#Polites finding a place in the war where he could contribute could help his friends by repairing their armor and making them new spears

[backpackingspace]

Mmmm surely acient Greece also had blacksmiths yes? Blacksmithing is one of the main pillars of society establishing itself. And well polites is actually suppose be pretty strong and tall. So consider blacksmith! polites

[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

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>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark.

cw: slow burn, fluff, eventual smut, angst, follows book events with slight deviations, im planning to let jacaerys live! every chapter is around 2k wc

chapter cw: tension, fluff, a little angst, they are starting to fall for eachother

“The ceremony will be held tomorrow.” Cregan’s deep and steely voice rings with an imposing echo onto the stone walls of the great hall of Winterfell. “My lady is worn from the journey.”

Although the order seemingly held some benevolence to your sore legs and southern blood barely adjusting to the newfound cold, his voice feels so detached that you find yourself wondering whether he truly did care for your spirits, or if he only wished it as a polite formality.

“I will take my leave before sundown, sister.” Jacaerys places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I must be back at Dragonstone before the new moon.”

“Ill news?” you ask, already troubled and feeling incapacitated from protecting and helping your family.

“Ser Criston Cole marches on Duskendale lands. I must be present at the council to take action.”

“What about me?” You worry, and only after speaking do you realize how stupid the question was.

Jacaerys takes a moment to reply, evidently not wanting to make you feel more secluded than you were.

“I will not make any decision that you wouldn't have in my stead.” He decides, “I will send you ravens to inform you, and represent you.” a pause, “unofficially.”

There is nothing more to be said. Any words he could sweeten end with the same inevitable finale. No raven could fly fast enough to deliver your ideas soon enough for the Greens not to gain an advantage over the reluctance of your team.

You are a pawn. Your dragon is a pawn. And you will only read about the war as if it were history before you could contribute.

“I understand.” You manage to let out without showing how disturbed you are and possibly making the northern lords think that you were terrified to marry their leader.

With a hug too frail to even begin to express how much you will miss him, your brother mounts his dragon after the welcoming festivities in the great hall and takes off with a blow of wings that normally would have had you taking a few steps back from Vermax.

But now it didn't matter anymore. You watch as your only friend dissolves into the skies thick with white clouds, becoming nothing but a raven in the distance.

Suvion cries out, a sharp, strained screech that only pain as great as yours could have caused, and the clouds answer, though you cannot see him anymore.

You are taken aback at the feeling of heavy pelts placed upon your shoulders, and only then you realize how cold you are. Your frigid fingers reach around your own neck to grasp at it and keep it from falling.

“The cold is treacherous. One moment you may think you're warm, and the following, your heart stops.” Cregan comes to stand next to you, looking away to where Vermax had disappeared.

“Thank you, my lord.” You speak coyly, quietly, so he wouldn't catch the crack in your voice and think you weak and soft. Perhaps in a different situation, you would have blushed at his kindness, but the ice wall you felt between you and him was now more palpable than ever. Alone, with a stranger.

“You should come inside.” He insists, but it is not advice, it's a courteous command.

Without a word, you turn and listen. You are escorted to your chamber in the castle, and as you pass through the halls, you look around like a lowborn in a dragonpit. At least that's what it must look like, but in your heart it was storming; how different the place was from what you have known your whole life, the people, the sounds in the yard, the very air of the keep.

He stops in front of your door, beckoning you inside.

“Send for me should you need anything your handmaiden cannot provide.”

His voice is softer, as if trying to indulge you and your loss. As if he understands.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Cregan.”

You do not know for certain if there truly is a gleam of affection in his eyes as he says it, but you do know that you held yourself back from leaning forward in his arms.

Oh, how you wanted to just let it out, and how you wanted him to hold you through it. To offer some comfort that, at least, he cared for you. That he wasn't a cold hearted man with nothing warmer than diplomatic skills. Whom you would have to learn how to love the hard way. Only you know how your heart briefly yearned for him to offer you strength.

But alas, it was not proper. Too soon.

“Cregan.” You accept, and he barely hears it. Your heart sinks when he nods politely and slowly shuts the door, and it sinks further at the sound of his boots on the cold stone outside your chamber, walking away.

A terribly tragic thought slips into your tired mind; that he is betrothed to you, yet his heart belongs to another. Northerners love northerners, and the Stark men have mostly married into vassal houses of the north in the past.

No matter how loyal he is to be from now, his thoughts will always be about her, the people will always know about her.

Suvion's head appears at your window, blocking out the moonlight.

“Oh, you,” You whine, opening the windows and laying your upper body on his snout.

You hear someone gasp and scream in the courtyard, no doubt because of the dragon clawing at the walls of the castle.

“We should find some place good for you. Somewhere safe and warm.” He growls sorrowfully, as if aware.

But it doesn't last long. As quickly as he came at the window, Suvion rips away from your touch and carefully leaps out of the castle yard and up into the night sky. His otherwise white scales now partly reflect the dark of night in their shine, making it impossible for you to even tell how high up he was.

Alone again. You knew he wouldn't go far, that he only needed to hunt and come back, but you wished for leverage that was now gone.

Restless and troubled, you decide to take a stroll around the keep that is to be yours in less than a day.

You follow your curiosity back to the great hall, from where you hear whispered voices and see glimmers of lit torches.

“...of the beast. Food is scarce.”

“It will set eyes upon us.”

“Lord Glover, this is necessary. I do not wish-”

The lords at the table turn abruptly at the sight of the shadow you cast into the obscured hall.

“My lady. Is everything alright?” You hear Cregan's voice, his face away from light.

You feel embarrassed and stupid, interrupting a clearly important talk of resources that did not yet concern you and making the impression of a spoiled, uneducated woman.

“No- I didn't mean to intrude.”

“You could never be intruding on talks of our domain.” He attempts to soothe your nerves, although the implication of responsibilities is indomitable in his tone.

You approach them, carefully eyeing the other lords, feeling quite literally akin to a lizard slithering into a den of wolves. You cannot read anything on their stern faces, and it doesn't fail to make you uneasy and put your guard up.

“The dragon, my lady,” one of them starts, a man well past his youth, “he is a welcomed weapon in the North, although -”

“Although it is true that war has brought us both here, my lord, a dragon is not a weapon.” You warn with a poised expression, as respectfully as you could, yet fire dripped from your words.

The other men frowned in surprise and disapproval, but said nothing. You glance at Cregan, by your side, hoping to be faced with kindness, but instead your heart skips a beat at the sight of a cutthroat look he was throwing at the men, protective of your contribution.

“-apologies. The dragon is a welcomed ally. But livestock is barely enough to get us through what's to come. What are we to offer? Sheep?”

“We have endured harsher winters with lesser than we have today.” Your betrothed reassures, despite the evident growing concern.

“Suvion is big enough to hunt for himself, I dare say. The cold doesn't seem to burden him. There is absolutely no need to thin out the herd for him, my lords.”

You struggle to conceal a sharp gasp when his hand runs up your lower back. A way to show approval of your input, no doubt, yet you find that every crumble of affection he grants you is more than enough to spark fire in your body. Is that what you have come to?

You were worried enough that the rough stoicism of the north man wouldn't provide half the love you dreamed of, yet now you falter on that thought. If such a touch is already setting you alight, what would more do?

“A good omen. Prince Velaryon’s first visit wasn't as uneventful.”

“It is settled then. We will discuss other matters after the wedding.” He commanded, and your stomach flipped at the mention of your union.

With the lords out of the room, Cregan turns to you.

“I thought you would be resting. It's near the hour of the ghosts.” He speaks gently with a warm vibration in his voice, as if you have been wedded for years and he knows all about your practices and nature.

“I couldn't. The more I lay there waiting, the more it felt like I would never find sleep again.”

A faint smile lights up your tense visage, an instinctual way of wanting to see him soften as well.

He looks intently, clearly understanding of your friendliness, but it does nothing to soothe his brow further.

“Come. I wish to speak with you, since neither of us cannot find slumber.”

Neither of us? What is that supposed to mean?

You once again hook your arm around his, his body heat immediately warming you up and putting you at ease. He leads you into his chambers, a strong fire already lit in the hearth.

“Is this proper?”

“Whoever shall dare speak ill of my wife will never speak again.”

A shiver runs up your spine. Whether it's a pleasant or a distressed one, you cannot tell anymore.

“I know how you must feel, although it may not seem like it.” He begins, beckoning you to sit on the edge of the bed. “It's the duty that comes with the name.”

“Yes.” You agree, wanting to hear more of what he wishes to tell you. “Although my biggest concern lies with my position. I feel…” You cease before you could say something like “trapped” or “exiled”. He has been nothing but good to you since you arrived and you do not want to seem ungrateful or hostile. You do like him.

But before you could find the right words, he kneels in front of you on the floor and takes your hands in his. Your heart stops. Your brain shuts down. Gods.

“-powerless.” He untangles your mind and finishes your thought. “But you aren't. We will offer help, I do not intend to trample the oath I swore to your brother. The oath I am to swear to you.” He adds, his tone is soft and tender yet his words so meaningful and heavy, you hear them as though their echo reverberated in the entire room around you.

His thumb delicately rubs over your knuckles, his expression as stoic as ever, only his actions speak differently. He leans forward and places a kiss on the back of your hand, assuring and loving.

You draw in a sharp breath, as if you haven't felt affection before in your life.

“Cregan.” is all you manage.

“It is true that this union was made with interest. But you are not unwanted, my lady. I believe we will find more than allies in each other.”

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[thebestandworstdayofjune]

you and me, forevermore

a/n: my small contribution to the andrew garfield renaissance. directly inspired by the line ‘squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi’ in the song new year’s day by taylor swift. special thank you to my other favorite taylor (aka @secretschuylersister​ ) for beta-reading and also bullying me into posting this. please be kind, I am rusty. let me know what you think!   warnings: lots of fluff, a little angst, mentions of uncle ben’s death, mutual pining, two idiots in love summary: peter is in love, you are oblivious, what could go wrong word count: 3.1 k

read on ao3

It started in middle school, when you were partners for the science fair. Peter was bouncing off the walls, so eager to present your project that you had been working on for what felt like ages, but in reality was only a few weeks to the judges. You, on the other hand, were two degrees away from shaking in your boots at the thought of standing up in front of all these people and talking about the mathematical patterns that can be found in Bach compositions. He was so tongue tied when he noticed what was quickly approaching panic attack territory, that he was unable to find the right words to calm you down.

All the time that he had spent staring at the back of your head in class had presented him with the picture of confidence, and you had been so sure of your topic and all of the work that you had put into it mere hours ago, sitting around the kitchen table with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. So, instead of a rambly and ultimately unhelpful pep talk, he settled for grabbing your hand and squeezing three times. It brought you back to Earth, you presented your project and snagged a first place ribbon. He liked to joke it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and you were not one to argue.

You were attached at the hip after that, where one of you went, the other followed. Peter dragged you kicking and screaming through advanced chemistry Sophomore year, he pretended to be interested in your russian politics of the 20th century course. If you were in a club, Peter signed up to take the photographs for the yearbook. You were together all of the time, and had never thought to question when he would grab your hand, squeeze three times before running out of the door to get home before curfew.

Peter was the one that made you watch Star Wars for the first time, disgusted you had been friends for years, “literal years” he said, and that you didn’t understand the references he had been making the entire time. Christmas break rolled around and you were cuddled up on the couch, nestled between the crook of his arm, popcorn bowl in your lap when Aunt May poked her head in from the kitchen. “I’m making your guys’ favorite, sprinkle cookies. Any interest in helping your favorite Aunt?” It didn’t matter that it was several days after Christmas, with the tree glowing softly in the corner and the stockings hung up beside it, the holiday spirit was lingering in the Parker household. They were your favorite cookies, and they were Peter’s favorite because he loved watching you agonize over picking the cookie with the best dough to sprinkle ratio.

“You’re my only Aunt.” Peter called back, eyes not budging from the screen.

“I will!” you called, preparing to swing your legs off of the couch, when you felt Peter’s arm tighten around your waist.

“We haven’t even seen the best part,” he whined.

“You think that every part is the best part.” You rolled your eyes, attempting once more to ditch your movie day in favor of quality time with May. Peter’s arm refused to budge, and you saw May smile to herself before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“I’m right” he whispers, before you feel his hand squeeze your waist three times before wrapping further around your middle to hold you against his chest more firmly, resolute in his silent promise to keep you planted on the couch.

That was new, but you didn’t think much of it, as the movie swept up your attention.

A soft knock echoed through your apartment, and  you sprinted to the front door. Uncle Ben was gone, Aunt May was beside herself, and no matter how many times you had stopped by their house to drop off dinner or to offer to help with some general tidying, Peter had yet to come out of his room, much less managed to speak to you at school. He sat beside you in class, eyes glazed over and unable to form a coherent thought. You only knew that he was mentally there because whenever you caught him with his eyes glazed over, he would gently squeeze your knee three times under the table, before going back to drawing in his notebook and hoping time started to fly, even if he wasn’t having fun. You gave him your best smile, and reminded yourself that he would talk about it with you when you were ready.

Even though it has only been a few days, it was the longest you had gone without speaking to Peter, except for your family’s week-long vacation to Niagara Falls during the summer of Freshman year. But even then, you had pestered your mother into letting you call and after two days of begging she had given in. She rolled her eyes, but your parents adored Peter, and knew you were going to have trouble falling asleep if you didn’t at least ask what you had missed during photography club at the library or if he had gotten to the next chapter in your assigned summer reading.

Regardless, you missed him something terrible, but you wanted to give him his space. That is, until there were three taps on your family’s apartment door, and you just knew. You threw the door open to find Peter, shoulders slumped, a small cut on his forehead. “Peter” you whispered, not sure what you could say at that moment.

But Peter wasn’t looking for someone to tell him that everything was going to be okay, or give him sugary sweet words that would fall on deaf ears anyways. Peter just wanted you.

His hand snatched your wrist, tugging you firmly against his chest as his arms wrapped around your middle. You don’t know how long you stayed like that, his hands occasionally tapping the small of your back in repetitions of three, your nails combing the hair at the nape of his neck.

What may have been moments, could have been hours later, Peter scooped you up in his arms and carried you into your room. You didn’t have the mind to question when he had gotten so strong, simply relieved that he was there. He settled you into bed, before kneeling down beside you, meeting your eyes for what felt like the first time in ages. “I missed you.” he said, his eyes sad and his voice soft.

The instinct to tell him everything was okay a thousand times over before asking if he was okay until you lost your voice rose up, but you managed to push it all down. You smiled softly, feeling tears well up in the corners of your eyes before muttering back “I missed you too, Pete.”

His eyes closed, and you could have sworn you saw the weight lift off of his shoulders. ‘There he is’, you thought. Your Peter was there, beneath the surface. You just needed to give him some time to come back to you.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked, already gathering up his favorite of your blankets from a basket by the door.

“Of course you can.” you moved away from the edge, making room for him on your bed. Peter looked up at you, brows creasing when he saw you patting the space beside you. He gestured at the floor, and you rolled your eyes. “When have I ever let you sleep on the floor?”

“Well there was that one time when-”

“When you caught the flu during the class trip to the natural history museum and refused to admit you were sick for the sake of our sleepover, so, we compromised and you slept on the floor so we could still go see the new Indiana Jones movie, I know.” A small smile played at the edge of Peter’s lips. You pressed on, content with knowing that you were winning the argument, but wanting the cherry on top of a full, blinding, brighter than the sun Peter Parker smile. “But you haven’t been back to the natural history museum since, unless you went without me, which if you did, you’re going to be lucky if I don’t chuck you out of the window.” His smile grew wider.

You were winning. “Now, you look like shit, and if you don’t get in bed immediately, I am going to make you take me to the zoo tomorrow and you have to listen to me name each and every animal they have.” And then he was beaming, and throwing his head back and laughing, and scrunching up his nose. You felt like you had just won a marathon. You felt like you could breathe again. He was beaming, and then he was snuggling up with your favorite blanket, tucking your head under his chin before chucking one of the throw pillows from the floor beside your bed to hit the light switch.

And there, in the dark of your room, Peter planted three small kisses on the tippity top of your head, and you hoped he didn’t notice your heart skip a beat.

This was not the first time that you lost track of time and got kicked out of the library because they were closing for the night, but it was the first night that the universe had decided to punish you for it. You tried to convince yourself that you were being paranoid, that the man was not following you, even as your hands tightened on the strap of your backpack, and your steps quickened.

It didn’t change the fact that every time you glanced over your shoulder, he seemed to be a few steps closer. Even when you weren’t looking, it was like you could feel his eyes on you. This was your home, you had never felt this unsafe in it. You risked one more glance over your shoulder, where you were confronted with the sight of the man mere inches from your face. Before he was able to get a word out, a thick white web covered his mouth.

“You know,” a voice rang out from above. “It’s generally frowned upon to pick on pretty girls.”

In the blink of an eye, the man was webbed, for lack of a better word, to the wall, and Spider-Man was lowering himself down onto the street beside you. “Are you okay?” he asked, gently running his hands down your arms, seemingly checking you over for injuries.

You were too stunned to speak, opting to nod your head and try not to let your mouth hang open at the fact that the real life, actual Spider-Man just saved you. HIs hands reached yours, where they paused. You spared a glance at the man who was webbed to the wall, your brain trying to process what exactly was happening. Spider-Man squeezed your hand three times.

‘Oh my god.’ Spider-Man squeezed your hand three times. Your head snapped back to face him, your eyes staring into the eyes of his suit.

Spider-Man’s head tilted to the side as your heart started pounding in your chest.

“Are you o-”

“Peter?” you were barely able to get his name out before he was wrapping an arm around you, the other reaching into the air as he released a web. And then you were flying, and screaming, and in complete shock.

You were barely able to hear him whispering shit shit shit under his breath over the wind whistling in your ear as you bit back a scream.

The next thing you knew, your feet were planted firmly on a rooftop of one of the nearby high rises, and Spider-Man was pacing in front of you. “You weren’t, this wasn’t how, oh my god I fucked up”.

If there was any doubt that your best friend was the masked vigilante who has been swinging around New York for the past few months before, they were quickly wiped from your mind. If there was one thing you knew about Peter Parker, it was what he looked like while he was spiraling.

“Pete?” you called, taking a few tentative steps over to him.

He paused, turning to face you. He somehow managed to look surprised, even under the mask, as if he had forgotten that you were on the rooftop as well. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a deep breath.

You gestured to your face, mimicking pulling his mask off. “Oh” he shook his head, before pulling it off. “Yeah, I guess there is no real point in that anymore.” he says, twisting the mask in his hands. You were stunned, trying several times to form words that just wouldn’t come. “I’m so sorry,” he started.

You shook your head. How could he be sorry? He saved you, not to mention the entire city several times over.

“I should have told you. But I didn’t want you to get hurt.” the words were coming so fast they were almost impossible to understand. Only what felt like a lifetime of friendship with Peter had prepared you to understand his word jumble. “I mean, I love you. I love you and I couldn’t risk hurting you. You would worry, I know you would, and you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you knew I was getting the shit kicked out of me. And what if someone found out? They could use you against me. And I-”

He loved you. “Peter-” you tried to interrupt, but he shook his head, the words somehow coming faster.

“I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t. Not after Ben.”

“Peter.” you spoke softly, forcing him to pause if he wanted to hear what you had to say. After a few tentative steps he didn’t seem to be backing away from, you closed the gap between you easily. “Let’s walk this back a bit.”

He nods, lips turned down in the littlest frown you have ever seen.

“There is just, so much to unpack, but let’s start here.” you took his hands in your own, holding on tight when you felt him trying to ease away. “What happened to Uncle Ben is terrible, and sad, and it’s going to hurt for a long time. But Pete,” you pause, ducking your head to meet his line of sight that had been firmly planted on his shoes. “That was not your fault.”

“I could have-”

“Were you holding the gun that shot him?”

“I-”

“Peter Benjamin Parker.” He fought the urge to flinch. You very rarely pulled out your stern voice, and he could not recall a time it was directed at him, especially over something this serious. “Were you?”

