#I DIDNT KNOW YOU DIDNT LIKE ANGST

[lowcallyfruity]

NOOOO IM SORRY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

What if Ruggie has lasting damage to his arm because of the events of book 2? It’s a wonder that thing is still functional, and it must be riddled with scars, so I propose a headcanon where his arm in fact doesn’t work so well anymore. This would be devastating for Ruggie, but he wouldn’t try to make it seem like a big deal, but Leona would notice and feel so bad about it but never apologize for it.

What if Ruggie flinches whenever Leona gets too close or suddenly grabs him or moves too fast because he thinks back to what happened when he overblotted? And everytime it happens it’s awkward, and Ruggie is the one that apologizes for flinching and laughs it off, but Leona knows he’s the one that should be apologizing.

What if Ruggie can’t pickpocket anymore? What if he can’t do a lot of part-time jobs anymore? What Leona did to him HAS to have caused lasting/permanent damage, and it would be even worse if it was his dominant hand that got Kings Roared.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

I don’t know if This is the place where people make requests but I was thinking Katsuki and y/n have been friends since childhood but as they grow up Katsuki takes the hero path and y/n chooses the villain path it’s like the 2nd year of UA Katsuki knows y/n is a villain and keeps it a secret she’s also in the class. I don’t know how much I’m aloud to ask but hiiii and if this gets picked thank you

ouuuu this is such an interesting request ! i luv me some angst once in a while ! this is also probably the angstiest fic ive written rn lmfaoo ! i tried to honour your request as best i could and i hope you like it ! (also yall keep enabling my katsuki friends to lovers addiction its not me its yall sooo🤥..) also here, reader’s family is part of a crime syndicate sorta like the chie hassaikai !

fem reader, blood n injuries, kinda angsty but i cant bring myself to fully write angst so take the bittersweetness <33 katsuki claims he hates reader but he doesn’t, reader has a sorta traumatic backstory but if u squint HARD, reader feels guilty, slight miscommunication trope, lemme know if i missed something !

"how long are you gonna keep doing this ?"

you're rolling up your bloody sleeves when you hear the question you'd been expecting fall from your best friends lips.

"what do you mean ?" you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.

he narrows his eyes at you, you ignore him "don't give me that shit." he all but growls at you "how many more times are you gonna come to me all fucked up like this ?" you'd expected him to be louder, but you blame that on the fact it’s so late. angrier isn't the term you're looking for, you've known him long enough to know he's trying to hold back his anger. for you. you feel your stomach twisting at the thought.

"as long as you'll have me" you jest, smiling at him. you never took anything seriously. from the time you were kids until now, katsuki hates that about you. "you'll keep taking care of me, won't you suki ?"

you're spoiled, you think everything is a fuckin' joke. katsuki hates that about you.

he huffs, grabbing your outstrechted bruised and bloodied arm "i won't if you keep wakin' me up so late. we've got school tomorrow, you dumbass." his actions are softer than his words, like they always are. he cleans at your injuries with the med kit he has stashed away in his room for emergencies, emergencies being you. you snort and katsuki can barely cover the smirk growing on his face at the sound.

"you're such a goody two shoes." you sigh playfully, but your tone is more loving than playful like you'd hoped.

you'd been hiding your lifestyle from kastuki until you no longer could. coming to him one night heavily injured because you thought he was the only one you could come to, a decision you regret to this day, even as you sit here in his bedroom again.

you'd never meant to get him involved in your mess. katsuki, who's future was so promising. katsuki, who since the ripe age of 5 with starry eyes and bandaged cheeks proclaimed he would be the best. katsuki, who had wanted you to be together when that moment came.

but you had to ruin it. and you're sure that even as he sits there with you and cleans up your wounds, a part of him hates you for it. you don't blame him, how could you ?

you ruined everything. you always do—

you feel a finger flick against your forehead and when you focus again katsuki's eyes bore into yours.

"don't go zoning out on me, idiot. don't go falling asleep on me either. 'f i can't sleep, neither can you." you huff out a laugh at his petulant demand. you hum as he bandages your arm up carefully. " i think i can do that." you sigh.

"i wasn't asking." he retorts, looking up at you seriously "don't go knocking out on me."

you're left speechless at his words. because despite what he says, you know what he means. you've known katsuki for too long not to.

it’s stupid that such a simple sentence has you blinking rapidly, sniffling away the tears forming in your lash line. katsuki sighs. even when you tried acting tough, you���ve always been such a crybaby.

neither of you say a word as he finishes bandaging up your wounds. he insists on rewrapping up your hand and your heart squeezes because you know he’s stalling and it would be time for you to go soon.

it’s for the better, you think. despite your heart tying itself in knots, you won’t allow katsuki to get caught up in them.

he finishes and no words are exchanged. he stares at you, pleading for something you’re not quite sure about, or at least that’s what you tell yourself (you’ve known him way too long not to know what he wants). you avoid his gaze, your eyes growing misty again when you hear him sigh in defeat before he gets up from his bed and leaves the room.

while you’re throwing your jacket on and tugging your dirty boots back on (katsuki was a stickler about keeping his room clean) you can’t help but look around his room. it makes you giggle how he hadn’t really changed that much at all.

he’s thrown out most of his action figures but it seems he just couldn’t separate himself from the all might one’s. he’s still got the all might poster, his pride and joy that he never stopped showing off when you were kids. and then you see something on the shelf where he keeps all his manga.

katsuki walks back into the room and his shoulders visibly sag when he sees you ready to go. you don’t see it though, you’re focused on something on his shelf, he raises a brow.

before he can ask you anything though, you turn to him with a sly little grin, the grin he knows you have when you’re about to say some dumb shit. he hates that about you.

you’ve got a small rubber band looking thing pinched around your finger and katsuki feels his stomach drop.

"you still have this ? " you twirl the braided friendship bracelet you’d made for him when you were kids around your thumb and index finger, giggling when you see katsuki’s expression morph from curiosity to embarrassment. faster than you could blink, he’s already stomping over to you. he wobbles around a little on his bed to reach over your shoulder to snatch the bracelet back.

“don’t go snooping through my stuff !” his fingers are inches away from the bracelet when you switch it over to your other hand. a struggle breaks out where you push and shove at each other. you end up underneath him with him trying to open up your hand tightly clutching onto your bracelet.

“s’not snooping—if it’s just sitting out in the open !” you giggle. he finally manages to snatch his bracelet out of your death grip with a huff and a pinch at your thigh. you don’t miss the way he inspects it carefully before deciding it was unharmed and placing it right back where you’d found it. your heart squeezes despite yourself.

“either way, don’t go puttin’ yer dirty paws on my stuff. you’ll get your germs on them.” he snickers childishly. you’re just as if not more childish because you blow a raspberry at him. katsuki squishes your cheeks out with his hand in response.

you realize you feel a little too comfy, then realize you’re laying in katsuki’s bed and suddenly spring up to try and leave but a hand pushes at your chest, stopping you from doing so. “where the hell do you think you’re goin’, huh ?”

“home ?”

“don’t think so.” he utters simply, pushing you down onto his bed harshly “you’re not going anywhere.”

“katsu—“

“shut up. none of that bullshit you spout all the time” he leans down until your noses almost brush against each other, you inhaling sharply and katsuki grips the sheets next to your head “ if you get yourself in trouble again, i’m the one you’re gonna come bother and i’m trynna sleep. you’re staying.”

the asshole knows exactly what to say to make you feel bad, even if he doesn’t mean to. so you swallow the lump in your throat and concede “okay, fine” you nod “but i gotta leave super early, so don’t be surprised to see me gone when you wake up.”

“s’less trouble for me if you are.” he quips. he’s mean, he’s always been mean. yet his eyes tell a different story. there he goes again with those pleading eyes. the ones that make you want to spill your entire heart and more, to give your life and soul to him. you turn your face away from him.

“stop that.” he whispers, nosing at your neck, your heartbeat picks up and his does too.

“stop what ?” you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.

