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yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

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Tales of The Ghost Writer

“You met Xingqiu at Wanwen Bookhouse when delivering a batch of your newly-published book. But as a ghost writer, no one knew it was you that authored such books. Safe to say it was cute watching the noble bookworm fanboy about you in front of you.”

Pairings -> Xingqiu x Author!Reader

Word Count -> 3518

Theme -> Long Fic, Fluff

Series -> #Bonafide specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> Xingqiu's name might be mispelled at times, also he rambles a lot

Entry Log # 645:

I’ve once again delivered the new batch of books to Wanwen Bookhouse today at 4PM, 30 new books in collection to be sold. That would add up to a total of 420 published books for Legend of the Lone Sword. Despite its old circulation, collectors and avid bookworms still seek out the volumes. In a spur of the moment thought, the 4th volume was finally rereleased for more readers to get a chance to read them. While on my rounds, I’ve met a particularly peculiar fan.

“4th volume?” You nod as you set down the stack of books on the counter where Jifang stood behind with a welcoming smile. “Thank you, everyone has been asking about it for a while now. I don’t understand how people keep missing out on the last volume like so.” There was an exchange of giggles between you continued your idle chatter, busying yourself with recounting the stack to make sure the order placed was exact. Yep, 30.

You picked one up from the top pile as Jifang enters the bookhouse to gather the payment. It wasn't that much of a feat to carry a pile of 30 books when it's only this thick, you thought as you opened the book in the middle and... buried your nose in it, literally. Archons, the scent of freshly printed books had always been such a stress reliever of a kind. The imprints were still fresh as you run your thumb over the pristine white page of page 75, the gravings of the letter bumping it in such an intricate and endearing manner. You suppose it should be prime time you get a copy of your own-

"Ah, the glorious scent fresh books offer are quite irresistible to everyone," your head whipped to the side in a hurry at the embarrassing display. Yet your new company only offered a light-hearted laugh, floaty and flowing swiftly past his lips. You find it enjoyable to listen to. "Fret not, I don't judge such honest guilty pleasure."

His smile was soft and respectful as you return it, watching his hand (wrists largely ruffled) pick up the next book on the pile, his interest shining the more he recognizes the the piece of literature. Such expensive clothing and poise, you thought as you continued to inspect. "I knew Wanwen had a schedule of new releases today, but I was not informed it would be the 4th volume of the Legend of the Lone Sword!"

"A fan?" You mused as you placed back the copy you took, leaning against the counter as you watched him quickly scan the lines of the book. He was intensely staring at every word with such a calculating gaze, that sometimes break when he reads how the character would sometimes reach an impasse, or when a new discovery reaches its peak. His ardent gaze was enough of an answer. When he took a break from reading to pass you his attention, you hadn't realize how red your cheeks had been out of embarrassment. "I've always wanted to get my hands on my own copy of the 4th, yet everytime all bookhouses in Liyue keep running out of stock. Is delivery normally this scarce?" He'd gestured at the not so looming pile.

You nod in response with a forgoing giggle. "Publishing could be running into some... shortness of funds?" Subtle, yet he hums in disappointment at the thought. His little pout, adorable, as he buries his face in the book again. I would gladly fund such glorious writing, you thought you heard past the leather back before the ornate doors past the counter finally opened again.

"Ah sorry it took so long, I couldn't find the exact pouch for the- hey! You again, you've read and been scolded dozens of times already," the woman angrily gestures to the notice board by the table, "Pay first, read later!"

You snorted, thankfully masked by the sudden cry of the caught culprit as he was smacked (hopefully gently) on the head by the owner, forcing him to put back the book to the pile. "Hnghh, but Lady Jifang! You didn't scold her, she was indulging herself with the book just the same," you breathed a fake gasp of astounded betrayal, before you three had laughed in chorus.

The oldest of your trio scoffed in amusement as she placed the bag of Mora unto your waiting hand. "What, her? Why would I scold her, she probably knows every word like the back of her ha-" her rambling was then cut off by a loud smack on her bottom, a book expertly finding its way back to your hand with a perfectly cut smile. Her yelp was not unnoticed by the male as he laughs at the display.

