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genshin-scenarios · 3 years

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Reading Together at Night!

A/N: These are a mixture of drabbles and headcanons! Xingqiu’s is a bit of a belated birthday present as well, so his are a bit longer (and under the cut to spare you guys some scrolling).

This is also a contribution to @ohmykazuha‘s flufftober event, so do check out everyone else’s work if you’d like!

Characters: Hu Tao, Xingqiu

CW: Butterflies (the insect) mentioned in Hu Tao’s part!

“Ah, Hu Tao! Won’t they burn the curtains?” You turned around from the shelves, alarmed at the arrival of gold and vermillion creatures fluttering about the room. (Your room, to be exact, which was the venue of your little sleepover on the weekend.)

“Don’t worry about it!” The girl beckoned you to come to the bed where she sat, summoning another butterfly at the tip of her finger. It perched there, glowing with the power of pyro and wings flapping gently in greeting. “They may seem like fire hazards, but aren’t flammable unless I want them to be. So your curtains, clothes, and papers are all safe and sound.” She winked.

You sighed in relief, now able to properly appreciate their intricacy. “They’re beautiful,” you admitted, watching how the butterflies floated about your room like winking stars. “It’s like something out of a novel.”

“Except they’re real,” Hu Tao proudly replied. “Well, somewhat real. The details are boring anyways, so lets be youthful and just call them miraculous. It’ll make me feel impressive, too! Like a magician with their tricks~”

Needless to say, the two of you spent the rest of the night comfortably reading next to one-another, sharing a book. The blankets were drawn up to your knees, which would occasionally bump against hers on occasion.

When she was reading, Hu Tao’s demeanor switched to a quieter version of her usual self. She’d hum on occasion, though it wasn’t a tune you recognized, or hold her chin as she considered the plot’s twists and turns.

You’d sometimes sneak a glance at her to catch the look in her eyes, her micro-expressions the only things that’d reveal her thoughts. It was a side of her you enjoyed seeing; the intellect in her gaze shining as she considered the words on the pages.

At one point you started creating a story of your own, brainstorming with together after feeling inspired from what you’ve just read.

“If I was in a novel…” Hu Tao tapped her cheek, considering her options. “What if I was a dragon instead?”

“A dragon?” You echoed curiously.

“Yep!” She drew an image in the air with the same glow as her butterflies from before. “A wise dragon that grants wishes to those that are able to find it. And you can be the illustrious protagonist that comes across my abode!”

You laughed as the mini-dragon flew from her palm and made a loop into the air, disappearing with a flourish. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Then allow me,” Hu Tao bowed dramatically, making you giggle. “With the power I have, I shall see to it that all your wishes come true, oh powerful and illustrious traveler.” An eye peeked open as she wore a smile. “So, what’d you think? Good enough?”

When Xingqiu arrived at the usual rooftop, he hadn’t expected to be greeted by the sight of scattered petals and a bouquet of silk flowers in your hands.

A part of himself was delighted, yet he only allowed himself a curious smile as he greeted you and asked what all this was for (he had an idea of course, considering it was his birthday).

You crossed your arms behind your back, the swish of the bag you had with you drawing his attention. “I know you find performances tiring, and I can only imagine what it’d be today with all those gift baskets crowding your door - so I thought that maybe I could be the one to perform this time.” You peered at him. “...Too little? Too much?”

As long as it’s you, it’s always just right. “I like it,” Xingqiu hid his smile behind his book. “Thank you for putting in the effort for this. It truly means a lot.”

Oh, but the surprises don’t end there, do they? You reveal that you brought some baked treats, and sealed away in an envelope was not mora, but rather…

“A bookmark.” You confirmed as Xingqiu ran his thumb over the engravings, patterns inspired by phoenixes and stags, with even a rabbit in the corner. You planned this design with a craftsman a month ago; the ones available in stores were nice, but not quite as fitting a gift for someone that could have anything if he so wished.

Call him competitive or keen to return your thoughtfulness, but Xingqiu suggested the two of you venture somewhere with a better view if you were up for it. Sensing that this was another hideout spot of his, you nodded and agreed with a grin.

The view certainly was worth the climb. (Granted, it would’ve been plenty hazardous if you didn’t have a guide with you.) You found yourself on one of the tallest buildings in the area, perched at the very top where the wind would graze your cheek in hello, and you felt like if you were looking over the city as a guardian deity.

With the two of you seated there (safely, of course,) your attention drew to the book Xingqiu brought with him, which he’d intended to gift to you if you liked it enough. Strategically situated by the lamps hanging around the city, the two of you took turns reading out the story to each other.