“stop trying to act all hard. you know i won’t fall for that shit. those other extra’s might, but i won’t.” he’s awfully quiet. it almost gives you whiplash how he’d went from wrestling you to doing..whatever this was. you don’t mind, despite yourself. “known you too fuckin’ long, unfortunately.”

“yeah” you choke out “yeah, unfortunately.” you feel tears burning in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, that’d be unfair. you’re not allowed to be upset over something you’d caused.

“for fucks sake’s, yn” katsuki goes from gripping his sheets to gripping your wrists, you close your eyes. “ just—fuckin’—“

“i’m sorry.” you whimper, he pauses.

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have come tonight, or any other night” you sniffle “i should’ve—you should’ve forgotten about me.”

you’re babbling, you always do when you get in your own head. when you refuse to tell him what’s bothering you, determined to do everything yourself, katsuki hates that about you. though it’s something he can’t really get too angry at you for, cus he does it too.

you’re babbling and you’re crying like you always do because you’re a crybaby despite acting like you’re not, and katsuki hates that about you. that’s why he sighs and flips you both over so you’re laying on top of him. immediately despite your better judgment, despite claiming he should’ve forgotten you, you cling to him like he’ll disappear if you don’t.

you’re clingy. you’ve always clung to him. you’re annoying, spoiled and bratty. you make dumb jokes and you never take anything seriously and you cry easily and katsuki tells himself he hates all of that about you.

because it’s easier to say than admit he’s hopelessly in love with you.

he doesn’t care about waking up late to treat your wounds, he’d stay up all night even if it meant fucking up his sleep schedule just to take care of you. he’d give everything he has just to hear you giggle at your own stupid jokes and he’d offer up every limited edition all might figure he has just to stay here and bicker with you over nothing. he’d always comfort you cus you cry easily and he wants to breathe the same air you do constantly, he’d swallow you whole and keep you safe right next to his heart if he could.

you’re clingy, annoying, spoiled and bratty and all of the above but katsuki would do absolutely anything for you.

so he comforts you as you lay crying into his chest. apologizing about something he has no idea about. he’ll ask and he knows you won’t answer him, but he doesn’t care. as long as you’re here.

you fall asleep soon after and you’re still clutching onto him. he reciprocates by holding onto you just as tightly, hoping it keeps you safe as you dream. it’s a stupid thought, he thinks. but it seems you’ve gone and wiped your germs onto his heart.

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy.” he whispers into the air. you’re still wrapped up snuggly in his embrace and his black sheets. in his room where you’d spent the majority of your childhood together. until you came to him with a snotty nose and big wet eyes and told him you weren’t allowed to come play at his house anymore.

fate must think it’s so fucking funny, because despite you not coming over anymore you’d ended up going to the same school every year afterwards, even now ending up in the same class. and with you sneaking into his room almost every night to have him clean up your injuries.

he knows you’ll be gone in the morning, somehow untangling yourself from his snake like grip. with tired eyes and some treat from that coffee shop you know he likes, your stupid way of apologizing to him. katsuki wants to tell you you don’t have to do that because he’d forgive any crime you commit. he’ll turn a blind eye to whatever you do even though he’s studying to do the exact opposite because it’s you and he loves you. but you’ll get in your own head and start assuming stuff. so he accepts your chocolate covered croissants and splits both with you.

you must’ve hit your head extra hard during your late night excursion to think katsuki would ever forget about you. you’re stupid that’s for sure, and katsuki wants to say he hates that about you. but that’d make him stupid too.

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

---------

for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

-------

Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[darknights-beloved]

you shall not cause yourself to wither, not in my embrace, not while i still hold you

(and not forever, not even after death)

"It is I who cherishes those hands and holds them with my own. Happy birthday, my darling. I am immensely proud of you." i dont know how this ended up as my birthday fic, but here we are <3 maybe its all the years of growth im grateful for, and here i am.

diluc x reader

wc ⸺ 8.4k

cw; hurt/comfort ◞ implied abusive ( ? ) family ◞ afab! reader ◞ self indulgent (appearance mentioned - dark hair, dark pupils) (personality - heavily implied introvert mainly, adhd and traumatized if you squint) ◞ implied trauma (nothing too explicit. just vague details.) ◞ depression/anxiety ◞ tw self harm (/other mildly suicidal themes) ◞ established relationship (husband and wife. uses of 'husband' 'wife') ◞ once again self indulgent ◞ reader with questionable parents (abusive, overbearing, narcisisstic...etc) ◞ reader is mainly feeling numb due to emotinal trauma catching up w/ them ◞ somewhat melodramatic (in my eyes at least) ◞ mention of pills/medicine ◞ terms of endearment ◞ kissing and holding as always ◞ any and all backstory is mostly vague this is for my broken souls who suffer because of others and are not kind to themselves. pure comfort from here on out. needless to say that it is strictly sfw! hopefully, im not forgetting any other warnings or missing something, if so please reach out! <<<<

synopsis; to cherish someone is to ache for them, more so as they ache. you've hurt yourself and diluc's heart aches deeply. you dont deserve it you both know it - and yet there it is, the stubborn ache that your husband will conquer (even more so stubbornly) and replace with a loving, gentle ache of tenderness instead. - in other words, diluc ragnvindr, comes back home to the manor to see his wife anguished by the troubles of her mind and other factors playing a part in doing so. he takes care of you with nothing but devotion and protectiveness and worry for the night as he will tenaciously every single day of his life no matter how much you think you dont deserve it.he'll show you how beautiful you are.

 Diluc drew in a shaky breath of air as soundlessly he stepped into the stillness of your shared chambers.

His eyes rove over your figure, laid upon lavish crimson sheets with your head burrowed into the soft pillows and fast asleep. Dark, black locks of hair tousled, splayed in contrast stark against the gentle white of the pillow. You were huddled by the comfort of the bed he had always lovingly arranged for your every night’s rest, sleeping soundly. You were safe.

His shoulders relaxed as he made his way forward to your sleeping figure, taking a closer look at your tired form. For now, he wanted to push any worries present aside and focus himself on you. He tugged at the tips of his glove, each finger until it was made easy to pull out. Then wearily making move to cast the leather fabric aside to the dresser, bare and calloused hands reaching out to you and gentle fingers coming down to weave through your soft hair. Another breath leaves his lips.

You were safe.

⸺⸺⸺

Just this morning, you were with him ── happily chatting away by the coffee and snacks table as the two of you shared a pleasant breakfast prepared by no other than Adelinde. You had a small cold too due to the yearly season so the head maid made sure to whisk up a warmer, nutritious meal than usual, suited to ease the strain and drain of your sickness.

Unexpectedly, later, the moment was interrupted by a particularly probing businessman who unabashedly demanded the master’s attention from the distillery’s staff. To say Diluc was vexed with the sudden incident – no less while the two of you were peacefully enjoying yourselves – was to put it mildly. It took about an hour just to deal with the man and another to shut him up completely and shoo him away until he disappeared from the Windwail Highlands itself.

the moment he returned, however, he failed to catch sight of you anywhere in or near the Winery. He questioned his staff and most of them only had short, uncertain answer. But you were gone, this for sure.

You didn’t tell him, or anything. The maids were already done cleaning up along with your much hardly eaten breakfast, discarding away the leftover food as they washed the plate in the sink, simply going about their usual duties. It was nothing all too surprising; you usually tended to skip this meal of the day and in consequence he’d chide you for the lack of care you hate for your wellbeing sometimes. But today, he had gotten you to sit down and eat with him. Despite all the food he set onto your plate, perhaps all you had eaten was a small bun or so. Did the incident with that snob put you off? If so, he had barely constrained himself on throwing his fists at the bigot before lest you’d disapprove of his actions, but he’d most certainly like to punch him now. You were often wary of social attention and the attention he got as Duke of Mond certainly didn’t help.

He looked around the walls of the manor, searching for you with soft yet urgent calls of your name only to hear no reply. No reassurance. You must be in your shared room, yes? No. By his desk, sitting in a position that was very likely to strain your neck later as you draw fond sketches of him? No. Outside. You must be outside. He didn’t check outside yet.

