#a starbucks of sapphire clouds

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 3: Steal My Girl]

A/N: Hello lovely readers! Thank you so so so much for the love this fic has received. I wanted to give you a heads up that I will be co-leading a field trip to Japan from July 4th-14th and will therefore have much less time to write. HOPEFULLY I won’t have to skip a Sunday update, but I wanted to make you aware just in case. I hope you enjoy Chapter 3!!! 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, Aegon-induced chaos, ANGST, Iceland, you cannot escape the Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Word count: 8.3k (wtf I need to chill).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜  

Athens, Madrid, Porto, Vienna, Stockholm, and now: descending into Reykjavik through clouds like iron. The North Atlantic is an endless sheen of cold overcast blue, a mirror of the sky. The earth is rocky and anemic. There are no jewel tones here, no sapphires or emeralds or aquamarines or fire opals or topazes. It is impossible to look down at Iceland, this dominion of impassionate jaggedness, and not think of how the Vikings had to reap their treasures from every other corner of Europe, silver and gold and glass and slaves piled into ships to be rowed back to the hostile earth they clung to, perhaps just to prove they could.

Across the aisle of the private jet—more like a penthouse than a plane, posh neutral colors and hand-stitched leather—Luke is showing Aemond his latest lyrics, loops of silver on matte black pages. They’re good, from what you’ve heard. They’re really good. And that tells you what kind of person Aemond truly is as he helps Luke polish rocks into gemstones. Anybody can soften the blow of mediocrity. It takes courage to build ladders for people who might one day outclimb you.

Daeron is playing his Nintendo 64, which is hooked up to a 98-inch flat screen tv; Mario is leaping through paintings into worlds of lava, ice, sentient ticking bombs. Criston is answering emails. Cregan is sprawled across a couch with his sunglasses on, presumably sound asleep. Jace is leering at you, dark hair hanging in his face and slurping a Vesper.

You ask him half-mocking: “What tattoo are you going to get for Reykjavik?”

He yanks off his sequined red blazer—nothing underneath, as usual—and twists around to show you the puffin on his left shoulder blade. Comet, at some point in time that preceded you, has already been to Iceland. “Cute, right? Wanna pet it?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I asked.”

He grins. “No you’re not.”

Aegon kicks the back of Jace’s chair. He’s scribbling some notes of his own, which is unusual. In place of a spiral notebook with onyx pages, Aegon is writing on crinkled Starbucks receipts with a Sharpie. He’s wearing his favorite aviator sunglasses, khaki cargo pants, an excessively bright cyan tank top, and matching Crocs.

Baela stares blankly out the window for a few seconds—like she’s buffering, a lagging connection—and then she looks to you hopefully. “Shopping when we land?”

“Does Iceland have shops…?”

“Probably more than Kansas,” Aemond says, then smiles mischieviously.

“Missouri,” you fling back. He returns his attention to Luke.

“They totally have shops in Iceland,” Baela assures you.

“Then I am amenable. I need more concert outfits.” You mostly wear your boy band t-shirts from home, which has become a joke: One Direction, Backstreet Boys, New Kids On The Block, NSYNC, the Jonas Brothers, Boyz II Men, 98 Degrees, BTS…but never Comet Donati. Anyone but them. Aegon calls you a traitor. Aemond teases, smirks, tries to hide how much he watches you the same way people contemplate art on museum walls, a little confounded, a little entranced.

“Rhaena?” Baela says. “Hello? Hello? Hola? Bonjour? Rhaena?”

Rhaena startles, peering up from her novel: Jurassic Park. Once upon a time, as you’ve learned, she had planned to study paleontology. She wants to be alone in the middle of a field someplace digging up bones. Well, no great tragedy there; one is never too old to be a paleontologist. She can take off five years, or ten years, or twenty, or thirty to see Luke through his touring days and then pick back up her own ambitions like keys left on a hook. But Baela gave up a ballet scholarship to follow Jace across the globe, puddle to puddle, land to land, and in your albeit limited understanding, ballerinas age in something like dog years. Their career is a brilliant, lightning-brief flash and then long, anonymous decades running out their mortal clock as choreographers, backup dancers, personal trainers, instructors for blue-blooded five-year-olds. Baela won’t be able to reclaim that dream for much longer. It might be too late already. She is out of practice; but she misses ballet. When Jace is being snide or oblivious, you’ve seen her gazing out windows—Escalades, hotels, jets—wondering if it was all worth it. You gut yourself for someone and they don’t even have the courtesy to put up a gravestone. It’s only natural to develop a propensity to haunt.

“What?” Rhaena asks.

“Shopping. This afternoon. Interested?”

Rhaena’s eyes go wide. She fidgets: closing and then opening her book, touching a hand to her earrings, delicate strings of small silver hearts. “Um…I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Oh, not this again,” Baela groans.

“Just go without me. Bring me back something, you know what I like.”

“What’s the problem?” You are investigative but not accusatory. The tone is essential.

“She’s scared of store employees,” Baela says.

“Well you don’t have to make it sound like that—!”

“What’s so scary about store employees?” you ask Rhaena, calm, cool, collected, nonjudgmental. Aemond glances over, as he often does when you’re working, like he can’t get enough of watching that switch flip, when you slink covertly into therapist mode like a water moccasin weaves through swamps, subtle ripples in the muddied water and vigilant eyes.

“I just hate it when people are watching me,” Rhaena says, twirling an earring. “They’re always waiting right by the door—especially at the posh places like the ones Baela goes to—and they want to know what I’m shopping for, and they want to make suggestions, and they follow me to the fitting room and ask what I like and what I don’t. And I can’t get rid of them! Even if I’m like ‘Just looking, thanks!’ they’ll circle back every five minutes to check on me. I can’t stand it. I get so frazzled I can’t decide how I really feel about a skirt or dress or whatever because I’m too busy trying to make conversation with someone I don’t want to talk to anyway. I end up with a headache and a shopping bag full of regrets. I’d rather click a button on my MacBook Air and save myself the suffering.”

You nod sagely. “What is it about talking to the employees that stresses you out so much?”

“I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing. I don’t want to cause problems.”

“But it’s not like you’re going to do anything they haven’t experienced before. They see hundreds, maybe even thousands of customers a month. And even if you did something ridiculously, dementedly embarrassing, like…um…hey, Aegon, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done while clothes shopping?”

“I fell asleep in a fitting room. I pissed on the floor. I set something on fire. I vandalized One Direction merchandise.”

“No, there was that other time,” Daeron says. Mario is swimming through rings of underwater coins; they chime gleefully as he collects them.

“What other time?” Aegon says.

Daeron grins. “Come on. You know.”

Aegon remembers. “Oh yeah. Once I bit a girl’s feet until I accidentally ripped off part of a toenail and she bled everywhere. But that wasn’t my fault. She was begging for it. It was consensual.”

Criston, not looking away from his emails, says: “And that’s why Aegon is now banned from all Michael Kors locations for life.”

“Right.” You turn back to Rhaena. “So you would never do anything that deranged. But even if somehow you did, what’s the actual worst-case scenario? What, realistically, could happen as a result?”

Rhaena considers this. “The employees will think I’m weird, I guess.”

“So what you’re so concerned about is that the store employees—who are literally paid to be inconvenienced by you—might think you’re weird? Which they’ll remember for, what, maybe an hour before some other customer gives them a more memorable calamity to focus on? You don’t think they’re more annoyed by purse-dog-toting heiresses screeching at them or cokeheads pissing on their floors?”

“Rude,” Aegon says.

Rhaena smiles guiltily. “I mean, when you put it that way, it does sound stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you insist. “Just out of proportion.”

“Okay,” Rhaena says. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “Okay. I guess I’ll go shopping.”

“Yes!” Baela cheers, already scrolling through Reykjavik shops on her iPhone.

“Hey, Stargirl,” Aegon says, and then hurls something at you like a frisbee. It’s an Amex Black Card.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What’s my budget?”

“No budget. As long as it’s slutty.”

“I will buy nothing but cardigans and mom jeans.” You crane your neck to peek at his receipts. The black Sharpie squiggles aren’t words; they’re shapes, pictures. “What are you drawing?”

“New merch designs!” Aegon holds up the receipts so you can see.

“Circles…?”

He is somewhat wounded. “Donuts!”

You don’t even know where to begin. “Why donuts, Aegon?”

“Because that’s his code word for doing lines in the bathroom,” Criston says.

“No!” Aegon objects. “Because Donati sounds like donuts! So we could have all these mini donuts, print them on hats or shirts or whatever, and then in the frosting where the sprinkles would be we can put tiny stars, suns, moons, planets, galaxies…and comets, obviously.”

Jace scoffs. “I think you spend a little too much time thinking about donuts.”

Aegon goes quiet. So does everyone else. Gazes flit nervously around the cabin. The only sounds are the roar of the jet and Mario 64, although Daeron has turned his back on the cheerful Italian protagonist and is looking pensively over his shoulder at Jace. Aegon resumes sketching his cosmic Sharpie donuts, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Hey,” you say to Jace, and then once you have his attention, wicked dark eyes: “Shut the fuck up.”