When Xingqiu was immersed in the book, he’d lean a bit into your side as his eyes stayed glued to its pages. There was a refreshing kind of excitement he’d adopt as he flipped them to continue, lips gracing from the tale that came to life in his mind.

He loved reading and enjoying his hobby in solitude - which was why sharing this together made your heart grow that much fonder of him.

By the end of the night you said your farewells by the window of his room, where Xingqiu stopped you before you could turn to leave. With an almost practiced swiftness, he tucked a silk flower behind your ear and lifted your hand to his lips, brushing the back of it with a murmured thanks for tonight.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t return the gesture,” He pointed at the flowers you’d braided into his own hair, eyes dancing with amusement. Xingqiu finally steps back, wishing you goodbye with a soft smile. “Until we next meet, my liege. And thank you - I truly had fun.”

#jia's flufftober 2021 #genshin xingqui #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact xingqiu #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin hutao #genshin reader insert #genshin fluff #genimp hutao #gi xingqiu #hu tao x reader #genshin impact hu tao #xingqiu x reader #traveler wishes #soft dreams

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sylvanfreckles · 3 years

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Day Nine: Midwinter

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (Over the Mountain and Through the Wood)

Summary: Aragorn arrives at Thranduil's palace to celebrate the mindwinter feast with Legolas.

(Note: I have an upcoming series called "Over the Mountain and Through the Wood" that's basically a fantasy adventure series of Legolas and Aragorn's adventures in Middle-Earth. It's less angsty than the Mellon Chronicles, and has a lot of headcanon I've developed. I'll list the ones from this story at the end.)

* * *

“Aragorn! You made it!” Legolas held his arms out in a welcoming gesture as he swept into the room. “Old Bellyacher thought for sure the storm would keep you away. You earned me a new belt, my friend.”

The ranger let out a snort of laughter at his friend's antics. “Your brother was betting against me?” The thought of Belegdur, Legolas's stern older brother, doing something as trivial as betting whether a guest would arrive before a winter storm seemed uncharacteristic.

“Well, he doesn't know about your winter horse,” Legolas explained. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, watching the attendant take Aragorn's wet and muddy boots and cloak away to be cleaned and dried. The ranger was now wearing a pair of stiff, soft-soled leather shoes like most of the inhabitants of Thranduil's keep. Not that boot were forbidden, but tramping around an underground fortress in wet footwear was distinctly uncomfortable.

“And you didn't tell him about Song,” Aragorn guessed. For most of the year he rode a bay gelding that had been a gift from his foster father, Eldrond of Rivendell. But in the winter, when the snows of the north washed up in drifts as high as a man's head, most of the rangers turned to the sturdy, powerful animals favored by the local farmers. Song of Thunder was a tall, broad-shouldered mare with the strong build of her sires, a thick mane and tail, and long forelocks that nearly brushed the ground. The war horses of the north were not as fast as the steeds of Rohan, but they were strong and dependable and much more suited for the perilous winter weather.

“Why would I give away my advantage?” his friend asked, pulling Aragorn into an embrace. “Besides, he hated that belt and I needed a gift for Bard next time I go to Dale. Now everyone's happy.”

Aragorn shook his head and looped his pack over one shoulder. “Even Belegdur.”

“He's happy in his way,” Legolas replied airily, leading the way through the halls to the chambers that were reserved for Aragorn's visits. The ranger looked around happily, admiring the palace of the Elvenking in winter. Bright-colored tapestries were hung on the walls to block the chill in the stone and fires were lit in every hearth. The wood-elves moved into the palace for the long, bitter winter, and thus the halls were filled with merry voices and laughter.

“I had hot water sent up,” the elf added as they reached Aragorn's room. “You can wash and change before we join my father and the others.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn's shoulders relaxed in relief when he entered the room. The fire was burning to warm the chamber, and the walls were blanketed in swirling designs of blue and silver, as a nod to the household of Elrond. “That one's new,” he remarked, nodding at one of the tapestries. It was of a silvery tree, with stars peering out through the gaps between its branches.

“Ah, yes. Tathariel's betrothed made that,” Legolas called, as Aragorn slipped behind the room's dressing screen. There was a basin of steaming water next to a small table, where towels and a shaving razor had been laid out.

“Tathariel?” Aragorn frowned to himself. He remembered the name, but not the elf in question.

“She works the northern watch patrol. I think you've met her.”

