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arborio00 · 1 month

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dried flower !

Gallagher x fem! reader, angst, not proofread, written prior the 2.1 update but published on the exact day of it. inspiration; "Crabs" && "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami. word count; 772. tags; @karagatan02.

note. Gallagher come home istg- also, this is kinda rushed sorry 😭

The past fabricates the present, the present is a sequence prolonging to a destiny full of potential, wherein demise is either today or tomorrow.

Time is an archaic thief—it robs the current abruptly and tosses bequeathed memories of serrated edges in the back of the mind. And reminiscences are remembrances. Remembrances are warm; they flicker hazily with such ardour and nostalgia, akin to The Remembrance’s melting candle.

Warm.

A foreign sensation emits from the lighter's flame—something that scintillates vague reminiscences within Gallagher's memory.

Some individuals harbour reminiscences, others are plagued by them. And Gallagher is left to recuperate.

Love is a flower. And the one that blossomed amidst you and him waned—a lily of no dampness, no sunlight, an aroma of an absent lover.

‘Gallagher…do you promise never to forget me? Never to forget that I existed by your side someday?’

Once, long ago, when you and he were still young, when the memories were far more vivid than they are now, the question looms in the atmosphere for a while, and Gallagher allows it to sink in.

Gallagher observes as you run a hand over the cold steel, the other remains inside your parka. You pause your faint steps, soft eyes, deep their transparent clarity, lock into his.

The motionlessness of the Rooftop Garden added to the silence, overlooking a thousand towering buildings yonder.

Gallagher regards you in return— something about that gaze pours an unfamiliar, lonely, helpless sort of feeling. Something akin to searching. Something akin to an attempt to convey something, something that is formless, something that you could not grasp within, and therefore, had no hope of ever turning into words.

‘I'll never forget you,’ he grabs your hand and places. ‘I could never forget you.’

Though these reminiscences within began to dissipate; of course, you knew it all would evanesce along the fleeting time. This is precisely why you begged not to be forgotten, to remember that you had existed.

The thought fills him with an almost intolerable despondency; you never loved him.

Love is a flower. And the one that blossomed amidst you and him was once refined, lush smooth, and luxurious.

Once, long ago, when you and he were still young, when the memories were far more vivid than they are now, Gallagher would walk along by your side occasionally, whenever he was done with his shift as a bartender.

You would often walk pressed against his arm; your arms entwined. Or you would cram your hand in his pocket, or, when it was really cold, cling tightly to his arm, shivering. None of this felt momentous as he resumed walking with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Delusion.

How Gallagher thought this route could persevere— the way his gaze would briskly catch your distanced figure in the bar as he works, that would urge him to pause his duty right away, to enjoy yet another stroll with you.

And in the absence of understanding, the world felt out of kilter— he could hear as it creaked through this new orbit. something has happened, and the world has changed, out of order, never to be the same.

Everything had changed, and all he could do, is watch it as it proceeded along the altered destination.

Please, Gallagher says, desperation lacing his tone. We can figure this out.

You love him, yet to remain is to endure further heartache, to be a burden. No, you manage, I cannot tolerate this inconsistency. My inconsistency. You’re better off without me

His breath hitches in his throat. He composes himself and reluctantly releases your hand, surveying you in stifled purgatory.

Hence, the relationship approached its estimated epilogue. No catastrophised bellowing matches, or dramatic wails; a silent compromise.

Love is a flower. And the one that blossomed amidst you and him waned. You relinquished it and deemed it a sequence for a euphoric future. Whilst, Gallagher stores it at home— its stem sagged, white petals shrivelled on the dry soil.

Something major has been extracted from his life, confining him to a devoid solitude.

It's foreign— your tender kisses planted on his scars, your assuasive gaze, your captivating voice, your indulgent caresses on his skin. It's no further part of his life, replaced with desolation, a hollow in his heart, and a touch that lingers, akin to a ghost.

Time is stagnant as it elapses without you and he wishes to wake up someday, and never bear this sensation.

He could barely detect you at the bar, though when he does, he wishes, that you both worked it out in, perhaps, an alternative universe.

jemvia, 2024. do not copy, share, repost, or re-upload my work on any website without prior consent.