“What?”

“It’s a great idea. It’s a really adorable idea, actually. Let’s see you come up with something better. Go on, whenever you’re ready. I’m waiting. I’m still waiting. But you’re not much of an ideas guy, are you, Jace? Fortunately, you’ve always had other people around to pull that weight.”

Jace opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it shut as Cregan stands up. He towers over you both, as tall as Aemond but more muscly all over, in the chest and the shoulders and the legs. He lowers his sunglasses to show his eyes: greyish, cold, flinty. He glares at Jace, and then at you, and then at Jace again. Jace holds up both hands, showing his palms. You bow your head in capitulation. Cregan lies back down on the couch and repositions his sunglasses just as the pilot turns on the fasten seatbelts signs. As you click yours into place, you exchange a glance with Aemond across the aisle. He is smiling, foxlike and approving, as if he can’t wait to see what else you have left to show him.

“So!” Baela says. “Guess who found a shop in Reykjavik that sells Gucci!”

The jet glides through mist and fog to make a rather bumpy landing at Keflavik International Airport, fighting against gusts of wind coming in off the North Atlantic Ocean, the same water that swallowed the Titanic, the Faucett Peru Boeing 727, the Free Life hot air balloon, whaling vessels and Viking longships, countless cruisers and destroyers and submarines that blasted holes into each other during the world wars. As the band prepares to disembark, Aemond reaches into the front pocket of his shirt—black, with white circling koi fish—and slides out a pair of sunglasses. He doesn’t like wearing them. They limit his vision even more than it already is. But he never walks into an airport without sunglasses on, you’ve discovered. Just in case paparazzi are there snapping photos.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell Aemond.

He gestures to his scar and his blind eye, a pale cloudy blue. “I’ve thought about just getting it cut out. But then I’d have to worry about shoving in a fake one.”

“I think it’s kind of beautiful,” you say. “It reminds me of Neptune or something.”

And the look he gives you, the look, like he’s never heard anything like this before, like he didn’t know that words could fit together in that order. You hold out your hand to him. He lays the sunglasses in your palm. You put them on, grinning up at him.

“Now I’m the one who looks like a multi-millionaire popstar.”

“Hey, we match!” Aegon says as he follows you and Aemond out of the jet, massaging your shoulders and clopping noisily in his Crocs.

There are paparazzi at the airport, but only two of them, young men in black hoodies who dart around loosing flashes into the stuffy, aggressively heated air. Jace, Baela, Daeron, and Aegon beam and wave, radiant, magnetic, born celebrities. Rhaena smiles politely but hides behind Luke. Cregan saunters and smolders, knowing exactly what his devotees expect from him. Criston and the security guards are loaded up with suitcases like pack mules. The paparazzi don’t pay much attention to Aemond—a former heartthrob, a cracked relic, a fossil or a ruin—but one of them snaps a few pictures of him. Aemond turns his face so they’ll get his good side, his unmarred side…and then he grabs for your hand. You try not to reveal how ecstatic you are, how wildly, uncoolly, over-the-moon thrilled. Your expression might end up commemorated forever in a tabloid, after all.

Shopping in Reykjavik is mostly wool sweaters, hiking boots, and weather-proof jackets, but Baela leads you and Rhaena to a boutique that carries something more her speed: Gucci, Burberry, Balenciaga, Valentino, Saint Laurent. You and Baela try to distract the employees as much as possible; still, they find time to nettle Rhaena with those bothersome, predictable, unnecessary questions. She gets a little flustered, but she fights the instinct to run and hide, to allow herself to sink into a frenetic puddle of self-inquisition. You can almost see the words scrolling behind her dark gentle eyes like a news ticker: They get paid to help me. They aren’t going to remember any of this in a few hours. I’m not on a stage. I’m not being judged.

In the fitting room, you take two selfies to send to Aemond’s WhatsApp account: one in a flowing neon yellow gown, the other in a short, velvet, sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars.

You ask: Day or night?

He answers before you’ve changed back into your jeans and pink Harry Styles hoodie. Night, obviously. And then he adds: Which constellation are you? Vulpecula the fox? Cygnus the swan?

“God, he’s such a dork,” you murmur to yourself, smiling. You have to think for a while before you reply. You don’t know many constellations; that makes it difficult to rattle off something witty. Then you are inspired. You type: Definitely not Virgo :)

He responds immediately: :)))))

“What does that mean?” you whisper to yourself in the solitude of the boxlike fitting room. “What the hell does that mean???” He spends nearly all of his time with you, but he rarely touches you. He’s never made a move. He’s never even kissed you. You wouldn’t mind if he did. No, fuck the coyness that women are supposed to cloak themselves in to preserve their worth. You’re waiting for him to kiss you like someone drowning waits for a gasp of air.

Despite Aemond’s vote, you can’t help yourself. You buy both dresses. You don’t look much like an Aegon Targaryen, but the cashier doesn’t seem too troubled by this. Baela and Rhaena are still trying on outfits, so you swing your bag around boredly and wander over to see what Criston is up to. At Aemond’s insistence, he accompanied you on this shopping expedition and left the rest of the security detail back at the Reykjavik EDITION, a luxury hotel overlooking the harbor. Criston is in the jewelry section and holding up a medallion necklace, rotating it to see how the light reflects off the speckling of tiny gemstones, the wise golden face. His own face is distant and melancholy.

“Oh, that’s lovely, Criston!” you say. “All those emeralds. Who’s pictured on it?”

“Saint Jude. Lost causes.”

Interesting. “Are you religious?”

“Not especially. But Alicent is.”

“Who…?”

Criston walks off to the cash register. You watch him go, curious and perplexed.

Back at the hotel, you enter your suite to find a blond Targaryen lounging in your bed…but perhaps not the right one. Aegon still has his Crocs on and is, for some reason, clutching a plushie puffin. He glances over at you, noting your shopping bag.

“Fashion show?” he says. “I hope it’s nothing but miniskirts and bikinis.”

“Don’t you have places to be? Substances to snort?”

“Cregan is currently trying to locate some.”

“That’s really not good for you. Physically or mentally. You might be addicted.”

He barks a laugh, like it’s absurd. “You can’t get addicted to coke, Stargirl.”

“You definitely can.”

He suddenly looks panicked, like he’s never considered this before.

“So.” You hesitate. “Aemond.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the concept.”

“He’s insecure. Very insecure, though he’s learned how to hide it.”

Aegon throws and catches the puffin, bouncing it off the ceiling. “I wouldn’t disagree.”

“It goes deeper than the accident, I think. The scar, his eye, what happened with the band…that awakened it again. That freed something that he’d had locked away. But where did it start?”

Aegon stares up at the ceiling. He tosses the puffin a few more times, abusing it terribly. “Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know? If you’re popular and beloved and understood, you carry a certain self-confidence into the rest of your life with you like a suitcase. It’s an assumption that people care about what you have to say. It’s a conviction of your own value. It’s a presupposition the world would have to wrestle away from you. But if you’re a loser in high school, that stays with you too. And it’s one hell of a heavy suitcase to lug around.”

You try to imagine seeing Aemond through eyes that aren’t awed, craving, quietly adoring. It’s simply not possible. “He was alone?” you ask softly, dreading the answer.

“I had friends. He had grudges.” Aegon’s mouth twists as he tries to stop it from trembling. “My father…”

“I know, Aegon.” Your voice is gentle. “You told me in Kansas City, that night at the bar. You don’t have to say it again.”

He is relieved. “Yeah. So people respond to that in different ways, right? I lived in the present. I talked to anybody who would listen to me, and I partied and I got high and I got laid, and I was the antithesis of the kind of son my father would have wanted just to spite him. Aemond escaped into the past. He read books, traced bloodlines, collected old obsolete things. Maybe that gave him hope that a better place was waiting for him out there somewhere, a better time. He got to be cool for three years. That’s it, and that’s all he’ll ever have. He was the one with vision. He said he was going to audition for The X Factor, and I only went with him to meet girls. Then he made it through the first round and I did too. And when they were going to cut us, he found Jace and Luke and Cregan and convinced everyone to start performing together. The show wanted to replace Luke, did you know that? They thought he was too boyish, too innocent. Aemond fought for him. And then Comet finished in second place, and all the sudden we were signed to a label, and we were selling millions of records and we were touring, and we were winning Grammys, and we were buying our parents and siblings houses…and two months after our third album came out, Aemond was maimed at the Budokan and it was time for him to get off the ride.”

You stare at Aegon, tremendously sad, not knowing what to say. Sometimes the right words don’t exist.

Aegon smirks. “He really likes you.”

“Maybe.” And then, with guileless vulnerability: “I hope so.”

“That’s dangerous.”

Your brow knits into fearful grooves. “Why?”