Aragorn nodded silently. He wiped off the dust and sweat of travel—the palace had indoor baths, but they were not in use at this time of day, so this would have to be enough—and quickly scraped away the stubble on his chin and cheeks. He would have to hope the clothes in his pack weren't too wrinkled...though he doubted there was anything to match the finery of court. Legolas had assured him that the midwinter celebrations were not a formal event, and he wanted to trust his friend...but an elf's definition of “not formal” might not be in line with that of a ranger's.

He stepped back around the screen, wiping the last of the water off his face. Legolas had been busy laying clothes out on the bed—trousers, shirt, and tunic. Not anything Aragorn had packed for the journey, and he approached the bed to stare down at the clothes worriedly.

There was no getting around it. He and Legolas just weren't the same size. While Aragorn was trim and fit for a human, he still had the broad-shouldered build of a man of Numenor, and Legolas had the willowy grace of an elf of Mirkwood.

“Don't look like that,” Legolas teased, flicking him on the arm with the backs of his fingers. “Father had these made for you, to keep in the palace here. He didn't want you to worry about something as trivial as clothes when you visit us.”

Aragorn sucked in a breath, glancing over at his friend. Legolas smiled fondly at him and nodded at the clothes before turning to Aragorn's pack to unload it. “Wear them well, Ranger. We do not dress all of our visitors so grandly.”

The clothes were made in the fashion of the men of Dale. A hip-length wool tunic over a loose linen shirt, both dyed in deep blue and gray. The breeches were black, and they were wool as well, which always felt a little...fragile...to Aragorn after the leathers he wore for the rangers.

“What's this?” Legolas's puzzled voice pulled Aragorn out of his thoughts. He turned around in time to see the elf pull a fabric-wrapped bundle out of the pack and lunged for it with a yelp.

“That's nothing!” Aragorn protested. Legolas held the bundle away, mischief lighting in his blue eyes.

“Nothing? It doesn't look liked nothing.”

“Give it back!”

“Doesn't feel like nothing,” Legolas hefted it in his hand a few times, easily dancing out of Aragorn's reach, then lifted it to his face for an exaggerated sniff. “Smells like leather, not nothing. I think you're lying, Ranger.”

“Legolas!” Aragorn lunged, managing to get one arm around the elf's waist. Legolas gave a shout and tossed the bundle to one side, and Aragorn managed to push the elf over before diving to catch the bundle up and hide it behind his back.

“Come now, Aragorn,” Legolas protested with a laugh. “Why so secretive?”

The heat was rising in Aragorn's cheeks and he looked down, refusing to meet his friend's merry eyes. “It's just nothing.”

“If it's nothing than you can let me see it, hmm?”

Aragorn backed away until his legs hit the bed. He was conscious of his half-dressed state—he hadn't quite managed to pull the linen shirt over his head before Legolas had found the bundle. He wouldn't be able to make a run out of the palace like this, shirtless and clad only in wool breeches and a pair of soft-soled elven shoes.

“All right,” Legolas raised his hands, laughing. “If it's so important to you, Aragorn.”

It was important. It was also embarrassing and so, so stupid. Why had he done it? It wasn't like gift-giving was a particular tradition among the elves...not for midwinter, anyway. That was a human thing, and as close as he and Legolas were the elf was still an elf.

“It's a gift,” he finally admitted, holding the bundle of fabric out. “The rangers have a tradition of exchanging gifts for midwinter. I brought...this is for you.”

Legolas's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but to Aragorn's relief he took the bundle without another word. Quietly, almost solemnly, the elf unrolled the plain fabric to reveal a pair of leather bracers. “These are for me?”

“I had them made. They're...” Aragorn's voice trailed off. He felt small, and ignorant, and far too young. Who was he to think an elf would appreciate a gift from a mortal?

But Legolas was studying the bracer's closely, holding them up so that the firelight caught the grooves of the tooled leather. “This is when we first met!” he exclaimed, a pleased smile lighting up his face.

Aragorn relaxed a little, half-sitting on the bed. The design had taken some time, many long nights spent with the rangers' armorer working out the pattern to apply to the bracers. At the cuff against the wrist were two figures, one with a sword and one with a bow, while at the elbow's end an avalanche tumbled down the side of a snow-covered mountain. Midway down the mountain the rolling snow became the heads of snarling wolves, all intent on charging the two figures at the far end of the bracer.

“Aragorn, these are wonderful!” Legolas exclaimed. “The craftsmanship is excellent—why were you so shy about this, my friend?”

He studied the floor for a moment. “It seemed...it's a ranger tradition, Legolas. I wasn't sure if it was appropriate.”

