#[ i tried to like. impliment your hc's and such at the end uH ]

[multifacetecl-archive]

@hereticlord​ has reported :  💋     —     FOUR TIMES MY MUSE THOUGHT ABOUT KISSING YOURS AND THE ONE TIME THEY ACTUALLY DID .     /    OPEN .

001 .

“I’m mad at you,” Apple said with a small huff, eyes narrowing at him as fingers worked on wrapping the bandages around his injured arm. They were sitting in the grass, or rather, he was while she sat on a fallen tree to give her a slight height advantage to make her work easier. “That was careless, and stupid, and just because—” A deflated sigh escaped her then, knowing she was wasting her breath; he won’t change. This will be part of his life. And she didn’t want him to change. She just worried. A lot. It was simply in her nature to do so.

He teases her, as he often does, and Apple finds it is hard to stay mad at him. No, she didn’t want him to change. Never. She accepted him, every part of him, even the parts that make her twist with anxiety. “Come here,” she chides, hands catching his face and tilting his head up to face her. Her eyes scan his features, gauging the damages done; a small bruise against his cheek, something she can easily tend to. A few cuts here and there, but they’re not too bad.

Her eyes fall on the split of his lip, and she tutted her tongue. Except, her eyes linger longer than she intended to, and she felt her cheeks burn red when he catches her.

“Try to go a few days before I see you as a patient again, will you?” She said, pushing him away playfully. 

002.

Apple absolutely loathes unnecessary violence, which was what made their relationship — whatever it was — rather ironic. While she lived a pacifist lifestyle, to the best of her ability anyways, he had chaos and the urge for battle coursing through his veins; she can’t figure out if it was simply because he loved the adrenaline, or if it was something deeper than that. But she kept her comments to herself, unless it was violence done in her name.

Though, admittedly, Childe had plenty of reasons to worry — how many treasure hunter camps has she walked into, throwing herself in danger, for the act of healing. Knowing that they can just as easily hurt her as easily as she trusted them.

“Childe, I can’t breathe,” Apple protests, arms held out at her side before fingers moved to his shoulders and she shoved gently at him. He was holding her so tight, it was almost as if he was afraid. The idea of anyone worrying about her well being was beyond her, which was so hard to believe, given how beloved the traveling doctor was to most. But she comes from a place where . . . People hated her for the reasons the people of Liyue adored her. And it was the opinions of home that leaves her damaged.

He finally releases her, ruffles her hair, and she pulls back and looks up at him. Heart hammering in her chest, she smiled at him, catching his hand and holding it to her chest. “Let’s get out of here, okay?” 

003.

She never forgot the way Childe held her that day at the domain. The color of his aura when he found her, bound, amongst a bunch of hoarders despite her pure intentions of helping them. That was simply in her nature, it was her legacy. Her dying right. The history of her people has taught her that she was nothing but fodder to the Gods. A being meant to sacrifice themselves to the beasts that once terrorized Teyvat and bring peace to their slumbers so the people of the world can have one less catastrophe to behold.

Bone Witches were made with despair, revenge, and self-sacrifice. She was made by the woes of her fallen sisters, centuries in the past, to uphold their heavy burden once more. Sometimes she dreams of a woman from centuries ago, crying over her, pitying her poor great granddaughter whom she tried to save from her same fate.

Apple never learned the meaning of self-preservation until that day. It never, ever, ever occurred to her that she was seen as someone cherished and precious. Cared for enough that they would cling to her in such a way. Sure, anyone else would have saved her, but it was a matter of morals, not affection.

Pacifistic ideations aside, there’s a small sense of pride at the look of shock that comes from the archer. Electro sparks and hops off of her blade, the hirichurl that had charged at her sent flying into the cliffside. She will fight, rather than accept her fate. Rather than fear and wonder if she will one day meet Death like she has not been tempting him and silently hoping to be relieved from her responsibilities.

She had forgotten the rush of adrenaline when her metal sings with every strike of sword. When they’re done, the electro swordswoman practically throws herself at him. “Did you see me? Bet you never thought I can do that, huh?” She sing-songed, arms wrapped around his neck. She pulls back, and their faces are inches apart. 

She’s forgotten what it looks like to have someone proud of her.

004.