“I know how to enjoy something without owning it. I don’t think Aemond does.”

You don’t want to ask, but you have to. “What was Shelby like?”

Aegon considers this for a long time before he answers. “She was simultaneously too good for him and not good enough.”

Too gorgeous. Too cool. Too Pinterest-board perfect, airy like summer. But not deep. A river, a glimmer, but with no understanding of the abyss. You aren’t sure how you know that this is what Aegon means, but you do. You don’t want to think about Shelby anymore. You pivot. “So Aemond is the past and you’re the present. Who’s the future? Daeron?”

Aegon smiles, lazy and warm. “I think you’re the future.”

“Yeah right. Get your Crocs off my bed.”

He complies, groaning, flopping onto the floor gracelessly.

“Where’d you get the puffin?”

“Some Icelandic kid recognized me in the elevator. He wanted to give me a present. In return, I signed an autograph and got him and his dad front row seats to the show tomorrow. So I’d say it was a very favorable exchange for him.”

“You’re a saint,” you say, and then find yourself thinking randomly of Saint Jude again. Lost causes. Lost causes.

Aegon grins at you as he crawls to his feet and makes for the door. “Patron saint of mayhem.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re watching old Comet Donati performances on YouTube when the hotel fire alarm goes off. And it’s strange, because the unscarred, clear-eyed boy on the screen is Aemond but also isn’t him; he smiles more easily, he looks at people without suspicion, he is ebullient and confident and carefree like kids blowing bubbles on front porches. When you open your suite door, dressed in your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants and an oversized New Kids On The Block t-shirt, Aemond is just arriving.

“Oh good,” he says. “You’re still awake.” And then he walks with you to the nearest stairwell.

Outside, the hotel guests are clustered together with their travel companions, shuddering under coats and sweaters and blankets clasped around their shoulders like capes. Even at the start of July, Iceland is cold: fifties during the day as Americans like you measure in Fahrenheit, forties at night, nearly always overcast. It’s 11 p.m., but the sun won’t set until midnight, and even then only for a few short hours; the sky is wearing the colors of dusk, lilac, rose pink, pale blue, fire and gold. You’re shivering, rubbing your bare forearms and feeling the goosebumps that have risen there like braille. Aemond tugs off his black and white Calvin Klein hoodie and offers it to you. As you pull it over your head, you breathe in the pieces of him that have snared in the fabric: smoke and cologne, gin and soap and the brine of the seaside air. Now wearing only his jeans and his koi fish shirt, Aemond lights a cigarette and gazes up at the hotel, postmodern angles and semi-transparent glass.

“No one’s going to give me a hoodie?” Aegon says, quaking in his cyan tank top. Criston reluctantly unzips his bomber jacket and hands it over.

“Did you do this?” Criston asks him, meaning the fire alarm.

“What?! No! No way, man! It wasn’t me!”

Criston turns to Cregan for confirmation. Cregan shrugs, ambiguous. “I knew it!” Criston exclaims. He is distraught.

Several fire engines arrive, red lights strobing, and firefighters enter the hotel to investigate. Baela and Jace are standing near each other but not speaking, arms crossed, faces tense. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron are watching an episode of The Crown on Luke’s iPhone. Cregan lights a cigarette and manages to take two drags before Criston notices and lunges to bat it out of his hand.

“Stop it!” Criston orders. “You’ll ruin your voice!” Nobody tells Aemond not to smoke. His voice doesn’t matter anymore.

Aegon asks you, his hands buried in the pockets of Criston’s jacket: “Would you run into a burning building to save me?”

“Why would you be in a burning building?”

“That’s really not the point.”

“I’d think about it.”

Luke says, the glow of his iPhone dancing across his face: “Wow, Prince Charles is a bitch.”

“You’d think about it?” Aegon says to you. “You’d think about it?!”

“You have no excuse to be in a burning building. You have now experienced an evacuation, you know exactly how to leave a building successfully, if you’re still in it for some reason then that’s your problem.”

“You hear that, Criston?” Aegon says. “This is a good thing. Now everyone knows what to do if there’s a real fire! And we’re in hotels all the time, so this is super helpful!”

“Please shut up,” Criston begs.

“Hey Cregan, share with the class, what did you learn about fire safety from this fortuitous occasion?”

“I already knew what to do.”

Aegon is grinning. “Yeah? What’s that, Cregan?”

“Get in the shower and wait for the fire department to come rescue me.”

Everyone laughs—even Jace and Baela—and Cregan’s lips quirk up in one corner, the only hint that he is joking. A parade of firefighters exit the hotel. One of them is carrying a toaster. Black smoke pours out of the slits in the top.

She says something in Icelandic that you can’t understand, then repeats in English: “Who was trying to cook hotdogs in a toaster?”

The guests chatter incredulously among themselves: Who would do such a thing?

You, Aemond, Luke, Rhaena, Daeron, Cregan, Jace, Baela, and Criston are mindful to look anywhere except at Aegon. You gaze out at the horizon, the kaleidoscopic midnight sun. Aegon peers down at his Crocs, hair tangled and blue eyes wide.

“Very well,” the firefighter with the toaster says, a little smugly. “We will consult with the hotel staff and see which guest was registered to that room.”

“Goddammit!” Criston hisses, and shoves by the band to go meet the firefighters. You can’t hear what’s being said, but his hands move in exaggerated gestures of humiliation, apology, restitution. Fortunately, the Icelandic people seem to be forgiving.

Daeron turns to Aegon. All he says is: “Why?”

“I couldn’t figure out the buttons on the stove!”

Criston comes trudging back to the band. Guests are being admitted into the hotel to return to their drinks, their television shows and mystery novels, their families, their lovers, their beds. “Alright, it’s taken care of. Go to your rooms. All of you, right now, go.”

No one has the heart to argue with him; he looks half-broken already. Everybody disperses. You and Aemond end up alone together as the elevator zooms to the fifth floor. He takes his small, square metal lighter out of his jeans pocket and toys with it, repeatedly flicking the lid open and then shutting it again.

You point to it. “Vintage lighter. Vintage bike. And yet you write with glittery gel pens instead of quills and ink. Poser.”

“I like old things,” he says, smiling. “I think history is important.”

And you hear Aegon’s words like an echo: That’s dangerous. You start pulling off Aemond’s hoodie to give it back to him.

“No,” he says, sounding pleased. “You keep it.” So you do, finding excuses to bring the sleeves close to your face—touching your hair, your lips, your eyelashes—so you can inhale him.

Aemond leaves you at the door of your suite, but you don’t go inside. You wait for another five minutes until Criston steps out of an elevator and into the hallway, alone and agitated. Still, he has concern to spare for you.

“You okay? Locked yourself out?”

“No. I was just hoping to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” Criston is tired, but his eyes, dark like fertile earth, are attentive.

“When Aemond was hurt…when the label yanked him out of Comet…no one fought for him?”

“Luke did,” Criston says.

And then he continues down the hall, shoulders low, a man troubled by both the past and the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Blue Lagoon is like Aemond’s sightless left eye: a milky blue, opaque, something you could drown in. The band spends several hours splashing and wading in water warmer than the blood in your veins. The white silica mud that forms the floor is soft beneath your bare feet, squishing between your toes; people spread it over their skin like a skin shedding its scales in reverse. Criston orders strawberry-banana smoothies from the in-water bar, trying to distract Aegon and Jace from the beer and the wine. Currently, Comet’s most worrisome performers are locked in combat: Daeron is on Aegon’s shoulders, Luke on Jace’s, entangled in a spirited chicken fight. This is much preferable to their first choice, Marco Polo, which led to Jace ‘accidentally’—and repeatedly—bumping into various early-twenties female tourists, whereupon he would inevitably profusely apologize, introduce himself, and pose for selfies, beads of turbid mineral water dripping from his curls. Cregan has drifted to the other side of the lagoon, floating on his back and basking beneath the overcast midday sun.

“I can’t believe they made everyone shower naked before getting in here,” Rhaena says, drinking her smoothie, submerged in rippling blue up to her collarbones. She had nearly refused to go through with it—I’ll wait in the car! I’ll be fine! I’ll just watch The Crown on my phone for three hours!—until you and Baela offered to hold up your towels to shield her from view and insisted that none of the other guests (all female, as the showers are sorted by gender) were paying attention. Nudity is not a big deal in Iceland. It’s quite a far cry from Missouri.

“You gotta honor the local culture, babe.” Baela flashes Rhaena a teasing grin. “Scandinavians are super progressive. No shame about bodies or relationships. Very sex-positive.”

“Well Jace is certainly blending in.”

Now Baela isn’t grinning anymore. She frowns broodingly out over the lagoon. Rhaena, regretting that she said it but knowing it can’t be taken back, noisily slurps at her smoothie even when it’s gone. You and Aemond exchange an uncomfortable glance. Baela has never broached the topic of her relationship with you, but you know it’s coming. You can sometimes see her working up the nerve like a bucket filling with water, drop by drop.

