wrapped in savory pastry. You thought it might be good to have something else in your stomach before the first ceremony.

Tara called them Asgardian corn dogs, which you couldn't wait to share with Loki, if only to watch his nose wrinkle with disdain over the undignified term.

“So when do we have to let you go?” Tara asked.

You checked your phone for the time, stuffing the last of your sausage into your mouth.

“Eh, I've got a few minutes left. Better start heading over though.”

Your winding path through the courtyards took you past minstrels, impromptu dances, and games, to a large, tall dais that had been put together as a temporary mirror to the throne room. It towered over the City Hall courtyard like a ziggurat. You'd be up there soon enough, but currently...

“Who's that?” your father asked, pointing at a man standing at the top. “Doesn't look like Thor.”

You squinted up at the figure, his bright armor shining in the rarefied sunlight.

“Ah, That's Heimdall. He's the Guardian of Asgard, and god of...uh, sight? I think? Vigilance? It's not quite that neat and simple, you know? The whole 'God Of' thing is a bit more complicated than that.”

“So that's a god?” your father asked. “How can you tell? Are they all gods? What does that even mean?”

“All good questions. Mostly because they are very hard to answer.”

Your father and Tara jerked at the sudden new voice, and, not for the first time, you found yourself amazed at how easily a man of the sheer size and importance as the king of Asgard could sneak up on people.

“Your Majesty.” you said calmly, inclining your head. Your father and Tara dipped into awkward bows, a little awed by the mythical figure before them. Thor didn't necessarily demand obeisance, but he didn't exactly discourage it either; he let people act as they felt appropriate.

“Not every Asgardian is a god.” Thor explained. “Those that are go by the term 'Aesir', a common name through most of the realms for beings of that type. You are born Aesir; you cannot become one by outside influences. However, Aesir nature doesn't always become apparent at birth, it often doesn't manifest until adolescence. As for what it means to be Aesir...that doesn't have so straightforward an answer. I leave it to the philosophers, who, incidentally, are in booth seventy-eight.

Anyway, I have come to collect your daughter for the ceremony. There isn't much time left, so we'd all better get in place. If you go through those two poles there right now, you can get very good seats.”

“This could get a bit weird.” You warned. “It's a ceremony more ancient than any recorded human practices, so it's probably going to seem archaic.”

“Oh, it's not so bad.” Thor said. “It's been updated and refined over all those years. For instance, everyone remains clothed now, and there are at least seventy percent fewer entrails used.”

Your father coughed, and you rolled your eyes. Thor's sense of humor was difficult for you to understand, considering how serious he was about everything. The thing about Thor's jokes was that he might have been joking about something that had really happened, or he might have been joking about something he'd completely made up, but he would never specify which.

“On that note, I've got to go.” you said. “Entrails to sort, and all that.”

Your father coughed again, Tara patting him compassionately on the back.

“Good luck!” she called to your receding back.

******

“Now, you've been fully briefed on what will happen during this ceremony, correct?” Thor asked, as the two of you loitered near the back stairs of the temporary dais. People were filtering in to seats and standing room around the courtyard, waiting for things to start.

“I think so.” you said. “If I've got this right, there's going to be a special dance-”

“The Alignment of the Celestial and Worldly bodies, yes.” Thor said. “It symbolizes everything that must come together to bring the 'adoptee' to the greater 'family'. In this case, it will tell the story of how you came here to join our family.”

A soft warmth crept up your neck, and heated your ears beneath your helmet. You knew it was all socio-symbolism, but the notion of 'joining the family' hit differently now that you were on intimate terms with Loki.

“And then all the braziers will have some kind of incense thrown in, and in the smoke, we'll all go up the stairs like we're magically appearing. Honestly, it sounds like it'll look really cool.”

“All ceremonies contain a bit of theatrics.” Thor agreed. “Perhaps that is the most important part. Or that's the part that makes it important. I wish we still had some of the traditional ceremonial incense, but we just don't have access to the materials anymore. You would have liked it; it was much more floral than most of what you have here. We did manage to get some lavender though. That should be nice.”

“Maybe one day, when the Bifrost is more stable.” You said. It did sound very nice. “Loki said that you, and he, and Heimdall will sing a blessing song?”

“Yes, a divine blessing from a trio of Aesir. It's got to be three. And then...”

“Yeah. And then.” Loki had told you about the bloodletting. He had been very frank about it. “I know. I'm nervous, but not afraid.”

Thor nodded. “Sometimes there are unforeseen effects, but never anything bad. You'll be perfectly safe.”

“I know. The nervousness just comes from knowing it'll hurt. Even if just for a short time.”

You buckled under Thor's hand when it came down on your shoulder, enveloping the whole thing.

“Loki would rather slice out his own guts than draw your blood, trust me. He's been trying to figure out how to get around it for weeks. Unfortunately, the blood is the most important part of the magic. It carries all of the power. It's very old magic: according to him, this is practically the only part of the ritual that has remained unchanged from the beginning.”

“Did there really used to be entrails and naked people, or was that a joke?”

“Ehhh, well, yes and no. This ceremony originated with the Vanir, and they are not opposed to nakedness under certain circumstances. In this case, everyone who attended was expected to leave the clothes they came in at the door, and wear a special loincloth instead. This was actually to prevent violence, by barring hidden weaponry from being brought to ceremony grounds. So rather than pure nudity, everyone was dressed as scantily as was possible.

As for entrails...unfortunately yes, that was also a part of it. A seer would perform a divination using the entrails of a slaughtered animal. That practice was going out of fashion, even before the war, and I don't think anyone today even remembers how it was done.”

You shuddered. Yes, it was a different culture, and a long time ago, but it still grossed you out.

“I'll have to remember to thank Loki for trying to get me out of it, even if he wasn't successful.” You said. He really did put in a lot of effort behind the scenes. If only he were more open about some of that effort, so you could appreciate it more.

“He was adamant about the bull.” Thor said. “Demanded a private ritual the night before. Put your helmet up on the pillar, then sacrificed and butchered the beast himself. Insisted on it. Did our ancestors proud, but you know he knows his way around a knife.”

“I wish he'd told me. I was really stressed about that whole thing. I'm glad, in the end, that he was thinking of me, but I really wish I'd known. I wouldn't have lost so much sleep!”

“It was a little last minute.” Thor admitted. “I approved it the instant he explained, but we had to do it pretty much immediately afterwards. He really should have told you, but I fear my brother is usually more invested in the making of plans, rather than what to do once they come to fruition. I feel you will be a positive influence on him, though.”

Even though he was wearing his eyepatch, rather than the mismatched prosthetic, his one blue eye was open and sincere.

“I think so too.�� you said. You already were influencing each other. It was impossible to live so close, to sleep in the same bed, without doing so. But Loki did have a bad habit of assuming things, a by-product of his upbringing as a leader, you supposed. You would simply have to speak up more.

Perhaps you had gotten too comfortable. But perhaps you wanted to be too comfortable. It might be a holdover from your year of struggle, but having someone who wanted to do so much for you was very tempting. You knew it would be better to strive for a balance, but you also knew that, unless Loki somehow diminished himself severely, the two of you would never truly be equals.

But you admired that greatness, and somehow, those all too common flaws in him made him easier for you to love. They made him so real.

An ambling drum beat started up, accompanied by the brassy ting of zills, and a flute. Loki joined you and Thor in peeking out around the dais, just as a group of dancers spread out around the courtyard.

You'd been told that the dancers represented personages from history and legend. You were pretty sure that the three women who orbited the dance stage equidistant from one another must be the Norns, and you assumed the cluster of people standing beneath a glittering tree branch and clanging their zills were probably meant to be the ancestors of the royal family.

The dance told a story of a woman dressed like you, and a man dressed like Loki, wearing silver bells at their wrists and ankles that jingled with every step. They made everything look so much more graceful and sensual than it really had been: Holding hands like the rune branding had been on purpose, dancing circles with each other, like everything had been friendly and not at all awkward from the very beginning. How elegantly 'you' swooned into 'his' arms, while the assassin was caught. How triumphantly 'you' defended 'him' against the Huldra. And how beautifully 'he' clasped 'you' in a romantic, yet properly chaste embrace.

There was none of the blood, none of the fear, or anger, or petulance, or confusion. No loss, or loneliness, or uncertainty.

But that was how it worked, wasn't it? None of those things could be shown to the general public. This was ceremony. This was spectacle! This was what would be remembered.

The pair danced away, out of sight, the ancestors retreated, and the Norns raised their arms in unison. All around the courtyard, attendants dumped incense into the torches and braziers, sending thick smoke and mysterious perfume wafting over the entire area.

