snowywanderer

[snowywanderer]

Has it been over a year and a half since I’ve posted? Yeah. Basically I went full ao3 author stereotype and got multiple chronic illnesses. The symptoms make it real hard to write (I can get a few hundred words every few months before I crash) so I just haven’t bothered. I write a little but I need to prioritize myself. Would love to post again but we’ll see if god will let me

[snowywanderer]

风月 (lit. wind, moon; pronounced "fengyue") — meaning "beautiful scenery" or "romance".

In which you drag Dan Heng halfway across the universe for a candied fruit skewer, and he gets a taste of the life that was once denied to him. (dan heng x gn!reader)

7.5k words of fluff and romance! Features an established relationship and many Chinese cultural elements. Cultural/Translation notes at the end. Note that "Yinyue-jun" is the Chinese for "Imbibitor Lunae". Reader's appearance is undefined, but they were raised on the Luofu and in the Xianzhou culture. Dividers by @/saradika.

Written for the Meet Fruit collab! Prompt: Dan Heng + Hawberry

It is absurdly difficult to find hawberries on this side of the Triangulum Galaxy.

Dan Heng discovers this after you begin a laser-focused mission to acquire some, scouring the grocery stores of three consecutive Astral Express stops for the elusive fruit. Why you're so obsessed with finding them, he doesn't know. He guesses he'd maybe triggered some kind of nostalgia for them when he'd made an offhand comment about tanghulu a few weeks back.

I’ve never actually had them before, was all he’d said. It had been such a brief remark; he's surprised it stuck with you.

He'd mentioned it in the archives, while sitting with you on the futon spread across the glowing floor. You'd been leaning against his shoulder, idly skimming the novella in his hands: a Xianzhou literary piece. Highly introspective, full of complicated relationships, blatantly romantic in its subject matter. The protagonist and his wife had been at a festival for lovers: Qixi Jie. It's a day widely celebrated throughout the Alliance, Dan Heng knows from all his books, and inspired by a myth about an ill-fated love between two immortals.

The couple had decided to share a skewer of tanghulu, and you'd been reading the scene when you sighed, Wish we could have one together. Then you gave him a teasing smile. You know, Heng’er—I didn’t think you'd be into this kind of story. Who knew you were such a romantic!

I’m not actually, he'd replied. But of course, you hadn’t believed him, and you ended up pestering him about his taste in romance novels for the better part of an hour. Apparently you were looking for a new one to read, but he had no trashy webnovel recommendations for you.

It is the truth that Dan Heng does not gravitate toward love stories. This novel is not his usual fare, and he'd likely have little interest in this sort of fiction coming from any other world. But he'd enjoyed the sentimental tone of this particular story, set upon the Luofu: he'd liked the way the text lingered on the golden warmth of its sun, on the frenetic bustle of its street markets, on the calm beauty of its starry nights. Even the smallest of actions, in the voice of this author, carried with them a quiet magic. The wind, the moon, the heavens and the earth—all of it had felt so palpable between those pages.

Of course, Dan Heng has never experienced any of that firsthand. For all he knows, everyday life on the Luofu might be as tiresome as it is on any other world. Certainly you’ve complained about it a great deal during your tales about your childhood spent there with your shifu: the traffic was terrible, the seaside markets were too crowded, and the fishmonger always tried to scan me! Supposedly, the air quality was going downhill by the time you had to leave, too.

Maybe Dan Heng would be equally disenchanted by it all. Maybe he'd hate the rush hour commute, the raucous streets, the ozone in the recycled air. Maybe the sun and the stars would simply feel like a backdrop to the mundanity of daily life. He can’t be certain that the reality of the Luofu is anything like the dream-like world painted within any book.

But he is certain about this: that for the fleeting moment he’d been allowed outside, Dan Heng had, for the first time, gazed upon the world on which he’d been born—

—and it had been beautiful.

Tanghulu Recipe:

Wash and dry 30 hawberries – substitute crabapple? gege allergic. will do strawberries.

Sterilize a bamboo skewer in hot water, and use it to skewer the hawberries

Add 150 grams of rock sugar to 150 grams of hot water; heat until boiling, then keep on high heat until all the sugar has melted

Once large bubbles start to form, turn to low heat and simmer until the mixture turns yellow

Roll the hawthorn skewers along the surface of the mixture until the syrup coats the entire skewer. – SHIJIE SAYS MUST BE QUICK! and not ugly!

Allow the skewers to cool at room temperature. – best to eat fresh, can freeze

“You seem disappointed,” Dan Heng remarks.

On any normal day, you'd give your boyfriend full attention: eyes set upon his features, diligently noting every microexpression and quirk of his lips. (In general, you pay an awful lot of attention to his lips.) But things are different today.

Your gaze is currently occupied with the candied fruit in your hands: strawberries that Dan Heng had washed and cut a little while ago, strung up on a metal skewer that the Express chefs had donated to you. Each strawberry is glossy with a layer of syrup, a sugary concoction that you’d spent a half hour stirring. It had cooled by the time you sampled the fruit, a hard crunch between your teeth. The aftertaste is still in your mouth, sweet and tart.

It’s—it’s not bad.

“Did I say I was disappointed?” you ask, still studying your handiwork.

“You don’t have to say it. I can tell.”

Without warning, Dan Heng takes the strawberry tanghulu from your hands, and you squawk.

“Gege! There’s, like, ten other skewers!”

“Hm. That’s too bad. I want this one.”

There is not even a single trace of remorse in his eyes as he takes his first bite. He seems only contemplative as he chews, humming as he samples it.

"It's good," he says decisively. He raises a brow when he looks at you. "Why are you unhappy with it?"

"It is good," you admit, "but it isn't… traditional. Strawberry tanghulu is tasty, but, like—I grew up eating the haw ones, you know? That's the classic flavour. Like, when you read a novel and there's a Lantern Festival, the characters are having haw skewers. Not strawberry ones."

"Does it matter if I'm eating what I read about?" Dan Heng asks, and it takes everything not to say yes.

It's always been plain as day to you that Dan Heng is enamoured with the Luofu. He's working his way through some Xianzhou novel, or trying to acquire an old film set on the Luofu, or labouring in the archives while a Xianzou drama plays in the background. At first you'd assumed that this was all motivated by some kind of nostalgia for his birthplace, a longing for a life that he'd been forced to leave—

—but then you found out that Dan Heng never actually had a life on the Luofu.

He'd been born and raised in a prison, he once confided in you. He didn't see the Luofu sun until he was an adult, and it was only for a moment before he was sent into exile. He hadn't been allowed a home, hadn't been allowed a family, hadn't even been allowed the privilege of breathing fresh air. The rich scent of bao being fried in the crisp morning sir, the mad clamour of the streets at night, the act of sitting at a kitchen table and folding hundreds of dumplings with your loved ones: his childhood had been devoid of all those things.

All the things you once took for granted are things that Dan Heng's only ever experienced through books.

You've made it a mission to have him experience some of it now, of course. Taught him how to knead dough and showed him all the different dumpling folds you learned from your Shifu. Forced him to sit down for proper breakfasts and had him try youtiao and soy milk, which have now become comfort foods. Bought mooncakes for his first Mid-Autumn Festival and watched his complicated expressions as he bit into duck egg yolk for the first time (decidedly not a comfort food).

And—on God—you will also watch him have proper tanghulu made from hawberries!

"Eh. I guess it's not that important," you lie. "But I have a craving for it, Gege." You give him a killer pair of puppy eyes, and he visibly pauses. "Can we go to a market that might sell some? Or maybe find a street festival? Actually, you know—I don't even know the last time I went to a festival… Wouldn't it be fun to go?"

"I've actually never been to one," Dan Heng replies casually, and you gawk.

"You've never been to a festival?"

"Not a Xianzhou festival." He pauses, as if thinking. "Not any markets either."

"...how?"

"I've always avoided Alliance ships."

"But—but there's plenty of people with Xianzhou heritage who aren't with the Alliance?! Like—like on Xinghan Space Station! You've never visited?"

"Not aside from that one time we were there for business," he replies. "It's not like I ever go on vacation."

"Why not?!"

"Being constantly hunted for revenge makes it hard," Dan Heng deadpans, and he doesn't seem bothered, but you feel distinctly terrible about it.

"...okay. I'm forcing you to take a vacation on July 7th and 8th."

Dan Heng stares. "Why?"

"Because we're going to Xinghan to get some tanghulu."

He doesn't even blink. "Not a chance."

"Eh? Why not!"

"Because that's a silly reason to go so far out of our way." His eyes flicker, stress lines shifting and disappearing: possibly his most frequent microexpression around you. "And what if I'm recognized? We could be attacked."

"That's fine," you wave off. "If someone tries to kill Gege, I'll just kill them first."

"..."

"What? It'd be self-defense."

"...lethal violence should not be your first response to a threat."

"But it would be an effective one."

He gives you a flat look. Not for the first time, you wonder how a man who fights for a living manages to be such a pacifist.

"...okay, okay. If I promise not to kill anyone—will you go with me?" You latch onto his arm, pulling out all the stops and giving him your most pleading eyes. "I just want to have a romantic night together, Gege. We haven't been on a real date in so long."

It's nearly imperceptible, but Dan Heng falters. There are clearly two wolves inside him: one that wants to be responsible, and one that wants to spoil you.

It's obvious which one is winning.

"Qixi Festival is coming up," you add, a lilt to your voice, "and I bet we could find somewhere to celebrate it. Wouldn't it be nice to spend it together, Heng'er?"

He stares at the candied fruit in his hands: all strawberries that he washed and cut without a word, before you'd even thought to ask. Food that he'd made and tasted—like so many other dishes before it—only because you demanded it, no matter how troublesome it was to do it.

"...I'll go put in my vacation request with Himeko," he decides.

THE QIXI FESTIVAL is traditionally celebrated around the 7th day of the 7th month on the Xianzhou Normalized Calendar, with adjustments made for time dilation effects depending on distance between ships and proximity to large celestial bodies. Elsewhere in the universe, the Qixi Festival is celebrated in locations with significant populations of Xianzhou diaspora, such as the Xinghan Space Station and the Chang’E Moon Settlement. These settlements typically observe the Qixi Festival on July 7th per their local calendar dates. – Double check Xinghan dates; confirm ETA with Pompom. Has July 7th already passed on Xinghan's local calendar? CELEBRATORY PRACTICES vary significantly between different settlements, and even between the Xianzhou Alliance ships themselves. They may include street festivals, temple fairs, sewing competitions, and the worship of certain immortals and Aeons. In some places, people celebrate with a simple date night. Being the lover’s festival, many couples aim to get married on this day. – Search later: What do boyfriends get their partners for Qixi? DESPITE THESE VARIATIONS, all observances are dedicated to celebrating the myth of the Cowherd (personification of the star Altair; Bayer designation: Alpha Aquilae) and the Weaver Girl (personification of the star Vega; Bayer designation: Alpha Lyrae). IN THIS XIANZHOU FOLKTALE, the Cowherd and Weaver Girl were two immortals who fell in love and entered a forbidden relationship. The Jade Aeon tore them apart from one another, and they were shortly after banished to opposite sides of the Heavenly River (otherwise known as the Milky Way, within the Virgo Supercluster of galaxies). The Cowherd and Weaver Girl may only reunite once a year, when a flock of—

“Wow, Gege,” you say, and Dan Heng nearly drops his book. “This is the most romantic myth in all of Xianzhou history, and you’re reading the driest possible textbook summary to learn about it? Why didn't you just ask me?” You lean over his shoulder, squinting at the page. “What the hell is a ‘Bayer designation’? 'Vega'?! Her name is Zhinü!”

Dan Heng is momentarily too bewildered to feel embarrassed about being caught with this book. "You don't know what a Bayer designation is? Don't you have a pilot's license? How on earth do you navigate in space?"

"Well, I have a tendency of getting lost…"

With significant horror, Dan Heng reflects on every moment he's allowed you to pilot the spacecraft the two of you sometimes use to get away for dates.

"...I am never letting you drive again."

"Fine by me, Gege! I'll rely on you from now on." You beam at him, pressing into his shoulder. Then—again, with significant horror—Dan Heng notices that you're reading his annotations in the book.

He instantly snaps it shut, but the damage is done: you turn to him with a wide, giddy smile, and start pawing at his arm with excitement.

"'What do boyfriends get their partners for Qixi?' Heng'er—were you trying to research this for me?"