“No” his voice sounded so small, all you wanted to do was gather him up in your arms. But he needed to hear this.

“Exactly. And we both know that Uncle Ben would slap you upside the if he heard you talking like this.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right. And that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It means you can start forgiving yourself. Because we get better.”

Peter nodded, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Not that I am not loving this view, but do you think we can go home now?” Peter threw his head back and laughed, dropping your hands to grab his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah” he said through his laughter. “Let’s get you home.”

Things stayed the same, for the most part, after you found out that your best friend was Spider-Man. He still bothered you during fifth period when he doodled little smiley faces in the margins of your notes. You had movie marathons on the weekend, you walked to your favorite coffee shop after school, and you learned how to stitch up stab wounds and remove bullets from wounds. Totally typical stuff.

Peter swings onto your balcony more nights than not now. Most of the time it was so that you could patch him up after a run in with a criminal, sometimes it was so he could help with your calculus homework. More often than not, he stayed the night.

You both claimed it was because he was too tired to swing home. And maybe that was true, but you knew that you slept better curled up beside him, head on his chest, his hand in your hair.

This particular night, you were having more trouble than usual falling asleep.  Not to say that you weren’t relaxed. You were perfectly content to lay with Peter, sleep or no sleep. Peter had been particularly beat up, and even though you knew that it would be fine in the morning, it wasn’t easy to see your best friend beat up.

You felt Peter’s hand still, and his lips press down on the crown of your head. One. “I” Two. “Love” Three. “You”

You froze, trying to decide whether to continue to pretend to be asleep or fess up. Unfortunately, your best friend was Spider-Man and he definitely heard your heart skip a beat.

You sat up, your heart thundering.

He smiled bashfully, a small “oops” feeling like a shout in the silence of your room. For once, New York was quiet.

“Do you mean-”

“Yeah, I do” and then he is smiling his signature brighter than the sun, blinding Peter Parker smile.

“For how-”

“The whole time.”

“What do you mean the whole time?”

“Well…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I think I kind of fell in love with you when you told off flash for picking on Jessica Smith in biology when she fainted during that video of the marlins giving birth.”

“But that was-”

“In seventh grade, I know. And I wanted to tell you, I really did. But the words got stuck in my throat every single time. So, I just kind of,” he took your hands in his and squeezed, three times, before setting them down in your lap. “It just seemed easier that way.”

“If I wasn’t so in love with you I would smack you.”

“You-”

But finally, Peter was the one who was cut off. You pecked his lips one, two, three times, before firmly planting your mouth on his. You felt him smile, sliding one hand around the base of your neck. His nose bumped against yours, and you laughed against his mouth.

It was a little sloppy, incredibly overdue, and absolutely perfect.

They say things come in threes, and you know it to be true. On his way out the door, you get three kisses on your forehead. Before you fall asleep, three squeezes to your hand. Three pinches in your side when you are making fun at his expense, and three words that make your heart nearly glow with happiness.

[downtonabbeyrevisited]

Season Two Episode Four

A 1918 timestamp ushers us into one of Downton’s more slow moving episodes where three parts painful banality has been mixed with one part life-or-death peril.

Providing more interesting political and cultural conflict than WW1 (at least at Downton) is Isobel’s ongoing grating at Cora’s very soul. Cora has had the temerity to ensure that the staff don’t collapse on their feet and has done something with the linen that I can’t quite fathom which, of course, Isobel takes as a slight upon her medical knowledge. Isobel makes the fatal error of calling Cora’s bluff threatening to ‘seek some other place’ if she is not appreciated at Downton. Major Clarkson also takes sides with Cora and Isobel now has no choice but to throw herself and her messiah complex upon the Red Cross in Northern France. I am sure they will be thrilled. 

With Isobel’s departure, Moseley and Mrs Bird find themselves at a loss having deep cleaned the house and moaned about their employer’s eating habits. Turns out that one thing they forgot to do was deploy any semblance of a security system as a random man with a drama school limp wanders into the house looking for food. In a manner that would make the current Conservative front bench recoil with horror, Mrs Bird starts up a soup kitchen out of her own (presumably rather small) pocket. In her latest attempt to not do her job, Mrs Patmore drags Daisy out for some fresh air and in the process uncovers this particular bit of well meaning but financially unsustainable charity. Mrs Patmore scales up the operation, creating a “special storage area” to squirrel away surplus from the army’s stock, which O’Brien conveniently overhears (but to be honest, it’s not that much of a coincidence. I imagine most of the kitchen heard it considering that Mrs Patmore practically yelled it). In an effort to try and inject a bit of actual drama into this episode, O’Brien reports this to Mrs Hughes but (un)fortunately, Mrs Hughes could not care less. But after watching the world’s most appalling secret handover of goods in the village, O’Brien rallies and this time is successful in bringing Cora to the nefariously compassionate Bird-Patmore coalition. To absolutely everyone’s surprise (viewers included) Cora orders food to be taken from the house stock rather than army and with all the over-confidence of a consultant sets about re-arranging tables and streamlining the workflow. 

Feeling much less charitable than Mrs Bird, Moseley heads to the Abbey and attempts to make himself indispensable and reach the dizzying heights of ‘Valet to the Earl of Grantham’. But not long after the peels of laughter that such a notion invites have died down, Bates returns and takes Mr Molesley’s shoehorn which one can’t help but think is emblematic of something. The return of Mr Bates is, naturally, a painfully protracted process that involves key protagonists not talking to each other, Thomas smoking on a wall, and the obligatory invocation of Kamal Pamuk. Robert invites Bates back to help him through the ‘veil of shadow’ and as such I was intrigued to learn that he is a World of Warcraft devotee. Bates reappearance downstairs also allows for the return of two other key Downton Abbey tropes: Anna and (John)Bates having a heart to heart under the cover of darkness, and Thomas and O’Brien’s irrational loathing/scapegoating of Britain’s most infuriatingly lovelorn character (outside of Thomas Thorne) to resume with aplomb. 

Less happy to be within the confines of the Abbey is Edith who continues to signal that all of this is really a bit beneath her (certain elements quite literally). Ever the teacher’s pet, Mr Molesley reports the sighting of an Officer by the maid’s staircase to Mrs Hughes who hears that there have been lots of rumours on the timeline tonight and comes out to say that she does not live in a sack. Unfortunately, Major Bryant does not live in one but definitely frequents one and, as such, it is of course Ethel is dismissed. As she rapidly packs all her belongings, Anna pleas to Mrs Hughes on her behalf confirming that she is indeed the friend we all want but probably don’t deserve. But Mrs Hughes can’t get rid of her that easily as Edith (and passenger) skulk back to liven up the end of the episode with news of an oncoming baby *Eastenders drums intensify*. 

Talking of undeserving relationships, Sybil and Branson receive more air-time than usual, providing the latter the opportunity to demonstrate that at times he really can be a muppet. And a slightly malevolent one at that. Sybil is firmly under the cosh this week with Violet making thinly veiled references to inappropriate alliances and Mary asking probing questions whilst she tries to get on with her job. Mary thinks that she has spotted her sister and Branson having some kind of romantic exchange but in reality, all that she has seen from afar is Branson telling Sybil that she is in love with him which when you think about it, is all kinds of awful and hardly the basis for a healthy relationship. After a long walk through the grounds where I am half expecting Branson to appear on a horse Willoughby-style, Sybil eventually caves and confesses to Mary that she doesn’t know if she likes Branson despite his eminently creepy voice over. Sybil then relays her sororal confidence and rather than taking this as an opportunity to ingratiate himself, Branson for whatever reason attempts to coerce Sybil into a relationship but not before he belittles her job. Sybil looks rightfully outraged as some equally emotionally manipulative strings wail in the background in an attempt to try and make us think that anything that has just happened was evenly slightly dreamy. 

Threaded through this glacially paced episode has been the looming threat of a both a concert and the death of Matthew and (to a much lesser extent because that is how class works) William. In an effort to break the monotony of walking around the exact same bit of French trench (see previous re-caps for further details), William and Matthew take to wandering across some largely unadulterated land and into the path of some nonchalant Germans. Daisy’s lack of (presumably fawning) letters from William starts off a chain of enquiry which confirms that the War Office has declared Matthew and William missing enabling Mary to once again deploy her signature move: weeping into her gloves. But only one hand this time because she needs to keep a bit of composure for the show must go on! Apparently. Following some abysmal piano playing (I grew up in an appallingly musical household and we all had to endure the torture of other people at the early stages of learning an instrument. It was of course blissful when we got good but, heck, I was thrown straight back to the horror of it all with that ‘accompaniment’ and had an odd sort of stress response which I won’t describe here), Mary and Edith do a rendition of If You Were the Only Girl (In the World) as everyone looks on stony-faced before participating in the millenia’s most morose sing-a-long. With a very good sense of drama, Matthew and (to a much lesser extent) William make their return. Matthew takes his place at Mary’s side and joins in the signing to what is now presumably quite a bewildered audience. Ah, Downton. 

Romantic declaration of the moment 

Violet raises reasonable concerns about Richard Carlisle but Mary is more interested in expanding her real estate portfolio and agrees to throw her lot in with a fiscal agreement disguised as a marriage. Upon his ‘miraculous’ return, Matthew gives the union his blessing on the condition that Richard remains deserving. Not that he ever really was. But the sentiment is what matters here and what is more loving* than putting another’s presumed happiness before your own.

*there are actually a lot of other more loving things but in the interest of formatting, we’re going to sweep those under a very large rug for now. 

Expressive eyebrow of the week 

Rather than training as a nurse or being actually pretty useful in a convalescent home, Mary’s contribution to the war effort is being amicable with Edith. Violet declares that she has now “seen everything” as the spirit of Mrs Adelman moves on. 

Wait, what? 

“I wish we had a man” Presented without comment 

“If I am not appreciated here, I will seek some other place” Yes. PLEASE. 

“What must he do to persuade you he is in love with Lavinia? Open his chest and carve her name on his heart” No, Mary. Matthew merely needs to carve her name with a compass on his forehead to prove that… 

“I hate the word ‘missing’. It leaves so much room for optimism.” Robert is a bit emotionally weird isn’t he? 

“We haven't kissed or anything. I don't think we've shaken hands. I'm not even sure if I like him like that. He says I do, but I'm still not sure.” And lo, another red flag is raised. But because Branson is Downton’s version of a Bolshevik, both Mary and Sybil view this not as a warning about the boy’s behaviour but rather a symbol of his political leanings and such signals are duly ignored.

“He always seems a romantic figure to me” Daisy Robinson writes fanfic. Pass it on. 

“Sometimes in war, one can make friendships that aren't quite…appropriate. And can be awkward, you know, later on. I mean, we've all done it.” Once again, Violet, tell us more! 

Bates says that he has returned to “Downton at war” which sounds like a lucrative exhibition name if I ever did hear one. 

Despite Mary’s most valiant efforts, no musical performance had ever gone out to such an impassive audience until Rosalind came along 

Matthew of course is used to a much better quality sing-, sorry, song-a-long 

[writingwithcolor]

(1/2) In a story about an MC who rebels against a subjugating empire, forms a kingdom of her own, and then proceeds to go to war to liberate and form alliances with other subjugated kingdoms and peoples, I want to add a Jewish man to the supporting cast as a trusted advisor and friend who grounds her more aggressive political and military strategies. I realized as I wrote his inclusion into the plot, that I was assuming the Jewish people in this setting would be in a diaspora wanting to be...

(2/2) ...united again, since the unjust empire is inspired by the Roman one. What are some things that I, as a Latino Christian, should be aware of about modern Jewish thoughts and opinions on this time? Is this a story that you would want told, or would certain aspects of Jewish tradition/culture/religion make it an arc that I should avoid? If that's the case, what are some arcs that you would like to see this character go through? Would a deposed king reclaiming his throne be better?

Jewish advisor during a rebellion

I'm laughing at myself because I'm already attracted to your Jewish trusted advisor man character because I am predictable, oh no -- but anyway I really love this question. The main thing that jumps out at me, and it sounds like this is definitely already on your mind, is to make sure this man is part of the rest of us instead of being isolated with no other Jewish people in his life (after all, even someone who's the only Jewish person in the room has memories of their upbringing and/or opinions about Jewish celebrities and historical figures.) 

So if he has even one family member to go home to or another Jewish man that he plays a made-up board game with, that will contribute to making sure he's a fleshed-out character rather than "I needed someone to be smart and talking in a gentile leader's ear but who has nothing else going on in his own life" (which no matter how flattering of a portrayal you make it, has Grima Wormtongue overtones and it's probably best to veer away from that.)

Some things I can see happening to this character:

As a result of all the turmoil, he ends up taking care of a child or two who are Jewish and lost their family/families in the rebellion, providing them a safe place to feel nurtured and stay in the community

He's helping the (presumably gentile?) queen but also does stuff to make sure his own community is rebuilt like maybe if they weren't allowed to have a real synagogue under the empire, he helps organize getting one built finally. Or maybe if it was destroyed in the war, etc. etc. insert same.

--Shira

I love this idea and all of Shira’s suggestions! Giving him a way to be part of the wider Jewish community would be perfect.

I agree the main trope to avoid would be string-pulling, i.e. the character covertly and self-interestedly controlling political outcomes. But I think this will be easy to avoid in the context of your story just by making sure his suggestions are a net positive for both Jewish and non-Jewish people.

There was another ask recently where I wrote (fangirled) about the history of Jewish social activists, so that might be relevant for you as well:

Writing a secret cult controlling the government without reminding the audience of antisemitic conspiracy theories

 Also, not sure what the others think but this character kind of reminds me of Mordechai from Megillat Esther? He was kind of an advisor to Queen Esther in stopping the genocide of the Jewish people, often by bringing her information which, as queen, she wouldn’t normally have had access to. I feel like this could potentially strike a similar chord if it’s hard for your MC to know what people on the street are really saying due to her being the literal leader of the revolution, so that’s someone for you to potentially look into (although I’m not sure what that means for your crush as Mordechai is about 100 in the story – sorry, Shira!).

Character Arc

I just noticed that you also asked about what arcs this character would go through. I think it’s really cool that you want your Jewish character to have an arc rather than simply be there in the background for the growth of your MC! Any arc that best fits your narrative and drives home your message would be fine. The only thing I can think to watch out for is an arc that could be construed as ‘finding Jesus,’ which is not what we need in any Jewish character. 

Obviously, an arc that involves him giving up Torah commandments or discovering that Christmas is what makes us human wouldn’t be ideal, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what you were going for anyway! I’d say it is possible to give someone a Christian-centred arc more subtly and without meaning to. If he starts as someone who is fastidious and hard-line about obeying rules and ends on an ‘all you need is love’ note, that could also be read as a shift towards a Christian mindset – probably more so by anti-Semites than by Jewish people, who usually understand that there is plenty of love in our beliefs (fun fact: ‘Jesus replaced the Torah with the concept of love’ was an actual line from my high school Religious Studies textbook). 

If his arc involves a change in his understanding of anything remotely spiritual, such as death or why there are good and evil in the world, I would recommend doing research to ensure that that change is in line with his culture and religion. Christian ideas about these matters are so ubiquitous that it’s easy to think you’ve written from a neutral standpoint, when actually whoops – your character has found Jesus.

Good luck with your story 😊

-Shoshi

[mooniefics]

— first impressions

pairing : zeke jaeger / fem reader / reiner braun

word count : 7.5k

tags : sorta fluff (i can’t help myself i love reiner), eventual smut, threesome (f/m/m), situational humiliation, one night stand, spitroasting, drunk + unsafe sex

warnings : nsfw, mild sexual coercion

summary : a chance meeting between you and reiner leaves you enjoying an evening with the warriors upon their much anticipated return from the war. but doing your new friends a favor leads to a night you'll never forget.

— originally posted 12 / 22 / 20 on ao3 —

"reiner! is that really you?!"

you stood quickly from your place at the booth, unable to stop yourself from scrambling up to the small group of soldiers, who were all looking down at you with a mixture of confusion and amusment.

"you didn't tell us you had a girlfriend back home, braun." the dark-haired woman to his right teased, earning a crossed frown from your friend.

"not my girlfriend." he muttered, ignoring their chuckles as he turned his attention back to you, "i haven't changed that much in a few months, have i?"

you sighed, a relieved grin breaking out across your face as he opened his arms to you, gratefully accepting his invitation and squeezing him tight, face pressing into his shoulder. the scent of gunpowder that usually clung to him in his uniform was absent on his civilian clothes, replaced instead with the pleasant smell of fresh linen. "a few months? felt more like a whole year to me."

you stayed cognizant of the people behind him, now exchanging curious glances at the sight of their comrade's affection, the woman who'd initially teased him whispering something to the stern looking man by her side that made his expression crack into a small grin. he pulled away from you after a moment, a soft smile warming his usually sullen features, which dampened at a hand being placed on his shoulder.

"would you care to introduce us, reiner?" a low voice asked, the speaker stepping to reiner's side to get a good look at you.

you instantly recognized the man, face flushing with embarrassment as you scrambled to find your words. "c-captain jaeger! i apologize for interrupting your evening, p-please forgive-"

"nonsense." he said, holding out his hand for you to shake, "and no need for the formalities, feel free to call me zeke."

you clasped your hands gratefully around his, shaking vibrantly much to his amusement. you exchanged names with the remaining three, the tired looking but jovial woman, pieck, insisting that you join them on their night out. seeing as you had already planned to be at the old bar for the rest of the night by yourself, you had no qualms with inviting them all to fill the remaining seats of the booth you'd been occupying before they entered.

"pock here isn't much of a talker," she said after everyone got themselves situated, poking the cheek of the man she'd been whispering to earlier, "he's a little shy, but don't hold it against him."

"i thought i told you not to call me that.." he grumbled in reply, smacking away her hand and earning a small round of laughter from everyone at the table. the freshest face among them, colt, flagged down the barmaiden that was milling about the tavern floor, ordering a beer for everyone at the table with a kind smile.

"this'll be the only one for me tonight." you told him across the table after the woman had sauntered away, "i kinda didn't budget to be drinking more than one beer tonight anyways.."

"don't worry about it." you turned at reiner's voice beside you, gaze flitting down to see him thumbing through the bills in his wallet, "i'll pay for you tonight. my treat."

"nice to see that you know how to treat a lady." zeke quipped with a grin from his place on your left, earning another unreadable frown from reiner, but you could see the flush creeping up on his cheeks as a result of the implication.

before he could dismiss his friend, the barmaiden had returned, toting six mugs filled to the brim with beer on her serving platter. everyone murmured their thanks as she passed them around the table, her eyes lingered on colt before she slipped away to attend to another awaiting party.

"look at you, colt! haven't even been here for thirty minutes and you've already got the ladies swooning." pieck drawled, taking a long sip from her mug with a smile on her lips as she watched the young man stammer out an excuse.

you couldn't help but laugh along at the display, taking a generous drink of your own as you watched the conversation pick up around you. pieck seemed to be more than comfortable with everyone at the table, fueling the majority of the discussion with her playful words. porco, as she'd said, didn't seem to be much of a talker, but nodded along to what the others said, contributing a brief input when he saw fit and staying silent for the rest of the time. colt wasn't naive, but he was easy to tease, the perfect target for little jabs here and there from around the table that drew irritated, flustered protests from him and made everyone laugh.

the dynamic that had intrigued you the most was that between zeke and reiner. they didn't speak directly to the other often, mostly relaying remarks through their responses to the others, but when they did, there seemed to be an odd sort of tension between them. not exactly rivals, but not exactly friends either. they were on the same team, but there was a clear disconnect between them despite that. you felt every slight shift that reiner made when zeke addressed him, debating on whether you should request to move from your place between them for your sake or stay as a buffer for reiner's.

everyone was on their third glass—the only exception being reiner, who was nearly through his fourth—definitely loosened up though not quite drunk yet, but before you could put much thought into how you'd go about doing that, porco spoke to you for the first time. "so, how do you even know reiner?"

