#“what man would i be if i put you through that again?” (lumine / war | kemikorosu)

[unboundwanderers]

"I mean, do you call this a war? This funny little thing? This is not a war! I fought in a bigger war than you will ever know. I did worse things than you could ever imagine. And when I close my eyes I hear more screams than anyone could ever be able to count! And do you know what you do with all that pain? Shall I tell you where you put it? You hold it tight till it burns your hand, and you say this: No one else will ever have to live like this. No one else will have to feel this pain. Not on my watch!"

THIS HEADCANON POST COVERS THE ENTIRETY OF THE TIME WAR. Every plot, thread, prompt, and discussion has been carefully notated and constructed into this COMPREHENSIVE TIMELINE POST to help MUTUALS (New & Old) understand the ENTIRE scope of The Time War and its effects on the world as a whole. ALL OF IT IS MIXED CANON / DIVERGENT CANON constructed by myself, and it is housed within my OWN UNBOUND TIMELINE (the canon of this blog).

This is the culmination of not just myself, but EVERY roleplay Partner who's ever asked to plot this era of my blog's timeline with me. It incorporates every single idea we've all collectively discussed into one comprehensive timeline.

FOR MY GENSHIN MUTUALS: // You only have to acknowledge what you feel comfortable acknowledging. The Time War did and DIDN'T happen. The Canon of my blog is only as canon as YOU allow.

GREEN HIGHLIGHTED TEXT REPRESENTS THE SCARF DOCTOR

ORANGE HIGHLIGHTED TEXT REPRESENTS THE WAR DOCTOR

THE TIME WAR IS AFFILIATED WITH MUSES BELONGING TO @kemikorosu & @lunaetis. At the moment, this list may be SUBJECT TO CHANGE depending on how many mains and mutuals start getting involved in the TIME WAR. TO AVOID UPSETTING ANYONE, or PUTTING THE LONGEST POST KNOWN TO MAN ON DASH, the TIME WAR is going to be slid under a READ MORE.

TRIGGER WARNING: The Time War is Dark, too dark to list all the triggers off- so it's considered TYPICAL WAR ANGST. You have been warned.

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

The Time War is a war across space and time that is fought between two races; The Daleks & The Timelords. In one Corner, The Daleks are the mutated remains of THE KALED PEOPLE, who now survive by living in battle tanks. They believe they are the totally genetically superior species in the universe, and make it their life's purpose to conquest and enslave The Universe. In the other corner, The Timelords- A race of omnipotent gods that mastered the use of Time Travel and are practically immortal. Sworn to never interfere, they only watch.

When THE TIMELORDS foresaw a point in time where The Daleks would become TOTALLY unchallenged across The Timeline, they sent The Fourth Doctor back in time to try and avert their creation or delay their growth. While he didn't technically SUCCEED in this mission, he didn't technically FAIL- either... however, this was essentially the spark that lit the fuse within The War.

FROM THAT POINT ONWARD, The Daleks would begin mastering Time & Space Travel, naming THE DOCTOR their greatest enemy, and swearing to totally take over and control Gallifrey...

THE BUILD-UP.

THIS IS A DIVERGENT TIMELINE. The Source of The Divergence came at the end of the SEVENTH DOCTOR's life, when he was killed SHORTLY before The Enemy Within (The 1996 TV Movie) but not until AFTER Survival (The Final Episode before Doctor Who's a cancellation in 1989.) The Alternate Eighth Doctor, otherwise known as THE SCARF DOCTOR- is the beginning of a DIVERGENT TIMELINE.

In The Doctor's SEVENTH INCARNATION- He encountered The Daleks (Episode: Remembrance of The Daleks) having a civil war on Earth and battling for a Timelord weapon known as THE HAND OF OMEGA, the device used to forge THE EYE OF HARMONY and make Time Travel possible. Due to The Doctor's meddling, the Daleks were tricked into destroying SKARO's OWN Sun... which expanded and engulfed the planet.

IT WOULD TAKE THE DALEKS A LONG TIME to find a new home planet, which they would dub a NEW SKARO. However, Skaro's destruction marked the END of The Dalek Civil War, as the empire began to disappear into the darkness. They would NOT return until The Doctor had reached his EIGHTH incarnation (Scarf)- in which he found The Daleks scavenging for resources that they were pulling into a pocket dimension that he could not follow them through.

AFTER ENCOUNTERING THE DALEKS and REALIZING THAT THEY MAY VERY WELL BE PLANNING A RETURN- The Doctor ventured to GALLIFREY and attempted to warn Romana of The Threat, he found that Gallifrey was currently undergoing preparations for a TIME TREATY, in which Gallifrey would extend its resources out toward other races.

DURING THE TIME TREATY, The Daleks EMERGED from their POCKET UNIVERSE (Which made way for The Unbound Adaptation of THE APOCALYPSE ELEMENT to take place, with Scarf as a stand-in for Six.) They Assaulted The Gallifreyan assembly and took many lives, while also capturing TIME TRAVEL EQUIPMENT and fleeing. It was a smash-and-grab.

THE RETURN OF THE DALEKS (The Inciting Incidents)

WHEN THE DALEKS ATTACK GALLIFREY- It sends The High Council into a frenzy, and the citadel of Gallifrey goes into a panic. In their panic, Romana steps down from her Presidency. She becomes head of the Celestial Intervention Agency- while The High Council and The Next President- Lyvia, assemble a WAR COUNCIL for the upcoming and inevitable conflict with The Daleks.

AS THE CONFLICT BEGINS TO BREW, The Doctor carefully monitors Dalek's activity and tries to stay out of their way. He occasionally attempts to trip up their war efforts but to little avail. The Doctor is involved in many confrontations across Time and Space with The Daleks while they prepare their lead-up to The Time War.

In One Encounter, The Doctor comes across a new Dalek Supreme Variant. The DALEK TIME STRATEGIST is a fearsome Dalek BATTLE COMMANDER who can view shifts in a timeline. Tapped into The Dalek Patheweb and The Time Vortex, The Time Strategist proves to be one of the most fearsome foes The Doctor has ever faced. In their first encounter, The Time Strategist outsmarts The Doctor... resulting in the death of his Companion, Dehya [LUNAETIS' PORTRAYAL.]

THE DEATH OF DEHYA BREAKS THE DOCTOR, who goes on a one-man hunt for THE DALEKS and Their Headquarters. Along the way, he realizes that Davros has also been recruited by The Dalek Empire- who have SUCCESSFULLY RESTORED THE DALEK EMPEROR- (WHO HADN'T BEEN SEEN SINCE THE 60'S STORY EVIL OF THE DALEKS)

THE DOCTOR eventually DISCOVERS that The Daleks are hiding in the abyss, a pathway to the VOID accessible through a little planet called TEYVAT (One that The Scarf Doctor first made contact with long before he'd met Dehya.) During his mission to find The Daleks- The Doctor encounters LUMINE [KEMIKOROSU's PORTRAYAL] In this timeline- Lumine is the traveler, and Aether is the abyss prince.

The Doctor & Lumine venture into the Abyss and learn that (SOMEWHERE AROUND WHEN UPDATE 2.6 HAPPENS) The Daleks OVERPOWER and OVERTHROW the Abyss Order. Those who surrender are used to harvest resources from The Abyss and Khaenri'ah technology. By the time The Doctor discovers what The Daleks have been doing, The Daleks have already engineered their BRONZE armor via HARVESTED ruin guard armor and combined DALEK technology.

THE DOCTOR can do NOTHING to stop the NEW and IMPOWERED Dalek Empire from waging war with GALLIFREY. He Time Locks Teyvat to prevent The Daleks from invading through the abyss rifts and prepares to leave to warn The War Council. IN THIS TIMELINE- Aether (Who had been previously rescued by Lumine & The Doctor) takes over as the guardian of Teyvat so that Lumine can accompany The Doctor, arguing that he needs someone to watch his back.

THE DOCTOR arrives on GALLIFREY with LUMINE to learn that THE WAR COUNCIL is already engineering BATTLE TARDISES and preparing for WAR with THE DALEKS. The Doctor is too late, nothing can stop it: THE LAST GREAT TIME WAR HAS STARTED.

RUNNING FROM THE WAR

THE FIRST STRIKE FROM THE DALEKS COMES WHEN THE DALEKS ATTACK AND ANNEX A PLANET THAT IS HOME TO TIMELORD ALLIES. Gallifrey launches a counterattack immediately, and the war breaks out across the universe.

ASHAMED OF HIS PEOPLE and ASHAMED OF HIMSELF, The Doctor runs from The War while doing his best to try and help people caught in the crossfire without getting involved. Lumine continues to travel with him through this.

The DEVASTATING effects OF THE WAR begin affecting all of TIME AND SPACE. Enemies, Friends, Allies, and even FAMILY beg The Doctor to do something- and he refuses everyone. He wants nothing to do with The War.

When Lumine & Scarf go on one final adventure to the town of storybrooke, where they get involved in all kinds of hijinks- The Time War begins to spread to earth, and things start to leak through- things The Doctor can no longer IGNORE. When a PSYCHIC PROJECTION of an old ACADEMY friend: Damon, appears before THE DOCTOR- begging him to fight... he presents The Doctor with an EXTRA LIFE, coded in the language of a SOLDIER... a WARRIOR... and The Doctor knows... there's no more running from the war.

PHYSICIAN HEAL THYSELF: DOCTOR NO MORE.

THE WAR DOCTOR IS FORGED: JOINING THE WAR.

REGENERATING INTO A SOLDIER and THROWING his old name away, The War Doctor immediately gets involved in The War by rejecting BOTH SIDES. The Timelords attempt to pull his TARDIS to Gallifrey and in breaking free- The War Doctor and Lumine crash upon a strange planet.

There, they find Davros- who has been EX-COMMUNICATED from the Dalek army, but he attempts to prepare a barter for his children in the form of THE NIGHTMARE CHILD- A Virus based on a conversation The Doctor & Davros had back when they first met- THE VIRUS destroys ANYTHING it touches. It consumes, destroys, and infects...

When even DAVROS' OWN REPROGRAMMED DALEKS reject the idea, Davros goes mad- and unleashes THE NIGHTMARE CHILD on the planet. In his first ever war crime, The War Doctor is able to stop the Nightmare Child from spreading across the universe- however, the Nightmare Child is programmed to never stop until it completes feeding... The War Doctor keeps it limited to JUST the planet the duo is on... and they flee. Davros is consumed by his own virus.

DURING THE TIME WAR, GALLIFREY RESSURECTS RASSILON to lead them in the war. Rassilon goes through many regenerations- settling on a general and a queen by the very end of the war. RASSILON IS RUTHLESS, and orders PROJECT REVENANT to be used- qn engine that brings dead timelord soldiers back to life, over and over.

AS A SOLDIER in The Time War, The Doctor & Lumine act INDEPENDENTLY and do what they can. Together, they thwart all kinds of schemes while being tasked with SUICIDE MISSIONS for The War Council, who wish to see the duo destroyed. IN ONE MISSION, The Daleks even try to USE LUMINE to re-activate ANCIENT CELESTIAL TECHNOLOGY that could help them rewrite reality. This fails and the weapon overloads, but it consumes THREE galaxies in its detonation.

DURING THE MIDDLE OF THE WAR, The Borders of Reality grow weak enough for The Daleks to pass through. When The Timelords pick up intelligence that indicates The Daleks might be planning to build a BASE within the ALTERNATIVE. The Timelords CAPTURE LUMINE and send The War Doctor on a suicide mission ALONE into The MIRROR UNIVERSE.

THE MIRROR UNIVERSE AND THE CATACLYSM

THE HIGH COUNCIL WAS RIGHT. Daleks WERE breaking through to another universe. In a PARALLEL timeline where The Daleks and The Timelords are ABSENT- The War Doctor chases The Daleks to a parallel universe. Due to the corrosive nature of The Time War, the other universe isn't moving as UNSTABLE or AS FAST as The War Doctor's. When The Doctor arrives, he meets a DOPPLEGANGER of Lumine, on her FIRST JOURNEY through Teyvat- prior to when the OTHER TWIN AWAKES. [The Mirror Lumine // Lunaetis' portrayal.]

While CHASING THE DALEKS across THE HISTORY of this alternative Teyvat, The War Doctor ACCIDENTALLY leaves Dalek and remains in Teyvat's past. These remains go on to help Khaenri'ah discover FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE which leads to The Cataclysm and Celestia's intervention.

THE DALEKS MAKE A HOP RIGHT INTO THE CATACLYSM, Where The War Doctor confronts them again. This time, during the fall of Khaenri'ah, where he confronts MIRROR LUMINE again, and he tells her about The Time War and The Daleks. The War Doctor is able to defeat The Daleks and return to his own timeline through a hole that was torn open by The Daleks... but the effect he leaves upon the Alternate Teyvat sends ripples into his future...

THE FINAL DAYS OF THE WAR

AFTER RETURNING and REUNITING WITH his NATIVE LUMINE, The War Doctor & Lumine continue to battle in The Time War, but the conflict gets even more devastating when Rassilon and The War Council start unleashing weapons from The OMEGA ARSENAL.

Rassilon SUBJECTS THE UNIVERSE TO HORRORS BEYOND BELIEF. They unleash the NEVERWHEN, The Could've Been King, and HIs Army of Neverweres. Rassilon's EFFECT on The War Effort does more damage, as Rassilon directly threatens THE DALEK EMPEROR on MULTIPLE OCCASIONS, forcing too many more AGGRESSIVE attacks and counterattacks. The War Doctor begins to believe that there might not BE a peaceful resolution to The War or any end in sight.

THE CLIMAX OF THE WAR begins to BUILD WHEN THE DALEKS steal a WEAPON FROM THE ARSENAL called THE MOMENT. The Moment, a sentient weapon with consciousness, is used by The Daleks only once. They test its REALITY ALTERING CAPABLITIES on TEYVAT. The Instability of the War causes enough damage to be done for THE TIME LOCK to break, AND THE DALEKS TURN TEYVAT INTO A WASTELAND RULED BY THE DALEKS.

TO LURE THE DOCTOR into the alternate Timeline, The TIME STRATEGIST kidnaps Lumine. This forces The War Doctor to call upon AETHER to help him rescue Lumine. Due to The War Doctor's interference, AETHER is not subjected to the changes to the Timeline The Daleks made. [THE AETHER / WAR THREAD IS BETWEEN MYSELF AND @artificeheart, AND CAN BE READ HERE.]

The War Doctor and Aether work through their difficulties to try and save Teyvat from The Daleks and their interference. Observing the damage The Daleks have done through just ONE use of The Moment- The War Doctor believes that it is the key to ending the war and saving the current timeline- so he ventures to THE STRATEGIST IN ORDER TO CAPTURE IT.

THE WAR DOCTOR RECOVERS THE MOMENT FROM THE STRATEGIST. Aether and Lumine are able to be reunited- but just before anything can be done- THE TIME STRATEGIST GUNS DOWN LUMINE... Her Death appeals to the consciousness of The Moment, who undoes The Daleks' damage to Teyvat and Restores Lumine to life.

Understanding that the END OF THE WAR HAS COME, The War Doctor prepares to end The War once and for all by using the Moment to Destroy both Gallifrey and The Daleks. He leaves Lumine behind in a heartfelt goodbye and heads for Gallifrey.

THE REVIVAL OF THE MASTER

WHEN THE TIMELORDS AGREE That there is a probable Chance The Doctor will destroy them, they concoct a plan in order to try and avert the end of the war to deliver Gallifrey's supreme victory of The War by ELIMINATING THE DOCTOR'S INTERFERENCE.

THEY RESURRECT THE MASTER- (WHO ALSO GETS A DIVERGENT HISTORY HERE- Last seen also in Survival- Doctor Who's the final story before cancellation.) THEY RESTORE THE MASTER into a new body, marking The End of THE TREMAS MASTER and The Birth of THE WAR MASTER. In this timeline, The War Master is young and ferocious- insane and unhinged.

BELIEVING THAT THE MASTER WILL BE SUCCESSFUL IN HIS MISSION if he has all the same advantages and parameters as THE DOCTOR, The Timelord High Council pairs The Master with a companion based on shared psychological profiles. He is assigned The Fourth Harbinger, Arlecchino, as his companion [LUNAETIS' PORTRAYAL]

THE WAR MASTER AND ARLECCHINO are TASKED ASSASINATING THE DOCTOR. They begin their mission by tearing open a hole in the universe and pursuing The Doctor to where he's been stranded.

The War Master is able to learn via the high council that The Incarnation of The Doctor he must hunt down and destroy is stranded in a parallel universe- unable to return. If he DOES return to the main universe, it'll be at the exact moment he LEFT... and he will kill them all.

The War Master learns that DALEKS were the ones who first stepped through to the Mirror Universe- and tricks The Daleks into providing him with technology to reach the Mirror Universe by promising them he will OPEN THE DOORWAY and allow them to kill The Doctor.

THE STRANDED PLOTLINE

BEFORE HE CAN REACH THE END OF THE WAR, a crack in time swallows a broken, end of his ropes War Doctor. Being Flung back into The Mirror Universe, where time moves slower- The War Doctor believes he might be able to return to The War at the precise moment he left.

However, he's paired with a new COMPANION: Abyss Princess Lumine, who he previously met in his suicide mission into the Parallel universe. The Abyss Princess agrees to help him return home, and travels with him during this plotline.

Together The War Doctor & Abyss Lumine surmise that the only way to get The War Doctor home is to gather the Key to Time- as the moment is powerless in an alternative universe. The Key to time was a powerful object that was hidden at the start of the war by its respective guardians. It's hiding place? Just so happened to be the Mirror Universe...

THE WAR DOCTOR & ABYSS LUMINE travel together across different planets assembling the key. Along the way, they travel to Teyvat's distant future and discover on a colony moon- that Khaenri'ah descendants have "restored" the Hilichurls to their "evolved" state. Recovered Remains of Daleks left behind during The Mirror Mission incident were used to Mutate Hilichurls into DALEKS NATIVE TO THE MIRROR UNIVERSE.

DURING THEIR TRAVELS, The War Master & Arlecchino intercept the duo and steal their segments of The Key to Time. The War Master uses the segments HE'D collected himself (upon LEARNING that the key was hidden in the universe) to assemble THE WHOLE KEY, and RIPS a hole open between The Mirror Universe and The Stranded Universe... ALLOWING THE TIME WAR DALEKS TO INVADE MIRROR LUMINE'S UNIVERSE.

THE WAR MASTER attempts to TRY AND USE THE KEY TOO REWRITE THE HISTORY OF THE DALEKS so that THE MASTER was the creator as opposed to DAVROS- but this plan backfires horribly when THE WAR DOCTOR interferes and uses the key to CLOSE THE RIFT BETWEEN UNIVERSES-- All promptly before he can say goodbye to ABYSS LUMINE.

THE WAR MASTER is left to The Mercy of The Daleks, but he SAVES both himself and Arlecchino by sending his companion back home using a VORTEX MANIPULATOR he acquired on his travels. The War Master then uses the last of his TARDIS' power and the instability of The War to ESCAPE... but regenerates in the process.

WITH THE KEY SCATTERED and THE WAR DOCTOR returned to his point of departure in the native universe... The War Doctor heads to Gallifrey.

THE TIME WAR REACHES ITS CONCLUSION WHEN THE WAR DOCTOR TRAVELS TO THE HEART OF THE WAR AND USES THE MOMENT TO DESTROY BOTH THE DALEKS & THE TIMELORDS. THE ACT CAUSES THE WAR DOCTOR TO DIE FATALLY AND REGENERATE INTO THE GOTH DOCTOR...

IT ALL ENDS WITH ONE... BIG... BANG...

[kaledya]

Hey hey! It's a-me!! The essay writer again!

Lol, sorry.

This time, I just summed up some questions about your AU Exorcists

1. Since Lute's and Adam's personalities are different in Sinners Symphony, I suppose that the morale in the army is different from canon, far closer to "We do what has to be done" instead of the usual "Haha, die you little b@#es. I'm at 261 now, how about you?" Am I correct?

2. How do the Exorcists fight? Now we know that in your AU Blessed weapons are insanely overpowered (sinners are crying for a nerf constantly), I wonder if the soldiers still fight open and without cover just to mindlessly kill a bunch of sinners or if the ladies have more discipline in this?

3. And lastly, two questions in one, do the Exorcists leave behind their weaponry like in canon? Since if not, Carmilla Carmine would probably not become an overlord, or at least have far lower than in canon, since the weapons would be super rare and far more difficult to manipulate with, resulting in less employees, resulting in less deals, resulting in less power.

Have a great day/night. Richard.

And by the way, Sir Pentious in Sinners Symphony when?

Yes the exterminators are a well trained and disciplined unit of soldiers, some lieutenants are even trained by Azrael himself, they do not take pleasure or enjoyment from their work or see it as a game, they do what needs to be done, nothing more and nothing less. There is discipline in the army like in today's armies, the soldiers respect their superiors very much and obey their orders under all circumstances.

Lute is the most skilled exterminator at the moment, in fact she was personally trained by Azrael and is the closest exterminator to Azrael. Lute has the greatest respect for Azrael and will not hesitate to punish anyone who insults him.

War styles:

I haven't designed it yet, but I'll try put a sketch here. Exterminators are divided into 3 different classes

Seraphic Smitebringers (Divine Strikers): These warriors are equipped with heavy weapons that reflect the power of the heavens.

Celestial Swiftwings: This group is known for the speed of their wings, descending upon their enemies like lightning.

Ethereal Vanguard: These warriors combine both powerful blows and swift movement to create a versatile force on the battlefield, but they are neither as fast as Swiftwings nor as powerful as Smitebringers.

Weapons they use

For Seraphic Smitebringers:

Divine Retributors: Great, luminous hammers that echo like thunder with each strike.

Judgment Hammers: Mighty war hammers, adorned with gold and silver, representing fair judgment.

For Celestial Swiftwings:

Heavenly Katanas: Long, slender swords that slice through enemies with speed and grace.

Windscythes: Light and sharp sickles that harness the power of the wind.

For Ethereal Vanguard:

Astral Lances: Spears made of stardust, effective at both near and far range.

Balance Blades: Two-sided blades that offer the perfect balance of power and speed.

The exterminators don't leave their weapons in hell as in the canonü (1. they don't leave a weapon in hell that can kill them 2. the weapons of the exterminators are made in a customized way, they have a spiritual value. 3 even if they leave it, nothing much changes, a sinner cannot touch it)

Carmilla is an arms dealer again. (Like Tony did before he became Iron Man), she is a weapon merchant, her power comes from the quality and uniqueness of the weapons she made in this AU, not from angelic weapons. she is still a 2nd place overlord, after all, Pride Ring is a battlefield and a battlefield needs weapons

+ Carmilla has destroyed all of her rivals, no one else in Pride Ring can enter the weapon trade because they are destroyed directly by Carmilla. so Carmilla's power is still the same, nothing has changed in the level.

I wish you a good day too

and I have no idea about sir pentious right now.

[unboundwanderers]

               Her words echoed into him like a song in his mind. He looked right into her when she spoke, being turned to meet her eyes. For the longest moment, he simply could not turn away- almost as if he was locked into that expression. A single, unblinking moment. To the point where he felt something slipping. While he could not keep his eyes on her, he did not remove himself from her toughness. A good man? Through and through? He questioned it himself for a long moment. He had the strength to fight, but not the strength to fight her.

               He thought long about his first moments with this face, when he first REALLY looked at her. He couldn't bring himself to study the features of his face because of the shame of what he was going to have to do. What kind of person he was going to have to be, through and through. There was chaos, fire, and rage spreading throughout the universe- spreading throughout time. He had essentially consumed the man who'd promised to show her the universe and ripped himself out from the shell of that person, only to drag her into one of the bloodied conflicts in the universe. How could he think himself a good man, despite that? How could she?

               He leans into her touch, and unbeknownst to him- but very clear to her, there are tears streaming down his face. He still has that same contemplative, cold, distant look on his face. The same face he has, but there are tears streaming down his eyes. He can hear his heart pounding in his chest, and eventually, he lets out the smallest of shudders. His eyes meet hers again, and they're heavy- because he feels so much weight suddenly on his shoulders and on his mind... so much tension in his body and his muscles. He looks up at her and when she finally makes a jest about being equally attractive, he lets out the smallest of chuckles. "Absolutely." He can barely keep his focus straight.

               It's unfair of him to keep her here. He feels always as if he's holding her hostage. He's heard bits and pieces about her life before, about Deux, about the man who slaughtered her people. He sees that in The Dalek Emperor, in The Time Strategist- In Davros. The fear of Someone capable of destroying, the fear of the tiniest piece of pressure breaking the seal- unleashing the virus... setting themselves up above The Gods. It made him shudder, made him breathe heavily. So when she talked about Deux, he understood the feeling- but he would kick himself always. For if it were not Deux that destroyed The Celestials, it could've easily been The Daleks... or even The Timelords. So now, having her at his side- fighting forces just as capable of destroying her people- it made him sick. He hated that she was going through this too.

               If you could go home, would you? Was ALWAYS a question he asked, and posed, and always he would receive the same answer. She wanted to be here, with him. As the days of The War grew more and more intense, The Doctor found himself wondering if that was a rational decision- or an emotional one. When the day came when he'd have to let her go? Would she go willingly? Or would he have to push her? He sucked in a sharp breath, pushing the thought from his mind. One day, This War will end... and perhaps he'll find another use for this face aside from being a warrior. He wants to go back to the way things were before, he wants to travel with her. He wants to show her the stars, and he hopes that one day... he will be able to do that, again.

               He sets the equipment that he's working on down, turning toward her and resting on his knees. He simply communicated all he had to say by pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. However, he eventually broke away and moved to look down at his stash of modified weapons,

"Now! We should... really think about getting you a gun, Lumine."

Lumine could not help but to roll her eyes at him, head shaking from side to side, causing the long pieces of her hair to twirl around her. "It's okay, I shall carry on the burden of being the more attractive of the two of us," she stated with exaggerated woe, head even flinging back with a hand pressed to her chest. But the dramatics were quickly dropped with a small laugh that filled the air of the many rooms they occupied.

Once more settling on her hands, she tilted her head at him, admiring the softness of his features. It was rare for him, to seem so relaxed and at peace. A damn shame, she couldn't help but think to herself. Perhaps it was her age cropping up, but it saddened her that War's memories ( at least from her understanding ) weren't always like this. This moment they shared, right here and right now. Even she, who was thousands of years old by now, has had a sprinkle of happiness here and a dash of warmth there—mixed into a massive batch of trauma and survivor's guilt. But at least she had them to think back on when she felt her spirit wavering. Her resolve crumbling.

Because it didn't matter how many lives he's been through. What matters are the memories he was creating now, and so far, it was mostly filled with war and tragedies.