Dan Heng considers lying for a moment. There are countless potential explanations as to why he decided to consult a textbook instead of going to you. He could easily say that you'd probably forget details in recounting the myth, and that wouldn't do because he'd wanted a comprehensive explanation (true). Or he was genuinely wanting to check the dates because he knew you wouldn't have accounted for different calendars (also true). He'd doubted that you'd remember that not everyone in the universe operates on Interastral Standard Time—a fair suspicion, given that you don't even know what a Bayer Designation is.

But seeing your radiant, pleasantly surprised smile—Dan Heng decides not just to lose face, but to practically obliterate it.

"Yes," he plainly confesses. "I wanted to know how to celebrate the Qixi Festival properly with you." He tries to ignore the heat prickling the back of his neck. "...and I wanted to surprise you."

You go a little wide-eyed, blinking—probably as surprised about the admission as him—and then peck him on the cheek, smiling. "Heng'er, you don't need to worry about celebrating properly or improperly. As long as you spend both days with me, I'm happy enough."

He hesitates. Truthfully, he's read probably an upward of a thousand novels and poems that mention the Qixi Festival and the associated myth—but nothing about how people on the Luofu celebrate it nowadays.

How you would have celebrated it.

"I just want to make sure you enjoy yourself," he explains. "And that I do all the things I should be doing. I have no experience with this… I didn't even know it was a two-day celebration."

"Huh? It's not."

"...it's not?"

"Well, I guess some places have events that happen over several days—but that's not a traditional thing. Qixi Festival is technically just one day."

He raises a brow. "Then why did you want the 8th off too?"

"Because I want to have a romantic evening with you on the 7th, and then a romantic night with you in the hotel, and then a romantic morning with you on the 8th."

"..."

"I'm talking many, many rounds of romance, Gege. That's the greatest gift you could give me."

"...of course it is."

You beam at him, exceptionally pleased. (Why or how, Dan Heng's not actually certain; it's not like you don't already have as many rounds of sex with him as much as the day allows.) But it still bothers him: the reality that he's never celebrated this before. That he won't know how to do all the right things, or what the right things even are.

The honey-sweet sesame taste of qiaoguo, which stars to look for in the sky, presents that he should gift you: he's never known any of these things, but will soon know them with you.

Or possibly fuck them all up with you.

"How did you celebrate the Qixi Festival when you were on the Luofu?" Dan Heng asks, somehow remaining expressionless.

You don't seem to catch onto his nerves, only pondering the question.

"Um… well, honestly, I didn't really."

Dan Heng stares. "What?"

"Well, like, Shifu took me to temple fairs and stuff. My friend participated in a sewing competition too, once, and I watched her. But I was a kid when I lived on the Luofu—they drove us out when I was still pretty young. I wasn't exactly going on romantic date nights at that age."

"...I see."

Lacing your fingers through his, staring at your joining hands. Your voice is a little tender when you say, "The way I see it, Heng'er—I don't think we need to think about celebrating it the right way or the wrong way. We're gonna be lovers at the lovers' festival, which is good enough."

Dan Heng considers your words, his thumbpad running along the curve of your hand. "Is that right?"

"Yes! Like—who cares what lovers on the Luofu do with each other? It's much more important what my lover does with me." You pause, then, seeming thoughtful. "....as long as he tries some tanghulu while we're at it."

Dan Heng feels like he's drunk a nauseating amount of that tanghulu syrup—but also like his chest is going to combust. It's an unusual cross of emotions. He'll never get used to it, even though he experiences it nearly daily when you're around. And he'll never know the words to use, even though he's searched for them so often.

"...is food all that matters to you when you celebrate this?" is all can bring himself to say, voice dry.

"And the romance," you add neatly, not the least bit ashamed.

Dan Heng’s mouth twitches.

"Right, of course. The romance."

Thank you for booking with Xinghan Grand Hotel!

As one of this world’s finest establishments, we are pleased to host you for your stay on July 7th through July 8th.

Xinghan is a vast space station, remarkable for its terrestrial landscape and breathtaking countryside. Founded by Xianzhou natives several centuries ago, the beautiful scenery at the outer regions of the station mimics that of their various home worlds. Xinghan City itself is a vibrant and cosmopolitan metropolis with influences from planets all throughout the Pinwheel Galaxy.

You are encouraged to make full use of our concierge services to help you shape an itinerary for your stay. Our staff are happy to help you navigate the remarkable sights of Xinghan. Whether you are here for business or pleasure, there is something for everyone on the Heavenly River.

We look forward to your stay with us, Dan-xiansheng.

Celebrating the Qixi Festival on Xinghan Station is hell.

The station itself is, of course, nearly idyllic in its beauty. And objectively, your romantic getaway with Dan Heng is lovely from start to finish. The two of you check into a gorgeous—and shockingly expensive—hotel in a quiet corridor of the city, not far from the outskirts of the station. The lobby alone startles you with its high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and marbled floors. You don't know if you've ever stayed in such a nice place.

(When you ask Dan Heng how much money he blew on this trip, he merely shrugs and says not to worry about it. You’d be terrified if it were anyone else who'd done the booking—certainly, Dan Heng would be terrified if you had—but your boyfriend is too fiscally responsible for you to question it too much.)

The concierge at the hotel provides a sightseeing itinerary that would be “perfect for a honeymoon”, taking advantage of all the Qixi deals at restaurants and theme parks. Dan Heng, though, seems more interested in exploring all the everyday happenings of the station. He asks to go to the morning market (you’ve never seen a man so enthralled by cheap fried dough), talks you into hiking the mountains so that he can take pictures of the rice terraces (you cheat by using your flying sword to carry the both of you up), and asks to stroll around the seaside harbour. You lounge there for a little, sitting on a bench and watching the junks drift by, their sails fluttering in the wind.

You frown as you study the ships.

“Why don’t they just use pneumatic tubes for transporting goods? Or automated starskiffs?” you ponder. “Like—this looks like a planet. But it’s still a space station at the end of the day.”

“The ships are likely more appealing to tourists,” Dan Heng says smartly.

“Huh. Does it appeal to you?”

“It’s—”

Dan Heng’s reply is drowned by the high-pitched trill of a reed, then the thunder of a gong: the unmistakable sound of a wedding.

Laughter and cheering fill the pier as a procession of men file through, bearing a fire-red palanquin. Both of you turn to watch the spectacle, and—even though this is your tenth time hearing the suona since you woke up this morning, which is absolute hell for your ears, and decidedly making Qixi absolute hell for you—you cheer and yell your blessings as they pass.

Through the beaded curtain of the sedan, you think you make out a wave from the bride.

“That textbook wasn’t exaggerating about people wanting to get married on Qixi,” Dan Heng muses as they trail away, their song growing faint. “I’ve never seen a Xianzhou wedding procession before today. Now I’ve seen nine.”

“Ten,” you correct him. “And you’ll probably see ten more before the night starts. Ah, Gege, my eardrums are going to burst at this rate…”

When you lean against him and feign exhaustion, he rolls his eyes. “So dramatic,” he says, though his hand presses against the small of your back, as if to steady you. “You don’t find it nice?”

“It's fine, I guess?" You squint at him. "Why? Do you find it nice? Are you the kind of person that really likes weddings, Gege?”

“I’ve never been to one, so I don’t know,” he says simply. “But it seems like people are enjoying themselves, and that’s never a bad sight.”

You give him a keen look, studying the way he watches the procession disappear around the corner—clearly intrigued by it. For someone who so often says that they don’t enjoy love stories, Dan Heng has been oddly fixated on every celebration of love you've come across today.

How interesting.

“Say, Gege…” Your voice is teasing. “Wanna elope?”

Dan Heng visibly pauses, blinking twice before turning to stare at you.

“What?”

You stifle a laugh. “It’s Qixi Festival,” you say, smiling. “Tons of people actually elope today. All the wedding registry offices are probably crazy busy right now, but I bet we could find one that could squeeze us in and tie the knot for us. What do you say?”

He shoots you down instantly: “No way.”

“Eh? Why?” You look at him all hurt, your lower lip wobbling. “You don’t wanna marry me, Gege?”

“No.”

“Wow! That hurts, Ge!”

Dan Heng snorts. He turns to you, and—in an uncharacteristic move, only made possible because the two of you are alone and on a world where no one from the Astral Express is there to gawk at him—he cups your face with his hands.

His voice gets a little soft when he says, “Not today.”

“...oh.”

Your mind goes a little blank as you stare at him, at the tender glint in his jade-like eyes, and the soft give to his lips—and fuck, who gave your boyfriend the right to look so fucking handsome?

You breathe deeply. Another suona tremors in the distance, and against the waves of the sea, its echo sounds almost soft.

“Not today?” you ask faintly. “But some other day?”

“Yes. Some other day. And…” He looks away, glances at the now-empty street. “...it would be nice to do it properly. Instead of just eloping.”

“Properly,” you repeat. “Like, um. You wanna wear a suit? Exchange rings? Or…" Your eyes follow his line of sight. "Do you mean like that wedding party?”

His head inclines—so slight that you nearly miss it.

“With a palanquin?” you confirm. “And a tea ceremony? You want us to do our three bows and all of that?”

He watches you carefully. “Would it be strange?”

“Huh? No.” You bite your lip. His eyes flick down. You’re finding it increasingly hard to focus with the way that your blood is rushing in your ears. “Why would it be strange?”

“Well, it is a Xianzhou tradition, and we don’t have any Xianzhou family—or, well. We don’t have any family. So it might be… odd.”

“Who cares?” you say. You’re only half-listening to him, too focused on holding back from kissing him. “I wanna see you in red, Heng'er. I bet it's a good colour on you."

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Alright. But it'll look better on you, I’m sure.”

You blink, feeling as startled as your face is hot. Not a romantic, my ass! you can't help but think.

You also can't help but tease him.

“...Heng’er,” you say slowly, a playful edge growing in your voice, “I knew you had a romantic streak in you. Forget Yinyue-jun—I should start calling you Fengyue-ju—mmmph!”

Before you can start running your mouth, Dan Heng silences you the way he knows best.

IN THIS XIANZHOU FOLKTALE, the Cowherd and Weaver Girl were two immortals who fell in love and entered a forbidden relationship. The Jade Aeon tore them apart from one another, and they were shortly after banished to opposite sides of the Heavenly River (otherwise known as the Milky Way, within the Virgo Supercluster of galaxies). From henceforth, they lived separately, only able to watch each other from opposite sides of the river bank. Seeing their grief, every magpie in the world took pity on them and decided to form a bridge across the Heavenly River, allowing them to cross it. The Jade Aeon, also upon witnessing their heartbreak, decided to let them see one another for a single day. According to myth, the birds have since gathered once a year on the seventh day of the seventh month. On that day, the Cowherd and Weaver Girl meet each other at the cusp of the bridge. IN TRADITIONAL CELEBRATIONS OF THE QIXI FESTIVAL, people would look up at the sky at night and admire the stars of Vega and Altair. They would also search for Deneb (Bayer designation: Alpha Cygni), which represents the Bridge of Magpies.

When the sun falls on Xinghan, you and Dan Heng return to the harbour at which you’d been spending your afternoon. Beneath a foreign night sky—illuminated by two oblong moons and stars rippling in the pattern of mares’ tail clouds—the pier is lit by countless lanterns and laughter. Women dressed in traditional robes weave through the crowd, the flowing silk of their ruqun trailing after delicate steps. The fresh seaside air mingles with the spiced fragrance of lamb skewers, the sweetness of cooking dough, the rich scent of grilling vegetables.

And at the centre of it all: your hand clasped tightly in his, guiding him through the chaos to all the dishes and games you loved most from your childhood. To all the things that he’s longed to taste for weeks now, ever since the two of you made these plans.

Dan Heng finds it almost—almost—perfect.

“Dan Heng," a voice calls out from behind the two of you, "Dan Heng! Wait up! I wanna get some corn!”

“What? Why are you getting corn? You can get corn anywhere… C’mon, those lamb skewers were calling to us… begging to be eaten… I can still hear them...”

“You can what now?”

Dan Heng rubs his temple, looking at you.

“Remind me again why you agreed to let March and Caelus come with us,” he says, and you laugh.

“Because festivals are fun with more people,” you say. Then you tilt your head, studying him. “Don’t tell me you’re not having fun, Gege?”

“I’m enjoying myself,” he says honestly, and not even the incomprehensible word salad coming from Caelus' mouth can ruin the mood, with the smile you give him.