Legolas threw his head back with a laugh. He dug a hand into the pocket of his tunic and pulled something out, flipping it toward Aragorn. “I was planning on pinning this to your cloak before it was returned to you, then marveling over it the next time you put your cloak on.”

Aragorn caught the small, silvery object and cradled it in the palm of his hand. It was a cloak pin, in dark silver. It was shaped like a leaf, but the intricate design was of a sprawling tree with bare branches reaching toward the sky. Just at the top, an eagle was flying over the tree with a star clasped in its talons.

It wasn't the tree, but it was close enough for those who knew. Aragorn felt himself swallowing back a tear, and looked up at his friend in gratitude.

“Did you think rangers were the only ones who gave gifts at midwinter?” Legolas teased. “Now, come. Dress yourself, Aragorn. Tonight we feast and sing and laugh at bleak midwinter!”

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So. Wanna hear all about how Legolas and Aragorn fought an avalanche full of angry wolves?

Headcanon: 1) Legolas has an older brother named Belegdur. He's a throwback to when I was first writing LOTR fanfic. The two brothers look a lot like their father, except Belegdur has green eyes like Thranduil and Legolas has blue eyes like their mother 2) Aragorn and the other rangers ride draft horses in the winter. Think of the horses in Skyrim. Song of Thunder's name is based on the naming conventions my ex used to talk about for thoroughbreds, where part of one of the parents' names is including in the offspring's names 3) the tapestries on the walls is based off my first apartment, where I couldn't afford to keep the heat up very high. I figured out that hanging blankets on the walls blocked a lot of the chill and kept things warmer. 4) The Mirkwood elves have houses outside the palace, but in winter they all move into the palace to stay warm and share provisions. It's been a while since I read The Hobbit but I know the palace was described as the fortress of Thranduil's people 5) Legolas's mother is not dead, she sailed into the west with Celebrian because they were friends, and she chose to offer her companionship until their husbands could join them again. Thranduil accepted this at first, but his anger built until he shut Mirkwood off from the rest of Middle-Earth. So the fact that he had some clothes made for Aragorn shows that he's trying to move forward.

Please leave a like or a comment! I had a shit day at work or I wouldn’t ask, haha.

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Next time: Sweater - "You traitor!"

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Day Eight - Master List - Day Ten

#Lord of the rings #fanfic #over the mountain and through the wood #Aragorn #Legolas #Aragon and Legolas friendship #found family #no slash #lotr headcanon #midwinter #twelve days of fictmas 2020

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tomcriuse · 4 years

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@foxwulder asked: im interested in your answer to this. what do you think mulder was like at college, socially. give me all of your headcanon on this.

yeah idk why but every time i sit down to write headcanons, i end up writing an essay that could be true like none of it is grounded in. Anything

his first year, he was incredibly involved in his studies—obsessive almost. there isn’t a part of fox mulder that doesn’t love learning anything that he can get his grubby little goblin hands on. he would keep to himself, shy. quiet.

he spent a lot of time on his own. his apartment was just outside of campus, so he would spend mornings walking to class not quite seeing everything around him. if it was especially cold, he would stop and get some coffee at his favourite café on the corner of the cobblestone street where the door creaked when you opened it and the bell rang a little too loudly and the coffee was just a little too hot. every time he went there, the barista would see him coming from down the road and she would have his cup made before he walked in. he would smile kindly—awkwardly charming, almost—at the her and his hands would shake a little as he was counting out the change and he would comment on the weather like it was unusual, but the weather in oxford changes once a year and the barista would just smile in amusement and say see you tomorrow green eyes, and mulder would blink and rub the back of his neck and say see you tomorrow coffee girl. their interactions were short and limited to the five minutes he could spare on his walk, but sometimes he would bring her book recommendations or random fun facts that he learned from his school reading. it was small ritual, but it was but it was a great comfort that made him feel less alone.

he met his first real friends in one of his beginner psychology classes. mulder always sat in the second row—he thought that the first row was for the people who wanted to show off too much, and he thought the back of the room was for the people that didn’t care at all. he considered himself right in the middle and showed it in where he sat. it seemed that a lot of people felt the same way, because the entire row was empty save for him and two guys and a girl. there as a sort of unofficial official seating chart camaraderie. the boy next to him wore the same three wrinkled button up shirts in various shades of green and layered them with old sweaters with holes in them. the other boy was always put together—no matter if he got two hours of sleep or twelve. he wore designer suits in every shade and pattern imaginable. he never wore a tie but always brought a baseball cap to class, worn and old and stained. the girl recorded every lecture on her cassette player and transcribed them every night. her notes were detailed and organized and covered in coffee rings from the late nights. they were a group of ragtag kids—relics from different cultures cobbled together to create a beautiful sculpture.