Which was why she wanted to fill the time in between with more moments like this.

It seemed like it was her turn to be lost in thought, so much so she almost missed his joke. Almost. "They do, actually. For some reason, people can't seem to believe I am of age, no matter what world I go to." A scoff.

Though, as he shifted to face her, she met his gaze and smiled quietly. Her hand reached out, cupping his cheek for a moment as if trying to observe him—as if she hadn't done so many times before, and will continue to do so many times til.

"What type of man are you? For one: I think you're a good person, no matter what you may think," she started off, expression becoming stern before he could even think to try and argue, "and that you're exactly who I'd want to have by my side. I wouldn't fight with you if not, you know. A man with too much compassion, in a world incapable of understanding the complexity of it and how far it can go."

She understood he had been dealt with a dirty and unfair hand. She's seen it first hand with her own eyes. It was one thing to become a warrior, but another to be forced as one—and that was his cross to bare, but not one he will have to carry alone.

"And I suppose I was wrong when I said I'll have to burden the role of the attractive one. I think we're pretty evenly matched," she mused out with a sweep of her thumb before pulling her hand back.

[gladdygirl18]

To Get the Boar to Sleep

Here is my part 2 of this incredible fic written by the equally incredible if not more so @giggly-squiggily! Your fic was so cute, I had to write a part 2 to it! Enjoy!

Summary: After constant nights of dragging His Majesty back to bed, Felix gets fed up with doing this almost every night. So, to make sure Dimitri stays put, Felix comes up with way to get His Majesty to sleep.

Word Count: 1569

Even in the middle of a war, you can always find room to breathe; however, after constant nights of hauling His Majesty’s exhausted butt to bed when his mind and body wandered, Felix was sure he was going to pass out if he had to carry Dimitri one more time. Still, it was worth it if it meant his friend was getting some sleep.

However, on this fateful night, Felix was finally fed up with Dimitri’s “wandering mind and body.” The silver moon glittered against the navy sky with stars dancing around it, shining just as bright as the lunar sun. The Shield of Faerghus had found His Majesty near the stables, admiring the sleeping stallions. The moon shined down on him like a silver spotlight, making his armor shimmer in the luminous light. The young duke groaned before walking up to his restless friend.

“Dimitri.” Felix called out.

The young king turned around and smiled when he saw his right-hand man.

“Oh, Felix. It’s just you,” Dimitri said.

“Of course, it’s me, boar,” Felix jeered, “Who else would be up this late to haul your butt to bed?”

Dimitri sighed as he averted his shield’s gaze.

“I… am sorry,” Dimitri said, “My mind just-”

“Wanders,” Felix finished as he leaned against the wooden fence, “I know.”

Dimitri smiled softly as he copied his friend’s posture, grateful to have someone like Felix understand his feelings.

“So, what brought you here this time?” Felix suddenly asked, “The last time I found you, you were at the training grounds, reminiscing about the times you, me, and Glenn used to train.”

“It is for a similar reason,” Dimitri chuckled, glancing at the sleeping horses, “Remember all the times you, me, and Glenn used to ride horses through every valley across Faerghus?”

Felix chuckled and nodded softly.

"How could I forget?” Felix asked, “You would always want to race.”

“Ridiculous!” Dimitri spat, “If I recall, you were always the one who would want to race, not I.”

Felix rolled his eyes as he straightened his posture.

“Whatever,” he said, “Come on, boar; it’s getting late. I want you to sleep so I can sleep.”

Dimitri sighed as he straightened his posture, nodding to his kingdom’s shield.

“Yes, perhaps that would be best.” Dimitri said.

Before Dimitri could take a step, Felix picked up his king in a bridal style.

“I don’t fully trust you yet to walk back to your quarters on your own,” Felix said, “You’ll probably wander off somewhere else. This time, I have a plan to help you fall asleep and to keep you from wandering,”

“Oh? And what might this plan be?” Dimitri asked.

“You’ll see…”

After hauling His Majesty to his private quarters, Felix set Dimitri on the ground and helped him out of his armor. Soon, the young king was reduced to a black long-sleeve shirt and pants.

“So, how will you help me fall asleep and ensure I won’t wander again?” Dimitri asked, genuinely curious as he sat on his bed.

Felix scoffed before removing his cape and gloves. He tossed them to the side as he walked up to his king.

“U-Uhm, Felix?” Dimitri began, “What’s with that look on your face?”

Felix’s face had a sinister smirk with a dark shadow cast over his eyes.

“I’ve grown tired of constantly hauling your royal butt to bed almost every night,” Felix growled, pushing Dimitri onto his back, “But now, I’m going to make sure you stay in bed and stay asleep.”

The young duke straddled his king and stared into his sky-blue eyes. Dimitri sank into the mattress, shifting under his kingdom’s shield’s gaze.

“W-What are you gonna do to me?” Dimitri asked, panic clear in his eyes.

Felix’s grin couldn’t get more sinister.

“Payback…” he growled.

Then, the young duke started digging his fingers into Dimitri’s sides, causing the young king to flinch hard at the sudden touch.

“F-Felihihix! This is absuhuhuhurd!” Dimitri giggled.

“Oh?” Felix questioned, “Was it absurd to do this to me a couple of nights ago?”

Dimitri giggled softly as his friend tickled his sides. The young king tried to latch onto his friend’s wrists, but Felix quickly moved his hands behind him and started squeezing the young king’s knees. The sudden touch made Dimitri yelp and kick out his legs.

“No, nohohoho!” Dimitri cried, “Felihihihihix! Cehehehease this at ohohohonce!”

“Sorry, Your Majesty, no can do,” Felix said, “I’m not stopping until you’re so tuckered out that you won’t even have the energy to wander around the camp.”

Dimitri growled through his giggles, trying to kick away Felix’s hands from squeezing his kneecaps.

“Enohohohough! Hahahahaha!” Dimitri giggled, “Felix, stohohohohop!”

“Yeah, it’s going to take Dedue to stop me by the time I’m through with you.” Felix deadpanned.

The young duke grinned before skittering his fingers back up Dimitri’s ribs, causing the young king to throw his head back and let out deep, handsome giggles.

“Felihihihihix! Nahahaha!” Dimitri cried, “I-It tihihihihikles! Hahahahahehehe!”

“That’s the point, boar,” Felix said as he rolled his crimson eyes, “You’d know what would happen if the others found out if I beat you to a pulp.”

Dimitri’s giggles escalated in volume as he heard Felix’s joke.

“Felix, plehehehehase!” Dimitri begged, “Make it stohohohop!”

“Only if you promise and apologize to stop wandering around the camp for hours on end and making me have to lug your royal butt to bed every night,” Felix said, “Oh, and you’ll have to promise to sleep more as well. Do that, and I’ll stop. Does that sound fair to you, boar?”

When Dimitri didn’t respond, Felix groaned and shoved his hands under his friend’s arms. Handsome belly laughs spilled from the king's lips.

“NOT THEHEHEHEHERE!” Dimitri laughed, kicking out his legs, “FELIHIHIHIHIHIHIX! AAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“I’m surprised you’re still ticklish here, Dimitri,” Felix mused, “Actually, I’m surprised you’re still ticklish in general. And here I thought you’d grown out of it by now.”

“YOU’RE ONE TO TAHAHAHAHALK!”

Felix scoffed at His Majesty’s sass and started clawing at Dimitri’s armpits through the thin material. Dimitri threw his head back and let out a cackle as he tried to latch onto Felix’s wrists.

“FELIHIHIHIHIHIX! NAHAHAHAAA!” Dimitri cackled, “G-GET OHOHOHOUT! HEHEHEHAHAHA!”

“Not until you promise and apologize,” Felix said, “Until then, accept your fate, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri twisted and turned underneath his friend, laughing his head off. His legs flailed behind the young duke, ignoring the constant kneeing his back was receiving.

“Knee me in the back again, and I’ll make this a thousand times worse.” Felix warned over his friend’s laughter.

Dimitri growled through his laughter as he tried not to kick Felix, not wanting the tickling to get any worse than it already was.

“F-FEHEHEHEHELIHIHIHIHIX, PLEHEHEHEEEASE!” Dimitri begged, “MAKE IT STAHAHAHAP! IT TIHIHICKLEHEHEHES SO BAHAHAHAD!”

“Do you promise to stop wandering around for hours on end?” Felix asked.

“YEHEHEHES, I PROMIHIHISE!”

“Will you finally get some sleep?”

“YES, I SWEHEHEHEAR! HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Are you sorry for making me carry you every night?”

Felix could’ve sworn he saw Dimitri’s smile grow wider at his question. The young duke growled before clawing at the space between Dimitri’s top rib and armpits, causing the young king to yelp.

“OKAY, OKAHAHAHAHAY!” Dimitri laughed, “I’M SOHOHOHORRY! I JUST WANTED TO SPEHEHEHEHEND TIME WITH YOHOHOHOHOU! HAHAHAHAHAHAAA!”

When Felix heard this, he immediately stopped, leaving the young king breathless.

“Y-You what?” Felix asked.

“I-Ihihi just wanted to spehehend time with yohohu,” Dimitri panted, “W-We’re always working throughout the dahahay, and the best way to meheheet with you is at nihihight.”

Felix felt his heart swell with happiness.

“Is that why you’re always wandering at night?” Felix asked.

“Mostly,” Dimitri answered, “I do think about the past before… it happened; times like these when it was just you and me.”

Felix didn’t need to ask what “it” was; he knew perfectly well what his king was implying.

“And Glenn?” Felix asked.

Dimitri smiled and nodded at his friend. Felix grinned before ruffling his king’s golden-blonde hair. Dimitri giggled and playfully swatted away his friend’s hand.

“Alright, time for you to get some sleep,” Felix said, climbing off his king, “I better not find you up and wandering around the camp, or I’ll have to tire you out again.”

The young duke grinned as he wiggled his fingers toward his king, chuckling when Dimitri flinched.

“I will try and get some sleep,” Dimitri said, “For my sake.”

Felix chuckled before picking up his cape and gloves. After slipping on his gloves and cape, Felix made his way out of his king’s private quarters.

“Goodnight, Felix.” Dimitri said sweetly.

Felix stopped and glanced at his friend.

“Yeah,” Felix said with a smile, “Goodnight, Dimitri.”

The young duke left Dimitri’s quarters and slipped into the night. Dimitri watched his right-hand man walk away with a soft smile, chuckling at the ghost tickles that still lingered. If Felix is a man of his word, maybe Dimitri would wander the camp late at night again, but not tonight. Getting tickled death by the young duke definitely exhausted him.

When Dimitri’s blue eyes closed, a warm smile spread across his face as he dreamt of him, Felix, and Glenn having tickle fights with each other when they were younger. Though the death of Glenn will always be a heavy burden on the young king’s heart, he was lucky enough to have one of the Fraldarius brothers still around.

[butwhyduh]

Night Swim

Garth of Shayeris/Tempest x batsis!reader

Summary: pinning over him. I know like 7 people will read it but he’s too cute. Canon has no home here and timelines don’t matter.

Warning: dash of innuendos.

The apprentice of a justice league member that went on his own. That could describe almost all of your brothers but it also described the beautiful man standing before you. That currently didn’t even notice you were staring at him puppy dog eyed.

“So, are you ever going to do anything about it or just stare at him until he jumps back in the sea again,” Kori said beside you. You jumped and gave her a look. “Noise cancelling glass. He can’t hear us and no one is looking over here,” she reassured you.

“That obvious,” you asked turning to face her. She nodded with a little smile. Of course she thought it was cute. She had told Dick the first time she knew she was attracted to him. That’s how she was raised. No fear of rejection or shame in sexual attraction. You were raised by batman and had a healthy dose of both.

“There’s not like it would do any good. He’s never given me a second thought and I don’t even think he likes surface walkers anyways,” you deflected. She snorted.

“He dated Donna.”

“That shouldn’t count. She’s Themyscirian. They’re like perfect,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know. I find Dick very appealing and he is human. Is his powers what attracts you to him?” She asked leaning on a desk. Her long curly red hair flowed over her shoulder in a way that only Kori could.

“No, of course not. I mean, they’re cool for sure. But it’s.. he’s nice and honorable and funny,” you said and she grinned almost proudly.

“And you can be nice and honorable and funny without any meta powers. Don’t put yourself down. And if you need help..” she started.

“No no no. No wing woman,” you said quickly.

“What do you need a wing woman for?” Dick asked behind you. Your eyes widened before you turned around.

“Nothing. Just some guy from college. That I don’t like,” you said in possibly the worst lie of your life. Dick narrowed his eyes at you.

“I can tell you’re lying but if I don’t know the truth, I can’t lie to Bruce about what you’re doing so don’t tell me,” Dick said. Wally, Donna, and Garth walked in the room.

“Wait, did I hear that Nightwing’s little sister is seeing someone? Is he ready to die,” Wally laughed clapping Dick on the shoulder.

“I’m not having this conversation,” you squeaked out before squeezing between the heroes, feeling yourself far too close to Garth for just a moment. Thank goodness M’gann wasn’t there to read your thoughts or feelings. Kori stayed mum on the subject and concentrated on the mission that Dick was prepping the team for.

You didn’t go on missions now. An injury that put an end to that. You just couldn’t maintain the level a vigilante needed. Sometimes you’d help with the computers but mainly you worked at Wayne Enterprise with Tim. You were just visiting on this trip and wasn’t involved in the mission.

“Wish us luck,” Kori said giving you a hug. You couldn’t help but watch Garth in his new blue suit that fit perfectly as the rest of the team walked by.

“Woah,” you said barely above silent but Kori hugging you caught it all and giggled quietly. You flushed and tried to stutter out some excuse.

“He is very handsome. Wish him luck,” she whispered in your ear. You made a little noise to disagree and she simply grinned at you while walking away.

“What was that,” Dick asked, suspicious.

“Nothing, just a joke. Good luck. Be safe,” you said to him and Dick didn’t argue but definitely didn’t believe you before joining his team.

As they left, your mind wandered to the first time you met Garth. It was a mission in a warehouse fire that had homeless people camping out on the second story. You walked carefully to the back office through dense fog with flames threatening any moment to see if there was anyone in there. The fire was getting really close and it was kinda dicey. But it was your first job away from Gotham and you were 14 and you felt the need to prove yourself.

You entered the room bent low with smoke overhead. You saw something move in the back of the room and you made your way towards it. But just as you crossed to the back half of the room, part of the ceiling collapsed, trapping you in the room and knocking you to the floor. You jumped back against the wall. There wasn’t a window and the movement? A toy.

You shrank against the wall and pushed your panic button. The fire was hot and you cursed wearing shorts. “Shit,” you breathed as it started moving closer. The air was starting to get thick. The flames jumped and you pressed against the wall with your eyes covered, expecting flames to hit you.

But instead you felt cool wet air and you opened your eyes to see water surrounding you. It appeared to float in air and you reached a hand out to touch it, confused. As soon as you felt the tips of your fingers dampened, the water crashed to the floor causing you to jump.

In there place was a teenage boy only a few years older than you, grinning. You stared at him in silence. He had just saved your life.

“Did you- how did you-“ you stuttered and his smile grew even wider.

“Aqualad, at your service. You wanna leave before it crashes on us?” He said and you took a step to wince in pain. Oh yeah, when you jumped you twisted your ankle. Your plan, like all the other bats, was to suck it up and hobble out. But Garth had other plans and he quickly scooped you up bridal style as soon as he noticed you couldn’t walk.

“Just hold on. I’ll carry you,” he said walked down the charred stairs carefully. You couldn’t take your eyes off his handsome face the whole time. Your heart pounded and your lack of experience with dating or liking anyone had you completely dumbfounded. “You can let go,” he said with a little smile.

You were out of the warehouse clinging to him past the time necessary and quickly moved away from him, feeling your skin flush. Dick gave you a look over before give Garth with a look you couldn’t recognize.

——————————————

“She’s catatonic, Bro.”

“Feed her something.”

“Wally, food isn’t always the answer,” Dick said giving your shoulder a shake. You jumped and knocked over a glass of water.

“Sorry!” You yelped reaching over to grab a towel.

“I’ve got it,” Garth said and with a flick of his wrist the water started to pour in the sink rather than off the counter. As you watched the water jumped before flowing down the drain. You laughed a little and looked up to see Garth grinning at you. Dick stared suspiciously at you both before being pulled somewhere by another Titan.

“So was the mission okay?” You asked, not knowing what to say. Your crush was more ‘stare across the room’ rather than do anything about it.

“It went well,” he answered grabbing a water bottle and chugging it. You tried not to stare.

“Cool suit,” you said and immediately felt stupid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Thanks,” he said without adding anything else, leaving an awkward air to hang.

“Damn, you might be from the sea but are soo dry, Garth,” Roy said clapping him on the back on his way to his room. Garth looked at you confused.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been land side. Is being dry an insult now?” He asked.

“I mean, kinda. It just means boring,” you answered with a shrug. “You know Roy.”

“But you are dry. I mean, you live on land. Not that you’re boring,” he said with an awkward laugh. You smiled back at him before taking a sip of your drink nervously. “Does that mean you want to be wet?”

You coughed as you choked on the liquid. He tapped you on the back. “You okay?” He asked concerned. Donna walked by with a raised eyebrow but said nothing.

“I’m fine. No, that’s not how that works. It’s just we aren’t really dry. We’re like 80 percent water. Dry means like sand or something. Too dry,” you said and he nodded humoring you.

“It seems pretty dry here,” he said playfully.

“I can knock over more glasses. Get this place all wet again,” you quipped.

“Tempting. Or you can go swimming with me,” he answered back.

“Haha or I could- what? It’s nighttime,” you answered. “And doesn’t that do something to the currents or something?”

He gave you a dry look. “The currents come in at night? Yep. You’d be the safest person in the water swimming with me. I could navigate night swimming as a squirt. Come with?” Garth asked.

“I-“ you stared before mumbling.

“You what? I didn’t hear the last part,” he said.

“I... can’t swim,” you said and he stared at you and you felt like sliding under the counter and through the floor. Then Garth’s lips curled into a smile and he laughed a little. You looked down awkwardly.

“Oh you’re serious?”

“Yeah...”

“I’m sorry. I forget that swimming is learned skill here. I apologize,” he started.

“It’s okay. Really,” you insisted.

“Come with me. We’ll stay shallow,” he offered. You looked at him before nodding.

“This is a bad idea but let’s go,” you said pulling him along. Garth laughed as you pulled him out the back door towards the beach. “I forgot a bathing suit,” you admitted.

“I guess you could go insi-“ he trailed off as you pulled your shirt off and shorts to swim in your underwear and bra. He quickly looked away as you ran in the water to your waist.

“Coming in? Can’t believe I have to ask, merman” you said and he pulled off his shirt to quickly join you. You splashed him with water which quickly turned into a splashing war.

“Okay, you win!” You yelped as he bombarded you with water. He splashed you one last time and you turned away. Garth grabbed you by the waist as a wave splashed over you. You simply watched each other for a moment. You noticed your feet didn’t touch the ground anymore. You clung to him.

“I can’t touch,” you said a little panicky. He held on to you.

“Don’t worry. I’m right here. I won’t let you drown. It’s my job, remember?” Garth smiled. “Look around. Look at the moon.”

You looked up to see the luminous globe hanging above the sea. It lit a silvery path through the water, highlighting waves crashing. The beach seemed far away. The only sounds were the sea and a few night birds as well as Garth’s breath from being so close. You looked back at him and almost froze. He was gorgeous. The water truly was his element. His dark hair curled in the water and the moon glow highlighted his nose and collarbones. His purple eyes looked almost black in the darkness but the way he looked at you said a ton.

He looked down at your lips and you couldn’t help but lick them, tasting salt water. Garth bent a little and you turned your head up to touch lips softly. His arms wrapped closer around you as you kissed. Garth easily kept you above the water. Your brain was broken. You were kissing Garth, who you’ve had a crush on for a long time.

Suddenly water splashed over your head as a wave crashed on you both. You leaned away with a cough as water invaded your mouth and nose. Your eyes stung and watered a little.

“Sorry, I forgot to pay attention,” Garth admitted sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” you said with only a little cough. “Can we?”

“Get you on land? Yeah. You’re getting cold anyways,” Garth said before swimming towards the shore. It wasn’t a rough choppy swim the way people did. He seemed to simply glide through the water gracefully. So beautifully. Which was broken when he fell over on the beach.

“You’re the most graceful swimmer and trip on your feet when you hit ground,” you said with a laugh as you attempted to help him up. He was far too heavy to lift but appreciated the effort.

“Atlantean,” he shrugged. “Don’t make fun of me too much. You can’t even swim.”

“Yeah? You wanna take a dip in Gotham Harbor?” You asked and he laughed.

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to get some unknown cancer from whatever pollution they have. Or whatever rouge is living there,” he added.

“That’s why I can’t swim,” you answered. It really was cool in the wind and you quickly pulled on your clothing.

“But doesn’t batman have like multiple pools?”

“Yeah but I never used them. I was 15 when he took me in. Too old to learn,” you shrugged.

“You’re never to old to learn to swim. It’s important for safety,” Garth said. “Especially here,” he motioned at the beach.

“Especially if I keep kissing Tempest in the water?” You quipped.

“That’s just a bonus,” he said pulling you close by the hips. You grinned up at him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

And a spotlight shined glaringly at you both. You covered your eyes and looked away.

“Come inside,” boomed the voice of your brother. “Now.”

And that’s how you got a 20 minute lectures on the danger of night swimming and risk of hypothermia and Garth got the shovel talk. But despite the fact that Dick was really angry, you didn’t regret a thing and went to bed with wet hair and smile on your face.

[saphronethaleph]

So I did a fic version of this.

Mace Windu panted, the Force fizzing through his veins, then focused his mind and will and brought everything about the fight together.

Inhaled, and felt all the tension and grief and loss, all the triumph and energy, that had fuelled the most intense fight of his life.

Exhaled, and let it go into the Force.

Any battle in Vapaad was a dance on the razor’s edge, and this had been far more of that than normal.

“Thank you,” he said, turning to the man in the office with him.

“My pleasure,” Luke replied, with a respectful nod, and Mace took the opportunity to study the young man.

Really, study him, for what felt like the first time.

Luke had turned up months ago, true enough, and he’d been… an oddity. A peculiarity. He had the skills that he could have asked for the position of Master and probably been given it without question, at least as far as proficiency went, but that had manifested in a casual, unconscious control of the Force such that it had acted at his bidding without any need to force it.

He’d certainly turned out to be able to demonstrate some things that he disparagingly called ‘little tricks’, either not knowing or not caring that they were beyond most Knights, and yet other things had amazed him.

It had been a puzzle just for that, and there’d been whispers that he was a member of one of the minor Orders – a Jedi from out on the Outer Rim, trained in a completely different tradition than the one from the Coruscant temple.

Then there had been his attitude. He’d wandered almost aimlessly around the Jedi Temple helping people out, in between looking things up in the library and marvelling at how much knowledge there was to be had, and when the topic of serving in the Grand Army of the Republic had come up he’d politely but firmly declined.

It had been like a breath of fresh spring air, a balm, reminding the Order as a whole of a time before the war that had consumed so many Jedi – young and old alike – and so nobody had pushed too hard.

A pacifist Jedi had fit into the idea of a member of an order from a completely different tradition, after all… and his complete lack of regard for any sort of authority had done much the same.

His philosophy had come up, of course, and what had interested Mace and Yoda – then and when they’d talked about this unusual Jedi afterwards – was that it was… simplified.

It had none of the intricacies and careful thought put into it of the modern Jedi code. It also lacked the restrictions, and indeed Luke had been quite surprised when he heard about the restrictions on attachments, but Luke’s philosophy was purified down to a simple, profound set of insights.

Mace had tried not to laugh the first time Luke had calmly, politely told him that humans weren’t made of flesh at all, but were luminous beings of spirit and that the crude matter was just a temporary fixture that could be ignored if you knew it was all more illusion than reality. It had sounded like nonsense.

And yet, the more Mace had thought about it, the more it had sounded… not true, but like it was something important. Something deep. Something at the heart of the Jedi Order’s teachings, in truth, just that that reality had been hidden under everything else.

It was just hard to recognize that from someone whose preferred form of meditation was to do a handstand, or who talked radical politics with Senator Organa with great delight, or who found endless amusement in something as simple as a shower.

So Mace had thought of Luke as… an odd person, but part of the great variations of the Force. And perhaps the kind of person the Jedi Order would need, once the war was over, to show them how to live in peace again.

Then had come the battle against the Chancellor. Chancellor Palpatine, the wily old politician, who had turned out to be a Sith Lord right at the cusp of a plan that must have been a thousand years in the making. Four Jedi Masters had come to his office to arrest him, and three of them had died in as many seconds, and alone Mace had been hard pressed.

Then Luke had come into the office, and he had fought like nothing Mace had ever seen before.

He didn’t use one of the traditional forms. He didn’t use anything so refined as a form at all, really. He just… moved his lightsaber to where his enemy was going to be, smooth as buttersilk, and he never did anything the same way twice.

“I have… questions,” Mace added, and Luke smiled in a self-deprecating sort of way.

“I’m not surprised,” the other Jedi said. “I know people have been wondering about me since I arrived…”

“You said you were from the Outer Rim,” Mace noted.

“And that’s true,” Luke agreed. “But… not complete.”

He spun his lightsaber around, and Mace’s eyes tracked it. It was definitely handmade, he’d known that for a while, but this was the first time he’d felt the crystals while they were energized. And they were… artificial, he thought.

Something else unusual.

“What I didn’t say is when I was born,” Luke added. “I travelled in time to be here, and that’s the truth.”

It was. Mace could feel that without trying. The fact that Luke had spoken truth, without question, hung in the air between them as a silent verification of what the mysterious Jedi had told him.

“That explains a few things,” Mace admitted. “So. From how far back?”

Luke stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

Mace felt confused, and a little bit aggrieved.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, after a moment. “But you got the direction the wrong way around. I’m from the future, not the past.”

“You are?” Mace replied, thinking.

It didn’t seem impossible, as he turned it over in his head.

“How far?” he asked.

“About thirty years,” Luke told him. “I actually came back to stop Palpatine… eventually.”

“This must be because of Kenobi’s student,” Mace decided. “I knew that Skywalker boy would lead to a complete upheaval of the Jedi ranks, one way or another.”

Luke inclined his head a little.

“Well,” he said. “Yes, and also no…”

in fics where luke gets plopped into the prequels i want every jedi within ten metres of him to think hes the weirdest jedi theyve ever seen. he has negative lightsaber form. he doesnt know what a kata is. he handstands when he meditates. his solution to sith is to try and have a chat. hes a political radical who keeps suggesting revolution. you ask him what the jedi code is and he says "kindness and compassion and helping those in need :) ". you ask how he used the force like that and he says some shit about how you are a luminous being limited only by your mind. the councils authority is just a suggestion. he is somehow the new favourite of both qui gon and yoda

[cinnamonest]

I've discussed slut Lumine and Consequences™ before and I've somewhat discussed slut Mona briefly before, and the imperative of Kokomi being nonconned but... Slut!Kokomi though. Let me tell you.