You lean in, bring your lips close to his ear. Your breath tickles him as you ask, “Is it just that you want more time alone with me?”

“Well,” he replies, “watching Caelus go through trash wasn’t exactly the night I had planned for us.”

You chuckle. “Okay, okay. I think I have a way of shaking him off.”

Dan Heng gives you a questioning look, but you only wink and tug at his hand. You lead him through the crowds once more, yelling at Caelus and March to follow.

He has a half a mind to ask you to slow down, with how much the two of you are missing at this pace. You pass by a shadow puppetry show, the silhouettes of Niulang and Zhinü dancing on a luminous screen, and Dan Heng wants nothing more than to see the myth play out before his own eyes—but your pull is unrelenting. You skip past a man crafting sugar sculptures, a group of dancers twirling with water sleeves, and a rack of crisp potato skewers, and countless other sights that Dan Heng's eyes trail after.

It’s only then that you slow down—and Dan Heng wishes you hadn’t.

The four of you are assaulted by what must be the most horrific stench in the Pinwheel Galaxy. He presses his sleeve against his nose and tries not to gag.

“Is there no garbage disposal at this festival?” Dan Heng asks with plain disgust, while Caelus perks up and simultaneously says, “Smells like there’s a dumpster nearby.”

March pinches her nose. “Ew—let’s get out of here. I wanna see those sugar animals—they looked so cute!”

“No, no," Caelus replies. "We can go back in a bit, I wanna go take a look first…”

He makes a beeline for wherever that ungodly odour is coming from, and March, with a deep sigh, follows him. “I’ll go keep an eye on him,” she says, voice heavy with resignation. “You two enjoy your date.”

“Make sure he doesn’t eat anything weird again,” Dan Heng says, and that makes you laugh. He narrows his eyes at you, noting your completely unbothered expression, and asks, “What’s so funny?”

“That smell isn’t from garbage, Gege. That’s stinky tofu. Completely safe to eat—and it’s actually pretty good, too.” You tilt your head. “I thought it’d be a good way to distract Caelus—but do you want to try some?”

He thinks he might be going green. “Maybe later,” he says, somehow keeping his voice neutral. “Didn’t you want to find tanghulu?”

Dan Heng tries not to sigh with relief when you say, “Oh, true… let’s go look for some.”

Funnily enough, hawberries seem to be as impossible to find on this side of the Triangulum Galaxy as it was on the other.

The two of you have been walking through the stalls for at least half an hour now, on a focused search for the elusive candied skewers. The two of you find an assortment of qiaoguo, a variety of persimmon cakes, and delicately crafted sugar paintings. (“Look, Gege! Let’s request one of the Azure Dragon,” you suggest, triggering an immense headache in Dan Heng.)

But you don’t come across any tanghulu.

After you finally give up, you retreat to a quiet corner of the pier, biting into a peach-shaped qiaoguo while your legs dangle over the water. Dan Heng, himself, has the dulcet taste of the bronze sugar melting on his tongue: part of the dragon you’d requested from the sugar painter, set on a bamboo stick. Despite the sweetness of your snacks, Dan Heng picks out a bitter air from you.

You don't say anything, though. The two of you only peer at an artificial sky as you eat, taking in its strange features. There is but a single, round moon within it, and its stars are unusually bright. They run across the black night in a silver river: a precise copy of the Milky Way, in the Virgo Supercluster of galaxies, as seen from the Earth.

Xinghan Space Station is capable of large-scale atmospheric projections, Dan Heng had read in the hotel’s travel brochure. Apparently, they like to recreate Earth’s night sky during the Qixi Festival, as an homage to the original stars that gave birth to the myth. They'd only switched it on fifteen minutes ago, and the both of you had stopped to stargaze.

You squint at the constellations above you.

“I have… no idea where Zhinü and Niulang are," you remark.

“No?”

“No… the Luofu never did these atmospheric projections. And—I guess I should be able to figure it out since I've got a licence, but, well… you know I’m not very good at navigating the stars.”

Dan Heng bites off the last of his sugar dragon, then crouches down next to you. Without a word, he raises the bamboo rod and uses it to gesture at the constellation of Lyra. “Zhinü is the brightest star in that cluster over there—right next to those four stars making a parallelogram.” He then points above it, at the constellation of Aquila; your line of sight follows the bamboo skewer closely. “And the bright one over there—that’s Niulang.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, humming. “Does the Bridge of Magpies represent a bridge of stars?” you ask. “Or is that something people made up?”

“It represents Deneb. You can see it there”—the bamboo in his hands points westward—“forming a triangle with Zhinü and Niulang.”

You hum at the information, but otherwise stay quiet. When Dan Heng chances a look at you, he finds you contemplating the sky, staring intently at the Heavenly River.

Though you no longer seem upset, it bothers him that you aren’t glowing the way you’d been half an hour ago. You’d been so alive running with him beneath all the festival lanterns, looking for tanghulu. To an outsider, it might seem odd, how much it ruined your mood when you couldn’t find any—but Dan Heng knows that this isn’t about a simple craving for a candied fruit skewer.

This is about the Luofu.

This is about the food you'd tasted on the Luofu, the scenery you'd gazed upon on the Luofu, the festivals you'd observed on the Luofu—those are the things after which you’ve been chasing, not tanghulu. The ship was once your home, after all, and not a home that you’d willingly left. It’s obvious how much you long for it, what with the way you always ask to cook Xianzhou dishes and observe Xianzhou holidays.

Dan Heng puts an arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

"I'm sorry we couldn’t find you any tanghulu,” he murmurs. “Maybe Chang’E Moon Settlement will have some? I read that they have night markets regularly.”

“...it’s okay,” you say, in a voice clearly indicating the opposite. “I just thought it’d be nice to have at a festival, specifically… maybe we can head to Chang’E for the Lantern Festival.”

“That’s not a bad plan,” he says. “I’ve never celebrated the Lantern Festival.”

That makes you perk up. “Then I’ll have to make sure that Gege has a good time when February rolls around,” you say quite seriously. “I’ll do the trip planning next time—don’t worry about the hotels, or the travel itinerary, or the route to Chang’E—”

“I will plan the route,” he says decisively. “And I’m driving too.”

That makes you laugh. “Okay. You can do that. Ask for two weeks off from work, too. People on Chang’E take the Lantern Festival quite seriously, so—”

A familiar voice interrupts, calling out your names from a distance. You both look back and are met with the sight of Caelus and March running down the pier, waving at you. Caelus is holding what looks—and smells—like a container full of stinky tofu, while March has, in one of her hands—

“You found tanghulu?!” you exclaim. She nods excitedly as she bounces in front of you, two steps short of crashing into your bodies.

“Yeah! You were talking about wanting some earlier, right? So we grabbed one for you."

“I’ve got tofu too, if you'd like,” Caelus adds. March, shockingly, doesn’t berate him for the suggestion (Dan Heng considers it); she only points to it with a bewildered expression.

“It’s actually really good!” she insists. “You gotta hold your breath, but the flavour is great. You should both try it.”

“...I’ll take the tanghulu first,” Dan Heng says, rising from his seat to pluck the skewer out of March's hands. In a calculated move, he beckons you to stand and leads you away from March and Caelus—or, more specifically, away from the smell. While Dan Heng has no doubt that you’d like some of that tofu for yourself, you are predictably much more interested in a romantic moment with your boyfriend in a public space (your favourite type of situation in which to kiss him), so you happily wave goodbye to the pair.

When Dan Heng finally bites into the candied fruit—first cool and hard against his teeth, then sour and sweet on his tongue—he understands why you’d been disappointed with the strawberry tanghulu. It had been good, but it had also been different.

“How do you find it, Gege?” you ask, practically trembling with excitement. He feels his lip quirk.

“It’s good,” he praises, and with the way you smile at that, none of the festival lanterns can compare to your expression. “Do you want some?”

“If you feed me,” you say, and Dan Heng rolls his eyes, but he humours you anyway, tilting the skewer toward you so that you can take a bite. The fruit colours your mouth red, and he watches as you hum and lick the sugar off your lips.

“Is it everything you’d hoped for?” he asks.

“Mhm. This is proper tanghulu.”

You seem content enough—but Dan Heng isn't fooled. Whatever bitterness was plaguing you earlier is still lingering, weighing down your words.

“I know,” Dan Heng says gently. “But is it everything you’d hoped for?”

That makes you pause, blinking at him. Were you anyone else, Dan Heng is sure that you’d be mystified by the question—but you’re you, and you’re fairly attuned to the workings of his mind, and he’s reasonably discerning about whatever chaos is going on in yours. You have enough mutual understanding for you to stop and consider his question carefully, peering up at the sky.

Dan Heng waits patiently, watching Vega and Altair with you. Watching two stars longing for one another.

“...if it were up to me, Heng’er,” you eventually say, “I’d take you back to the Luofu, and we’d go sightseeing there. We’d visit the seaside town that I grew up in, and we’d go to the market I liked for breakfast food, and you…” You pause for a moment, struggling. “...and you could have met my Shifu. And you could have seen our home—how beautiful it once was. And I’d have taken you out for the Qixi Festival afterwards, and you could have seen the night sky there. Have I ever told you that it's the only stretch of stars I know how to navigate?"

The breath you let out is quiet, nearly drowned by the sighing tide. Dan Heng only hears it because he’s spent so often listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

“I wish I could have shown you all that,” you admit. “I’m sorry I can’t. I know you think about going back as much as I do.”

Dan Heng’s eyes soften. You allow his hands to cup your face, to shift it until he’s looking directly into the melancholy of your gaze.

“I don’t need to be on the Luofu,” he says quietly. “I am content to be here with you, I am content to live on the Express with you, and I am content to accompany you for as long as this lifetime will allow. And if you aren’t content with those things—then tell me what it is you long for, so that I can make you feel at home.”

You stare at him for a long while, bringing a hand to rest over the one on your cheek.

“Heng’er…”

“What is it?”

Dan Heng watches a number of emotions flicker through your eyes. He knows each of your microexpressions, because it is second nature for him to watch you carefully, with full attention to the state of your heart. He knows the way your brows lift when you’re surprised, he recognizes the specific quirk of your mouth when you try to stop them from trembling, and he notices the slow blink that you only do when you try to calm down. He knows, too, your instinctive response when you don’t know what to say:

You kiss him.

You kiss him, and it’s not the playful, fleeting sort of kiss that you use to tease him in public, nor is it the sweet and smiling sort that you drew him into earlier during the day, on this very dock. It’s long and deep, soft and tender against his lips, and he returns it fully.

After you pull back, you smile at him, looking more like yourself.

“That’s your second time kissing me in public today,” you comment. “What’s gotten into you, Heng’er?”

“Must be your bad influence,” he replies without a beat, running a thumb along your jawline.

“Oh?” You hum. “I’m not so sure. I think Fengyue-jun’s always been a little sentimental.”

Dan Heng snorts. “If I’m acting like it, then it’s only because you wanted a romantic evening.”

“I guess I did say that.” You link arms with him, pulling him back toward the festival. “Is our night going to be romantic too?”

“Our morning after as well,” he says. He feels his mouth curling at your excited little smile. “Would you like to spend more time here, or return to the hotel for your Qixi gift?”

“Whatever you feel like, Gege.” You press against him. "Just being by your side is enough to make me happy, no matter where it is you want to be.”

Dan Heng ends up choosing to stay at the harbour. It is partly because you’d seemed so keen on the tofu earlier, and he's a little curious about it himself—but it's mostly because he wants to see you in the glow of the festival for a little longer.

Dan Heng suspects that you feel that this night here, on Xinghan Station, is only a substitute for the life you've imagined having with him on the Luofu. Possibly it's inferior to it in every way. And he supposes that you might be right to think this way—that if ever he were given the chance to properly visit the world in which he was born, then he, too, might decide that Xinghan Station is nothing like it. That the lanterns hanging above the two of you right now pale in comparison to the Luofu stars. He can’t be certain.

But he is certain of this: that right now, Dan Heng has the privilege of hearing your laughter weave into the festive song, of tasting sugar and berries on your lips, of seeing your smile awash in the light of the Heavenly River—

—and all of it is beautiful.

End

WE DID IT BOYS!! I am… too tired to do full cultural/translation notes but I'll try to hit the major ones 🫡

Translation Notes:

风月 (pronounced "Fengyue") literally means "wind, moon", but the characters taken together may actually mean "beautiful scenery", "romance", or "love making" depending on the context. When you call Dan Heng "Fengyue-jun 风月君", rather than "Yinyue-jun 饮月君", you're making a pun where you're calling him the Lord of Romance rather than the Lord who Drinks the Moon.