“Master Diluc.” The head maid cleared her throat gently, a trace of concern etched onto her features.

Diluc halted his aimless pacing around the Winery by the doorway of his office, with a solemn expression. “Where is my she, my wife? I’m looking for her.” He stated forthright, eyes searching hers for an answer.

“Where is she?”

But the way the older maid averts her gaze slightly, an ounce of hesitation weighing her silence makes his chest tighten.

“She hastily left just half an hour ago, saying something about taking care of or accompanying her parents somewhere. To…lunch, I think.” Diluc’s eyebrows furrowed but Adelinde’s expression remained flat. “She did not inform us where as she scrambled to the door last-minute.”

“Parents…?” Diluc echoed quietly with a tone that could only be identified as a mix of caution. Anyone with eyes good enough could tell that he didn’t like what he was hearing. “Did she take her coat?” Mondstadt would only get windier by nightfall. Your cold would worsen.

“No, I don’t believe so.”

A pause.

“And you did not attempt to make me aware of this?” His jaw ticks.

“She had advised us not to bother you.”

An exasperated sigh left his lips gruffly the moment her words reached his ears. He simply turned, marching towards the hanger by his office, snatching the coat off it roughly by the collar as he sloppily slipped his arms into the leather sleeves.

“You shouldn’t have listened.”

That was all, he abandoned the conflicted maid and strode urgently and purposefully away from the winery, off to Archons knows where and hopefully catch sight of you.

⸺

Diluc’s thoughts were scattered. Partly because of his concern and frustration, for good reason too. He was sure his jaw would tense up painfully later from how much he was clenching it. Your faring with your parents was…strained, to put it mildly. Generously, too. He could not bring himself to trust them around you. He knew he was being stubborn, to not take your reassurance when you tell him you are able to handle things on your own. But how could you not even inform him of your departure? He’s more than just concerned; he feels mad and a little hurt. You always, always if called outdoors on any occasion, leave him with a sweet kiss of goodbye and a “I’ll return safely, dear” that the man was always accustomed to.

And today, you had not just disappeared onto any happy occasion, but you were with your parents. Your parents. People who never failed to repulse him by endangering you emotionally or physically by their selfishness, unresolved conflicts and troubles and own lack of understanding.

Then there’s you, with a benevolent heart with unfathomable empathy that hidden away in its core. And the Ragnvindr could never quite bring himself to understand how on Teyvat you could still care for them at times. He’s had his own fair share of family drama; or mayhap more than just what can be considered a ‘fair’ share but he knew for sure and in clear, unforgiving black and whites that anyone who do not even had a shred of decency and respect towards you simply doesn’t deserve to be in your presence.

He could never ensure your safety around them. He trusts you, truly he does, but he’s not a fool. He doesn’t trust them. Ultimately, Diluc only seeks definitive reassurance from you, the fact that you are indeed safe.

⸺

Hours later, and he’s restless. He’s scoured half of Mond and not even a knight dare question him, not wanting to be met by the scorching glare in the Ragnvindr’s red eyes. Caught up by a few pig-headed noblemen on the way or a few drunkards by the tavern who seemed to be causing their daily trouble who delayed him. He knows he shouldn’t prod like this in your affairs but your affairs with them were nothing but trouble.

Your husband remembers the many times you’ve been alone with your parents and then when you finally return to his arms, you don’t tell him about your stay with them. It’s always a vague answer. If he asks you what happened, it’s always “we’re doing good” “it’s fine” and he could never shake off the unease that crawled up his back at those words.

Only when he was met the outrider’s words of reassurance that she had seen you heading back to the Winery much later did he give up on his search. He breathed a soft sigh of relief, more than eager to get back home to you–

“Master Diluc, a fight has broken out in the bar between two knights! No. Wait. Three.” Charles panted, running towards Diluc the moment the barkeep spotted the Master in view. “- drunk knights.”

The Ragnvindr gritted his teeth, silently seething. “Those���imbeciles…” Charles panicked slightly, with a slightly confused expression on his face.

Diluc just sighed deeply, reigning in all his frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s no use talking about it. I will tend to them shortly.” This was taking much, much longer than he could ever be pleased with.

⸺⸺

Dusk had fallen. He hadn’t expected you to sleep so early, not when you always wanted to hang by his side all night alongside him as he did his paperwork. And were it not for the mishaps of his day he would’ve arrived home to you earlier so.

However, his frustration melted away seeing you safely tucked into the sheets as his heart beats calm down significantly in relief. He had scarcely been able to focus on anything but you. It really, really wasn’t like you to sleep early. You must be tired if you’re not going to stubbornly push yourself to stay awake. Shrugging off his coat, he slowly sat at the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. Any questions he had can wait for until after you’ve had your rest.

The truth is you’ve been uncomfortable for days now. Weeks. Only recently had you been progressing well. There's a hollow look in your eyes. No matter how hard you try to feel okay and how much ever his heart aches at the sight, it's as though a fragment - a delicate, precious fragment - of you is missing. His darling.

And the thought of you ever being sad or disoriented destroys him.

Diluc tries not to let the weight of his sinking heart be the focus of his mind now. As soon as he refreshed himself, changing himself into a loose set of nightclothes – a flame flickers and dances at the tip of his finger as it lights a candelabra that stood gracefully on the nightstand, the small flame soon burning down from the top of the wick. He set aside the ornate on the nightstand, along with his vision. His movement were deft as a hunter’s as he carefully reaches out a hand to check your temperature. Your forehead…feels warm. Not too warm. A soft sigh escapes him. He hopes you’ve at the very least eaten when you got back and taken your nightly medicine. Though, noting the stiff outdoor apparel that still clung to your skin as you slept, he knew you would have likely done neither.

At one glance itself, it was easily to tell you had mostly collapsed into bed the second you had returned home.

“You must be tired...” he murmurs quietly, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze is still stuck to you, red eyes swimming with concern as they drift over your figure while he carefully sat against the headboard, mattress sinking slightly under his weight. “you’ve worried me, dear.”

Worried is an understatement.

His arm comes to wrap around the side of your waist and pulling you closer to his side to which you unconsciously lean into his warmth, seeking his presence even in your sleep. Roughened fingers come down to caress the softness on your cheeks, only to feel almost something wet brush against his skin. His brows knit together as he felt damp tears against your cheek – a clear sign you had been crying.

You avoid crying. Resent crying. You didn’t like crying in front of anyone. Even in front of him, sometimes. Just as he was physically strong for you, you’ve always wanted to be his emotional rock in turn and perhaps to a fault. His protective instincts kicked in, alarm bells sounding loudly in his brain as he wipes away the dampness with a warm finger and strokes your hair, trying to soothe you in your sleep. He whispered your name softly, with a mixture of tenderness and worry. He wanted to wake you, ask you what was wrong, hold you but he didn’t want to disturb you.

His mind raced with possibilities at what could’ve caused such an emotional reaction from you at this. He was sure, without a second thought, that it had something to do with your family. He was sure of it. You disappear in the late morning, don’t inform him about a word of your departure, when he’s back you’re in bed early and there’s tears staining your cheeks. The very thought of you crying alone in bed only makes him bristle in more than just one protective instinct. Such nightmares you of all people should not have to endure. And yet…

He struggles to shake out of the darkening thoughts that start to cloud his head and tries to focus on your breathing. He couldn’t help but wonder just what had caused you to cry. Was it something that happened while you were out? Yes, he could be wrong, but his intuition was nagging at him badly. Mind racing with a million possibilities, he forced himself to push the same thoughts that haunted him and lurked at the back of his mind earlier this same day.

You still had your cold. He knew the best thing he could do right now was let you rest and recover as much as you can. He hesitated for a moment and decided to watch over you until you were awake again, leaning down to press a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead as his heart aches with a mixture of concern and affection.