You change the subject. “See, Rhaena? The naked shower thing wasn’t even that bad. It was over in two minutes, and absolutely nobody was judging you. And if you hadn’t done it, you would have missed out on this amazing experience!”

“You weren’t nervous?” she asks you. “Not at all?”

“I little bit, yeah. Of course. I’m an American.” Everyone chuckles. “But logically, I knew no one would really be watching me. I’m not that interesting. And also…I wasn’t truly naked.”

“Huh…?”

You wiggle your eyebrows and, smiling radiantly, spin around and point to the black-ink tattoo between your shoulder blades, underscored by the straps of your swimsuit that cross just below it: a comet with a streaming tail, lyrics that Aemond dreamed up in a kinder world. Rhaena laughs.

“Oh, right, of course.”

“You are obsessed with that thing!” Baela says, but she sounds relatively happy again.

“It’s true. I am. I admit it.” Sometimes you find yourself staring at it in hotel bathroom mirrors still foggy with steam, wiping away condensation to marvel at the irrevocable ways in which Aemond has marked you, ways you are thankful cannot be erased. When you wear anything that reveals your upper back like a spilled secret, you often catch Aemond gazing at it too. Now he reaches over and skims a fingerprint along the circle that his lyrics form around the comet:

I’ll come back for you if it kills me

Comets clip by again after eons and so can I

There’s a jolt down your spine like lightning, but more eager than jarring. All other thoughts vanish from you. You look over at Aemond, and he looks back, his lips slightly parted, his right eye beckoning to you. And you know it will be good with him, if it happens, when it happens. It will be more than good. It will be laced with an intensity, with a dire breed of necessity that you’ve never tasted before. All at once, you and Aemond realize what you’ve done and drift away from each other again, weakening gravity, elliptical orbits.

“No shame, guys,” Baela quips, raising her smoothie glass in a toast. “Sex-positive, remember?”

After the 45-minute drive back to Reykjavik, and after the concert, the band coalesces in Jace’s suite. There aren’t many hangers-on for this stop of the tour; Reykjavik is isolated and peaceful and not particularly desirable for friends of convenience who are more interested in clubbing and drugs than camaraderie. You wouldn’t trade nights like this for anything in the world.

Aemond is reading off his latest notes, white ink on black paper, stars on the backdrop of the universe. A Benson & Hedges cigarette smolders between two fingers on his left hand. Smoke curls up around his face. “Aegon, you were three steps behind the choreography for basically the entire show.”

“Yeah, that was on purpose.”

“It wasn’t,” Aemond counters, but he can’t help but smile.

“Women love a tragic disaster of a man who is screaming to be fixed.”

“Daeron,” Aemond continues. “I really like that hair flip you’ve started doing…”

Aegon is knocking back dark glass bottles of Gædingur Stout and slurring, very drunk and sinking deeper by the minute. In the absence of coke, he has resorted to other crutches. You are squeezed between Aemond and Baela on one of the couches. And Aemond isn’t really touching you, but he also is: the delicious subtle pressure of his thigh against yours, occasional nudges of his elbow, ostensibly unintentional grazes of knuckles and palms. He’s drinking his usual, a Bramble, and so are you, swirls of slow-moving pink like drops of blood in open water. And you think in a hazy bliss like listening to ground-level conversations from the bottom of a swimming pool: Tonight, tonight, tonight, he’s going to come back to my room with me tonight.

“Oh great,” you mumble as you check your Facebook messages on your iPhone.

“What’s wrong?” Rhaena asks. She’s nestled against Luke on the opposite couch, twirling locks of his hair around her benign, delicate fingers. Jace is sitting beside Luke, drinking a Vesper and trying not to make eye contact with Baela. Daeron is in the fuzzy white sheepskin lounge chair, Cregan perched on a bar stool, Criston standing watchfully with a vivid green bottle of Perrier in one hand. When he briefly steps out onto the balcony to take a call from the label, you can hear only the most dim, indistinct murmurings through the thick tinted glass, sounds but not words. Aegon is sitting—and occasionally crawling around—on the floor. The Backstreet Boys’ I Want It That Way is playing.

“I’m subletting my apartment in Kansas City and there is a strict no pet policy. But my neighbors snitched on the new tenant and apparently she’s got a Flemish Giant rabbit living there with her.”

“Not even a normal rabbit,” Baela muses. “A giant rabbit.”

You sigh. “All the rugs are going to be chewed up by the time I get back.” And Aemond glances over anxiously, like he doesn’t want any reminders that you won’t always be around.

“What’s your apartment like?” he says.

“Old. Vintage. Most of it hasn’t been updated since the 1950s. You’d appreciate it, actually. It would match your aesthetic.”

“Maybe I’ll have to see it sometime.”

You smirk at him, flirtatious, baiting, the silver stars on your dress reflecting golden lamplight. “Maybe. If I invite you.”

He leans in to whisper so only you can hear: “You will.”

“I think I’d be a landlord if I wasn’t famous,” Jace says, nursing his Vesper meditatively like an aspiring philosopher. “I’d just sit back and collect the checks as they rolled in. And you get to raise the rent every year.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” Aegon says, grinning up at him saccharinely.

“What would you be, Stargirl?” Jace asks; and you realize you hate the sound of him using Aegon’s name for you.

“I mean, a therapist.” And everyone laughs, even Criston.

Jace flushes, brushing his curls back from his face with one hand. “Oh yeah. Clearly.”

You look to Aemond. “You’d be a historian or an archivist or something.”

“Or a writer,” Luke says.

“Maybe,” Aemond agrees, a tad uncomfortable with the attention. “Or an animal activist, maybe. I’d like to do some sort of good in the world.”

Aegon shouts, far more loudly than necessary: “What would you be, Criston?”

“Thousands of miles away from you.” More laughter, riotous; but Criston is smiling a little.

“What about you, Cregan?” Jace asks. “What would you want to be if Comet didn’t exist?”

Cregan downs a shot of Absolut Vodka. “A plastic surgeon.”

“What? Why?”

Cregan shrugs. “You get to see tits all the time.”

There are scandalized squeals and guffaws. Baela says: “I would not let you anywhere near my tits.”

“And not just tits!” Daeron adds brightly. “Don’t they do, what’s it called, vaginal rejuvenation?”

Cregan points at him with his empty shot glass. “Exactly.”

“Oh God, that sounds painful.” Rhaena hides her face behind a flute of champagne.

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I’m interested.”

Aegon snorts, drips of Gaedingur Stout flying from his nose. “Like you’d ever need it. You’ve got a pornstar pussy, fucking gorgeous.”

A hush sweeps through the room like a dust storm. Baffled glances dart around wildly. Immediately, Aegon realizes his mistake. He gazes up at you from the floor with large, glazed, drunken blue eyes that glisten with apology. You gape back, half-furious and half-petrified.

“Wait, what?” Aemond says. Ashes build on his cigarette, forgotten.

“Oh, wow.” Jace gestures from you to Aegon. “You guys…you guys have…?”

“It was once, a long time ago,” you say quickly. “Like, a really long time ago. Over a year ago.”

Aegon is trying to help. “Ages ago. Ancient history.”

“Where? In Kansas City?!” Baela gasps, stunned.

Aegon tells her: “You remember that bar we all went to after the show, right? The one on the roof?”

Baela is blinking at you, not comprehending. “You hooked up with him? In a bar?! Aegon?!”

“Um, yeah.”

Jace brays out a laugh, shaking his head. “Damn, Stargirl. I thought you had better taste than that.”

You feel like you’re fighting for your life. You feel like you can’t breathe. “It really wasn’t serious…” Not the sex part, anyway.

“No, no, it totally wasn’t,” Aegon agrees gamely. “It was like, what? How long were we in that bathroom? Maybe ten minutes total?”

Daeron is giggling. “Bruh, stop roasting yourself!”

As the chatter flies, you hide your face in your hands; beneath your palms, your cheeks are hot. You can feel Aemond pulling away from you, spaces opening up between your thighs and shoulders and arms like the ever-expanding void of the universe. When you steal a glimpse of him through the cracks in your fingers, he is staring down at the floor. He is silent, but you can see the thoughts—the images—riddling him like bullets. You can see him filling up with them like a punctured ship fills with seawater. He smokes until his cigarette is gone, and then immediately lights another.

Luke is the one to mercifully intercede. “Hey, Criston, where are we going next?”

“Uh,” Criston says, trying not to gawk at you or Aegon. “Let me think. Uh. Oh, right. Paris.”

Jace cackles. “The city of love! How appropriate!”

Criston ignores him. “You have some press interviews and then you’re doing two shows at the Accor Arena on July 7th and 8th…”

Aemond gulps down the rest of his Bramble and then walks out onto the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs miserably, then guzzles his Gaedingur Stout.