since the first day of class, the boy with messy clothes and a charming grin would always come to class with no pen and no paper, and disarm mulder with his shy eyes and say hey man, can I borrow some? and mulder knew there was now borrowing, he was never getting it back but he couldn’t say no. he bought notebooks for him and cases of pens but he wouldn’t take them and so mulder just kept them in his bag and took them with him wherever he went. originally their interactions never went past that. it became their own unspoken language—a habitual tradition that followed them in everything they did.

this also means that whenever there was group work, which was quite often in a behavioral class, the four would always be assigned together. at first they would just meet in the library or sit on the lawn with the sun peaking out from behind the clouds, focusing only on the task at hand. the three of his classmates would mess around and mulder would through in a witty comment here and a sharp retort there, but he never told much about himself. all they really knew about him was that he was the american boy with messy hair, pretty eyes, and an unusually lanky frame. he wasn’t cold, but he wasn’t inviting. he didn’t want to get attached and lose more that he loved.

the more they were forced together, the more that mulder started accepting that he deserved happiness—that he didn’t have to push others away. that he deserved to be loved. they moved from libraries to his favourite café and from the lawn to the floor in someones apartment. they moved from homework to movies and witty anecdotes to stories. it was the first time that he had ever told anyone what happened to sam. they didn’t laugh, they didn’t ridicule. they told him that if anyone could bring her back it would be him.

every friday night, they would go to the indian food restaurant around the corner from his apartment and they would order half of the menu. they would laugh and argue about movies and psychoanalyse each other. they would be a little too loud and they would stay a little too long after closing and they would tip a little too much to make up for it, but they felt more at home in that restaurant than they ever did with their parents.

coming from old money in new england, the way that mulder was raised to appreciate people was through gifts. originally, he would buy sweaters new shoelaces or new wheels for his skateboard. he would buy mr perfect the ugliest ties he could find. he would buy the curly haired girl blank cassette tapes and hand-crafted mugs. but somewhere along the way, he wanted to give a part of himself to them to remember him by. he would hang out at the skatepark with sweaters at two in the morning. he would play soccer with mr perfect even though, if he had any choice, he would rather die than pick soccer over baseball.

it would be the small things. the way the curly haired girl would throw her straw wrappers at mulder when he told a bad joke. the way that sweaters threw his arm around his shoulder and leaned in like he was going to tell him the world’s greatest secret—the key to the universe. the way mr perfect would invite him to museum parties that his family forced him to go to, and the way that they would sneak off to the roof to watch the stars. listening to music as they counted the constellations. reading psychology books aloud. coming up with stupid conspiracies and trying to convince the other person that it was true. having paper airplane races. going to france for a weekend and trying every coffee place they could. trying recipes from thrift-store cookbooks that they ruin and end up ordering takeout. someone finding a small sunflower and giving it to him and him saying, we both know exactly what is wrong here. road trips to the countryside where there was a ufo sighting.

his greatest friendships in college were built on admiration and annoyance and fate and love.

at some point, people started to notice mulder. maybe it was his wild hair or his bright smile or his ringing laughter. maybe it was the way that he always kept his word or was always there for you if you needed to talk. everyone seemed to know him. he would say hello in passing to kids on campus and help you out in the library if you needed. but his focus was always on his friends—his family. outside of them, he had a couple friends maybe—acquaintances. people he would sit next to in other classes, someone doing peer review. fleeting.

it wasn’t that he avoided making other friendships, but it was that the bond between the four of them ran deep. they knew everything about each other—how crispy they liked the crust on their bread, how dark or light they like their coffee, whether or not they looped the end when they wrote a y, the way their eyes light up when they think of a comeback, the twitch of their eyebrows when they hear something that annoys them. it was nothing that you could learn from reading a book, but things only resulting from years of intensive study and firsthand experience. for every connection in their circle, one was a primary source and the other was a historian pouring over ever wrinkle and stain on the page.

however, when he met phoebe, things started going downhill. she would monopolize his time and steal him away from his family. she drove a wedge between them. it was his first real taste of betrayal—not his friends walking out on him, but someone who he loved driving them away. there was no more of the pure happiness that he felt with them. it felt wrong to take her to the places that they went together. he couldn’t eat indian food. he hated france. he bought everything new, nothing used.

it was like he was back to square one, almost: keeping to himself, shy. quiet.

#ngl i accidentally deleted the ask but i did not forget #and also read more's do not work on asks and this is kinda long #foxwulder #answered #txf hcs

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