Feeling his warmth, you shudder slightly. A welcome contrast to the cold your body feels right now. Despite his best efforts of keeping, you undisturbed, you couldn’t help but stir awake as your body recognizes his presence and awakes your senses. Though he wasn’t too surprised when he felt you awake.

His heart stills as your eyes flutter open, momentarily frozen in his movements.

“oh, you’re back..” his heart clenches when he sees your hand discreetly try to wipe any tears you thought was there, only to feel your cheeks warm and dry. A flicker of realization passes through your expression. You don’t look at him directly.

“why didn’t you wake me? I was wondering if you’d be concerned about my sudden disappearance.” You murmured quietly, watching his brows furrow slightly. There’s a pang of guilt in your heart. Of course he was worried.

“You’re exhausted.” He frowns slightly, his tone firm but caring “Needless to say, your cold. Why would I wake you up?” “And I was half mad all the day, not knowing where you were or if you were okay.” He withheld a sigh, feeling you snuggle up against him. But when you coughed into your fist, he felt his fists clench involuntarily. You should’ve rested. You should’ve informed him, or something... He normally would’ve rolled up his sleeves and give you a stern talking to but you didn’t even seem all that fully awake.

However, you felt his frustration melting away as you gingerly laid your head on his shoulder, only making him hold you tighter in a protective embrace. “Where have you been, my love?” he continues, his tone softening as worry whelms any other emotion he feels right now. “What’s happened, hm? You did not even care to inform me? You should know you’re not inconveniencingme by something as plain as that, darling.”

“besides, you’re still sick” he stresses, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice.

You stiffened at his gentle scolding, though you knew it came from a good place. A protective place that wants to keep you safe. Though, it was not out of fear nor anything alike, but more of guilt. You could be reckless sometimes, you knew that. But this time, it was more than just recklessness. You knew that and that made you feel guiltier.

“My parents had called for me-“ you reasoned weakly, as though an important excuse. A proper justification. “They don’t like it when I turn them down. You know how they are…” averting your gaze, your own tone softened much more “with me, with us…”

Your eyes drifted to the wall across, a sort of dull white. A thoughtful on your face as you recounted the incident with them.

What was supposed to be a pleasant lunch with them quickly turned sour. The food sat in your stomach uncomfortably the whole walk back home, your guts churning with the need to just shrink away. It was pathetic, really. You were supposed to be strong. And yet,

“They get suspicious quickly.”

You felt another cough coming on, stifling it to no avail as you bring your knee to your chest and your husband’s worried gaze doesn’t relieve at all. The way you said it, it makes him stomach churn. He knows how they are. But he knows you too. You’re being vague. A little too vague than usual.

Though hearing you excuse their overbearing behavior simply because they’re your parents makes his jaw tighten. “They do not own you like that, my flower. You shouldn’t have to drop everything and run to them whenever they call. Especially when you’re unwell..”

He pauses, his gaze studies you as he tries to get a read on your expression. Your eyes are still, not so subtly, avoidant of him. He could see the weariness in them, the obvious pallor in your cheeks. It didn’t help that you were trying to hide the effects of the cold from him either.

“You have to take better care of yourself, my love.. And you need to set boundaries with your family…you can’t let them keep guilt you into things like this. I won’t.”

He reaches out and pulls the blanket over the lower half of your body, feeling your faint shudders and shivers.

“I know…I do, I just...” your voice falters and you feel your words failing you. It wasn’t just this situation and you know it. How to describe the tumultuous rage of emotions in your heart when your mind violently blocks all your feelings? It’s stuck in your throat; it’s almost choking you and you hate it. You also hate that he can see it, that it’s worrying him, deeply.

(oh if only you knew where his worry was coming from…) albeityour doubts and fears were the most stubbornest things about you and you loathe it.

And how can you reassure him when it’s so clear that in your eyes a spark is missing, a spark he’d do anything to reignite until they smile and shine so brightly yet softly as though a sea of stars were poured into the darkness of your pretty pupils.

His heart hurts. Gods, you’re usually so talkative. He loves listening to every word that falls from your lips, music strung by your pretty voice. But now you’re awfully silent and he doesn’t miss the way your lips tremble every time there’s but a syllable on the tip of your tongue. Albeit the silence is unnatural in every aspect, he doesn’t push it.

It hasn’t just been weeks and both of you know it, pretending will only get someone so far. It’s been months and it hurts. It hurts him as much as it hurts you. The past few weeks were only more prominent, the numbness stronger and more palpable compared to the days before that. You’re falling apart and he keeps picking you back up, with gentle and nonetheless steady hands. For Archon’s sake, you’ve even demanded him why. Why didn’t – couldn’t – he just give up on you already? What makes him so patient, so kind, so caring? To stay by your side with the softest of smiles and go to the point of exhausting himself to keep you safe and cared of. Loved. Was he even tired at all?

Instead, you snuggle up just a little closer to his side and Diluc’s expression softens a tad bit more. Both arms now come to wrap around your smaller figure, as if protecting you from the world, from your fears. He turns to face his body to you somewhat, his chin propping itself right above the top of your head as he takes in your scent to ground both you and himself.

“I missed you..” you breathe and his heart clenches at how timid it sounds. No matter how much you may try to conceal your emotions or hide your thoughts from him, sometimes its as thought he knows more about you than you do about yourself. And in times you forget who you really are, he is more than happy to remind you.

“I’ve missed you more, mein liebe.” whispers he in return, his voice a little more quieter.

“we will take care of this later” he promised, pressing his lips to your right hand with absolute reverence. “for now, let me take care of you..”

He felt you shuffle nervously in your place, your left-hand stiffening under the blanket. His brows furrow, alarm bells sounding in his head as he sensed you were conscious of your movement, intentionally keeping it away from him. He knows sometimes you avoid his kisses out of your own insecurity but never quite deliberately and without being aware of what you were doing.

He felt his stomach sink as his hand searched yours underneath the soft blanket.

“Darling-?” he caught your hand in his fairly quickly, concern immediately etching onto his face as he feels you tug away from him.

“What are- “ you tugged your hand again as you hid the upper half away underneath, and he saw the panic rise in your eyes like urgent flames with only one instinct in mind.

“it’s nothing.” There it is. Your tone, it was uncomfortable and you cursed yourself for it. “Can you not do that- “

Your efforts were to no avail. You watched in helplessness and panic as his fingers brushed against a rough scrape with your broken and abrased skin around it, his blood going cold as he felt his heart lurch with ripples of shock electrocuting it so - on your ring hand no less where a red rose carved diamond rests on your ring finger. His heart dropped to a million pieces as he felt you quick, desperate protests, flying out of your mouth instinctively.

“W-wait…Diluc! D-don’t…. I didn’t-“ To hide this from him. His eyes darkened.

“What have you done?”

The words sound strangled in his throat; each syllable being forced out as though it were he was forcing out pointy daggers out of his esophagus instead. His held your hand firmly but gently – the last thing he ever wanted to do was cause you more pain.

“I-“ but the words were strangling you, too. Each cutting through your throat as you tried to force out your own set of daggers. You weren’t as strong as him. Not that you could find a coherent word in your head to word anyway. You had caused yourself harm, again.

His thumb silently traced across the scratches, cut deep but not too deep. Perhaps just deep enough for it to sting in the cold air, for you to wince at the touch and gentle tracing of his finger – for it to leave a small scar behind and to swell around the edges. The sight were knives twisting at the guts of his heart, hurting him more than it could hurt you. He slowly rubs against the slight swell, feeling your hand tense under his touch. One cut just below your pinky, another on the opposite side of your wrist and one in the middle, below them.

Those were three cuts.

He felt a wave of despair and anger wash over him, a roaring fire that burned furiously in his eyes, with emotions too loud to identify and some he could’ve even name. Hopelessness and sadness mixing alongside it. His grip on your wrist tightens slightly and you know you can’t escape even if you wanted to. His eyes trail over the self-inflicted wounds, swimming with anguish and then slowly but inevitably - unshed tears. He grits his teeth.

“I don’t understand.” His eyes search yours, and it almost seemed as though you didn’t understand either. “I thought you were doing…better.”