You bolt off the couch and go after Aemond. The heavy sliding glass door growls as you roll it open and then shut it again. Outside, Reykjavik is cold and windswept. The midnight sun is aflame. It’s still too bright to see the Northern Lights; even if they were there, you would have no way of knowing. Aemond is smoking with his back to you. He’s looking out over the boats bobbing in the harbor, sunbeams glinting on the crests of waves. Flapping gulls swoop and scream.

You say cuttingly, like a surgeon slicing away malignancies: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Aemond flicks ashes over the balcony railing. “I just think I understand you better.”

“What does that mean?”

He whirls to you and says pointedly: “Why are you here?”

A disorienting question. Too easy. “I followed you out onto the balcony.”

“No, here with the band, here in Reykjavik, why are you here?”

You know how the truth sounds, but you can’t rewrite it. “Because Aegon asked me to be.”

“Because he asked you to come fix me, right?” Aemond demands. “To crack open my skull and stir things around until I’m okay with the fact that my life ended seven months ago.”

“No!” you shout into the wind. “I mean, yes, he thought I’d be able to help you, to help Comet, but that’s not what this is about for me anymore—”

“Why would I believe you? You’re a liar, you’re a confirmed liar, why would I believe a single goddamn word of what you have to say?!”

“I didn’t lie to you!”

“Friends!” Aemond roars. He doesn’t touch you, but his rage is horrifying, ageless and deep like lava bubbling beneath tectonic plates. “You said you and Aegon were friends!”

“We are friends—”

“No, you’re not. You met him, you fucked him, and then when he invited you to join the tour you dropped everything to do it, why, because you still want him? And I’m the charity case? Or I was just next in line? Maybe you were planning to work your way through the whole band. Who’s next, Jace? I don’t think he’d object.”

“No—!”

“You and Aegon. And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me.”

“Because I didn’t want to have this conversation, the one where you eviscerate me for something that happened before I even met you!”

“You chose him,” Aemond says, venomous. “At the bar in Kansas City, you chose him.”

“What?! Aemond, I don’t even remember seeing you, I don’t think you were there at all—”

“I was there.” He glares at you, thunderstorms, tornadoes, the earth splitting in two. “Last June. Rooftop bar. String lights. View of the river. I remember it, I was there.”

“Well then you didn’t notice me either and you probably spent the whole night with Pilates princess, Malibu Barbie Shelby, so what’s the fucking point?!”

He glowers at the horizon. Iceland DOES have jewel tones, you think erratically. But they only come out at night, like owls or bats. “It’s different.”

“It’s not different! You’re so convinced people don’t like you that you do insane, irrational things that make people not like you! It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy! It’s a fucking circle, you idiot!”

“I’ve had enough psychoanalysis, thanks.”

“No, you could use some more of it, you could use a lot more, you have so many demons it’s like Paranormal Activity in your brain, they’re in there all day tearing things off the walls and kicking over chairs and sabotaging anything you dare to care about and you let them!”

He turns away from you. “Just go the fuck back to Kansas.”

“I’m from Missouri!”

Aemond pitches the end of his cigarette over the balcony. His good eye flicks to the sliding glass door. The curtains rustle as the faces that hovered there just seconds ago disappear back into the suite. Very muffled through the thick glass, you can hear Criston chastising people.

You ask Aemond, embers in your throat: “This is really something you consider unforgiveable?”

He shakes his head, mournful, violently disappointed. “You’re just a groupie. You’re just a slut.”

Slut. It’s not the word, it’s the way he said it, with dismissiveness, with condemnation, the same way men love to use it as a blade to carve off every other piece of you—kindness, coldness, ferocity, loyalty, wit, passion, talent, triumphs, failures, ghosts—until that one little word is all that’s left. You’re dismantled into a clutter of loose bolts and bent nails. You’re a beef cow that was led into the maze of a gnashing, metal-and-blood processing plant and came out the other side a brainless, raw-pink patty just the right size to fit in a Big Mac box, something to be consumed but not remembered. “What did you say to me?”

He’s staring out into the twilight sky, both hands on the balcony railing. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I…”

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t believe I got your lyrics tattooed on my fucking back, what am I supposed to do about that now, rip my own skin off?!”

“So get it covered up. I’m sure Aegon would be thrilled to help you choose a new design, or Jace, or Cregan, or Daeron, or whoever.”

“You know what I think?” you say, caustic like acid.

“Don’t say it,” he threatens, low and dark.

“I think you haven’t fucked anyone since the accident, and you’re terrified to. But you shouldn’t be, Aemond. Because there’s nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you.”

But he doesn’t hear that part. He only hears the first thing, what you never should have said at all. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean you should have said it. “I hate you,” he says softly, and you can’t think of a reply. The space between you fills up with wind, cold, dying sunlight. Aemond looks at the sliding glass door. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

“Well, we’re five stories off the ground, so you’ll probably have to.”

He studies the series of balconies that run along this side of the hotel, each separated by perhaps three feet of open air. Then he starts climbing over the metal railing.

“Aemond, don’t!”

But it’s too late. Fortunately, he has long limbs. He scrambles onto the next balcony, and then the one after that, and then one more, until he reaches the balcony for his own suite. He tries the sliding glass door—locked—and then sits down to wait for someone to open it. You go back inside Jace’s suite, where everyone pretends to have been talking about something other than you.

“Where’s Aemond?” Criston says, alarmed.

“He’s on the balcony of his suite. You should go let him in.”

“What?!” Criston yells, and then sprints out into the hallway.

You flee too. Both Baela and Aegon try to stop you, try to talk to you. They’re asking what Aemond said. They’re asking if you’re okay. You tell them you’re fine and that you want to be left alone. They argue. You insist. You walk back to your own room and start packing.

Your suitcase fills up with crumpled clothes and souvenirs: a Colosseum pencil sharpener from Rome, a tiny alabaster Apollo from Athens, a Spanish fighting bull refrigerator magnet from Madrid, handmade soap from Porto, a bar of chocolate from Vienna, a moose snow globe from Stockholm, a silica mud mask from the Blue Lagoon, a tiny stuffed comet that Rhaena crocheted for you. You reach back to touch your fingertips to the comet tattooed over your spine, tears biting in your eyes. If I had told him from the start, would that have made a difference? If I had met him first, would we have had a chance? You are gathering up your makeup when you hear a knock on the doorframe.

Cregan lurks there. When he speaks, he sounds startled; he sounds afraid. “You can’t leave.”

“I’ve literally never had a conversation with you, so thanks for the input but I’m still going.”

“No,” he says, persistent. “You can’t leave.”

“Aemond doesn’t want me here.” Your voice is fragile, shattering. “I can’t help him anymore.”

“It’s not just about Aemond. It’s about everyone. They’re all fucked up. They all need you.”

You stare at Cregan, not understanding. “I really don’t think I’m equipped for this.”

He fixes his cool greyish eyes on you. He is harsh but somehow not unkind. “You would never be able to comprehend where I came from. I’m not going back to that. The band has given me everything. I’m not going to let anyone take that away from me. You have to stay. You have to fix Comet. You can’t leave.”

He watches you, and you watch him, and you aren’t sure who has the upper hand here, who is the predator and who is the prey. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe everyone is a patchwork of strengths and deficits, fields of gold strewn with landmines.

At last, you relent. And Cregan doesn’t vanish until you’ve begun taking your souvenirs out of your suitcase and placing each of them—carefully, reverently—back on your nightstand where they were before.

[cno-inbminor]

iterum vivere (childe/tartaglia)

a/n: wow, it’s been fucking forever. first genshin fic featuring childe/tartaglia!!! a very huge thank you to @suspensin​ for reading this over and being my rock and support, and i love her so fucking much. I couldn’t have finished this without her!

plot: reincarnation and modern/uni!au ft. afab reader!traveler with she/they pronouns x childe/tartaglia 

-- in which meeting childe is a bit of a dangerous game of push and pull

wc: 12.1k; angst + fluff

warnings:  DOES CONTAIN IN-GAME SPOILERS (1.5? 1.6? + story quest and idek) and NSFW MENTIONS (mdni to be safe). there’s no explicit smut but thoughts do run a bit wild here and there

EDIT: Altered ChiLumi version now posted on AO3 here!

“Haven’t we met before?”

The shine in your eyes does nothing to hide your curiosity, head even tilting a little in observation. He watches them scan his face for any recognizable features, but attempts to focus on the strange, taut string of déjà vu that pulls him toward you. In a moment of absentmindedness, he had heard a faint voice call out his name from your direction. Confusion overtook him as you weren’t looking at him, but something inside his brain said that it had to be from you. And so his feet redirected his path towards your figure in the student union building, as if on a mission.

“A fucking whale, Childe?”

Oh.

“I don’t think so…?” You trail off, curiosity now replaced by perplexed feelings. “Do we have a class together?”

I think I would’ve noticed you by now if you were.

“Ah, what’s your major?” Childe asks quickly to avoid listening to the little voice in his head.

“History and anthropology, you?”