“Show's on, darling.” Loki said, grasping your shoulders, and leading you up the stairs. A new wave of anxiety washed over you as you rose above the sweet smelling clouds like a legend. Heimdall stepped aside to let you pass, Loki and Thor leading you right up to the edge of the elevated platform, where waited a podium, upon which rested a brass bowl. An unfamiliar rune was stamped on its bottom. So that was where the magic would happen.

Thor held his hand out over an unlit brazier just in front of the podium and concentrated. Scarcely a moment later sparks danced between his fingers and jumped to ignite the fuel. The light illuminated the clouds of incense, obscuring the audience. Cut off thus from every other person out there, you didn't flinch as the trio of gods each placed a hand on you, and began to sing.

You couldn't help but wonder if they had done this before. It was a complex song, with rising and falling harmonies, parts layered over one another, something that couldn't have been easy to learn. As their voices dipped and flowed, you felt the power rising, just like out in the camp, months ago. Why could you sense divine power? Was it because of your magic? Was there anyone out in the crowd that could feel it too?

Thor's good eye had begun to sparkle with crackling white energy, the power of the blessing he was singing into you. You assumed Heimdall, behind you, was lighting up orange, and when you turned your head to glance at Loki, you were suffused with the gentle glow of the blue light from your dreams.

All of the anxiety drained out of you at the touch of that light, your arms dropping to your sides as relaxation took over.

Everything was all right. Loki was right beside you. Thor and Heimdall were with you, their voices reverberating through you, their blessing upon you. The rare winter sun filtered down over you like a blanket, as the last notes of the Aesir's song filled your head.

Loki gently took your hand, gazing earnestly into your face as the calming light faded from his eyes.

“Forgive me, my love.” he whispered.

A sudden, painful jab, ripped you out of your cocoon of sunny calm. With a sharp cry, you turned to stare at your fingertip, pierced deeply by the tip of one of Loki's knives.

Loki held your hand over the brass bowl, letting the blood drip, enough to cover the rune at the bottom. Then he tenderly bandaged the tiny wound, lines of regret around his eyes. Thor held his hand out for a slash, and then Loki turned the blade on himself. Blood slowly filled the little bowl, as a light throbbing started in your head. Every drop that rippled its surface was like a giant heartbeat within you.

Once it was full, Thor and Loki began singing again, lifting the small bowl between them. They held it up to the sun, and then poured it onto the burning brazier. The fire sputtered, sizzling, sending a huge cloud of smoke directly into your face. You gagged on the scent of burning blood, practically bathed in it, a layer of death-scent on your skin. The song cut through it, thrumming in your ears, an echoing promise of cherishment and fidelity.

The blood burned down into nothing, the smoke slowly clearing. All of the people in the courtyard came back into view, the upturned faces solemn. The dancers below picked up the chorus.

And you understood them.

Loki took your hand and lifted it up, flourishing to the crowd. They cheered, while you stood there, stunned. You understood what they were saying, their enthusiastic calls, their songs. The blood smell lingered in your nose, the throbbing swiftly receding from your head.

He led you to the stairs down as you wobbled, but you never made it all the way down. Dizziness overcame you, and you collapsed into Loki's arms.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

14 notes · View notes

manga-gamer · 4 years ago

Text

I posted 19,300 times in 2021

2472 posts created (13%)

16828 posts reblogged (87%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 6.8 posts.

I added 1,905 tags in 2021

#ace attorney - 442 posts

#jjk - 348 posts

#hq - 288 posts

#obey me! - 218 posts

#rebecca.recs - 147 posts

#the great ace attorney - 134 posts

#bnha - 131 posts

#don't feel obligated to reblog - 83 posts

#kny - 63 posts

#demon slayer - 51 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#i love the idea of maya just not driving cause she wanted to kiss franziska and she just says 'nick take the wheel!' and he already knows

My Top Posts in 2021

Pet Names (Demon Slayer Hashira (-2))

Giyuu Tomioka:

He doesn't use them that often

But he's so fucking adorable when he does

My love, Waterfall, Raindrop

He's so quiet when he says it too, and Shinobu totally teases him

Shinobu Koucho:

So adorable when she says these

She caresses your face and kisses your cheek

Little Butterfly, My sweet, Cutie, Cute Ladybug

You get so flustered and she laughs

Rengoku Kyojuro:

He loves using them, even around other people

You get so flustered, and Rengoku just kisses your forehead

My flame, Little flame, My cutie

His eyes light up before he says

Sanemi Shinaguzawa

Believe it or not

He can be pretty soft with you

My little fighter, Little cutie, Baby

He can be soft and I can kinda see the appeal of him

Mitsuri Kanroji

She's so damn cute

She'll kiss you and nuzzle you while saying these

My love, Love of my life, Cutie

They make you flustered a lot

Obanai Iguro

He usually says your actual name

But sometimes he'll mumble these into your shoulder

Mine, My love, Sweetie

Softie around the right person

Muichiro Tokito

Such a quiet cutie

He also doesn't use them often, and more uses them in private

Baby, My mist, Lovely

He blushes whenever he says them

265 notes • Posted 2021-09-19 18:43:21 GMT

Obey Me Boys and their Daughter Pt. 1 (Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Satan)

Lucifer:

He loves his daughter very much and teaches her all sorts of Devildom etiquette

He teaches her to bow and say "Lord Diavolo" while meeting with him

Diavolo loves her and when Luci's not around, she calls him "Uncle Diavolo", which makes his heart burst

He encourages her to wear formal clothes and dresses, though she sometimes wears Lucifer's old RAD jacket

She has very small black wings that she prides over and short black hair like Lucifer's

She has the utmost pride to make sure her family is seen as the best in the Devildom

Mammon:

He adores his daughter and cannot say no to her

"Papa, papa, can I have this dress?!"

Of course, she can, he is THE Mammon, who will get his daughter anything

"Papa, can I get this colorin' book?!"

Nothing is too expensive for his daughter

He carries his daughter on his shoulders all the time

He helps her tie her white hair in two ponytails, but he's kinda bad and she doesn't like him doing her hair

In her somewhat demon form, she has small demon wings and often tries to fly with them, but Mammon stops her all the time

She also loves spending money, just like Mammon does

Leviathan

Gaming child

Levi teaches her how to play all sorts of games and so many slang words, and it gets annoying at most points

She stands on counters, trying to be as tall as he is since she's always impressed with his height.

"You're so tall, Daddy!"

He also gets her into anime and such, and she especially loves Ruri-chan and just like Levi, memorized her catchphrase

For Halloween, she usually goes as different anime characters and Levi is happy to help her with costumes

In her demon form, she has a cute, short tail and short horns

She got your hair color, but she keeps it short and usually in a short ponytail

She gets envious easily and when she's about to go into her demon form, Levi usually has to stop her from killing someone

Satan

He loves her so much and he shows it through physical touch

He usually hugs her and kisses her cheeks all the time

Sometimes, he'll be reading and she'll pop her head above his shoulder, and look at what he's reading

He'll put her in his lap and read her the stories

He encourages her to wear dresses, usually frilly ones with lots of ruffles that are muted colors

He also has her wearing dark academia aesthetic clothes and gets her into books, reading, poetry, and stuff like that

In her demon form, she also has a short tail, and her dress is similar to Satan's suit

She has a mix of your hair color and Satan's blonde hair color and she has her hair in two pigtails and Satan is pretty good at tying her hair

She doesn't get angry easily, but when she does, she's very angry, it's as if there was fire in her eyes

278 notes • Posted 2021-08-29 06:19:32 GMT

Mammon: God, yer so clingy.

Y/N: You got into my bed???