You’ve hurt yourself. Did you see that? Feel that? And yet, the only thing that seemed to be your main concern now was the fact that you were caught. Not the fact that you slit open your delicate, petal-like skin. Skin that’s soft, so perfectly in contrast to his callous ones. He has scars and he hates it. And If anyone ever dared to scar you or do so much as lay a fingertip on your body in the wrong way, he’ll do away with them. Severely. Anything the poses as a threat to you or any danger that stalks you, he’ll have absolute zilch hesitation in obliterating them completely. He’s all too familiar with the dangers of this world and what’s to come. But the thought of you being the one to hurt yourself, to wound your undamaged skin and treat yourself in ways he would kill were it anyone else’s hand scarring yours was torment to say the least.

“What have you done...” he pleaded, pulling you impossibly close and eliminating any space between you as though even a gap would be enough to stop his breath. “…to yourself...?” Your breath hitched and you were at a brilliantly pathetic loss for words.

"I was sure you were long past..." he paused, the words choking on his throat. It felt like poison in his tongue and he could neither spit it or swallow it down. "self-inflicted injuries..." "I'm sorry" you shivered against his chest "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I just.."

Sorry doesn't cut it and you know that, you should. You don't miss the way he seems to tremble too, as if he was also scared just as you are. Red eyes that can't tear its burning gaze away from the various self-inflicted cuts on your wrist and forearm. Red eyes that swim with frustration, worry, concern, sadness, and fear all at once. Red eyes that seem to be fully set ablaze now.

“I didn’t mean to repulse you…. or anger you.” No, of course not. If anything, you meant to demean yourself. The thought made him feel all the more helpless, yet more protective.

“No, angel. What you’ve done has done more than just repulse me. It’s hurt me.” He lets go for a second, scrutinizing each cut as his heart swelled in muddled and screeching emotions. “You’ve hurt yourself.”

Your tears finally fall, the weight of his words pushing the droplets down your cheeks. Now you see. You have given into those urges again. Something you have both fought tooth and nail to shake yourself away from. Something he thought he’d succeeded in doing but as your stomach churns do you slowly realize whatever pain you endure hurts more than what’s just. Because he cares, cares beyond what would be fathomable.

“You don’t deserve this.” His thumb gingerly hovers over the wound, his heart heavy and mind unable to focus on anything but the weight of his suspicions made reality. More so than what his initial anxiousness was for. He doesn’t understand. He simply doesn’t. You don’t deserve even a fraction of this. “Come here.”

Your shoulders slumped slightly. You’ve sliced open your skin because no one would care and you could feel the thrill of pain and numb all emotions. Where’d you get this from? When had that ever become reality? Was it the moment you had fought with your parents again, when they overlooked you and your efforts and you felt all that hurt all over again?

"Sshh..." he coos, despite yourself. Despite himself. He encircles his arms around your waist, and you can really feel it. His heartbeat was stuttering. He really is trembling.  "...my darling..."

Your eyes sting with more fresh hot tears at the hardly stifled crack in his voice, the way he tries to stay strong for you. But just as your cuts bleed, his heart bleeds more at the sight of it all.

A hand makes its way to the back of your head, holding you tightly and keeping you leave locked in his desperate embrace. Weary red eyes flutter close. Fingers thread through your hair again and Diluc holds you a little tighter - just to ground himself. Just to remind you and himself that the both of you are here, together.

He tries to let it sink in, that you had gone and does this to yourself again. You didn't in the past year. And he wasn't there beside you. He's frustrated, mad at himself. He wasn't there to shield you, to protect you and he could've. If only you told him, if only he....

Your spouse lets out a slow, unsteady exhale. He pulls back to look at you more clearly. Dark circles under your mildly bleary eyes and your nose flushed red from crying. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he feels your shoulders loosen slightly. His hand comes down, tracing the back of your wrist, along your pinky to your forearm. His frown deepened slightly, heart squeezing when you winced. The bruised skin have swelled up around the marks. His chest tightens as he inspects it closely.

"My darling..." He breathes, bringing the mistreated hand up to his lips as he peppered the most featherlight kisses. Right below every cut, above and all around as if to make them disappear with his lips alone. "Who made you do such a thing?” and did I fail you? But he dares not speak the questions that plague him, it’s on the tip of his tongue though – not so steadily balancing itself if it weren’t for him biting his own emotions back.

Because more than anything, Diluc is scared. He is really a scared, worrying lover of all things, trying to take care of you with all he is capable of (and oh so much more) and protect you with all he is. All he wishes is for you to let him.

Feeling the way you tensed up at his questions, as if your senses were on high sensitivity, he backtracked. His hand moved to your soft, silky hair that cascaded down the front of your shoulders messily as he stroked the stray locks tenderly. “Why? You don’t have to pretend with me, I love you more than words can articulate.”

You looked up to his eyes again, taking in how soft such a hardened gaze can become for you. This time from a slightly different emotion. You know what he's asking, pleading for.

“Let me in. Talk to me. Please.”

"I'll try.." You can't promise him. Not this time.

"No." But he won't let you.

“I think you need to understand this clearly. Everything will be okay sooner than you’ll know it, I will make sure of it. No matter what happens, I’ll always be beside you.” he sucks in a breath through his teeth and his eyes flicker to your hands once more. The right one, unscathed while the left…was the opposite. His heart contracted.

“Wherever I am, whenever. You have me. I’m yours, my love. And I want nothing more than to keep you happy and safe. To see that precious smile of yours.”

A shaky breath leaves his lips as his sternness cracks and overflows with emotion. "Because I can't bear to see you like this, my sweet..." Diluc brokenly whispers. He tries to swallow down his sadness, but it's painfully prominent in his eyes. He doesn't mean to make you feel guilty, it's not his intention at all. But he needs you to understand just how much he cares about you; he cares more than what he can handle sometimes and it hurts.

It hurt to see his dearest hurt herself.

"Whatever did you do to deserve such pain, such...hurt?" he demands in a broken whisper, gently cupping your cheeks up to him. "hm? Was it ever your fault? Your wrongdoing?"

No. No, no it wasn't. It wasn't. Your heart breaks along with his and all you can manage this moment is a strained sorry - a word he shakes his head at.

"Don't apologize." His jaw clenches slightly. "Don't apologize to me."

Your hand gingerly reaches his at his distress, you squeeze it as it rested atop your cheek. "For all the pain I've caused you." You murmured, watching his eyebrows knit together.

"It's only my pain because you've caused yourself pain." He interjects roughly, his hand quickly interlacing with yours as he kisses your knuckles gently. You sigh deeply.

“Don’t you understand?” you breath hitches as he pulls you impossibly closer to him with his eyes full of ache. “Everything I do, I do for you. You deserve so, so much more sweetheart. I’m…scared.”

Your hand comes to instinctively wrap around his and you hold onto it firmly. “What, why?”

“I can’t lose you…” His fingers dig into your hips lightly and your press your lips against his chest, right atop where his heart is. “Not to pain. Not to grief. Not to sadness. Not to doubt, not to paranoia. Not to death.”

“You won’t. I promise you won’t.” you assured with the same desperation as him, looking up at him with apology “I don’t even know what I was feeling, it just….it just happened.”

“I know. I know you don’t.” His heart swelled from the kiss and he felt ache tighten his chest again. “I know its hard but you can tell me, come to me if there’s if there’s anything even remotely bothering you. I’m here, sweet darling, and I’m solely here for you. You know this, don’t you…?”

You let out a heavy sigh, averting your gaze. “…not always.”

“Then I would remind you.” A finger delicately tilted your chin up, bringing your eyes back to your husband’s burning gaze. “I know not always. But it’s alright. I’m your husband – not just anyone. Your lover, yours. I want to be there for you. It’s my duty, my honor and privilege.” Burning with conviction and firm love. “You have to let me.”

Your throat constricted with unvoiced words, too many of them. All jumbled up. But he didn’t force a reply out of you, didn’t force a promise out of you no matter how much he wanted a conclusive reassurance from you.