“Economics, but I’ve taken a history course for core credits. Maybe it was then?”

“With Dr. Zhong?”

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. Part of his brain decides to usefully function and scan his memories to see if he remembers your face or head of hair in the lecture hall then. “Last year? Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to 11:20?”

“Actually, yeah,” you affirm in surprise. You think you would remember the relatively attractive ginger in your class, but honestly, it had all been such a blur and you were often pretty sleepy during class. Dr. Zhong didn’t quite appreciate it, but you made up for it with your exam and essay grades, as well as paying better attention in some of his other courses.

“Did you need me for anything?”

“I’d like for you to come visit and meet my family.”

He’s really not appreciating this extra voice speaking for him.

“Well…uh…” Childe stammers and looks away sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly had no reason for approaching you, and now, he just looks like a desperate idiot. Think quick, he tells himself, floundering for some shitty excuse.

“I wanted to, uh, take another history course as an elective and um, wanted to know if you had any recommendations?”

“Oh,” you blink. That’s a first. When he meets your gaze, the swirling shades of sapphire strike something deep within you. Flashes of events you can’t make out go by in the blink of an eye, but then you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Blood rushes to your cheeks because you don’t exactly want this guy to get the wrong idea from you, because how are you supposed to explain, “I’m sorry, but I think we have met before, but just a really, really long time ago, and we might’ve been more than just acquaintances because that’s what it feels like?”

“I think you’d like Teyvat Mythology,” your voice wavers on the verge of cracking. “Dr. Zhong might have a TA this time around, but Xiao’s a great teacher. Doesn’t have long, rambling anecdotes, but explains things well and gets straight to the point.”

“C-cool, I’ll look into it,” Childe replies and smiles brightly. “I’ll head out then,” jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, where he just realized he left a grouchy Scaramouche waiting by a vending machine, newly purchased Starbucks Tripleshot drink in hand. “Nice seeing you, (y/n).”

He scurries off before you both realize that you never told him your name.

“Who’s that?” Scaramouche asks, jutting his chin in your vague direction.

“Someone from my Intro to Liyuean History course last year,” Childe waves off. “Come on, let’s go before the line at the pasta bar gets too long.”

-

The next time you see Childe is by accident, traversing across an open field of grass that many students like to sit out on to relax with friends, sunbathe, hold events, or play casual team sports if room permits.

You had your earbuds in and were scrolling through social media when laughter rang above all other sound, causing your head to snap up and swivel around to find the source. And while it might’ve been strange to an outsider, your steps immediately slowed as you watched the man of your tiring, vivid dreams sprint in your direction, eyes pinned on a frisbee heading towards him.

He’s wearing a grey sports tank and basketball shorts, headband holding back his bangs as he makes a slight jump in the air to catch the plastic disc between his palms. His feet plant into the grass as he looks for someone to pass it to, and you watch (with embarrassment) the muscles in his throwing arm relax and tighten with practice, frisbee steadily soaring through the air in a beautiful arc towards a teammate. He then lightly jogs to get closer to his group, but then his back stiffens.

Before your instincts kick in for you to turn and bail, he looks over his shoulder and stares straight at your now stunned self.

The sole ruby earring that glints in the sunlight catches your attention, and you recall your dreams of terrifyingly dark, violet electric power, blades of water rushing toward you, and then the stomach-churning sensation of falling from great heights pours concrete into your veins—

Childe looks a little amused for having your sole focus, hand lifting up for a quick wave. And as you numbly return the greeting, your heart beats out, “Run from him.”

And so with the flight response pulsing and firing from your synapses, you abruptly speed walk away, almost breaking out into a sprint towards your dorm. You ignore his pointed, confused look, and pretend you don’t feel the two holes of imaginary fire searing into your back. It isn’t until you’re laying back in bed that you release a huge sigh of relief and pray to a deity you don’t believe in that those eyes of mirth will not haunt you tonight.

But of course, with a deity that doesn’t exist, the prayers go unanswered.

-

“Do you believe in any of the mythology you teach?” You ask Xiao about a few days later when you stop by his cubicle. Luckily, no one else is around for this conversation, and Xiao has always been kind enough to humor your thoughts. Granted, he might feel obligated because you had asked Dr. Zhong to be your advisor for your undergraduate Honors thesis, and Xiao was directed to be your receiver of some general questions and source of information if he wasn’t around.

A quick scan of your complexion tells Xiao everything he needs to know. Your eyes are overtaken with rumination and exhaustion, haziness clouding them as you seem to ponder over your own question. It’s not often that you ask him anything not related to your thesis or coursework.

“Perhaps there’s some sense and truth to the tales passed down,” he softly muses. “What makes you ask?”

You lift yourself to sit on the clean area next to his computer, legs slowly swaying back and forth. “It might sound crazy but...I’ve been having dreams lately. They feel too real, too natural to be anything that my mind would make up. I’ve never had the most creative imagination by any means, which is why there’s some comfort to me being a history major, but I can’t shake these.”

“So why ask me about the mythology?”

“...the Archons are there. I even dreamt that I met the Geo and Anemo Archons. And they controlled various elements, just like we were taught.”

You don’t notice that Xiao has ceased his rapid typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard before one hand removes his glasses from his face. He uses the other to rub his eyes and softly pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding the frames back on. Dark, golden amber eyes survey you as you grapple with the unfathomable possibilities of your nightly visions, at least until you shake your head in disbelief at yourself and lightly scoff.

“Who am I kidding?” You ask no one in particular. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much research and everything’s mixing together.”

“You’re ahead of schedule, if that provides any consolation.”

“Some.”

-

It takes Childe a grand total of one minutes and 53 seconds to sign up for Teyvat Mythology for the spring semester.

-

WInter in Liyue is only slightly miserable, being so close to the ocean. It’s chillier than usual on this dreary day, yet something compelled you to exit your dorm and shakily make your way to the campus coffee shop for a warm drink. Coffee, hot chocolate, you haven’t quite decided yet, but just as you let yourself bask in the warm building, familiar ginger hair and blue eyes wash away the comfort.

Or do they douse you in security?

They remind you of your recent dreams that now have shifted away from stress and violence to easygoing summer days by the oceanside, running barefoot in the sand while collecting beautifully patterned azure starconches. Sometimes, you thrust a hand towards an oversized four-leaf clover on a wooden stake with the power of wind and catch yourself in the air, soaring and looking around to find more of the little shells. Other nights, they consist of climbing steep cliffs, only to sit at the edge in the clouds with fatigue wracking through your system and marvel at the view before you.

Someone’s always with you though, ruby earring and maroon mask and cobalt blue gem hanging from the waist, sprinting with you, playfully tackling you down, pulling you up towards mountain peaks, laying their head on your shoulders, brushing their lips against your cheek--

You welcome the change of peace in those dreams, but only because they don’t leave you quite as tired the next day, as if you’d been avoiding an inescapable dark force.

Part of you wants the burning question of why this person, this man, in all his glory and brightness, affects you so fucking much when you barely even know the guy -- why looking at him sends your heart to lodge itself in your esophagus, why your lungs feel like they’re so close to being completely collapsed under the weight of his stare, why feeling like you’re trapped and  caught between wanting to run towards yet away from him.  It makes no sense, and you’re tired of trying to make sense of anything you don’t exactly want to remember from your dreams for some, once again, inexplicable reason.

But there’s no time to think as he quickly ambles towards you, your own feet shuffling forward to meet him in a warped reference of a distance that constitutes to “the middle” before you can stop yourself. Your shivering hasn’t quite stopped yet, and Childe seems to take notice of it.

“Pretty cold out there,”  he softly states. It’s cute, the way you’re curling in on yourself to retain some warmth.

“Y-yeah, not sure why I decided I really needed something warm to drink right now,” you reply and avoid his gaze. He watches you peer over his shoulder to squint at the menu display hanging from the ceiling, seemingly contemplating on what you should get.

“How about I get yours today? My treat for your class recommendation last time.” Anything to keep you here longer. Childe doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you, which confuses him, and chooses to ignore the fact that he’d been camping himself at the study tables in the building where the history department is located in hopes of even just catching a quick glimpse of you.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you immediately attempt to subvert his generous offer, hands shooting out from your jacket pockets and waving in rejection. “It was nothing.”

“Please?” Childe puts on his best puppy eyes before reaching for one of your wrists, gently tugging you to the register. “Just this once?”

You want so badly to squash the tiny flare of disappointment that erupts in your chest from the newly acquired knowledge that this was just a one time thing. Do econ majors hate to feel in debt? That they must be even with everyone, or would rather have people indebted to them than the other way around?

There’s no time to think when Childe gives the cashier his order before turning to you, and without wanting to waste anyone’s time, you rattle off your usual beverage. He’s quick in fishing out his student ID to spend some of his campus currency, shooting you a boyish grin when you pout at your half-opened wallet.