285 notes • Posted 2021-11-18 01:31:06 GMT

Pet Names (Disasterous Life)

Saiki Kusuo:

He's not a terribly romantic person

He normally wouldn't come up with pet names

But after you started calling him "baby" he thought it would be fitting

My pain, Babe, Bearable Sweetheart

It's romantic in his own way

---

Hairo Kineshi:

He's always fired up

He shouts these names so loud that you could hear them across the school

Rival, Sweetie, Baby, Babe

He's just very adorable

---

Kaido Shun:

He usually calls you by your name when other people are around

When you two are alone, however

His walls get broken down and he's very soft

Baby, (Y/N)-chan, My Hero, Ally

He's just so damn cute

---

Aren Kuboyasu:

He's still trying to be a "Goody-goody"

But his nicknames are... something

Definitely something

My Little Criminal, My Thief, Little Delinquent, Baby (girl/boy)

He's a little adorable but he does try

---

Saiki Kusuke:

This motherfucker-

He's a crazy bitch

However

Kind of romantic

My Little Genius, Sweetheart, My love, Mine

He also says he dreams of you killing Kusuo, so that's something

---

@solar3lunar @childes-rainedrop (some ur mans again-)

287 notes • Posted 2021-06-07 02:28:42 GMT

Pet Names (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Itadori Yuuji

He's so damn adorable

He loves these names and will take any moment to use them

In other people's opinion's, it's adorable disgusting

Baby, Mine, My Sorcerer, Cutie

He'll just mumble them in your hair and kisses your cheek

--- Fushiguro Megumi

He's somewhat less adorable but at the same time, more adorable

He kisses your temple

He usually says your real name, but sometimes he'll use these

Sweetie, My Baby, My Love, My Rose

He's so soft when he wants to be

--- Nobara Kugisaki

Honestly speaking

She's a smug bastard when she gets a partner

Smirks when she says these names

Sweetheart, Cutie, Love, Babe

She's so damn adorable

--- Gojo Satoru

He's also the smuggest bastard

He loves saying these names and never holds up

Just purrs them in your ear or shouts them for the world to ear

Kitten, Cutie, (Y/N)-chan, Cutie-chan, Shorty

He's ridiculous, but you love him

---

Nanami Kento

He's not so quick to show you off

The only reason people found out was because of Gojo

That's beside the point

He will rarely, if ever, use these

My love, Love, Annoying Love

Serious but cute

--- Sukuna

He HATES pet names

Especially since Itadori uses them all the time

However, when it comes to you

He can't resist himself

Cutie, Little Cutie, Chibi-(Y/N)

He's somewhat condescending, but also very serious and cute

--- Inumaki Toge

I recently fell in love with him

Which means I'm giving him a slot

Poor cutie, can't call you all the things he wants to

But paper and texting exist, so that helps

Dandelion, Sweetheart, Love, My Cutie

Very soft

--- @solar3lunar

308 notes • Posted 2021-06-08 06:51:59 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #long post #damn #nice to know my writings were popular tho #disappointed in the post/reblog ratio

4 notes · View notes

deathleadsarc · 4 years ago

Text

first two yakuza related posts

initial info random info

Differences in her character and more additional info to her whereabouts and timeframe.

The biggest difference is that she is not an alchemist, obviously, so she has an easier time with using physical weapons like knives or guns. She she doesn’t have any desires to own or use a gun, however. Does she own a knife? She does! Several kinds! Aside from the medical equipment, she carries a family heirloom from WWI - a trench knife passed down from her mothers side, given to her by her brother.

Qistina and is more accepting and interested in her heritage, but still does not hold any religious values. She hardly holds onto any good values at all, much like her main incarnation.

Still very much a murderous person. There is no formal diagnosis on her, but she is a high functioning psychopath and should still not be trusted. That’s not to say that she can’t feel feelings, however. At the very least, she understands that what she does is morally wrong. She can read emotions well and acts accordingly to their interactions and what she needs from them. there are also certain special people who can excite and please her enough that she drops her façade. Becoming much more honest with them.

There is enjoyment in what she does. She loves exploring the human body just as a kid will enjoy playing with a coloring book - she finds creativity in it, happiness, fuels her with a sense of control in her chaotic and horrible life being lead. For as much as she is content with her life, there is a small desire that wells up from time to time to have a family of her home ( not yakuza related, per say, but a person who loves her. maybe a few children ) because this is something she feels is so far away from her reach, she continues with her life until Homunculus’s inevitable return.

Timeline

Date of Birth : Oct 31st 1973

During her time in the mafia in Germany, she would harvest organs and even serve as a threat to torture in particularly stubborn troublemakers who went against their Father. She joined them when she was 22, only a few years after entering medical school, and learning more first hand than in the classroom. Having spotted one member of Homunculus torturing and dismembering a man, she was given the choice to join in or join the floor. Guess what she chose!

Her own story beginning in Japan starts in 1998 when she is 25 years old, when a fellow Alchemist by the name of Roy Mustang helped smuggle her out of Germany through his connections with a Yakuza family in Japan by the name of Arakawa ( by my own luck, there is already an Arakawa family in the Yakuza series - but my reasoning is mostly a reference to fma’s author ) . She is brought in front of few of the Family Heads and introduces herself in Japanese, dressed fully in a black and red furisode ( yamamba and spider lily patterns ) hoping to give a good impression. Lucky for her, it works.

Serving as a backdoor / black market doctor to any member who cannot risk a hospital visit or otherwise. Providing a unique skillset and disposition toward her situation. Her abilities are offered in exchange for their protection, with a small clinic was provided to her by the Tojo family in Kamurocho, first watched over by a senior Doctor, then turned over during the kiwami timeskip before 2005.

The yakuza who come through don’t bother her too much outside of medical reasons, though they do refer to her by yokai related names due to her very unique appearance: nure-onna, yuki-onna, and yama-uba. Usually these names are used as a code when in public, as her name is too foreign to forget when you hear it. “nure” “yuki” or “yama” are acceptable names to call her.

TAG: 🜺 | asleep within the petals of poppies ; nourished with blood ( yakuza verse ) ( the tag will contain the triggers of gang related activity, drugs, violence. I won’t tag everything involved with every thread or post unless you specifically ask me to. )

#long post #🜃 | Asleep within the petals of Poppies ; nourished with blood | YAKUZA #that date might change but here we are

3 notes · View notes

phlebaswrites · 4 years ago

Text

I posted 162 times in 2021

107 posts created (66%)

55 posts reblogged (34%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.5 posts.

I added 775 tags in 2021

#naruto - 138 posts

#fanfiction - 133 posts

#phlebas writes - 121 posts

#okay to reblog - 116 posts

#uchiha izuna - 67 posts

#senju tobirama - 64 posts

#uchiha madara - 41 posts

#series: courting culture confusion - 38 posts

#senju hashirama - 30 posts

#fanart - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 82 characters

#sandaime mizukage | third mizukage | koshamain (my name for the sandaime mizukage)

My Top Posts in 2021

The Akatsuki and Australians

Summary:

Five times Kisame saved Hidan.

And one time Hidan saved Kisame.

Rating: Mature Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Hidan/Hoshigaki Kisame Word Count: 4348 (Complete)

Entry for @kisameweek-2021 Day 2 ~ August 9th: Good!Akatsuki | Accidental Hero

This story is for @woofgang69, @longliveustherecklessandthebrave, @hellotheremaryrose and @mizu-luna, all of whom reassured me that I wasn’t crazy for wanting to write this story.

The sequel to The Akatsuki in Australia, this is another iteration of the same omegaverse concept that I used in Blood in the Water, in which Kisame is an unassuming alpha and Samehada is an aggressive Beta. When fused, Kisame is far more at the mercy of his instincts than he would be otherwise.

Please note that this story goes in a completely different direction to Blood in the Water, and I hope that the tags will be helpful if you’d like some indication if this story is for you.

Warning:

This series is very much about the deconstruction of gender stereotypes, and statements are made that might be triggering.

Please, read with care for yourself and skip if that is not for you.

Hidan is ferociously texting on his phone.

Deidara cannot be allowed to criticise his fashion sense like this. He does not look like some sort of 1970s gigolo! He likes to wear his shirts open at the collar for ventilation, okay? It’s for comfort! It’s not a style choice.

Australia is hot and Hidan is already roasting under the sun that beats down so relentlessly. It’s not like Okinawa which is muggy and sticky with the water in the air. This is sunburn hot and he’s not about to button up like a prude, just because some people think that omegas should have a sense of propriety.

That kind of thinking is old fashioned, and he tells his co-worker so.

The traffic light next to him makes the funny beeping noise which they were told indicates that it’s safe to cross, and Hidan steps out onto the road without looking.

He doesn’t think that he needs to.

The hand on his collar that yanks him back roughly tells him that he was wrong. He looks up into the face of his big blue teammate. “Kisame! What the hell was that about!”

Kisame gestures at the black muscle car that’s racing down the road away from them.

“The car was speeding. It ran the red light.” Kisame shrugs but the expression on his face doesn’t look apologetic.” You almost got hit. I had to do something.”

Hidan flushes, but even he can’t tell if it’s with happiness or rage. An instinctive part of him purrs quietly at the gesture of care but he stomps on it ruthlessly.

Rage, he tells himself. Rage is the appropriate response here.

He pokes his finger into Kisame’s chest, feeling firm muscle under his fingertip and ignoring his own response to it. Thank the gods Itachi isn’t here or he’d be smirked at again. “You do not get to touch me! Not outside of an emergency!”