“You don’t have to promise me that you won’t do this again. Just tell me you’ll let me take care of you.” his voice dropped to a delicate whisper; the next words fragile as they were precious. “…my love?”

So were yours. “I’ll…let you take care of me.” You reluctantly muttered and that was all he needed. His lips found your own, and no matter how many times he’s kissed you, he could never be prepared for how his heart sings, soars and swells all over again.

Whatever happened will be discussed once you’re in a better state of mind and ready to talk. For now, all you need is rest while your husband dearly takes care of you.

⸺⸺

The fireplace lit the dark manor, its halls illuminated in the warmth of its light and heating up the distillery to a comfortable temperature. It was silent, not too silent, just perfectly silent. Maybe it was the rare quietness in your mind that made you feel this way. Calm, oddly enough. Your thoughts not screaming at your emotions for once, your head not heavy on your shoulders.

The only sound was the crackle of the firewood or the broth boiling small bubbles in a pot over in the kitchen. Or Diluc’s disapproving hums and soft take of breaths as he carefully unfolded the dressing pad of the square bandage and gently pressed it atop the streak of your swollen wound. And never mind your barely stifled coughs from time to time…

The smell of classic chicken soup wafted in the air; broth filled with luscious ingredients that Diluc lovingly prepared for you. Your cold was still mild and you couldn’t even feel it in the tranquil of the moment. When everything else faded out and it was just you and your husband, while your head rested on the cool mahogany table and left arm stretched out for him to examine, to take care of. To put to rest what pain you’ve inflicted because of those who hurt you. Were you to allow it, he’ll find them later, strip them of everything they hold dear were it not for your patience.

“Does it hurt?”

You felt his fingertips caress the top of the bandage; eyebrows knit together with a hint of lingering frustration you knew he wouldn’t be able to shake off that easily. “No, it doesn’t.”

He hummed, somewhat distracted. Your eyes wandered around for a bit, before you finally lifted your head up to properly get a light read on his expression. He’s been quiet for some time.

“So…. aren’t you going to say anything?”

He sighed deeply, squeezing your wrist gently as he looked you firm in the eyes. “Please don’t take this lightly.”

His eyes trailed over your wounds once more, his eyes stuck on the same spots. The ointment he had applied was cooling to your skin, the burning tinge of the scrapes fading away from your skin. He holds it, tenderly, holds it. In his own scarred hands, more scarred than yours, bloodstained even but he holds it with a reverence that shines in his gentleness, his care.

Carefully, he lifts your petal soft skin to his lips and lets his faintly chapped lips brush against your knuckles just delicately enough. You still, heart pounding in your chest as he peppers them along your wrist to the very last mark below. It’s times like these, your heart to scream “He loves you.” And he does.

“Thank you.” at your whispered words, he looks at you and brushes your cheek with the softest smile. “for what, my sweet?”

“For taking care of me!” You exclaimed with a hint of defensiveness for his playful innocence, knowing he only wanted to lighten your head up a little. “You know that…”

“I know.” He confirms as you clasp your hand, a more serious expression on his face. “But that’s no such thing to thank me for.”

His feels your hand squeeze his and his eyes soften again with a soft grumble following afterwards. “…but you can thank me by letting me in more, hm, baby?”

“…right.” Your face flushed a soft red immediately, a shy smile twitching at the corners of your lips immediately and his gaze only softens more at the sight. His fingers brush against yours as he slowly pulls away – turning to the kitchen. The air smelled good. The soup must be ready.

“You need to eat now.” He grabbed a black catlike-shaped bowl (one he specifically bought for you at the market, telling you how it reminded him of you). Catching your pout however, he shakes his head lightly with a fond smile. “Darling, you had barely touched your food at breakfast today. As for lunch…well, I want you to forget about lunch. And then; your cold.” He said with a pointed look. Your cold wasn’t even that of a big deal. “Just sit there and look pretty, I’ll be done here soon.”

Your pout soon turned into a soft, somewhat bashful smile and his heart skipped a beat. He really knows how to worm his way into your own heart, and you’ve come to trust it with fondness. “Alright, fine.”

Soon, he placed the bowl of steaming chicken soup along with a silver rose engraved spoon. It was that pleasant, comforting warm color that the broth held – along with the perfectly diced vegetables and meat in it. Looking at the food only did you rather surprisingly realize how hungry you were. Skipping meals were a norm for you, something both your and the head maid would highly disapprove of. But something was different. He wanted you to eat. He wanted you to enjoy the taste of the food, thus the carefully homemade meal. It wasn’t cooking for another for the sake of it. He wanted you to love even the first bite and thus the effort. That felt different from the begrudgingly cooked meals you were given from your mother in the past. It was her responsibility. This was different. This was Diluc and he wanted you to eat.

“What going on in that head of yours, my love?” He inched it a little closer to you before his hand came up to gently pat your head, pulling you away from your thoughts. He lifted your chin, eyes carefully scanning if you were hesitant. When he found none, he let go. “don’t keep yourself waiting.”

“I was just…thinking.” You dismissed, shaking your head lightly in reassurance, taking the spoon in your hand while he dragged a chair closer to you and sat beside you; offering silent company.

Every spoonful made your heart and stomach feel full and warm. It tasted so good. So good. The flavor invaded your tongue, the spice a small comfort to your now weakening cold. He rubbed your back the whole time, just silently staring at you with concerned care swimming in vermillion eyes, making sure you were okay. Additionally, also making sure that you’d finish the bowl completely…maybe have seconds. No, definitely– he silently added to himself as he stood up from his seat, abruptly deciding to brew you some warm ginger tea as well. Now that he thinks about it, there were some fine assorted dark chocolates in a cabinet, too.

⸺⸺

“Let’s get you into something comfy, yeah?”

You hummed softly in response to your husband’s words, your eyelids already drooping with the weight of sleepiness and tire. The warmth of the food seeped in too close to your heart like a comforting flicker of flame, spurring sleep. Everything was slowly but surely catching up to you – most prominently – exhaustion.

Your eyes flickered across his figure, moving diligently as he rummaged through your closet for your night clothes. The warmth of the food felt oddly lingering, lulling in a way. The pillow that helped your back rest was fluffed to your satisfaction, only more soothing to your weariness.

Once you saw him reaching for your clothes, an idea came to mind. “Can- can I wear your shirt?”

Your voice came out unsure, your heart jumping, albeit he had sternly taught you to be nothing but open with what you wanted with him.

Diluc froze, short-circuiting for a second at the unexpected request. He paused in his rummaging; he was surprised but pleasantly surprised nonetheless. He turns to look at you with a soft smile.

“You want to sleep in my shirt, my love?”

Your eyes flicker elsewhere hesitantly before returning to his again, then to his smile. It was almost as though he was proud of you of voicing that aloud, despite the shyness that seeped into your tone. Well, if anything, it only made him further smitten with you.

“Uhm, yes?” You confirmed with a nod, waiting for his reaction. His shirt alone and the soft fabric wrapped around her body along with his arms would be enough healing needed right now.

A warm, tender smile stretched out on his lips instantly as you confirmed your words, his heart aching with happiness at the simple request.

“Of course, dearest. My shirt is yours to wear.”

Instantly, he moved to his side of the dresser, rifling through his clothes and uncaring about the mess he’s making through the neatly folded clothes. He pulls out a soft, well worn-shirt. He makes his way back to you, the clothing clutched in his palm as he hands it to you.

“Let me help you.” before any protests could come flying out of your mouth, he gently helped you remove your top. Your heart calmed at the sight of his beam, relieved by his eagerness and enthusiasm.

“there now, careful...” he focused softly, making it certain that the bandages do not disarray as he pull the top over your head carefully. You let him take your top off tiredly while he set it aside to the laundry and you trying not to disarray the bandages too much over your injuries as you slowly donned the shirt.