Gege is a term meaning "older brother", though it is often used for non-familial relationships that are very close. It has either a childish or flirty edge to it (Ge and Dage, also meaning older brother, are more common between friends).

Shifu means "Teacher", used in the context of a martial relationship. IIRC, Jing Yuan called Jingliu this.

Xinghan is one of the names for the Milky Way in Chinese, as an alternative to Heavenly River.

Chang'E is the name of an immortal who lives on the moon.

Cultural notes:

Qixi Festival is a real celebration that takes place on the seventh day of the seventh month on the Chinese lunar calendar. It is indeed based on the myth of the Cowherd and Weaver Girl. The version of the myth that I put into the story is a paraphrased version of the one I heard growing up, but there are many others. You may also recognise it as the myth of Orihime and Hikoboshi from the Japanese Tanabata festival.

I was researching different ways that people celebrate Qixi Festival around the world, and funnily enough, I actually found that (1) mostly people don't make a big deal of it anymore, and (2) it varies pretty largely between various diaspora communities. Maocity holds a night market festival where there are many foods that our Asian diaspora don't otherwise have the chance to eat (���✌️), so that's the inspiration for the festival in this story. If you are Chinese elsewhere in the world, Qixi Festival celebrations may look different for you, and I want to acknowledge this in the notes.

There were some references to traditional Chinese wedding practices in this. Here is one video of a wedding procession and here is another (you can hear the suona in this one). Traditionally the palanquin is a "bridal sedan", but for my nblm and mlm readers, I want to note that usually whoever is marrying into the other person's household will ride it (in novels/fics I've read)—so you can imagine either yourself or Dan Heng in the palanquin

Also I couldn't fit this into the story, but I like to imagine that when you and Dan Heng get hitched, you do the tradition of racing each other to your house—but this is just the archives so you're literally just running down the Astral Express, fighting off Caelus and March and co LMAOO.

Thank you for reading! Please drop a line if you enjoyed this… truly I put my whole writerussy into this fic LMAOAO

[snowywanderer]

He Who Walks in the Shadows, and He Who Loves the Dark

Chapter 5: You’re Never Gonna Fit in Much, Kid

Words: 1,396

Warnings: Abuse from a teacher toward the end

Description: Dianthus learns maybe stalking someone on a whim isn’t a good idea. Maybe he has another revelation too.

—

Dianthus sees the Harbinger for no more than a minute. Scaramouche glances over the recruits quickly and with disdain. He then scoffs and leaves, veil fluttering and bells chiming.

Perhaps Dianthus is a fool for thinking such, but he swears Scaramouche’s eyes rested on him for just a moment longer.

An older man who seems to be more familiar with the job explains the position to the recruits. As he starts working, Dianthus can’t help but feel he’s doing something wrong. Though he’d rather die than ask for help every five seconds, he does wonder what exactly the Fatui would do with him if he made a mistake. They don’t exactly seem the type to let him off the hook easily.

When he’s dismissed for a lunch break, he finds an interesting face waiting for him outside the office door. The harbinger stares at him with contempt. His hat maintains a level of distance between them, and Dianthus almost wonders if that isn’t intentional.

“Scaramouche?”

“Yes, that is what I’m called. Though, those of your rank would be wise to precede it with ‘Lord’.”

Scaramouche is only a couple inches taller at most, but he intimidates Dianthus more than anyone taller ever has. Something about him is just off, and Dianthus thinks about the rumors he’s heard about the man’s temper.

Dianthus doesn’t have the guts to ask why such a high-ranking official is in front of him, so he just smiles faintly and waits for elaboration. He just silently prays he won’t be too screwed for his transgression.

“I ought not concern myself with the matters of new recruits, but do tell me: what are you doing here with the Fatui?”

Dianthus just stares for a second. Does he recognize me from the Whispering Woods? “I’m not sure, sir,” he responds, voice shaking slightly.

“Not sure?” Scaramouche mocks. “And here I was thinking you ‘blessed by the gods’ types would have some sort of direction in life.”

Oh. This is about his Vision. His eyes sting at the comment, and it takes all his will not to cry in front of his superior on the first day of his job.

It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, but something about the way the Harbinger says it makes Dianthus want to punch him especially hard. Instead, he averts his gaze.

“I guess not all of us do.” Dianthus forces a smile.

“As long as you’e not too self-important.”

He doesn’t get a goodbye. Scaramouche just pushes past him, leaving him alone in the hallway.

Scaramouche’s words sting. Back home in Mondstadt, allogenes are numerous among the ranks of the Knights and the Adventurers’ Guild. Dianthus is really just some guy who worked at a general goods store. What is he doing with his life?

He feels his stomach turn. He quit his job, ran away from home, and entered Snezhnaya on foot as winter began to set in because of some obsessive thought over a man he didn’t know, and the man ended up acting like this. It’s only one among many impulsive decisions he’s made over the years, but this is easily his worst.

“Hey!” A loud whisper interrupts his thoughts. “Over here!”

Dianthus rounds the corner to find a woman with long blonde hair, probably a few years older than him, beckoning him. Hesitantly, he continues walking.

“I couldn’t help but hear your conversation with Lord Scaramouche. Are you alright?”

Someone eavesdropped on him, and now is asking if he’s okay? His face instantly heats up. Embarrassment aside, she did ask a question.

“Oh, I’m fine. From what I’ve been told he’s just like that. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Her face brightens. “But I’m glad you’re okay. I’m Larisa, by the way.”

“I’m Dianthus.”

They shake hands before Larisa adds, “I don’t mean to concern you, but he really doesn’t talk to new recruits often. I’ve been here a year or so and I don’t think I’ve seen him talk to many people at all when he doesn’t have to.”

“He did mention my vision. Maybe he just wanted to knock me down a bit.” Before I’ve even begun to stand in the first place, he adds in his head.

“I can’t say I know for sure, unfortunately. Just try not to let him get to you.” Larisa smiles and begins to lead him to the dining hall. That’s right, he hasn’t eaten yet today.

“What’s it like working under him?” Dianthus asks after a moment.

“Lord Scaramouche is a real pain, admittedly. Luckily, as you’ll see if you stick around long enough, there’s always a chance to transfer. Most don’t last as long as I have.”

“How have you stayed under him for so long then?”

Larisa stays silent a moment, and he worries he must have said the wrong thing. Luckily, she does answer. “Really, I’m not sure myself. I guess I’m just pretty tolerant to assholes.”

They laugh together. Still, Dianthus finds himself casting one last glance backward.

—

When Dianthus returns to the office, a letter rests on his desk, the sender’s name and address being all too familiar. He pauses. Should he even open it?

She’s probably worried. He left without warning after all. Then again, she watched him pack. She could’ve stopped him, right?

He glances at it every few seconds as he works. Maybe it’s her asking him to return home, or just expressing how she misses him, or venting how upset she is, or she could even be so angry she’s letting him know he has no place returning home. Of those, what would even be the worst?

Dianthus places the letter to the side of his desk where he almost can’t reach it. His head is already full of information from his work. He’ll read it later.

—

The Fatui have given Dianthus a living space of his own. His letter now rests, still unopened, in his room’s desk drawer. He tells himself he still needs more time.

Still, the thought of home is in his head now.

Dianthus finds himself thinking about the room he left behind in Mondstadt. He carried his most important belongings with him, but he couldn’t fit everything in his travel bag.

In his mind’s eye, he sees a flash of the vase on his nightstand. Did his mother toss the small lamp grass when she found it? Perhaps she replaced it, and continues to replace it while he’s away. There’s also a chance she left it as she found it. He tries not to think about the possibility he’ll never return to find out.

If she really did keep it, it’s been long enough that the plant has probably wilted. The end will no longer glow, and given more time it will be little more than dust.

Dianthus’s mind drifts back to the letter his mother sent. Is it really possible it’s her way of yelling at him across the miles?

He gets a flash of an image of an event from years ago in his mind, seemingly out of nowhere.

One of the worst teachers he had didn’t hide how awful she was. He had lived in Springvale at the time, and not many wanted to teach there. That’s why he thinks she could get away with it.

One day, his grades had slipped. It wasn’t by a lot, and he still was towards the top of his class, but she was overly upset. When she insulted him, he fought back. Anger seemed to be his primary emotion at that age.

He still remembers her words years later.

“You know, when your previous teachers warned me about your temper, I still wanted to believe it wasn’t true.”

The fight had drained from him in an instant. He didn’t apologize though. He just sat and thought about the implication of having a negative reputation at the age of twelve. He thought about how he was so difficult to deal with people went behind his back to warn others about it.

Am I… a bad person? No, I’m just a kid... right?

His teacher was already moving on to speak to another student.

Back in the moment, Dianthus’s eyes widen. His hand rests over his heart. How long had people been warning each other about him? Did they ever stop?

He isn’t sure he wants to know.

[snowywanderer]

The Meaning of Flowers

Words: 957

Warnings: eye contact

Description: On a fateful day, you see a view on Starsnatch Cliff that easily beats what you’ve seen previously. You can’t help your desire to talk to the stranger.

—

The view at Starsnatch Cliff is a well-loved one, especially by you. You try to find time at least once a month to dance among the cecilias, before heading to the highest point and staring out at the ocean. You swear sometimes you see islands in the distance, though people look at you weird if you bring it up. They aren’t on a map, after all.

Today, you think you’ve found a view even more beautiful than usual.

If you come early enough in the morning, you don’t usually run into as many people. It’s certainly odd that a man, gorgeous at the dawn sky, stands at the edge of the cliff.

He’s turned away somewhat, but what you can see of his features look beautiful. His forehead is wrinkled as he glared out towards the horizon, yet he still looks breathtaking. It strikes you as odd clothes on his back look Inazuman, though you suppose with the lifting of the Sakoku Decree more visitors from the nation have come to Mondstadt.

“Hello!” You call cheerfully.

He turns quickly, eyes wide. Shock quickly turns to annoyance.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, walking towards him. “I just don’t tend to see people here this early.”

“You didn’t scare me,” he lies, but you won’t call him on it. “Are you a Knight, or are all Mondstadters required to greet foreigners so enthusiastically?”

“Not at all,” you laugh. “Like I said, people don’t tend to come here at this time. I was just curious.”

He doesn’t respond.

“The cecilias look best this time of year. I don’t blame you if you want to see them without dealing with others.” Realization strikes you. “Oh, I can leave you alone if you want.”

“You sure like to talk, don’t you?” Despite his tone, the stranger’s feet are planted firmly. He doesn’t shoo you away either.

“I can talk more, if you want.” He cracks a smile for a second, and you decide to push further. “Cecilias, in the language of flowers, represent a wish to free someone of their current situation. You might give them to someone who feels trapped by work to wish they could get days off or something.

“Oh! And did you know cecilias are said to be favored by Barbatos? At least, that’s what I heard from a bard back in the city. Actually,” you add thoughtfully, “he might have just made it up seeing as he’s written songs the Sisters consider blasphemous.”

“Blasphemous?” You might be imagining, but he seems to have perked up a bit.

“He sang once of Barbatos pranking the Geo Archon with false love confessions, sending letters weekly for months, complete with flowers. Oh, and he once challenged the Electro Archon to a duel, knowing she was far more powerful than he. He, of course, failed to show up.”

The man finally cracks and laughs, loud and harsh like he isn’t used to feeling genuine mirth. His eyes shine brightly. “I like that second one.”

You suppose, noting the ornament in his chest, it isn’t odd for an Inazuman with a Vision to have some resentment for the Raiden Shogun. “You know, he had an Anemo Vision too.”

“I think I’d like to meet this guy,” he says, the last of his laughter fading. “You know, back to cecilias, we have some odd flowers back in Sumeru.”

“Oh?” His Vision’s casing, you now notice, is shaped like those of Sumeru, in contrast with his clothing.

“Kalpalata lotuses aren’t actually lotuses, as they grow on the side of cliffs rather than the water. Sumeru roses also aren’t true roses. I don’t personally like the idea of a name that lies.”

“Do you like flowers, then?”

“I don’t particularly care for them.” He doesn’t meet your eyes.

In that case… you have a terrible idea.

“Actually, I’ve read about them in books before. Kalpalata lotuses you give to people who need to be reminded of their own mortality, and Sumeru roses are given as a suggestion to someone they ought to break up with their romantic partner.”