#reblogs #OH WORD?#this is so good this is like.. goodness gracious #stares out the window #hsr

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arborio00 · 1 month

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sum: literally just pulling sleepy baizhu to bed. (gn! reader.) a/n: this is my first tumblr post of my writing!! i offer scraps of my husband. its 2am - this isnt proofread.

> work doesn't always truly end for Baizhu. living in the workplace, and seldom turning away a patient no matter the hour, the line thins and blurs.

> it's you that has to pull him away from the desk at the end of the day, Changsheng having already slithered tiredly away at some point or another. and he's tired himself. so, so tired when you wrap your arms around him, and he just leans against you. yawns like a housecat, unable to fight against the warm, sweet comfort you bring him.

> "I'll only be a moment longer," he tries, but that's not gonna work.

> "a moment longer until you're collapsed over your desk," you say, caressing the side of his face, his smooth, smooth skin. the both of you are completely ready for bed, it's just a matter—a battle—of getting there. "please?"

> there's nothing left to do—nothing from your usual, clockwork schedule. Qiqi is tucked into bed, the blankets have been warmed, all doors and windows locked. the pharmacy out front is ready to be opened in the morning, which is only so many hours from now.

> finally he nods, rubbing his eyes from behind his glasses. Baizhu stands and you intertwine your fingers with his for emphasis, dragging him along to your shared bedroom. in the very dim light, you swear you see him smile—perhaps just barely, but still there. soft and sleepy and everything you love.

> you tumble into bed together and it just feels right. the bamboo blinds closed, cicadas chirping outside in the dark, humid air. bedsheets tossed around as Baizhu finally folds the legs of his glasses for the night. put away on the nightstand, set neatly over worn-down books of poetry and haikus. you can't help but kiss him—so gently—as you watch him unwind.

> "look at you," you coo, looking at him. his hair half-braided and eyes half-closed. Baizhu lets out an amused little sigh, averting his golden gaze, but by that time, you're already untying his hair. threading your fingers through it, loosening the braid until it's simply waved and he's...

> "just as pretty as the day we met." you kiss his nape to punctuate it, lips lingering a second too long, and he can't help but chuckle softly—for it's hard to believe, and he's sensitive right there. and sensitive in his drowsy heart that you tug the strings of, too.

> so you lay down together, tangled. smelling of soap and herbs and relieved stress—melting away syrupy and slowly. all until Baizhu at last begins to snore softly at your side, a sweet sound you wish you could bottle and keep forever. Your hushed breathing blends with the cicada's buzzing and the blowing of the warm wind outside. all is like some painting: hazy and sweet and viridescent. sleepy.

#this is still my fav ive written idc idc #i love my husband

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arborio00 · 1 month

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sum: "what are we?" pillow talk between zhongli and gn! reader.

a/n: from the (very old) poll!! thank you again to all 315 of you who voted.

no cws : pure fluff.

> you and Zhongli aren't quite together. in all actuality, you’re not sure if that concept exactly exists to him in the way it does to humans, your lover possessive and archaic.

> he holds you through the night without being asked to, a cuddly pillow of mortal love and affection. Zhongli prepares meals for you according to the ancient recipes they originated from centuries ago, and he barters expertly for fine perfumes to gift you. it’s better than you think anyone could possibly treat you, and the word ‘boyfriend’ just doesn’t quite suit it. the term feels elementary and a trivialization. it waters down what it really is.

> “you love me, don’t you?” you whisper, trying to laugh in case you must play it off in the end. but you know better, and so does Zhongli. that shyness, that fear in your voice, is perfect for his keen ear.

> such a question is hardly a joke to him. Zhongli pulls you further into him, flush, both bathed in the mixture of pitch-black and starlight, his nose bumping your head.

> “of all treasures, you are the most precious,” he murmurs slowly, pressing a kiss to your crown, breathing in your scent; the fragrance of local fruits and his own clean bedsheets.

> you huff. it shouldn't make you frown, you know, but it does regardless. curling against his chest, you mumble, “that’s not what ‘m asking…”

> his seriousness fades, becoming more smug. he laughs softly before relaxing into a slight smirk, amused by your cuteness, nearly lost in its purity. “ah, you want to hear it, don’t you? that I love you,” he muses.

> pouting, you don’t find his teasings nearly as funny as usual, as he may. you bury your face into his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of the fine form he has settled on for decades. Zhongli purrs.