"oh! i'd also like to know too!" pieck piped up between sips, downing the rest of her mug in one go and resting her chin in her hands. everyone's attention had turned to you in an instant, intently waiting for your response, making your posture stiffen as you twisted your hands in your lap.

"well, it was a few years ago, when the war with the mid-east had just started ramping up." you began, tensing up the slightest bit when you felt your hand brush reiner's under the table, "i was working at the produce shop down on kaiser lane, and one day reiner came by with his mother on one of her grocery visits, she had always spoken to me about him when i was counting up her total. i asked her if this was son she was always talking about, and she said yes and introduced us. reiner looked tired," pieck giggled at that. "so i tried to hurry it up a little for his sake, and then she paid and they both went on their way. later that day i came here, and i saw him sitting alone at the counter, so i decided to sit down next to him and see if he could put up with my insufferable small talk for a little while. we ended up talking all night, and we've been great friends since then."

"well, isn't that the sweetest thing," pieck smiled warmly at you from across the table, balancing her head on one hand so could pensively drum her fingers across the wood, "if i didn't know any better, i'd say you two made a lovely couple!"

"pieck, would you stop bothering reiner." porco chided, waving a hand at your friend, "just look at him, he looks like he's one more girlfriend comment away from popping a blood vessel."

reiner grumbled out a low 'fuck you', gulping down the rest of his beer and flagging down the barmaiden as the rest of the warriors shared a hearty laugh at his expense. you yourself were similarly blushing at their constant assertions of something more between the two of you. it's not as if you hadn't mulled the idea over in your head many times before on all the previous outings you'd been on together, and the few times the two of you had gotten drunk enough to fool around a bit before one of you came to your senses and excused yourself for the night.

there were some days where you were glad you kept a modest distance between yourselves, and there were others where you wanted to do nothing more than throw all caution to the window and just enjoy one irresponsible night of doing whatever came to mind, no doubts or worries or responsibilities to get in the way, politics and the war be damned. you started to shake away those unnecessary thoughts, but zeke did a much better job of distracting you when his arm fell around your shoulders, giving you a friendly squeeze as he spoke.

"i see that even in good company, my colleagues' manners still aren't up to par," he said, directing his words at you but talking loud enough for anyone to hear, "allow me to apologize on their behalf."

"oh hush, zeke, you're the worst out of all of us!" pieck argued through her laughter, playfully kicking his shin under the table, "you're only playing nice because she's here."

her words didn't draw his attention away from your face, gleaming grey eyes intently drinking in the emotions passing over your flushed features. you laughed nervously, turning away to face the rest of the table, sneaking a glance at reiner as the barmaiden swept by to clean up the empty glasses and replace them with filled mugs. he had an irritated frown drawn across his lips, worry lines creasing his face as he gulped down half of his mug in seconds.

"look's like you're finally not the one overdoing it, huh colt?" you heard pieck whisper into the young man's ear, snickering at him when he turned away from her and huffed.

just glancing around at them all made you forget that everyone of them were living on borrowed time, that in less than a month they would most likely be shipped out on their next assignment to defend marley against any one of the neighboring nations that were just waiting to pounce at the slightest slip up. aside from reiner, they all seemed to be forgetting that fact as well in favor of just enjoying this night while it was still young.

another banter-filled hour passed, your table not noticing how the bar had been steadily emptying as closing time drew near. zeke had kept his grasp around you for the entire time, much to reiner's dismay, which was evident on his face each time you tried to coax him back into the conversation, always faltering each time zeke peered over you to repeat your question to him with a thinly veiled haughtiness. reiner had gone through more beer than anyone at the table, his flushed face and low-lidded gaze along with his slurring words letting you know just how drunk he'd really become. but aside from his borderline unpleasant exchanges with your friend, zeke was incredibly charismatic, almost overbearingly so, your own intoxication making it easy for you give in to his infectious energy and laugh along with him and everyone else at the table.

sure, you were worried about reiner, but he knew that you would always be friends at the end of the day, and you had to make a good impression on these newly introduced people who were so kind as to invite you in on one of their rare leisurely getaways from the military barracks. so you let yourself lean into zeke's side, relishing in the warmth that you'd been craving for so long—a warmth that the alcohol only made you want more and more—the break in your routine that you'd been searching for in an evening alone turning into a night that you were sure you wouldn't forget for a long time. they didn't even seem to care that you weren't an honorary marleyan, or even that you were a lowly blue-collar worker that made a measly sum at her meaningless job on a forgettable street corner.

but alas, the blissfully ignorant fun of the table's atmosphere was dampened by the arrival of the barmaiden with your table's tab, setting it down in front of colt with a coy smile as she gathered up the rest of your empty glasses and disappeared into the back of the tavern.

"aw colt, you never made your move!" pieck chided, giggling as she dug into the pocket of her skirt to reach for her wallet just as everyone else around the table was doing.

"reiner.. are you okay?" you gently nudged his arm, looking over with concern at the sight of him. his elbow was propped on the table, forehead resting in the heel of his palm as he stared down at his lap, mouth drawn into a slight frown.

"shit, he's loaded." porco commented snarkily.

"we can't let magath see him like this!" colt said nervously, looking around at his colleagues, waiting for one of them to come up with a plan to deal with this new issue.

you glanced from colt to reiner, then up at zeke, turning back to everyone as you made an offer. "well.. i have a guest room at my house, he could stay there for the night if it makes things any easier for you all."

"oh, you're an angel!" pieck sighed, reaching across the table and clasping your hands in hers, "and if the commander asks, i could say that he decided to stay with his family!!"

"sharp as always, pieck." zeke chimed from beside you, "though, i don't think it'd be fair to make her watch him all by herself, so i think it'd be best if i help her out with him for the evening, just to be sure he doesn't cause her any trouble."

he met eyes with pieck, and for a moment you thought you saw the briefest flash of realization cross her features, the slightest smirk perking up at her lips before her face relaxed back into its natural smile and she nodded at him. "great idea." she said, tugging at porco and colt's sleeves, "i'll deal with these two, and i'll tell the commander that you had a change of heart as well. reiner, hand me your wallet if you can't count the bills."

"i've got it." he grunted, fumbling with his wallet for a few moments before slamming a fistful of bills down in front of her.

"thank you very much!" she sang happily, getting all the money in order and putting her own small tip for the barmaiden before she slapped colt's arm a few times, prompting him to start scooting out of the booth.

zeke finally retracted his arm to begin leaving the booth, standing out on the floor and offering his hand out to you. you flushed, taking it and allowing him to help you to your feet. everyone got themselves situated, stepping out of the bar and saying their goodbyes, pieck, colt, and porco turning to make their way back to the barracks, zeke slinging reiner's arm over his shoulder and following you along as you gave directions on how to get to your home.

there wasn't many words exchanged between the three of you on your short walk, only having some small talk with zeke between the bouts of comfortable silence hanging around you in the warm night air. you arrived home within minutes, wrestling the key into the old lock and holding open the door for zeke to help reiner in.

"i can walk myself, jaeger." he muttered while kicking his shoes off, earning a low chuckle from the older man.

"then why aren't you doing it right now?"

he didn't get a response as you directed them to your bedroom, hoping to settle him down as soon as you could in the hopes of him being able to get enough rest to sleep off the worst parts of his hangover. while zeke assisted him, you scampered over to the guest bedroom to get it ready for your other, less intoxicated guest. but as you opened the door to the bedroom, you were mortified at the sight of your mess upon looking into the room. in the moment of wanting to do something nice for your friends, you'd completely forget about how you'd basically turned your spare room into more of a storage closet.

looking around to try and think about where to get started, hopefully make it look like you didn't completely neglect this room for the past few months before zeke finished putting his friend to bed, you felt a hand on your shoulder, stiffening in surprise as you slowly turned to look at him.

"i-i'm really sorry, i totally wasn't expecting guests tonight, and i promise i've been meaning to move everything to the basement-"

"don't worry about it, really." he stopped you before you could continue to profusely apologize, offering you another one of those warm smiles that made your knees feel weak, "let me help you, it's the least i could do after you opened your home to a couple of irresponsible soldiers." to your surprise, he brushed past you, picking up one of the many boxes that had accumulated on the bed and floor over the months. "you said you had a basement, right? would you mind showing me where it is exactly?"

unable to find your words, you pointed halfheartedly to the door at the end of the hall, watching him carry one of the few boxes that had left you panting by the time you'd transported them across the house with ease, not even having to set it down to open the door and begin descending the steps. his quick return up the steps finally spurred you into action, hauling another box into your arms and repeating his path of depositing it down in your basement and returning to your room to grab another, making sure to take it slow on your way down the steps from how heavy the alcohol made your limbs feel.

within a few minutes, you both had everything squared away. you let yourself take a seat on the now empty bed, breathing out a sigh of relief and wiping the sweat that had begun to bead around your forehead with the back of your hand, watching as he settled down next to you. "sheesh, you made all that heavy lifting look so easy! and thank you again, for doing such a generous favor for me."

"there's no need to thank me." he replied earnestly, a hand settling on your thigh, making you suppress a small flinch, "you have a lovely home, do you really live all on your own?"

you tried to laugh off the warmth of his hand on your skin through your long skirt. "y-yeah, it's just been me for a while. sometimes friends come over for the night, but for the most part, it's just me."

zeke hummed pensively, grey eyes shining with something dangerous as he gazed down at you. "makes sense that someone such as yourself hasn't found anybody qualified enough to settle down with," he grinned at your flustered expression, openly appreciating the way your eyes widened and you breathed out a soft, indecisive 'thank you', "though, i was so sure that you and reiner had something between you.."

"n-no! it's not like that." the words spilled out of your mouth before you could even think about them, the desire to answer him overriding any clear thought that might cut through your intoxicated embarrassment, "i'm sure s-soldiers such as him and yourself don't really have time to play around with people l-like me."

you mentally slapped yourself for coming to such a conclusion, let alone allowing it to actually exit your brain and be heard by the most esteemed guest you'd probably ever have the honor of hosting.

"oh?" he peered curiously at you, thumb rubbing a slow stroke over your leg, face seeming much closer than it was a few blinks ago, "and what exactly is that supposed to mean?" you knew just how intentional his word choice was, practically setting up a verbal trap for you to fall into, but how could you not take the bait when it was marley's strongest warrior dangling it before you?

"i-i-i'm sorry, s-sir— zeke!"

you scrambled to correct yourself, looking any place except his face and wanting to do nothing more than hide away somewhere where neither him nor reiner could find you to sober yourself up before you could humiliate yourself any further. but you felt the desperation that was now gripping your pounding heart start to squeeze like a vice around it when a rough hand found your chin, gently turning your head to face him again.

"again with the apologies.. what am i going to do with you?"

your bottom lip quivered, more frantic sorries threatening to spill out, but stopped by the lack of air that you were able to take in from his proximity. you hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until you felt a tight ache seize your chest, exhaling an alarmed breath as you stared up into the glinting grey irises studying your face, mirroring their actions at the tavern but containing all of the hunger he'd been hiding in front of his comrades. the hand of your thigh slid up your leg just an inch, zeke breathing out a chuckle at the feeling of you tensing under his touch.

"if you must know," his face was so close that you could even see the pale freckles dotting across his sharp cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, the shadowed contour of his face looking even deeper in the dim light of the guest room, parted lips exhaling a warm breath that fanned across your face, the scent of alcohol still evident as he slowly spoke, "a soldier such as myself can make plenty of time to play around with someone like you."

you couldn't barely contain your awe, drawing in another shaky, shallow breath at the feeling of his lips brushing across your own, just daring you to indulge in his offer. you could barely form a cohesive thought before your brain forced a new topic into your conscious, confusion and shock and abrupt desire drowning out all the rationality that you were so desperately grasping for in this moment.

you'd just met this man tonight, it didn't matter that you'd known of his grand legacy even from when you were a young girl or felt like you'd gotten to know him quite a bit in that short amount of time, you'd only shaken his hand and drank with him and sat face-to-face with him for the first time just a few hours ago. not to mention how the person you were truly familiar with, the one who wasn't nearly a decade your senior, the one you had really been yearning for was just down the hall in your bed, only two shut doors and a few thin walls away from this spectacle. but, zeke was right in front of you, and he was offering out an opportunity that was impossible to refuse—an offer that you really, really didn't want to refuse.

so you didn't. you gave in to the sinful temptation of his warmth, his skin, his soft touches with calloused, work-roughened hands, the knowledge that this kiss was only just the beginning of something unforgettable.

in contrast to his hands, his lips were soft, ridiculously soft as they pressed over yours, the fingers at your chin unfurling to cup the length of your jaw. you leaned into his touch, earning a pleased grunt from him when your trembling hand found his hair, slowly carding through it as you focused on maintaining the easy rhythm of his kiss. you stifled a small sound when the hand on your leg smoothed up to your inner thigh, not pressing any further, just gently stroking and giving the occasional squeeze to the pliant flesh through your skirt.

you could feel the light flutter in your chest heavy and knot into something familiar, twisting deep in your stomach as he sucked at your bottom lip, nipping at it before his attention wandered across your cheek, the hand at your jaw tilting your head up to expose more of your neck to his eager mouth. faint kisses gave way to teasing bites and licks, drawing a soft whimper as he sucked with the intent to bruise where your shoulder met your neck. he seemed to appreciate the way your grasp in his hair tightened, the hand on your thigh traveling across your waist to find the knotted string holding up your skirt.

the progression of his actions felt natural, but almost too fast at the same time, your hand giving an apprehensive tug to his hair when you felt the waistline of your skirt go slack with the undoing of its lacing. he groaned lowly at the sensation, spurring you to do it again when his teeth grazed over the forming redness just right. you could feel the haze of arousal fogged your mind already, all rationale dissipating under the influence of the alcohol and the hands that were now roaming your body, searching for a moment for the top button of your shirt before they began to messily undo those as well. each brush of his fingers across your bare skin sent goosebumps across the expanse of your chest, making quick work of your blouse as he pushed it over your shoulders, guiding your arms out of the sleeves before tossing it aside in favor of working on the clasp of your bra, never pulling away from his place at your neck for more than a moment before returning the bruising attention of his mouth back over the flushed skin.

you breathed out a weak whimper at the feeling of his thumb and forefinger taking one of your nipples between them, bra forgotten somewhere on the floor with your shirt, baring the entirety of your naked torso to him. he could feel how you squirmed when another hand smoothed down your stomach, slipping beneath your skirt's waistline and settling just between your legs, only a sheer barrier provided by your thin underwear, the arousal threatening to soak through the fabric leaving it clinging to every fold. he hummed appreciatively at the welcome surprise, drawing more stifled sounds out of you when his fingers slowly stroked over your clothed cunt.

"all this just for me?" he murmured lowly in your ear, thumb pressing down on your clit, rubbing slow circles over the sensitive nub.

his touch was electrifying, almost overwhelmingly good as you arched into it, the hand at your breast now groping at the supple flesh, palm offering a much-needed friction over your nipple. you finally registered his teasing question, barely managing a disoriented 'mhm' and a small nod, unable to think of anything else besides your heartbeat pounding loud enough that you though he might be able to hear, and the fingers prodded at you and teasing your body as they pleased.

your half-lidded gaze drifted to the door, blinking away the fogginess when you realized it wasn't actually properly shut. you opened your mouth to try and murmur out your observation, but the words in your head spilled out as an incoherent moan, feeling his mouth detach from your bruised neck before he urged you down onto the mattress. but the sight of him standing above you, tugging off his shirt and revealing the impressively toned physique of his stomach and chest, made you forget the ajar door behind him entirely. your hands moved without a second thought, pushing your skirt and underwear down your legs as far as you could, kicking them the rest of the way off as he began to unbuckle his belt.

you couldn't help the way your eyes widened when he shoved down his pants and underwear in one go, unable to choose between focusing your gaze on the smug smirk drawing across his lips or his achingly hard cock, already looking like more than you could handle even at a distance. he plucked his glasses off his face, setting them on the bedside table before he moved over you in bed, your hands tugging him down into a kiss and earning a low chuckle against your lips.

"eager little thing, aren't you?" he only pulled away for a moment to speak, knuckles dragging down the swell of your breast and curving down your waist. your legs spread in anticipation, back arching off the bed when his fingers finally trailed down between your thighs to smooth a finger down your pussy. "and so, so wet."

you squeaked at the intrusion of two thick fingers pumping into you, sliding in easily with a soft, wet sound. the rhythm of your lips faltered, whimpering as his tongue slid between your teeth, tangling with yours, mouth greedily swallowing every desperate sound you made for him. you were grateful for how he was muffling you, just barely remembering that there was another presence in your house besides you and zeke that you had to worry about, heat sparking up your spine at the feeling of his fingers curling just right inside you.

the thought of reiner finding you in here with the captain of his squad, so pathetically obedient and practically dripping from just his fingers, was horrifying and unnervingly thrilling all at once. would he be angry with you? why would he be? what did he even consider you as?

you couldn't dwell on that thought for too long, hips bucking and toes curling when his thumb rubbed firm circles over your clit, wordlessly begging for more. he seemed to be just as impatient as you were in the face of your desperation, pulling away from your lips and removing his touch from between your legs, rolling himself onto his back and tugging you on top of him in one swift motion. you flush even deeper as you watched him drink in the sight of your naked figure, large hands finding your hips, pupils blown wide enough to nearly swallow up the silvery grey of his irises as he eased you down so his cock was just at your aching cunt, offering a sliver of mercy by allowing you to seat yourself onto him as fast or slow as you'd like.

just the first few inches had you whimpering, hands settling on his chest to steady yourself, teeth worrying the skin of your bottom lip, trying to contain the borderline humiliating sounds that were making him grin so smugly up at you. you could feel tears pricking your eyes by the time you finally sank all the way down, deep, shaky breaths giving away your lack of composure even more so than the way the thighs on either side of him tremble, or the nails now digging into the toned muscles of his shoulders. he gave you just a moment of respite, letting you get used to the feeling of something so big before his grip on your hips fastened, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he began to guide you up and down on his cock.

the low groan your motion earned from him was enough to make your already pounding heart race even faster, heat echoing through you in a way that made it impossible to silence the heated whines that were spilling out of you. the bed squeaked in protest beneath you, but you could care less as you quickened the pace he'd started you at all on your own, admiring the flush that had darkened over his handsome features and the parted lips breathing out low curses and appraising groans.

his eyes fell shut, head falling back before he forced it back up, gaze wandering across your face, then your body, then flitting elsewhere for the briefest moment before they returned to you, hips now thrusting up with even more vigor to meet your own. you moaned openly, struggling out a meaningless string of pleas, the ache beginning to burn in your legs drowned out when he reached out to rub tight, fast circles around your clit. he was grinning now, licking his lips before he spoke in a knowing slur, "you're gonna cum soon, aren't you?"

"yes, f-fuck yes..!" it took you a moment to find your words, embarrassed by how fast he'd managed to work you up to this point but unable to be dishonest in your current position.

his motions didn't falter in the slightest, only seeming to grow more and more urgent as you quivered and whined, bouncing yourself up and down on his cock like it was the last time you'll ever get the chance to do it. and while that's likely the case, you don't care to think about it, too wrapped up in the way you could feel that pressure that had been welling in your stomach finally reach a breaking point, stammered curses devolving into breathless cries as you came hard around him.

you could feel the movement of his hips slow significantly, still rocking up into you to let you ride out your high but not nearly enough for him to push himself over the edge along with you. but you're grateful for his mercy, knowing that if he'd continued at the pace he was going you probably wouldn't be able to walk the next morning. so you took it as a testament to his goodwill, falling forward onto his chest in a whimpering heap, trying to steady your breathing and calm your heart rate, remaining seated on his still hard cock.

you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, the other resting across your shoulder so he could settle his hand on the back of your head, fingers working their way into your hair and gently carding through it. the attention was comforting, unexpected but definitely comforting as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, still too hazy off of your post-orgasm bliss to have any shame about wanting to be close to his warmth. you didn't think about whether he was expecting you to get him off at some point, or if he was just content letting you rest on top of him like this, but you soon found that he had a much different answer—or rather, a question—that didn't at all take you into consideration.