He covers his mouth and breathes shakily. “Is that so?”

“Not at all. I just made that up.”

Despite him trying to remain cool, he cracks again. You can’t help but grin in return.

“Why did you actually come here?”

“I’m just a wanderer. I heard the view here’s nice.”

“And is it?”

He meets your eyes for a moment, then turns away, hiding his features with his hat. ���I suppose it was worth it coming here in the end.”

“The sun’s more visible now,” you point at the ocean. “You might want to head off if you don’t want to run into anyone else.”

His troubled expression from before returns.

You reach down and pick up a cecilia before offering it to him. “For you. I’m not sure if you need freedom from anything, but perhaps the good will will carry on until you need it.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly, avoiding your gaze yet again.

You smile in response, and head off.

—

It’s merely been a few hours since your encounter, and it still weighs upon your mind. You can’t help but want to know more about that man, and wonder if you shouldn’t have asked his name.

You’re taking a walk near the southernmost fountain when something makes you stop dead in your tracks. It’s the man from earlier, and he’s playing with some of the kids. They certainly seem happy, and you think he must be too.

You lose your balance for just a moment, but it’s enough that you step wrong and several heads turn towards you. The tallest of the group has a recognizable flower in his hair.

[snowywanderer]

kissthekriedeprinz —> snowywanderer

Just felt since I no longer really post Albedo I’d change the username

[snowywanderer]

He Who Walks in the Shadows, and He Who Loves the Dark

Chapter 4: Rain or Shine, I Don’t Feel a Thing

Words: 749

Warnings: Depictions of abuse

Description: Lore.

—

The streets of the city are gray and cold. Few spare so much as a glance in Dianthus’s direction. Even when he pauses at a restaurant, most people seem to keep to themselves or the group they came with. It’s a far cry from Mondstadt’s taverns at night, or even just Good Hunter around mealtime.

Dianthus still doesn’t know exactly where he’s going, but he figures he’ll be able to find something out.

She’s screaming again.

He manages to pick up certain things from hushed conversations in the streets.

“You’re not good for anything!”

He cringes, barely able to prevent his stinging eyes from spilling tears. She seemed fine just moments ago. All he wanted was to try and speak to her. It’s al he’s ever wanted.

Instead, she escalated everything. It’s something she seems to be good at lately.

The snow is piled up by the sides of the roads. He’s heard Dragonspine is pretty cold, and despite never having been there he thinks it’s take compared to this.

He shakes his head. He’s found information on how to get into the Fatui, and that’s what matters. He’s going to find the man.

“Stop!”

She won’t. She tells him it was a mistake to fight all these years to keep him. She says thing after thing with what feels like the sole intent to hurt him.

People in uniforms ask him a million questions and have him perform a million tasks. His head is blurry but his mouth and body move on their own.

She doesn’t mean it, right? That’s something he’s been telling himself for a while now, but he’s not sure anymore.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He knows he didn’t do so well on the physical tests, but he feels in his heart they’ll find something for him.

“What did you say?”

His eyes are wide open, a smile spread across his face. “I said—“

“Are you serious? I’ve done so much for you and I get this? You should be grateful I’m allowing you to stay under my roof.”

He’s still a kid! It’s her duty to do so.

He finds a hotel to stay at for a while.

He’s not sure if the Fatui have a certain place they stay while they remain in Snezhnaya. He doesn’t know if they’ll let him in for that matter.

“If you don’t want me around,” she continues icily, “then I won’t be.”

He’s accepted.

She slams the door. He trembles like a leaf.

Sure enough, he has a place to stay with the other Fatui. They’re giving him a desk job rather than one in the field. It makes sense to him at least. Still, they’re going to train him to be ready if he’s needed elsewhere.

He isn’t sure she’s even alive until she returns hours later.

A tall ginger man talks to him and the other recruits about expectations and battle. The man’s eyes don’t shine, but fighting seems to awaken something in him. He asks the recruits, one by one, to fight him. Many are breathless by the time they’re done, but the man doesn’t seem affected.

She acts like nothing happened. Days on, he expects she’ll talk about it eventually. She doesn’t.

“You got your assignment, right?” A woman asks in hushed tones in the dining hall. “I’m so lucky— I’m not entirely sure what Sandrone is like, but at least it wasn’t Scaramouche.”

His heart sinks. “What’s he like? And if, hypothetically, I were assigned under him, how fucked would I be?”

The woman tilts her head, not expecting his apparent lack of knowledge. Still, she hesitantly fills him in.

He’s an adult now, and her episodes have fizzled off in frequency. Still, they left wounds in him that he isn’t sure will ever heal. People around him speak kindly of her and he’s too scared to correct them. She doesn’t speak of the events after all, so who’s to say he didn’t just imagine them?

People seem to fear and despise Lord Scaramouche. From the stories, he doesn’t blame them. Yet, when they meet, his eyes widen. The man has as sharp a tongue as he was said to have, but there’s something else about him.

Indigo hair frames his pale face. His eyes sparkle brightly enough to make up for the ginger’s dead ones. Most importantly, his outfit and hat give away who he is.

Who would’ve thought the man he met in the woods weeks ago was a Harbinger?

[snowywanderer]

He Who Walks in the Shadows, and He Who Loves the Dark

Chapter 3: Just Help Me Run Away From Everyone

Words: 868

Warnings: none

Description: Dianthus finally leaves. I also edited previous chapters a bit.

—

“You quit your job.”

Dianthus doesn’t look up. Items are scattered across his bedroom floor, waiting for him to judge their value. There’s only so much he can keep on his person.

“Dianthus, I’m not upset. I just don’t understand why.”

Why indeed? Blanche has been good to him. His mother loves her. She loves that he’s found a job that treats him well. It doesn’t make sense.

“I’ve just been thinking. I just can’t see myself working at a store my whole life. There are other things for me out there.” There have to be.

“Are you sure you’re not acting too rashly?”

She’s right, of course. There’s something in her voice he can’t identify, but it doesn’t bother him. He’s made up his mind.

“Alright. If you know what you’re doing, I’ll trust you.”

She leaves without any further questioning. Any other day, Dianthus might have been upset it took her so long, or that she didn’t fight against him harder. Today, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

—

“You’re leaving.”

“…”

“You’re not coming back, are you?”

Dianthus is close enough to the city gate he can see the bridge past it. His brother stands behind him, but he stares straight forward.

“Did mom figure it out then?”

“She didn’t say anything, actually. You did little to hide the bags you’ve been packing.”

Dianthus sighs. “I’m painfully indecisive, and never do anything. Never leave the house. She ought to be proud.”

“You know this isn’t what she wants.” His brother pauses. “You don’t have to leave. She’s difficult, but…”

He says nothing.

Footsteps fade away, and silence falls. Dianthus walks as well, the corners of his lips briefly twitching upward.

—

Dianthus hasn’t ever left Mondstadt. Ever. With the money he’s saved, it would probably be a smarter move to stay in the city but escape his mother. It just doesn’t feel like enough.

There’s also that man.

Any thoughts Dianthus has had about the man have devolved into some sort of obsession at this point. Dianthus doesn’t have the faintest clue anymore what he looks like, just the vague idea of the shape of his hair… and that hat. He doesn’t have the faintest clue what rank the guy is, or if he’ll even be able to find him in Snezhnaya.

It’s still better than living with his family, Dianthus thinks.

The best way north without taking a boat is through the Stormbearer Mountains. A boat may be quicker, but Dianthus wants time to himself to just walk, even if it means dealing with stronger monsters.

Luckily enough, there aren’t too many monster camps on the path he takes. He considers dealing with them before ultimately deciding it’s a waste of energy for his journey. Someone who’s actually going to stay in the nation can get them instead.

The land evens out beneath him eventually. Dianthus thinks he can almost see Dornman Port if he looks far enough east. He decides to take a break in the middle of the field. Monsters be damned; he’s tired and hungry.

Dianthus knows he’ll need to head into a city to buy food eventually, but he feels content in the moment. A charm of finches flap around him, one even tilting its head as if to ask for food.

“You’re friendlier than the bunch near Springvale,” he laughs halfheartedly. “I don’t think you need what I’m eating though.”

The audacious finch cries out before fluttering off. The others follow it.

He stands up eventually and continues north. The sun moves across the sky as the wind begins to bite into his skin.

Dianthus ought to feel excited at the snow, a rare sight in Mondstadt outside of Dragonspine, that begins to fall around him, but he finds himself unable to muster anything. He simply grabs the warm clothes he brought and draws them tight around himself.

Evergreen trees pop up around him the more he walks. Gone are the sweeping fields of Mondstadt, replaced by the snowy forests of Snezhnaya. Dianthus is vaguely aware of how close he is to his goal. He’s more concerned with the cold surrounding him that he apparently vastly underestimated.

Dianthus knows he’s heard jokes about trying to get through Snezhnaya in the winter being suicide, but the thought crosses his mind that he truly might now make it to his destination. He finds himself laughing and swears it’s so cold out he’s actually feeling warm.

In his stupor, he sees a flash of orange.

Heat?

The form looks much like a Seelie, or at least how adventurers describe them. They’re usually blue, but he doesn’t care. He stumbles forward, but when he reaches it, it begins moving.

Come back!

As long as he follows the creature, he finds himself warm. It’s a very welcome change. If only it stayed in place!

Though he thought it was leading him deeper into the forest, Dianthus finds that the trees are actually beginning to thin out. The Seelie finally pauses. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the warmth. When he opens them again, he can see a large city in the distance.

“I made it,” he barely manages to breathe out.

[snowywanderer]

Your Story as Only I Remember It

Pairing: Wanderer/Kazuha, very vaguely (pre-relationship)

Words: 1731

Warnings: vague mentions of the crimes Wanderer committed

Description: The Wanderer is sent to Port Ormos at the same time the Crux fleet are docked there. One Kaedehara Kazuha happens to be a member of the crew, and the Wanderer gets an opportunity to tell the truth about the Raiden Gokaden.

—

When he had accepted his past actions, the Wanderer hadn’t expected it would lead to running errands for Lesser Lord Kusanali. While he is less than thrilled to be subservient to another god, he can at least say she seems more tolerable than the others. Not that that’s exactly a high bar.

He still wonders why exactly he needs to be the one to go to Port Ormos. Lesser Lord Kusanali simply said she didn’t want to spread alarm, but he knows in the past she’s just told her people to treat her like one of them.

A man bumps into the Wanderer as he walks. He bumps back harder, which earns him a glare. The man acts like he isn’t afraid at all, which makes his blood boil.

Ah. That’s right. Back in Snezhnaya, all knew his name and all feared him. Here in Port Ormos, he is simply another man. He has yet to decide if it’s a good thing or not.

The end of his trip brings him to the docks. It’s been centuries since he had to people-watch out of necessity, but he finds himself delaying his return trip to observe the crowd. He ducks as far out of the way as he can. Still, no one looks at him twice.

Many passersby rush with panicked looks on their faces, though some stroll slowly without a care in the world. Children duck between the legs of sailors and merchants, A sharp voice draws his attention to a particular ship where a tall lady in red barks orders to her crew. Something compels him to pay special attention to them.

For the most part, they are dressed in clothing indicative of their home nation of Liyue. As they move, though, he sees one is dressed in Inazuman clothing. Said person turns towards him for just a moment, their eyes meeting for barely a second. Something about him is…

“Niwa?” The name leaves his mouth, albeit quietly, before he can think. How can that be possible?

The Wanderer closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. Now that he looks again, he sees the man has lighter hair and dresses somewhat differently. Still, the red streak in his hair and his facial features tell the Wanderer all he needs to know.

He turns away and leaves Kaedehara Kazuha behind as fast as he can.

—

“Who would’ve guessed the God of Wisdom had such a wonderful sense of humor?”

“You’re back.”

“Were you expecting me not to return? I don’t think I had much of a choice.” The Wanderer sighs and meets Lesser Lord Kusanali’s gaze. “Tell me, why did you really send me to Port Ormos?”

“I can sense lying to you here would be a bad move. I am aware the Crux Fleet is currently docked there, but they won’t be for long.”

The Wanderer’s eyes widen. “You… want me to seek him out?”

Lesser Lord Kusanali nods. “Yes. You told the Traveler you wished to let the descendants of the Raiden Gokaden know the truth. Here’s your chance.”

The Wanderer isn’t sure he can bring himself to even look at Niwa’s descendant, but he can’t argue. She’s right.