> “I do love you… not in the way I love my country, or the fauna it grows, but in a truly unique way. it is a feeling I have never experienced in all of my abundant years. not unless I am with you, my love.” his large hands adjust you just so he can press a kiss to the apple of your cheek. “I love you, and am sorry I had not made that more clear.”

> you grumble. curse Zhongli and his sly, poetic tongue and tender reassurance. you were supposed to be sleepy and upset, like all of the protagonists of all of your favorite short, Inazuman novels. but Zhongli soothes you without invalidating you, simply and shortly, a skill he knows well. you just had to be the luckiest person in the world. you snuggle him as if seeking warmth.

> he chuckles softly, wrapping you in his arms. you know he won’t be letting go.

#✧˖°. for readers #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x male reader #zhongli x gender neutral reader #zhongli x gn reader #zhongli x male reader #zhongli headcanons #zhongli fluff

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arborio00 · 2 months

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FREE PALESTINE : FREE CONGO : FREE SUDAN.

ome or arborio, he/she. mutuals can ask for discord. ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

requests -> closed

ao3 tag is #𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ link x reader tag is #✧˖°. for readers

my carrd no longer has request info. it is currently being worked on.

ⓘ terfs, proshippers (including kaeluc), nsfw blogs, abelists, & zionists dni

ao3 / carrd / retrospring / daily clicks for Palestine

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arborio00 · 3 months

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short stories : rated g : 4,811 words.

Xiao is small and scared and hasn't lived here very long just yet—freshly taken in, taken into the home that is gradually being rebuilt up and around him. That stretching adjustment period is always the hardest, so he reads. It’s not a walk along the riverbank. But Zhongli only wishes to be as comforting as possible. A safe place. With a caring sigh, Zhongli crouches next to his child. Looks at the wooden blocks and dolls with hair of yarn spread along the knitted rug. His lips thin into a tight line, eyebrows slightly creased, his hand coming up at grace Xiao's back gently. This time, Xiao does not flinch, does not back away from his touch. 'Progress,' thinks Zhongli. _____________ Zhongli navigates the smaller moments of parenting a toddler.

zhongli and baby xiao fluff because i am so weak for them <33

this is just a collection three short stories; basically pure fluff and hurt/comfort. all possible warnings are tagged!

ⓘ if you ship zhongli/xiao, dni.

#genshin #zhongli #xiao #𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ link

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arborio00 · 3 months

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After an unwelcoming day, Giyuu falls apart at an izakaya in front of his fellow Hashira. And yet, he's not as alone as he thinks he is.

muichirou and giyuu fic because they are so sibling coded ^_^ ‎this is linked to my other two fics with similar vibes (background sanegiyuu but its easy to ignore.)

if you read it, thatd be great :3c ♡♡

> if you ship muichirou and giyuu, dni.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #giyuu tomioka #muichiro tokito #𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ link

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arborio00 · 3 months

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sum: gn! reader sits in kaveh's lap as he works. (sfw, non suggestive - pure fluff.)

a/n: from the poll!! thank you to all 315 of you who voted.

content: (again = sfw, non suggestive - pure fluff.) usage of tatlım, turkish equivalent to honey / sweet (i think ? correct me as needed,) because i hate ""y/n."" ♡ usage of my love, as well (in english.)

> gold is an easy color to adore. widespread in jewelry that is sold all across Teyvat, but still most common in the flames of lover's candle lights. seen in the evening sky, streaming cozy sunlight through your linen curtains. or, Alhaitham's linen curtains, but you're not one for specifics. not always, anyway...

> "when will you be finished," you call, voice drawing on like Kaveh's meticulous, intricate planning. it's more of a statement than a question after so long.

> "not sure," he says, falling back into silence. you can hear the fine scribbling of his pencil, the foliage rustling outside. Sumeru city is awfully quiet at this time of day, the lull between bustling day and lively night. Kaveh blows a strand of hair out of his face.

"my love, would you grab a hair clip for me?"

> it makes you smile, softly, rising from the bed's duvet. his sleepy voice, asking you so sweetly. you retrieve a hair clip from the nightstand, carrying it over to him. he murmurs a thank you, holding his hand out for it in expectation. but instead, a smile still gracing your face, you clasp your freehand with his, opening up his body towards you. he looks confused, almost startled - like one of those desert foxes he loves to tell you about. all until you seat yourself in his lap, more than comfortable. with it, he blushes, eyes temporarily take off of his work.