"so, reiner, are you just going to stand there and watch all night?"

there was confusion for a brief moment, then a horrifying realization that made an ice-cold fear prick under your spine, blood draining from your face as you felt the fine hairs on the back of your neck raise, completely frozen at the knowledge that the worst of the night you had imagined had come true. zeke's hand didn't stop its slow petting across your head, arm fastening around your body, seemingly in preparation for you to start squirming or fighting to get away. but you couldn't move an inch, not even enough to turn your head and risk a glance at your friend who was apparently right at the door.

"well?" his voice rumbled low in his chest once more, dripping with arrogance, entirely absent of any shame, just tempting him to step past the unseen boundary that had kept him there for however long he'd been watching, "i know, i know, you haven't your fair share all night. it's just so, sohard to let go once you finally get your hands on her. you should know all about that feeling, right?"

"fuck you."

you felt a warm curl in your stomach at the sound of his voice, breathing short and fast as your heart skipped anxiously, but mentally almost enjoying the fact that he was feeling something for you, even if it was some sort of possessive envy. the sound of his heavy, uneven footsteps making their way towards the bed.

he clearly still sounded drunk—who wouldn't be after so many beers in one sitting—and that was probably why he didn't hesitate at all to start tugging his clothes off, the ruffle of fabric and clinking metal of a belt being unbuckled finally snapping out of your compliant state, shaky arms trying to push yourself in bed. zeke allowed you to sit up, hands dropping to your thighs as your foggy gaze wandered from his face over to reiner at the bedside, heartbeat nearly drowning out the other sounds in the room as it drummed loudly in your ears.

"you don't mind, do you?" zeke called your attention back to him, gently stroking up and down your thigh just as he had been when you'd first accepted his offer.

your mouth had gone dry, leaving you struggling to get enough saliva back for your tongue not to stick to the roof of your mouth, feeling the heat of arousal flickering back to life when his cock twitched inside of you. did you mind? well you definitely minded the humiliation, the anxiety taut within your chest that made each breath an effort, the fact that you had no idea what was going on or would happen next. but did you mind enough to force yourself off of him, to struggle to collect your clothes from the ground and stagger out of the room with shaky legs that you weren't sure were capable of doing even that right now? did you really want this?

but it seemed that the choice had already been made in both of their minds, your answer—or lack thereof— speaking for your choice in the matter as zeke's hands lifted you up off of his lap, enough for him to slip out from under you. the sudden emptiness after being so full made you whimper, falling back down onto your calves in the middle of the bed and staring down at zeke's cock, slick with your arousal and still aching to be tended to.

the sinking weight of reiner clambering onto the bed behind you made you exhale a shaky breath, still in disbelief as his hand settled on your cheek, turning your head to face over his shoulder to press his lips onto yours. his kiss was messy but familiar, his low moan making you shiver alongside the feeling of zeke's stare wandering across the display before him. your exchange didn't last long before he pulled away, gazing at you with an unreadable look in his golden eyes for a moment, hand moving to the back of your head to push you down onto your hands and knees.

you obediently complied, met with the sight of zeke's cock once more, peering up to meet his gaze, features showing a mixture of eager expectancy and relaxed pride, just knowing that you were willing to do whatever he asked of you. and he relished in the changes your expressions went through in the next few seconds, the way your eyes widened when reiner's hands grasped your soft hips, how you swallowed thickly to try and get enough saliva down your tongue to get your mouth ready, and finally your mouth falling open and face twisting when reiner eased himself entirely into you in one solid thrust, finding little resistance from how soaked you were. you whimpered out a shaky curse, fists bunching up the sheets under you as he picked up a steady rhythm from behind you, zeke's fingers tangling into your hair and guiding onto your parted lips onto his awaiting cock.

he groaned out at the wet heat of your mouth engulfing him, tongue laving up over the underside of his length as you did your best to take as much of him in as possible without gagging. you wanted to be ashamed of how much you were enjoying the feeling of being entirely overwhelming, fuller than you'd ever felt in your entire life, but you'd be lying to yourself if you said that you'd made a mistake by giving in to the lustful temptations. you could feel your eyes water as zeke hit the back of your throat, your teary gaze and muffled moans against him only seeming to enthrall him further. reiner's hands felt up your waist, one reaching down your front to pinch and roll a nipple between his fingers, driving more stifled sounds and shaky breaths through your nose out of you.

you felt yourself squeezing around his cock, earning yourself a few low, muttered curses as he began to pound even faster into you, evidently approaching his limit just as fast as you are. the hand in your hair was guiding you up and down on the cock in your mouth, the tip of your nose just brushing zeke's stomach each time you surged forward with the momentum of the thrusts from behind you. it was all far too much in the best way possible, vision going hazy at the edges from the lack of proper air you could get into your lungs, insides aching from overusing alongside the tight knotting deep in your gut that was threatening to send you over the edge.

it was zeke that came first, heat pooling over your tongue and spilling down your throat, nearly too much for you to swallow as you tried not to choke. but he kept himself in your mouth and his hand firmly grasping your hair, if not to feel the hum of your desperate whines across your skin then to admire your pathetic expression, half-lidded eyes barely able to hold themselves open enough to stare back at him as you came hard for the second time that night. you could hear reiner give a generous groan of your name, thrusting as deep as he could go just a few times more, having enough sense to not cum inside you, pulling out and making a sticky mess of your trembling thighs.

only after you'd blinked away the glossiness in your eyes did zeke pull himself out of your mouth with a wet pop, holding your head up to appreciate the way your mouth still hung open to gasp in much needed gulps of air, tears and saliva dripping down your chin, halfhearted whimpers still escaping you as you trembled.

"you have good taste, reiner." zeke said, releasing your hair and letting you rest your cheek down against the mattress under you, grabbing his glasses off the side table and putting them back onto his face.

you watched as he stepped off the bed, picking out his clothes from the messy array of garments strewn about on the floor and tugging them on. he fished a handkerchief out of the the pocket of his pants, tossing it at reiner's side and glancing over your body, offering you a lazy smile when he caught your gaze.

"clean her up," he instructed, reaching out to give one last soft touch down your back, "and don't give her anymore trouble, alright? i expect to see you bright and early tomorrow."

you assumed that reiner nodded, since zeke turned without another word and exited the bedroom, making sure to shut the door behind him. for a moment, there was uneasy silence, only occupied by your breaths and the faint sound of zeke pulling on his boots somewhere in the living room and leaving out the front door. you gave a low hiss at the feeling of the fabric smoothing down the backs of your thighs, skin far too sensitive for your liking and legs aching uncomfortably.

you lifted your head up enough to wipe your chin with the back of your hand, eyes and limbs heavy with the desire to sleep. there were no words exchanged as he helped you move to lay down on your back, his face just as tired as he'd looked at the bar, but there was something else weighing down his expression as you took his face in your hands, staring up at him with a soft look of concern.

and though he still said nothing, he kissed you, so much gentler than he'd ever kissed you, with a tenderness that made you want savor this brief moment for as long as you could. but he eventually pulled away, and the brief worry that he might leave just as his captain had minutes before, but he rested down beside you with a low sigh. he didn't protest when you curled into the warmth of his body, head finding a comfortable place on his chest, not even bothering to try and venture out onto the floor to turn off the lamp before you settled down and let your eyes fall shut.

it was easy to fall asleep after he wrapped his arms around you, firm chest rising and falling with steady breaths, heart slow in your ear. you didn't think about the fact that you'd probably wake up alone in the morning, or that walking properly would be a monumental task on its own without even considering going to work to stay on your feet for the entire day—just appreciated this night while he couldn't slip away from you like all the other times before.

[rueluxprince]

Why Does Jin Guangyao Have So Many Goddamn Ships

This dude. I don’t know what is with him. He can be shipped with so many goddamn people, and you can find something in canon (show/novel/audio drama) to justify it. You like a specific trope? He’ll have a ship that gives it to you. (Lets extrapolate some from canon)

Qin Su/Jin Guangyao: Naive yet headstrong heiress trying to fight on the battlefield and contribute to the greater good. Bit off more than she could chew and was rescued by a gentle and quietly self-assured young man. Romance and comedy ensues as she vows to make him her husband! Flowers! Hijinks! Enlisting quirky handmaidens for advice! Jin Guangshan doesn’t exist in this one!

Lan Xichen/Jin Guangyao: hero saves the beauty, gay edition. Young bookkeeper wants to be worthy of noble young master’s esteem, works his ass off, puts himself in years of danger, finally climbs to the top and now must deal with the “is he or is he not” of romance in politics! Is he or is he not? He’s always at your house and gives you a free pass to his house and draws you exclusive paintings and only attends conferences hosted by you and trusts you completely! But he never says anything! Cue the yearning! The soft touches! Reminders of etiquette! Swooning into strong arms!

Jiang Cheng/Jin Guangyao: reluctant and accidental co-parents reluctantly and accidentally fall in love in the long years of raising a precocious nephew into adulthood. The kid turned out surprisingly okay, with a commendably hard moral backbone. One realizes it’s nice to have a perpetually angry grape ready to blow up in your defense. The other realizes someone closest to him is already fulfilling all his marriage requirements and he didn’t even know it! Domestic bliss! Cute kids! Internal struggles of sexuality! The italicized oh!

Nie Mingjue/Jin Guangyao: Noble and righteous leader recognizing and promoting downtrodden but talented beginner –> no good opinion forthcoming but still wants to care his own way older brother x turning down a dark path but still wants to go back the way things were younger brother –> So much resentment fierce corpse x unable to forget the guilt murderer –> they are buried together. Deteriorating relationship! Shakespearean tragedy! Ultimate darkness! Death! Eternity with each other!

(Honorable mention: 3zun - a wholesome ouroboros loop of death, mystery and found family)

Nie Huaisang/Jin Guangyao: you ever have that one childhood friend that takes care of you and indulges in your oddities and protects you with murderous looks and a scarred back even though he’s frailer than you are; and then that childhood friend murders your older brother but leaves you alive and still takes cares of you and spoils you and would drop everything to help you with a made up problem? And so you’re now left seething in rage because how dare he ruin you and love you all without pause?! Cue the revenge plots! Lies! Deceit! Best actor winners going toe to toe on the world’s biggest stage! Inner conflict! Angst! More conflicted plotting!

Mo Xuanyu->Jin Guangyao: You’re weak and a mess and constantly bullied and the only one in this huge and scary house that ever showed you kindness is your older half brother. He becomes a god in your eyes, all golden and brilliant and surrounded by equally golden and beautiful people you can never touch. But you still try despite everything because he’s the sun and he wanted you to thrive, and you’re just a little moth ramming head first into the flames. And when you’re scorched to the bone and everyone still keeps on trying to stomp you into ash and you finally decide to take revenge, you still can’t bring yourself to blame that splendid sun who were never yours in the first place. Resentments! Unrequited love! More angst! Inner courtyard intrigues! More tragedy! Poetic inner monologues!

Su She->Jin Guangyao: generous and focused ruler x dedicated and competent supporter. He gives you all the respect you need and you know in your soul you will die for him and you don’t care one whit about it. You protect his heart but you always stood one step behind. The position beside him is taken, often by a soft figure in golden silk, or an eminent figure in blue satin. Jealousy! Loud expressions of loyalty! Ego management! Pining and simping!

Xue Yang/Jin Guangyao - friends who murder together stays together. One causes wanton destruction and the other picks up after them. Not because he particularly cares that people are getting hurt but the cost analysis tells him it’s not worth the clean up. You pay for my shopping, I rip out the tongues of anyone that insults your mother. Lighthearted talks of murder! Scheming with friends! Lots of cursing! Dubious experiments! Lots of magical cursing! Friends with benefits!

Wen Ruohan/Meng Yao: local megalomanic tyrant sees this random ass kid all bloodied up and gleaming with spite and went “I would like to raise that one. I’ll give it a sword and I’ll teach him stuff and I won’t say I appreciate him but I will definitely save him from imminent danger.” And that kid acknowledges said tyrant as his teacher and tortures for him pretends to love him, all the while stealing his secrets and preparing to stab him in the back to win the war. Struggle! Trauma! Living in hardship! Double agent reminding themselves not to be conflicted! Psychological torture!

Wen Chao + Wen Xu: uhhhhhh, the canoodling with stepmom trope? Do we even go that far on tumblr? It’s a possibility I’ve considered for about two seconds and now I wish I could wash my brain out.

Jin Zixun~~Jin Guangyao: the “I know I’m slapping the me two years ago in the face with what I’m doing right now but it’s love so I don’t care” trope? All the Jins do this. The year before you were all “why are you always here you don’t belong here you bastard son” and now you’re all “wheres A-Yao he promised he would ambush this public menace with me owo?!??!!??” What a weakass motherfucker with weakass principles.

Honorable mentions:

Wei Wuxian + Jin Guangyao: best in law dynamics, potentially. Terrorizing the Cloud Recesses, eating lots of spicy food, hiding secrets in perfectly groomed hair, causing aneurysms in Lan Qiren, violating all the OH&S regulations Etc.

Lan Wangji + Jin Guangyao: best in law dynamics, actually. It’s a whole battle. Jin “I am physically incapable of seeing someone and not wanting to take care of it” Guang “yes I will be calling you Wangji and trying to give you stuff and show audible concern for your love life” Yao vs. Lan “I do not wish to know you I do not care for your seating arrangements do not ever invite me to your banquets again” Wang “just because you’re maybe dating my precious older brother does not mean I will not refute you to your face about my boyfriend at your banquet in front of said brother” Ji.

(And yes the last two are purely familial/platonic. And also everyone else? You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift is the most fitting theme song for half of them)

~more MDZS metas under #my thing# tag~

[mishinashen]

Self-Portrait by Alphonse Mucha, 1899

Alfons Maria Mucha (Czech: 24 July 1860 – 14 July 1939), known internationally as Alphonse Mucha, was a Czech painter, illustrator, and graphic artist, living in Paris during the Art Nouveau period, best known for his distinctly stylized and decorative theatrical posters, particularly those of Sarah Bernhardt. He produced illustrations, advertisements, decorative panels, and designs, which became among the best-known images of the period.

In the second part of his career, at the age of 43, he returned to his homeland of Bohemia-Moravia region in Austria and devoted himself to painting a series of twenty monumental canvases known as The Slav Epic, depicting the history of all the Slavic peoples of the world, which he painted between 1912 and 1926. In 1928, on the 10th anniversary of the independence of Czechoslovakia, he presented the series to the Czech nation. He considered it his most important work. It is now on display in Prague.

Alphonse Mucha was born on 24 July 1860 in the small town of Ivančice in southern Moravia, then a province of the Austrian Empire (currently a region of the Czech Republic). His family had a very modest income; his father Ondřej was a court usher, and his mother Amálie was a miller's daughter. Ondřej had six children, all with names starting with A. Alphonse was his first child with Amálie, followed by Anna and Anděla.

Alphonse showed an early talent for drawing; a local merchant impressed by his work provided him with paper for free, though it was considered a luxury. In the preschool period, he drew exclusively with his left hand. He also had a talent for music: he was an alto singer and violin player

After completing volksschule, he wanted to continue with his studies, but his family was not able to fund them, as they were already funding the studies of his three step-siblings] His music teacher sent him to Pavel Křížkovský, choirmaster of St Thomas's Abbey in Brno, to be admitted to the choir and to have his studies funded by the monastery. Křížovský was impressed by his talent, but he was not able to admit and fund him, as he had just admitted another talented young musician, Leoš Janáček.

Křížovský sent him to a choirmaster of the Cathedral of St. Peter and Paul, who admitted him as a chorister and funded his studies at the gymnasium in Brno, where he received his secondary school education. After his voice broke, he gave up his chorister position, but played as a violinist during masses.

He became devoutly religious, and wrote later, "For me, the notions of painting, going to church, and music are so closely knit that often I cannot decide whether I like church for its music, or music for its place in the mystery which it accompanies." He grew up in an environment of intense Czech nationalism in all the arts, from music to literature and painting. He designed flyers and posters for patriotic rallies.

His singing abilities allowed him to continue his musical education at the Gymnázium Brno in the Moravian capital of Brno, but his true ambition was to become an artist. He found some employment designing theatrical scenery and other decorations. In 1878 he applied without success to the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague, but was rejected and advised to "find a different career". In 1880, at the age of 19, he traveled to Vienna, the political and cultural capital of the Empire, and found employment as an apprentice scenery painter for a company which made sets for Vienna theaters. While in Vienna, he discovered the museums, churches, palaces and especially theaters, for which he received free tickets from his employer. He also discovered Hans Makart, a very prominent academic painter, who created murals for many of the palaces and government buildings in Vienna, and was a master of portraits and historical paintings in grand format. His style turned Mucha in that artistic direction and influenced his later work. He also began experimenting with photography, which became an important tool in his later work.

To his misfortune, a terrible fire in 1881 destroyed the Ringtheater, the major client of his firm. Later in 1881, almost without funds, he took a train as far north as his money would take him. He arrived in Mikulov in southern Moravia, and began making portraits, decorative art and lettering for tombstones. His work was appreciated, and he was commissioned by Count Eduard Khuen Belasi, a local landlord and nobleman, to paint a series of murals for his residence at Emmahof Castle, and then at his ancestral home in the Tyrol, Gandegg Castle. The paintings at Emmahof were destroyed by fire in 1948, but his early versions in small format exist (now on display at the museum in Brno). He showed his skill at mythological themes, the female form, and lush vegetal decoration. Belasi, who was also an amateur painter, took Mucha on expeditions to see art in Venice, Florence and Milan, and introduced him to many artists, including the famous Bavarian romantic painter, Wilhelm Kray, who lived in Munich.

Count Belasi decided to bring Mucha to Munich for formal training, and paid his tuition fees and living expenses at the Munich Academy of Fine Arts. He moved there in September 1885. It is not clear how Mucha actually studied at the Munich Academy; there is no record of his being enrolled as a student there. However, he did become friends with a number of notable Slavic artists there, including the Czechs Karel Vítězslav Mašek and Ludek Marold and the Russian Leonid Pasternak, father of the famous poet and novelist Boris Pasternak. He founded a Czech students' club, and contributed political illustrations to nationalist publications in Prague. In 1886 he received a notable commission for a painting of the Czech patron saints Cyril and Methodius, from a group of Czech emigrants, including some of his relatives, who had founded a Roman Catholic church in the town of Pisek, North Dakota. He was very happy with the artistic environment of Munich: he wrote to friends, "Here I am in my new element, painting. I cross all sorts of currents, but without effort, and even with joy. Here, for the first time, I can find the objectives to reach which used to seem inaccessible." However, he found he could not remain forever in Munich; the Bavarian authorities imposed increasing restrictions upon foreign students and residents. Count Belasi suggested that he travel either to Rome or to Paris. With Belasi's financial support, he decided in 1887 to move to Paris.

Mucha moved to Paris in 1888 where he enrolled in the Académie Julian[18] and the following year, 1889, Académie Colarossi. The two schools taught a wide variety of different styles. His first professors at the Academie Julien were Jules Lefebvre who specialized in female nudes and allegorical paintings, and Jean-Paul Laurens, whose specialties were historical and religious paintings in a realistic and dramatic style. At the end of 1889, as he approached the age of thirty, his patron, Count Belasi, decided that Mucha had received enough education and ended his subsidies.

When he arrived in Paris, Mucha found shelter with the help of the large Slavic community. He lived in a boarding house called the Crémerie at 13 rue de la Grande Chaumière, whose owner, Charlotte Caron, was famous for sheltering struggling artists; when needed she accepted paintings or drawings in place of rent. Mucha decided to follow the path of another Czech painter he knew from Munich, Ludek Marold, who had made a successful career as an illustrator for magazines. In 1890 and 1891, he began providing illustrations for the weekly magazine La Vie populaire, which published novels in weekly segments. His illustration for a novel by Guy de Maupassant, called The Useless Beauty, was on the cover of 22 May 1890 edition. He also made illustrations for Le Petit Français Illustré, which published stories for young people in both magazine and book form. For this magazine he provided dramatic scenes of battles and other historic events, including a cover illustration of a scene from the Franco-Prussian War which was on 23 January 1892 edition.