"Let him be, he's really been patiently waiting for the release!" Jifang scoffs at the word patiently as you came to the defense of blunette. You were never really aware of the norm in Wanwen, as you usually come by at a time where you would have been alone. This was a first.

"Quite so! Just the start of the volume had me hooked, setting for the peak of the story climax! The synopsis itself already hinted of another inclusion of a new element into the story I had not expected from this style of a book, surely such a writer would not tread such parallel territory without being an expert teller-" Jifang watched in amusement as her gaze lands on you at the start of the bookworm's rambling, watching the redness touch the tip of your ear with an abashed smile shyly gracing your lips. Behind it she can see the mirth and amusement, something she outwardly shows with her own expression.

"Wow," was the Liyuean woman's only response once the speaker has finished his lengthy speech. His dorkiness stands with pride at his examination.

You cleared your throat before you could mutter your initial words, finally realizing the time. "That was... quite marvelous of an analysis. A-Anywaysss, thank you for your partnership, I hope the books are all sold by tomorrow!"

And with that you swiftly made your exit, wanting to find a place to scream the embarrassment out. Or maybe squeal, just to be subtle.

Entry Log # 15:

As a distant relative to the Guhua clan, the (L/N) clan was not exactly known to be tied closely to the prestigious clan known for their expert martial. However, despite the impure connection, they carry with them still the honor of learning the arts to a meticulous detail.

Your family was one of the living practitioners of the Guhua Arts, twice removed, yet your spotlight was not that obvious as the name would carry. Your father wish to carry a new kind of prestige without relying on the powerful namesake and he had been adamant since birth to grind every teaching and form of the art into his immediate family.

"Misogyny nor feminism will not save you from battle, only your own strength." Something along those lines, was what he said.

Your eldest brother was his main point of reference when scolding you on not taking your lessons properly. A slacker he is, now he lacks not only a means of security but also financial stability, that's what you end up to if you don't treasure the arts of our family. You have no idea how martial arts brings you monetary security, but you can't really state to your own father that his logic was a bit skewed.

Daily during morning and the first touch of evening, you had resigned yourself into training under your father's supervision. As the eldest daughter of the house, you carry with you still a responsibility to be strong. No fraility was accepted, and your mother always argues about your father's ever so masculine lifestyle being imposed on you, a lady that should be taught other customs for means of living.

Yet after every session, at the end of the day under the caress of the lamp by your study table, your hands move with precision and calmness he would have scoffed at in the dojo. The beauty of words and their power to create new worlds effortlessly had drawn you in too easily, ever since you were young you had a knack for the books your mother reads to herself or to you.

Entry Log # 651:

The next time you'd met the Wanwen Bookworm (nickname you gave) was a rare moment when he'd finally looked at you more than the book in his hand. It seemed your little interaction from the bookhouse was attention-grabbing enough to make him seek out your person with a bunch of questions and wonder.

You gulped, patting down your blue skirt before accompanying him. The way he rambles was too dangerous, it was drawing something within you to also do the same, and you feared you may let out something you shouldn't. But a fellow 'reader' is good company, and with the little interactions you had with the same age group with the same interest makes this moment something you can't pass.

"Carrier to the Yae Publishing House?" You nodded calculatedly, after confirming you've said just the right information. "Quite intriguing, especially with such young age to be working in line with the greatest press house in Teyvat." Ohhh, he's surely smart despite the first impression of goofiness.

You giggled as politely as you can remember you should upon the scarce teachings of your mother. "I've always liked literature so I couldn't uhm let the opportunity pass, even if it's insignificant like that." Good, good, piling up the lies. You're grateful you haven't made some contract of friendship and happen upon the wrath of your nation's God. Or Qixing.

"Surely, you must have been in the presence of some of the wordsmiths during your rendezvous! So tell me," there was a dangerous glint in his eyes and you knew exactly what he's gonna ask, "Have you met the legendary Bob Ong?"

Oh goodness, you felt him caress and pat your back as you tried your best to breathe after the sudden choking on nothing, he was so spot on that you were horrified even if you had an inkling of what he was gonna inquire. "I uhm I don't really know what I'm allowed to say." In the inside you were goddamn screaming.