“Go take that table over there,” he says, pointing to one in the corner by some windows. “I’m gonna tell my friends to go on without me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude or pull you away from them,” you slightly panic. The sooner you can leave, the better. Right? “You don’t need to sit with me, I was just gonna head back to my dorm.”

“I insist. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Why your brain takes his orders over your own is a mystery in and of itself, because before you know it, you’re plopped down in one of the lounge seats and staring off into space, mind reeling over the last two minutes. You pretend you can’t hear the way Childe’s friends nudge his arm playfully with their shoulders, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively as Childe tries to get them to stop being nonsensical.

“You’re gonna scare them off,” he hisses at them, hands pushing at their backs so they could finally leave him to his devices.

“Not before you do!” One of them laughs and Childe groans at their antics. “All right, all right, we’ll go. They’re cute though, might steal them if you don’t make a move.”

The darkening of the aura surrounding Childe is too quick for them to fully process, not before he dampens any of their fleeting hopes with a, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But it disappears just as fast when his and your drinks are called out, and he gives them one last shove before retrieving your to-go cups. Childe directs all his focus towards the seat diagonally from yours as opposed to the one that’s straight across, and you’re sharply ripped away from whatever reverie you let yourself slip into.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hands cupping the drink and feeling the heat seep into your fingertips. “You really didn’t have to, it was nothing big.”

“Can you blame me for just trying to find an excuse to finally talk to you?” He asks without a skip and you can’t tell if the quickening of your heartbeat is from a looming sense of doom or excitement. Those eyes, the tiny swirls of the ocean, blue like those shells buried in the sand--

It takes three seconds too long for you to understand where he was going with in his words, and part of you feels unamused at his smooth talking. You’ve always guarded yourself against guys like Childe, devilishly handsome who know their way around language semantics, ready to pull you in and just as ready to push you away. That (possibly unfair) bias, coupled with everything else you’ve been feeling for him, sounded the alarms and set the walls up around your heart. Perhaps you need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, because Childe immediately retracts his forwardness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I’m not looking for anything in return and you don’t owe me anything, but I really did just...want to sit and talk and...get to know you?” Childe trails off a little towards the end. Your body loosens up and relaxes just a tiny bit, feeling bad for your snap judgment. Let the guy do something nice, don’t look into it too much, you tell yourself. It’s a coffee, not a five-course dinner.

You reach out a hand towards him, small smile across your lips, ready for his to join yours in a quick handshake. “I’m (y/n), senior history and anthropology double major. It’s nice to meet you.”

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage has nothing to do with the shimmering of his eyes, nothing to do with the fact that his hand fits with yours just right, and nothing to do with the fact that an eerily similar voice from your dreams whispers, “I love you.”

You learn a number of things about Tartaglia in the four hours, like his family members and their respective interests, which classes he did and didn’t enjoy taking, certain takes on Schnezhnayan politics, his own various hobbies, crazy accidents from the occasional college parties, and more. He’s a bit of an open book, probably telling you way more than any regular person would, and definitely more than anything you revealed during all this time. Everything you tell him seems surface level, nothing too deep. The walls are still there to protect you from the unexplainable, profound feelings his presence seems to elicit, and luckily, he doesn’t prod any further. Childe feels the resistance and respects it, which just adds more brownie points in your book, and you almost feel bad for having given so little in return.

“I wish we were taking Teyvat Myth together,” he sighs when walking you back to your dorm, hands stuffed in his pockets. His ruby earring catches the light from the sunset, the shade almost complimentary to the golden amber rays that streak across the sky. “Would’ve helped having a history major in there.”

“Is that all I am to you, an answer bank?” You jokingly ask, but he watches concerningly as you shoot your gaze to the ground, mindfully stepping over the cracks between concrete slabs.

“Of course not,” a gentle sincerity reaches you, giving you the confidence to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making it sound like that, it wasn’t my intention. I really just meant it as a way of saying if the professor or TA ended up being a total bore, then well, having you would make it more fun.”

“I’m sure I’d bore you even more,” chuckling, speeding up to get away. You’re growing too comfortable in whatever atmosphere Childe has created, like an enclosed air bubble bobbing gently in the depths of the sea and letting the waves carry you both to whichever ends of the earth.

“Hey,” he interjects, hand reaching out to stop you with a soft yank of your wrist. There is no resisting force from you, feet stepping backward until he meets you eye to eye. It’s unfair in the way that he can render you motionless by standing just an inch from you, arms brushing with his head tilted closer to your own. “Seriously, I’m glad we did this today. Are you?”

No, because now I don’t know what to think, I don’t know who you are, I’m not any closer to figuring out why you terrify yet leave me so enamoured with you, I’m torn between punching and kissing you and--

“Yes,” you subconsciously answer, brain immediately short-circuiting to scold yourself. “I had fun.”

His grin, charming, devilish, is so so bright, bright enough to rival the Liyue sun that sits on the pier, on the edge of the ocean, bright enough to rival the love that your fraternal twin showers you with on a daily basis. You want time to stop right here because you’re almost sick of the voice settled deep within your heart that screams, “Don’t get comfortable, you must run from him!”

“Good. Let’s do this again?” And you nod, of course you do. Foolish you. “Don’t be a stranger!” He calls out as he turns on his heel and waves over his shoulder, hand raised in the air, and you’re suddenly transported to another scene, a less refined version of the Liyue Harbor, watching as the head of ginger hair with a red mask in a flashier attire of grey and maroon walks away from you and onto a roaring, magnificent ship; big, ivory sails only seen in books and museums. It’s the same gesture of “see you later”, and just before he turns, you blink, and you’re back to seeing your campus again.

But Childe does look back once, warm and content that you’re still standing there, watching over him, and he can’t help but think about when he can spend time with you again, because suddenly, it truly feels like there’s not enough of it anymore.

-

“Excuse me, what’s a Red Bull?”

The last thing, or person rather, you expect to see on the last day of finals for the fall semester, is a small boy who looks way too young to be here, tugging on the sleeve of your windbreaker. He’s at most eleven, ten maybe, but he has eerily similar characteristics, as well as an accent that doesn’t quite belong to most Liyue natives. Still gathering your bearings from your own perusing of the fridges that hold all the possible beverages a college student could consume, you kneel down until you’re at eye level with the child.

“Repeat that for me? Are you looking for a Red Bull, you say?”

“Yes!” He beams and holds out a student ID that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. “My brother asked me to grab him one because he was busy with something.”

Your eyes flit over to the top shelves where the aforementioned cans of caffeine are located, and definitely too high for someone of his height to reach. “I’ll grab one for you. Did he ask for a specific flavor?”

“Nope, he said regular. Thanks, you’re really nice! Do you know my brother?” He asks, waving the ID at you so you can get a better look at the name. That’s definitely a face you recognize, but the name leaves you confused.

“Yeah, um,” glance over again, “I know...Ajax…”

“He’s the best toy seller in the whole world!”

Somehow, it suits him much better than Childe or Tartaglia, and you’re not quite sure what toys have anything to do with the matter at hand. Speaking of hands, the little boy grabs yours in sheer delight. “Can you take me back to his room? I kinda forgot the directions he told me, and everything’s so big around here.”

“Sure, just let me buy something, too, and I’ll take you.”

“Okay!”

The cashier isn’t the least bit fazed by the little brunette at your side -- it’s always common for family members to come in around the end of semesters to pick up kids or visit, and being an open building with snacks and drinks and a stopping point of most tours, they’ve seen it all. You even let him pick out a bag of chips and a candy bar for himself for being so polite and not a complete menace, paying with your own campus currency.

Teucer, as you’ve learned in the last two minutes, likes to point out things and ask you questions. Luckily, you have answers to most of them and do your best to pad the time, enjoying the feeling of a tiny hand wrapped around three of your fingers. It’s sweet to any normal passerby, believing they’re witnessing an older sister doting on their little brother around the holidays, but to Childe, seeing the tender sweetness on your face as you nod along to whatever Teucer is rambling about to you, sets his heart aflame. He’s already constantly on the verge of wanting to hug and kiss you and never let go, but you haven’t made any indication that you could potentially like him back, and this is just torture.

“Look what they bought me!” Teucer shoves his rewards in Childe’s face as if he had extremely poor eyesight, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you set his Red Bull down on his desk, clutching your own preferred beverage while looking around his room. Finals must have gotten to him with the unusual lack of tidiness in the small space, some laundry strewn here and there, a couple boxes of eaten microwave dinners in the metal wire trash can, some textbooks left open and marked with more sticky notes than you’ve ever seen. You’d only been here once before to drop off some food that he desperately messaged you about, stuck doing a project that he just couldn’t step away from.

“Pretend you don’t see the mess,” Childe pleads, handing a kid tablet to his brother but holding on before Teucer can take it. “What do you say to our nice friend here for buying you these snacks?”

“Thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you shyly smile, ruffling his hair. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

“It’s (Y/n).”