Kisame’s brows furrow with confusion. “But this was an emergency.”

“You could have said something!” Hidan yells up at him. “Personal space! Have you ever heard of it?! How dare you touch an omega without invitation!”

Kisame takes a step backward, as if Hidan has just landed a punch, and his face goes shuttered.

“My apologies, Omega.” He bows formally, and Hidan can hear the capital letter of his designation. “It won’t happen again.”

Kisame strides off on long legs, and Hidan feels... abandoned almost. He got the last word, Kisame left him alone like he wanted, but...

“AND I COULD HAVE RESCUED MYSELF!” He yells it at Kisame’s retreating back in an attempt to make himself feel better.

See the full post

28 notes • Posted 2021-08-08 14:23:13 GMT

Don’t Raise Heroes

Summary:

Being a parent can be tricky.

And it’s not any easier when you kill people for a living.

Rating: Mature Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Senju Butsuma/Uchiha Tajima (primary) Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna (minor) Word Count: 2609 (Complete)

Entry for @narutorarepairweek

Tuesday (27): Vacation Getaway | Protective Rage

Tajima walks through the hallways of the main house and barely notices as everyone scatters before him like leaves in the wind. He's too consumed with the anger that he feels.

How dare they!

To ask this of him, to press him for a marriage, when Yuna has only been gone for a season, her ashes barely cold on the family altar beside Kuro-hime and Togakushi!

He's not been himself, bowed down by grief and responsibility, struggling to lead the clan in this time of pain. But the solution to that is not another woman to calm him! And the women that the Elders want him to marry! All their own daughters and nieces, offered up as sacrifices to strengthen their ties with his line.

The lust for power in that room was a foul taste that still lingers on his tongue.

His lips work, and he restrains the urge to spit.

There's a tug on the hem of his mantle. It's so small, barely noticeable, but he feels it. He turns, anger rising. Did he get it caught on something? If he has to do more mending on this garment, he'll be tempted to set it on fire instead.

His breath catches in his throat.

His mantle is caught, yes, but not on furniture. It's caught in the small hand of Izuna. His youngest son smiles up at him hopefully, arms raised in a silent request to be held, but the smile is wobbly around the edges and there's uncertainty on his face.

Tajima can't stand it.

He drops to his knees, careless of his dignity, and gathers his son close. Izuna lets out a little noise of contentment, relaxing into the hug, and Tajima feels his heart clench. He buries his face in his son's hair.

Izuna. His child, and the last one that Yuna will ever give him.

Tears leak from his eyes, and Izuna pats his cheeks. "Tou-chan? Okay?"

Tajima lets the Sharingan whirl to life, memorising the look of concern on the tiny face of his son. "Yes, Izuna-chan. I'm fine."

There's a shout and Madara comes racing around the corner. "IZUNA!!! DON'T RUN AWAY! COME BACK!"

When Madara sees them, he skids to a stop and takes a step back, but Tajima beckons him closer. He wants all of his children near him.

He folds them both into his embrace.

Tajima clutches them, his last two children, all that remains of what was once a large family.

Madara knows what happened to his siblings, his mother, though he was away from home with Tajima when the attack happened. It was only because Yuna managed to secret Izuna away in a tansu that his youngest child survived.

The horror of returning to the compound to hear what had happened, and see the bodies of his wife and children, left untouched for him to find by the order of the Council of Elders in the name of making his Sharingan stronger...

Thanks to his dōjutsu, that is an image that he will never forget, as was their intention.

For them to try and manipulate him now, after that…

Tajima rises, carrying his sons.

See the full post

29 notes • Posted 2021-07-26 14:11:00 GMT

7 Sentence Tag Meme

Tagged by @emilx311! Thank you for tagging me and inviting me to play!

Post 7 sentences from a WIP and tag 7 people:

When they were young, Kana and Kitiara never questioned their family. They had two fathers, the best uncles in the world, and that was just the way things were. No one in the clan looked at them askance for it.

It was only after they first started helping Hashira oji at the hospital that they realised that babies came from mothers. Who was their mother, they asked chichiue, and they listened as he explained that they had none. It was their aunt Kikiyo who had borne them in her body and, while this was not the most common arrangement, it was neither strange nor wrong.

But there was something else that chichiue said that has always stayed with them. Parents can be the ones who bore you, the ones who fed you, the ones who taught you. It is care that makes a parent. It is love that makes a family. This is something that I have learned and that I now pass on to you.

If anyone wants to know, these are the opening lines of Engaging with the Enemy, the story of Madara’s daughter Kitiara.

Tagging, but only if you want to play:

@silverutahraptor, @good-grievance, @greyduckgreygoose, @nallaz, @sqbr, @awfulloneliness, @kurakura0-0

31 notes • Posted 2021-05-28 03:28:27 GMT

Swimming with Sharks

Summary:

There’s always a bigger predator.

(That’s when you need a shiver.)

Takes place between 1888 and 1903.

Rating: Explicit for Graphic Depictions Of Violence Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Gen, minor background m/m relationships Word Count: approximately 23K (Complete, posts one chapter daily)

Entry for @kisameweek-2021 Bonus Day ~ August 15th: Any AU

Part of my Courting Culture Confusion series, this story is for @dominaaurum who inspired me to talk about what happened in Kiri after Koshamain’s departure.

Kisame stares down at the cooling body of his mentor, almost his second father, and tries not to panic.

Every breath he takes chokes him with the scent of blood and he feels his whole body tense with the aftermath of the kill.

Fuguki-sensei betrayed him, was going to present his whole clan to the Mizukage as traitors, and he can't regret his actions, but there is no way that this looks good for him. Enough of the Hoshigaki died in the civil war, and he wasn't about to let his clan be killed just so that his mentor could save his own skin.

But, in the process, he might just have doomed himself.

Like this, it will be his word against Fuguki-sensei's and the blood that covers his body speaks for itself.

Unless... he can present the evidence of Fuguki-sensei's crimes.

What an irony!

The papers that Fuguki-sensei was going to present as from the Hoshigaki, Kisame will display as belonging to their true owner. Feverishly, he plows through the house, dragging out chests, knocking scrolls from shelves, anything that he can think of.

In his haste, he trips and falls - right onto Samehada.

He flinches, expecting to have a strip of skin torn off for his temerity.

But nothing happens.

Wonderingly, he places his hand on the hilt, and feels a brush of chakra. It feels... warm. More than that, it feels welcoming. Like diving into the ocean on the few hot days that Kirigakure gets, water all around him.

He's always avoided Samehada, respectful of its bond with Fuguki-sensei.

But Fuguki-sensei is dead.

And it appears that Samehada is willing to take a new wielder.

Read the rest on AO3!

46 notes • Posted 2021-08-14 14:00:07 GMT

To Kindle Knowledge

Summary: The children you know today, may someday be yours. (And the wheel turns.)

The story of how Kagami got a team, became Hokage, and fell in love along the way.

My thanks to @junsui4089 for the beautiful artwork! I love it so much!

Rating: Mature Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Sandaime Mizukage/Uchiha Kagami, secondary pairings in the tags

Once there was a little boy named Kagami who was born into a war.

Like all of the children in the Uchiha Clan, he knew of the ferocious, terrifying Senju who were trying to remove their clan from the face of the earth, and Kagami grew up to hate them just as much as the rest of his clan.

But Kagami was a little different to the rest of the Uchiha. He had a trait that made him different, that set him apart.

He was curious.

Which isn’t to say that there weren’t lots of curious Uchiha. There were.

A little curiosity in a child is perfectly understandable. Normal. It’s how children learn and grow.

But Kagami was insatiable.

His favourite, or at least his most commonly used, word was ‘why’.

Why was the sky blue? Why did it rain? Why do we make swords like this? Who invented ninjutsu? Why do we use this hand seal and not that one? What makes it cold? Hot? Why does fire consume fuel? Why does water put out fire? Why, why, why?

Lots of kids go through this phase, but they usually exhaust themselves shortly after they exhaust the patience of the adults around them.

Not Kagami.

It got to the point where adults would turn around a flee - in a dignified way of course! - at the sight of him coming because he would not stop asking questions.

So, when peace was declared between the Senju and the Uchiha, Kagami had more questions.

Why were the Uchiha making peace with people who had killed them? Why did the Senju want peace with the Uchiha? Why had monsters suddenly become people? Why can we trust them now when we couldn’t trust them before? Why, why, why?