Her family name isn't enough to earn her that high ranking spot, maybe she could have been a high rank, but to be in her exact position she needed a bit more than that. And, well, it certainly... Wasn't her ah... Combat capabilities (or lack thereof) that people chose her for. No, no, Kokomi got to her position the classic way -- sucking and riding her way to the top.

Kokomi has a body count rivaling the most prolific of serial killers. Kokomi literally does not know how many guys she's fucked before, she lost count after a hundred or so. She has, at some point, slept with literally every man in the resistance, at least twice.

The older, more important dudes... eh, she can get what she wants, a lot of them will agree to anything when they're in that post-orgasm state, all zoned out and tired. But she doesn't like dealing with them too much, they're a little more clever, they know what she's doing, they see through her with ease. She can't have that. No, she much prefers using her tactics and strategies (you know, the ones for guys, not the ones for war) on the young, subordinate boys that make up the bulk of the movement.

A lot of the young boys that come into the resistance movement idolize her. So when she gives them the slightest bit of attention, they do anything she wants. They're too naive to realize that they're just one out of twenty or so current flings (all of them for practical goals, none out of actually liking them) she has going at any given time. She comes up to them with that sweet face and voice and they can barely even hear what she's saying, their horny teen boy brains are consumed with "!!!!" because!!! Her Excellency is talking! To him! Directly! She's looking at him!!!

They don't even stop to consider how dangerous the favor she's asking for is, not when she smiles and covers her mouth with her sleeve in that cute little gesture. No, they do it without a thought, bodies on autopilot in an adrenaline and testosterone high, weak in the knees and stumbling around in a spaced out haze as they replay the part where she said she'd have a reward for them and gave a little wink, over and over in their head.

They're still sputtering out love and praise and worship while she finally pulls them into her room and lays back, loops her legs around their waist while they fuck her, cups their sweet face and murmurs that they're so cute and sweet. What a handsome boy, she says, and pulls off that little girly giggle, the one she's practiced to perfection by now, the one that makes boys shiver when they hear it. It has the intended effect -- their soul practically leaves their body and they cum within seconds. Which is what she wants -- the sooner she gets this part over with the better, ugh... But that sentiment would never, ever show even in the slightest on her face or in her voice.

And they're so naive, they believe excuses. Well, she stopped coming to them so much because she's busy with her role. She'll come back to pay attention to him again eventually. And she truly will -- she kinda... Rotates. She only has so much time and pussy to go around, so she has to balance which boys get it this week to keep them in the palm of her hand where she likes them.

Those older dudes she originally wormed her way above, now don't dare challenge her. She has more or less an army of white knights ready to defend her viciously should she just shrink back, quiver her lip and sniffle a bit -- that's all it takes to get them to come rushing to her defense. She's untouchable. When she makes mistakes, her strategies result in failure, again, they rush to her defense. Even the best leaders make mistakes, right? It's not her fault.

The thing about her though is she goes to great effort to keep up the ~pure~ appeal. I mean, look at her. That cutesy demeanor and high voice. She goes to great lengths to present as a sweetheart, pure type. She doesn't outright lie, she just... Implies some non-truths. Says things like "oh, is this how you do it...?" as she pumps cocks and rides, acting as if it's something foreign to her and not a practiced specialty. Puts on wide shocked eyes and makes surprised little noises as if this is the first cock she's been fucked by in her life, and not the seventh one in the past 5 hours. Says "don't tell anyone about us..." and acts as if the reason is she doesn't want everyone to know she has a boy she fucks because it would cause a scandal if she was sleeping with someone... and not that the real reason is she doesn't want them finding out she's doing it for *all* of them.

When Kokomi steps away from the crowd or soldiers or guests and gets behind closed doors, her voice drops like 2 decibels, her face falls to a resting bitch face or a scowl. It's all an act, the cutesy princess appeal. It's a lot of effort, keeping it up all the time. She hides behind the door and pretends she's not there when some of the more desperate, oblivious boys come searching for her, calling out to her because they want more. She's mastered the art of making sure no one knows where she is, so she can get a moment of peace and quiet.

She needs to go to these lengths. She knows that the thread she clings to is a fragile one. That if they started actually using their brains, they might start thinking about how tiny and weak she is, how the only thing keeping her in power above them, the only thing allowing her to be where she is, is them themselves. They might get ideas. She can't have that. And gods forbid they find out the truth, and get mad, or turn on each other... Or gang up on her. The thought makes her shiver.

It would be such a shame if one of said extra-devoted worshippers happened to follow her... She knows some of them get a little creepy, so she always looks over her shoulder, but sometimes feels like there's... Eyes on her. She blows it off as paranoia. She's just a little paranoid because, well, it *would* be rather bad if someone were to follow her around and find out about her... Habits. But she reasons that none of them are quite that devoted.... Right...?

When her worst nightmare comes true and they do gang up on her, she doesn't do the humble thing, she doesn't bow her head and accept the consequences, no. She stammers and makes excuses, keeps up the sweet little act, tells them I'm sure there's a misunderstanding, let's just all calm down and talk together, okay? And puts on her sweet smile... But it's not working. They don't look happy. Her voice wavers and she stutters, she takes a few steps back before her back hits the wall. And she decides to bolt... but when she looks to her left and her right, she realizes she's already surrounded on all sides, and she's left to just slowly shrink back, quivering and her smile twitching, nervously questioning ah, you guys....? before she finally gets grabbed by the wrist and dragged away, squealing and pleading, but no amount of begging is going to help now.

[north-peach]

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a study in contradictions. 

Ever the diplomat, always with a witty retort. A sharp eye and a mind like a durasteel trap, the man that will not disappoint you even with all the responsibilities on his shoulders.

The Sith Slayer, the Perfect Jedi, the Jedi who raised Anakin Skywalker.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is fire in all shapes of reds, golds, oranges, occasionally shifting to blues and whites. All that he is, a thousand living flames contained by glass. 

One could almost look through him, were it not for the sheer density of the fires that are his very self, but you cannot deny it looks like a human-shaped bottle of undying flames.

Smokes curls around his shoulders, forming a cloak made of the night sky, groups of stars clustered together in the shape of lilies. More often then not, they twinkle and glow against a backdrop of deep, royal blue.

Around his forearms, his feet and shins is armor- the design that looks suspiciously like Mandalorian. Very similar to the traditional pieces that are given to a newly initiated Mandalorian looking to marrying into their culture. But Obi-Wan Kenobi is neither married nor Mandalorian.

(for all that he is made of the colors of a setting sun, an awful lot of blue ends up shining bright through the darkness draped about him)

The sound of his voice, used in it’s full effects compels the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth from those who he demands it of.

How gifted this man, the Jedi. The diplomat who would always receive an entirely truthful answer to any questioned he asked, if he should demand it so.

Some people will look at Obi-Wan, in all his composure, all his grace, his dignity and the velvet tones of his voice and wonder why this man is a literal embodiment of fire, so destructive and comforting, chaotic and barely tamed even when used deliberately. 

Blue eyes will gleam in either form, hiding the depths of the rage, the hurt and the pain he carries within. All the words he doesn’t say, all the failures and were it not for the shroud of smoke covering his back, one would see the same whips marks as his padawan.

Were it not for the darkness that curls around his neck, one would see the same collar branded against his skin.

You shouldn’t mistake the illusion of fragility, the lie that Obi-Wan’s being is held together by the glass that makes up his form. He’s survived more horrors and more suffering then a great many people and barely a handful will look at him and ever know it.

He carries no visible weapon, but he doesn’t need it.

Since when hasn’t fire been it’s own weapon?

(people fail to realize why Obi-Wan looks like glass. Honestly, as if glass isn’t made from fire put to sand)

(art by @vandervoiz) couldn’t resist, here’s more, this time obi-wan

#star wars#obi wan kenobi#luminous verse#my art#once again i hope its ok#i know it does not look like glass at all i did try#and the mandalorian armor i am way sorry i just drew what he vaguely wore in clone wars i think#also u did mention the marks are not visible but mans glass so they are kind of there#thank u for the post the description is gorgeous but i kept having to check back to see if i was doing it right

hi yes im literally dying rn

or hyperventilating

both? maybe both

i literally have no words, just a long drawn out scream at like....2am.

(so sorry this took so long to get to me, it's been a hell of a month, but check back tomorrow for more content)

@wolfsrainrules

Luminous beings we are, not this crude matter

okay, yes, brilliant quote-

but.

But.

what if it was literal??

Anakin glows with the Force of twin suns, constantly burning and glistening gold, gold, gold - the color of endless grains of sand when the sun rises highest in the sky. He is adorned in a shendyt made of pale gold, tucked in around his waist with white cloth that shines like the hottest sun. His back is bare but for the black whip marks layered and layered upon themselves. His hands, his feet and his hair- all are stained black, dripping ichor onto the ground on which he stands. 

About his neck is a collar, gleaming with gems of blue and green, forming an abstract pattern of the sigil for the Jedi Order. Wrapped around his wrists are manacles that dim the light of his skin, and trail black smokes as he moves.  

His feet are bare, save for the darkness that stains them. He wields a staff that is a two sided blade, one that shines with the light of stars, the other the blackest corners of space. 

Anakin stands at 8ft tall, and should be desire to speak in his form, his voice is an accusation. Righteous fury howls from every word when he opens his mouth.

how dare you, how dare you, how dare you, how dare you, HOW DARE YOU

The thing about ‘not crude matter, but luminous beings’ is that you gotta know who you are. Anakin’s voice in his true form is an accusation, because he still sees himself as something of a slave. Not quiet free, only just barely. When he looks around and sees everyone who isn’t ’free’ and that is the Jedi because no family, no attachments, even though Master/Padawans are how the Order survives and how if you want to be a Jedi Knight and you cannot get one to train you, they stick you somewhere you will be useful, regardless if you wish to go or not.

Anakin knows all the deepest, darkest parts of him. Including the darkness in his head, in his thoughts, that stains his golden hair black, along with his hands, his feet. He sees himself as stained because he has done things he regrets, isn’t proud of and he’s used his hands to interact with people he considers filthy.

he’s only wearing white fabric folded and tucked around his wait, with his back bared with it’s black whip marks because ANAKIN WAS A SLAVE. 

He’s got bracers that look like manacles and five links on one side and four on the other (nine years, nine years and he was freed but he still calls someone Master) but-

if I end up writing this into an actual fic, all the credit to @fialleril- 

LEAVE HIS FEET BARE, because Ekkreth is The One Who Walks Free Skywalker and it’s very important to me to make this (IF I WRITE IT) fic into a thing that is Anakin being deeply, deeply into Tatooine Slave Culture, to such an extent, it literally shapes who he is.

Fluff things include a japor snippet that hangs about his neck from blue cord. The exact same shape of blue as in what Padme first wore when he met her and the same japor carving for luck, tucked neatly out of sight. Also the edges of his hair burns in oranges, in reds and a deep bronze because Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are always on his mind.

Anakin gets a few more titles (given to him by people he’s saved, from slaves and from people who title Jedi they manage to catch pictures of videos of in their true forms) and his being is on a deeper level then everyone else because as the Chosen One he’s both the Light and the Dark perfectly balanced.

(when he’s stable, I mean)

Son of Suns, of the Desert, (insert lots of Tatooine Slave Culture here that I haven’t though of yet since I probably won’t write this)

Anakin is of the Force, born in the desert from a mother who begged and pleaed for something. Force Things comes naturally to him, so while he cannot actually sit still and mediate and deliberately, through long contemplation and deliberation and practice take his luminous form- he absolutely can, throw himself down and take a breath and boom.

Gold and sunlight. 

It’s like taking off clothes and pulling better ones on. 

(maybe as a small child he spent a good year or two in this form wandering the desert while his physical body was kept in good health by the Force and Shmi just left him in safe-ish places because that woman knew what was up.

I haven’t actually decided if this should be a ‘you leave your crude matter and take up your luminous self’ kinda thing or ‘your crude matter transforms into your luminous self through use of the Force’.)

….anyway I don’t think I’ll actually write this- like maybe?- but I’ve got like five Jedi down and I am absolutely willing to do more.

….i should probably name this….. uhhh

Luminous Verse?

….eh, works for me.

Which one should I do next?

[unboundwanderers]

@kemikorosu whispered: ❝ my place is here. ❞ | The Walking Dead sentence starters / ACCEPTING

               HE WAS SURE THAT WAS WHAT HE'D HEARD HER SAY. The War Doctor rested his hands behind his back, overhearing the conversation between Lumine- and her brother, Aether. You see, they'd returned to Teyvat as The Daleks mounted a full-scale attack on the planet and attempted to rewrite its history. They used an object called 'The Moment', using Teyvat as a testing ground for a destructive weapon that could potentially end The Time War- however, Lumine's friend had been able to undo the damage, returning Teyvat to its primary state in history- as well as resurrect The Dead.

               However, Lumine's friend had watched The Celestial go through a lot, during this ordeal. If not for The Moment- a lot of her friends would be... well... gone, for good. Including her Brother. It was thanks to The War Doctor that she'd been able to get them back, but it'd also been thanks to them that they'd gotten into this mess in the first place. In The Tardis- he could hear the clicking of The Moment, and he chewed on the end of his thumb. In the back of his mind, he heard a whisper, "The Moment is Coming." He looked back toward The Tardis, and the wind howled... for a long moment. He looked back to Lumine, as she talked to her floating fairy- and her brother.

               THE MOMENT IS COMING. He echoed in his head and looked down at the ground for a moment, hands behind his back and hollow eyes staring out above the clouds, toward the stars that hung in the sky. For a moment, he looked out at the vastness of Teyvat- and its restored beauty. He saw, near the bottom of the hill where The Tardis sat- the cities and people's recovering from the attack. Even though time had essentially been reset, they were still helping each other after the devastating attack. When he looked up at the stars, he watched silently for a moment- but his eyes widened when he saw a star go out.

               He'd seen planets die time and time again, but this time- it felt... strange. It felt... Sadder, more impactful- because of the silence of it all. Somewhere, far away- No one had been able to help stop an attack like Lumine and Her Friend stopped this attack. He watched for a moment, looking down at the foot of the hill where Lumine spoke to her brother and he sucked in a long breath. He opened his eyes, staring at the distance and feeling his mind go to a dark place. He had heard the whispers, heard the intercepted transmissions. The Daleks had been testing The Moment out...

               Because The Timelords had completed THE ARK. THE PLANET-EATER. He'd never told Lumine about it because he knew not only would it horrify her beyond belief- but because he'd hoped, deep inside his hearts, that The Timelords would never stoop that low. He inhaled and exhaled again. The world went silent, and he gripped his hands behind his back. He started painting Lumine's features in his mind's eye- tracing them, understanding them, memorizing them... before he closed his eyes to make sure the picture was in his mind.... and then before she'd even finished her goodbyes with her brother...

               CLICK. The Tardis doors locked, and at the CONSOLE UNIT- Lumine's friend hit a button that caused the doors to echo out and briefly flash yellow. He looked toward the monitor, with eyes as hollow and as empty could be. This hurt. He saw her running up the hill and moved to activate the monitor. "Lumine..." He spoke, his voice coming out of the Tardis doors through a speaker unit. "...I've double-locked the doors. They can't be opened from the outside, not by any keys or sonic devices. Deadlock sealed." He spoke, looking out through a visual unit, before letting out the heaviest of sighs.

               "Move away from the doors, Lumine..." He asked, "Move away so I can see you." Even after all the time he'd spent memorizing her features- he still wanted to look at her one last time.

[arts-and-drafts]

Returning to Battle

(an angsty fic I wrote while trying to figure out when exactly Technoblade’s big brother instincts were going to kick in on the smp. Be careful, there is description of battle and serious injuries. Stay safe and enjoy reading! )

-

Ash and dust covered the battlefield in a thick fog, obscuring the skies above and the ground below. Technoblade moved through the valley with unearthly dexterity, his blades weaving through the air in a deadly rhythm that pounded in his heart. He was a tempest, cutting straight through those who dared to oppose him and those he stood for.

Philza swooped down from the sky, raining down potions of purple hellfire and poison on the enemies below. He resembled a vengeful creature of the wind, with a wrath for the souls who marched against Technoblade. As the winged man completed another pass he dove past Technoblade, flashing him a wild grin and whooping in excitement. Technoblade returned the smile, feeling even more powerful with Philza watching from above.

Arrows flew through the air with deadly aim, and Techno turned to see Wilbur identifying the fools brave enough to charge and picking them off once by one. His face was a perfect mask of calm concentration, breathing steadily with the release of every arrow. Just like Techno taught him. Their eyes meet across the battlefield and Wilbur gives him a lazy grin and a nod.

Explosions of color and light shook the ground not twenty feet to Techno’s left. A loud cheerful laugh followed by a shock of blond hair shot from the remaining sparks. An edge of luminous diamond flitted through the closest troops before looping around to stand at Technoblade’s side. A boy surrounded by a halo of light.

“Hey Technoblade, missed me?” Tommy held a confident smirk, falling into a perfect fighting stance next to Techno.

He *really* loved his family.

“I thought Phil told you to stay with Wilbur in the tower,” Techno mentioned casually, cutting an arrow out of the sky with ease as Tommy flashed him an irritated look.

“I had that!” Tommy protested with a huff. “Besides, if Philza really wanted me to stay put, he wouldn’t have given me pearls and a sword,” Tommy reasoned, shooting another round of fireworks into the mass.

Techno considered this before shrugging. “Touchè, kid, touchè,” Techno then twirled his sword, feeling the rush of being in battle and the strength of having the people he trusted most behind him mixing and filling him with energy. “Let’s charge these nerds, stick close and give em hell,” Techno grinned at Tommy.

“You sure, big man? Philza did tell us to avoid the groups as he’d be dropping literal Dragon’s Breath on their whole shit,” Tommy asked, trying to gauge if Technoblade had lost himself to the thrill of conflict again.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Phil’s got a sharp eye, we don’t need to concern ourselves with him. And those noobs barely got iron, it’s gonna be free kills. Besides, I’ll be right there, I got you,” Technoblade gently shoved Tommy with his elbow, causing a bright and fond smile to make it’s way onto the young boy’s face.

“Alright then Techno. Blood for the Blood God,” Tommy spoke the war cry carefully, as if saying it to hype himself up. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, centering himself with a shift of his sword.

“Blood for the Blood God,” Techno echoed the chant, feeling the presence of his blood rage beginning to solidify in the edges of his mind. And then the energy crashed through him in the familiar path of a fury flooding his bones. He made eye contact with Tommy.

And they charged into the fray.

It was electrifying. Techno felt the presence of Tommy at his back like a fluid wave of energy, weaving with his own overwhelming path of destruction. Tommy arced like lightning, forcing the enemy to scatter in sheer panic and disarray as Techno swooped in like a shadow of death. Mere minutes passed that felt like seconds and the battlefield was empty, the day was won. The adrenaline faded slowly out of Techno as he breathed to center himself, turning to Tommy with a grin.

“I better be careful or one of these days you might surpass—” Techno turned with a tired half-smile to Tommy who returned it with his own exhausted smirk. And then there was a sword in his chest. Why was there a sword in his chest? Why was Tommy bleeding? Why was Tommy falling?

Techno lunged towards the ground, catching his little brother and cradling him in his arms. Tommy breathed heavily, looking at the sword pierced through him and shaking. His eyes wide with fear and filled with tears.

“Techno, Techno, there’s a sword in me. There’s a sword in me, Techno! I’m bleeding… TECHNO I’M BLEEDING,” sobs tore through Tommy’s small form and something inside Techno breaks. He fumbled for Tommy’s hand, holding tight to ground him.

“Tommy, Tommy look at me, everything’s gonna be okay, I got you, Philza’s on his way. You’re not gonna die, I swear to you, Tommy,” Techno stared into Tommy’s eyes with certainty, squeezing his hands. Phil was coming, right? He had to have seen them, right?

“How could you say that Techno? Why are you trying to kill me? What did I do wrong? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please don’t hurt me, I’ll be better next time,” Tommy sobbed and flinched away, his eyes filling with hurt and betrayal and a deep sadness that stabbed into Techno’s heart. Why was Tommy scared of him? Why was Tommy looking at him like that? Why was Tommy saying these things? Why was Techno’s hand on the sword impaled through Tommy’s chest?

Techno shot up, his heart beating erratically as he threw himself out of his bed. His bed surrounded by the rocky walls that made up the former Pogtopia. What the hell just happened? Where was Tommy? And then the flood of memories raced past each other in his mind, painting an awful picture. Pogtopia, Wilbur, Tommy, the Festival, Tubbo, Schlatt and Wil’s death, Tubbo’s presidency, Dream’s threat to L’manberg, Tommy’s exile. Techno’s stomach twisted in horror. Had… had he really betrayed his brothers? Had he really chosen chaos, anarchy, bloodlust, over his family?

Techno felt fury thunder through him as he realized what he had allowed his brothers to go through. Alone. Techno was up on his feet and packing a bag before his mind even caught up to the motions his body was making. Good. Techno was done with standing idly by while the world crashed down around his family. This time he would help. Really help, not encourage their downspirals. Techno hefted his bag and went to claim a horse. He had a brother who needed him right now. And after that, he had a green bitch to cut down.

Techno rode off into the night, following the pull on his heart guiding him to his destination.

[vagabondreamer]

After the Fall (5)

Pairing: Lucifer x Angel! Fem! MC

Word Count: 2.3k

Series Summary: Angel! Fem! MC is part of an exchange program that sends her to the Devildom for a year.

Chapter Summary: MC finds out what Lucifer's been hiding.

CW: panic attacks, attempted murder, PTSD

Author’s Note: Sorry it's been a hot minute; school has been keeping me busy.

***

Your fingers felt like they were going to fall off and your eyes burned from not blinking. The room was so dark you weren’t sure how long you had been in here. The bright screen was your only source of light, and it was no wonder Levi was so pale. You looked over at him, he was hunched over his controller, his eyes glued to the tv.

“MC are you not even trying?” He exclaimed, a tint of anger in his voice. You looked back at the screen, a giant ‘K.O.’ flashing before your eyes.

“They don’t have these games back home.” This felt like your hundredth loss against him. “You’re just way too good.”

He blushed at the small compliment - not used to the praise. You looked at your DDD to see the time, it was already 3 in the morning.

“Geez! I need to get to bed.”

“Already?” He pouted, not wanting you to go to your room yet.

“Let’s do this again.”

“Fine.” He grumbled, but the small smile on his face was enough to show he wasn’t mad.

You said goodnight to him and his fish - you learned the name was Henry based off of his favorite fantasy novel - and walked out the door into the hallway. It was pitch black, you couldn’t see a thing. Standing still, you tried to let your eyes adjust to the darkness. Barely, you could see the railing of the stairs, and some decorative paintings on the wall. You started walking towards your room when you heard a small voice coming from far behind you. Didn’t Satan say this house was haunted? Surely, you thought he was just trying to scare you. Again, you started walking towards your room - hoping to not run into whatever was making that noise.

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.”

The voice was stronger, more distinct sounding. You recognized that it was the same lullaby from a week ago. You recalled that there was a set of hidden stairs, that Lucifer forbade you from going up. Debating whether or not you should risk it, you turned around and headed down the hall. The darkness didn’t help, you couldn’t remember how to get to those stairs - last time, you had found it by chance.

“And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem.”

There it was again! You followed the sound, trusting your ears rather than your sight. It was strange how clear the voice was, considering that you had to walk through several doors and halls to get to the base of the stairs.

“But if I know you, I know what you’ll do.”

If Lucifer ever found out - no - he would never find out. And if he did? So, what. You were tired of obeying him - who was he to you? A nobody. Slowly, you ascended up the spiral staircase. The voice was masculine, yet soft, almost sleepy sounding.

“You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.”

Reaching the top of the stairs, you see a door that is barred up. Peering in, you see a man laying down, lazily humming the rest of the tune. His head turns, feeling your presence.

“Hmph. They went along with the exchange program, I see.”

His aura was strong - purple and luminous - he was a powerful demon. He must’ve read yours as well.

“Who are you?”

“Belphegor. Who are you?”

“MC. What are you doing here?”

“Lucifer locked me up.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing - you absolutely knew Lucifer was mean, but to lock up his own family? That was beyond evil. “You have to help me out of here.”

You took a step back from the bars, taking a moment to think about the situation you landed yourself in. It was no wonder Lucifer didn’t want you up here, but was it justified? From what you had gathered, he was mean but not without reason, right? He insulted you, but only because you were acting like a brat. He was also the same man that saved you, and he was highly respected by Michael - even as a demon.

“Why did he lock you up?”

“I didn’t agree with the exchange program.”

Was that really the only reason? Something as simple as disagreeing could end up in imprisonment? Belphie must’ve seen the look on your face - a war raging inside your mind.

“He’s horrible, you know?” You looked up at him. “He locked up his own brother, and he dismissed Lilith’s death like it meant nothing!”

“Lilith.” You repeated to yourself. You were told she was the start of the Great Celestial War.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember you at all.” He eyed you carefully.

“I wasn’t created until after the war. I’m Lucifer’s replacement, basically.”

This statement caught his interest.

“So, you’re powerful; I think you can get through this magic.”

Touching the bars, you felt a powerful magic radiating off of the metal. Lucifer must’ve put a spell on the door, to ensure he’d never escape. He was right, you were a powerful angel, this shouldn’t be an issue, but you were still hesitant.

“What are you going to do once you’re out?”

“I just want to talk to him.” If that was really all he wanted to do then you were ready to let him out.

You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath in, hands still gripping the metal. It had been weeks since you last transformed into an angel, ever since your failure you had been hesitant to even try. Slowly, your white wings sprouted from your back and your magic flowed through your fingertips. The bars began to glow, and gradually disintegrated from existence. A smile spread across his face, and he stepped out for the first time in who knows how long. You transformed back to your normal state.

“Thank you.” He opened his arms, you gladly accepted his hug. You had begun to appreciate how touchy-feely most of the brothers were. His grip, however, was a bit too hard for your liking. You stopped hugging him back, this time placing your hands against his waist trying to push off - but his grip was relentless.

“What are you doing?” It was getting harder to breathe; your ribs felt like they were being crushed.

“I’m doing the world a favor, Lucifer’s replacement.”

He hadn’t bothered addressing you by your name - it suddenly clicked in your head. Lucifer was part of the blame for his sister’s death, and to him you were just another Lucifer in the making. You pushed him and tried to transform but you had exhausted yourself trying to break him out. The trauma from weeks ago was just beginning to heal, and now you were reliving it. You could hardly breathe, but now it was becoming even more erratic - you were having a panic attack.