"You don't have to tell me anything about him, really! It's his mystery that makes his character just the most intriguing." You gulped down hard, this time without choking out of nothing. "I don't really know much about who he is since he's, you know, unknown? No clues whatsoever, he could be anywhere right now, maybe you've talked to him already or no. Yeah?"

He held a convincing hum before taking in the cryptic answer, content, for now you assume. "Not many avid readers of the book can place a name to the unnamed author, but how blind they were to see the cryptic signature at the back of the cover. Truly a wonderous act." Xingqiu, you finally learned his name, had took you out to lunch for the trouble and enjoyment. It wasn't really necessary, but you figured it was probably to keep you with him longer to converse about the books more.

A lot of his... analysis actually coincide with the messages that you lodged between the lines. He understands your way of narration more than you do at times, and you were left wondering just how much he had read of the fourth volume despite only having it for a few days then. When evening once again struck, you had bid each other farewell in the promise of another time to hang.

"It's a literature of love and freedom- disguised as a martial arts novel." Was his parting analysis, and you were left to wonder, was that really what you had projected into your works?

Entry Log # 32:

In your young and hopeful mind, you'd sent your first ever manuscript to Yae Publishing House. It wasn't your first work but it was the one you worked hard on the most, with weeks of furbishing and reworks. Your mother, although not directly informed of your whole plan, had provided you with great feedback and generous suggestions. And soon you created the first manuscript of 'String of Pearls'.

With a generous note and what you hoped is enough mora to at least publish a book, your package was sent to Inazuma.

You waited for days, of which turned to weeks, and then to months. You thought by the end of it all, you had been swindled but as young as you still hoped for the best of its outcome.

And then one day, as you were sweeping the outside of your gates in preparation for your father's return from some business in the harbor, a lone man of Inazuman style found its way to your humble abode. He calls himself Mr. Nine, and in his arms cradled two similar looking books, with a familiar envelope.

That was when you had been given the opportunity to write for the greatest Publishing House under the guise of a pseudonym. The great Nine was astounded by your ripeness paired with your prowess in writing. You hid behind Bob Ong, a protection from being belittled as a young child and a woman, to prevent being traced by your father if ever.

Yet you remained as subtle still. Even if your name was not written on the covers themselves, within your heart you were still the writers of those books. You've placed anagrams and mysterious puzzles revealing your name but it was part of the intrigue of the story that they had not thought much about it.

One day, you lost your book when you had gone out to eat. It was the second copy, as you carried the first one in your room, yet it still held a special place in your heart.

Xingqiu was a master novelist too, as you'd expect from someone so enthusiastic on the art of literature too. You'd long since become friends and found out soon enough his true identity. The heir to the Feiyun Commerce Guild, master practitioner of the Guhua Clan Arts, soon to be novelist. He was in every aspect the better half between you two.

One day in his daily reading breaks where he would happen upon you, he had found his eyes wafting over your notebook that you always carry. It was designed to look like a hard bound book specially tailored to your tastes, but it was nothing but mere keepers of your notes and musings.

Your newest page had in it a brand new draft for a brand new story you wanted to flesh out before the success of Legend of the Lone Sword diminishes. Mr. Nine still praised you for the success of your first major publishing and had assured you that there's no need to immediately compensate with another work so early, but your mind was already so eager to work. Your friend had never seen you so- flamed and passionate as the paper caves to the intense pressure your pencil places on it.

So he leans on your shoulder slightly (glad you were still distracted) as he quietly reads the words that articulates on the paper. The more Xingqiu reads, the more he craves, just the same vigor he felt everytime he had read his favorite works when each chapter invigorates him to continue to the end.

"Such a great outline," the blunette breathes out as he leans his cheek at the crown of your head. You let out a cute squeak when you'd finally come to, and turned your head to face him- "I didn't know you were into romance, my liege. Tell me, just where do you get such inspirations?" Your nose softly collided against the smoothness of his cheek, your lips ghosting over the line that is his jaw.