Kagami went around the clan asking everyone that he knew. He asked his mother, his teachers, the elders, everyone. But none of the answers made sense. Some of them actively contradicted each other. At ten, Kagami was old enough to know when people were brushing him off with platitudes. So he asked one of the people who had actively called for peace.

Read the rest on AO3.

69 notes • Posted 2021-06-07 14:22:17 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

1 note · View note

rosethornewrites · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 5

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí

Additional Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals

Summary: Wangji approaches the Jiang siblings with betrothal gifts, hoping for their approval. More of Wei Wuxian's self-esteem issues rear their ugly heads.

Notes: See end

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

AO3 link

-----------

Wei Ying offered to help carry the baskets, or even the two cages containing a fat white-feathered wuguji rooster apiece, but Wangji refused to let him—it seemed improper to have him carry any part of the betrothal gifts.

Fortunately, xiongzhang and the outer disciple were both able to help. Wangji could not recall the young man’s name, only that he was an average cultivator with merely adequate guqin skills. Wangji himself carried the cages.

On the way to the guest house Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli were staying in, Wei Ying stayed close, one hand grasping the edge of Wangji’s sleeve, the other holding the box with his forehead ribbon with a sort of reverence. He kept looking at it, his expression tinged with wonder and disbelief.

Wangji knew it would take time for Wei Ying to process the events of today; he wondered if perhaps everything was moving too quickly—telling Wei Ying he wished to court him, the clarification of his acceptance to GusuLan as a disciple, and now formally delivering betrothal gifts to his siblings. Wei Ying was still recovering, after all, but it was too late to change course now.

If he stopped now, Wei Ying might interpret it as changing his mind, and that would be so much worse. Wangji did not want to give him any cause to doubt, not after all he had been through. If he could shield Wei Ying from everything that might hurt him, he would—but he also knew that way of thinking could turn him into his father.

He would not cage Wei Ying, even to protect him.

Jiang Yanli was writing outside in the early afternoon sunshine when they arrived, and Wangji could see her immediate understanding and joy at seeing the decorated baskets before she schooled her expression and called for Jiang Wanyin.

He froze coming from the guest house, a stunned look on his face.

Wei Ying noticed and stopped short, his expression shifting to uncertainty. He didn’t know how his brother would react, Wangji realized. Wangji hovered next to him, not sure how to help.

Fortunately, Jiang Yanli seemed to know what to do. She came to Wei Ying and tucked her arm into his, pulling him forward, then called Jiang Wanyin’s name with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Quickly, the three siblings were seated at the table, Wei Ying in the middle. He still looked uncertain, almost overwhelmed, and Wangji longed to go to him and draw him into his arms.

He was relieved when Xichen stepped forward, that xiongzhang would handle this part. Technically neither himself nor Wei Ying should be present for this, but on a similar note the Jiang siblings were the family of Wei Ying’s heart, not blood, so nothing about this was strictly traditional. They were both orphans, and thus no parents were involved in this betrothal process.

Xichen directed the disciple to place the baskets he was carrying and set his own down as well. At his pointed look, Wangji placed the cages with the roosters on the table as well.

“Wei Wuxian received his ribbon today,” Xichen began calmly. “As only family and cultivation partners may touch it, Wangji thought perhaps he could show Maiden Jiang how he ties his into his hair.”

Jiang Yanli looked delighted, and Wei Ying opened the box to show her the ribbon.

“Oh, it has little embroidered clouds,” she exclaimed.

“An inner disciple’s ribbon,” the outer disciple said, sounding surprised.

“Wei-gongzi has contributed much to Gusu Lan already,” Xichen clarified. “Shufu and I made the decision.”

Jiang Yanli eyed his hair, clearly thinking ahead to the lesson, and she smiled.

“Oh, is that a new guan?”

To Wangji’s delight, Wei Ying blushed.

“Mine broke this morning. This one belonged to Lan Zhan’s mother.”

“A love token?” Jiang Yanli asked, her smile widening. “It is lovely.”

“You have a whole bag of guan,” Jiang Wanyin muttered.

Wei Ying froze, his eyes going distant. The Jiang siblings looked startled by his reaction.

“The guan in his bag all had lotus on them,” Wangji stated.

He offered nothing more, but they realized anyway if the grief on their faces told him anything. As Wei Ying has predicted, they were sad, but there was a determination there as well.

“I’ll go through your bags for you,” Jiang Wanyin told him softly. “Get rid of anything with lotuses.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t realize, A-Xian.”

Wei Ying attempted a smile, but it was weak.

Both of his siblings looked as though they felt guilty for not having realized, but Wangji had only noticed this morning, had connected his fugue with the fallen lotus guan scattered across the floor.

“I didn’t tell you,” Wei Ying murmured. “How would you know?”

“Tell us what’s bothering you, you idiot. We can’t help otherwise.”

The smile turned more true, and sheepish.

“I’ll try.”

Xichen cleared his throat delicately and gestured to the baskets on the table, and he and Wangji bowed and took their seats across the table as the outer disciple started to unwrap the cloth covering them.

“Regarding the love token…”

Inside the baskets was white tea from Gusu Lan’s stores, aged decades to develop its delicate flavor. Sweet osmanthus cakes stamped with dragon designs—no phoenix, as both he and Wei Ying were men. A pair of dragon candles. One of the baskets contained cuts of pork, obviously purchased in Caiyi; this gift implied Jiang Yanli was a maternal figure. Another basket contained an assortment of seafood to symbolize a long and happy marriage. Oranges and apples, dates, dried tangerine and melon slices, lotus seeds, candies symbolizing prosperity, good fortune, luck, peace, and offspring—perhaps the hope he and Wei Ying would adopt? Sprigs of pine for longevity. Carved jade in different hues—green dragons and turtles, red and purple birds, white clouds, a black bat, orange fish, blue butterflies, flowers in all colors, and other auspicious symbols—all to show Wei Ying’s worth.

Gold had a value; jade was invaluable.

“We have brought a betrothal gift for you, Wei-gongzi’s siblings, to seek your approval for him to be wed to Wangji.”

“I asked him if he would consent to be courted, and he agreed,” Wangji offered.

Instead of responding, Jiang Wanyin looked at Wei Ying with what seemed like anger at first glance but was actually disappointment and grief.

“You’re not coming back to Lotus Cove,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, and he clearly already knew the answer. Jiang Wanyin’s voice was resigned and rough, as though he had held out hope all this time while knowing it was unlikely.

Wei Ying flinched, his face pinched with his own emotions. His throat worked soundlessly for a moment.

“I can’t,” he finally said, his voice shaky. “I’m sorry, Jiang Cheng.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jiang Wanyin told him. “It’s not your fault. After what happened…”

“I promised I’d be your right hand man,” Wei Ying murmured.

His hand was fisted in his sleeve, Wangji noticed, his knuckles as white as the robe, as he fought his emotions.

“But I can’t go back. Not now. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.”

Jiang Wanyin took him by the shoulders and shook him slightly.

“It isn’t your fault!” he hissed as Wei Ying stared at him wide-eyed. “You have nothing to be sorry for, A-Xian!”

Instead of releasing him, he pulled his brother into an almost violent hug. Then they were both crying, as was Jiang Yanli, who put a hand on Wei Ying’s back.

“It’s enough that you’re here,” she said. “That you’re alive.”

Wangji knew from her expression she was seeing Wei Ying wan and bloody in the mud.

“You will always be his siblings,” he said impulsively, trying to stave off those same memories. “That cannot be taken from you.”

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli whispered. “A-Xian is the brother of our hearts.”

Jiang Wanyin released Wei Ying and fixed Wangji with a calculating look, measuring him as though trying to decide if he was worthy of his brother. Wangji did not begrudge him that—he should do so.

“You’ll protect him?”

Wangji nodded.

“He lies. He’ll pretend he doesn’t need help or protecting when he really does. You’ll protect him from himself?”

Wangji nodded again, reflecting on the way Wei Ying has, how he often put himself last in sneaky ways. He would need to compensate with that in mind.

Jiang Wanyin nodded back, looking very much like he was struggling to find words.

“He’s afraid of dogs. Terrified of them. Even the tiniest puppies. You have to protect him from them. And he forgets to eat. Even before, he forgot when he was working. He gets too focused and forgets to eat and sometimes even sleep.”

Wangji realized abruptly that these instructions were Jiang Wanyin’s way of expressing his approval. It would be his responsibility to care for Wei Ying.

Jiang Yanli expressed the importance of spice, of nutritious and delicious foods, of hugs and affection.