“Fine. I’ll head back out tomorrow.”

“Good.”

—

The Wanderer finds himself once more in a sea of people who don’t know who he is, and who don’t care to find out. As far as they’re concerned, he is a human. He still isn’t sure if that’s a good thing.

The ship comes into view once more, but Kaedehara Kazuha is nowhere to be seen. His patience begins to run thin after only a few minutes. With a sigh, he turns around and walks off.

The Wanderer doesn’t see the slightest hint of red clothing as he walks through the crowds. Before long, he’s walked far enough to have left the city entirely. He rolls his eyes and lifts himself onto a nearby cliff using Anemo energy. Maybe from a higher vantage point he’ll see… something.

Huh? He hears a faint tune. Is someone else nearby? His feet carry him towards the sound before he can think.

The source of the music turns out to be a man in Inazuman clothing with a red streak in his hair and an Anemo vision resting against his back. It’s the very man he’s been looking for. The Wanderer just stands and watches him for a moment.

The song ends, and the Wanderer realizes he was somehow playing music on a leaf. Before he can question anything, Kazuha turns back to him.

“Do you need something?”

“You’re Kaedehara Kazuha.”

“Do the tales of my feat even reach across the sea? I must say, the rumors have long since removed themselves from reality.”

“Rumors?”

“The people of Inazuma bore witness to an act they deemed impossible, and many a tall tale has sprung up as a result. I simply saw blocking the Musou no Hitotachi as necessary, and don’t care for the fame it brought about.”

As much as he’d like to ask more about facing Beelzebul head on, the Wanderer senses he shouldn’t. He can’t do that to a descendant of his old friend. The more he thinks about it, the more Kazuha’s speaking style reminds him of Niwa. They are different, sure, but there is much overlap.

“You didn’t come to speak of that, though, did you?” Kazuha breaks the silence. “I apologize for being presumptuous. First, what is your name?”

“I’m afraid I don’t really have one. I am simply a wanderer, and most call me such. Really, I’m fine with just about anything.”

Kazuha gestures for the Wanderer to sit next to him. He does, with a sort of awkwardness he hasn’t felt since he was the Kabukimono.

How is he meant to bring up what he actually wishes to discuss? Does he build up to it, or just come out with it? Which would hurt less, and why does he care about whether he hurts Kazuha?

“What were you wishing to talk to me about, Wanderer?”

The Wanderer averts his gaze. “I guess I’ve been curious about you since the Traveler mentioned you.”

It’s true, but it’s not what he wanted to say. He knows he should probably just get it out already, but some strange part of him wants to get to know Kazuha better.

“Curious?”

“We are both wanderers from Inazuma, and we bear the same vision.”

“Yours is the the style of Sumeru. Did you obtain it here?”

One could say that, the Wanderer thinks.

“Yes; as a matter of fact I received it only very recently.”

Kazuha does not pry further, and the Wanderer is grateful. It’s been a long time since he’s had a conversation with someone without feeling like they want something from him. He wants to bask in the moment a little longer.

It all happens in an instant. Kazuha shifts his legs and for a moment they brush against the Wanderer’s, and the latter panics. He pulls away quickly, as if burned, and words pour out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“I’m responsible for the downfall of your bloodline.”

He didn’t mean to say it. Well, he did, but not like that.

Kazuha looks shocked, reasonably so. “Huh?”

“I’m—“

“I know what you said, but… those responsible for my clan’s decline were caught long ago.”

“This… is going to take some explaining.”

Explain the Wanderer does. He talks about his days living with Niwa and the others at Tatarasuna, the Doctor’s interference, the way he sabotaged the Raiden Gokaden, the dark path he took as a Harbinger, and his attempt to erase himself from the world which resulted in history being altered. Kazuha listens attentively.

“You tell a version of events I am unfamiliar with. And yet, I can sense you are not lying.”

How can Kazuha sound so calm? Doesn’t he hate the Wanderer? Why isn’t he furious? Why doesn’t he pull out his blade and finish him off right here and now?

“I have come to terms with what happened to my family. I enjoy wandering, and find it difficult to imagine settling down anywhere. Your actions resulted in many positive experiences for me.”

The Wanderer’s eyes widen. How could anyone see anything he’s done as good? How can Kazuha hear of the atrocities he’s committed and still feel calm?

“I cannot ignore the amount of suffering you have caused for others. Yet, you tried to erase the wrongs you have done. You didn’t have to tell me the truth, but you did.”

“What does that mean? Where does that leave me?” The Wanderer’s voice shakes as he speaks.

“I do not know, nor do I think it is up to me to say. Thank you for letting me know.”

Kazuha lifts himself up with Anemo energy, and drops down the cliff. The Wanderer looks helplessly after him, but does not follow. He watches as the red clothes fade into the distance, and stays rooted on the spot until he can no longer see them.

The Wanderer shakes his head, turns around, and heads back towards the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

—

“I suppose you must have found him?”

The Wanderer barely nods in response.

“You don’t seem happy about it.”

“Kazuha is not Niwa, yet it’s clear they are related. Perhaps in another time, under different circumstances, I could befriend him as well.”

If Lesser Lord Kusanali notices the change in his temperament, and he’s sure she does, she says nothing about it.

“What’s stopping you now?”

“I have done far too much harm to him for him to forgive me.” He deserves to surround himself with people better than me, the Wanderer can’t bring himself to say.

“Does he have to fully forgive you in order to befriend you?”

He stares at the archon for a moment. “I doubt there are many who could find themselves chatting idly with someone who ruined their life.”

“If that is your answer, I will not ask you to chase him down again.”

—

The Alcor departs from Port Ormos not long after. The Wanderer is sure of this, but he is not around to watch it leave. He wonders, briefly, how long it will take for it to return. When it does, will he bump into Kazuha again? The Wanderer, once again, isn’t sure which option he’d prefer.

[snowywanderer]

Indescribable Emptiness

Words: 956

Warnings: you threaten to kill him but it’s not in a serious manner, also it’s been a few days and my memory is poor so potential inaccuracies

Description: !!3.3 Archon Quest Spoilers!!

My take on you-know-what from the new quest, and how it might affect the Wanderer’s significant other

—

Something isn’t right. You’ve been staying in Sumeru in a hotel room with a bed too large for you. As you walk your normal route around the city, your legs keep carrying you towards the Akademiya. You think of something and open your mouth to share, only to turn around to an empty room.

It’s suffocating.

The more you think, the blurrier your head gets. There’s no logical explanation for any of it. It’s as if there’s someone who’s meant to be there, but you’ve lived alone for your whole adult life. Maybe the loneliness is finally driving you insane.

You decide to take a walk to clear your head. It’s getting late, but that just means you’ll run into fewer people.

The view of the sky from the higher levels of the Akademiya is nothing short of stunning. Someone, perhaps when you were younger, told you something strange about the sky once. You remember laughing, then feeling bad when you realized they were serious. Still, you can’t attach words or a face to it.

You raise your hand up to the moon, and the wind that blows between your fingers reminds you of how cold they are. This walk was supposed to help, but tears of frustration threaten to spill from your eyes. You grieve for something that, as far as anyone can tell, never existed.

You rub your eyes, thinking about how loud you’d scream into the night were you not in the middle of the city. (The insomniac scholars must truly be thanking you.) Not wanting anyone to see you, you turn around to head home. You can hardly see through your tears and, as luck would have it, you run straight into someone.

“I’m so—“ you pause the moment your eyes meet the stranger’s.

He’s gorgeous, but that’s not all. Something about him feels familiar and warm, like your bed after a long day of work. You wrack your brain for who he might be, but come up blank.

“Do I know you?”

He startles. “You shouldn’t.”

“Sorry, your face just looked familiar. I hope I didn’t bother you.” As intriguing as he is, you really shouldn’t be letting a stranger see you cry. You walk past him. Hesitate. Turn back around.

The man meets your gaze, eyes wide.

“You… you’ve been crying.”

This is not the conversation you want to be having.

“Yeah, I guess it’s been a strange few days for me.”

Something shifts in his eyes. “I know you don’t know me, but please. Come with me. There’s something you may need to see.”

You want to say no and run, but the way he looks at you draws you right in. Still, you follow him from a distance. He leads you to—

“The Sanctuary of Surasthana?”

He nods. “I know you may not believe what I’m going to say, but you will believe her.”

He opens the door, where you are greeted by… Lesser Lord Kusanali?

“W-what’s going on? Great Dendro Archon?”

“Is this them? I thought—“

“I changed my mind.” Who could this man be if he’s willing to speak over an Archon?

Lesser Lord Kusanali turns from the man to you with a sympathetic look. “You must be confused. Please hear him out. Even if you don’t believe him, I hope you can believe me.”

The man barely meets your eyes as he explains. Lesser Lord Kusanali was right. If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t believe a word he said. It was… a lot. Yet, it would explain everything you’ve been feeling.

“You… you may not have died then, but I swear I’m going to kill you myself!” You march up to him, and barely register the fear on his face before you pull him into a crushing embrace. Tears fall down your face once again. “Do you have any clue how confused I’ve been? I missed you so much, and I didn’t even know what was happening!”

“I’m sorry,” is all he can muster as he returns your hug.

“I thought I was going insane!” You pull away, then it hits you. “It’s been days! Why… why did it take so long?”

“I’ve accepted my sins, but that doesn’t mean I wanted you to have to. I thought it might be for the best if you forgot like you were supposed to.”

“But I didn’t, not fully.”

He nods.

“What an idiot. I hate you,” you say, gently taking his hand in your own. “But… you don’t have a name now, do you? What should I call you?”

“You can call me whatever you see fit.”

“What about ‘Asshole’?” You smile. “But you did tell me eventually, so I guess ‘Beloved’ works too.”

He blushes. “I suppose that does work.”

A higher-pitched giggle sounds out.

Oh. How did you manage to forget about the archon next to you? Your face heats up, and you profusely apologize.

“Don’t be sorry, it makes me happy to see you back together, even if I only knew you through his stories until now.”

Your beloved squeezes your hand, and leads you back outside. You tell him about your days apart. Before he can apologize again, you pull him in for a kiss.

“If you’re truly sorry, prove it by spending the night with me.”

You find your beloved has a sharp tongue to match your own, but his gaze at you is nothing but affectionate. When you leave the Akademiya and return to your hotel, you find the bed to be just the right size for the two of you. You tell him all the things you’ve been wanting to say the past few days.

When you wake the next morning, your hand is still entwined with his.

[snowywanderer]

Like the Sun Filtering Through the Window

Words: 562

Warnings: Depression basically

Description: You and Xiao support each other through school, and even some years later.

Basically just what happens when you combine depression and nostalgia with a bunch of other issues and add a fictional character for spice.

—

Sunlight filters through the window you’re seated next to. The angle makes it shine right in your face, but it’s warm. Your eyes slowly unfocus looking at the equations on the board.

Venti turns to you momentarily with a grin. Xiao crosses his arms next to you, giving Venti a warning glare. Don’t pull anything. Venti pouts, rolls his eyes, and looks forward again. You stifle a giggle.

When the homework sheets are passed out, you and Xiao race through them. At the same moment, you turn to each other to compare answers. His eyes widen, then crinkle at the corners.

“Hey, what did you guys get?”

“Venti, we share answers because we finished. It’s different to just hand them out.” It’s the same thing you tell him every day.

“It’s not my fault math is so hard!”

“We don’t seem to struggle much.” Xiao’s face is still soft, contrasting his teasing words.

“Xiaoooooo!”

You and Xiao are the highest scoring students in class, but you feel you’d be nowhere there without him. He caught so many of your mistakes, even if you caught his as well. Overall, you’re just glad the algebra teacher is okay with it. He seems to think of it as an opportunity to help each other, rather than “cheating” like other teachers may.

Xiao holds out his hand, and you hand him the (edited) paper. It was your turn yesterday, so he turns them in now. You turn back towards the window. A few puffy clouds dot the otherwise clear blue sky, and you watch them move.

Your vision falters.

Sunlight filters through the window you lean on. The sun is so low you almost can’t see it. Any heat it may have provided dissipated some time ago.

That’s right. You graduated high school years ago. You’re in the kitchen, waiting for Xiao to get home for dinner. A tear you didn’t know had formed rolls down your cheek. You love having Xiao as your roommate, you really do, but…

The door opens. Oh.

Xiao enters the room, exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders. His eyes meet yours. You think, in the moment before he rushes towards you, they make him look so much older than he truly is.