You scrambled backwards to direction opposite of his, yet with his body weight leaning on you, his center of balance quickly shifted on your weight like a net being pulled against the sides of a boat. You both toppled over.

"My, my, I didn't expect such abrupt resistance from you," Xingqiu's arms caged you as it holds him up against the grassland on either side of you. There was a certain mischievous glint in the ocean that is his eyes, which only meant one thing. "No need to be shy," you closed your eyes shut as his face leans in closer to yours, fanning over the frame of your face as he lets out a warm yet teasing exhale, "I'm sure we've gone past our personal bubbles in this relationship." You felt his chest against yours and braced for the inevitable-

as he finally licked your nose(?).

What.

"X-XINGQIUUUUU!" And then a cry of pain after a particularly harmful blow.

Entry Log # 659:

Xingqiu had always been a man of great words despite his chicken scratch of a penmanship. Vivid tales of his manuscript that I'm sure the Publishing House would take great value for, his years of memorizing numerous works in his arsenal. He told me that if I were to one day publish the manuscript, he wants to get the first copy and the first to get it signed. However Xingqiu has one glaring weakness when it comes to the art of words. When I asked him what would be a good title for the manuscript I made, he simply said, "Tales of the Writer!" And he sent a goofy smile. I thought he was joking, and I asked again, this time of what his work would be named. He replied:

"Why, Legend of Sword, of course!" He really sucks at titles.

Entry Log # 660:

Upon returning home with my new work ready to be shipped off for mass publishing, I've finally confronted my father. I had with me the final volume of my first work and offered it to him as first a gift of reconciliation, and my father took it with a mirthful glint in his eyes. He said he has been looking for the last volume of the series he'd been wanting to complete. I... I didn't know father was a fan.

The climax of my entire double-life ended so peacefully and tragically meh. I was expecting a martial arts fight of honor that will go down in history, but instead I ended up signing my own book as my father gushed about how nicely I illustrated the martial arts teaching we had during our sessions. I did not sleep well that night.

October 9th was a day celebrated by others more than the young master Xingqiu. The pavilion was mixed in with people from different walks of life and of faces he doesn't necessarily recognize. He lingers by the open window that shows the grandeur balcony, beckoning him outside. Today was a scheduled new release for Wanwen Bookhouse, and he had heard several chatters from the citizens that a new series would be published hailing from Yae Publishing House once again.

And the virtuoso of literature cannot attend such important matter himself because of his own birthday. How irking, you weren't even there to help appease his grumbling, you should have been here by now upon his invitation.

Suddenly the master of invitations bellowed out a familiar name, as his job to announce the entrance of the invited guests to the banquet. When he looks up, you were already walking down the grand staircase in your creme and blue Hanfu garb, accompanied by a tall man of a different wear—

"(Y/N), M-Mr. Nine-!" He bowed politely to the man as you curtsied at his presence. You looked absolutely dashing yet the man towered your form easily. "It's my honor to finally meet you, sire."

"Happy birthday, Xingqiu, I've heard many great things about you," the blunette opened his hands to receive the book gifted by the man. It had a familiar cover and title to it, Legend of Sword, "Great things, in fact, that there would too be great things to discuss later on." The Inazuman graced him a smile and he almost teared up at the implications, if not for when the author suddenly nudged you forward from your demure state.

Tales of the Ghost Writer

"X-Xingqiu, happy birthday! This is uhm, I've always wanted to- I wanted to give you this myself, I know you'd miss the first batch of releases," an unfamiliar book sits on his palm now. A plume and sword adorning its cover but no title, he shifts his hand to open it to the first page, "You said you wanted its first copy be signed, and I thought it appropriate to be given now at such a special occasion."

There in fresh print and ink he'd finally been revealed the mysteries he had long been searching for.

Against the translucent paper it was written and signed,

Tales of The Ghost Writer

Bob Ong, (Y/N)

@creation-magician @your-local-venti-simp @boxofteenageideas @indigodreamtime47

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact xingqiu #xingqui x reader #xingqiu x reader #Bonafide specials #exile.flower #accidentally posted again but okay #female reader

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hookaroo · 6 years

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A Captain’s Heart (4 of ?)