“Xianxian is three,” she said softly, tweaking Wei Ying’s nose between two knuckles and then dabbing at his tears with her sleeve. “He doesn’t say when he’s hurting. He keeps it inside, like with the lotuses. He fears becoming a burden.”

Wei Ying sat still between his siblings, his face flushed, clearly overwhelmed by their discussion of him and his needs.

“Wei Ying is never a burden,” Wangji said. “Wei Ying is a joy.”

His face flushed deeper, and he hid behind his sleeves.

“You can’t just say things like that, Lan Zhan.”

“Mm, can.”

“Lan Zhan!”

“Xianxian deserves to be spoiled,” Jiang Yanli said with a smile, nudging him playfully.

Wei Ying peeked out to shoot her a tremulous smile, but otherwise kept his face hidden. Jiang Wanyin shoved him lightly.

“I won’t be able to get away with staying here forever,” he said regretfully. “I’m the heir. Eventually I’ll be expected home.”

He fixed Wangji with a scowl.

“But if I can be sure Wei Wuxian is protected before I have to leave, I’ll feel better.”

“He is a Gusu Lan disciple,” Xichen pointed out softly. “He will be protected even without the courtship and marriage.”

“Unlike in Yunmeng,” Jiang Wanyin muttered bitterly.

Though Wangji knew xiongzhang hadn’t meant it in that way from the way he winced, he didn’t disagree with the Jiang heir’s interpretation. As a disciple—as head disciple—Wei Ying should have been protected, even from the fury of Madam Yu. She should have faced consequences for attacking a disciple alone, not protected by Meishan Yu with Wei Ying dismissed as a mere servant, as though he was property to be done with as she pleased.

These things still angered Wangji a year later, and probably always will.

“A-Cheng,” Wei Ying said. “It wasn’t—”

“You should’ve been protected,” Jiang Wanyin interrupted. “A-die should’ve protected you. We failed you.”

“You didn’t,” he whispered. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jiang Yanli reached out and took Wei Ying’s hand.

“A-Xian, we want to be sure it never happens again. A-Cheng and I couldn’t protect you well enough, and Father should have protected you from a-niang, and he failed to.”

“Shijie…”

Wei Ying ducked his head, and Wangji knew he was trying to avoid thinking poorly of the man who he’d been raised to consider an uncle. But there were other issues as well—in truth, Jiang Yanli was no longer his martial sister, but he had called her that since he was young and perhaps hadn’t fully realized. Or, more realistically, he didn’t know what to call her otherwise.

“He could have officially adopted you, A-Xian,” she said gently. “He could have made you our brother officially. She wouldn’t have dared touch you then.”

“It isn’t too late,” Xichen interjected. “The three of you could become sworn siblings.”

The Jiang siblings froze, blinking at each other in surprise. They had not considered the option, but Wangji had not either. The act would send a clear message to the cultivation world at large, would serve as further protection for Wei Ying.

“It would mean you still have a connection to Yunmeng Jiang,” Jiang Wanyin said after a moment.

Wei Ying looked flummoxed, surprised beyond words by the suggestion, and perhaps a bit torn. With his reaction to lotuses, his trauma, a connection might not be a good thing.

“You could call me jiejie,” Jiang Yanli whispered, squeezing Wei Ying’s hands. “I’m not really your shijie anymore, but I’d really like to be your jiejie.”

That was apparently the final straw for Wei Ying, who let out a sob and buried himself in her arms. Jiang Wanyin managed a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder, but looked close to tears himself. Becoming sworn siblings would just make official the relationship they had had most of their lives, would solidify their connection to one another.

“We can set up the ceremony for tomorrow,” Xichen said, smiling gently. “As Jin-furen and Jin-gongzi are visiting, they could serve as witnesses.”

Jiang Yanli glanced at Wei Ying in concern.

“Jin-furen?”

“We met her in Caiyi,” Wangji stated. “She has dissolved the sworn sisterhood and wished to commission Wei Ying.”

The news clearly comes as a surprise to the Jiang siblings—apparently in previous visits Jin Zixuan hadn’t mentioned it.

“They are having tea with shufu presently, but likely intend to visit you,” Xichen added.

The Jiang siblings were watching their brother with concern, and he managed a smile, straightening.

“I’m fine. Lan Zhan was with me. We rescued a turtle at the fish market and released it in the pond at the jingshi. And we got a book about turtles and poetry and oil for my hair and tanghulu.”

None of his rambling mentioned the Jin, and Wangji could hear exhaustion in his voice, despite how he tried to keep his tone light. From his siblings’ expressions, they could tell as well.

“It was a long day for Wei Ying,” he said softly.

A broken guan and slight breakdown, consenting to be courted, rescuing the turtle, shopping, encountering Jin-furen unexpectedly, receiving his ribbon and clarification that Cloud Recesses was now his home, and now this. Too much for him while he was still recovering, almost certainly. He wanted to take him somewhere quiet so he could rest, or to the meadow to bury him in soft rabbits.

“You’re already protecting him,” Jiang Yanli commented approvingly.

“We’ll need to establish chaperones,” Jiang Wanyin said, frowning.

They were agreeing to the betrothal, Wangji realized, and warmth spread from his chest in a way he usually only felt around Wei Ying. Joy. He was feeling joy. The siblings of Wei Ying’s heart had accepted their courtship. They would wed.

Xiongzhang smiled and nudged him gently, clearly happy for him.

“Wei Wuxian deserves no less,” Xichen agreed. “We want to make his worth very clear. Chaperones through the courtship period will be appropriate.”

Wei Ying looked embarrassed by this, as though he felt the fuss was too much for him.

“A-Xian has faced enough questions over his worth. He is precious to us and will be treated as such.”

Jiang Yanli was watching Wei Ying, too, he noticed, and was speaking in part to him.

“A-Cheng and I will be happy to chaperone,” she finished.

“For times when you are indisposed, or if myself or shufu are unavailable, I’m sure we can have some of the outer disciples act in that capacity,” Xichen added. “They are often responsible for escorting guests.”

“Wei Ying may need rest before dinner, while you are visiting with Jin-furen and Jin-gongzi,” Wangji stated, watching him. “I would like to escort him to his quarters once Jiang-guniang has tied his ribbon.”

In truth, their lunch in Caiyi had been more of a second breakfast, too early to truly be lunch. There were still several hours left before dinner.

“I’ll just take it off to rest, won’t I?” Wei Ying protested.

“And I will help you put it back on before dinner,” Jiang Yanli said. “I’m happy to.”

“Disciple Su can chaperone your return to Wei-gongzi’s quarters before he returns to his other duties,” Xichen said.

The disciple bowed. He had a somewhat petulant look on his face, but as Wangji recalled that seemed to just be his natural expression.

“Yes, Lan-zongzhu.”

Jiang Yanli reached into the basket of osmanthus cakes and presented the disciple with one, bowing.

“Thank you for your help.”

He took the cake, blinking at her in a startled way, then quickly returned her bow and retreated.

She moved around the table to study Lan Wangji’s hair, and he removed his ribbon and demonstrated how he wove it through his hair for her twice before she was satisfied she understood.

Within minutes, Wei Ying was wearing his ribbon, the pale fabric making the skin of his face look less pallid, demonstrating how much healthier he looked in comparison to only weeks ago. He looked beautiful as a Gusu Lan disciple, with a proper ribbon—but he was always beautiful to Wangji, so perhaps he was biased.

“It suits you,” Jiang Yanli told him softly. “The clouds almost look like wings from a distance. Perhaps the wings of a crane.”

Wei Ying blushed, and Wangji felt his ears heat. A pair of cranes alluded to a wish for a long married life. He had never considered the resemblance of the embroidery to wings, but he could see it now.

“Or lucky roosters, like these,” Jiang Wanyin muttered, pointing at the cages. “I don’t know what we’ll do with them.”

Jiang Yanli brushed her thumb against the embroidery on the ribbon, smoothing what must have been a minute wrinkle. The gesture was almost motherly.

“They’re for Xianxian’s wedding, to lead him to his husband. We’ll keep them until then, of course. They’re lovely.”

She sat beside him, and Wei Ying leaned his head against her shoulder, a beautiful smile gracing his lips. He looked radiant, if tired, filled with a joy Wangji felt as well.

“Shufu and I will consult to select an auspicious date,” Xichen said. “I would be honored if you two would assist in the planning of the wedding.”

Jiang Yanli looked overjoyed, and Jiang Wanyin nodded, his expression of a man about to embark on an important mission.

“A-jie and I had ideas,” he said.

Wei Ying stared at him, open-mouthed in shock.