His illustrations began to give him a regular income. He was able to buy a harmonium to continue his musical interests, and his first camera, which used glass-plate negatives. He took pictures of himself and his friends, and also regularly used it to compose his drawings. He became friends with Paul Gauguin, and shared a studio with him for a time when Gauguin returned from Tahiti in the summer of 1893. In late autumn 1894 he also became friends with the playwright August Strindberg, with whom he had a common interest in philosophy and mysticism.

His magazine illustrations led to book illustration; he was commissioned to provide illustrations for Scenes and Episodes of German History by historian Charles Seignobos. Four of his illustrations, including one depicting the death of Frederic Barbarossa, were chosen for display at the 1894 Paris Salon of Artists. He received a medal of honor, his first official recognition.

Mucha added another important client in the early 1890s; the Central Library of Fine Arts, which specialized in the publication of books about art, architecture and the decorative arts. It later launched a new magazine in 1897 called Art et Decoration, which played an early and important role in publicizing the Art Nouveau style. He continued to publish illustrations for his other clients, including illustrating a children's book of poetry by Eugène Manuel, and illustrations for a magazine of the theater arts, called La Costume au théâtre.

[bridenore]

HD Fall of the wizarding world fic recs

Fall of the wizarding world is a favorite trope of mine. Here are a few recs listed in alphabetical order.

***

All the Ashes Like Leaves by @firethesound [21k]

Nothing about being the Chosen One had prepared Harry for this. With most of the population blinded and man-eating plants running amok, he can only stay close to his friends as they make their way to safety. Not that he’d call Malfoy a friend, but the end of the world does rather make their ongoing feud seem trivial. And it just figures that it took nothing short of an apocalypse to make Malfoy seem like less of a git.

At the end of our world by gnarf [61k]

It took three days before the first hints were on the news, and a week before Harry spotted the first Infected on his own street. A month until there was no chance of stopping the panic, and six weeks until the government and Ministry fell. Then the TV stopped airing anything but a standby with the message ‘Stay safe’, and the world as he’d known it ended forever.

Ten weeks later he got an answer from Hermione. “It spread. There’s no way back. We love you, Harry. Take care.”

A Safe Place to Stay by @gnarf [3k]

Dudley didn't really enjoy visiting his childhood home. But, for once, he was at the right time at the right place. Even though he knew nailing Privet Drive shut for the second time in his life was only a temporary solution, it was enough to keep them alive. At least until they ran out of food.

Silent Nights by @gnarf [32k]

Finally back at the Manor, Harry and Draco already have to face the next challenges.Their plan forces them apart – a tough decision during the festive season and even more so during the zombie apocalypse. But sometimes being separated is necessary, especially when it’s for a good cause. That is, if the plan works out…

Alive by @gnarf [2k]

Dudley found a community near Bristol, a place he felt safe at and in return could contribute to the safety of everyone within. Until a sailor appeared at the docks with news that he didn't dream could be true.

On the verge of our tomorrow by @gnarf [27k]

Harry has made it back to Hogwarts, back to Draco. He is wounded beyond recognition, but the only thing that matters is that he is alive, even if barely so. Now, with united forces and the unexpected help of former mates, it’s time to end the Apocalypse once and for all.

The Fall of the Veils by @letteredlettered [60k]

This is the fic where Muggles find out about wizards, wars are fought, Apparition is abolished, political conspiracies abound,  Draco is asexual, and Harry has Legilimency sex with him.

Golden Age by @lol-zeitgeistic [52k]

The Celtic druids once made a decision that kept magic in abundance in Britannia, but they couldn’t account for the technological advances Muggles would make centuries later. Now magic is dying on the isles, and this is not a dark lord that Harry can fight. OR: Harry Potter doesn’t save the world this time, but he does get a lot of hugs.

Leave Your Field to Flower by @emmagrant01 [12k]

Draco Malfoy is like all the other Survivors of the disaster -- except for one called Harry Potter.

Manticoria by @lol-zeitgeistic [70k]

In the dangerous days after Voldemort’s fall, Harry struggles to find a way to be with Draco—again. But as the magical world threatens to die all around them, it might be more difficult than he thought. Includes dying wards, dying beasts, and love struggling to live; sentient magic, wandlore, Founder lore, potion lore, and ward lore; and of course there is Zacharias Smith to ruin everything, as usual.

Railway lands by  Maelipstick [65k]

Draco finds his own way to cope with being a failed Death Eater at Voldemort's headquarters. Voldemort finds a way to destroy the wizarding world even after his death. Harry is trying to hold the world together while his mind quietly comes apart.

Warnings for graphic drug use, depression and suicidal ideation, Draco being an arsehole, sex work, criminality, non-con sexual situations, shifting POVs, ofc werewolves, self neglect and self harm, general unprettiness, unplanned parenthood and references to other works of fiction.

The Taste of Magic by Romaine [10k]

Sometimes magic isn't enough.

***

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[anthemxix]

whumpay bonus: deleted scenes

my final offering to you for the month~ :)

there were some prompts i started to write but didn't finish, and a few instances where i began a prompt, decided it wasn't working, and then completely started over. i have no idea if these scraps will interest anyone, but it seemed like a shame for them to go to waste. so i hope you enjoy :) thank you <3 <3 <3

day 4, part 2 (fire) - first attempt

“Can I just say again that I really don’t like this plan?”

Wind groaned. “We know, Captain. You’ve been saying that every five minutes.”

“Because it’s a terrible plan!”

Scowling, Wind shuffled back from the impossibly massive archway he’d been peering through. “Look, we decided on the plan hours ago, so just give it a rest already.”

Sky cleared his throat. “Well. I’d like to say that I don’t like this plan either.”

“Oh, how nice of you to contribute that, Sky,” Warriors growled, rounding on him. “Couldn’t have said anything before the literal last minute?”

“Hey, I’ve dissented to this idea the whole time,” Sky retorted, holding his hands up defensively. “Not just because it’s dangerous, but because it’s not our place to meddle in local political affairs.”

“Agreed,” Warriors said. “We’re putting that whole town at risk. It’s not too late to turn back.”

“Since when do you run away from a fight?” Wind goaded.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Time said. Five heads turned his way, expectant, tense, and he sighed in resignation. “The Sailor is correct. We discussed the merits and drawbacks this morning. We’re committed to this plan now. I’m sorry, Captain.”

Wind smirked triumphantly despite Warriors’ heavy frown. “Great. I’ll see you all later then.”

He offered a sloppy salute and turned towards the archway, only for Warriors to grab his arm and spin him back around.

“Ugh, now what?” Wind griped. “You heard the Old Man! The plan is a go!”

The Captain grasped both of Wind’s shoulders and ducked to his eye level, his expression all hard lines. “Listen. At the first sign of danger, you get out of there. This is not worth sacrificing your life over.”

Wind defiantly tried (and failed) to wiggle out of his iron grip. “I’m gonna be fine, Wars! Why don’t you trust me? I’m the most skilled thief we’ve got!”

“I do trust you, and I don’t doubt your skills in the least,” Warriors said. “It’s just…” He hesitated, swallowed. “Tell me you’ll get out of there as soon as there’s trouble. Don’t be reckless.”

The somberness and sincerity (and was that fear?) in Warriors’ tone was sobering, and Wind finally conceded, “I will. I’ll be careful. Promise.”

Warriors’ hands lingered on his shoulders a moment longer, and Wind was surprised to find he missed their weight when they were gone. He didn’t dwell on it, though, nor did he look back as he deftly slipped through the stone archway and disappeared over the ledge.

The Captain crossed his arms, not bothering to conceal his concern as he watched Wind go, and Legend murmured to him, “Hey. You don’t do anything reckless either. Got it?”

“Of course.”

They all knew he was lying.

---

The chamber Wind had entered was more astronomical than any he’d ever seen—it must have filled the entire berth of the mountain, he thought—and even more wondrous still, it was jam-packed with mound upon mound of shimmering rupees, jewels, armor, weapons, vases…treasure. The most extensive treasure trove in this or any era, surely.

Wind grinned to himself. Tetra and her crew would never believe this. Maybe he could smuggle out a shiny little gift for them.

He picked his way across the hills of treasure, disturbing them as little as possible, and stopped near a colossal column. Steadying himself on it, Wind peered around the enormous chamber, and, for the first time since they’d departed the lakeside town that morning, felt a flicker of dismay. He had, of course, expected that locating one specific gemstone in a vast hoard of treasure would be difficult, but he’d underestimated the task. Like kind of, really, severely underestimated the task.

Well, no matter. He didn’t make it this far in his adventures by shying away from impossible odds. Besides, he felt he was graced with the goddesses’ favor today. He and the others had climbed up the mountain, strongarmed their way into the mines, and navigated the maze of corridors without one blip of trouble—and, best of all, there was no sign of the one major threat they’d been warned about again and again.

Wind smiled as he continued across the treasure trove, pausing to sift through some of it now and again. He just needed to be patient and deliberate and quiet, and then he could sneak back over to where the others were waiting and prove to them what a capable hero he was. Warriors said he didn’t doubt Wind’s skills, but he must, at least a little, or he wouldn’t have been so reluctant to let Wind do this.

The Sailor peered across the chamber towards the archway he’d come through. It was well above him now, as he’d descended from the peak of a treasure mound, although he was nowhere near the floor yet. The candle chandeliers suspended from the cavern’s apex offered a fair amount of light, which reflected brilliantly from all the gold rupees and splendid diamonds, but it was not sufficient to see any of his friends.

All the better, he thought as he continued his hunt. If he couldn’t see them, then neither could their enemy, whose other senses outweighed its sight—as he’d been repeatedly reminded by the others, who had all info-dumped him on this particular foe, as if he hadn’t dealt with any himself before.

Wind really did not understand what all the fuss was about. What made this different than any other dungeon, or any other enemy therein? Yes, this particular mission was complicated by the fact that they were helping restore some fallen regent and give him access to this treasure hoard without having all the details on the guy. Wind regularly operated without having all the details, even on missions as significant as this, and he suspected the others did as well, so he wasn’t too concerned about that.

But what was the big deal with the enemy? He understood that provoking this monster put the proximal town at risk, but didn’t that happen with every big baddie they faced? What was so different about this—?

Wind froze, thoughts cut off as he tuned in to the nearby jingle of tumbling rupees. He slowly turned his head, hand on the Phantom Sword’s hilt, expecting to see some stalfos or something emerging from the depths. There had to be someone guarding this treasure, after all.

He was not anticipating a stream of treasure would part to reveal the snout of a dragon sighing in its sleep.

Panic jangled Wind’s nerves, and suddenly he felt like he understood Warriors’ reluctance very clearly.

The tip of this dragon’s muzzle was utterly massive, with yellow, jagged teeth as tall as Wind protruding from its mouth. The rest of it, still concealed by treasure, must have been unimaginably gargantuan. Its steady breaths smelled ominously ashy.

Wind backed up a step, rupees clinking beneath his foot, and held his breath. Perhaps it was time to return to his friends…

As he began to creep back towards the archway, leaving the dragon’s snout a considerable berth, Wind felt a tug of magic. It wasn’t a variety of magic he recognized, but the sensation was unmistakable. His eyes darted around, scanning, until they landed on a strikingly sparkly gemstone, iridescent and oval-shaped and nearly the size of his head.

Dumbfounded, Wind blinked. That. That was the stone! It had to be!

It wasn’t too far from him, but it was downhill, i.e., in the opposite direction of his destination. But he was so close. He couldn’t give up now.

Wind threw a cursory look at the dragon snout before switching course and tiptoeing down towards the stone.

There was another rattling jangle behind him, and Wind paled as treasure shifted to reveal some of the dragon’s tail, ridiculously far from where the snout lie. He tried not to let this bother him as he reached the stone and carefully tucked it into his bag.

Acquiring the target item filled him with some relief, and he started the long trek up the treasure mountains to reach the archway, choosing his footholds cautiously.

He was halfway there when he slipped, smacking face-first into the rupee pile and backsliding several meters with an insufferably loud clanking from the treasure.

He froze, breath bated, heart slowed, as he gazed over at the dragon.

It didn’t move.

Releasing a soft sigh, he straightened up, prepared to resume his ascent, when the dragon snorted.

With dreadful slowness, it lifted its head from its beloved treasure, amber eyes flitting around its chamber as it swiveled its long neck around, searching.

Then it slowly rose, gems and gold cascading from its back, as its enormous, folded wings appeared.

Wide-eyed, Wind didn’t move. He couldn’t. This was, by far, the largest creature he’d ever seen.

The dragon inhaled a great snuff of air, sniffing, then another. Forked tongue flickered between menacing teeth.

And then it spoke, its baritone voice echoing off the mountain walls as it dragged out each syllable.

“Where—are—you?”

Wind couldn’t help the involuntary twitch of his hands. Some coins jingled, and the dragon gazed in Wind’s general direction. It didn’t see him.

“I know you’re here,” the dragon drawled. “I can smell you. I can hear your breathing.”

One massive, clawed foot rose from the treasure depths, smacking down on top of a pile.

Swallowing, Wind shakily began to climb again, with painstaking slowness, on his hands and knees. He was good at stealth. He could do this. Absolutely.

“I can sense your fear. Little thief.”

He faltered, hand twitching, but continued. Slow. Steady. Come on. You can do it.

The dragon lifted another foot, and its third and fourth, until it was fully free of the treasure, its tail swishing in its wake. It grazed against the high chandeliers, causing them to quiver and shoot strange fluttering shadows across the room.

“I do not have much patience for foolish little thieves.” The dragon drew a deep, rumbling breath, its chest beginning to glow a burning orange. Smoke began to filter from its nostrils. “Come out.”

Wind looked up. The archway was still so far away. He tried to move more quickly while staying as noiseless as possible. He had to hurry. He was running out of time. As soon as he got there, they could escape unseen—

“If you come out now, little thief, I won’t kill your friends quite so painfully.”

Wind tripped again, setting off a mini-avalanche of treasure.

The dragon’s head snapped in his direction, its eyes narrowing and lipless mouth curling as if in a smirk. It took a step towards him, and another, its claws clinking as the dangerous orange glow built up along its neck, up its throat, more smoke churning from its snout.

“Are you over there, little thief? I’ll give you one more chance. Come out. Now.”

Wind scrabbled, slipping again, sending more treasure tumbling, and when the dragon opened its mouth, its internal flame heating the room significantly, he lost all caution and tried to run.

---

When the dragon lifted its head, Legend wrapped his hand firmly around Warriors’ elbow.

As more and more of the dragon emerged from the depths, Four said quietly, “I think we need to prepare.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and Legend frowned. Reluctantly, he released Warriors’ arm and muttered, “Old Man, keep an eye on him.”

Time nodded, eyes already on the Captain, and Legend, Sky, and Four headed out for their destination.

Time pulled out his Biggoron Sword, watching the dragon take a step, its booming threats resounding around the chamber. He picked out Wind among the mountains of treasure.

“I need you to know,” the Captain started, drawing Time’s attention, “that I cannot live with myself if he…”

Time nodded, even though Warriors wasn’t looking at him.

“If he goes down, I’m going to save him or die trying,” Warriors said. “Those are the only options.”

“I know.”

Warriors looked at him grimly. “It’s been an honor fighting by your side again.”

Time put a hand on Warriors’ shoulder, and left it there until the dragon opened its mouth, and Warriors jumped down into the pit of gold without another word.

---

Warriors aimed for the dragon’s amber eye, but hit its cheek instead. The arrow bounced uselessly off the impenetrable scales, and Warriors doubted the beast could even feel it; yet the dragon, to his relief, turned towards him.

Warriors nocked another arrow and shot again for the eye, but the dragon simply lowered its head, bringing it close to the Captain, heat radiating from it.

“Another little Hylian,” drawled the dragon. “Where did all your little friends scurry off to, hm?”

day 10 (screaming/silence) - unfinished

Distinguishing night from day is impossible in these woods; the opaque fog that consumes them occludes both sun- and moonlight, perpetually casting a bland grey pall across the trees. It’s disorienting, and Time has entirely lost his grip on the passage of his namesake. He has no conception of how long he and Sky have been wandering around this forest, searching for an exit, and that disconnect disturbs him, prickles beneath his skin.

When Time spots an x carved into a tree trunk, he stops and drags his hand through his hair with a sigh.

Lagging several paces behind him, Sky, too, pauses. “What is it?”

Time points to the marking. “We’ve been here before.”

It takes Sky a moment to register what he’s being told, and then he visibly wilts like an underwatered flower. “Great. That’s great.”

“I can’t keep track of this place,” Time confesses. “It’s as if it’s…shifting.”

“Or we’re getting shifted,” Sky says. “Wild said the fog in his Lost Woods can move him.”

“That’s…unsettling, to say the least.” Time glances skyward out of habit and frowns in annoyance as he’s reminded that he can’t see the sun here. “How long do you think we’ve been walking?”

“I…I really don’t know.”

The elder hero side-eyes Sky, who, alarmingly, appears considerably more ill than he did before. Some time ago, the two of them had stopped to sleep, certain they’d meandered the day away, and Sky woke up dizzy and pale. He insisted he was fine to continue—for what other option did they have?—but he had been growing more and more sluggish as they walked. Now he grips his sailcloth, pulling it tight around his shoulders like a blanket, and looks as colorless as the fog, swaying slightly where he stands.

“Do you need to rest?” Time asks.

Immediately, Sky shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just want to get out of here.” Sky releases his sailcloth to scratch behind his ear, something Time has observed him doing on multiple occasions today (tonight?).

“You keep scratching,” Time says, gesturing towards his own ear.

“What?”

“Your ear. You keep scratching there.”

“Oh…” Sky removes his hand and clutches his sailcloth again. “I dunno. It really itches for some reason. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Time steps towards him and brushes Sky’s hair aside to see a small but very red bump. “Looks like an insect bite. You should leave it alone.”

Sky hums in acknowledgement. “Let’s keep moving.”

Unsatisfied, Time chooses a direction for them to proceed in. He thinks they’ve taken a different turn than the last time they crossed paths with this tree, but he can’t be certain. Before they leave the area, he pulls out a knife and marks the trunk with a second x.

Time has no idea how long it takes, but eventually, they wind up back at the same damn tree.

His eye twitches as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. We need a new plan bec—”

“Uh, Time?”

He looks behind him to see Sky holding one hand out, blood smudged across his fingers. “What—?” Then he spots the blood trickling down Sky’s neck, staining his hair.

Time moves closer and brushes Sky’s hair aside again, causing the knight to jump a little. “What are you doing?”

Substantially more inflamed, the insect bite behind Sky’s ear has split open. Worse, now that Time is up close, he can see that Sky’s hands are shaking and his pallid cheeks are blemished with feverish pink blooms. “You scratched the bite so much that it’s bleeding… Let’s clean it up.”

He steers Sky beneath the contemptible tree and sets to work washing the bite. It’s worryingly hot to the touch, but what really dismays Time is that the bump, which he expected to feel malleable, is hard, as if there’s a stone beneath Sky’s skin.

“Sky, are you allergic to insect bites?”

“No… I don’t think so? I don’t know, really.”

As soon as Time finishes bandaging the bite, Sky is reaching up to scratch it. Time grabs his hand. “Sky. It is imperative that you do not touch that.”

“But it—” He makes a throaty, frustrated sound. “It itches so badly.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do about that.” Time looks around, as if he’ll magically spy an exit from the woods that he somehow missed before.

“Okay. Okay.” Sky grits his teeth and clenches his sailcloth until his knuckles turn white.

day 17 (phobia) - first attempt

For half an hour, rain had been falling in a steady, serene drizzle so light that Sky hardly noticed it until a stray droplet snaked beneath his tunic collar, slithering cold and uncomfortable down his spine. Absently, he scratched at his collar, as if that would alleviate the remarkably unsettling sensation, just as the rainfall picked up.