“Please -” The words were barely coming out. “Lucifer.”

The room was spinning, and darkness crept in.

***

When you woke up, you were in an unfamiliar room. The bed was spacious, a huge chandelier hung down in the center, and soft music could be heard. You take a deep breath in - you notice the smell - notes of sandalwood wafting in the air. Trying to sit up, a sharp pain erupts in your ribs. Glancing down, your torso is wrapped up - unexpectedly, the memories flash in your mind. You released Belphie, and he tried to kill you. How the hell did you make it?

“MC, you’re awake.” Lucifer walked in, holding a tray of food. “How are you feeling?”

His face held a concerned look, but he was hard to read. There’s no doubt he was upset, he told you not to go up the stairs and yet you disobeyed orders.

“Where’s Belphie?” Lucifer sighed, and put the tray down on the nightstand.

“Why’d you let him go?”

“Did you hurt him?”

The both of you were getting nowhere. Too many unanswered questions and so much distress, you couldn’t take it anymore. You moved to get out of bed, Lucifer tried to help but you slapped his hand away. Standing, you looked him straight in the eyes.

“What is going on here?” Lucifer stood his ground.

“You’re prying. This isn’t any of your business.”

“I almost died. I think it is my business.”

“You didn’t die twice because of me. A thank you would be nice.”

You couldn’t believe him.

“I didn’t ask you to save me.” That was a lie, and he knew it. Your eyes watered up. “I’m capable. You might not see it, Michael might not see it, but I know I am!”

You walked to the door before the tears could spill down your cheeks. You were tired of feeling weak in front of him.

“MC.” You stopped without turning around, waiting for him to continue. “I think you’re plenty capable, but I don’t regret helping you.”

Wiping the tears away, you turned to look at him. He was seated on his bed, elbows rested on his legs, looking down pensively. You walked to him, standing directly in front of his form. The sleeves on his dress shirt were rolled up, and the top buttons were undone revealing his collarbone. The locks of his hair were messy, like he had been consistently running his hands through it. Subconsciously, you raised your hand and began to smooth out his hair, putting each strand back in its rightful place. He looked up at you, curiously. His eyes were sunken, the darkness underneath visible to you from your proximity.

“I’m sorry," you whispered.

Ever since your arrival, you had become another burden to Lucifer. Before coming to the Devildom, you had a preconceived notion that he was the reincarnation of all things evil, but it didn’t take long to realize how complex the man in front of you really was. Your internal battle with yourself didn’t help, and you were taking it out on him. And now, with Belphie’s appearance, there’s no doubt in your mind that Lucifer would never forgive you.

“I just wish you’d understand I have your best interest at heart.”

“I guess it takes a near death experience to see that,” you joked. “Thanks. For both times.”

You fixed the last strand out of place, framing it against his temple. Your fingers lingered, tracing down to where his jaw curves. It was as if an electric current ran from him to you.

“You’re welcome. Both times.” He went to grab your hand, but you removed it yourself.

“Does everyone know what happened?”

“Yes. You’ve been out for a few days, and everything’s been taken care of.”

“Everything?”

“School, home, here. Everything.” He got up from his position, leaving you little time to take a step back, his chest is nearly touching yours. “I’m not letting you get hurt again.”

He placed his hand on your shoulder, and in that moment you felt so small. You vowed right there and then to be less of a burden to Lucifer. You had already caused so much damage, now you were going to make things right.

“Michael wants to speak to you.”

“What? You’ve spoken with Michael?” Oh, crap.

“No, Simeon has. Michael requested you take a brief trip back home after you wake up.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll open a portal, if you’re ready?”

“You can open a portal?”

“Yes, can’t you?”

“No…” Guess Michael decided you weren’t good enough for that ability. “I’m ready.”

Lucifer performed his spell, which allowed a little portal to open up. You thanked Lucifer once again, and stepped in; a bright, white light blinded you. The portal had transported you to right in front of Michael’s office. You gave two knocks before being called in.

“MC. Who knew it only took sending you to the Devildom for you to finally learn how to knock.” You laughed dryly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I -”

“What happened?”

“Well -”

“Don’t answer. I already know.” Ah, so you were here to be reprimanded. “Why are you causing so much trouble? Did I not tell you that you represent the Celestial Realm?”

“Yes sir, but -”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses. It’s embarrassing that I even have to do this.” You bite your lip, too afraid to make him angrier. “You’re going to go down there and apologize to Lord Diavolo and Lucifer. And you’re going to stop causing trouble, do I make myself clear?”

You opted to nod your head, not trusting your own voice. As quick as you had gotten there, you were sent away just as quickly. The portal reopened back in Lucifer’s room, he was standing there waiting for your arrival. You wanted nothing more than to be alone.

“What did he say?”

“He said I need to apologize to you and Lord Diavolo, but can I please do that later? I just - I need to get out of here.”

“MC…” He reached out to you.

“No, I’m serious - I feel like I can’t breathe.” It was happening again. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, and you saw the room spinning. Why was this happening?

“MC!” Lucifer held the sides of your face. “Okay, you’re okay. Let’s get some fresh air.”

His words were going in one ear and straight out the other. He held you in his arms, and you could feel him moving, but your dizziness made it hard to decipher what was going on. It wasn’t until he sat down, you were still being held by him, that you became aware of your surroundings. Somewhere deep in the forest lay a small lake, and a singular bench. The air was fresh, and the serenity filled your soul.

“I come here when it feels like everything is falling apart.”

After the Fall Tag List @ptv-hades @everyday-girl9041-blog

[shimmersing]

Constellation

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Relationships: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Male Republic Trooper, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Republic Trooper Characters: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Qyzen Fess, Yuon Par, Parkanas Tark-Lord Vivicar Additional Tags: Angst, Tython, Emotional, Mentioned Mutual Pining, Fluffy, Sad, Melancholy

Returning to Tython after shielding the last master suffering from Vivicar's Force plague, Aitahea is faced with more struggle in her efforts to heal the Order and keep the Force in balance. Tired, injured, and longing for someone she can't have, perhaps ever, the lines of her responsibility as a Jedi and her own convictions begin to blur. As Aitahea nears the end of her quest to save Yuon Par and the other Jedi Masters, she’s confronted with painful revelations and answers that only give rise to more questions. Shouldering the lives and minds of Jedi across the galaxy – alone – may prove to be more than Aitahea can bear. AN: Welcome back! This story follows shortly after the events in Best Intentions and closes out Chapter One of the Consular storyline for Aitahea (and Erithon, peripherally). The one-shot, first-person piece Impending occurs in the interim between Parts 2 and 3. Thank you and enjoy! *Now with paragraphs in proper order!*

Part One

Aitahea trembled next to Satele Shan on the bridge of the transport, fingers pressed to her lips while starlines streaked past.

“What troubles you, little one?”

The girl dropped her hands to her sides without looking at Master Satele, keeping her gaze focused on the soothing radiance of hyperspace. “Nothing, Master. How long until we reach Alderaan?”

“Soon now, Aitahea.” Satele dropped to one knee and placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe there. Your training will continue. We need you to be strong for the Order. For our future.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I know, Master Satele. I am strong.” But beneath her robes, her stomach flipped and flopped.

Aitahea trembled next to pilot Prelsiava Tern on the bridge of the Luminous, fingers pressed to her lips while they slipped from the grasp of Alderaan’s gravity.

“What’s got your head turned around, Jedi?”

The Jedi dropped her hands to her sides without looking at her friend, watching as the once-familiar constellations blurred out of sight. “Nothing, Sia. How long until we’re underway?”

As usual, her pilot’s concern was genuine, attending in a gently cavalier way that often left Aitahea feeling uplifted. “As soon as we clear the gravity well; just a few more minutes.”

Qyzen had no such compunction, his words blunt as a training saber. “Soldier remains forefront in your thoughts, but past also. Put these away so we may focus on Yuon. Both mate and memories will wait until dark thing is vanquished.”

“I have every int-” Aitahea choked at the sudden comprehension of Qyzen’s words, face flushing a bright rose. Sia craned her head around the pilot’s seat to grin at Aitahea with unabashed glee. Aitahea shrugged at the Mirialan woman and turned to Qyzen. “Excuse me… mate?”

“Herald’s Republic lieutenant, met on Taris. Thought perhaps you’d accepted as mate on Alderaan,” Qyzen mused. Sia whistled low and turned back to the pilot’s console, doing an impromptu and quite thorough safety check of the seat’s crash webbing.

The Jedi took a deep, calming breath, the carefully measured motion keeping her from bursting into terribly unsuitable laughter.

If Qyzen noticed her discomfiture, he gave no sign. “Human emotions strange; sad one moment, amused next.”

Aitahea primly lifted her chin, focusing seriously on her friend. “Forgive me; I apologize for the, ah, unexpected level of emotion. But no, Erithon-” She paused to frown and clear her throat. “The lieutenant and I don’t have… we aren’t what you’re presuming.”

Qyzen squinted in what she had learned to recognize as wry skepticism, usually reserved for someone they were facing in conflict.

Aitahea swallowed, nodded. “We have work to do.”

Sia waved over a shoulder. “Hey, call from Tython on the holo.”

Grateful for the diversion, Aitahea swiftly moved to escape the bridge. “Thank you, Sia. I’ll take it in the common room, please.”

After a few moments, Master Syo flickered into view, looking pleased when Aitahea entered the shared space.

“Master Sidonie just checked in. She seems well but very frustrated with herself.” Aitahea briefly wondered if her own demeanor was similar, though for distinctly different reasons. “She reports that you were able to prevent war from breaking out on Alderaan, however. You’ve once again done exceptional work in a tense situation, Aitahea.”

Despite the obvious praise, Aitahea winced. She had been painfully unsettled by Master Sidonie’s baseless accusations, despite their depraved falsity. They’d sounded conspicuously familiar, another voice confirming all the cynical criticisms Aitahea most dreaded. Unspeakable consequences lurked behind every failure, and Aitahea was certain she would fracture under the burden of responsibility, despite everyone’s blithe confidence. All so certain of her, save Aitahea herself.

And she would never breathe a syllable of it to the people depending on her. She couldn’t. Instead, she slid into a default stillness and bowed her head. “I relied on the teachings of the Jedi,” she insisted, voice trembling through the half-truth.

Master Syo beamed. “A mark of a true Jedi – being able to trust in the Force in all circumstances.”

Aitahea shuddered and hoped the motion wouldn’t be seen in the grainy holo.

Oblivious to her struggle, Master Syo continued. “Tell me, did you learn anything about the plaguemaster, Lord Vivicar?”

“I’m sorry. No new intel came from Master Sidonie.”

“She was the last of the lost Masters, and yet Vivicar still eludes us,” he mused, then waved a hand and refocused on Aitahea. “Return to us here on Tython immediately, and we will discuss what you have learned. Lord Vivicar cannot remain hidden forever.”

Aitahea’s heart leapt. She’d longed for the comfort of Tython for months; now, the call seemed almost too good to be true. Unable to trust her voice, she bowed, lifting her eyes again in time to see Master Syo’s benevolent smile. “Come home, Jedi.”

When her boots touched Tython’s sacred ground – even the metallic plates of the Temple’s shuttle pad – Aitahea felt suffused with new hope. The home of the Jedi never failed to welcome her, making her role in the galaxy apparent and her relationship to the Force simple and effortless. Even breathing felt easier.

Master Syo Bakarn, Master Jaric Kaedan, and Grand Master Satele Shan were waiting when Aitahea arrived at the Council chamber with Qyzen. The rest of the crew had opted to stay in orbit while the Jedi and Trandoshan shuttled to the surface.

“Welcome home,” said Master Syo, leaning forward to offer the greeting. Aitahea bowed low to her mentor, wondering silently if Yuon would be join the meeting as well.

Master Jaric was quicker to the point. “I wish we could greet you with better news.”

Master Satele nodded her own welcome. “Despite using every resource available to us, we’re no closer to finding Lord Vivicar.”

Aitahea, buoyant on the glory of Tython, took a bold step forward and offered her final, horrible theory. “Actually, I believe we are. A common thread binds all the plague victims: the loss of Parkanas Tark at Malachor Three. Vivicar’s influence forced the infected Masters to relive their failures on Malachor.”

The Council’s Force signatures and facial expressions were meticulously shielded with more years of experience than Aitahea could rightly grasp, but even so, emotion in the room spiked, rattling her earnest calm. She continued, her voice hushed. “This is revenge, personal revenge. Only one man would have that much anger and pain. The man who was left behind.”

She hesitated; her next words could unravel everything else she’d accomplished, but unless she spoke the truth, the plague would never end. “I believe Lord Vivicar is Parkanas Tark.”

Master Jaric shook his head in disbelief. “Jedi.” He pinned Aitahea with a steely gaze, and she was certain that her suggestion had indeed gone too far. “Parkanas Tark is dead.” Aitahea took a breath -

“Far from it, Jaric.” Yuon strode into the council chamber, feisty as ever. On the edge of panic, Aitahea broke into an enormous smile that her Master returned with a gracious nod. Even Qyzen, silent until now, uttered a brief growl of approval and welcome.

“Yuon?” Satele demanded, half-rising to address the other Master, exasperation coloring her words. “I told those Padawans to keep an eye on you. You must rest!”

“No. My pupil -” Yuon paused at Aitahea’s side, placing a hand on her last Padawan’s shoulder, “My fellow Jedi deserves to hear the truth about Malachor.”

Aitahea winced, noting the dark shadows under Yuon’s eyes; only one of the victims could explain the twisted path that lay both behind and before them. They all needed the truth. “Don’t speak more than you must.”

Yuon gave Aitahea a wan smile, then continued, turning to address the Council. “Malachor Three isn’t just strong in the dark side; the planet is the resting place of Terrak Morrhage. Our work on Malachor woke Morrhage’s spirit. One by one, we fell under his power. The things we did… still haunt me.”

Yuon shuddered; Aitahea reached for her in concern. Realization clicked into place, and she paused before laying a comforting hand on Yuon’s shoulder. “Somehow, you broke free of Morrhage’s power.”

The Master composed herself and nodded to her Padawan. “Yes. Together, we managed to break his control, but at a terrible cost.” Yuon’s voice grew soft, then broke over the last few syllables. She kept her gaze to the side, as if afraid to look into Aitahea’s eyes. “Parkanas was the youngest and weakest. We had to abandon him to Malachor’s darkness. His sacrifice allowed the rest of us to escape. But it seems he survived and took Morrhage’s dark path.”

“You couldn’t have predicted this,” Aitahea insisted in a pained whisper.

With fierce determination, Yuon shook her head. “I must make amends.” She seemed more vulnerable than ever, perhaps even more so than in the worst throes of her affliction. “I have a plan to help you find Vivicar.”

The Council looked worriedly at each other, and even Aitahea shook her head, uncertain how to respond. “How?”

“If the plague created a link between my mind and his, your shielding ability may allow me to use that link to find him.”

Master Syo stood, his disapproval and worry dimming the Force in the room. “No. You’re already weak from the plague, Yuon. This could kill you.”

But Yuon’s eyes, finally meeting Aitahea’s, were pleading. Aitahea wondered, had her Master’s suffering truly begun with the plague, or had it been long before that? She wasn’t certain she was ready for dealing with either answer, but her path, her role, was to serve. Releasing her Master, her teacher, her friend from this plague surely was of equal importance with stopping Morrhage.

If the work served both purposes, it would be worth it, more than worth it. “Vivicar won’t get the chance,” she said to both Yuon and the stunned Council. “I will stand between him and my Master.”

Yuon’s gratitude was palpable. She turned to the Council, earnest and energized. “It’s our best chance to find Vivicar.”

Qyzen spoke up. “Yuon is fearless and wise – a true hunter, like Herald.”

Aitahea wasn’t certain she agreed, but the Trandoshan’s support could only bolster their position.

Syo eased back into his seat. “Very well,” he said, sighing. “But we will monitor the ritual, and your former Padawan must stay at your side.”

“Of course, Master,” Aitahea said, and offered Yuon an encouraging smile.

“Thank you, Syo,” Yuon said, punctuating with a bow to the entire Council before turning back to Aitahea. “I will go to the meditation chamber to prepare. Please meet me there when you are ready.”

“I’ll be fine, Qyzen; it’s just a short way from the Temple. There’s no safer place in the galaxy.”

“Even from own thoughts, Herald?”

“Let her go, just as you always did for me,” said Yuon, smiling impishly at Aitahea as she approached. “This Jedi knows her own mind.”

“Master, I know you have much to prepare. I don’t intend to go far to meditate, just a little away from the temple, so I might not be disturbed.” Aitahea couldn’t quite raise her eyes to meet Yuon’s, glancing instead toward the tree-lined paths of the outer grounds. Since Aitahea had first arrived on Tython, the issues of refugees, Flesh Raiders, and rogue Force users had been mostly resolved. The forests surrounding the temple were secure, if not precisely safe. Aitahea had played no small part in several of those events and recalled them as experiences of tremendous growth as a Padawan. Yuon seemed to agree.

“Off with you now! I’ve enough for this old friend to help me with; you must make your own preparations,” she stated, ushering Qyzen ahead in a way only Yuon Par was capable of, while waving Aitahea away from the temple grounds. “Go!”

Yuon seemed uncharacteristically upbeat, perhaps even giddy. It’s just that we’re so close to the end of this journey. I’d feel the same, if I weren’t so… her thoughts trailed off as Qyzen and Yuon turned back toward the temple, good-naturedly chiding each other on the perception of stuffy behavior.

Aitahea chanced a smile and wave in reply, inhaling sharply to keep tears from spilling from her stinging eyes. She turned to one of the well-worn paths, tread smooth by the growing residents of the Jedi Temple, their minders and masters, and visitors such as herself.

No, this is home, she thought urgently. Master Syo welcomed me home. I am home. She raised her hood and quickened her pace, rushing by several curious initiates.

Aitahea dashed across the bridge and toward the stream just beyond the grounds. There was a spur of rock suspended over one of the smaller falls. She hadn’t been there in years, her training with Yuon so often off-world or in remote areas. There were usually a few uxibeast grazing in the shade, unbothered so long as they could eat in peace.

She was obligated to ford the shallows to the opposite bank of the stream in order to reach the outcropping. Aitahea considered a simple leap over the stream; a nudge of the Force would keep her robes and boots dry.

Instead, she left her boots with her outer robe folded carefully beside them and now stood at the water’s edge considering the communicator in her hand. She shouldn’t be needed for the brief hour she had to prepare for Yuon’s desperate ritual; who in the galaxy would need to contact her who wasn’t planetside? Was there anyone she needed to talk to privately? Tember? Her parents?

Aitahea fiercely dismissed the memory of Erithon’s smiling face that clamored for her attention, fingers trembling as she thumbed through her contacts to his entry. The hard lump lodged in her throat was the only thing that kept her from pressing the call button.

Cold water splashed over her toes; the nearest uxibeast lowed. Shaking her head, Aitahea unceremoniously shoved the commlink into one of her boots and waded into the water, gasping at the freezing temperature.  She splashed across, only slightly questioning her sanity, and padded gingerly up the rock spur on icy toes.

The perch afforded a stunning view of the Temple and grounds, but distance allowed a certain privacy. Aitahea sat at the edge of the outcropping, watching the practiced motions of lightsaber training, but the clashing sounds of those sparring were lost beneath the roar of water. Some in groups, others in isolation, all went about their various practices: meditating, channeling, seeking to understand more of the Force in myriad ways.

Everything will be fine, Aitahea assured herself, bringing her knees up to her chest and closing her eyes. We’re so close to finishing this. Maybe even saving Parkanas Tark if he can just be released from Morrhage’s dark control. Victory is close. Just a little longer.

Aitahea dropped her head into her arms and sobbed, the cries lost in the rush of the waterfall below.

Constellation: Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

[socheckitout-mikey]

you can totally make hc if you want!!!! i'd eat that shit up like breakfast ngl. in my opinion david is joe (kind of obvious) dwayne would be sal, marko would be murr and that makes paul q <3333

omfg yes! i had way too much fun doing these. i know they're a little shitty, but i tried istg! - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Lost Boys Pranking Each Other Like Impractical Jokers Hc's:

° I JUST KEEP IMAGINING DWAYNE AS SAL RUMMAGING THROUGH TRASH FOR HIS BIKE KEYS AND THEM LEAVING HIM DHDHDHR OR THAT TIME SAL HAD TO DIG THROUGH ELEPHANT CRAP TO GET HIS PHONE, ONLY ITS DWAYNE'S KEYS AND ALL OF A SUDDEN MARKO GOES "EH BUDDY LOOKIE ERE!" AND HE'S DANGLING HIS KEYS IN THE AIR "I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU GUYS!" SHDHFJFJF

° Paul is deadass one of the most ruthless out of all of them when it comes to prank wars. He's targeting everyone with ridiculous pranks, but they always bite him in the ass later on when he wakes up the following night with his hair dyed a luminous green. He rocks it but he totally had a nervous breakdown over it bc "THAT'S MY FUCKING HAIR MAN!"

° "Maybe you shouldn't have thrown my keys into that gross guys hotdog stand-" David drawls nonchalantly, flicking cigarette ashes at Paul's green goblin looking head.

° There was this one time that Marko attempted to prank David, and I say attempt bc it went absolutely atrociously... Maybe it was because Paul was trying to get him back and gave his buddy too much of that good green stuff. Marko's plan to train his pigeons to crap all over David had ended up with him waking up the next morning covered in pigeon shit. "Serves you right, you yutz-"

° "Man, we need to drown you in the tub." Dwayne snorts.

° "DON'T BRING THAT SHIT UP-" Paul screams from the other end of the Cave.

° "Right... But it's not like we're adding a dog into the mix..." Marko muttered under his breath, using a crumpled old napkin to clean the literal crap off of his face.

° "I SAID SHUT UP!"

° Paul thought it'd be a good idea to drop rice to bug David, but it ended up with all of them counting the fallen grains of rice lmaoo. He kept losing count and everyone got different numbers.

° Honestly, the best one's at pranking people are Dwayne and David as they're very patient and thoughtful.

° David schemes like an asshole cat, striking when you least expect it. It leaves Paul and Marko on edge for months, just waiting for David to pull a prank on them.

° "C'mon man! Just prank us already!" Paul pleads, paranoia finally driving him up the walls.

° "Yeah, we're livin' in fear here!" Marko agreed suddenly.

° "You know, you just reminded me about that..." David's just kidding, though the other two don't know that. David forget something? Not a chance. This guy is on that Petty Train™ and it's going straight to Saltyville!

° Dwayne can take years to strike with his pay back. He's got patience that even David doesn't have, and honestly, Dwayne's pranks are really intense. He'll scare the shit out of the others so much so that they don't prank him for good long while. Paul's the one who never seems to learn lmaoo.

° Well, unless he's in the mood for being playful that is...

° Like I'm talking about the fact that after digging through elephant crap in the local zoo after hours for his bike keys, he not only chased down all of them, but he kinda tied Paul and Marko up and may've just let the sun rise a little... he's waiting for an apology- he's salty now and won't care if they burn... but once he get's that apology he's been wanting to here, he's pulled them into the shadows.

° "Ahhhhh! Dwayne, man, c'mon! The suns rising!" Paul screams, thrashing around in the sturdy chains he's been bound by the wrists at.

° Dwayne responds with an expression of total anger, but it's cool and collected. He's patient. He can wait a little longer. He's in no hurry.

° Whereas David's lounging on one of the dusty old couches in the shadows. He had given Dwayne what he wanted, whether his apology was half assed or not. He still said it with some meaning, right?

° "David didn't even mean that piece of garbage he called an apology!" Marko spat out, eye cracking a vivid yellow whilst he stared directly into David's blue amused eyes.

° "Well at least I had the courage to swallow my idiotic pride~" David sing-songed joyously, folding his nimble gloved hands behind his spikes of bleach blond hair. "And it worked wonders, didn't it? I'm not the one about to be fried into ashes..."

° "Man, we're sorry alright?! We won't fuck with your bike or your keys again!" They both screamed in unison, shutting their eyes tightly as the sun began to rapidly crawl into the open space of the Cave. It's golden rays beginning to spark the ends of their blond locks alight! That was precisely what Dwayne wanted to hear, and without little thought, yanks them down and watches them scurry into a deep crack in the wall. That'd teach them from fucking with his shit ever again.

° "Fuck, my hair! It's all burnt on the ends!" Paul wails, swatting the frizzy ends rapidly to put out the sparks.

° "That's literally the least of your worries, Paul." David retorted into the air, gathering himself up from the couch and towards his own nest.

° "Yeah, we almost got fucking fried you sack of shit! This is the last time I listen to your ideas-" Marko rambles on angrily.

° Yes, they did sleep curled up together in the crack in the wall. They genuinely held each other tightly, Paul waking up from nightmares! Poor baby :'(

° Marko definitely does listen to his ideas after that lmaoo.

° Also it's very true, these guys compete to embarrass each other out in public, so much so that they've pretty much become a star attraction.

° That is until that one time Marko drop kicked Paul off the Pier and cracked his skull open... Yeah, they got into a lot of trouble for that one...

° These guys are chaotic dumbasses and their prank wars a cynical as hell. Like it get's so intense, but it's hilarious! Star and Laddie are kept entertained for ages!

° They be pranking Laddie too, but it's all in good fun. He's a kid after all! They're not gonna be excessively mean to him. That is until he fucks with their shit...

° Then you've got Paul and Marko holding him up by the scruff of his jacket, demanding where their Playboy mags, bike keys, their specific wrench is, that Deff Leppard Tape... boy you name it! They'll interrogate him good cop bad cop style lmaoo.

° Dwayne's heart kinda warms up whenever Laddie pranks him. He ruffles his hair, even if it makes him mad as hell. Laddie is his weak spot tbh.

° David just gives Laddie a pointed look and goes, "This better not become a common occurrence, otherwise I'll have to shave your head."

° Lmaoo the absolute sass that he receives from Laddie after that djkgdsghjsd-

° Sometimes David allows Paul and Marko to get away with their stupid pranks on him. Although it's incredibly annoying, he also finds it endearing how happy getting away with some of the simpler ones makes them. Paul thinks he's literally gotten away with it, but Marko knows.

° Paul deems himself to be the Prank King™ and honestly he is, but you know what? He's usually quite good natured and even though he does overstep boundaries, he'll always make things up to everyone if it really bugs them. He's out to have fun, not get murdered or cause tears. Most of the time...

° He ropes Laddie in on the pranks and loves it! Paul is a great big brother! He also enjoys pranking Star quite a bit, and she can be quite mean when returning the favor.