“What, you thought we didn’t do that for you like you and I did for A-jie? Like I’m sure you two did for me?” Jiang Wanyin demanded.

“Of course we made plans for you, A-Xian.”

“I didn’t expect to get married,” Wei Ying whispered. “I was going to help Yunmeng Jiang.”

Wangji was surprised by that, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been—Wei Ying was exactly the type to deny himself to do what he saw as duty. His siblings were looking at him in horror, as though just realizing that terrible truth.

“You were allowed to marry, you idiot,” Jiang Wanyin exploded, then took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Even if it meant marry out. You didn’t have to stay.”

“I did. I promised.”

Jiang Wanyin looked to his sister, clearly trying not to lose his temper.

“Xianxian,” she whispered, looking like she felt helpless. “We would never want you to give up your future for Yunmeng Jiang. You always talked so much about Lan-er-gongzi, I always assumed…”

Wei Ying blushed and glanced Wangji’s way, then down at his lap. He was struck again by how exhausted he looked.

“He did not know my regard for him,” Wangji realized aloud.

Worse, Wei Ying had thought he’d been rejected, that he was despised. And, knowing him, he had probably justified to himself that he deserved it.

He could see Xichen’s surprise, but his brother had always known how he felt, before he could even understand himself.

“He thought I disliked him,” he clarified for xiongzhang.

A look of guilt passed over Jiang Wanyin’s face, and Wangji realized perhaps he had thought similarly, had said something to Wei Ying about it. But ultimately the fault lies with Wangji, for not expressing himself more clearly, not until it was almost too late.

Xichen also looked somewhat guilty, as though he felt he should have done something himself, but Wangji wouldn’t let him blame himself.

“I will strive to be clearer. Wei Ying should know he is loved.”

Wei Ying made an almost strangled sound.

“Lan Zhan, my heart can’t take it,” he groaned, hiding his face dramatically again. “You’re too much!”

“As much as Wei Ying deserves. Wei Ying will acclimate.”

Jiang Yanli patted her brother’s shoulder, looking softly fond, but also concerned. Wangji wondered if she too realized that Wei Ying might disbelieve he was loved. Jiang Wanyin stayed quiet, but watchful, his jaw still clenched, his expression still stormy.

“Xianxian will need to get used to it, I think. Lan-er-gongzi will need to use the courtship period to help him adjust.”

Wei Ying gave her a mock betrayed look, and she laughed gently and tweaked his nose. He blinked at her cross-eyed, looking like a sleepy kitten.

“But I think perhaps you could use a nap.”

The lack of protest was enough of an indication, but Wei Ying swayed when he stood, steadied by his siblings. Jiang Yanli pulled out a handkerchief, then put some of the dates, dried tangerines and melon, candies, and an osmanthus cake on it before tying it into a pouch and pressing it into Wei Ying’s hands.

“A snack would do you good,” she said, leading him around the table to Wangji. “I’ll send A-Cheng for you when dinner is ready. Lan-zongzhu and Lan-er-gongzi are welcome as well.”

Wangji took Wei Ying’s arm in his own to help steady him and received a tired smile. Disciple Su frowned at him, as though scolding him for touching his betrothed, but he ignored him. Xichen smiled.

“I will discuss courtship etiquette and terms with Wei-gongzi later, Wangji. You are aware of them. I trust you to respect them.”

He nodded to his brother and led Wei Ying toward his quarters.

Respecting courtship etiquette was the same as respecting Wei Ying, particularly to the rest of the cultivation world. Wangji was disappointed, in some ways, that he had been right; the trip to Caiyi was to be their last time spent together alone for some time to come, and part of it had not been.

But as Wei Ying leaned closer, starting to wilt, Wangji focused on him alone, ignoring the disciple accompanying them. He would ensure Wei Ying ate at least some of what Jiang Yanli had packed before leaving him to rest, and the disciple could simply wait as he did so.

Wei Ying’s health came above all else.

---------

Lots of symbolism in this chapter. Different colors of jade have different meanings. Green, which is the most prized, is for friendship, harmony, and renewal. Red for energy, life, and love. Yellow for optimism, success, and generosity. Orange for ambition, vitality, and libido (lol, like WangXian need help in that department). Blue for loyalty, freedom, and faith. Purple for insight, peace, and devotion. Black for elegance, security, and pride.

There are a lot of meanings involved in carved jade specifically as well. The bat, for instance, would represent happiness and longevity. Butterflies are a symbol of love. Dragons, power, strength, and goodness, as well as masculinity. Fish represent wealth and abundance, and when paired, harmony and connubial bliss. Different birds have different meanings as well, though Lan Wangji doesn’t specify which ones there are, or which flowers are carved.

I am not as familiar with betrothal customs as I would like to be, but it seemed killing and cooking the roosters would be crass at best, at least before the wedding. Apparently some customs include putting the betrothal chickens under the marital bed for the wedding night. In essence, this betrothal is different in a lot of ways because they’re both grooms and both orphans. Because of Wei Wuxian’s lack of blood family, the decision to go to the Jiang siblings is more a courtesy and recognition of their relationship than anything.

“Gold has a price/value; jade is priceless/invaluable” is a Chinese saying that seemed apt for a betrothal gift.

Wuguji are black-boned chickens, specifically silkies. They’re a smaller breed, but prized in cooking.

Also, I keep meaning and forgetting to thank my amazing beta, @missyriver, for all her help!

12 notes · View notes

khoicesbyk · 5 years ago

Text

The Royal Romance.

Second Chance Romance.

A/N: I’ve decided to go into my own little TRR/TRH world and create an AU. This will be fun! So; Talley Ho! *in my Sherlock Holmes voice*

Rated: Explicit. | Contains sexual content and strong language. (You know? The usual from me. 😁) | Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters. | Main Characters: King Marquise Rys (LI) and Queen Shanelle Dawkins (MC) | All Characters and names: (except MC and certain original characters, created by me) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 2,195 words. (more or less. I stop counting after editing and re-editing. 🤷🏾‍♀️)

Tag List: @lifeaskim @txemrn @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @kingliam2019 @secretaryunpaid @pixie88 @shanzay44 @hopelessromanticmonie @choicesfannatalie @choicesficwriterscreations @lucy-268 @bebepac

I AM UNAPOLOGETICALLY NSFW! READER DISCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVISED!

As always if you’d like to be added to my tag list. Just reblog or DM me and I will gladly add you! 😁😘

Chapter 10.) The Engagement.

It happened. It finally happened. Marquise kept his promise to her. She is about to be his wife and queen. Shanelle just couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe that it would happen. After 2 years of being apart, they are going to be married. Not to mention that she will eventually be the queen of an entire country.

But at the moment she was still jumping up and down screaming.

“YES! YES! YES! YES! FINALLY! I GOT MY MAN! HE’S OFFICIALLY MINE!” She screamed excitedly. She was dancing when there was a knock at her door. When she opened it, Hana was on the other side.

“CONGRATULATIONS SWEETHEART! I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!” Hana exclaimed as the two best friends hugged.

“Hana it happened! He chose me! He actually chose me!” Shanelle said to her.

“I know! Oh my God! We have a wedding to plan!”

“Yes, yes we do! Ohhh my God! I’m getting married!”

That’s when Tanya walked up with a big smile on her face.

“Congratulations Shanelle! You did it!” Tanya said to Shanelle.

“Thank you Tanya! I couldn’t have gotten this far without you by my side.”

As she said that, Maxwell’s voice cut through the air, as he came running around the corner with Drake in tow.

“SHAAAAAAAAAAANEEEEELLLLLEEEEEEEE! YOU DID IT! CONGRATULATIONS!” He said as he picked her up and spun her around. When he put her down, she was in tears.

“Oh no! Did I hurt you?” He asked.

“No. I’m just so grateful for you. Without you I wouldn’t have come back. I had moved on. I thought he had as well. But you…you brought me back. You promised me that he would make it right. And now…he’s mine. He’s finally mine.” She said through the tears.

“Congratulations Dawkins! I’m happy for you and Marquise. It will be good to finally see him happy.” Drake said to her as they embraced.

“Thanks Walker. If anyone knows him, it’s you. Your support means more than you know.” She said to him.

“And now the real work begins. You’re no longer a suitor, Shanelle. You’re the next queen. We have A LOT of work to do but for now…we celebrate!” Tanya said.

“Now…let’s go get us a little bit of the bubbly!” Maxwell said.

“Yes! We have to celebrate! This is huge!” Shanelle said in agreement. That’s when Shanelle’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Marquise.

“What is it?” Hana asks her.