You feel like you’re imposing on him. When you cry, he immediately drops everything to comfort you. It’s one of the few times he initiates physical contact.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can manage to whisper.

“It’s not your fault.” A terrible job you had no choices but to leave and an inability to make it through college classes proved a deadly combination.

You wish you could do more to help him. You wish you didn’t have to rely on him so much. You wish… you wish to be back in that sunny classroom.

“I must make things so hard on you.”

“Don’t say that. You do more than you realize. I don’t know if I could do it without you.” Slowly, he pulls you into a hug. It’s warm. All these years, and he’s still filling in the gaps where you can’t figure it out yourself.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”

“Dinners getting cold,” he whispers. “I hope you feel better after you eat.”

You pull yourselves up, and you smile. In the end, you don’t think it’s the food that helps you.

[snowywanderer]

He Who Walks in the Shadows, and He Who Loves the Dark

Chapter 2: Would I Run Off the World Someday?

Words: 1226

Warnings: Dianthus is beginning a manic episode towards the end which will show more next chapter

Description: The story is starting to truly begin. Dianthus has a realization and prepares to leave.

—

Dianthus can’t get the earlier encounter out of his mind. Faces aren’t something Dianthus can remember easily. Not until he’s seen them a few times. If he meets the man again (and he sickeningly wants to) he’ll recognize him, but for now he doesn’t remember the face.

The other features still burn into his mind. The man had such gorgeous clothing, and his dark hair contrasted so wonderfully with his pale skin. Even if Dianthus couldn’t remember his eyes, the gaze was unforgettable.

He’s with the Fatui, Dianthus reminds himself. That isn’t the type of person he should want to be around.

—

“Be careful going out today.” Dianthus hears his mother say from the doorway.

He doesn’t look up. “I will.”

“The meteorites are starting to clear, but the Fatui are everywhere, even after all this time.” She shakes her head and sighs.

Funny thing though; he kind of already knows. “Yeah. I’ll watch out.”

—

The next day, Dianthus sees the enigmatic man’s face instead of every customer’s for a moment. Calm down, he tells himself, but he’s scared of finding out if that man really did see him. It probably doesn’t help his paranoia that he doesn’t recognize some of the people who come in at all.

“You’re a little jumpy,” Blanche states when Dianthus nearly punches her in the face for sneaking up on him. The worst part is that he definitely should have heard her.

“Sorry,” he replies with his eyes pointed at his feet.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, and so are the goods.” She holds out the items in her arms. “Take care of yourself.”

His eyes widen at the suddenness, but she doesn’t elaborate. Dianthus can’t say he’s ungrateful, given how awful it is when people ask if he’s okay and his eyes start watering instantly, but he is taken aback.

Blanche also says nothing when Dianthus spends more time than usual in the back. She’s always been understanding enough of him, even if the shifts he’s given nearly kill him. (To be fair, he thinks even if they were two hours he’d still hate them.)

—

At night, Dianthus finds himself uncomfortable no matter how he lays in bed. Times like this are when he wishes there were some sort of distraction for him. Just laying down and waiting to become tired is awful.

This late at night, even the taverns are beginning to close. He can’t justify leaving the house this late to himself, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to justify it to his mother. Still he feels like his bones are going to leap out of his skin.

He’s outside in moments without thinking. A few lights are on in surrounding houses, but the night is otherwise dead quiet.

Stars twinkle above his head, and Dianthus finds himself looking for his constellation. It lies in the northwest, a fair bit above the horizon. Dianthus’s feet carry him towards it, and he tries not to think about what lies beyond the cathedral as it draws near.

Dianthus finally rests as he reaches the statue of Barbatos. If he lifts himself up the right amount, maybe Vespertilio would appear to be in its hands. He thinks it would be the first time he’s felt the archon’s support. What good is a god who’s never around?

As he sighs, he hears something oddly similar to a footstep. He jumps to his feet, ears angling themselves so he can hear better. The area is as dead and empty as ever. Still, whatever Dianthus thought he heard serves as a reminder of how late it is. He needs to go home.

—

Days blur together again once the fear of the Fatui fades. If they wanted Dianthus dead, he’s now sure he would be already. He doesn’t know if they’d even care if he overheard them in the woods, but his imagination can be wild.

“Why don’t you ever eat with us?” His mother asks one day.

He doesn’t want to say the truth that he just can’t because most of what she makes wouldn’t stay down. She’s trying her best and he doesn’t want to upset her.

“I’m sorry.” That feels like a safer option.

“Does that mean you’ll come to dinner again?”

He stays silent, perhaps too long.

“Come on, Dianthus. I know I don’t make the best food but you could at least try it.”

He can’t say anything. He can barely look at her. Even if he tried not to make her upset, she still is.

“It’s not bad, I just…” He stumbles and can’t come up with a lie in time. His smile is always a dead tell he’s lying, but maybe she doesn’t notice.

“I’m just worried about how good you’re eating if you go to restaurants all the time. You’re not the strongest, even with a Vision.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d say she wanted the best for him. She certainly sounded concerned. If he waits just a moment, she’ll probably say what she really means.

“When you received that blessing from Barbatos, I truly thought it might spark some sort of change in you. You’re still doing nothing with your life, and I feel like you’re going to be stuck like this forever.”

Dianthus flinches at her tone and excuses himself to his room. The tears begin to fall the instant he lays on his bed. The first few times she spoke like this, he got over it as soon as she apologized and explained her words were motivated by concern. Now, he doesn’t care if she really means it. She said it, and it hurts, and he’s tired of hearing it.

The lamp grass is wilted in its vase.

In his mind, he suddenly sees the image of his constellation. Northwest… Snezhnaya. That’s the nation that lies in that direction. He also finds himself thinking about the Fatui man he ran into weeks back. Something clicks in his mind that probably should not have.

He doesn’t want to deal with the people of Mondstadt, especially his mother. He wants to know more about that gorgeous man. He wants to abandon the pain of his current life; he wants to start all over again.

Will his mother finally be happy with him when he does something for himself? When he’s no longer there?

Dianthus’s head buzzes, not from its usual fog, but from excitement. He has an insane idea, and he’s going to need a thicker coat.

[snowywanderer]

When I saw Scara’s design I thought “how can I make this about me” so I did. I made it about me ndhdhsjdjjsjsj.

Anyway I’m kind of dying over it not because I spent five days in it but because how did I make something so pretty. I’m just really proud. Also this took NINE AND A HALF HOURS???

Lighting removed utc

[snowywanderer]

He Who Walks in the Shadows, and He Who Loves the Dark

Chapter 1: I Foresee Terrible Trouble

Words: 1336

Warnings: none for this chapter, others will be darker

Description: All Dianthus wants is for everything to stop hurting, or to at least be whisked away to another life. Sure, it might still suck but at least it would be different. One seemingly ordinary day, he stumbles into a chance at something new.

I’ve been thinking about these two again so I’m finally writing their story.

—

It’s a good thing, Dianthus thinks, that he works in the back of the store. Whoever is yelling at Blanche out there is not someone he wants to deal with. As much as he hates sitting idly by at times like this, he also hates being around aggressive drunkards. He just continues taking stock.

The second it calms down, though, he rushes to her.

“Are you okay? They sounded… bad.” Bad? Really? Dianthus wishes he could always have the right words.

“It’s nothing I don’t deal with everyday,” his boss says.

“You… shouldn’t have to.” He looks at the floor. If he can’t see her, she can’t see him. Or something like that.

“Really, I’d rather deal with it myself than have any of my employees do so.”

Dianthus can’t help but think there’s a warning of sorts in Blanche’s tone, despite her soft words. He is well aware he’s quick to anger and wouldn’t be able to be near as patient as her.

He excuses himself to the back of the store again.

—

When Dianthus arrives at his house, he hesitates for a moment. Yes, he spent nearly his entire eight hour shift standing and he’d love nothing more than to just lay down, but…

He sighs and opens the door anyway. He footsteps intentionally light. If he can try to avoid running into anyone, he will.

He doesn’t get very far.

“Dianthus!”

“Hi, mom.”

“I made dinner, there’s still some left.”

If he ignores her hopeful tone and stares at the wall, maybe his next words will hurt less. “I ended up getting hungry and eating out again. Sorry.”

Dianthus knows she has reasons she isn’t good at cooking. She doesn’t have the energy and ability to watch over everything, so she does what works for her. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work for his stomach.

If she looks upset, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know.

“Okay.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her deflate. He looks further away. “I’ll put it up in case you want any later.”

Dianthus nods, gaze still fixed upon the wall. When his mother moves to sit down, he goes to his room. He gathers clean clothes and heads to the shower.

Some days Dianthus is glad he wears glasses. Not being able to see his own body in the shower, for example, is a benefit. He hates the traits he’s inherited from his parents; his large bat ears mean he can’t hide in a crowd and his voice is a dead giveaway to strangers he isn’t the same as other men.

Don’t cry, he tells himself. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry dontcrydontcrydont—

It’s too late. He spends too long trying to just STOP FUCKING CRYING DAMNIT but it’s no use. Luckily, if any of his family ever hear him cry they just ignore him.

When he lays down again, his eyes are burning and his head is pounding. He thinks back on his mother’s warning words about dehydration and considers slamming his head into the wall. Instead, he pulls his blankets tighter around himself.

—

“I’m going to get a Vision like you,” Dianthus’ younger brother announces over breakfast.

“What kind would you even want?” Dianthus asks, hand instinctively moving to the object resting on his scarf.

“Hm… What about Cryo?”

“I don’t know if I think that suits you.” His brother is certainly calmer than him, but that isn’t saying much. He also doesn’t have that iciness over his heart Dianthus has seen among many Cryo users.

“I think it suits me.”

“If you did get a Vision, what would you do with it?” Dianthus’ mother speaks up.

“…”

“You don’t know?”

“I’d probably think of something.”

Dianthus lets out a small laugh. He looks to his mother without thinking. When one obtains a Vision, should they immediately become someone interesting? Does she want him to do more with his life? Perhaps she doesn’t even realize what her words imply to him. (You have something so many desire, and you just work at a general goods store. Why aren’t you doing more?)

“You were blessed by Barbatos,” his mother had told him once. “I think it’s something amazing to have an Anemo Vision in the land of the wind.” (It was as if she didn’t care how he had obtained it.)

Dianthus wants to do something, to be someone. He doesn’t know where and how to start is all. A few Vision holders in the city are knights or adventurers, but even being a mage Dianthus is weaker than most people even with his gift. None of those types of jobs appeal to him either.

—

Skipping breakfast is bad for you. This, Dianthus knows. If only his useless body would allow him to eat after waking up instead of hours later. There’s probably something wrong with him, but his best bet for “getting better” lies in Liyue. That’s still quite a walk for him, and Mondstadt is the only nation he’s ever found himself in.

Today, Dianthus doesn’t have to go to work. Perhaps a walk around Mondstadt would do him good. He doesn’t leave the city very much anymore. He met up with friends in the Whispering Woods when he was younger, so he makes that his destination. (If only he were good at talking to people consistently, and didn’t end up driving them all away with his seeming lack of interest.)

During the day, small lamp grass has little glow and fails to make the chiming sound it does at night. He picks one of the plants and turns it over in his hand before continuing his stroll.

Dianthus finds himself deep in the woods when he feels dread settle in his stomach. Not giving himself a chance to think, he scurries behind a tree. He can hear voices far off, probably too far off for him to see the people they belong too, but he can’t make out many of the words.

“Lord… traveler escaped…”

Dianthus hears the sound of someone being slapped. He flinches despite the distance. Still, he wonders what the words are about. A traveler had helped save the city from Stormterror. Was it about them?

“Useless… pitiful…”

He still can’t hear many words, and what he does hear is terrible. He can practically feel the anger radiating off of whoever it is. He cringes, but some odd part of him thinks the voice sounds nice even like this.

Whatever Dianthus is witnessing, he probably shouldn’t be. Still, he remains rooted to the spot.

That is, until his ears twitch at the sound of feet heading in his direction. From this distance, no one should be able to see him, so he lifts himself into the tree next to him.

The group eventually comes into view, and he recognizes the uniforms worn by most of the people. What are the Fatui doing here? Most don’t seem to leave the city much, especially given the meteorite situation.

The man leading them is dressed in much nicer clothes, but still seems to be with them. Could he be a higher ranking official? He’s wearing the largest hat Dianthus has ever seen, and he’d be lying if he said the man below him wasn’t pretty. Sure, he didn’t sound to be the best person, but Dianthus isn’t sure he can say much.