He blinked up at the sky, which brimmed with plump, grey clouds, promising wet weather for the remainder of the afternoon.

“Guess there’s no point in waiting out the rain,” he commented over the downpour’s soothing heartbeat.

Beside him, Legend swept his damp hair away from his eyes, minutely scowling. “Yeah, let’s just keep going. The sooner we meet up with the others, the sooner we can track down some suitable shelter for the night.”

Sky hummed his agreement, hoping that in scouting this new area they’d been dropped in, some of the others had found a town. He and Legend had discovered an overgrown trail and followed it for most of the morning, but their efforts were fruitless, as the path seemed to stretch endlessly through uninhabited wilderness.

Minutes later, a resonant boom of thunder rolled across the sky, followed swiftly by a flickering tongue of lightning in the near-distance. All of Sky’s muscles locked up so suddenly that he awkwardly stumbled, only staying upright because Legend’s hand shot out to catch him.

“You okay there, bird boy?” Legend asked, eyebrows arched.

“Yeah, of course,” Sky murmured. “Tripped. That’s all.”

He reached back and grabbed a handful of his sailcloth, pinching and rubbing the silken fabric as he tried to ignore Legend’s scrutinizing stare boring into his temple.

day 25 (goodbye) - unfinished

Dinner is eaten, the dishes washed and packed, and the campfire doused, all in dreary silence. As the last of the fire’s smoke dissipates, Wind speaks. “What happens if we don't go through them? Will they disappear?”

No one answers for a moment. Eventually, Legend says, “We have to go through, small fry.”

“I— I know,” Wind stammers. “I’m just asking, like...what if we didn’t? What would happen?”

“Hypothetically,” Hryule offers.

“Yeah! It’s hypothetical.”

“There’s no reason to consider hypotheticals,” Legend says.

“There’s not,” Wild agrees bitterly. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He stands, gathering his belongings with a scowl as he adds, “As a matter of fact, we should get this over with.”

“Wait!” Wind jumps up, practically vaults across the now-damp firewood to grasp Wild’s arm.

“No, there's no point in stalling any longer,” Wild says, even as he involuntarily leans into Wind’s touch.

“Of course there is,” Wind argues, eyes wet. “Any more time I can have with you guys is worth it. Even just one extra minute.”

Wild looks away from him as he lightly pulls out of Wind’s hold.

Legend stands now, too, eyes averted. “You’re just making this harder, kid.”

“Goodbyes are always hard,” Four says quietly.

Another moment of silence lapses, until Time stands, plates of his armor shifting.

day 29 (lies/terrible truth) - first attempt

In the lean privacy of a secluded clearing, Twilight offered his confession without pretense or embellishment, a simple statement of facts. He didn’t appear nervous as he spoke, like someone who had been caught off-guard might; rather, he seemed resigned, his words rehearsed, as if he’d known this conversation was an inevitability.

Wild expected—hoped—he would glimpse some relief on Twilight’s face when the confession was done, but that wasn’t the case. He seemed sorrowful, ailing, but not relieved to be rid of the heavy secret he’d burdened himself with. Not remorseful for his wrongdoing.

The oddest thing about this moment, Wild thought as Twilight looked squarely into his eyes, was the quietness. How could the moment feel so still and calm, even as it decimated him? Even as it violently impressed its place into his personal history as a pivotal event? Even as it cleaved his life into a clear before and after?

Through Wild’s cluttered, confused thoughts floated a memory. Not a century-old, faded memory, the kind that abruptly flickered to life in the deepest fathoms of his subconscious and dragged him into catatonia. No, this memory was recent, crisp, bright. He could still feel this memory, could still smell its scents and hear its sounds. It replayed over and over, an inescapable loop, as he stared at the man who only minutes before had his unshakeable trust, his highest admiration, his purest love.

Wild broke eye contact and shook his head, trying to clear it. “You’re lying. You have to be. This makes no sense.”

He only looked back to Twilight when he heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. He came face-to-face with Twilight’s blade and reflexively jumped back, hand flying to the hilt on his back.

[ssa-dg]

Undercover Part 1

part 1, part 2

Overview: the BAU has gone undercover to find a potential unsub who has been drugging, raping and murdering women. It own becomes a potential victim. Having to play her part to catch the bad guy, you go to the party all dressed up and dance with a potential murderer all while pretending he is someone else, Spencer Reid.

TW: drugs, rape (it is mentioned how the unsub rapes his victims. the reader is drugged and the unsub takes advantage of her being drugged and begins to take off her dress), murder, sex, adult themes. if these types of things are triggering for you please don’t read. I’m just a average person who tried their best to not cause people to be upset. If this is problematic I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to be and will take it down.

Relationship: Spencer Reid x (female)reader

word count: 3,384

Author’s note: so this is my first ever Criminal Minds story. If it garners enough attention I will do more parts (honestly even if it doesn’t I probably will lol) PSA: I have never been under the influence of MDMA and honestly I don’t judge if people who do it consensually and safely (which is harder said then done). this is how I imagine it to be like to be on it. Also I like writing and I like sharing my writing because all of the great fan fics that cause me happiness, if I can cause that reaction just to one person that’s enough for me

You would do anything to save the world. Maybe it was a hero complex, maybe it was some form of glory seeking, or maybe it was the only way you knew how to fill the dark abyss you felt when you did nothing of importance. Being a part of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, helped with that. Being on the team gave you everything you needed, a family and a way to save others. Maybe saying you love your job isn’t the correct way to explain your emotions but you knew no better way. Although you wish a job like this wasn’t necessary and didn’t even exist, it did.

Your team meant the world to you and you would contribute almost in any way to help find an unknown subject. So when Penelope Garcia was able to connect the killings in New York City to some private “rich people” clubs, her and the team created a plan to infiltrate.

The victimology was specific. It was all rich young women ranging from the ages 19-30 who just moved into the city to find themselves.

The profile was an easy one to figure out. He was obviously a troubled young white male who was probably an heir of some sort. He was richer than what most people think is rich. He usually meets the victim at a high society social event. Then he’d take them to a more exclusive social event. After that he would drug them with MDMA, rape and kill them.

It was hard for the BAU to get much out of the enclosed and tight group of New York’s most elite families. So going undercover at an event where the unsub could potentially hunt for prey was what made most sense. Your jobs was to observe the women and men there and try to see if any of you could fish out the unsub. 

They had done it in the past but usually they did their best work by watching and observing. So here the team was, their second night in a row all dolled up in fancy cocktail dresses at some art gallery. Tara Lewis and Luke Alves stood around a table pretending to talk to each other as they observed potential victims. Jennifer Jareau, Spencer Reid, and Matt Simmons stood at another end of the room checking for the potential unsub, while your unit chief, Emily Prentiss, and you were pretending to be alone at the event eavesdropping on rich families. You listened to those around you while also scanning the room looking for potential young white men talking to lone young women. “Ten o’clock to the creepy face painting,” you heard Alvez say in your small earpiece. You calmly turned pretending to look at the other art pieces and saw a white male in his mid-thirties walking up to a female. He placed his hand on her low back as he leaned in to talk to her. Emily being the closest nearby out of you two, moved closer acting like she was going for some hors d’oeuvres. “That’s not him. He’s too drunk. I can smell all the alcohol he has consumed. He would need to be smoother than that,” Emily whispered as she took a sip of her glass. That’s how most of the night went. We followed and stared at people who might be the unsub and then filed them out. You felt yourself losing hope. You hated this part of the job. The one that made you feel like the profile was wrong and you all would have to start over, which there was never time to start over. Someone could die. That’s when you felt a hand touch the small of your back, your body tensed up immediately. “Relax,” he whispered in your ear. But you didn’t need to force it, because when you turned to look at the person who touched you, you were met with the face of beauty and your body instantly relaxed. You knew this was a dangerous reaction, as would probably many of Ted Bundy’s victims.

The man before you had slicked back short dark hair, bright blue eyes, strong symmetry in his facial features, and strong cheek and jaw bones. He smiled wickedly at you, causing you to intake a sharp breath. It was so sinister but also so beautiful. It wasn’t the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen, no that was reserved for your teammate, best friend, and love of your life (even if he didn’t know it) Spencer Reid. Now, Spencer’s smile was one you could get lost in. You refocused yourself to the beautiful man in front of you. “They say the artist intended for this particular piece to show trauma while he was drinking. His other pieces are other emotions on different drugs,” his deep voice rattled through your ears. You wanted to unwrap yourself from this man’s embrace. How dare he touch you like that without your permission. “Play along,” Luke spoke as he saw a scowl beginning to form on your lips, “he could be the unsub.” You smoothed the scowl into a smile. “It doesn’t look like it depicts trauma,” you responded dumbly. The man before you cocked his head to the side giving you a lopsided smile. “I guess it all depends on how someone experiences trauma,” the smile now wicked, and scarier. A shiver went up your spine. “Are you cold?” He asked, noticing it, while looking you up and down like he could devour you. “No,” your voice came out scratchy as your throat went dry. You cleared it politely. “Just thinking-” “About your own trauma?” He asked. You could hear the fake tone of concern. That snapped you out of your fear. The pictures of all the murdered women that brought the BAU to this case flashed before your eyes. “Maybe,” the smile you plastered on your face was a one you knew he wanted, a sad smile. You were going to play this role like it’s no one's business because you were here to catch a bad guy and if flirting with a creep got you there then so be it. He leaned in closer to your ear, “my name is Alistair Constantine,” you immediately recognized the name. It was on the list of potential unsubs for the profile. His family’s money was old, going back to the revolutionary war. The family seemed to always be updating with the times and never losing that money. You leaned into his other ear and introduced yourself.

Spencer’s hands were clutched at his side as he watched you interact with the Constantine boy. He felt in his gut at this moment, Alastair was the unsub. The way he was looking at you, it was like you were a quest to conquer. Spencer knew he couldn’t just come up, break you two apart and blow the whole investigation but boy did he want to.

Alastair paraded you around the room.  Every now and then he would talk to fellow members of the society. It took everything in you to pretend that you didn’t want to beat his ass right then and there. You were always an imaginative kid growing up so you blocked out the gruesome pictures of the crime scenes and instead pretended this was your life a young New York woman getting special treatment from a handsome man. It was easier to fit the rom-com role then what was actually happening. Alistair stopped in front of a painting that was particularly psychedelic looking with bright pastel colors. “This is my favorite piece by the artist. This was when he was on Ecstasy. Look at the happiness and distorted-ness to the art. It’s amazing,” he gushed. It would have been odd that he picked this particular painting to attach too, but it was a strong tie to the method of his killings. “Humankind cannot bear very much of reality,” you spoke out, breaking Spencer from his thoughts about if they had enough information to convict Alistair for the murders. Alistair looked at you funny, not understanding why you would say that. “T. S. Eliot” you told Alistair while Spencer whispered it at the same time. a ghost of a smile playing on your lips when you heard Spencer’s voice. “It’s what I think of when I look at this art. T. S. Eliot is one of my favorite poets,” you blushed at your admission. It felt like for a second, with having just heard Spencer’s voice, that you were talking to him instead of Alistair. Spencer was now looking straight at you two. His eyes held bewilderment, he has known you for years and you never once mentioned this, and he knew you knew this was something he cared about. 

“Indeed,” Alistair yawned. 

The next 30 minutes was you telling him how you’d grown up in Boston, Massachusetts, that you had no close relatives anymore, and how when your parents died their life savings all went to you (all of it true), the lie came when it was to talk about why you moved to New York City, what you wanted to do with your life etc. And he ate it up every second. You played the roll of being the lonely damsel in a big city trying to find the answer to life. You were his ideal victim and you knew that he didn’t even question how perfect you were. 

The night ended with an invite to the society’s ball tomorrow night, and Prentiss fed your ear a fake address for Alistair to send a car to tomorrow. You ordered an Uber to the address where Emily said they’ll pick you up to not seem suspicious in case Alistair sent someone to follow you. Once at the address the FBI’s SUV pulled up and you got in. It was Spencer who picked you up, which was unusual, as he never liked driving. You climbed onto the passenger seat and saw his knuckles were white from the strength of his grip on the steering wheel. It didn’t take a profiler to know Spencer was mad. “Spencer, are you alright?” You approached with a soft whisper. There was a pause of silence, Spencer calculating if he should be honest. He eventually gave into the truth as he knew that he couldn’t hide it from you. “No,” he growled, the anger in his voice causing you to jump in surprise. “No, I am not okay. That man is a murderer and he was holding you in his arm! You two were practically dancing around the room in there. We have put you in danger and now, now you are his next target, his next victim!” he hit the wheel in anger. You had never seen Spencer this angry before. Most times when Spencer got angry, he got smart and he used his logic to fight but now he sounded emotional. “Spencer,” you raised your voice, “I am not a victim, I’m an agent. I will do what it takes to protect others. Just like you.” In anger Spencer swerved the car to the side and put it in park. “Dammit, You don’t get it,” he yelled and turned towards you. “If he is our unsub, which we both know he is, I’ve run the calculations and the risk is too high for you,” his hands flying everywhere in gestures, “There are too many dependent variables. There isn’t enough for us to control. The probability of you getting hurt or,” he stopped to collect himself, and in a quieter voice said, “or worse, it’s too high. I’ve run the math.” Now that sounded more like the Spencer you knew. A soft smile crept onto your lips, then you quickly neutralized your face, in hopes he wouldn’t see the way his concern for you made you feel. And You couldn’t do that to yourself. You couldn’t let yourself feel happiness when Spencer showed you affection, because it eventually just leads to heart break. Subconsciously, you turned more towards him in your seat, “In your math is there probability that we get this guy and he never gets the opportunity to hurt another woman again?” You asked. Spencer gave you a pained look like he knew where you were going. You countered that look with one that told him to answer the question. He let out a heavy sigh, “yes. There is that possibility.” You smiled at him knowing you won the argument, “That settles it then.”

With everyone back in the small conference room at the police station, the conversation began about what to do tomorrow. No one was pleased that one of their own is now the target but there was truth that the situation was now more in the BAU’s control than before. Everyone also believed in you. They knew the risk and that scared them but also you are a Special Advisory Agent for a reason. Relief did not fill you but neither did dread, when you thought of the plan. You were doing the right thing. It didn’t matter if you were going to put yourself in danger.

Spencer kept pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. Something that happened when he started to get headaches and you could guess this headache was caused by stress. As the rest of the team started packing up, you stared at your best friend hurting over the stress you were causing. You took a seat next to Spencer. He was still wearing his suit from the party. “We are going to be okay tomorrow,” you comforted him. He looked up at you, “I’m not worried about all of us, I’m worried about you,” he confessed. Once again, you knew these words shouldn’t have an effect on you like they did, but it did and this time there was something that felt hidden behind those words, something more. “I trust you not to let anything happen to me,” You countered and placed your hand on his forearm to comfort him. You looked in his eyes and tried to let him know that there is more than just trust there. 

The day of the ball, you got ready in the police station bathroom. It wasn’t exactly how you imagined to be getting ready for your first ball in New York City. You’d rather be wearing this gown for other reasons than going undercover to catch a murderer rapist. The Givenchy dress Garcia picked out was gorgeous (as you instructed her to get a designer to fit in the crowd and you would float the bill). It was a long evening dress in blue and green with a gradient-effect. The top had long puffed sleeves, deep V-neckline, and waist accentuated with smooth lamé and long flared skirt. You put your hair up in a loose low bun. The makeup you did was a smooth eye with long flair eyeliner. You put a heavy amount of glow highlighter on your cheek bones and collar bones to accentuate the deep v cut the dress. 

You felt ridiculous walking out of the bathroom into the police station wearing your dress. But the way Spencer looked at you was something powerful and intoxicating, making you forget your embarrassment. You strode up to him. A small smile played on your lips looking up at him. You saw him also smiling at you “You’re almost as tall as me,” he blurted out. You let out a small laugh, “‘I guess that’s what heels will do,” you smiled looking down at your feet. Spencer felt ridiculous that’s what he said. He should have told you how amazing you looked or how your beauty felt like the sun- always pulling him in and having his thoughts orbit around you. But he wasn’t good with voicing his feelings (especially in a room with his colleagues). 

“We are going to have Officer Melinda Jackson drive you over to the apartment, And stake out the car. She’ll be on the radio the whole time till you are in range with us. We will be at the Capitale when you get there.” Emily disclosed as she strapped on a microphone and earpiece.

You stepped out of the car with your head held high even though your anxiety was on another level. “i’m here,” you whispered. “We are here too,” Tara responded. Everyone disclosed where each one was to you. The venue was massive and beautiful. The ceiling was tall with ornate decorations. The lighting was a bright orangish glow. As you examined the room, checking each point of your team, you also saw Alistair. He was at the bar with what looked like to be a group of his friends. Spencer not too far behind them. You walked towards Alistair but kept your eyes on Spencer. He took your breath away dressed in a tux and his hair slicked back like he used to when he was younger. It felt like your heart was lit on fire just by looking at him all dressed up. He was staring at you intensely. It wasn’t that the world stopped the moment your eyes met his, but it was more like everything else just didn’t matter. You knew you’d have to look away soon to not give away anything but you took him in for just one more second. “You look amazing,” you heard a voice next to you say. You turned to see the ever good looking Alistair. He wore a navy 3 piece suite with a large Gucci tag on the sleeve, and a large Gucci flower pinned on his chest. You gave him a soft smile and returned his compliment. “I want to introduce you to my family. Their approval means everything,” he offered you his arm. You took it tentatively,  Spencer watched him lead you away, and he pondered on Alistair’s odd statement about family approval. 

Alistair’s family was everything you’d expect. They were proper and pompous. However they liked you, a lot. You fell right into the role you had to play. You stood there laughing and engaged in the conversation with his mom and cousin. 

“Shall we dance?” Alistair asked, giving you his hand, as your conversation with his sister came to an end. You nodded and let him take you to the dance floor. 

He spun you out and brought you back in close to start the dancing. You gave him a bright smile at his eccentric action. You closed your eyes and let your mind pretend it was Spencer holding you. You followed his lead as he twirled you both around the dance floor. “Stop dancing, we can’t see you,” Spencer frantically said into your ear piece. You snapped your eyes open. Taking in that you were on a secluded corner of the dance floor by an exit door. “You are special. My family, They like you” Alistair said with a sense of manic to it. “you aren’t like the others,” he admitted. His voice sounded different. It was sinister with a tinge of adoration. He pulled you close, so close that his fingers dug into your hand and back. You felt like your brain was freezing up in fear. How many times had you been in fear inducing situations and why did your brain pick now to not work. “you’re hurting me,” you groaned trying to pull yourself away. “Where are you” JJ yelled but then you felt mist hit you, and your mind begin to make things fuzzy, “the left corner, the spray…in the flower,” you breathed out, hoping the team could hear you. You heard a rattle of commands to your co-workers from Emily. Then it went black.

Spencer rushed through the crowd to find you but by the time he got to the corner you told him you were at, you were gone. “She’s not here,” Spencer panicked into the ear piece. “I just saw a black Tesla leave, license plate delta, alpha, hotel nine, one, two ” Luke informed them. “Call and ask them to run it”, Rossi said urgently. “on it,” Luke replied. “JJ and Reid, go talk to the mom and sister, Tara and Matt split up and talk to his friends and the other family members. They have to know where they are,” Emily demanded

[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.

[chaoticfriendship]

This is not hate but how can you support someone like pewdiepie after all hes done? I feel like it's wrong to put him with Jack because sometimes i feel like jacks his friend only because he feels he needs to because of the shoutout. Don't stan him with Jack or associate him with him please. Pewdiepie is a bad influence and a white supremacist

Ok. Let’s talk. I was going to ignore this but you’re really persistent. This is the fifth ask you have sent me telling me the same thing but in different ways. Sad thing is that I just started this blog, I can’t believe this keeps happening to me in every fandom I go to. Some of you need to understand something about Felix.