“It’s Marquise. He wants to talk. So you all go celebrate. And I’ll catch up with you all later.” Shanelle replied.

She knew she had to go see him. After saying her goodbyes to her crew, she made her way to his office. When she got there, she was greeted by him and his parents. Marquise had a huge smile on his face.

“Hello My Future Queen.” He said as he hugged her.

“Hello to you my soon to be husband! And my future in laws.” She said as she greeted him and his parents.

“We are very happy for you, Lady Shanelle.” Queen Mother spoke to her.

“Thank you Queen Mother. It means a lot to me that you and King Father support us.”

“Please my dear, call me Regina. We’re about to be family after all.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yes, this is a joyous moment for the Royal Family. But we have important business to discuss.” Constantine said to her.

“Yes sir I understand. I’m just trying to wrap my head around all of this. It’s exciting and overwhelming at the same time. And I still have to tell my family.” Shanelle said to King Father.

“Let’s sit down and get started, shall we?” Marquise said to everyone.

Once all were seated, Constantine cleared his throat then spoke sternly.

“Now Lady Shanelle, as happy as I and Queen Mother are for you and our son. You must understand, this will not be an ordinary marriage. You are entering an arena full of snakes, sharks and hyenas. You must be prepared for any and everything. Just because my son loves you and accepts you as queen, does not mean the court and the country will. Many are sure to be furious about your betrothal to my son.”

“With all due respect, I don’t care what the court thinks of me, your highness.”

“You should Lady Shanelle. Without the court’s support, you won’t have the support of the people. Many will turn against the Royal Family. To them you’re an untrained outsider who could potentially lead the country into ruin.” He warned her.

“That’s funny, father I don’t remember you giving Madeleine this speech.” Marquise told his father.

“That’s because Countess Madeleine has trained her entire life to handle the court as well as the duties and responsibilities of being queen. Lady Shanelle is not, my son.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t learn, King Father.” Shanelle said to Constantine.

“Yes Lady Shanelle, you can learn and that can be seen as your ultimate weakness. Out of all of my son’s suitors, you are the only one that isn’t of noble or Cordonian blood. That means something to the people and everything to the court.” Constantine told her.

“So what do you suggest, father? That I reverse my decision?” Marquise asked his father.

“Of course not. Your father supports you and Lady Shanelle. It’s just that you have to tread lightly, Marquise. The court is angry and the people are not convinced that Lady Shanelle is the one. You don’t want to make any of it worse.” Regina spoke up.

“So what do we do?” Shanelle asked.

“First thing is you will be given the title of Duchess and lands of your own by my son. Second, you’ll have to apply for citizenship here in Cordonia, if you haven’t already. Now, if you wish to Lady Shanelle, you can have dual citizenship. And of course you’ll have to debut to the entire court as the next queen, in which Regina and her staff will help your publicist coordinate and plan. Also, you’ll have to learn all of the duties and responsibilities of your future title, if you are to carry it.” Constantine replies.

“And what will you do father?” Marquise asks.

“I will try to drum up as much support as I can but I fear that the court still won’t welcome Lady Shanelle.” Constantine replies to his son.

“I will deal with the court myself.” Marquise tells his father. His tone laced with annoyance and frustration.

“I understand how you must be feeling my son but, you cannot force the court to accept Lady Shanelle. That will only alienate them. You need them. Swaying them in your favor, will sway the people in your favor.” Constantine told his son.

“Marquise, your father and I want you and Lady Shanelle to be happy and have a happy marriage together but, he’s right. You cannot force the court to accept her. It’s just not possible. Especially when many feel she isn’t worthy of her title or your hand.” Regina said to him.

Marquise knew deep down that they were right. Even if he didn’t like what they were saying.

“But why is that?” Shanelle asks.

“Because of your scandal, Lady Shanelle. Many in the court feel you can’t be trusted. And if the court can’t trust you, they won’t feel compelled to tell their people to trust you.” Regina replies.

Just as Shanelle was about to speak, Constantine had a coughing fit. When he stopped coughing, he was wheezing and looked tired.

“Father are you alright?” Marquise asks.

“Yes my son. I’ll be fine.” He replies before chuckling wryly, “it seems it’s past this old man’s bedtime. Regina and I should retire for the evening.”

“Yes you should, father. We’ll finish this conversation some other time.”

After saying their goodbyes and good nights, Regina and Constantine were gone, and it was just Shanelle and Marquise. She was finally able to let go of the breath she had been holding since she got to his office. Marquise wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him.

“Well that could’ve been worse…I guess.” She said as she leaned into his embrace.

“Yes it could have but you handled yourself very well, my queen.”

“Thank you. Although I get the distinct feeling that I’m still not wanted here.”

“Please don’t let what they said scare you, Shanelle.”

“But they’re right, Marquise. The court all but hates me and the people don’t trust or necessarily like me.”

She felt his arms tighten around her slightly. Feeling him be that close made her knees weak.

“You let me handle the court. All I want you to focus on, is what you’ll be wearing to your debut in a few days.”

“You’re joking right? I thought my debut was weeks out.”

“Not everything is a joke, my queen. Besides, I'm impatient. I don’t want to wait to show you off.”

“Impatient is an understatement. Do you really think that I’m ready?” She asks him.

“Yes my queen. You’re more than ready and capable.” He replies.

“Sooo…what does this debut entail? Besides a fancy ball and formal wear?” She asks. He snickers.

“You’ll be formally introduced to the court as Duchess Shanelle Dawkins, my future wife and Cordonia’s future queen.” He replies.

“Hmmmm…”

“What is it, my queen?” He asks her.

“Your father mentioned something about owning lands of my own. What did he mean by that?” She asks.

“Well in order to be Duchess, you have to have your own Duchy. That’s how this works.” He replies.

“You mean I get my own people, who will love and adore me for who I am while kissing and praising the ground I walk on?” She asks.

“First off, the only person who gets the honor of loving and adoring you for who you are, while praising and kissing the ground you walk on is me! Thank you very much! Secondly, yes having a duchy means that you get your own people.” He replied.

“Score! So when do I get this new duchy?” She asks.

“No time like the present.” He replies.

Marquise grabbed his laptop and sat down with Shanelle and began scanning a digital map of Cordonia. After looking for several minutes, Marquise found the perfect duchy for her.

“Ahhh…here is your new duchy my love, Valtoria.”

“It’s beautiful. But I’m not so sure I like the name.”

“Well change it.”

“Wait! I can do that?” She asks.

“Yes my love. This duchy is yours to do with however you see fit.” He replied.

“Sweet! Okay well, goodbye Valtoria and hello Volterias!”

“Unconventional name but I like it.”

“That’s only because you like me.”

“No, my queen. I don’t like you. I love you. There’s a difference.”

Shanelle just chuckled and shook her head at him.

“There goes that kingly charm again.”

“As long as it still works.” He said with a wink.

“This still feels like a fever dream to me. You and I will not only be married but we'll be king and queen of an entire country. I keep wanting someone to pinch me and wake me up.” She says to him.

“I know. But I promise you it’s real. When I gave you the necklace and bracelet, I not only promised you but I promised myself that I would make this our reality.”

“And you have. You kept your promise to me, Marquise.”

“Not yet I haven’t. You still don’t have a ring on your finger.”

“I don’t need one Marquise. I have your heart. That’s all I need.”

“Yes you do have my heart. But I’d also like you to have this.”

He stood up just so he could kneel down on one knee in front of her. Her mouth went dry and her jaw dropped to the floor.

“Marquise what are you doing?” She asks.

“Something I should’ve done 2 years ago, but I never got the chance to. My Love, My Queen, My Goddess I love you so much and so dearly. And I never want to let you go. My Queen I love your mind, your heart, your determination, your ambition, your compassion, your stubbornness, your strength, your eyes, your lips, your smile and I especially love your love for me. You inspire me. I’m a better man and king because of you. And I wanted to know if you…” He trailed off to her as he pulled a small black box out of his pocket.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” She asked him.

“Yes I am. Shanelle Raquel Dawkins, will you marry me?” He replied as he opened the small black box out of his pocket.

Inside the box is a flawless canary diamond engagement ring. She sat there with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Oh my God! Yes! Yes! Yes! I will! I will marry you!” She exclaimed with tears rolling down her face.

After Marquise put the ring on her ring finger, he picked her up and spun her around before kissing her passionately. They were finally and officially engaged. Neither one of them couldn’t be happier.

#choices #pixelberry #choices stories you play #khoicesbyk #choices fanfiction #fanfic #the royal romance #queen shanelle #king marquise #queen of cordonia #king of cordonia

12 notes · View notes