° Marko however, plays the dirtiest! He's pretty cynical himself, so his sadistic nature comes out full throttle. The lines within him are blurred. He's genuinely good natured usually, but once someone does something that pisses him the hell off... They best be prepared for hell to arrive at their feet.

° Like this one time, Marko cock blocked Paul for several weeks lmaoo then he ate the person Paul had the hots for. He dropped them at his feet in the Cave like, "Whoopsie!" He got into so much shit from Max bc that person was like hella important, I'm talking celebrity status sfjdshfhjsdfnbds

° David's just cynical as hell and he's always got something witty to say during or after it. Definitely mocks them dsjgdsjfds David's just an asshole cat istg! I mean, not even Star is safe from his pranks, but he kinda has a sisterly soft spot for her. He likes to dig deep under her skin and bug her. She's quite fiery honestly.

° Pranks with the Lost Boys is incredibly chaotic to round it off.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

[alienheartattack]

To All Of Us, From 2000 Years Ago

I got so mad about 139 and the leaks that I banged out my own 3000+ word ending to the manga today. Please keep in mind that this is a non-shipping story. Although I’ve exclusively written Rivamika before, this is not a Rivamika story, and although there’s an Eren/Mikasa scene at the beginning. there is no relationship between them, only the implication of feelings that are not quite reciprocated. I also threw some Levi fan service in there because why the hell not?

CW: There are references to and non-detailed descriptions of rape in this story.

You can also read this on AO3!

"You know what you have to do," Eren says. Mikasa pretends not to hear him over the rush of the little creek they're sitting by so he says it again, louder.

"I know," she sighs. "Even now, knowing that you've done something so unforgivable, a part of me doesn't want to."

"You're a good person, Mikasa. You'll be even better without me."

She snorts a laugh. "I've killed people, too. Just not as many as you did."

"You always had the weirdest sense of humor." Eren puts an arm around her, presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss it." That's what finally brings him to tears, the thought of not seeing Mikasa again. Or Armin. Or Connie, or Jean, or Captain Levi, even the rest of them. He's had plenty of time to accept that he'd die at nineteen, was always going to die at nineteen, but now that the moment has arrived he wants to hold on just a bit longer.

Mikasa doesn't cry, at least not the way he expects her to. Tears stream down her face but she doesn't sniffle, doesn't sob, doesn't rage or scream the way she’s done in the past. He sees them both, Mikasa the girl and Mikasa the soldier, perfectly coexisting in the inky blackness of her eyes. She has made her decision. She made it before she even stepped into the mouth of the Titan.

"Kiss me one last time," Eren weeps. "Please."

"Okay," she nods, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in close. "See you later, Eren."

When Mikasa pulls away from his lips, the deed is already done. His severed head feels sickeningly heavy in her blood-stained hands. His eyes gaze beyond her, beyond the veil of this world, clouded with the knowledge of the void. The Titan around her begins to disintegrate in plumes of white steam. Mikasa swears she can smell wildflowers.

"Mikasa Ackerman," a girl's voice echoes. Mikasa whips her head around, looking for the source of the sound. Someone seems to materialize from the steam, swirling eddies of smoke coalescing in the form of a small girl, scraggly blond hair falling into her eyes, barefoot in a dirty white dress. Her face is blank, her eyes downcast.

"Ymir," Mikasa says, the name forming in her mouth before she can think of it.

Ymir nods, then points to Eren's head. "You loved him. Why did you kill him?"

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Because some things are more important than my love." Ymir stares blankly, seemingly confused. "The millions of people who died are more important. The world is more important. Besides, what kind of person would I be to stand beside someone who could slaughter so many people so senselessly?"

"You… don't love him?" The little girl blinks quickly, white lids snapping over black eyes. Something about it seems inhuman, wrong somehow. Mikasa cannot help but think of insects.

A tear falls from her face and lands on Eren’s, snaking a trail down his cheek as though he'd shed it himself. "I can never forget what he did and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for it, but I'll always love Eren."

"You wouldn't die for him?"

Mikasa answers without hesitation. "Never."

Ymir's gaze snaps up to Mikasa's, and she feels sick from what she sees in the girl's odd, dark eyes: a hunger, almost starvation, for the scraps of affection Karl Fritz would throw at her; a longing to be treated well, to be fussed over and doted on and adored. Ymir would close her eyes and dream of a shining, beautiful man when the king held her down and fucked her, made her recoil, made her bleed, beat her when she cried out or complained of the pain. She carved out a space in her mind for him where she sculpted him into her ideal. Sometime between that first bloody night and the day the assassin's spear pierced her chest she invented a Karl Fritz out of whole cloth, a man whose cold entreaties and brutal assaults were proof of his undying love.

Mikasa sees these things from Ymir’s eyes, feels the bruises forming on her back, the tearing and bleeding between her legs, the rotted wine breath of Karl Fritz in her mouth.

"I would never have jumped in front of that spear," she says, more confident than she’s ever felt. "I wouldn't even have considered it." Ymir frowns, cocks her head like she's trying to understand. "You thought you were doing the right thing, but you protected a man who never loved you. You laid down your life for a man who forced your daughters to consume your body. He didn't even mourn you."

A flash of anger contorts Ymir's face. Her eyes dart around wildly, turning Mikasa's words over in her mind. "But he loved me," she insists.

"Did he ever tell you he loved you? Or did he treat you like a slave?" Mikasa's voice wavers at the word slave, at the memory of Eren screaming at her across that restaurant table; the moment her wall of denial came crumbling down. No matter what his plan was, it became clear that day that he would step on any of them to achieve it. She had no idea how true that assessment would become, millions of bodies crushed into the contaminated earth beneath the feet of Eren’s Titans.

She wonders if things would have happened differently if he'd just admitted once that he loved her.

"You are free," she tells Ymir. "You choose your own destiny. I am free, and I chose mine."

Ymir says nothing, her eyes luminous with tears, and then dissipates into the smoke. Mikasa is vaguely aware of the wavering steam around her, of Levi flying on Falco's back and pulling her out of the Titan's mouth before everything turns hazy and white.

She can see the scene from two thousand years earlier as clear as though she were there, floating above it all: the crowd come to see King Fritz's speech, the hooded assassin's arm pulling back, the tip of the spear glinting in the daylight. The assassin lets the spear fly, its arc perfectly aimed at the heart of the tyrant. His wife Ymir, older and slimmer than the girl Mikasa met but still with those same sad, black insect eyes, watches in horror as the tip of the spear flies closer and closer; but she does not move, not even when it impales her husband through the chest and the light in his eyes is snuffed out.

In time-lapse, Mikasa sees it all: the accession of Queen Ymir, wise and fair, and the moderate reigns of her three daughters, and their daughters after them. The power of the Titans remains within the royal family, passed down from mother to daughter, a shameful, secret birthright. They create diplomatic ties with other countries, offering succor and counsel, avoiding the path of war so as not to reveal their ultimate power. There is no Great Titan War, no walls, no telepathic manipulation. The world moves forward in fits and starts as it always has, small skirmishes and occasional wars, but the Eldians remain steadfast and committed to peace. Satisfied with Ymir's choice, Mikasa finds herself closing her eyes, opening them for the first time again in the year 835, in her parents' house just outside Shiganshina, as a new doctor pulls her into the world. He is not Grisha Yeager, she notes, and then she forgets who Grisha Yeager is entirely.

In the year 845, there is no Wall Maria for the Colossal Titan to breach, and no Colossal Titan to breach it.

Inside one of the cities in what was once Wall Rose, a history teacher writes notes on a chalkboard before his first class arrives for the day. He draws a crown in the middle of the board and writes the subject of the day's class inside of it: QUEEN YMIR THE WISE. The teacher is startled by a noise behind him; he turns to find one of his students, a shy girl called Sarah, taking a seat at her desk.

"School hasn't started yet," he says. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," Sarah replies. "I was looking at a really interesting bug and the other girls started making fun of me."

The teacher nods. "All right, just this once. If you’d like, sometime I could teach you how to stand up to those girls."

Hundreds of miles away, the forests of Dauper ring with the whoops of an exuberant girl, triumphing at having killed her first deer with a bow and arrow she carved herself. She doesn't care that she's scaring the other game away with her commotion, or that she has no idea how she'll lug a hundred-pound carcass all the way back home.

In Trost, a young boy lingers over his breakfast; not because he wants to miss school, but because his mother's omelet is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten and probably ever will eat. His mother ruffles his hair and pinches his round cheek, then gently chides him to eat faster or he’ll be late.

A little boy in Ragako District, a few inches shorter than his friends, demands another explanation of the multiplication tables. He doesn't quite understand the concept, goes blank when his friends try to explain arrays of rows and columns, but he believes that he can pass today's test if he tries hard enough.

Across the sea in Marley, the prosperous Eldian District is strewn with streamers, celebrating the 2000th anniversary of the assassination of the cruel King Fritz. The children have the day off from school and are gathering in the streets, purchasing candy and ice cream from vendor stalls and exchanging them as gifts to celebrate the sweetness of life. A little blond girl receives an extra coin from her father, who tells her to get something special for herself.

A few blocks away, a doctor fills his medical bag and sets off to see his first patient of the day. As he walks through the crowd of happy children, many of whom he’s delivered himself, he hopes that his only son will change his mind and join the family business.

In Mitras, a shopkeeper opens his door for the first time, pausing for a moment in the early morning sunshine to admire the wooden shingle hanging by his doorway, gently swinging in the breeze. It depicts a hand wrapped around a mug of tea, wisps of steam rising into the air above it.

The door opens while he's adjusting the canisters on the shelf behind the counter, making sure their labels face perfectly forward. His heart leaps at the tinkle of the doorbell. He picked the most musical one, the one that made him happiest when he heard it, and he feels very good about his decision.

"Hello, welcome to Ackerman Tea— Mom!" His voice takes on an adolescent whine when he addresses his mother, which makes him feel like a child and impossibly old at the same time, despite his twenty-six years.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be your first customer?" she asks, beaming. "Of course I'm going to come support my sweet boy." Her gaze sweeps over the shop, its walls painted a deep forest green, the mahogany counter polished to a mirror shine. "I'm so proud of you, Levi. You've worked so hard and it shows." Her voice quavers, her eyes filling with tears.

"Moooom," he trills, softer this time, quietly moved. Her presence feels like an auspicious omen, a reminder from the universe that someone will catch him should he fall. "Is there a tea you’re interested in, or would you like me to help you choose? We have more than thirty varieties."

"You've been practicing," his mother notes with a nod.

Levi shrugs off her comment, feeling a bit bashful that she’s noticed his hard work. "I've never been great with people, and this job is nothing but people. At least until I can hire someone to cover the counter while I blend tea in the back."

"You'll get there soon," she says, pulling a few coins from her purse. "Get me something you'd think I'd like."

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration, before his face lights up and he grabs a step-stool to reach a canister of black tea flavored with strawberry and rose. "This one is sweet and floral, but it becomes so much more when you add a bit of milk. You don't even need any sugar."

"Perfect. You even thought about how I take my tea." She places a few coins on the counter, watching her son approvingly as he scoops the tea into a bag, folds it closed with surgical precision, and ties a blue ribbon around it. "You're going to be a success, my love. I know it."

"That makes one of us," he smirks, then scoops the coins into his palm and puts them in the cash register, enjoying the feel of the heavy keys under his fingers, the spring-loaded pressure of the drawer. He hopes he gets to use it many more times today.

"Will you be home for dinner?"

"I should be. I can't imagine people will want to buy tea at night."

"Good," his mother says. "Because now that you're in business, we should talk about finding you a wife."

"MOM!" he exclaims, a furious blush coloring his face.

Further south in Shiganshina, Mikasa sulks as her mother walks her into town, not wanting to leave the safety of her parents' cabin to learn and play with the other children. She is perfectly happy to do chores on the farm, to learn the simultaneously mundane and arcane secrets of coaxing a plant from seed, to throw feed to the chickens and pull weeds in the garden.

"Mikasa, you're ten years old. Your father and I can't teach you everything," her mother says.

"I can learn from books. I don't need to go to school."

"The fact that you're saying that means you need to go. There's more to the world than just our farm, my sweet. You might want to see the world someday."

The little girl huffs. "I doubt it." Her mother simply shakes her head and smiles, ruminating on her daughter’s impending teenage years, a possible hint of rebellion, but finds that hard to imagine. Mikasa is usually a calm, easygoing child, though perhaps a bit too inquisitive and stubborn for her own good.

Mikasa hugs her mother fiercely at the school gate, watching as she turns and walks back up the road that leads to their farm. She’s excited to make new friends and learn new things, but she misses her home more than she ever thought possible. She lets out a soft sigh, then turns to face the crowd of running, yelling children; her new classmates.

She trudges around the grassy schoolyard, dodging groups of kids chasing each other or playing impromptu games. Everyone seems to know each other already; even if she did feel comfortable enough to go up to someone and introduce herself, she has no idea who to approach first.

"Hey! Give that back!" someone screams behind her. Mikasa turns around to see a small blond boy jumping up and down, reaching for a book that a larger boy dangles just above his grasp. The larger boy just laughs at him, taunting him with the book, threatening to tear it from its spine.

Mikasa frowns, balling her fists at her sides, then approaches the boys. "He said to give his book back," she says to the bully. "Give it back."

The bully laughs. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I think you should give the book back if you know what's good for you," she snarls, putting her hands on her hips. The bully laughs again and shoves Mikasa out of the way with one hand, making her stumble backwards, tripping over her own feet until she lands on her behind in the dirt. She gets up, dusts herself off, and runs up to the bully, punching him square in the nose. He falls to the ground, dropping the book. Mikasa tosses it to the blond boy. The bully grabs his nose, tears welling in his eyes, and lets out a wail when he sees his hand smeared with blood.

"You leave him alone!" Mikasa threatens, looming over the bully, her dark eyes shining. He scrabbles to his feet and runs away and she lets out a relieved breath, her heart hammering in her chest.

"That was amazing!" the little boy says. When he approaches her, she finds that he's not actually that small, only a few inches shorter than her. "I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"It's my first day," she replies. "I've lived here all my life but I haven't been to school yet."

"I'm Armin," the boy says. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa."

"That’s an interesting name. Are you from Hizuru?" Armin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity. He holds up his book, a thick, leather-bound tome, A Brief History of Hizuru and the Minor East Sea Islands written in gilt lettering. "My parents told me that the whole country is built around a volcano. A big mountain filled with liquid fire! Well, technically it’s molten rock."

"My mom's family is from Hizuru, but I’ve never been there and I don't know anything about any liquid fire mountains," she says tentatively.

"It's real!" he gushes. "I'm reading about it now. I could tell you about it more at recess if you want. I like to sit under that tree over there." He points off in the distance, at a huge pine tree that shades a corner of the yard. "They're going to ring the bell soon, otherwise I'd tell you now. Volcanoes are so cool. Sometimes they explode and shoot the liquid fire into the sky like a firework."

"Wow!" Mikasa marvels with a smile. "I can’t wait to hear about them."

[forever--rain]

*hops up and down excitedly* EVER I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ON HERE RN BUT FHDJKSFHA I CAME OUT OF MY CAVE TO SAY SUKKA PLAYLIST!!! DO IT DO IT DO IT I THINK WE ONLY HAVE ONE? ON SPOTIFY WHICH IS A TRAVESTY MAKE ONE PLEASE

BLUE, YOU ARE LITERALLY MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THIS FANDOM. YOU AND YOUR BEAUTIFUL BRAIN. I'M NEVER GOING TO GET OVER THIS ASK.

Footage of me creating this playlist:

Look. You guys know that I love Zutara. But I don't think you all realize that I love Sukka just as much. Their love is so pure and their vibe as a couple is just... *sigh* 💙💚💙💚💙💚 So putting together this playlist was so much fun. I'll put all explanations of songs below the cut because this reply is already long without what comes next (but you should read them because you'll get the full effect of this playlist).

All The Small Things by blink-182

Cross Me (feat. Chance the Rapper & PnB Rock) by Ed Sheeran

I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift

I Like Me Better (Spotify Studios Version) by Lauv

Ho Hey by The Lumineers

Jackie and Wilson by Hozier

Passenger Seat by Death Cab For Cutie

Stand By Me by Florence + The Machine

The Bones - with Hozier by Maren Morris

Yours - Wedding Edition by Russell Dickerson

Send me a playlist title and I’ll give you 5-10 songs I think would go on it!

All The Small Things

She left me roses by the stairs/Surprises let me know she cares

First of all, Suki would. Second of all, I firmly believe that Sokka and Suki would constantly be doing little things to show each other that they care. Sokka would send Suki his drawings and things he's carved for her. Suki would send Sokka little gadgets and pick up fun little accessories for him at the market. They'd leave out snacks for one another. And they would always, always be there to support one another 100% of the time.

Cross Me

Just know, if you cross her, then you cross me

"WHERE. IS. SUKI?"

I rest my case.

I Think He Knows

He's so obsessed with me, and boy I understand/Boy I understand

I love this song for Sokka and Suki because we all know that Sokka throws off major "THAT'S MY WIFE" vibes in regard to Suki. As he should. But if you think that badass, super cool Suki isn't also low-key super into Sokka in the same way you are wrong. She's the type of girl to totally get why he's into her. (Why wouldn't he be? DUH.) But she would also 100% be like, "Check out this hot, goofy genius! HE'S MINE. I LANDED HIM! THAT'S MY HUSBAND!!"

I Like Me Better

To not know who I am but still know that I'm good long as you're here with me//Damn, I like me better when I'm with you

I picked this song because of the influence Suki had on Sokka's character. Their interactions on Kyoshi Island really did change him for the better. Sokka spent so much of the series lost and feeling as though he didn't belong, but Suki brought out the best in him and helped his character evolve. He saw her, this incredible warrior with a heart of gold who wouldn't take his misogynist crap, and started working to be a better person. And I think we can all agree it was awesome to see him come into his own as a strategist and warrior. A large part of that is thanks to Suki. And Sokka would acknowledge that.

Ho Hey

I belong with you, you belong with me/You're my sweetheart

I don't think this choice needs much of an explanation. Just... They belong together, you guys.

Jackie and Wilson

She blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild/Laughing away through my feeble disguise/No other version of me I would rather be tonight/And, Lord, she found me just in time//She's gonna save me/Call me "baby"/Run her hands through my hair

Again, I'd like to point back to Sokka and Suki's first meeting. She comes out of nowhere, sees right through him, and it's thanks to her that Sokka changes his views on women (it takes time, of course, and loss, but he gets there). Also, the loss that Sokka experiences with Yue clearly affects his relationship with Suki in Book 2. He has to learn to be comfortable with the fact that Suki can save herself as well as him. And by the time Book 3 rolls around, we see them working together as a seamless team. He knows she has his back and she knows he has hers.

Passenger Seat

When you feel embarrassed/Then I'll be your pride/When you need directions/Then I'll be the guide/For all time

Oh, this song is so subtly Sukka. I hear these specific lines and think of Toph and Aang laughing at Sokka's Suki sand sculpture and Suki being proud of the fact that he even tried. I think of them being each other's compass, guiding light, and level head in stressful situations. They are so steady for and so true to one another. And I'm not crying, you're crying.

Stand By Me

If the sky that we look upon/Should tumble and fall/Or the mountains should crumble to the sea/I won't cry, I won't cry/No, I won't shed a tear/Just as long as you stand, stand by me

I chose this song because of how Sokka and Suki make one another stronger. They bolster each other. They face down certain death in the knowledge that their partner has their back and that's a beautiful thing. (Also, Florence Welch's voice on this track is incredibly emotive and intensifies the Sukka feels.)

The Bones

When there ain't a crack in the foundation/Baby, I know any storm we're facing/Will blow right over while we stay put/The house don't fall when the bones are good

This is my quintessential Sukka song. I always think of them older, maybe ten years after the war, when I hear this song. The two of them are as unshakeable as they've ever been. Was their first meeting great? No. But they grew together and formed something solid and real. I'm not one to advocate for childhood sweethearts or high school sweethearts (which is what they would've been in a "normal" storyline), but my god. These two would've been the teenage sweethearts who made it. They'd still be super into one another at 85 and just as in love as they'd ever been. If they had trials, they would've only pulled through stronger. These are two people who are capable of seeing past first impressions and loving one another for their true selves and... UGH. I LOVE them, okay?

Yours

I was one in a hundred billion/A burned out star in a galaxy/Just lost in the sky, wonderin' why/Everyone else shines out but me//But I came to life when I first kissed you/The best me has his arms around you/You make me better than I was before/Thank God I'm yours

Sokka said it himself: Compared to the others in the group, he didn't feel special because they could all bend and he couldn't. He lost his boomerang and had an identity crisis. That's the boy Suki met on Kyoshi Island--the boy who felt inferior to his little sister and to the Avatar; the boy who had to put on a false facade of bravado because he was scared... The boy who thought that it was a man's job to be the protector. The boy who thought a girl couldn't kick his ass purely because she was a girl.

Our girl ignited that change in him. Sokka knows full well what Suki's influence has done for him and he adores her for it. He's grateful for her impact on his life and he's obviously blown away by the fact that she loves him. You can tell it's the kind of relationship where he realized that if he was going to be worthy of her, he needed to prove it to her because she knew her worth. She wouldn't settle for a guy who thought she was inferior to him--she wanted someone who would see her as an equal. By the end of the series, she's his partner in every respect. He proves to her that he trusts her to have his back, that he trusts her judgement, that he trusts her in general.

Sokka knows that he's the best version of himself with Suki. He would 100% spend the rest of his life in awe of the fact that she loves him and that he's landed this miracle of a woman who has always seen him as an equal--even when he didn't feel equal to anyone else because he couldn't bend.

[glassworkspiderlilies]

voilà le portrait sans retouches

Genshin Impact | Albedo/Lumine | AO3 Summary:  “Sir Albedo,” she continues, and the quality of her voice changes to something more velvet, more compelling, “I’d like you to draw me like one of your Fontaine girls.” (Albedo receives a surprising commission. There's a little more than meets the eye.)  Notes: significantly less sexy than it sounds aha. my friend said the line on another fic of mine and it held me hostage until i wrote it!!!! i’m baseball pitching this 18k monstrosity of a hot mess out of my sight after this took 800 years!!!

There are not many things that can surprise Albedo so wholly, but nearly every aspect of the meeting with the Lord Viatoris does.

First, the letter—hand delivered by Jean herself. It is not that Albedo is unknown as a Knight of Favonius, but even as Chief Alchemist and head of the Investigation Team, he is not a figure that often appears in public. His work tends to be very internal and he is left to his own devices most of the time, so to receive a request from the outside is…highly unusual.

And that it comes from the Lord Viatoris, who was considered a hero for his contributions in the most recent war a few years back, is not something that can be ignored.

Additionally—the Knights owe him a debt, for his service in defending the city, and to arrange a private meeting with their Chief Alchemist is hardly an equal trade. Albedo had looked to Jean for some indication of what this request could entail, but the Acting Grand Master had merely shrugged her shoulders and offered to take back his reply.

The letter was politely written and had addressed him simply—Sir Albedo of the Favonian Knights—and had not used any of his loftier titles, which previous letters in the past had when many a noble had tried (and failed) to curry his favor. But, Albedo thinks, while he neatly pens back his acceptance, that it had arrived in the hands of Jean…there was still influence and favor being pulled, no matter how friendly the request.  

Second: the child that arrives at the Angel’s Share tavern where the meeting has been arranged at, a few moments before the lord himself. Albedo watches from the second floor when the door bursts open; she is a fairy-looking creature, with snow-white hair and dark eyes, and bounds right up to the bar and asks for three glasses of apple juice upfront, then rattles off an enormous list of dishes. Lord Ragnvindr—though he prefers Master Diluc when attending to the bar—seems to be familiar enough with her that he sighs and puts through her order without otherwise batting an eye, and fills up the empty glasses of juice as she drains them one-by-one.

Where’s your keeper? Diluc asks, his voice just barely audible from Albedo’s position.

Right behind me! The girl says, though with a pout at the word ‘keeper’. We have more of those dumb vials for you, too.

It is unusual enough that there is a child barging into such a place alone, but when said keeper arrives soon after her, Albedo has to wonder just who the girl is in relation to him. Surely not a sibling, with no resemblance at all between them, and likely not a noble child he is watching, with her manners and style of speech. Yet the girl is too richly dressed in her pink-and-white dress, matching boots, and dark navy cloak to be a mere servant. Why, then, cart around and cohort with a common child, of all people?

Third, Lord Viatoris himself is…a surprising man. Albedo had not made any particular assumptions about the young lord prior to this meeting, but due to the rumors, he had nonetheless developed some vague preconceived notions nonetheless. When Viatoris walks in, Albedo finds himself a little startled by his youth, and his manner of dress.

The young man is probably around the same age as Albedo himself, but the rumors had skewed his age to much older and Albedo had never sought to confirm them. The man’s suit is also not particularly striking—an average suit, for a not-at-all average noble, no matter how new to nobility he may be. His hair is also kept long, which is not strange in of itself, but it is braided neatly with a rather old-looking accessory tying the end, and a similarly battered-looking feather earring dangling from his left ear. It is those…antique (if one is being polite) to cheap-looking (if one is not) accessories that are so intriguingly out of place, so at odds with the status he bears. He wears them proudly, but it is clear that neither are worth anything, merely simple trinkets weathered by time.

What is particularly surprising, however, is the young man’s personality. Once the aforementioned vials are given to Diluc (who lets out a bark of laughter at the rather hefty pouch) and his guest’s arrival is pointed out, Lord Viatoris looks up to meet Albedo’s eyes and smiles a brilliant smile, as if Albedo were an old friend he had not seen in quite some time. It was the kind of smile that set one immediately at ease, and assured them that there was no one else he would rather be speaking with.

Oh, Albedo thinks, his elbow propped up and cheek in hand as he smiles slightly back, so, a dangerous man, in this way.

It’s the little girl that greets Albedo first when she bounds up, introducing herself as Paimon and Lord Viatoris as Aether, with the former being the latter’s assistant. There is a story here, what with the little girl addressing the lord not by his title and also extremely casually, and a certain amount of wry deference from the man to the girl, but Albedo cannot yet ask.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Aether says, holding out his hand to shake, while also gesturing with the other that Albedo should remain seated when he half-rises. “I appreciate it, truly.”

Albedo takes the man’s hand, curious at the apparently genuine feeling of gratitude the man exudes, and watches as the man and girl sit down.

“Please, Lord Viatoris. For the services that you have rendered Mondstadt and the Knights of Favonius, this can hardly repay you for what you’ve done.”

Aether smiles, and Albedo notices that he does not immediately deny it out of politeness.

A man who knows what his aid is worth.

“Ah, but you have not yet heard what it is I will ask of you,” he says, lacing his fingers together. “And please, call me Aether.”

Albedo inclines his head.