With that he gently laid you down into bed, grabbing the covers to pull over your legs. His eyes raked over your figure, hugged loosely by his much larger shirt. He was suddenly made aware of how small you were compared to him. With a gentle kiss to your nose, he whispered ‘beautiful’ – reveling in your soft giggles afterwards.

Then he grabbed both of your hands in his gentle hold, pressing his lips onto every inch of the skin from your wrist to each of our fingertips. Just to feel your hands in his, hear your laughter for a little longer before sleep. It took his breath away every time he absorbed the fact that your hands – smaller, softer than his could ever be, chose to held his. It was definitive he’d protect them without question just as he’d protect your heart and soul. He just wanted you to be happy, he simply wanted you to be…

“Comfortable, sweetheart?”

You smiled contentedly, tucked back in into the comforts of the soft sheets. “yeah. Comfortable!”

“Now lay down, my love.” But despite your sleepiness, you really didn’t want to. You wanted to stay awake beside him, even for a few minutes. But knowing Diluc, he would use his vision to warm his hands to an impossibly unavoidable sensation of comfort, rubbing your back soothingly until sleep lures you into unconsciousness.

Your husband couldn’t stifle the smile that stubbornly clung to his lips as he gently pushed you into the mattress again when you tried to sit up once more, lifting your hair back and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’ll sleep with you.” leaving each other was the last thing on the both of your minds.

“Yes, you will.” You happily smiled as he climbed into bed beside you, wrapping a protective arm firmly by your waist as he brought you close to his chest. “but not yet...” you cheekily added, making his smile widen reluctantly.

He cocked a brow at your words but before he can even part his lips to speak, he’s suddenly met with a plethora of kisses to the lower half of his face and you trying to squirm out of his hold

“You’re tired. Stop that.” He chastised gently when you tried pushing his hands away with a small frown on your rosy lips. Diluc adores your kisses and he, the uncrowned king of Mondstadt himself, was nothing more than your darling lover and more with every kiss you pressed unto his lips and body. But you needed your rest now and Diluc was also a stubborn man in that fact.

“But I didn’t kiss you all that much today.” You sighed, slightly muffled as you pressed more kisses to his cheeks and jaw. He blushes so very easily and his pale skin doesn’t do the man any favors either.

“You can kiss me plenty, tomorrow.” He cupped your face in place, squishing your cheeks together gently as he chuckled at the adorable sight of you, followed by a reluctant sigh. “After you’ve had your rest, my love. Go to sleep.”

“Fine-“ you grumbled slightly but he booped your nose, making you laugh softly again. “Hey!!” you clasped his hand in protest, holding it in your smaller one.

“don’t be mad at me, mein liebling. I just want you to have a good night’s rest after everything.” Lifting your hand up to his lips, he brushed a kiss against your knuckles. He swears it’ll be the last kiss but he can’t seem to get his hands or lips off you all too much. Despite his playfulness, the sternness in his eyes are clear and no doubt he’s still worried about you. He would be worried about you for days until he truly felt you better yourself both mentally and physically. But a few laughs spilling from your lips every now and then was the only thing that felt like it could ease the heaviness in his heart.

For now, he wanted you to have a good night’s sleep. To simply close your eyes and rest.

“I know, I’ll sleep..” you sunk deeper into his embrace he held you, no more fighting the pull of slumber. With a tired smile, Diluc tightens his arms around you gently, feeling your breathing and heartbeat steady against the rise and fall of his own chest.

“good girl. I love you. I love you so much.” His lips met yours once again and tonight, you couldn’t doubt him or that he was yours to love as you were his to be held. Your eyes flutter close. “I love you too, Luc. I love you very much too.”

Hands that were once soaked in unfathomable volumes of blood, hands that are calloused and far too roughened to lay skin to skin upon soft, silken ones such as yours, hands marred with scars big and small, some faded, some deep. Hands that run over yours gently feeling the ring that sits on your finger before reaching up and raking gingerly through your hair, lulling you to slumber. The only next thing that falls from his lips is a soft “goodnight” as you teeter on the edge of unconsciousness, failing (and successfully so, in your lover’s eyes) to the bear the brunt of catching sight to see the tears that quietly forms in your lover’s eyes as his thumb brushes once more against your wounds. Only as you slip into the deep slumber your body and mind longs for does the tears slip from the desperate grip and grasps of his restraint.

Your skin does not deserve to be marred. Not like his, at least not like his. Not like this. He’ll show you how beautiful you are all over again, no matter what. How utterly darling you are. He’ll remind you so.

a/n: im not sure if i wouldve finished it without you, aurora. i know you're dyslexic but the emotion in this fic could not exist without being dedicated to you first.

[mintypsii]

guys i love them i promise i just have the urge to put them through the grinder sometimes

umm on the bright side here's the alternate good ending version lol!!!!!

[quirinah]

ummmmmmm guys this dungeons looking a little dark here..........................ummmm..... hello??? guys??

[anonymouscheeses]

I'm gonna be shitting and screaming and starting fights if Sera becomes a villain. I can't take sibling angst, Sera loves Emily I swear guys believe meeee.

[iknowicanbutwhy]

wait. did one of the loops actually become a red giant? petition to call that one Loop-king (like looping. get it. hahah. ill see my self out.)

Haha yeah!! Loop-king, King of Loops, figurehead of the universe, constellation formed by the collapsing stars and wishes that bind them, that define them, a responsibility and love born of generations of dying stars and supernovas and stardust and new stars - or something like that!

A Loop, certainly. We're all Loop in these parts.

[lesbian-rook]

could you draw ragatha comforting an abstracting pomni? like ragatha calms her down enough to make the abstraction go away! thanks :3

🎶When darkness is all you see This is our Sweet Blasphemy🎵

[mythandmagic]

please Please PLEASE everyone go read Like Every Tree Stands on Its Own by @mightybog it is phenomenal and has deliciously altered my brain chemistry. AND there's a sequel in the works which is sure to be just as marvelous and heartwrenching and beautiful as the first.

Seriously, I have been rotating this story for days, even made some picrews about it (courtesy of ElenaA's Kiss Crew, beloved).

Anyway, please go read and kudos and comment and show her some love because she deserves it.

[justaz]

merlin au where merlin keeps excalibur and returns to camelot to serve under gwen as court sorcerer after she repeals the ban. merlin remains for years, unaging, even as gwen dons wrinkle after wrinkle and spouts grey hair after grey hair. eventually, gwen passes without an heir and since merlin holds arthur’s sigil, he ascends the throne and leads camelot for years. eventually invaders come and slaughter the people and burn the fields etc etc and merlin goes out to fight. he fights like a demon, which is what they call him with his unnatural abilities and golden eyes, and merlin chases them from his kingdom - only, they slaughtered everyone within the citadel. there is no camelot, not anymore, not without her people. merlin should’ve seen this coming as her one true ruler has been and will always be arthur. he waves a hand and puts out the fires and restores the buildings to their once gleaming glory then takes excalibur into the center and drives it into the stone. with the force and power behind it, merlin raises the earth around the kingdom and buries it away from further invasions.

he leaves the kingdom hidden beneath the earth and travels up to the surface to explore just how far the continent spreads. then theres new continents across the ocean and he explores those as well. he watches as the world expands and grows and learns and advances but humans go too far and begin to destroy the world and create weapons of mass destruction and threaten each other with war. merlin assumes arthur will come back considering the destruction of practically everything but he doesn’t. tensions rise and snap and in the blink of an eye, humanity is chased back to their caves. with the loss of technology and modern ideas, humans revert back to their roots and connect with the elements which means they reconnect with magic. it takes another few thousand years for these humans to achieve the level of civilization merlin grew up in his first few decades of life.

different tribes are settled across the land but, thats the thing, over the course of the last few millennia (lets pretend land moves super quick plsplsplsplspls) the separate continents have collided with one another and practically the entire mass could be considered albion. he’s not even sure where the original land resides now. sooo he’s not even sure where camelot resides now. he really should’ve set up some beacon so he could remember but its been thousands upon thousands of years. sue him for his memory being a little foggy. he wanders from tribe to tribe and learns from their new magic while acting as a physician which a lot of them consider him some sort of miracle healer considering his advanced medical knowledge. it’s a win-win tho, he learns new magic and they don’t die. everyone is happy.