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Rated T for language and graphic descriptions of injuries.

Also on FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12937105/1/A-Captain-s-Heart

Tagging @therooksshiningknight by request :)

Time stood still for a moment as Killian just gaped. He was so taken aback that even his scalded leg was temporarily silenced. Marvel stared right back, on her face a mixture of mischief and joy as she awaited his reaction.

In that context, everything about her suddenly started to make sense. Her innocence, all of the odd things she had said, her unnerving knowledge of his private history… hell, even her extreme fear of fire could be explained. But… it just wasn’t possible. The Jolly Roger was a ship. A marvel, to be sure - oh, gods, that’s what she meant, wasn’t it? - but she wasn’t living. She couldn’t see, hear, feel. It was madness. It had to be a trick of some kind, or… or could he be hallucinating?

Killian’s unsteady gaze dropped to where he still had gentle hold of her hand. Before hastily releasing her, he couldn’t help noticing how real she felt. If it was a hallucination, it was a damn impressive one. Finally finding his voice, he repeated incredulously,

“You’re the bloody ship.”

Her grin was shining, excited.

“My Jolly Roger?”

“My captain,” she shot back, proud and possessive. Killian raised an eyebrow, paused, then scoffed,

“You’re mental.”

“I’m not!” She didn’t sound offended, only desperate to make him understand. “I am her; she is me… I’m… I’m alive.”

Killian watched her face, feeling the pain creeping back with the lessening of his surprise. Not a dream, then. “You are that. Granted.”

Still didn’t rule out injury-related delusion.

Marvel couldn’t seem to keep her hands off of him now that her secret was out. She began stroking his cheek: an uncomfortably tender gesture for any reality besides the one she claimed.

“I swear to you,” she crooned. “I would never deceive you. I love you too much for that.”

Killian swallowed and once again firmly diverted her grasp. Swagger. That’s what he needed now. Swagger always got him through awkward or perilous situations.

“I don’t blame you in the least, darling. Love at first sight is hardly an uncommon malady for those in my vicinity.”

“First sight...” she parroted as her gaze softened. A fond, reminiscent smile graced her lips. “My first sight of you… you were such a scrawny thing. Striving so hard to fill the giant boots you ascribed to Captain Liam.” Her eyes sparkled. “And that ponytail!”

Killian couldn’t help but squirm under her teasing. “Bloody hell. Not my best fashion choice, true. Meant to make me appear a gentleman, in a station far above my own, and why the hell am I defending my centuries-old hairstyle to you?”

With a chuckle, Marvel ran the fingers of her right hand through the short strands there now, which were stiff with salt and coated with the seashore. “I meant no offense. In fact, I mourned its departure, because it signified the loss of so much.”

“Maybe so. But that still doesn’t-”

“I can tell you more,” she interrupted, eager to prove herself. “Ask me anything. I know how you trembled, that first week as my new captain. You retreated to your cabin every night just shaking, white as those uniform trousers you had stowed for good. You would cry out for your brother in your sleep as you begged for his help in keeping those in your charge safe.”

Killian looked away, vividly reliving those days as she described them, yet morbidly curious to hear it from her perspective.

“The first time you attacked another ship, you weren’t afraid. You didn’t even pity the men you killed. And that’s what you mourned later - how far you’d fallen so quickly. You apologized to Liam for failing to be the man he’d wanted you to become. You set him so far above you that you could only wallow in self-loathing, even as you were driven to avenge him.”

Determined not to show any hint of how her words affected him, Killian rolled his eyes. “Any average trickster could hazard such guesses and come vaguely close to the truth. All it would take would be a basic knowledge of my history and some common sense.”

“Ah, but would they know the ridiculous names you and Milah created for each other? When it was just the two of you, late at night, and you would attempt to outdo the other with creativity? ‘Davy.’ ‘Wordsmith.’ ‘Tangle.’ ‘Willyan.’ ‘MeLove,’ ‘Captain Colossus,’ ‘Mistress Marauder…’ ‘Skilliwag.’ ‘Pretty Pirate.’”

“You forgot ‘Jonesing For You.’”

“‘Porridge.’”