Yes, I’m aware he did a lot of questionable things. And no, he’s not a white supremacist. He’s not racist. And he’s not homophobic or whatever Twitter/the media is saying about him these days. I might not know him personally but I’ve been watching Felix since the very beginning and even with this little info about his life I can tell the difference between some things people choose to ignore about him. He’s a very honest person and he always tells everyone the information they need to know about him, whether it is about his personal life or his pewdiepie persona. His real actual friends (Jack, Ken, Mark -also good people, and whether you like it or not, Jack is one of them) held him accountable for the things he did and also made sure to assure everyone that the ‘Pewdiepie’ personality is totally different than his real-self. They confirmed he’s not any of his mistakes. Meaning the ‘Pewdiepie’ personality got too far and the facade/entertainment mask fell off of him when he made those mistakes. This was not only a lesson for him but it showed him places that needed real improvement in his life, something we all need sometimes. We all fall short in understanding the potential harm we can do to others and we easily face the temptation to define ourselves by ignoring those crucial parts. What Felix needed to learn was self-awareness. And he’s now constantly working on it so he can objectively evaluate himself when it comes to those things. Some people face this alone and privately but, him, as an internet sensation had to do it on camera.  

Pay attention to what his actual friends say about him. Jack himself said it:

‘It is strange, all the stuff that gets said about him, it’s kind of weird to see that being said about a friend of yours. To hear his actual thoughts on it…people like to take things every which way and twist things all over the place. I don’t know how he does it, with that many people on you and that much scrutiny on you constantly. I think I would have lost my mind by now.’

I’m also aware he’s a white rich guy and that he’s a step up on the scale from me and other people but I’m sure that if I dig long enough, I’m going to find something about certain actors/actresses/musicians (that most likely you and other people love) as well. Meaning they’re human at the end of the day and they might make mistakes too. Felix is the same case here.

It was dumb to say certain things and do certain things? YES. I held him accountable when he did those things. He didn’t need to say or do the things he did. It was irresponsible, harmful and immature from his part. However, he’s willing to make a change and work on it so this is something I can appreciate. 

He did the fivver video. This is his statement:

‘I make videos for my audience. I think of the content that I create as entertainment, and not a place for any serious political commentary. I know my audience understand that and that is why they come to my channel. Though this was not my intention, I understand that these jokes were ultimately offensive. I think it’s important to say something and I want to make one thing clear: I am in no way supporting any kind of hateful attitudes.’

his response.

He said the ‘n’ word. He sincerely apologized. This is his statement:

‘I hate how I personally fed into that part of gaming. It was something that was said in the heat of the moment. I said the worst word I could possibly think of and it slipped out. I’m not going to make excuses to why I did it because there are not excuses for it. I’m dissappointed in myself because it seems like I learned nothing from controversies. And it’s not like I think I can do or say whatever I want and get away with it. I’m just an idiot but that doesn’t make what I said or how I said it okay. It was not okay. I’m really sorry If I offended, hurt or disappointed anyone with all of this. Being in the position I am, I should know better. I know I can’t keep messing up like this and I owe it to my audience and to myself to do better than this. I really want to improve and better myself, not just for me but for anyone that looks up to me or anyone that is influenced by me and that’s how I wanna move forward. Away from this.’

source: my response. 

He:

Held himself accountable.

Made no excuses for his behaviour.

Recognized he did something wrong and stupid.

Sincerely apologized for it without making a fake act or fake crying for sympathy.

Never asked for sympathy or support because he's willing to make a real change in behavior. 

Realized some people are influenced by him and worked to be better for them and himself.

Chose to be himself and stand his ground on an important matter to make his audience understand he was taking this as serious as it is. 

Understood he gave ammunition that feeds some people the wrong idea and didn’t try to rationalize it because he knows he should take accountability for it. 

Saw that he had no need for jokes or words like that in his vocabulary in the first place and worked on self-control.

Rightfully feels ashamed for his actions. 

Here you can see Felix takes this seriously. He’s not messing around with what happened. He takes it with the responsibility it should be taken. 

And this is enough for me. I’m sorry if you think Felix needs to do a blood sacrifice to prove himself but that’s just not how it works. 

We all have said or done things we are not proud of. He did many of them and trust me, he was held accountable for them. How? Here’s a list of the consequences:

He was part of the original content network YouTube Red, and was affiliated with Disney’s MakerStudios brand where he had his own network. Disney cut all ties with him.

They cancelled his YouTube Red show, where a lot of people put big effort (not only the participants but the crew members). You can see that this was important for him. It was not just some random ass show.

Was held accountable for his actions and it was made known every mistake he did. Every single one.  

Received the proper criticism from the media, his fans and his own friends.

He also received harsh backlash and hate from the situation.

Lost support from followers, celebrities, friends and companies. 

He’s constantly attacked by people and media outlets on a daily basis. Some people even fabricate false stories about him.

He faced the proper consequences for those actions. Let him move on already.

You also listed a bunch of stuff in one of your asks, things he’s NEVER done. Those are things the media has made you and everyone else believe he did but he didn’t. This is why you should never believe any random media headline, you need to actually do your own research to see if that’s true or not. Here are the things you said he did (none of these are true): 

No, he hasn’t hired people to say the ‘n’ word. This is not true at all.

No, he doesn’t promote Adolf Hitler speeches and anti-semitic cartoons. Disney did once tho.

No, he’s not homophobic. At all. He was actually evicted from his own flat because his previous landlord is an actual homophobic person and called him and his crew the ‘f’ word. He decided to move far away from the guy. 

No, he didn’t perform the Nazi heil. Never. 

No, he didn’t pay the ‘Jesus’ guy to hold a sign that says ‘Hitler did nothing wrong’ this is a lie. Someone else did it and the media said it was him to cause more controversy. He paid him to say ‘Subscribe to Jacksepticeye’. 

No, he’s not racist. For this, his content would’ve to be filled with racial jokes and actual intentional attacks daily. His content is not like that, trust me, the most he does is play with some tambourine all the time. He’s said the ‘n’ word (something he admitted was terrible, apologized for it and took responsibility for his words), yes but someone that feels as bad and ashamed as he does, does not equal to what an actual racist is and how they act. 

No, he didn’t dress up in a Klansman robe. He never did that. This is also false information about him. 

No, he doesn’t bully his friends or enables bullying. I don’t know where the media got that one but I can assure you they’ve got no friends if they think his interactions with his own friends are ‘bullying’. 

No, he doesn’t joke about crises happening around the world. AT ALL. He constantly raises money for them (and gives his own money as well) to different causes such as the Wildfires Emergency Appeal, Team Trees (to plant 20 million trees), St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital (for kids with diseases such as cancer), Crisis Text Line, National Alliance on Mental Illness (a group that helps those suffering from mental illness), CRY (a GoFundMe campaign to help Indian children living in poverty), World Wildlife Fund (dedicated to the reduction of mankind’s environmental impact), RED (did a whole 7 hour livestream with friends to help people fighting HIV/AIDS in Africa), Charity: Water (a non-profit that provides drinking water to developing nations), Save the Children (for underprivileged kids to give them better education, healthcare, better economic opportunities), he recently raised $106,000 for the BLM movement donating the contributions to the family of George Floyd and other victims of police violence, Cincinnati Children’s Hospital, Hope for Holt, Malaria No More, Oceana, SpecialEffect, War Child, etc. Does this sound like someone who makes fun of real problems happening around the globe? No. And no, he hasn’t made fun of those causes either. 

No, he doesn’t make fun of mental illnesses. He talks about it with the proper respect and delicacy it deserves. He constantly adresses mental health, shares resources for viewers who may be struggling and talks about the importance of being aware and getting legitimate help. Where are you taking these facts from?

No, he doesn’t support China’s police brutality. He was BANNED from China for critizing the president and the country’s treatment of Hong Kong’s anti-government protests. How hard is it to watch the real video instead of trusting some Susan from Twitter? 

No, he has NEVER disrespected Japanese culture. Felix loves Japan and respects their culture. He always treats the people and the place with utter respect. 

He’s not a white supremacist or a secret Nazi. Are you insane? He’s said it himself ‘f*** anyone who is racist and anyone who is a white nationalist. That’s not what I’m about. And that’s not what my channel has been about either.’ Maybe if you think about it, the media painted him that way and people decided to go with it because they don’t actually watch his videos. The number of accusations and stories are insane and ridiculous. Have you ever watched one of his videos? Ever? Because if you would’ve, you would know none of these things are true. 

No, he doesn’t encourage kids/teens to see and follow Nazi ethics. He recommended a channel that does anime reviews (he didn’t know the channel had pro white-supremacy videos). You’re accusing him of that for not checking the thousand-something videos said channel has because he liked one anime review? This is reaching to a whole new degree. You could’ve randomly watched the same anime review vid, does that make you a Nazi as well? And NO, he didn’t wear an Iron Cross, he was wearing a Georgian Bolnisi cross. The shirt is by the Georgian designer Demna Gvasalia. Use Google please. 

I don’t think you’re a real Jacksepticeye fan if you think he’s sticking up for him only because of a shout-out that happened years ago. Extend your perspective in this. He knows him in real-life. He’s his best friend. He can tell he’s not a bad person. This is not a hard thing to figure out. 

Also, you forgot to put the anon option in one of your asks, so I know who you are. Weren’t you joking about WW3, using the ‘r’ word to fight with your followers and making fun of the BLM movement a few months ago on your twitter account? It might not look like it’s possible but we’ve also made and are capable of making some of the same mistakes too. The difference is that some of you hide behind the ‘it’s just humor to cope with life’ gen z card. Joking about a serious important movement is harmful as well, hope you can learn that. 

I can’t tell you how to emotionally react to his content, however I can advise that if it bothers you that much you should remove yourself from the environment that revolves around him (if you even watch his videos which I highly doubt) if you’re not willing to give him a chance. You also need to remember that forgiveness is private and personal, just because you don't see his content and can't see that change doesn't mean it's not happening. There’s power in understanding.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #22- If You Don’t Love Thunderclash, Get Better Soon I Guess

One last issue before we reach Comic Event Hell.

Time to use a dead man to set up the rest of the nonsense that’s got to happen, because apparently 14 issues of setup, including six issues of literal prelude, wasn’t enough.

The first bit of information we’re presented with is the fact that Chromedome and Swerve are on the opposite sides of the camera-shy scale. I guess that’s bound to happen when your spouse has had his video-cam literally connected to his brain for at least several thousand years.

The art may look really gritty and hardcore here, but this is actually due to a filter Rewind has over all his footage that he’s neglected to take off, because it made all the wartime propaganda he would stuff into people’s heads all the more brutal-looking.

No, this is the style of our artist for this issue, James Raiz, who we’ll be seeing a fair bit of over the next several issues. Raiz has worked on the Transformers franchise over the course of multiple license-holders, as well as contributed to both Marvel and DC comics. He also works in special effects, including matte painting and VFX. That’s just neat.

Anyway, the reason Swerve’s completely frozen in place isn’t because Rewind  switched out his head-mounted camera for a gun that goes off if it hears you make a self-deprecating joke, but rather because he’s conducting interviews with everyone in the main cast. We get all their introductions, Cyclonus makes a statement about his political stances, Drift sounds like he’s high as a kite, First Aid strikes a sassy pose while not being bitter in the slightest, and Ultra Magnus makes a move that would get him murdered on any given film set in the universe.

You do NOT use your bare fucking hand to clean a camera lens, mister. Go get a microfiber cloth and try the fuck again, you complete and utter duffel bag of a creature.

We get a quick cut of the speech Rodimus made back in issue #1, with an angle that implies that Rewind was in the front row of the front row, then cut over to Rodimus asking Rewind to document their Capital-Q Quest. This is where we establish that this film doesn’t only contain footage from Rewind’s personal camera, but also that of the Lost Light’s security system.

Which feels like the sort of access you maybe wouldn’t want to give some nosy little film buff, especially when you have a secret giant serial killing sadist living in your basement like a disappointing adult child.

See? He was given the job to record the adventures of the Lost Light not five minutes ago, and he’s already using his powers for evil. Eavesdropping evil. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, Rodimus, and you just handed it to the guy with a massive Dominus Ambus-shaped chip on his shoulder.

So Rewind’s got permission to film just about whatever he wants, and Rodimus figures it’ll be nonstop action from here to the finish line! Fights! Intrigue! Mild hijinks and peril! Explosions aplomb! Oh man, I can’t wait to see what kinds of crazy shit will happen on this absolute roller coaster of a Quest!

Smashcut to Swerve literally falling asleep in the middle of a conversation. Yeah, as it turns out, no quest, capital Q or not, is nonstop action. Which is good, honestly, because that kind of seems like it would be exhausting after the first week or so.

Swerve, Tailgate, and Rewind are discussing cool alt-modes, which seems like an odd topic, seeing as Tailgate and Swerve have basically the same situation going on there, leaving Rewind alone in the camp of “does not have wheels”.

I worry about you sometimes, Rewind. Internalized Functionism is a very real problem. Uh, well, in your universe anyway. Us humans have to deal with regular ol’ classism and racism.

Rung gets brought up, and it’s revealed that the wheel on his back is almost purely cosmetic; it doesn’t even actually attach to his body. The lads decide that they’ve got nothing better to do, and set up a gentlemen’s wager- first one to figure out Rung’s whole deal gets 100 space-dollars.

Throwing shit at people’s heads will be a major plot point in the climax of this comic series.

Swerve’s go at trying to win the bet involved tossing a grenade at Rung to hit him in the neural cluster, which is rumored to be able to force an involuntary mode change if done correctly. Obviously, it didn’t work this go around. Then our narrative focus switches over to the crew’s hobbies.

You were listening to Prince, weren’t you, Magnus? Not even deep space is safe from the Cease and Desist.

Skids’ hobby is meeting new people, because he suffers from the terrible curse of being so fucking good at everything he tries, he always ends up dropping whatever he picked up, because what’s the point? This acts as a segue into another flashback, to even MORE bullshit that the fellas got roped into on Hedonia.

These are the Stentarians. They’re like the Cybertronians, if they were better in every way.

And by “better”, I, of course, mean “more bloodthirsty, warmongering, and driven enough to make their civil war last about as long as the Jurassic Period”. Also, they’re all combiners by default, and Whirl seems a little TOO into their whole situation. So much so, in fact, that when the Imperial Guard of their race show up to kill them, he decides to do them a solid by single-handedly ending their entire war.

You know, in most cases you’re supposed to show and not tell for visual media. This is way funnier, though, so it can be excused.

We jump back into the interviews, and Rewind’s just asked everyone if they’re happy. This might seem like an odd question, until you remember that everyone on-board this ship has crippling depression and PTSD, and Rewind’s married to one of the saddest motherfuckers to ever exist, so he probably has this question loaded into the proverbial chamber at any given moment. We won’t cover all of the answers here, because they’ll be more poignant to reflect back on later in the comic run, but let’s take a gander at the characters who’ve completed the first leg of their character arcs this season.

Drift, is that perhaps… an honest expression of your inner thought processes happening right there? Has Rewind broken through your carefully crafted persona, if even for just a moment, with his question? Perish the thought!

Because Tailgate outed himself as being baby in issue #21, I have zero doubt he’s not exaggerating here. He was a janitor, then he fell in a hole and became Dirt-Nap Supreme for six million years; even the most boring day on the Lost Light’s got to be better than that.

And it’s nice to see Chromedome on a good day for once. Hopefully he reveled in it while he had the chance, because this interview takes place maybe a couple weeks before he fucks everything up big time and has to blow up his husband with a missile strike.

Getting back to the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode plotline, we see Rung using his backpack as a wheelbarrow- no idea what he’s actually pushing in the damned thing- and wearing the most disgruntled face I’ve seen him pull in a hot minute. Someone yells for him to come down the eerily unlit and sinister-looking hallway, which he does. Rung would not do well in a horror film.

He winds up at Swerve’s, where Tailgate, Swerve, Brainstorm, and someone who is most likely Trailcutter, given the colors, are hanging out in their alt-modes. Tailgate’s ploy to find out Rung’s deal is to do what he does best- lie! They’re having an alt-mode party, and wouldn’t Rung like to join in? There are, of course, logistical issues with being a car in a bar, especially when your drink is on the table and your head is tucked up somewhere in your torso, but never mind all that! Let’s get crazy!

This doesn’t work either. Maybe we should cut out the middle man here and just get Rung drunk enough to agree to a wet alt-mode contest.

No, I don’t have any idea how that would work.

In our next vignette, Rodimus comes into the comms room, Rewind trailing behind him like a grim shadow of death, to see what the hell Blaster wants, other than just the hugest glass of water.

Raiz’s work is very detailed, and you really feel the weight of these giant metal space robots, but everyone looks like they’ve been put through a food dehydrator.

We get a lot of build up to the character who’s about to be introduced, with a common opinion being shared amongst everyone- even Tailgate, who hates successful people like his life depends on it.

Lovely readers, put your hands together for the ideal male partner for Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals alike:

A man with so much charisma and charm that only Rodimus could hate him, Thuderclash brings to IDW what everyone wishes Optimus Prime would, making our disappointing space dad even more mediocre by comparison. He fights for justice, and freedom, and the good of the universe- and he does it all while having a chronic medical condition that forces him to stay within a certain distance of his ship that is also a life-support machine, otherwise he will die. Despite his handicaps, Thunderclash seemingly brings to others what they need most, even if they don’t even realize that they needed it in the first place.

He also, in this one scene, appeals to Drift’s religious sensibilities, does a secret best-friend dance with Ratchet (who he helped to pass his medical exams- yes, Ratchet), and congratulates Rodimus on his questing so far.

Thunderclash is one of those characters that everyone in-universe is supposed to love, and I completely buy it- because he’s completely genuine and humble about all of this the entire time.

Compare this to the last time Roberts wrote Thunderclash, in Eugenesis.

Where he was an ex-Decepticon.

And kind of an abrasive asshole.

And then he died.

Y’know, now that I think of it, Eugenesis Thunderclash and MTMTE Ambulon being basically the same character makes a whole lot of sense, even without the horrors of Roberts’ Twitter getting involved.

Thunderclash reveals that he, too, is on a quest to find the Knights of Cybertron, much to Rodimus’ chagrin. But first he needs the Lost Light to break out the jumper cables, and then for his second in command to stop threatening his life.

Turns out, not everyone is as obvious as the Cybertronians with their naming conventions. Whirl assassinated the wrong folks; I’m sure the Galactic Council is utterly thrilled. Paddox wants to steal the quantum engine technology for the good of his people, so they can kick the ass of the up-and-coming Terradore leader.

Completely unaware of the situation unfolding here in the lab, Swerve is directing Rung towards the warm, loving aura of Thunderclash for another go at winning the gentlemen’s wager- through the power of lying about having friends, Swerve’s “agreed” to get Rung Thunderclash’s autograph, in exchange for getting to check that Rung’s transformation cog is still working. Then they bump into the nightmare currently unfolding. My, whoever will save us from this dreaded menace, who holds a gun to the head of the Autobots’ greatest warrior, confidant, friend, and perhaps even lover?

How about a bartender and a giant vape pen?

Okay, so Rung doesn’t actually turn into a vape. It turns out that the Mystery of the Rungian Alt-Mode is also a mystery to the man himself. Because Rung is old as shit, the Functionists got to see this bullshit for themselves, and ended up testing him over and over and over trying to figure it out, lest he prove to be a flaw in their fascist ideologies. Fun fact: fascists HATE it when people they’re trying to oppress don’t play to their expectations.

The Functionists were the ones who gave Rung his little wheelie backpack, to make him at least appear useful. This sort of treatment tends to warp one’s head a bit, which would explain why he’s bothered to keep it for so long- internalized functionism’s a real bitch.

At least he’s not giving teenagers nicotine addictions under the guise of being somewhat better than cigarettes.

Back with Rodimus and Cybertron’s Autobot of the Year for 40,000 consecutive years, we get the unfortunate news that jump-starting Thunderclash’s ship is going to make the Quest go a bit slower for the Lost Light, much to Rodimus’ horror, though he does his best to put on a brave face; after all, that’s what heroes do, isn’t it?