“Well, then, please let me know. Just what is it that I can do for you?”

Aether smiles again at his forthright attitude.

And so, the fourth surprise, and the most surprising of all: his request.

“A portrait,” Aether says, as a waitress sets down various plates of food on the table and his little assistant digs in without reserve. “I’d like you to paint a portrait.”

Albedo blinks, eyes wide. Of all the things he might have expected to hear, he confesses he did not think it would be this.

“A portrait?” he repeats, incredulous.

“Yes, or perhaps several. I do not know,” Aether shrugs. “It is not I who this is for.”

Albedo leans back, blinking some more.

“My artistry is merely a hobby, Lord Viatoris,” he says carefully, and Aether gives him a sharp look at the use of the title, “It is not…a knightly service that I quite…offer.”

“Yes, well, hence the reason for this meeting and this request, Sir Kreideprinz,” Aether says wryly, taking a sip from his glass. “It took quite a while to find you. I sent my letter through the Knights’ channels because it was the only option available to me. But the request is for you, and not as a Knight of Favonius.”

Albedo stares. The man had looked for him? How odd.

“Color me intrigued,” Albedo says, and Aether grins at the unintentional pun. “But I would have you tell me more. Of all the things I can do…my paintings are not the first thing one would bring up.”

Aether smiles, setting down his drink though he does not remove his hand from the top.

“How much do you know about me, Sir Albedo?”

Albedo raises a brow.

“Of you personally, not much. I know your aid in the last war turned the tides, and that you helped defend Mondstadt. Sometime just after the war you came into sudden fortune, and bought a title as well as a manse somewhere in Mondstadt—but out of the city—with some of that money, propelling yourself into newly minted nobility. While some may clamor at your origins, more accept this state of things, and are honored to make your acquaintance. But as for the type of man you are, not as much makes it into hearsay.”

Aether listens with amusement, drawing rings on the table with the condensation of his glass.

“You have a lovely voice,” he says, and Albedo blinks, but Aether merely continues, “You may judge the kind of man I am for yourself, but what did not seem to make it into half of the stories is this: I have a twin sister, and she fought alongside me, until we were separated during the war. There was…an explosion of some kind, during that decisive battle everyone sings about, and by the time I awoke, she was nowhere to be found, and no one could tell me if she was even still alive. I was bedridden for months; there were speculations of her being a spy, but quite frankly such talk infuriated me so much that after my first outburst that harshly set back my recovery, it was not brought up again. Perhaps that was why she did not make it into the tales.”

He pauses here to sip at his drink.

“I would not be deterred, however, despite no information being available. You must understand, my sister is all I have left, as is the same for her. Our separation left me devastated, especially in such circumstances. It was Paimon who brought me out of…near ruin.”

Paimon looks up at the sound of her name, her cheeks stuffed with meat, blinking once, clearly having not listened to any of the conversation before this. Aether ruffles her hair, and she grumbles but returns to her food.

“An orphan, who’d been assisting the nurses in the camps,” he supplies absently, watching her wolf down the plates in front of her with ease, “She’s a precocious thing, but I owe her my life, in some ways. But I digress—I searched high and low for my sister and did everything I could to obtain news that could be even tangentially related. In the end, it paid off, and we were reunited in Fontaine.”

It is an abrupt conclusion to a tragic tale, and Albedo waits for a continuation that does not come.

“I…I am glad you were able to find her,” he ventures hesitantly, and Aether smiles faintly.

“Oh, please do not misunderstand, I was overjoyed—am overjoyed, to have found her. But the separation was not kind to her, and I….worry for her. Which brings us to my request.”

Albedo raises an eyebrow, unsure of where this is going.

“I will confess that I do not entirely understand. But my sister had been reading a book—Legend of the Sword, I believe?—and said, ‘ah, the same artist.’ Upon questioning, she had mentioned that she had seen your drawings in Fontaine, and offhandedly mused that she should like to see herself reflected by your hand. She did not ask me to find you—I daresay she may not remember she uttered such a thing—but this was the first thing my sister has shown active interest in since our reunion. As such, I want to do everything in my power to give it to her.”

Aether leans forward, elbows on the table as he laces his fingers together and puts his chin atop them.

“I’m prepared to give you nearly everything I am able to,” he says, his tone still entirely amicable despite the sheer force of power behind that statement, “But I also know that you are not the type to be swayed by money or power. I have done what research I can, but you are a hard man to find information about, Sir Albedo. Which brings us here, with my request for a portrait or several on my sister’s whim, and the question of what I may offer you in return.”

There is a silence between them for a while, as Albedo gathers his thoughts, wholly taken aback by the story and the reasoning behind this meeting. At the moment, he has one of the most influential nobles in Teyvat at his mercy—though he does not miss the way Aether had stipulated nearly.

“Well,” he says, “Given that, the money may simply just be easier to take.”

Aether blinks, then throws his head back and laughs, drawing the attention from other patrons and causing them to smile before they turn back to their own business. He holds a hand to his stomach, slapping the table once before he gathers himself.

“Oh, I do like you,” he says, mirth brightening his eyes. “Well, in any case, if you accept, I’d like you to meet my sister, Lumine. We have a holding in Starfell; you’ll be welcome to stay for however long the portrait or portraits take, of course. Transportation will be made available to you if you prefer to commute. If you need any supplies, I’ll order it. Whatever you need taken care of, I will do.”

“Thank you,” Albedo says politely. “It would be far more efficient to take up temporary residence. But pardon—I also have someone I consider a sister; she is still quite young. She’s looked after by the Knights as well, of course, but it would be remiss of me to leave her for so long if this venture will take an indefinite amount of time. The work for the Knights I may leave to my own assistant, Sucrose, but…”

“Then bring her along,” Aether says easily, without hesitation, “It is a big enough place.”

Albedo coughs.

“I will confess she can be…ah…rambunctious,” he says cautiously.

Aether grins, patting Paimon’s head again. The girl still does not look up from her meal.

“Bring her along,” Aether repeats, emphatically. “So are we agreed, then? I’ll draw up a contract if you’d like, open to payment of your choosing.”

Albedo hums, considering his options.

“No need, for now,” he says, “Perhaps after I better understand what your sister would like from me. But I shall formally accept your request, Aether.”

The man smiles.

“Thank you, Albedo,” he says, and means it.

.

Regardless of the permission he is given, Albedo does not yet bring Klee with him. It is not that he mistrusts Aether, but…he knows nothing about the household, and will not take any risks with Klee.

The Viatoris mansion is…interesting, suffice to say. It is a more rustic house, and whoever had it built clearly had a taste for the style of the old world, given the large statues that adorn the expansive garden—Ruin Guards, they used to be called. But they are oddly charming, in a way, with vines and sprouts climbing over and through their stonework, the old giving life to the new.

It is perched in the palm of one such statue that Albedo meets the Lady Viatoris, who surprises him too—not due to her presence, like her brother, but rather the lack thereof. She is something almost transient; whereas her brother draws the eye due to the charm of his attitude, she draws the eye because one is not entirely sure of what they are seeing. She is a delicate thing, at least outwardly—pale and prim in her white and blue dress, but Albedo goes not forget that she fought a war with her brother.

Aether leads him towards her, tossing an apple procured from the kitchens up and down before throwing it towards his sister with a split-second warning.

“Lumi! Guess what!” he calls, and she looks just in time to catch the apple with one hand.

She peers down at him, frowning, blinking at Albedo.

“Brought you a present,” Aether grins, and Lumine squints.

“…The apple or this man?” she asks, as she slips a small knife out of the folds of her dress and cuts the apple in half.

Albedo blinks at the appearance of the blade. Lumine holds one half of the apple over the edge of her perch and drops it, forcing Aether to lunge forward to grab it, which he does, catching it with admirable deftness.

“Both,” Aether says smugly, biting into the fruit the same time his sister does, and Lumine narrows her eyes at him. Albedo coughs, but Aether holds up his hands placatingly, still grinning. “This is Albedo,” he introduces with no follow-up, clearly drawing out the situation.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Viatoris,” Albedo greets, with a polite bow.

Lumine dips her head in return, glancing back at her brother, knowing that there’s something more to this but unable to discern exactly what.

“Likewise. Welcome to the manor,” she says slowly, tilting her head a little as she scrutinizes Albedo. “…You have a lovely voice.”

Albedo blinks at the familiar line; Aether laughs.

“Doesn’t he? I said the same. But anyway—I thought he might be of service to you, and he agreed to come after hearing me out.”

Lumine narrows her eyes at him again, scooting closer to the edge of the statue’s palm so that her legs dangle over the side. She finishes up her half of the apple as Aether does his, and they both toss the partial cores into the dirt, which Aether scuffs over.

“Did he, now?” she says, frowning, and Aether puts his hands in his pockets casually, a picture of ease.

“I thought you might like your portrait done,” he says, and she furrows her eyebrows.

“My portrait?” she asks, still confused, “When did I ever give that indication?”

She looks to Albedo suspiciously, who coughs, giving her a sheepish look.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself more fully,” he says, and Aether lets out an awwww at the game being let up so soon, “My name is Albedo, of the Knights of Favonius. But perhaps you may better know me as the illustrator for Legend of the Sword.”

The change is immediate; Lumine solidifies, somehow, and it takes a moment for Albedo to realize that it is her eyes that are the crux of the change. She lights up, her posture straightening as she leans dangerously over the edge, and a delighted laugh escapes out of her.

“No,” she breathes, disbelievingly, as she looks to Aether, “You didn’t.”

“How rude, he’s right here, isn’t he?” he says, mocking affront.

Lumine laughs again, then slides off the statue’s palm, startling Albedo. But she lands gracefully, her skirts ballooning around her before she throws her arms around Aether’s neck, squeezing him tightly.

“Oof,” he wheezes at her strength, but she steps back and shakes him.

“You madman,” she grins back, “I can’t believe you. How did you find him? How did he find you?”

She turns to Albedo, taking his hands excitedly, and as she meets his eyes, Albedo can see how this girl too could take the world by storm if she could bear to stay in it.

“Started by tracing the book’s author, followed some trails, greased some palms at the Yae Publishing house—the usual,” Aether supplies, pleased by her reaction, “Just took a little time. You won’t turn him away, will you? I’ve got another business trip in a few days, I would hate for him to be uncomfortable here. I’ve rather grown to like him.”

Lumine laughs, tugging Albedo’s hand and waving at her brother as she heads back into the house.

“How dare you,” she says, eyes sparkling, “He’s more in danger of us not letting him leave, isn’t he?”

Aether sweeps a bow to Albedo as Lumine leads him away, and does not follow.

Albedo lets himself be led, bemused, into a solarium, with Lumine calling for food and drink along the way. She sinks down onto the couch, watching as he seats himself on the sofa across from her, thanking the servants as they lay down plates of little finger sandwiches, as well as a pot of tea and a bottle of whiskey with accompanying cups and glasses.

She pours herself of finger of liquor before offering the bottle to him, but he declines and opts for the tea instead. She drains her glass then pulls out a slim cigarette case, once more offering, and he once more declining. He watches as she affixes it to a beautiful enamel holder, balancing it between her teeth as she lights it up with a match.

She then blows the match out, placing it on the table, and takes a drag of her cigarette before turning her attention to him again.

“Hmmm,” she says, as she blows out the smoke, “I confess, now that I have you here, I’m not entirely sure how to proceed. I never expected my brother to go looking for you, let alone find you, so I just find it a marvel that you’re here at all.”

Albedo smiles a little and leans back, drinking from his teacup as he observes her. The cigarette and the whiskey—her movements are easy and practiced, but almost too much so, and he wonders at this sense of discrepancy, when he barely knows her.

“Well,” he says, placing his cup back on the saucer, “I myself am curious how you came to know of me completely outside of my work for the Knights of Favonius. According to your brother, it was in Fontaine first that you became aware of me.”

There is a silence as she puffs, and she seems to dim as she is caught up in her thoughts.

“Yes,” she murmurs absently, “Fontaine.”

But the separation was not kind to her, and I….worry for her, now, Aether had said, and Albedo can see why. She is a flickering lantern, with the approaching danger of flickering out.

“I was there briefly, when I was coming home from the war,” he supplies, setting his cup down on the table, “But I’m not sure how or where I made such an impression that would have stuck with you in that duration.”

Lumine blinks, focusing on him again. She doesn’t answer straight away, tapping the ashes into a crystal tray.

“How much do you know about me?” she asks, and Albedo’s lips twitch up again.

“…You really are similar sometimes, you and Aether,” he cannot help but say, and Lumine looks startled, and then deeply amused, but says nothing in response to that in particular. “Not much, I suppose. Aether said that you were separated during an explosion, and then he searched high and low for you. And…then he found you.”

She hums, leaning back as well, and turns her head to look out into the gardens.

“I shan’t bore you with the details,” she says, though he can tell it is more that she does not wish to speak of it. Aether too had avoided detailing the last part of his story. “I was prisoner for a time…and then I was released. But I was lost and penniless and so I…drifted. I was in Snezhnaya awhile. Then Natlan. And finally Fontaine. You did drawings for the common people around a certain café, do you remember? From the elderly to the youths to the children. From the administrators to the merchants to the working girls. The proprietor of the café was quite taken with some of them; had them framed and hung on the walls.”

“Oh,” Albedo says, truly surprised. “I had no idea.”

Lumine smiles, leaning forward, crossing her legs.

“Including the nude portraits,” she continues, perfectly at ease, “Fontaine had their artistic rebirth much quicker than Mondstadt did, no doubt due to you. They were beautiful, you know—all of them. Very honest.”

Albedo is quiet for a moment, thinking back. He does recall, now that she has brought it up; there had been a span of a few days where all the battle had finally winded down, and he was desperate for…something else. Businesses were opening again and celebrations were abound for the end of the war, and so he had simply chosen a café, sat, and drawn. He’d gained some attention, afterwards, when the sketches were left with the owner or given to the customers—especially from the women. He’d consented easily to the nude portraiture of the working girls, somewhat fascinated by the opportunity, whom in hindsight were also flirting with him. But he was much more intrigued by the way they held themselves, or the shape of her hands, or the curve of her nose to pay much attention to it at the time.

He had done many a portrait before he disappeared—in their eyes, at least, for he had been something of a stir before he decided to be on his way. No one had any detail of who he was.

“The war…” he begins, slowly, staring down at his hands, “Afterwards, I wanted to find normalcy in the ways that I could.”

He clenches his fist then relaxes it, flexing his fingers, and says nothing more. Silence stretches, before he remembers why he is here, and he lifts his head again.

The lady’s eyes are distant once more, her gaze turned elsewhere, her cigarette burning low.

“So, a portrait, or several,” Albedo says, reaching for his tea, and she turns to him, “Was what Aether said. Was he speaking your wishes true?”

Lumine blinks, then smiles slowly.

“Yes,” she says, and they stare at each other for a moment. “Sir Albedo,” she continues, and the quality of her voice changes to something more velvet, more compelling, “I’d like you to draw me like one of your Fontaine girls.”

A pause, his teacup halfway to his lips, and then he raises an eyebrow.

“Clothed, or unclothed?” he asks lightly, setting the cup back onto the saucer, and Lumine lets out an airy laugh.

“Whichever you think will capture me best,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette. “Or both, if you feel the need. I’m interested in what you see of me, Sir Albedo, because I’m finding it difficult to see anything at all.”

He stares, another silence enveloping them.

“I see,” he says.

She smiles faintly and pours another finger of whiskey.

“Good,” she says, and drinks.

The conversation ends thus.

He glances back once when he leaves, but Lumine is no longer there, already gone through one of the many glass doors.

.

They start with the standard—clothed—portraits, and he passes some days with Lumine in the solarium or out in the gardens, sketching her simply doing whatever she feels like. Aether joins them here and there to pass the time, but true to his word, he is gone again in a few days to Liyue for a business trip.

“Mr. Zhongli doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Aether says, on the day he is to leave, snapping his pocketwatch closed. “So I’d best be there early. Don’t let my sister get you into trouble. Look out for her, will you?”

Lumine snorts from the sofa, holding up a lazy hand in a goodbye wave.

“Give my regards to Mr. Zhongli,” she says, “And my thanks to Lady Ningguang, for the brocade and new cigarette holders.”

He promises he will, while Paimon promises to bring back local snacks.

The manor is quieter without them, and Lumine is even more prone to getting lost in her thoughts. She smokes more too, and he begins to see more reason behind Aether’s parting words.

His assignment is much more difficult than it seems; despite the days spent in her company, none of the sketches he’s done so far feel right. It is a very particular kind of portrait she is seeking, and even if he knows what she wants, it is another story to capture it properly. It is far, far more than simply drawing what he sees, even if his insight is, perhaps, a little keener than others.

He’d expected this to be a trial, however—welcomed it, even—and continues unperturbed, no matter how many pages he goes through. Lumine watches as he flips through page after page in his sketchbook and says nothing.

It takes him a little longer than he would have liked to realize at least part of the discrepancy between what he draws and what he sees.

Lumine is not…comfortable.

It’s not that she is uncomfortable around him; she likes him well enough and behaves more and more casually around him by the day. No, it’s a certain quality that she’s had since he met her, something that she’s had even around Aether. It creates a sense of distance, like a thin glass wall.

(One could break it, indeed. But the resulting shatter might cut both of their hands to ribbons.)

There’s something inhibiting her, somehow, and once again he thinks back to Aether saying the separation was not kind to her. Lumine had glossed over her history, and Albedo was in no place to push, but he thinks now, perhaps, that hearing it, or some of it, may be necessary in order to achieve what she wants from him.

But she does not want to speak of it, and he cannot nor wants to tear it out of her.

Still; she needs something else to shake her out of these doldrums, or they will remain at a permanent standstill. Now that he’s pinpointed an issue, he can start attempting solutions.

For something like this, however, he simply goes to the strongest thing in his arsenal.

He notifies Lumine of his plans, takes a short leave, and comes back with Klee bouncing excitedly up and down behind him. She spins around slowly as she walks, running a little to close the gap between her and her and Albedo when she realizes she’s gotten distracted trying to take in all the sights and unusual structures of the Viatoris mansion.

Lumine greets them with a bemused smile. Albedo notices that her dress for the day is…a little different than her standard. It is far simpler—almost rustic—with the red and white layers matching Klee’s own outfit. She has a fur stole draped over her shoulders as well, and though it is still a refined ensemble, she looks less…intimidating, somehow, more fairylike instead of ghostly. Klee sticks closer to Albedo’s back once she notices the lady waiting for them, peeking out with wide eyes as she grips her brother’s coat. But Albedo can tell that her fingers are just itching to touch the fur of Lumine’s stole.

As they near, Lumine’s eyes crinkle as she looks at Albedo and sinks down to meet Klee’s eyes, not minding her skirts touching the ground.

“Hello,” she greets with a smile, “You must be Klee. Welcome.”

Klee beams at her, instantly overcoming her brief shyness, stepping out from behind Albedo and coming a little closer.

“Hello, Lady Viatoris!” she says cheerfully, curtsying clumsily. “Thank you for having me.” She hesitates for a second, expression turning a little bashful. “May I please touch your fluffy scarf?”

Lumine laughs, removing it from her shoulders and wrapping it around Klee’s, enveloping her in its soft texture. The little girl gasps delightedly, stroking it once, then continues to do so, unable to stop.

“A present, then,” Lumine says, “For helping keep me company.”

Albedo startles a little, on both accounts, and Lumine gives him a wry smile. First, the fur must be worth a fortune, and second…he hadn’t thought she would catch on so immediately.

“Waaa…thank you!” Klee says, grinning widely, “And I’m excited to be here! I get to spend time with Albedo…and also make a new friend! So Klee is really happy!”

Her attitude is infectious, and both Albedo and Lumine smile at her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Lumine chuckles softly, “Shall we get a snack first, before I show you around?”

“Yaaay! Yes, please!”

Klee runs ahead, with the aid of a maid to point the way to the kitchens, while Albedo and Lumine linger behind.

“You did not have to do that, but thank you,” he says, referring to the fur.

“I wanted to,” she replies, watching Klee go, “She’s an adorable thing.”

“As I warned Aether, she can be rambunctious. She often gets herself into some sort of trouble.”

“Ah, but did Aether not warn you the same about me? You may have simply created more work for yourself.”

He blinks, and she throws a cheeky grin over her shoulder before she makes her way to the kitchens too.

A spot of tea and a plate of Fontaine-style cookies called macarons later, they are roaming the mansion grounds, with Klee wide-eyed at everything she sees.

Not unexpectedly, she is fondest of the gardens, enamored with the statues that Lumine so loves to sit on.

“They used to ‘splode?” Klee squeals, when she spots the replicated mechanisms on the Ruin Guard’s back with wide eyes as she jumps up and down.

Lumine glances at Albedo, somewhat unsure if she should be telling a little girl this, but he merely gives her a wry smile. She does not yet know Klee’s history.

“Well…not quite. It’s said they would release missiles from their backs. They were meant to protect ruins, but…”

She trails off. The Ruin Guards have a more complicated history, with scholars debating hotly over the common discrepancy of the age of ruins they protect and the age of the Guards themselves. But thankfully Klee doesn’t notice, as she is far more taken with the idea of these big missile-shooting automata being things that actually existed once upon a time.

“Klee wants to make something like that, too!” she exclaims, “Like…a big Dodoco! Then she could help Klee blow up even more bad guys!”

Lumine blinks, confused on two accounts, glancing at Albedo.

“Dodoco is her stuffed friend hanging off of her bag—a handmade gift, from her mother, who took me in. And…despite her age, Klee is an expert on bombs,” Albedo explains lightly, “Her…education with her mother was…unconventional, due to unconventional times.”

Lumine blinks at him, then looks to Klee.

“Ah,” she says, sadly. “So she is a Knight, too.”

“Yes,” Albedo replies somberly. “Yes, she is.”

Lumine says nothing, and simply watches Klee circle the statue for a while before walking towards her and suggesting a game of tag. Albedo watches with some alarm as Lumine shucks off her delicate shoes and ties the up the excess fabric of her dress to the side, revealing a peek of her garters.

She looks surprised at his wide eyes, smiling as she straightens.

“Surely Sir Albedo is not embarrassed by a little flesh, when he has seen far more?” she asks, bemused, and he coughs lightly.

“The situation was more established then,” he returns, dragging his eyes from her leg to her face, “One does not expect a noble lady to hike up her skirts so brazenly.”

Lumine lets out a laugh—a bark, really, partly harsh and partly genuine, and Albedo wonders if he’s said something wrong. But she doesn’t respond, and simply goes to Klee to set the rules of the game before running off, the little girl chasing after her with enthusiasm.

In a few moments he will play a few rounds with them when Klee begs his participation, but right now, he simply watches Lumine flit about the hedges and trees, looking back occasionally to make sure Klee has not lost her entirely.

She meets his eyes, startling him, somehow, with the quality of her gaze. It is measuring, and distant, and also…doubtful, even as she mouths—

Come get me.

.

In the time that Klee stays within the mansion, they spend it simply entertaining her and ensuring her well-being. They play games, running around in the gardens or hosting hide-and-seek within the house, the halls filled with Klee’s laughter, softly echoed by Lumine’s own and accompanied by Albedo’s chuckles. Other times Klee sprawls on the ground of the solarium and draws with crayons as Lumine watches over her and Albedo continues with his portraiture.

Though the mansion staff largely takes care of their meals, Albedo sometimes takes over the kitchen. Klee has her favorites from him, and it’s not the same to have someone else cook them.  

So at present, in the kitchen, Klee stands on a box to reach the counter as she uses small cookie cutters to cut vegetables into fun shapes, while Albedo prepares everything else. The roles are familiar between them, and though he occasionally looks over at Klee to make sure she is still doing well, he trusts her to do so as he focuses on other aspects.

It takes a while before he realizes Lumine is leaning against the doorframe. She does not tend to eat meals with them—snacks and teatime, yes, but not usually meals—and so it is unusual that she is here at this time. But here she is, watching quietly, her expression unguarded.

There is an unfocused quality to her gaze as she takes in the whole scene and not just a single part of it, as though she is trying to seep herself into a daydream. But her eyes are also tender, and longing, and the emotion she bares is so palpable that it nearly takes his breath away.

Lumine shifts after a moment, as though she is going to slip away without a word, but Albedo does not let her.

“Good afternoon,” he says, making her jump a little, “Will you join us for lunch?”

Klee turns and spots her, a wide grin stretching across her face as she jumps up and down on her box.

“Lady Lumi! Please, will you? Albedo’s making Woodland Dream, it’s my very favorite! Klee wants it to be your favorite, too!”

Lumine hesitates by the door, her hand tightening into a fist by her side, and she tilts forward a little as if she’ll take a step before she stops herself. She presses her lips together, as though there is an insurmountable wall that she cannot pass even within her own home.

Albedo steps over the threshold, taking her hand without a word and leading her next to Klee.

“Come on, then,” he smiles, “I’ll make another portion. We could use an extra hand.”

“Yay! Look, Klee will show you how the carrots become flowers!”

Lumine doesn’t look at him, all of her attention turned onto Klee as she demonstrates how she uses the little cutters to punch the slices of carrot into shapes. Albedo turns away and lets them be, the kitchen full of Klee’s chatter and the occasional returning murmur from Lumine.

Later, as Albedo prepares to sear the fish, Klee brings over a bowl of vegetables to him, and he smiles down at her.

“Albedo, look! Lady Lumi cut some into Dodoco shapes!”

He peers at the carved carrot that his sister is holding up, impressed. He glances back, where Lumine has taken a seat by the counter, her chin in her hands as she continues to watch the two of them.

“That’s some workmanship,” he says curiously.

“I know my way around a knife,” she replies simply, and he’s not entirely sure what to make of that.

He remembers their first meeting, where she had a hidden knife for the apple that Aether had brought her. He remembers her telling him but I was lost and penniless and so I…drifted, across three countries entirely alone.

Nevertheless, there is lunch to finish up. He steams the vegetables with butter and sears the fish with herbs, quickly making a sauce of reduced balsamic vinaigrette and honey in the meantime. Klee watches with excitement with Lumine, as she sings the dish’s praises.

It’s the plating, really, that is the most impressive; he has timed everything perfectly, and all parts of the dish leave their respective pans within seconds of each other. He arranges the vegetables efficiently, adding a flourish with the sauce, and delivers two plates to the table piping hot.

Lumine’s eyes widen a little, and the corner of Albedo’s lips turn up. She notices, and her eyes crinkle.

“A man of many talents,” she says, and he chuckles a little.

“Only some,” he says, and turns to plate his own.

The three of them eat in the kitchen, not bothering with the more complicated place settings of the formal dining room even though Lumine is here. She doesn’t seem to mind—on the contrary, she seems more relaxed, even though she’s reverted back to not speaking much.