Despite himself, Killian burst into a grin, releasing a huff of laughter. “Aye, Porridge. Because Milah-”

“Meal, cornmeal, Porridge. I know.”

“Bloody hell.” Killian sobered a bit, but his assessment of the woman beside him was decidedly gentler. “I had almost forgotten that one.”

“I loved listening, those times. You were so happy.”

Killian sighed heavily, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Marvel, love, I have to admit you present an excellent case for your claim.”

“But?”

“But I still have trouble believing you’re my ship incarnate. Nothing you’ve said can rule out the possibility of an hallucination, which is a hell of a lot easier to accept.”

“Hallucination. I’m not quite clear on the concept.”

“Seeing something that isn’t there, due to stress or physical trauma.”

“Like your leg wound.”

“Exactly.”

She took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. “But I’m here. You can feel me, can’t you? I’m not an hallucination.”

“Then tell me: how, exactly, are you here? How, after three hundred years of concealment, are you suddenly interacting with me, in human form?”

Marvel dropped her eyes as if ashamed. “I was… afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Aye. If I understand the notion correctly. I hear all these words but can’t always relate to them; even definitions are difficult, sometimes-”

“What were you afraid of, darling?”

She took a slow breath. “We were sailing, you and I. Like the old days, except just the two of us. And we were returning to port. And I knew you were going to leave me again. And I never know, when you leave me there, when it will be for the last time. And it’s just like Neverland, only not, because this time, I know you’re happy and I should be happy too.”

It was too much to take in: his ship, alive. Having human desires and emotions, baring her soul in front of him, when he wasn’t even fully convinced of her existence. He knew he should be offering comfort of some sort, but he just didn’t have it in him at that point. So he stayed silent and tried not to focus on the leg that was once again shrieking for his attention.

Marvel eventually continued. “I prayed to Brizo and she granted me this one chance to talk to you. Only I hadn’t realized what it would entail, and it was too much a shock, and then I feared you wouldn’t believe me and would cast me away, or that the sailing would be different without my help and you would run aground, and then a portal opened and we fell through.” She scrubbed a tear from her cheek, looked at it curiously and then with understanding. “I’m sorry love; this is all my doing.”

Killian frowned, disconcerted. “Brizo? You spoke with Brizo? And were accorded human form?” He didn’t know why that surprised him, given his own past encounters with traditionally mythological gods.

“She said that you and I share an uncommon bond,” stated Marvel, shy but proud. “Perhaps owing to our long history.”

“We have weathered many a storm together,” Killian agreed. He still found the whole thing difficult to swallow, but if there were truly deities involved… “Hang on. ‘Without your help?’ ‘Run aground?’ Give me some credit, love; I happen to be an excellent sailor.”

“Of course you are,” she soothed. “It’s just… I am quite a lot to handle, all on your own.”

“A lesser man might take offense to that,” Killian muttered, jokingly hurt. “But… I must admit, the thought has crossed my mind on more than one occasion. Suppose I owe you thanks, then, for your assistance.”

She beamed. “It’s always my pleasure.”

Killian studied her face yet again. If she was a delusion - if he’d eventually wake up back in Storybrooke, in his bed or in that damned hospital of theirs - there was no harm in playing along. And if she wasn’t… it was a rare opportunity, one that may not last, and he ought to take full advantage. Suddenly overwhelmed, even starstruck, he fidgeted behind his ear before saying,

“So. My marvel of a ship, come to life before my very eyes.” He held out his hand, mirroring their first greeting, but with much more import this time. “It is an honor to meet you, at last.”

With a giddy chuckle, Marvel thrust her left hand into his; again, he brought it to his lips, but this time, as he released her, he corrected gently,

“Traditionally, a lady accepts with her right hand, my dear.” He gave her a wink to soften any embarrassment; Marvel giggled and lifted her right hand off of his back, bringing it in front of her face.

“Ah, I see. That makes much more sense. I keep forgetting I have two.”

“You have indeed, and I’m afraid I may be putting both to work before long.”

“Anything my captain commands.”

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #the jolly roger #a captain's heart #borrowing a little doctor who dialogue :)#ouat milah #liam jones #memories

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