“Did . . . Did you see . .. ?” 

Apple’s voice wavered, and it was clear that she was fighting back the tears that threatened to pool in her coppery gaze. Her back was turned to him, shoulders stiff and raised as if she was trying to recoil into herself, like a turtle in its shell. It was a stupid question, of course he did. Why else would he be here? Have followed her? Most people here were good at minding their own business, even when something like that happens for everyone to see.

“Stay away from him, you — you monster! I thought we saw the last of you! You’ll curse us, you should have joined your sisters!” The words spoken from the woman from her home village stung more than the slap across her cheek and the soreness of her back from when she was shoved into the moat of water. She had thought the little, lost boy she was helping looked familiar. She could tell by his clothes that he was of Inazuma origins, but she didn’t think that he was the grandson of one of the elders of her village that had, almost literally, chased her out of her own home.

Not that would have stopped her. Knowing it’d end up like this, she would never leave a boy to wander by himself through Liyue harbors, with its maze like design.

Turning to face Childe, the sight before him was absolutely heart breaking. Her lips were curved in their usual smile, still filled with warmth and care and love. But she was crying. Tears flowed from her eyes, even though they were clenched shut in a desperate attempt to keep them in.

“Please tell me you didn’t see. You didn’t hear.  I don’t want —” . . . I don’t want you to hate me, too.

Apple remembers sobbing then, as he pulls her in silently. She’s grateful he doesn’t comment on the show that was so graciously provided to the citizens of Liyue. Just offers her the comfort she needed to hear, and was too afraid to ask for. When she calmed down enough and he offered to treat her out to help lift her spirits, all she wanted to do was kiss him.

Even if she meant something to him, and not in the way he did to her, it was all she could think about the rest of the night. But the many sweets she indulged on was enough. 

005.

To say that Apple knew no fear would be the farthest thing from the truth. She knew fear. It was not in the form of her own well-being, though that was something she was starting to work on. But it was in the form of the well-being of others. The people she cared about. Deeply. She knew fear in the form of failure. In the form of abandonment. One would think that, someone who was as pure - hearted as she was, would harbor a hatred for those who were meant for darkness—willingly or not. One would think that she would side herself with the good, and yet, here she was. 

The chaos and havoc is thick in the air, it was almost  nauseating to someone who was so sensitive to auras and the dark. She picks her way through the masses of bodies, hands clutched to her chest, as her eyes scan the corpses around her, steps hasty and almost timid.

Apple is no stranger to the dead. But if there was something she feared: it was this draw she seemed to have to them. Her vision glows, and her hand rises to cover it, clenching it tight in her grasp. “Don’t—” she whispers to herself, mouth dry. Dark magic churns in the pits of her stomach, calling out to the bodies around her.

Bone Witch, the souls of the dead call out for her, and she does her best not to answer. All it would take to raise an army of the dead is to raise her finger in the air and a rune for its namesake to be drawn in the air. The Foul Legacy had left her an army to her disposal, if she so wished.

“There you are . . .” Came a breath of relief when she finally catches up to Childe. Though . . . She wasn’t sure if that is who she should call him. She is unbothered and equally unfazed by the gore that stains his skin, or the inhuman glow of his hypnotic gaze.

It’s voice is almost hypnotic as It speaks at her. Speaks her name in a voice that was both Childe’s but not at the same time. Like an echo in a cave, the voices fill her brain. “Do you hate me too?” It seems to ask, mocking her with the words she was afraid to speak that night in Liyue. 

She surprises It with a small laugh, hand moving to stifle the sound with the bend of her knuckle. It’s a little funny to her, and she knows she shouldn’t laugh. Her hating him . . . Would make her just as bad as her people. Who hated her for something she could not control. Apple understands now, why she has this draw to him. Felt a likeness she has never felt with anyone else before.

There’s more confidence in her steps as she approaches, though a small falter of slight annoyance that size is, as always, an obstacle. But, she makes do and stops before It. Fingers find the fabric of their scarf, and she pulls them down. The kiss is rather gentle for something filled with havoc and blood, and when she pulls way from It, copper on her tongue, her eyes locks with Its purple.

“Never,” she answers it, soft and sweet. She can never come to hate him, no matter what side of him stands before her.