then during one such visits to a tribe, he finds a man of twenty summers with a head of golden hair like a crown and sunkissed skin from working outside all day and bright blue eyes that look like the very sky was captured in his gaze. merlin stands for a while and watches him dig around in the dirt, sweat gleaming on his brow, and his muscles rippling as he works. merlin can feel the countless years falling from his shoulders, he feels lighter on his feet, and pure happiness bubbles in him. a grin wide enough to split his face pulls at his lips.

he can’t help himself from stumbling over toward his long lost best friend, his body awkward and gangly with excitement and when he calls out to arthur his voice seems younger than it has in millennia and he vaguely notices that his appearance of wizened old healer melted away to his twenty year old body. arthur looks up with a polite yet confused smile and greets him followed by a question and merlin is faced with the realization that arthur doesn’t know him, doesn’t remember him. merlin manages to keep a thin smile on his face as he reaches out with magic and finds an injury in his knee from years ago that must’ve been bothering him and excuses his use of arthur’s name as someone sending him to find him and help heal the injury.

anyways merlin and arthur become friends and set off on an adventure of gathering the knights of the round table from various tribes/villages and they eventually stumble upon gleaming white stone that merlin belatedly realizes camelot was built with. the knights all take turns tugging at the sword but it doesn’t budge, not until arthur reaches out and tugs as if expecting it to be y’know stuck in stone only it slides out like butter and he knocks the hilt on his forehead and knocks himself out it out. with the sword tugged from the earth, it rumbles and cracks and splits and a hidden kingdom arises from the dirt, gleaming white and shining in the sun. they stare in amazement and awe for a moment before they grow confused and distracted. then arthur turns to merlin and says his name in an all too familiar way and merlin starts sobbing bc arthur is finally back

[cleake]

heyy i love your blog the fics are so cute!!! i wanted to kindly ask you if you could do a fic with neville? i love the way you portray him in your stories. usually others just write him off as sme shy weak boy but you portray him in such a special way, like yes he is shy but theres more to him than just loving plants and being inroverted, and i respect you so much for it. i was wonderng if you could do a big headcanon or fic centering around neville having a crush on the reader or him being the reader's boyfriend? i just miss him sm :(

Hello, dear. Your words made me feel very happy and appreciated, thank you very much. I would love to write more about Neville, he’s a very interesting character. So I’m back from the dead and my multiple months break from writing to give you some of this sweet boy. Thank you again, you’re wonderful <3

Warning: English is not my first language, please excuse any mistakes

Neville Longbottom having a crush on you

-Neville felt like an outcast. He felt that he didn’t fit in with how he was, how he looked, how he behaved, or what he was interested in. He had bad experiences with trying to make friends, let alone trying to find someone that would be special to him. He was rejected, laughed at, and ignored by his peers and he stopped trying to talk to others. He still wanted to have friends, people to like him and respect him but he just feels that won’t happen, that he was a lost cause. So he went on through the years in Hogwarts being only a background character, nothing important.

-Then you showed up. And it was amazing for him. You were amazing.

-When Neville noticed you and you noticed him it felt like something finally clicked, that something finally happened in his life, that he wasn’t alone anymore. He felt like a person, someone with will and importance. You made yourself memorable to him by just being a good person, by being a friend and someone who didn’t see him as a joke. He was overjoyed. He felt like he had something that could make people like him. You made him feel like he was nice, like he was good and worth everything wonderful. He finally had a friend.

-But after some time of you being friends, of you two talking about your interests without any judgment, you making gifts to each other, you making efforts for each other, spending your time together, Neville had a realization to make. He loved you, he liked you and he wanted to be the reason you keep on smiling. He was terrified at the beginning. He was scared and felt so alone with that thought and feeling of loving you. This changed how he saw your relationship and he felt like that was a bad thing. He started to see you in a different light and it made him feel guilty. He started to notice the way you smiled, the way you looked at him, the way you laughed, the way your hair fell around your face, the way you stood, the way your hands touched things, the way your eyes looked so peaceful when you read or looked at something important. Like him. It was such a wonderful thing to witness your beauty in the simplest things, he loved it. But it made him feel so bad for thinking that way, you’re friends. You’re friends. Nothing more. And maybe he had to accept that fact, maybe he shouldn’t look at you in that way. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe he didn’t deserve to do that.

-Neville was so conflicted with his feelings and thoughts toward you, his days were filled with admiring you quietly, punishing himself for doing that, and then feeling alone and powerless. His mind was focused on you, he was thinking about you. And it wasn’t only the administration, he thought about you and how you’d react to him having those feelings about you, he thought about how he was disrespectful for doing such things. He was sure you’d be angry, upset, sad, embarrassed, disgusted, disappointed if you found out. He was so scared. But he loved you so much. He couldn’t help but smile when he thought of you, when you were near when you complimented him, praised him, noticed him. He loved you. And there was no way in denying it.

-He felt so much love and appreciation for you, he just wanted to cherish you forever, treat you like a god, worship you. He knew he was a bit dramatic in his feelings but he loved you so much he couldn’t help it. He saw you as something pure, wonderful, beautiful, gorgeous, and enchanting, he had to feel this way. He had to give you all the stars in the sky, all the pearls in the ocean, all the sunsets and sunrises. He knew you deserved it. But he didn’t know if he deserved you. And it made him feel miserable in his loving you. He didn’t know what to do.

-But then you showed something that was close to showing romantic feelings toward him as well and Neville got so excited and so happy, but at the same time so scared and nervous. He wanted to tell you how he loved you, he wanted to scream it, he wanted it to pour out of him so you could see it, he wanted to give you his heart. He wanted to say it and it ached him to death. He wanted to let you know. He was so enchanted by the thought of telling you that he got brave enough to tell you, not even thinking if you agreed or not, if you thought of him as weird and embarrassing. He got to tell you.

-One day he run up to you, his eyes wide, his lips parted, his breath coming out heavily from the emotion and adrenaline. He placed his hands on your shoulders, looking at you with a glimpse of something in his eyes that you just caught from time to time. Now it was directed at you and it was visible, he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. He had to take a moment before he could speak. He didn’t care if anyone was close to seeing, he didn’t care if people were laughing at his emotions, he was here with you and that only made him feel safe. After a moment of him trying to find his words, opening and closing his mouth in hesitation and fear of saying something wrong he finally choked it out.

“I love you.”

It was quiet, shaky, and uncertain but it was said. He said it to you and he was worried. How will you respond? Will you be disgusted like he always imagined? He just realized what he had done to your friendship and that it won’t be the same after this. All that could save this moment was your response. And he was desperate for it.

-He loved you and he loved that you loved him. And it made him the happiest and the most grateful he ever was. He was ready to give you himself and his heart and you wanted it. That was the most beautiful thing to him. He was always overjoyed with you and you were a miracle to him that he’d protect and love to the end of his existence. He was ready to feel loved and appreciated, to be someone’s “one and only”, to be their heart and soul. And he always wanted it to be you.

[caelanglang]

『 Is it bad if we’ve grown older, and decided that a world without the person I love is not worth the fuss? 』

In Loving Memory, by @blindblossom

made fanart for that one fanfic that shattered my heart :,)) Here ya go Ellie!

followed some of Yumingli's art tips for this one! here, here, and here.

[intricate-melody]

Read a post about the final Foxes vs Ravens game and it made me wonder what would have happened if Andrew had been too late.

We all know Rikos intent wasn't to hurt Neil in that moment, it was to kill him.

What if Andrew didn't get there in time and after everything that had happened, every cut, every bruise, every feeling was all for nothing because now Neil was dead.

Andrew would never recover.

[aspennntree]

since we only see the fucking. what do i call it. this thing.

when theyre alone do we think oscar has told the others about these weird merge episodes? because it doesnt seem like they know...

[mochiiniko]

prev