It’s at this point that it’s revealed that “Little Victories” was being screened to all the Circle of Light members who didn’t get murdered or turned into Legislators on Luna 1, and man are these guys pissy. What was meant to be a recruitment video turned out to do just the opposite, because none of these guys want anything to do with what the Lost Light’s got going on.

Too bad Rewind didn’t have time for a cleaner cut for showing. Maybe they could have at least snagged a couple of these guys to tag along.

As all of the Circle of Light leave the theatre to go call everyone’s favorite Autobot to see if he needs a more crew members, the film plays on behind Skids, back to the interviews, as everyone promises more adventures just waiting on the horizon.

You’re not even on this trip anymore, you dork.

Chromedome gives us the title drop for the movie and issue, and we cut to Rewind organizing a group photo of all the interviewees.

And then Rewind died horribly like a week later. Thus ends season one of More Than Meets the Eye!

While I’m here, I’d like to take the time to cover a little bit of cut content from this issue, a scene between Drift and Ratchet.

Drift, during his interview, recalls the time that Ratchet called him into his office for a very serious discussion about his/Pharma’s hands.

Yeah, turns out they’re haunted.

Well, no, not really, because this is a prank. But Drift doesn’t know that yet.

Ratchet demonstrates this hand-haunting by punching Drift in the face, as he screams damnation at Pharma’s ghost. Drift, because he is a spiritual man, knows exactly what to do to deal with this possession; he draws his sword and chops Ratchet’s hands off, then throws them out the airlock.

This, too, is a prank, not that Ratchet knows it right away, yelling at Drift that he’s crippled him.

Clearly, these two belong together.

This bit of cut script was lucky enough to have gotten drawn by the colorist for MTMTE Season 1, Josh Burcham. Burcham’s line art is iconic- you won’t mistake him for anyone else. It’s rough and angular, and honestly just very charming. I’m a sucker for this sort of style. If you want to see his adaptation of this chunk of script- and trust me, you do- the link’s right here:

https://dcjosh.tumblr.com/post/107665292031/its-done-the-mtmte-22-deleted-scene-in-all-its

[angelsndragons]

Okay, since I see a lot of people either straight up panicking or saying that Caduceus’ playlist is straight up depressing (neither reaction I get)....I’m gonna offer a different reading of the songs here, how does that sound?

Death Bed Salesman - This is straight up about Caduceus’ family and his upbringing. His father even says some of the lyrics almost word for word in ep 96. Growing up surrounded by death and all the rituals created for the living left behind made Caduceus into the person he is. ‘This is how it has to end/So love somebody while you can’ like talk about a thesis statement for Caduceus’ outlook.

How are You Doing - Wow this song is pulling double duty. Caduceus is not a character who likes burdening other people with his own problems, preferring to keep a calm, polite distance between others and his feelings. The style of this song harkens over to Jester, it’s very bubbly and sweet sounding. Of course, this is also one of Jester’s primary issues (someone please tell the clerics they can be people with problems too). Now, if you do what I did and go watch the music video for this song, two things will stick out. One is the increasing ridiculous scenarios the singers find themselves in while going about their day to day lives juxtaposed against their ‘nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine’ lyrics. Two is the fact that these singers come out at the end of the song together, they have triumphed over the madness and nothing stopped them from doing what they wanted and needed to do. This song encapsulates early Caduceus, while he was getting a feel for the Nein and being drowned every other second, ultimately his contributions to the Pirate Arc were fundamental to the group’s success. 

Vegetables - Honestly, this song just reminds me of that early conversation with Fjord in the Sour Nest. Caduceus is cooking omelets and just casually asks Fjord if he could look for veggies down in the torture chamber since it would ‘make a good root cellar.’ Fjord is so caught off guard by this request, and understandably so, he just repeats ‘Roots?’ Caduceus then just lists off root vegetables like Fjord’s an idiot. Oh, Cad. XD Honestly I like that the beat line is being made by vegetable chomping, it just feeds into the ‘Caduceus is a giant magical cow man’ vibes and I love it.

When the World is at Rest - Xhorhaus! In the middle of that street! Xhorhaus! In all seriousness, this song pulls double duty as well. ‘I miss the sun but the moons will do in a pinch’ anyone? The first and most obvious thing this song reminds me of is when the group is given the house and Caduceus asks, ‘are we putting down roots here?’ With the single act of planting that tree on the tower, Caduceus turned the house into the Mighty Nein’s home. Can’t get your deposit back after that, after all XD. I think of how this home in the dark has sheltered and protected the Nein so many times. I think of them befriending Essek and how that wasn’t part of the plan (you know, like Caduceus himself). I think of how their plans to end the war were hatched in darkness, how violated they all felt when one of their own was taken and when another was assassinated under cover of night, because the darkness had come to feel safe to them. I think of how much the Nein has blossomed since this house became their home, since they all had a place to go back to that was theirs. I think of how the Nein has given the world a breather, a chance to rest, all because they returned a beacon and befriended a traitor. 

Wildflowers - So, there are a couple of interpretations of this song. One is setting a lover or loved one free from your own feelings and letting them go. Another is that the singer is trying to find a place to bury a loved one (’that home by and by’ around where I live and grew up is a roundabout reference to heaven). Honestly, both interpretations are apt for Caduceus. He does his best to not burden others with his worries and feelings, he was the one who stayed home, which granted his siblings the freedom they needed to leave, etc. The second interpretation fits Caduceus as well because we know one of his secret hopes is that the Nein will let him tend their bodies and graves when the time comes. And now I’m gonna put on my TeaHaw hat for a goddamn minute bc holy heck, this is such a good song for both of them, Caduceus reminding Fjord that he deserves freedom and his beloved sea again, Fjord teaching Caduceus to follow his heart and embrace new experiences. ‘I have seen no other/Who compares with you’ really fits their complimentary and praise styles with each other. Thank you, Tal.

Never did No Wandering - Don’t have much to add to what Taliesin said about the song. For once. I think of Caduceus’ loneliness in the Grove and his regret that he didn’t leave sooner. I think of how he could only leave in the context of duty, of just how much his duty as a grave cleric to Melora has defined and shaped his understanding of himself. I think of how long it took for him to voice his own desires and wants. I think of how he insists he isn’t wandering, that he is following a pre-ordained path. I think of how much work he still has to do when it comes to knowing what he wants and making peace with getting it just for his own sake. Also, hello more sailors.

When You Get to Ashville - Oof, so this song works both ways for Caduceus, both as the singer and the subject of the song. I think of him, home alone for ten years, wondering what was going on with his family, if they were safe (he knew they weren’t, he knew what it took to keep them from him), how he didn’t actually want to know unless he could help. As the subject, I see his family, having only been away for what was maybe two years for them, looking at the changes in him in awe and confusion. Nothing’s changed for them but boy howdy has Caduceus changed. The homebody has left the nest and saved them all and he very obviously doesn’t want to go home yet if at all. Caduceus has waited so long to get them back and to be a family again yet when the time comes, he can’t bring himself to return, as the singer implies about the subject. He knows his family will be there to catch him if he needs it but I think this episode is where it really hit him that he’d been trying to recreate a past that never could be again because he could never go back to being who he was. 

Fuck it I’m a Flower - Another Caduceus anthem. Upbeat with a few melancholy lyrics. You can take it as the singer divorcing themself from humanity or you can take it as the singer using flowers as a metaphor for their growth into someone who becomes more involved (the singer goes from not marching to taking on other people’s pain from their place of safety to fully embracing the movement to change things while they can). I don’t have any context for this song but it really freaking reminds me of those protest photos where a protester offers a flower to the riot police (fuck the police). Caduceus is blossoming into a man who genuinely cares about the wider world and the people within it. Not just abstractly, which I would argue he did back in the Grove. But being up close to the ordinary folks in the Dynasty, in the Empire, the Coast, has given him a new perspective on not just his place but where he wants to stand. I think of Jester’s conversation with him back in Oh Captain Who’s Captain, the world is much bigger and messier than Caduceus could have ever dreamed. I think of Caduceus befriending and being kind to their crew and Avantika’s. I think of ‘Nott, you went to find help, we’re here to help.’ I think of ‘one day someone will pray for a miracle and that prayer will be answered because you showed up, that’s what this is all about.’ From rescuing Yeza to saving Giants to shattering the chains binding two of his friends to bringing peace to two warring nations to separating justice from vengeance, just look at where he is now: no longer passive or uncertain of how they can contribute to the world, Caduceus and the Nein have brought so much good into it. Caduceus knows where he stands now. Some people say that he’s the Nein’s moral compass and I disagree with that entirely, he’s become the courage to act on their moral compasses. 

Oh Bury Me Not - Okay, so I know this is where some listeners start to get antsy with all the death talk in this song and the ones after it so breathe, it’s fine. Caduceus is a Grave Cleric, y’all. Tal says that this song is an expression of Caduceus’s religious beliefs, which, uh, yeah. There is no stained glass in the Blooming Grove temple, they do all their work outside the traditional structures of religion and civilization and do it gladly, etc. The ending Bury Me Not, okay, guys, Caduceus is the singer here, not the kid being sung about. It really drives home the Wildmother’s philosophy on death: when you’re dead, you’re dead and you have no say over what happens to the corpse left behind. I think of the corpse of the Great Hero and the founding of the Blooming Grove, the Menagerie, and the Kiln. I think of Caduceus’ onscreen death and how through it, he finds his path to the Kiln. I think of him reviving Fjord. I think of him and this island and how much of a perversion it is of the ‘natural order’. Also, just given how much Fjord has impacted has impacted Caduceus’ ideas of faith and signs and stuff, it’s so fitting that this piece is here. I also think cowboys and how Tal said he’d planned on using the Ocean Burial before he came across this, I see you, Tal. 

September Song - So that build up, huh? I think of Caduceus and the Nein readying themselves for a battle to the death to save Yasha and stop Obann. I think of all the close-calls and near misses. I think of how every day, these people choose over and over and over to stay together, in spite of the coming winter, in spite of the obvious danger, in spite how much safer they would all be if they went their separate ways and planted their heads in the sand. I think of how that, their time, is the most precious gift any of them could give the others. This is not a sad thing, by the way. All these people, who have been so badly wounded by others, who are so skittish and so distrustful and so guarded, choose to stay together over and over again. No matter the hardship. They choose to spend their lives together, they choose to be better together and for each other.

22 (Over Soon) - Guys, this is 100% an Episode 95-96 song. 100%, no question in my book. I think of what Caduceus doesn’t say to his family. I think of what he does say. I think of how overwhelmed he is when the Nein saves them, I think of how he can only muster ‘It’s been a long time.’ (All these years) I think of him trying so hard to be given permission to stay with the Nein without explicitly asking for it, the subtext of ‘would you forgive me if I don’t come home yet’ threaded through his every interaction with his family. I think of how Caduceus hands the seeds over to his sister and tells her to be the hero the Grove and their family needs. I think of how easily and willingly he gave up what he’s called his destiny and charge since the beginning in order to stay with the Nein. This is Caduceus saying good-bye once and for all to the dreams of things going back to the way they were. I think Caduceus had been hoping that his family had changed just as much as he had. I think if they had, he might have gone back with them. But they haven’t changed and he has. So he can’t go home. Not yet. He cloaks his desire to stay with the Nein once more in duty but make no mistake, it’s desire that’s keeping him with them, people who may not understand him but who try and who are there and who accept the new person he has become. The build-up Tal was talking about? This is it. The moment where Caduceus first puts himself and his desires above what he thinks is his duty. The moment that Caduceus fully realizes how much he has changed and what an earth-shattering revelation it is.

We’ll Meet Again - Meetings and Partings have always had a special place in Caduceus’ arc, especially metatextually. He was the character who replaced another, who was rescued from his static seclusion by three of the Nein and who in turn rescued the three captive members. I think of how this song is a promise that, come what may, the singer will do their damnedest to return and make that promise a reality. I think of all the weird and wonderful people Caduceus has met in his short time outside the Grove. I think of all the shop keeps who just love this pink fuzzball and how many times they tell him to come back. I think about the Dusts, the meeting and parting and sanctuary they gave him. I think about Reani and Nila and how his kindness to them has come back threefold (Reani escorting his family home, Nila protecting the Grove). I think about Essek. I think about how driven Caduceus became to reforge the sword after Yasha was taken, to bring her home. I think of Caduceus prodding the Gentleman into reconciling with Jester. I think of his delight in the coincidences that keep lining up between him and Fjord. I think about Caduceus and Beau and how proud he is of her growth. I think of his declaration in the dome that ‘We aren’t done until we’ve saved each other.’ 

Enjoy It - And we wrap up our playlist with another Caduceus thesis statement: don’t worry about the things you can’t change, find the goodness and light in all of your experiences. If it’s meant to be easy, it will be and if it’s meant to be hard, it will be hard. You’re the green bean and you can choose to become jaded at the storms or enjoy the water flooding your roots. This song also fits the lightness we’ve seen from Caduceus since sending his family home. His big quest, his reason for leaving home, has been fulfilled (so he thinks, pretty sure Molaesmyr will be calling in the Nein’s near future) so now he can just sit back, relax, and fully enjoy the ride.

TL;DR - Growing up and moving on is hard and painful but it is also triumphant and necessary. Learning to be who you are and to place yourself on your list of priorities is a journey full of quiet work that few rarely glimpse. Caduceus’ whole arc has been about who he is and what he’s going to do with the strong moral compass he’s got - Is he going to continue to live in the world, even with all the pain, struggle, joy, and goodness that comes with it, or is he going to retreat from it, go back to his little patch of green and forget about it? All signs point to the former, not the latter. In tarot, Death means transformation and sweeping change even more than it does literal death. Caduceus’ playlist is all about the transformation of his self even as he remains true to his core beliefs.

[takanova12]

One of the hallmarks of the aot fandom is massive panic everytime leaks drop and mostly the release of full chapter ends up pleasing if not all majority of the readers. Yet, we still don't learn and negatively react everytime even with the understanding that we are missing context for the leaked panels/dialogues. So amid all of this, here I am just trying to share my positive and hopeful interpretation of leaks, which mostly concern mikasa.

I wholeheartedly love eremika. They will forever remain my comfort ship. The leaks haven't changed anything. If anything, they just reinforced the idea that mikasa loved eren till her last breath. I admit that I loved the ambiguity of last panel of chapter 139; does mikasa live by herself till she dies? Or does she find love again and end up being surrounded by people who cherish her and will be there for her until the end?

I am happy that she found happiness in life. I saw people criticizing her choice of finding love again and how they were wrong about her making a selfless decision and living with pride etc. I personally don't see how her having a family cancels out what she did? She did give up the most precious person to her in the entire damn world to save the damn world. To people who wanted her to be a stronK woman who needs no man to live a empowering life, well she was that in the entire series. It was eren who needed her to save his ass 24/7, it was her and not a man who contributed most significantly to saving the alliance and we all know it was her who freed ymir. Not only that but one of the most popular EM moments where she gave eren emotional support (chap 50) ended up leaving such an impact on him that it helped me activate the coordinate and was also shown to be one of his most cherished memories of her. So, at the end if she wants to live a peaceful and simpler life, let her have that. Most importantly, let her have that considering she never wanted this life of a soldier. So, I am glad isayama gave her that. After all the shit she's been through she deserved some happiness, she deserved to be around her very own family. She deserved to be loved and cherished just like she loved and cherished eren. I am happy for my girl. I am happy that she had such a lasting impact on the story and on eren. I am happy that she wasn't alone her entire life. Sure, she has armin but let's admit it armin is with annie. They were not welcome on the island and even if mikasa left with them or they somehow settled back on paradise, aruannie would have their very own family. Sure, mikasa could be the stronK independent who needs no mAn and be an aunt to other kids so she won't be alone (reminds me of what eh wanted for mikasa; her to be aunt of her beloved dead eren's baby that he had with historia). Okay now being honest, I would have no problem with mikasa being single for her entire life and be some govermental figure of sorts if she was ever presented in that way. Never has ever mikasa shown any interest in politics, being some military leader or some princess to hizuru. She didn't join SC because it was her dream. She did because of eren and now that eren is gone and she served her purpose, she has no reason to become involved in nasty politics that she never wanted to be associated with. Also, she always left the strategic thinking, planning etc to armin. She has always pondered upon how many times does she have to lose her family and restart again. It always came down to home/family/love and a sense of belongingness for her. Sure eren was her home but before that her home was her parents and then carla and grisha. I am not saying that with eren gone, she has to find happiness in another man, but out of these other miserable options for her like living alone in the island, I prefer her being with loved ones. She doesn't have her dad like annie or parents like pieck with her to give her that home and sense of belongingness so I find it even more hard to swallow that some people actually wanted her to be not loved and die not having a home even after everything she has been through. Moreover, it's better for her mental health that she stays as far away from dealing with the mess eren left behind. Didn't she already do enough? She killed him and that was the most painful thing she ever had to do. So, I don't understand why people still want her to be some single stronK woman in power who dedicates her entire life to cleaning eren's mess? Hell no! No more misery for my girl! And thankfully yams agrees.

She has already had her fair share of trauma so isayama did the right thing leaving the diplomacy part to armin and others. Also, people making baseless claims that she is unhappy in her married life? Where and how? Mikasa surely wasn't ever gonna marry someone if she wasn't ready to. Did she visit the grave alone? Nope, she had her man with her, which suggests she is happy and can trust him with her feelings for eren and that he very much respects those feelings. She is not sneaking out of the house to visit her beloved's grave but she is living with pride. She is not doing anything wrong in remembering eren because irl we never forget our most beloved person even if we find love again.

On the topic of jeankasa, Idc whether it had 2 panels together or a 1000, it doesn't matter to me either way because aot was eremika's story ( as in I mean the story only told us about their journey of platonic to romantic feelings). Post titan world jk happened, so I find the jk don't have development and armuika makes more sense argument very out of place. First of all jk do have some development, where they end up trusting each other. Mikasa initially didn't like jean always fighting and criticizing eren and just didn't care about him. Later just like she forged close platnoic bonds with rest of 104th, she did so with jean too and most of it happened off screen because it was not needed for the story. I mean we found out sasha and mikasa were bunkmates not through the story but the guidebook. And this is in line with the fact that mikasa is not a very vocal person to begun with, she mostly speaks through her actions and that is why we hardly ever see her screaming how she is gonna help rid the world of titans or how she saved gabi because she is a child just like them caught up in war. About armuika it is a 100% platonic bond. With jeankasa, only mikasa considered jean as just a friend while jean since day 1 has been romantically attracted to mikasa so much so that he jumped right at a titan for the first time in his life when he saw mikasa in danger, before that his legs would shiver at the thought of fighting titans. So, it makes sense if it was him who ended up marrying her because he was in love with her the entire time and respected her feelings. The execution could have been better but I don't have any qualms with it because it doesn't make me ship eremika any less and overall knowing that mikasa was with someone who had always secretly loved and admired her for a long time just she did with eren makes me believe they both have a solid mutual understanding and good relationship.

Lastly, the takes on her still wearing the scarf is disrespectful to her husband is another thing I don't agree with. The scarf is not a romantic gift given to her by lover. The scarf is what saved her as a little girl. The scarf is what made mikasa understand the dichomoty of life at such a young age. The scarf is what allowed mikasa to realize that the world is not just cruel. It is what saved her and helped her save the world. It is a life-changing and beautiful treasure for her that sheltered her from turning into a cold-hearted revenge seeking psychopath. So, I find it satisfying to know that she is capable of embracing that part of her life and being anle to move ahead in life with her head held high.

On a side note I wanted to wait until the official release but I saw some mikasa slander and just couldn't wait any longer. I do think I am immune to mikasa slander now because I got everything I wanted for her character ( of course I would have loved for her to be with eren but I knew after liberio raid that they were never going to have a happy ending) but still sometimes I like to share my thoughts because I think it helps some people who are at times enjoying the content but the fandom discourse and constant negative interpretation of said events makes them hesistant to admit/enjoy it.

I am content knowing that my comfort character found some comfort in her life at the end :')