Klee tries to sneak her pearl onions onto Lumine’s plate, but Albedo notices and gives her a pointed look. She grins and lets out a sheepish hehehe before taking back her fork and putting it into her mouth, chewing the vegetable dutifully.

Lumine looks amused, and offers one of her Dodoco-shaped carrots. Albedo raises a brow, and Lumine smiles.

“A reward,” she protests, and Klee looks between her and Albedo before offering one of her cherry tomatoes, which Lumine seemed to particularly enjoy.

“Me too!” Klee says cheerfully, “Klee’s good at sharing!”

“She is,” Albedo smiles, his eyes just a touch mischievous, “Which is why she’ll share her fish too, won’t she?”

Klee wilts, her eyes growing big. She hesitates, looking back and forth.

“Noo…that’s Klee’s favorite part…”

Albedo smothers a laugh.

“Honesty is also a valuable trait,” he says somberly, and gives her a portion of his fish, instead. “It is important not to let others take what you don’t want to give.”

She perks up instantly, giving him some of her broccoli, digging into the rest of her meal happily.

“This is the best!” she says, swinging her legs, beaming at Lumine, but her eyes widen a little when she catches sight of the lady’s face. “Miss Lumi, what’s wrong?”

Lumine blinks, then smiles a little tremulously.

“I….think I just miss my brother,” she says, faltering a little.

It doesn’t sound like a lie, but there also seems to be more than that. But Klee doesn’t notice, nodding sagely.

“Klee understands! I’m also sad when I don’t get to see Albedo for a long time,” she says, “So…maybe it’s not the same, but…Klee will share Albedo with you!”

Albedo raises an amused brow, while Lumine looks startled.

“Oh!” she says, laughing a little. “Thank you, Klee.”

“If you’re in trouble, Albedo will help you!” the little girl continues, eager to share the merits of her brother, “He gets Klee out of all kinds of trouble! And he’ll never ever lie to you, so you can always trust his promises! Albedo is the best!”

Lumine blinks, her eyes growing thoughtful.

“I see,” she says, her voice a little absent again. “I’ll remember that.”

Klee beams again, turning back to her food with satisfaction.

Albedo glances at the lady before turning to his own plate, and pretends not to notice when her gaze eventually slides over to him and sears with her scrutiny.

.

It is Lumine who suggests a walk after lunch, guiding them to the famous old watchtower in the area. They do not climb the structure, but admire the view from the Stormbearer Point.

“No storms today!” Klee reports, shading her eyes with both hands and sweeping the horizon. “All clear!”

Lumine gazes into the distance for a little while longer.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Indeed.” She then turns to Klee with a slight smile. “Have you ever had valberries before? They only grow in these parts. They’re very sweet and refreshing.”

“Ooooh, Klee wants some!”

Despite the fact that they just ate not long ago, Lumine leads them to the berry bushes, plucking them from their vines and eating them directly. They are indeed delicious, and they make makeshift baskets with their clothes and bring as many back as they can.

Over the next few days, they continue to pick berries and spend time making them into jam, and use the jam in cookies and other desserts.

Klee stays for a little over a fortnight; though she’s enjoyed her time terribly, it is a lonely area without other children or otherwise much to do, and she misses the bustle of the city. On the day she returns, the carriage is loaded with various gifts—a huge basket of food (including fresh berries and their handmade jam), the fur stole, and other trinkets and games that she’d found an interest in during her stay. Albedo will escort her back to the city so he can check in on his affairs as well, and Lumine sees them off in the afternoon.

“Will you be alright?” he asks, and she gives him an amused look.

“You’re taking my brother too seriously,” she says, as she kneels down to speak to Klee. “Come back and play sometime, okay?”

“I will!” Klee says, hugging Lumine tightly, and the lady looks surprised before she hugs back.

When she rises, she tilts her head at Albedo.

“Safe travels, the both of you,” she says, and he nods back in acknowledgement.

Klee waves all the way until Lumine is out and sight, and Albedo watches until he cannot see her anymore.

In the distance, Lumine is still until the carriage disappears entirely.

.

It takes about four days for him to return; though the Knights of Favonius are not incapable, Albedo is simply too good at his job. Things are less efficient without him, and though it is not imperative that things move so quickly, it is not how Albedo runs the department when he is present. He is not displeased with how things have been during his absence, but now that he’s here, work is brought up to speed, tasks reassigned, assignments evaluated and new ones given.

No one asks much about how his own assignment is going or what the details are; the commonfolk know that he is on Lord Viatoris’ business, and do not pry. But the others—Jean, Kaeya, and Diluc especially—have a more knowing manner when he speaks to them, and on the day he is to return, load him up with various items. From Jean, a tin of tea, the nondescript container showing it is not bought from a shop. From Kaeya, a sealed envelope and a secretive smile. From Diluc, a bottle of what seems like particularly fine wine, but turns out to be grape juice. None of them say anything in particular when they hand over the items, and because they don’t, he’s aware that these are not for Aether, whom they must know is not currently in Mondstadt.  

So Albedo too takes them without a word.

There is some trouble on the road—a broken wheel, and then a group of bandits—so he arrives well into the night. The manse is nearly completely dark, and he frowns as he walks in; the few servants still on duty greet him with somewhat veiled relief.  

“Is everything alright?” he asks, concerned.

“Yes,” one of the maids says simply, “But it is better, now that you’ve returned. Lady Lumine called for whiskey and tea about an hour ago, on the balcony. If you are not too worn out…may we suggest you join her?”

Albedo blinks, but does not hesitate and nods.

“We’ll unload the carriage,” a butler smiles, “Perhaps you can take a fresh pot with you.”

And so Albedo is accompanied by another maid holding a tray as they go up the stairs, who leaves him by the door with the beverages.

It’s a chilly night, and the other door to the balcony has been left wide open so that the room too has turned cold, though the fireplace fights a losing battle for dominance of the temperature. Lumine has her chin propped up on her hand, but turns when she hears noise.

Her face brightens when she sees him; she smiles, leaning back in her seat.

“Albedo,” she says, his name warm and thick on her tongue. She is, perhaps, just the slightest bit tipsy. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” he says, setting the tray down. “May I join you?”

“Of course.”

She watches with interest as he prepares them both drinks—a mix of honey, whiskey, and lemon first, topped with hot tea, then stirred.  

“Are you drinking to humor me?” she asks, and he smiles, “You needn’t to.”

“I find myself wanting to,” he says, handing her one of the mugs as he sips, and she smiles back.

They are quiet for a while, enjoying the warmth of the liquid, before Albedo remembers that there are items he is meant to convey.

“I’ve some gifts for you, from Mondstadt,” he says, “From various well-wishers.”

“Oh?”

Her tone is deceptively mild.

“Yes. I was surprised; I was under the impression you were something of a secret.”

“Are you disappointed?” she asks teasingly, “But you are not wrong. Those who feel the need to know, do.”

He tilts his head in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on her, measuring. She blinks back at him, the corners of her lips curling up a little. There is more to it; the gifts meant for her all have a personal touch. Especially from Diluc and Kaeya—neither give easily, no matter what it is.

“You have far more of a hand in your brother’s dealings than you seem, don’t you?”

She blinks at him in mild surprise, then chuckles.

“Are you asking because you believed me nothing more than a housepet?”

It startles a laugh out of him, how wrong that impression is, even though the time he has spent with her does often involve her lounging.

“No, I am merely seeking confirmation. Though I will admit…had I known nothing at all about you, I may have thought so.”

Her eyes are amused as she swirls the drink around in her mug, but as she continues to stare into her cup, the expression fades.

“Aether is…good at socializing and negotiating. He makes a good businessman; he would not have been able to buy our titles if he were not. But now that his ventures are bigger…he lets details slip through the cracks; he’s no good at bookkeeping. And he cannot be everywhere at once, although he tries. And even now, he’s still…”

She trails off, the pause long before she finishes her sentence.

“…Too kind.”  

Too soft, Albedo supplants, understanding what she does not say. It is not a failing. But it must be balanced, and that’s what she does—balances him, as he does her.

And yet…

“You’ve been uncomfortable,” Albedo says. “Haven’t you?”

It is too blunt, perhaps, but…with the chill of the clear night and the warmth provided by the alcohol, he thinks he can feel something…giving. A slight shift in the wind, a subtle turn of the currents.

Lumine’s eyes flick to his. There is a silence, and she reaches for the whiskey to pour a little more in her cup. She offers him the bottle—this time, he takes it, and she watches as he pours himself a rather generous amount with some surprise.

She frowns at herself, drinks, then leans back in her seat, tilting her head back to look up at the stars.

“Maybe,” she half-sighs, half-groans. “But he is around me, too.”

She props her head up with her arm just enough to see him, smiling a little when she sees that he looks mildly surprised.

“He doesn’t seem like it, does he? He’s good at smiling. But we’re twins. I can tell, and so can he.” She averts her gaze, staring out into the gardens. “I don’t fault him, though. As he doesn’t fault me. Too much happened in the years after we were separated. We were too dependent on each other…and then we learned to subsist…exist without. And now things are…too different. Too strange. So we just…are.”

Albedo stares, then drinks. She stares at his throat when she swallows, unfurling her other arm as though she were going to reach out for him, but she rests it on the table instead.

“Do you want what you had before?”

She blinks at him.

“You are asking a lot of questions tonight, Albedo.”

A warning? He’s not sure, but he can feel the glass wall’s spiderweb fracturing at his fingertips, and his desire to press forward itches. He’ll blame the alcohol for making him bold, even as he is ready to accept the consequences of what the results might be.

“Yes. You asked something of me. I cannot see if you do not let me.”

She blinks again. Her lip curls, at once sardonic and challenging.

Lumine leans forward, putting both arms on the table and leaning forward, as if she were going to tell him a secret—or spit in his face.

“We traveled together for some time, after he found me and I was stable enough to do so. Like we used to. It was all wrong. And it was everything I feared.”

Albedo stares at her, hard. There is a world unspoken in those words, and as he presses them into his brain to figure out what, past the alcohol and past what he already knows, a new thought filters into his mind. His eyes widen slightly; Lumine notices, and her lips thin as if anticipating a blow of some kind. But before she can pull back, his own hand clamps down on her wrist as he too leans forward.

“You didn’t look for him,” he realizes, and she breathes in sharply. “It never occurred to me until now. He spoke about searching for you, all that time. But it wasn’t the same for you. You didn’t look for him.”

There is a serrated silence; Albedo remembers when Aether recounted his story at the Angel’s Share. His deceptively easy folded hands, the restrained pain in his eyes, the curbed tightness of his voice—excellent bravado had covered it all, but that too was telling. The setback he had experienced when he was still recovering from the explosion, so angry was he at slander against his missing sister. The way he had needed saving from a small orphan in the nursing camps when no one could or would tell him of Lumine’s whereabouts.

How he had leaned forward at the tavern and offered just about anything as payment for Albedo to grant his sister’s wishes and whims.  

Albedo understands better now, that the stipulation of nearly everything in his power was because he would give up nothing that provided his sister comfort, no matter how small. What loyalty! But also, the fear of losing her once more—and the latter would be something Aether would truly give everything not to happen again.

All that, and the sister he searched for so desperately…

Did not feel the same.

Lumine’s eyes grow wet and despairing the more she watches understanding flit across his face, and he can feel her hand under his clench into a fist, but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“I did, in the beginning,” she whispers, trembling, “But not for long. You must have heard the songs and tales of Aether by now. Mondstadt’s Hero is just one title among many. His name was everywhere. At first it kept me going. And then—when I couldn’t find him, when I had nowhere to turn, when I was lost and destitute…it was only his name that I heard. It was not that I wanted to share the spotlight—far from it. But the more I heard about him, without me, the further away he seemed to get. Like I was no longer able to reach him. Like I was no longer enough.”

The words spill out of her, quick but heavy, every syllable a blow, her breath coming short as though she is panicking. She doesn’t look at him, staring down at their hands, her nails surely digging crescents into her palm.

“I stopped looking. I couldn’t—it was so much just trying to survive. We were named for the light and sky, do you know? But I wasn’t…bright enough to share the same…the same sky. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see anything at all.”

Her body is whipcord tense, so rigid that her muscles must scream for release. But she doesn’t notice, trapped in the despair of her own faults, biting her lip so hard blood pools to the surface.  

“Breathe,” Albedo says sharply, “Lumine, breathe.”

She tries to, for several minutes, shuddering as she inhales. She then puts a hand to her forehead and shades her eyes. Her voice cracks with nearly every other word when she speaks again, every sound a trial, but the tears have not yet fallen.

“He found me. He never stopped looking. But I—I had nothing to offer him when he did. Not memories, not even a shell. All he found was a great yawning abyss that he once called sister. He would have given everything for me, and I could give him nothing. What kind of monster does that make me?”

Albedo stands and gently cups her jaw, tilting her head up. She is haunted hollow, looking at him the way a woman stranded at sea for months might after finally seeing a beacon of rescue in the far distance.

But he is not at a distance.

“Breathe,” he says again, more firmly, and her gaze bores into his as she obeys. “One. Two. Three. Yes, that’s right. Again. And again.”

He sees the wildness begin to ebb as she listens to his voice, counting inhales and exhales at length, and he lets go of her face when she starts to settle. He removes his other hand from her wrist as well and she shivers at the sudden lack of warmth and contact.

Lumine flips her hand over, palm-up, studying the bloody red indents she’s made on her own skin. She frowns, pressing a napkin to the cuts. When she licks her lips she tastes the blood from earlier and dabs that away too, finally seeming to ground herself with its iron tang.

There is a weighted silence.

“I’ve had too much to drink,” she murmurs—though it’s not strictly true—when the pause has drawn out too long, “It’s late. I should retire for the night.”

Albedo simply inclines his head, hesitantly acquiescing to her wishes. There is more to be said—things he could say. But her confession is too raw, the air between them too delicate, and Lumine herself still so fragile at the moment the wind could scatter the particles of her.

Lumine rises from her seat first, languid and perhaps a little dazed; Albedo follows, closing the doors to the balcony behind him. He leans against the bedpost as Lumine sinks down onto the mattress, burying her face in her hands. After a moment, he takes a chance and walks back over to her, kneeling down and putting a hand on her knee.

She looks at him.

He says nothing. She gazes back, seeming as though she wants to say something, her lips parted. But she struggles with the words and decides against it; Albedo encourages her through his own gaze, but she gives a small shake of her head in the end.

Albedo makes to get up, but she puts her hand on top of his briefly before he fully rises, and he lowers himself back down.

“Thank you,” she says instead in a tiny, feeble voice, and he smiles a little.

“I haven’t anything to show for my presence here yet,” he says, a little jokingly, and she smiles back hesitantly.

“You’ve done much, already,” she says softly.

They are still for a moment, staring at each other. Albedo flips his own hand over so that their palms meet, and after a moment, he laces their fingers together. Lumine sighs, squeezing his hand weakly.

“Should I…stay until you fall asleep?” Albedo asks slowly.

It is an innocent offer. He says it simply, uncharged, and yet it comes out very differently than the times he’s asked this to Klee.

Lumine is silent, then reaches out with her other hand to trace the curve of his cheek, feather-light, gaze unreadable. Everything seems so still, and so quiet. The awareness that it is only the two of them in this room is keener, though that has never been so significant before.  

“…You should go,” she murmurs, so quietly. “I’ve have too much to drink, indeed.”

There’s—a warning in her words this time, but Albedo is not entirely sure he can discern the specifics of what it is for.

Nevertheless, he will follow her wishes. He stands, and Lumine does not watch as he makes his way to the door.

“Tomorrow,” she says, when his hand is on the knob, “Tomorrow…I will undress for you.”

Albedo turns back, but she is still not looking at him.

“Physically, or metaphorically?” he asks lightheartedly, echoing one of their first conversations.

She half-turns so that he can see the upward curve of her lips, but what he can see of her eyes is old, old and tired.

“Both,” she sighs, a little tremulously, “…Both.”

“…Alright.” He replies gently, as he turns the doorknob. “…Good night. I will see you tomorrow.”

On a whim, he turns back again as he steps of the room, and catches her eye as he does.

For a moment, he stands still, struck by the look in her eyes, almost longing.

You should go.

But he obeys her wishes, and returns to his own room for the night.

Still—he wonders, as he lays down on the cold bed.

And wonders and wonders and wonders.

.

The morning starts normally.

Albedo takes breakfast alone, and works on refining some sketches in the solarium. Lumine sleeps in, and meets him there by mid-morning. There is a certain amount of anticipation in the air, but things are so far as they always have been, and so Albedo carries on. He begins another sketch of her.

The only difference worth mentioning, perhaps, is that she is dressed a little more formally today. Lumine looks every inch the noblewoman in a blue gown with gold accents; she is wearing gloves, too, and floral hairpins with matching earrings. It is not so unusual, though she is often dressed more casually than this, and he wonders what this is meant to signify. She looks—doll-like, pristine, and like the day he first met her: a little intimidating, for she does not seem entirely present.

He draws. She reads a book.

They do not speak. It is only until the sun is just short of slipping that she closes her novel and straightens out before standing.

“Take a walk with me?” she asks, and he stands and offers his arm.  

She dismisses the staff for the rest of the day, and the two of them walk through the gardens in silence. She leads, and on the returning path back to the mansion, she sighs and begins to speak.

“Do you know,” she begins, “I’ve been saved by children four times?”

He glances at her, and she him, but they do not stop walking, and she faces forward again as she continues to talk.

“Klee said that you get her out of all sorts of trouble, and that you never lie. Can I trust you?”

“You can,” he says easily, “But you have to decide that for yourself.”

She smiles, and says nothing else on the subject.

“How much do you know about me, Albedo?” she asks conversationally, and he chuckles a little at the familiar question.

“Not much, even now,” he says, “I know that you and your brother Aether were caught in an explosion during the war, and you were taken prisoner afterwards. When you recovered, you wandered across Snezhnaya, and Natlan, and finally Fontaine. I know that is where your brother found you, and where you first heard of me. But…”

He tilts his head up for a moment, thinking.

“Hmmm…but, I know you prefer cold drinks instead of hot. You like desserts with fruit and prefer them more tart instead of saccharine. You like napping in the sun; you like the open air.”

Lumine’s pace slows, and he slows with her. She turns to him, blinks, but he still faces forward as he continues with his findings uninterrupted.

“I think…you drink because you are used to it and it provides a distraction, and not quite because you like it. The same with the smoking—it is a habit borne from necessity. Fontaine is big on both, is it not? And I think you were telling the truth that day in the kitchens when you said you missed your brother, but that you also miss who you used to be with him, before you fought a war. I think you are afraid that your brother thinks less of you now even though he does not seem to—which, in essence, perhaps makes it worse if he does not at least think differently of you, for you are not the same person you once were, and that would mean that the person you consider your other half does not…see you, either. But I think because you lost sight of yourself, you’ve become most afraid of seeing yourself because you no longer know what to expect, and you are used to knowing what to expect—or at the least, having your brother know if you do not. And yet, if he does manage to see…you also fear that the great yawning abyss you say you became will swallow him entirely, and you will drag him down with you, which may be worse even as it hurts to not share something with him. A vicious cycle.”

He feels her trembling a little before her fingers tighten around his arm to prevent it.

“How did I do?” he asks innocently, glancing at her, and she barks out a bitter half-laugh.

“Formidably,” she says primly.

They are silent for a brief moment again, slowing their pace to almost a standstill. Lumine takes a deep breath before she speaks.  

“In Snezhnaya, I met a little boy,” she starts, voice soft and distant, “His name was Teucer, and he was waiting for his brother, too, to come back from the war—but he didn’t know it was the war he was waiting for him to return from. He thought his brother was a traveling toy salesman; the elder ones lied to keep his sleep peaceful and his dreams alive. He was…so young, so innocent, and idolized his brother so dearly. And at the same time, I had never felt so far away from my own brother. But Teucer…did not let me forget that I cared about my brother still. That I still wanted to see him again…and that I wanted him to see me.”

A pause, as they halt to admire the flowers. Lumine reaches out to rub one of the petals between her fingers, catching the scent on her skin.

They continue to walk.

“It was Paimon who first spotted me in Fontaine. She ran up to me and stuck herself close and demanded that I not go anywhere, and then there was Aether following, chasing after her. The force of her words struck me even before I knew what she was doing. I was…tired of wandering, but hadn’t thought much about what it meant if I stopped.”

She looks up at the sky, shading her eyes from the bright sunlight.

“In Liyue, on our way back from Fontaine, I met a girl named Qiqi. She was a terribly forgetful thing—the result of an unfortunate accident. But for the things she found important…she tried hard to remember, even if others thought it futile.  And there were still things she wanted strongly to protect. Even if it was because she wasn’t able to look back…she still looked towards the future as much as she could. In the end, I promised that I would remember for her.”

Lumine looks back down.

“And then there was Klee. Who reminded me it was important to share.” She laughs a little at that, and finally turns to Albedo as they stop in front of the mansion’s front door. She puts a hand on the knob. “So I will admit to my fears. And I will subject myself to the ordeal of being vulnerable if it means that I can come to terms with what there is to know.”

Albedo smiles slightly and puts his hand over hers.

“Shall we go, then?” he asks, and pushes the door open with her.

They step inside. It is quiet and empty; the daylight is starting to soften, the curtains stir in the wind. The idyll is like a dream, the two of the suspended between consciousness and its opposite in their stillness, but the air smells of spring—of beginning, of rebirth. Even if they step back out through the door, there is no changing what is to come.    

Lumine takes a deep breath, then exhales, bringing lucidity.

She reaches up and removes her hairpins, laying them on the side table with a soft clink. She tugs on the fingers of her gloves as she walks towards the stairs, draping one over the bannister as she ascends, then the other.

“You know,” she says, as she reaches to unzip the back of her dress, “I’ve taken up quite a bit of your time. Even if this is a job…the investment is…considerable.”

Albedo slowly trails after her, not once taking his eyes off of her. There is almost something alchemical about the way she’s chosen to go about this, and anticipation begins to creep into him as though he is being led to the precipice of a cliff.

“I have my own rather vested interest in seeing it through,” he manages to say, and he feels rather than sees Lumine smile.

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“And what,” she says, as the silk of her dress cascades down her body and she steps out of the pool of fabric, continuing up the stairs in only a thin undershift, “Will you do when this is through?”

“That…remains to be seen.”

She pushes down one strap of the shift, then the other.

“Oh? I am glad that you did not say you would depart immediately and forget this ever happened.”

The second layer of fabric drops to the floor at the top of the staircase with a soft rustle, and there are only her undergarments left. But regardless, from here he can see the scars that litter her body—some thin, some large, some like red stars strewn across her back.

He did not forget she fought a war with her brother.

Nevertheless, seeing the proof is an entire experience altogether.

“I would never,” he says, a little belatedly, and she continues to lead the way back to her chambers. “How could I?”

Just before she reaches her door, she undoes her brassiere, drops it to the floor. She pushes the door open as she slides her last remaining garment off of her leg, and drops it as well.

She steps into her bedroom. The setting sun has bathed the room in gold and orange and just the barest hint of mauve; she stands in the light and stares out of the glass balcony doors. The glow clings to her, as though it wants to sink into her skin and return to where it belongs.

Albedo stands in the doorway.

“May I?” he asks, after a pause.

“If I say yes,” Lumine says, without moving, “How close will you come?”

“How close will you let me?”

She tilts her head, turning it just slightly.

“As close as you need, I suppose,” she murmurs.

Albedo takes one step forward.

“May I?” he asks again.

Lumine turns to face him, lacing her fingers behind her back as she arches, just a little.  

Silhouetted against the dying light, the shadows harshen her face. There is no dream in the truth of her body, no untouchable hero looking out from inside of her, no abyssal monster assuming her place. She looks at him, and she is simply herself, so terribly, unapologetically present for once, and he aches with the answer of her, so clear, so corporeal.  

“Come in,” she says.

Albedo takes another step forward and closes the door behind him.

.

Their sessions are quiet for the next few days, as he refines his sketches and transfers them onto canvas. Lumine is still bare under his scrutiny, remarkably composed and unaffected.

Some days later, as they are taking a brief break, he comments on her naturalness.  

“You’re used to this,” he states, as she reaches for the bowl of valberries resting on the side table.  

She glances at him before popping one into her mouth.

“I was penniless for most of my travels,” she answers, her eyes still on the bowl as she considers her next berry, “I found work however I could. And as I mentioned…Fontaine was experiencing their new art movement. It was…easy enough work.”

He looks at her.

“Was it?” he asks.

Her lip curls.

“…After a fashion. They were not…seeing me, anyway. So sometimes it was easy to forget that there was attention on you.”

He leans back.

“Sometimes?”

She looks at him, a berry halfway to her lips.

“Yes. Sometimes.” she repeats, then looks at the fruit in her hand. “…I will confess I did not enjoy it. The…paintings were fine. Many were well done, even if I felt nothing about them at all. But I would not want to return to a parlor of eyes again.”

“And now?” he asks, his tone mild. She returns her gaze to him. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

He does think not he does, at least not anymore, and he is only one set of eyes. But he also recognizes the gravity of her decision to allow him to see her like this.

It is significant, this trust, and within it there is another thing unfurling like the petals of isotoma.  

And there is also…something different in her manner—not quite shy, and yet somehow unsure. With the barrier broken between them, there is new ground to be navigated.

“Well,” Lumine says, as she walks nearer, “I do wonder.”

She has not yet put on her robe. He has seen her up close already—numerous times, to study her scars, to consider the colors he wants to use for her skin, to examine the lines of her joints and palms.

And yet it is only now that the air feels—a little warm, despite the slight breeze that comes through the open balcony doors.

“And what do you wonder?” he says after a pause.

“I wonder what your opinion of me is, after all this time,” she murmurs. “You have told me what you know, and what you think. I suppose I am curious about what you feel.”

She steps back, finally eating the berry in her hand and returning to the bowl to select another, and the air seems to cool again.

“I’ve fought a war. I’ve been accused of being a spy. I’ve been a vagabond. I’ve crawled through dirt and mud and I’ve stood in a room naked full of men for a handful of coins. I am a woman of scandal.”

Albedo watches, leaning forward a little to rest his arms on his knees, folding his hands.

“I feel,” he begins, “That you are very brave.”

She turns, and he catches the brief surprise on her face before she smooths out her expression.

“Do you?” she murmurs, walking back to him.

She offers him the berry. He reaches for it, only to realize that his hands are stained with paint, and he looks for something to wipe them with.

Before he can, however, Lumine moves first and gently presses the berry to his lips.

“I am not uncomfortable around you,” she says, answering his earlier question. “But are you uncomfortable around me?”

They stare at each other, gold and blue, the ocean meeting the shore.

In answer, Albedo parts his lips to accept the fruit.

“Tell me,” she says quietly, her fingers now resting against his lips, “How comfortable are you?”