"tatlım- what do you think you're doing?"

> "I'm fixing your hair," you muse, sweeping back his soft, blonde bangs to clip them away, as neat as you can with clumsy, sleepy hands. his eyes are clear to you now, bot obscured, sweet rose, sparkling. you almost trip over your words. "better?"

> "much." he pulls you close, flush to that flowing blouse of his, your back to his chest. if there was ever a chance of you leaving his lap before, it's slipped through your fingers by now. but you weren't hoping on that, because you're happy like this. his attention and the smell of his soaps, pressing his face into your nape. and you smell of the same soaps, too—with the fabrics you share, and the sheets, and the closeness. the way you steal his soaps in the first place—and he doesn't reprimand you for it, but smiles and tells you how sweet he finds it, soft your skin is.

> "do you mind if I work?" he whispers against you as you lean into him. you tell him yes, and, in no time, he's scribbling outlines and notes. his messy yet elegant handwriting, the curve of his wrist and that focused look on his face, highlighting the curve in that evening, golden sun.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #kaveh x reader #kaveh #kaveh headcanons #✧˖°. for readers

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arborio00 · 3 months

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sum: gn! reader skipped dinner, alhaitham shenanigans ensue.

a/n: i had testing today and its my mother's birthday lol. im posting from a salon lobby..

content: discussions of eating and skipping meals ( ! non ed related.) usage of askım, turkish equivalent of my love, because i hate ""y/n."" ♡

> it's not your fault you didn't have dinner before bed. or, it is, but that's neither here nor there. Alhaitham had gotten home late, and it slipped your mind between the pages of a book and the sun dipping below the horizon.

> after passing out on the sofa in a failed attempt to wait up for him, Alhaitham had found you that way—sleeping soundly, sunken into the divan cushions, lamp still on. his expression softens, watching you there. at peace, the both of you. so he carries you to bed, holding you kindly in his arms, and tucking you away before he prepares for bed himself.

> and now, a couple hours later, it's him who sleeps soundly instead, as he deserves to. out like a mossed log. but you're now wide awake, turning over in bed, simply starved.

> Alhaitham is quite possibly the heaviest sleeper known to man and Archon, but that doesn't stop you from being careful. stirring the sheets minimally, tiptoeing away from your love who is completely still. you linger in the doorway, eyeing him in his peaceful, effortless beauty, before wandering off to the kitchen.

> flipping a lamp on, you grab a peach from the fruit bowl. quick and easy enough. with a knife, you cut around the pit and separate it into halves. its scent floods the room, swirling like a morning fog. you take a bite from your peach, and it parts easily—soft and pleasant and sweet.

> "aşkım?" you jump at the sound of Alhaitham's voice, thick with soothing sleep. as if akin to a cat, you cannot ever hear his light, lithe footsteps. you turn. his eyes are soft, hair tousled.

"you scared me—"

> "I noticed." in the fuzzy light, you watch him approach, ever silently. "what are you doing up now?" behind you, he wraps his arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder.

> "I didn't have dinner," you confess, and feel him eye you more intently, pressing for information. Alhaitham frowns.

"why not?"

> you shrug, before biting into a half of peach. "I was distracted.."

"by what?"

> you set the bitten half back on the plate, gaze focused there. the white ceramic, the risen patterns around its edges. the golden drops of juice in the center. you don't want him to feel bad. guilty. these things happen—time ticking by when you're both swallowed by work and responsibility.

> "you were waiting for me," he says. realizes. you nod before he sighs unmistakably, soft against the skin of your neck. it is not annoyance, not frustration, not disappointment. not disappointment in you, anyway. maybe in himself. he gives you a lingering, regretful kiss on your cheek. "i am sorry.." the syllables reside on his lips, drawing on long. it's simple, but you've never seen Alhaitham so close to not being able to find his words.

> "i was," you say, looking up at him. his sleepy, resting face—eyebrows furrowed ever-so in that adorable concern for you. "but you're here now. we're together. i'm eating." you lean in and capture his parted lips in a kiss, clumsy and tasting of peach. you pull back and he blinks, a smile curving slightly.

> "can i have a bite?"

(btw im looking for mutuals pls pm me ❁ུ۪˚˖⋆)

#genshin #genshin headcanons #alhaitham headcanons #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #✧˖°. for readers

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