The people pass by and Dianthus slowly exhales. He nearly falls out of the tree when the leader turns back and he swears they make eye contact. Oh gods oh gods ohgodsohgods— The man turns back and keeps walking. Maybe he didn’t see Dianthus after all.

When he’s certain everyone is gone, Dianthus looks around one last time and drops from the tree, making sure the wind catches him before he gets injured. Truly shaken, he decides to cut his adventure short and head back home. His mother won’t be too happy, but he doesn’t think he can stay out anymore.

When Dianthus returns home, he puts the (miraculously intact) lamp grass into a vase. Throughout the rest of the day, he sits and sketches, trying to ignore the gaze of the strange man burned into the back of his eyelids.

[snowywanderer]

You, Me, and the Forest

Words: 1,003

Warnings: eye contact

Description: You and Scaramouche have a thing going on where you meet up and fight until you can’t anymore. One night, something shifts and you come to a realization.

—

Nights like this arrive frequently. You send a letter to Scaramouche (encoded, in case of interception) and await his arrival. No matter how long it’s been since your last fight, no matter any other circumstances, he will arrive in the dead of night for you.

You gaze up, but you can’t see the stars. The density of the trees block them. The bioluminescent plants along the path are your only light source.

Soft footsteps, barely detectable, are audible behind you. A soft, breathy voice says your name. (Would it be ridiculous of you to think it almost sounded melodious?)

“You came.” Your voice, luckily, does not betray the emotion swelling in your heart. You don’t turn around yet.

“I always do.” Scaramouche’s voice has an edge to it, sure, but it’s softer than usual.

You pause. “You know, Chinju Forest is an odd place. It’s like it exists outside of time. Midday or midnight, you wouldn’t be able to tell.”

“You haven’t been waiting here all day, have you?” he asks incredulously.

“Oh, no way,” you laugh. “I come here during the day though, sometimes.” You turn around to face him. “It’s fascinating. Yet, from month to month it does differ. Old plants die, new plants grow.”

“Did you invite me to fight, or to recite poetry?”

“If you’re that eager to get destroyed, I guess we can get started already.” You pull out your catalyst, and he follows suit.

You face him for a moment, and as predicted he impatiently strikes first. You dodge effortlessly and let off an attack of your own. He dodges, and you remain evenly matched. (Have all these fights led to you knowing each other too well?)

It should be frustrating. Not getting hit, but also not letting a hit in. Yet, you feel a strange sense of joy. Your combined attack patterns feel more like a dance. Any hostility you had for him when you first started meeting up has faded. (Should you allow yourself to wonder if he feels the same?)

Your eyes meet for a brief moment. There’s something so indescribably fiery in his gaze that you falter. He has you pinned instantly.

“Usually you’re better than this. Did something distract you?”

You don’t answer. You shouldn’t, for the sake of your dignity.

“Round two. I’ll get you this time.”

“If you say so.”

Scaramouche lifts himself up (is now a bad time to think about how you miss the contact?) and gets into a fighting stance. You’re a bit slower to rise.

Once again, you find yourselves too evenly matched for anything to happen. You’re too in tune with each other. When did that happen? When did you get to know him so well? His smirk, the gleam in his eye, the rapid rise and fall of his chest… You become distracted again, and again you find yourself under him.

“I could kill you right now,” Scaramouche says. His hand is over your throat, but it barely makes contact with you.

“Of course.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He removes his hand from your throat, but keeps you pinned. “But really, what happened today? Where was your mind?”

You don’t say anything. You can’t. Yet, when your eyes meet his again you’re reminded of why you faltered.

“And you had so much to say about this forest. Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

There’s something buried under his words, and you’re desperate to uncover it. He seems to notice. In an instant, he’s off of you and turned away. You sit up, keeping your back to his.

“Your words are quite lacking in vitriol tonight.”

“I insulted you plenty. Unless you’re stupid enough to want more?”

“You say that, but your tone no longer holds the same weight. When this all started, I could believe you truly did hate me.”

He remains silent for too long. Suddenly, everything feels strange. You laugh and laugh, and whatever’s been holding you back tonight breaks. How did you not see it earlier?

“What’s so funny?”

When you can breathe again, you reply. “You know, I realized something tonight. When we first started fighting, I thought we were evenly matched. I’d win a fight, and then you would.”

You pause to let him speak, but he doesn’t. “When we fought back then, I was excited to see if I could beat you. At some point, though, I wasn’t really thinking about that anymore.”

“What are you trying to say?”

You turn to face him, and he looks straight back at you. There is no anger, no hatred. You smile.

“I think you must be aware by now too. Our battles have lost a certain thrill to them. We know each other’s fighting style too well. Yet, I ask for you to come here.”

“And I do.”

“Exactly.”

“Still, if we’re so evenly matched, what happened tonight?”

“Our eyes met. I saw something there that I couldn’t believe.” You move closer to him. “In your eyes, I found a mirror of my own.”

His face flushes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Scaramouche. You must have noticed too, right? We don’t have anything left to prove to each other. Why do we still keep coming?” You move until your face is in front of his. “Please. Tell me I’m not wrong.”

Scaramouche reaches a hand out. Stops.

“How can I believe you? Why… why would you want this too?” In one simple word, he tells you all you need to know.

You respond by bringing your lips to his. As you kiss, his hands finally find you. You pull each other closer and archons, you can’t get enough.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are shining. (Does he see the same sparkle in yours?) Your hand finds his, and you lace them together.

“I don’t want to fight you anymore.” Scaramouche stiffens for a moment. “But I don’t want you to stop meeting me.”

“I won’t.” He says it so confidently you can’t help but believe him.

[snowywanderer]

Another year, another Scara imagine (one shot?) based off of one of my dreams.

You go to the mall one night. You’re not one to go alone, and the place is mostly deserted, but today no one could really spare their time for you. All is well until you stumble upon a strangely-dressed group of people speaking in hushed tones. You back away quickly, but the rest of the night you feel you’re being watched.

You swear you’ve seen the same head of hair a few times, but every time you look back to confirm they’re gone. You brush it off and decide to just get boba. The thought never crosses your mind you won’t be getting it.

When someone covers your eyes and quickly whisks you away, you don’t even scream. Goddamnit, you think. It’s more an inconvenience than anything.

The blindfold is removed and you find yourself face to face with a tall ginger man. Not wanting to open your mouth, you simply glare.

“No hard feelings, comrade?”

When you were blindfolded, you fully expected to be killed or tortured. Instead, you are introduced to eleven eccentric people, including the redhead. The man with indigo hair seems especially standoffish, but you feel like someone who just got kidnapped doesn’t have the right to ask for their kidnapper to be kind.

“You seem cool and all, but I really just wanted my boba. Would it kill you to let me get it?”

Tartaglia, the redhead, bursts out laughing. The others look less amused, but they agree to it. Makes no sense to you, but you’re not about to complain.

They explain that you’ll have to be inducted into their ranks because you know too much. You point out that you didn’t hear shit and that they could’ve just killed you. It’s half-hearted at best; you are glad they’re giving you an opportunity to leave your honestly shitty life behind.

When it comes down to who will take you to get boba, everyone looks pointedly at Scaramouche. Wasn’t he the one who looked most like he wanted you dead? Whatever.

When you arrive back at the boba place in the mall, he finally speaks up. “You should get the matcha one.” It sounds like a command.

“What a coincidence. I was getting that one anyway.”

In the forced proximity, you learn a little about Scaramouche. He intrigues you so much, and you want to get closer yet. It also helps that he’s attractive. Unbeknownst to you, you’ve already caught his eye. Why else, as you pointed out earlier, would you be allowed to live?

[snowywanderer]

Who Do You Think You Are?

Words: 401

Warnings: manipulation (?)

Description: Scaramouche thinks about you. Perhaps another man, or a younger version of himself, could humor you. Not him.

Scaramouche sees the way you smile at him. He’d be actually stupid not to. Yet, somehow, he thinks you aren’t aware of this. You look at him like he’s the god he deserves to be.

You are too late.

Scaramouche was tossed aside by those who should have loved him too much already. His mother spoke so kindly to him, then tried to run from her responsibilities by sealing him away. His first friend had abandoned him in fear of his origin as a creation of divinity. The child, young and with decades ahead of him, died with no warning.

The stars are a lie. The whole world is a lie. Human emotions have no place in his chest, so your pathetic feelings towards him can never go anywhere.

Scaramouche watches your eyes wrinkle at the corner when you think he isn’t looking. He watches you bow deeper than any of his other subordinates for him. You finish your tasks happily, completing them better than anyone else could dream of.

You truly are annoying. He observes the way you make your reports; eyes lingering on him a split second too long as if you expect him to praise you. He never humors you, yet is somewhat amused by your banter. If he drops hints to you that could be misinterpreted as affection, that’s none of anyone’s business.

Scaramouche has a feeling you’ll be planning something soon. He happens to have a plan of his own.

As if on cue, you walk into his office with that annoying, love-struck smile. He listens to your report, and acts surprised when he dismisses you and you don’t leave.

“Ah, Lord Harbinger, aren’t you cruel! Surely you have further words for your best subordinate. One might think they’d be promoted after such hard work.”

Scaramouche smiles pleasantly at you, and shakes his head. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that. Do you think yourself infallible?”

To your credit, you take it in stride. “Perhaps you have another purpose for me then?” You truly are bold. Such a shame.

Scaramouche laughs. Leans forward, rests his chin in his hands. Makes eye contact.

“Dismissed.”

This time, you listen. He’s never been a fan of those who need to be knocked down a peg, but he is a fan of being the one to shatter them. His only regret is that you couldn’t see the look on your face.

[snowywanderer]

Not Alone

Words: 548

Warnings: This entire thing is about death.

Description: You find someone unexpected at Pervases’ temple. Subtle hints at being romantically involved with Xiao. They don’t really affect much though.

Xiao is busy often. It means he isn’t with you, but it also means you spend a lot of time wandering. It isn’t the worst thing, and you’ve learned a lot about Liyue because of it.

Lately, you’ve heard a few whisperings about a temple for a yaksha around the Lisha area being restored. It’s so infrequent you hear it mentioned you almost aren’t certain it’s true. If it really is for a yaksha, wouldn’t more people care?

Still, in the name of curiosity you feel the need to investigate. Along with the adventuring supplies you normally carry, you being incense. Just in case.

Heading west from the harbor, past Mt. Tianheng, it doesn’t take too long to find it. It’s the only building for a while and looks well-kept. You wonder briefly as you approach it just why no one would come around. It was a little out of the way, sure, but Liyue wouldn’t be where it was without the yakshas.

Next to the statue you find a familiar face.

“Xiao?” He makes eye contact, and immediately moves to teleport. “Wait, Xiao!”

Xiao pauses. Looks away. “I… didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Don’t leave yet.”

“…”

His eyes are firmly on the statue. You walk up to it and offer your incense. Moments pass in silence.

“How did you know to come here?” Xiao finally asks.

“I didn’t. I just came to see the temple.”

“There’s usually someone here. He’s the one who ordered it to be restored. I only come here when he isn’t.”

Xiao has been mistaken by the rare guest at the inn who sees him as a teenager. Right now, you can’t say he looks any younger than his true age.

“It—“ you shake you head, as if it’ll get rid of the lump in your throat. “It doesn’t ever get easier, does it? Losing someone?”

Xiao finally turns back to you. Though he isn’t crying, his eyes are wet. “It doesn’t feel like it sometimes. There will always be memories, and they’ll never be anything more.”

“I was always told it gets easier with time. It doesn’t hurt as bad now, but when I think about them my chest feels heavy. It’s been so long you’d think it wouldn’t.” You feel a tear slide down your cheek. Then another. Before you know it, you’re sobbing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—“

“You have every right to hurt.” He cuts you off, but his tone is soft. “Pervases died doing his duty. It was an honorable way to go, so it feels selfish to wish he hadn’t ever gone. But you, Morax, the traveler… if you think someone like me can grieve, then you can grieve too.”

You open your arms, and he takes you in his.

“I wish things would get better. For me, for you, for everyone.”

“Would it help to talk about them? Perhaps I could tell you about Pervases. In the age of man, there is little left that is known about him.”

You nod against his chest.

No one can make the dead live again without drawback. You may some day find yourself the only one who carries the weight of their memories. Sometimes, the only thing you can take solace in is the fact you aren’t truly alone.