She strokes her thumb across his lips, pressing lightly into the corner of his mouth, leaning closer.

“About the same as you,” he murmurs, their noses touching now.  

Lumine smiles. She traces the curve of his jaw and down his neck, over to his shoulder.

She leans her body forward, putting a knee between his legs as he leans back to accommodate her.

“Ah—mind the paint,” Albedo warns absently, tilting his head up to keep his eyes on her.

His hands hover over her waist, hesitating to mar her, but she leans into his touch, streaking color under her ribs.  

“No,” she says, amused. “I don’t think I will.”

She presses him into the cushions and he can think of nothing else but her.

.

Not much changes, afterwards, which is false, but Albedo has not gotten the proper chance to study the specifics of what has with the attention that such a thing needs.

The current painting is coming along wonderfully, but when his attention on this one flags he starts on another. And another. He does not need Lumine to sit for him for hours on end for reference anymore, though sometimes she lounges in his presence anyway to make the job easier (to some extent)—or simply because they both enjoy the other’s company. Some days he works on the details alone while Lumine goes into the study and pens her way through paperwork, or disappears into the garden for the day.

Time seems to move quicker—the…stimulation was…informative, in various ways, and there is a particular ease between them now, a perhaps surprising lack of awkwardness. They eat dinner together, and in bits and pieces Lumine will tell him more about her wandering days. The searing cold of Snezhnaya, the bitter heat of Natlan, the deceiving coolness of Fontaine…and the sometimes unbearable loneliness in between. Towards the end for her solitary journey, she made the acquaintance of a traveling musician. Sometimes she loaned him her not-expert-but-passable voice to accompany his lyre, and sometimes he spun the bits of her history she was willing to part with into tales that made her feel like she had a place in the world after all. It was he who recommended her the more respectable establishments to look for work in, and who recommended her Mondstadt if she could bear to settle down.

And so it was Mondstadt she chose, after Aether had found her, and put all the choices and all the power he had into her hands.

“Is it to your liking?” Albedo asks, as they finish with dessert. “Mondstadt?”

Lumine picks at her mille-feuille, the already flaky dessert falling further into pieces.  

“It is,” she says at length, “It is…peaceful, here. Idyllic.”

“And yet you do not set foot into the city.”

She smiles, a little dry, a little genuinely amused.

“Mondstadt is…gentle. It lives and breathes togetherness, regardless of any assumed disparate parts. I find it difficult to…incorporate myself into that. Sometimes, too much freedom is just as suffocating.”

Albedo finishes his own pastry and sets down his fork, folding her hands together.

“And yet a few of the leading personnel of Mondstadt send you gifts. The Acting Grandmaster sends you a personally blended tea. The Uncrowned King sends his favorite beverage. And I know not what the Cavalry Captain send you, but I will guess that it is information, which is what he deals best in.” he tilts his head a little. “So nor are you completely absent.”

Lumine’s smile is certainly more amused now as she puts her elbows on the table, laces her fingers, and rests her chin on top.

“What are you trying to say?” she asks, eyes bright.

Albedo smiles back.

“That you could do anything,” he replies, “And have anything, I presume.”

There is a pause, the both of them staring at each other from across the table. Lumine drops one hand and rests her chin on the other.

“Well,” she says, eyes crinkling, “There are only a few things I want.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.”

“I see.”

“Hmm…you won’t ask what they are?”

“No, I prefer to find things out for myself.”

Lumine laughs, and Albedo smiles at the rare sound.

“It’s a nice night for stargazing,” she says, as they wrap up their dinner. “Will you come with me?”

“I will,” he replies, and they rise from the table together.

They walk out side by side, their shoulders bumping, still smiling at each other as they go out into the night.

.

The next time they have drinks on her balcony during the night, it is only a tea service of chamomile and lavender. It is an impromptu meeting, suggested on a whim after Lumine has had her bath. Albedo comes soon after his own, his hair flatter and straighter due to the damp.

Lumine stares at Albedo over the rim of her cup, eyes lingering at where the ends of his hair is beginning to curl at his neck, so pointedly that Albedo eventually lets her bait him.  

“Have I still got paint on my face?” he queries, holding up a hand to his cheek.

“No, I’m just…” she tilts her head. “Considering how much I know about you.”

He smiles.

“And how much do you know about me?”

“Disappointingly little,” she says, almost with mild annoyance, “I’ve heard ‘calm, collected, and incredibly talented. He’s the type everybody likes, some more than others.’ Most are to that effect. You’re seen as a genius, and spend most of your time in your workshop…though you have your admirers nonetheless.” Her eyes crinkle. “Ah, and of course, you’re a very good big brother.”

Albedo pauses to look up at the sky, his teacup hovering at his lips before he takes a sip.

“I don’t think I’m any genius,” he says, finally, “And I’m not aware of any admirers. Of my work, certainly, however.”

Lumine blinks, then smiles.

“You don’t pay much attention to other people, do you?”

He gives her a rather rueful smile.

“I…confess I cannot say I do. Relationships are…quite troublesome. Once you establish a relation, you must maintain it…if you lose contact, you must reestablish it. It is a rather taxing cycle, and one that requires quite a bit of time that I find best focused on other things.” He pauses. “But I will admit that sometimes…well. It feels a little like being in the eye of a storm, perhaps. I watch various things change around me, while I remain the same.”

A pause.

“You have changed, you know.”

Her gaze is direct.  

“Have I?”

“Indeed. For instance, if you say that you did not pay attention to others…well, now, you are looking at me.”

He laughs, though her words are true.  

“Should I be looking harder, to change to a greater degree?”

“Well…it would depend on what you’re hoping to find, wouldn’t it?”

Another pause.

“The change in me would be because of none other than you, so…how should I go about finding the cause?”

Lumine pretends to think.

“Between the mind and the heart, which will you deign to probe for your study?”

He sips his tea with deceptive casualness.  

“Well, since I’ve already probed your mind…will you give me permission for the heart?”

She lets out a soft laugh.

“Sir Albedo…do you know what it is you’re doing?”

His expression is amused even as he smiles innocently.

“I can’t say I do.”

She gets up and rounds the table, reaching out to lay a hand on his chest, over his heart. They both feel his pulse quicken, just a little.

“Well, if you’re going to make a study of it…are you acquainted with your own?” she murmurs, perhaps a little fascinated with what she feels.

He takes her hand in his own.

“And if I say no…are you going to enlighten me?” he asks, meeting her eyes.

The stars are bright. The air is cool, but there is a warmth and languidness between them as a result of the tea and the herbs within it.

“You partook of the fruit the first time,” she says, tilting her head, “So do you think I can provide you with what you seek?”

“Some enlightenment was obtained,” he replies, “Though I haven’t the time to properly consider it.”

“And how will you consider it?”

He meets her eyes, the corners crinkling.

“Shall I count your heartbeats, to start with? They say the pulse is telling.”

Lumine laughs, turning her palms up and grasping his hand.

“Alright,” she says, conceding, “Pass the night with me, then, and tell me the results in the morning.”

He smiles.

“Ah, so the permission is obtained. Well then…don’t mind if I do.”

(In the morning, he wakes first. He watches her breathe, face unburdened and peaceful in sleep.  It is not long before she stirs and her eyelids flutter open; she is still groggy, but once she focuses on him, her lips curve into a dazed smile.  

“G’morning,” she mumbles, half a sigh.

There is a truth here within his grasp, in the striking roughness of her voice, the unhurried softness of her waking. He is still able to be surprised, and in that there too is a delight.

You have changed, you know. You are looking at me.

What are you hoping to find?

Do you know what it is you’re doing?

His heart beats steady, steady, a tenderness welling up inside him, so fond it hurts.

Albedo reaches out and takes her hand.)

.

The showcase of all of his work is done on a rainy day, the solarium illuminated by daylight dimmed by clouds and an array of candles. It is a vaguely haunting atmosphere, but it is, perhaps, a bit fitting for the occasion.

There’s no real ceremony or gravitas. It is not necessary.

Albedo sits on the sofa, relaxed with a pot of tea. Lumine stands, the covered canvases positioned in a semicircle, piles of sketches and smaller works on the table.

She starts where she pleases.

With a backwards glance as her hand hovers over one of the paintings, she unveils it with a simple tug. She stands in front of it for a moment, silent, then moves onto the next one.

Then the next.

And the next.

She goes through the sketches after. When she finally sets down the last one back onto the neat stack, she folds her hands and stares at them.

It is not that she was afraid, necessarily, when Albedo had already scoured her raw with his words alone. But she supposes there was still a bit of inherent fear mixed in with her anticipation anyway, in not knowing what to expect, in knowing Albedo could still squeeze out the dregs from some deep recess she didn’t know she had.  

Capturing what she was looking for in a single portrait was impossible. Albedo had known from the beginning, which was why he was so often sketching instead of painting full works as he considered which he wanted to put to canvas. And in the handful that he did, Lumine sees the fractures and fragments and facets of herself, supplemented by all the sketches.

Here, the fey, distant look in her eyes, the lifeless throw of her body, the dismissive lift of her head. There, the sharp, forbidding curl of her lips, the tense defensiveness of her posture, the deceptive delicacy in which she holds her whisky glass that she might drink from—or shatter to pieces.

She is a wreckage, in the early days, but she doesn’t remain so. In later paintings, the colors are warmer; in later sketches, the lines are more fluid. Here, her face serene and fond mid-sigh; there, her eyes bright as she grins, mischievous.

In one she is on full display, caught between light and shadow, both terrible and beautiful at once. She is almost ethereal there, if she did not recognize her own mannerisms reflected in such a grounding manner. In another she is half-curled amidst soft fabrics, the quirk of her lips both teasing and musing.  

It’s change, that he’s documented, a narrative with such startling clarity. It is almost difficult to believe that they are all of the same person, and yet they can be nothing but.

She hovers a hand over a sketch of herself laughing, so carefree. It is hard to see herself like this—or what is meant to be her, rather. She remembers being adrift in Snezhnaya, lost and cold in more ways than one, her mind swirling so black and bleak, so terrifyingly alone. Even in Natlan and Fontaine, even after she made certain acquaintances and perhaps-friends along the way, she could not imagine herself like the girl in the sketch. Even now it is difficult to come to terms with. Surely it must be an exaggeration.

Surely it is merely a pleasant lie.

But Albedo has been unsparing thus far, and…and—

And he’ll never, ever lie to you! Lumine remembers Klee saying. And she…she believes in the little girl; she cannot help but believe in Albedo.  

Perhaps—perhaps…perhaps, then, she can bear to admit that she is happy now, or happier; that she wants to root herself here in Mondstadt, that she is loved and can love, even after everything.

And…Albedo is not quite a sentimental man, but the latter paintings, the ones that make her feel like—dare she think so—something precious…

“Are you telling the truth?” Lumine asks quietly, without looking up.

“Would you like to see?”

Silence again. And then she finally lifts her eyes to his.

He is smiling gently, his eyes kind.

“Are you going to make a liar out of me?” he asks teasingly, and she lets out a wet laugh as the tears prick at her eyes.

She walks over to him, holding her hands out, and he opens his arms for her; she sinks into his lap, buries her face into the crook of his neck.

“No,” she says, voice muffled, “Of course not.”

He wraps his arms around her, and she cries quietly onto his shoulder for a long time.

.

They are under no delusions, and the reality is that with the showcase, their time together is coming to an end.

Albedo was commissioned for a job, and now that job is done, all that’s left is to receive his payment and leave.

The timing works out—they’d received a letter that Aether and Paimon were on their way back by ship, and should arrive as early as a few days, at latest another week. It is Aether who is his actual employer and therefore Aether who will render payment for his services, and it is this excuse that has Albedo stay at the mansion with Lumine to await his return.

(Neither of them bring up the point that Albedo could always collect payment later—it was not as though either of them were unreachable by any means.)

The few additional days are harmless, but both know that he cannot extend beyond that without proper reason—already he’s been away too long, and he has a whole city awaiting his return, nor is this where he truly thrives. Lumine can rule from the mansion but Albedo cannot, and it was always evident this day would come in due time.  

Still—Albedo finds his heart curiously heavy as he begins to pack up his things, cleaning out the solarium of his belongings, and Lumine watches him with unreadable eyes.

The final portraits have been moved to Lumine’s room for now, as she decides which ones will go up for display and which ones are for her gaze only. The sketches will be bound up in an album, though she might choose to collage some of them.

Lumine curls up on the sofa and leans her head against the arm as Albedo carefully packs away his brushes. Normally at this time he’d be sketching, and while he still could, there’s simply no need for it, now.

Strange, he thinks, to have this routine disrupted, even though coming here had initially been a disruption of routines established for far longer.  

“I could keep you here,” Lumine says idly, “I did say in the beginning that you’d be in more danger of us not letting you leave.”

Albedo quirks a smile, closing the case of his brushes.

“But you won’t,” he points out mildly.

“But I won’t,” she sighs in agreement.

It shouldn’t feel like such a final parting, but it has an air of it anyway. There is nothing strictly of forbidding obstacle preventing them from seeing each other again.

But there is still the sacrifice of time.  

Though they are not unwilling to invest it, it is a fickle thing. Albedo has his work, as does Lumine. Travel between the city and the Viatoris manor requires planning. Lumine does not enter the city, and Albedo is not hers to call upon her whims. All the while, time can slip and slip until the memories it used to wrap so tightly and prettily unravels and means nothing at all, even if they do not forget.  

And so Albedo and Lumine watch each other, weighing and considering.

For Albedo, he is not used to considering such things. Maintaining relationships has always been taxing, and most of those he does maintain at present began due to consistent exposure to proximity, and remain so. Rarely, if ever, has he sought out new relationships of his own accord, and if they wane, rarely if ever has he chased them.

And yet…

Lumine pats the space beside her as he finishes up gathering his things. He sits, and she raises her head and switches to her other side to lean against him. He reaches for her hand, and she flips her palm up so that they can interlock their fingers.

“You did not…and do not need an answer from me regarding this,” he begins, and she blinks up at him curiously. “But it felt remiss to not answer at all, that day. On the balcony.”

Lumine smiles faintly.

“Because you are a man of answers,” she says, a little teasingly. “Nothing is uncovered under your scrutiny, no hypothesis unconfirmed.”

He smiles faintly back.

“Just so.” He leans his cheek atop her head. “You are not a monster simply because you could not offer what you wanted to give.”

Lumine goes tense, though it bleeds out of her slowly, and she sighs. Albedo continues.

“It is not monstrous to give up what you had before to survive, to want to survive. Nor is it monstrous to change. It is…alchemy.”

She lets out a soft laugh at that, squeezing his hand.

“Transformation,” she acknowledges, her eyes distant.

Albedo inclines his head.

There is a brief pause before Lumine sighs again, more deeply.

“So?” she prompts, “The question. Even as Aether scoured the world for me, I stopped looking for him because I couldn’t bear even the imagined weight of his presence. And when he did find me, I was not the same sister he’d known since birth. What does that make me?”

“Human,” Albedo says simply.

Lumine blinks at him.

“Just like him,” Albedo adds.

Another pause.

“And you,” she murmurs, unclasping her hand from his to trace the lines on his palm. “And all the rest.”

“Indeed.”

A long silence.

“When Aether returns,” Lumine sighs, “I’ll talk to him.”

Albedo smiles a little, as does Lumine.

They continue to sit together in companionable silence as the sun slips from the sky.

.

Albedo senses a presence and peels open his eyes to see Aether’s face smiling down at him.

It is the early, early hours of the morning, the sky barely light. Aether has his arms resting on the back of the sofa, chin propped up by his hand, looking down at Albedo and his sister curled up on the cushions together.

Lumine is still sleeping, her legs tangled with Albedo’s, breathing peacefully against his chest. Albedo has her loosely wrapped in his arms, hand against the dip of her back. Both of them are still in their day clothes, having fallen asleep entirely by accident.

When Albedo registers what it is he’s seeing, he starts.

“No, don’t get up on my account,” Aether says, cheerfully but quietly. “We got in not too long ago. Paimon was dead on her feet so she went to bed immediately, but the light was still on here so I came to check it out.” He grins, holding up his fingers to make a frame as he peers through the center. “I regret that I never took up the visual arts myself. This would have made a pretty picture.”

Albedo blinks, and though he doesn’t know it, his cheeks dust with pink.

“Lord Viatoris,” he begins, and Aether waves his hand.

“Oh let’s not go back to that,” he says, looking vaguely annoyed. “Besides, you can’t call me that now.”

He looks pointedly to Lumine.

Albedo is unsure of what to say or do, and simply looks discomfited. Aether smothers a laugh, but sobers as he looks down at Lumine.

There is a long silence, but Albedo watches Aether watch Lumine. There is something bright in his eyes, and not just from amusement.

“Thank you,” Aether says after a while. “I’ll confess I didn’t entirely expect this in particular, but…I’ve nothing to protest, there. She looks…a lot better.”

Albedo raises a brow, but the two are twins, and so he supposes it shouldn’t surprise him that Aether can tell there is a difference in his sister in such a short amount of time, and with her not even awake. He goes to protest, but Aether shakes his head with a smile before he can say anything, and so Albedo closes his mouth.

“I…do not know what to do with…this, exactly,” Albedo confesses. “I have…not been afraid of the outcome of something, before.”

The corner of Aether’s mouth quirks up.

“Do whatever you want,” he says airily, but his next grin is sharp. “But remember she will do whatever she wants, too.”

Albedo smiles, and looks down at Lumine in his arms, cradled against his chest.

“I would expect no less,” he murmurs.

Aether smiles at him, and for a moment, all is quiet. And then—

“LUMI!” Aether shouts, violently startling Albedo too, “LUMI, WAKE UP! I’M BACK!”

Lumine groans, burying her face deeper into Albedo’s chest, mumbling something angrily.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Are you kidding me?” she says, turning her face just enough to snap clearly at him.

“Lumi, just because we think he has a nice voice doesn’t mean you were supposed to make him sing for you,” Aether purrs.

Albedo blinks, confused.

Lumine slowly realizes what position she’s in, then snaps her head up, looking into Albedo’s startled eyes first, then turning at her brother with rapidly reddening cheeks.

“Aether!” she yells, lunging off of the sofa to swat at him as he laughs loudly.

As he does, she freezes, staring at him in something like surprise. Aether stares back at her as he calms, giving her a wry smile.

“Welcome home,” he says.

Lumine hesitates.

“I should be saying that to you,” she says quietly. “Welcome home.”

Aether smiles, bright as sunlight.

“I’m home!” he says, holding open his arms.

She reaches over to hug him, tightening her grip as he hugs her back. A sob cracks the air.

The sun begins to rise.

.

Everyone sees Albedo off, including Paimon and the servants of the house. He’s loaded up with gifts—some for Klee and some for their mutual friends and acquaintances. He also has part of his payment—various ingredients and materials from Liyue or beyond, imported to Liyue’s famous ports. The mora will be wired to his bank; he had tried to decline, as he was given much during his stay at the manor and the work was pleasurable, but neither twin would hear of it.

“Do what you will with it,” Aether had shrugged, “Finance the city with it, or give it to Klee. At the very least, you could use it to procure more ingredients. But a service is a service; a contract is a contract.”

Albedo acquiesces.  

“Don’t be a stranger, you hear?” Aether grins, slapping him on the back, and Lumine takes Albedo’s hands with a smile.

“As he said,” she says, eyes crinkling.

There are still things to be said. But he cannot find the words, does not know what he wants to say at all. Lumine seems to understand, but she does not assist him by broaching it first.

They’re out of time, for now; he is already set to leave, all his things packed and his departure imminent.

“I will not,” is all he can say, and the twins smile at him.

He gets into the carriage, his head buzzing.

When he looks out the window, just once, he sees Lumine and Aether walking back into the mansion, the former shoving the latter after he says something.

Albedo leans back in his seat and tries not to feel like he’s leaving a dream behind.

.

Time does its thing.

Days pass, then weeks, and Albedo throws himself into his work both because he needs to and because he wants to. He had certainly lost track of time, both at the Viatoris mansion and also in catching up upon his return to the Knights of Favonius. Already the Windblume Festival is nearly upon them, and preparations must be made to secure the city for safety and festivities.

It is wrong to say that he didn’t spare a thought about Lumine during the frenzy, but it is true that by the time he has enough time to allow him to truly think about her, it is already Windblume. He should have sent a letter, an invitation. It is not technically too late, but…as he knows, Lumine does not step into the city, and he cannot leave the city now while he is so involved in the festival’s processes with all of the other knights.

(He should have sent letters beyond this, too, he realizes. People did that—more casual exchanges, speaking about their daily lives or thoughts. But most letters Albedo penned were of the business sort, any missives otherwise short and to the point; he had no practice in such things, and so it had not occurred to him so naturally to begin a regular correspondence. But then again—nothing had arrived for him either, had it? Though he supposes even if it had…he would have neglected to respond in a timely manner amidst all his work.)

Albedo sighs, rubbing his forehead. He cannot say why this bothers him so; previous Windblume Festivals have never meant so much. At most he and Klee would walk around for a bit and offer flowers as was custom, but while she went off with other friends, Albedo would simply return to his workshop to continue his projects.

As he grips the sides of his crafting table and stares down at its intricate patterns, it takes a while to realize someone is knocking at his door.

“Please, come in,” he calls hastily, and Jean promptly walks in.

She stops short when she sees his hunched posture and the slight frustration creasing his brow. How rare, for their Chief Alchemist to express his feelings so openly.

“Have you hit a particularly tough equation?” she questions politely, and Albedo looks faintly surprised.

“Does it seem that way?” he murmurs, then sighs. “Perhaps. But I digress…what may I do for you, Acting Grandmaster?”

Jean smiles a little.

“Lord Viatoris will be arriving for the opening ceremony soon,” she says, “I came to ask if you’d like to greet him. I was under the impression you two had become friends.”

A pause, just for a heartbeat too long.

“Of course,” Albedo says, straightening out, “I’ll come with you.”

“Let us go, then.”

He follows Jean, the two of them making polite conversation about the festival, inevitably straying towards work and going over details of the festival to make sure everything is in its proper place. Both are too diligent for their own good; any true break they took was always at the intervention of another.

There’s a slight commotion at the gates as they near. Many citizens have already gathered, news of the famous hero coming to Mondstadt having not exactly been kept a secret.  

But he does not come alone.

Albedo slows at the top of the stairs when he catches sight of the figures at the entrance.

Lord Aether Viatoris is impeccably dressed for the occasion is a well-tailored dark brown suit.

At his side is his sister, a bouquet of cecilias propped in the crook of her arm, resplendent in a dark blue gown.

Lumine looks up and meets Albedo’s eyes, the corners of her own crinkling.

“Welcome,” Jean greets, descending smoothly without hesitation, Albedo following with slightly jerky movements behind her, “Lord Viatoris, Lady Viatoris. Mondstadt is pleased to receive you.”

“Hello, Acting Grandmaster Jean,” Aether says with a polite bow. “We are pleased to come.”

“Will your sister be participating in the opening ceremony as well?” Jean asks, looking to Lumine and inclining her head in greeting, but Aether shakes his head.

“No, it is her first Windblume Festival and that would certainly overwhelm her; you must unfortunately make do with just me,” he grins, “But I’m sure she is looking forward to enjoying the festival itself.”

“Is that so? Well, then—the ceremony is not for a bit, perhaps Sir Albedo could offer her a tour?”

Oh, a conspiracy.

“I would be honored,” he says, just a touch belatedly, and Lumine smiles.

It turns out the flowers in her arms are two bouquets, and she hands one of them off to Aether—presumably for the ceremony—before taking Albedo’s offered arm. They walk away from the crowd into one of the lesser occupied streets, and finally Albedo gathers his wits and speaks.

“You’re in the city,” he marvels, and Lumine laughs.

“Such observational prowess.”  

“I thought you found the city suffocating.”

She smiles.

“There are spaces to breathe,” she says, leaning a little closer before she pulls back again, satisfied with his momentarily widened eyes. “And I thought it was about time I came to you.”

He smiles.

As promised, he wanders the streets with her a little, pointing out this and that. They do stick to the backroads mostly, as despite her bravado, he can tell that she is indeed a little overwhelmed at the noise and bustle.  

When she tires, he escorts her to his workshop, apologizing for the mess. She looks around with interest, fascinated at being in his space for once. It has a crisp floral scent, mixed with the more metallic air from synthesis, the culprit a batch of windwheel asters resting in an inelegant pail of water. Klee’s choice of Windblume, leftover from this morning’s gathering.

“I’m sorry,” Albedo says, clattering around to make tea, squinting and looking closer at mixtures in tins to see if they will make something palatable, “I should have sent word or…something, sooner.”

Lumine’s smile is genuinely amused.

“We knew this might happen,” she says amiably, “I was just faster at…not letting it. I’m impatient.”

Albedo turns to her, eyes crinkling.

“You are braver than I,” he says humbly, and Lumine laughs.

“You were the one who said I could do anything and have anything I wanted,” she says, “If I dared.”

“And I recall you saying there were only a few things you wanted.”

“Yes. And you didn’t ask what they were.”

She is still smiling, and his workshop feels too small to contain that expression.

“No,” he agrees, “I didn’t. But I think I’m about to find out one of them, aren’t I?”

Her smiles deepens, bright sunlight into molten gold.

“We’ll miss the opening ceremony,” Albedo says quietly, without any fight.

“I don’t think the God of Freedom would mind,” she whispers, “And anyway, it’s Windblume. Besides for Barbatos, it’s a festival for lovers, isn’t it?”

Albedo hums, his pulse jumping at the word, jumping even more when she finally hands him the bouquet of cecilias. How fresh they are is even more apparent in the smaller space; already their scent is heady. Albedo glances about for something to put them in, which is simply the same pail as the windwheel asters are in. He extracts an aster, trimming off its damp stalk before tucking it into Lumine’s hair.

She leans into his hand before it leaves her face.

“On the off chance he is a little miffed…well, I think I’d fight a god to have this moment,” Lumine whispers, and Albedo half-laughs at the declaration.  

“How terrifying,” he says, and she smiles.

“Are you afraid?”

“Should I be?”

She hums.

“Maybe. What do you do when you stare into the abyss?”

“I figure out its secrets.”

She laughs, unfettered and unburdened. He smiles, pleased.

“Is that what we are, by the way?” he asks, and she tilts her head in question. “Lovers?”

She puts a hand to his chest, over his heart.

“What do your deductions tell you?” she asks innocently.

“That I’d like it very much if we were,” he replies, without hesitation.

She laughs again.

Outside, fireworks light up the sky, and flower petals of all kinds whirl in the winds.

Lumine presses Albedo back against the window, lacing their fingers together as they kiss, and for the moment, there is nothing that can touch them—not pain or ceremony or even the gods, so bright are they, so present, so hopelessly, delightfully human.