“Okay, (y/n)! Wait…(y/n)..as in…”

Teucer trails off and gives a look to his brother, one that spells curiosity and trouble, before he grabs your hand and pulls you into a corner. Any movement Childe makes to leave his desk chair is immediately squashed by Teucer’s disapproval, and the older man is left to helplessly worry when you’re told to squat down so secrets can be whispered into your ear.

“He talks about you a lot whenever he calls home,” and you want to laugh at Tecuer’s attempt to sound as scandalous as possible. “All the time! I think he likes you, like, like like.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper back, indulging both yourself and him, yet also internally snickering at how troubled Childe looks.

“Sometimes, he video calls mama, but we’ll all sit around and talk, and whenever he’s talking about how he saw you or something, he just looks...happy. Really happy.”

The surprise on your face does nothing to settle Childe’s nerves and he’s about to start wringing his hands together. Whatever Teucer was telling you couldn’t be good, probably embarrassing, like the one time he unceremoniously fell on his ass while ice skating over a frozen lake, or when he tried fitting fifteen marshmallows in his mouth and nearly choked on them when their mother caught them in the act, or--

“I think he just thinks of me as a good friend,” you try to inform Teucer, not letting yourself get any semblance of hope. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Teucer pouts. But then he stops whispering and bounds over back to his brother, grabbing the tablet before plopping down on the half-made bed.

“Look, I was overconfident and thought I could execute a perfect single loop on the ice, but there was a rock and I lost balance and--”

“I wasn’t being told any stories about you falling on ice, but do tell me more,” you chuckle and take some joy in watching the blush spread across his cheeks. It’s easy to tell that he’s mentally berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

“Well, first off, thanks for buying him all that, and my drink, too,” he sighs. “I spoil him enough as it is.”

“I can see why it’s hard not to,” you smile knowingly. “So is it just him here? Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Funny story, he somehow managed to convince my parents to let him come here on his own as his first ever plane flight, so I had to pick him up yesterday from the airport. He’s flying back with me tomorrow.”

“And the RA?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Ah...well...what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Speaking of, what was Teucer whispering to you about?”

There’s a pensiveness that overtakes you when you look at Teucer again, who’s happily playing some sort of game and completely oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. You won’t, can’t, take his words to heart, and will take them with a grain of salt at most.

“Nothing important. Although I did learn something new...Ajax?”

“Say my name -- fuck, say it, please--”

“I guess cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles and looks away, absolutely unaware of the flare of heat that swirls in your stomach from the fleeting vision just now. “I came up with other nicknames as a kid to seem cooler, and they just stuck with me. Plus, the business world is full of people who just want something from you, or just a transactional relationship. I’d rather not give my real name to them, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s fair,” you nod and lean to sit on the edge of his desk. A thought pops into your head and you turn the words over in your head like a washing machine on the spin setting, teeth gnawing on the flesh of your bottom lip. If Teucer hadn’t been in the room, he would’ve been this close to kissing you.

“But if it’s worth anything,” your voice slowly, softly starts, cautious and wary of your thoughts. “I think...Ajax suits you best.”

Curse fate. Curse the legendary Archons. Curse karma and deities and spirits because all he wants to do right now is stand and tower over you, trap you between himself and his desk so you can’t escape, take those pretty lips between his until they’re bruised and swollen because of him, hear you call out his name in the throes of pleasure so he can finally replace his fantasies with tangible memories. The unnatural, magnetic pull that draws him to you is unbearable now -- he feels like he’ll lose the last tendrils of his sanity if he doesn’t do something.

You can’t stop him from slowly reaching out to grab one of your hands, lifting it towards him until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. It sends a shiver down your spine and blood is pounding in your ears because you can’t begin to fathom what he’s thinking about while doing this, even more so when his lips make contact with your skin and your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as he languidly peeks at you beneath his eyelashes with a heated gaze, then lowly confessing, “My name sounds best when you say it.”

Good heavens.

It’s difficult to swallow and keep your composure, especially when Teucer yells out in glee over, what you can assume, beating something in his game, and Childe drops your hand. But his dilated pupils don’t retract in the slightest, refusing to let you look away so that maybe, you can understand what he’s trying to convey to you. He’s taking the first step because he’s terrible and can’t contain his self-control anymore, pushing the ball into your court, ready for you to either play or exit into the sidelines.

When you do blink, there’s a vision of your naked body wrapped around another, limbs clinging desperately to a sturdy and panting frame. Lips, much like the ones that have seared themselves onto your knuckles, are at your neck and sucking, biting, before moving to your ear and laying filthy words into them that drive you closer to the edge. It all happens so fast that you feel you’ve just experienced whiplash, yet also feeling secondhand embarrassment at how lewd some of these thoughts have been.

You can’t stay here any longer.

“I-I have to go,” spills off your tongue before you can really think about it. The way the haze shatters in his eyes is heartbreaking in its own way, but there’s no time for you to explain. Your brain is in overdrive and eager to run, run, run. It detects danger on all fronts, but you muster out a, “H-have a good break, come find me next semester, mmk?”

And you’re out the door with inhuman speed. When the door clicks shut, only then does Teucer look up from his screen and frown at the lack of your presence. “Where’d they go?”

Chlide doesn’t seem to hear him, and Teucer has never seen his big brother look so sad and confused before.

-

He holds on to that last tendril of hope, because mark his words, he will find you come January.

-

After about a week at home, enjoying the festive time with his family and mildly unconcerned about next year’s courses because that was a problem for another day, Childe has his first, crazy, nonsensical dream.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he snaps awake and his body aches with exhaustion. Not only are his joints in agony, he also feels like he’s sporting unforeseen bruises, which makes absolutely no sense because he hasn’t done anything that would warrant them, no matter how much he and his brothers do some rough-housing. His night of sleep was all consumed by flashes and scenes of weapon fighting, lucid enough to remember feeling his arms flex and wield bows and double-headed polearms and being cognizant of all the enemies??? surrounding him. They ranged from deranged looking monsters, floating beings with soulless masks, and large humans in electricity-padded armor, to behemoth machines in the sky that could leave you within an inch of your life thanks to a drill for a hand?!

But what’s even worse is that you seem to have managed a deal with Morpheus himself and infiltrated his dreams. You were there, too, sometimes fighting with him, sometimes against him, much to his dismay, and while it was nice, he just didn’t get it. Why the friendliness and hostility? Why was there an anger that overtook him when looking directly at you, parrying your blade and sending harmful arcs of water toward your figure?

Why did he relish the fear in your eyes when he darted towards you with electricity cracking through the air?

There’s an overwhelming sensation now to grab his phone to text you and apologize -- for what, he can’t fathom and there are no words to accurately convey what he’s thinking. “Hey, sorry for wanting to kill you in my dream :( “? Or “Sorry for being a friend but then stabbing you in the back, but then being nice to you again”?

And the only thing that really made sense was the serenity and contentment that would course through his veins as the two of you danced around on ivory sandy beaches, picking up shiny blue starconches and taking down more weird creatures; the breathlessness when you would fall back into the water and re-emerge to reconfirm his beliefs that you were one of the most beautiful humans he’d ever laid his eyes on; the love--

Hold the fuck up.

He doesn’t love you. He likes you a whole lot and he’s severely and deathly attracted to you, but he doesn’t love you. Your existence has only been made known to him for about two months, and he didn’t really start talking to you until three weeks in. So no matter how comfortable he feels with you, no matter how much he wishes that you were sleeping peacefully next to him so his nights wouldn’t feel so lonely, it was too early, too hasty, to say that he loves you.

“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you bring them home?” His mother asks him out of nowhere during breakfast, all to add to this extremely tumultuous roller-coaster morning he’s been having. All he wants to do is eat his bowl of milk and cereal, then potentially go back to sleep before fulfilling his promise to go with his siblings to the nearby skating rink. It takes everything in him to not choke on his spoon of grains.

“Agreed, didn’t you mention they didn’t really have any family to go back to and that the move to Liyue was semi-permanent?” His father chimes in, laying a quick peck on his wife’s temple. “It’s never fun to spend the holidays alone.”

“They would’ve felt like they were intruding,” Childe replies quietly, stabbing his bowl a few times before scooping up another spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “I know we’re friends, but we haven’t known each other for that long, and maybe they’d be uncomfortable because that’s a lot honestly…”

“You don’t know until you try,” his mother sings and pats him on the shoulder. “We do have a guest room after all.”

“For them and their twin?”

“And quite a comfortable futon with enough blankets.”

Childe smiles fondly at his parents’ kindness. He can only imagine what this winter break would’ve been like now -- you and your twin floating around, trying to help out with certain chores, sitting by the fireplace and watching TV, huddled up with mugs of hot chocolate, playing board games with everyone and engaging in all the shenanigans…

Laughing. Loving. Grinning. Basking.

Handing over one of his hoodies to you as a sick way of torturing yet blessing himself for seeing how lovely you look in his clothes, standing silently in the doorway as you attempt to help out with mealtimes next to his mother, watching you run around in the backyard and dodging his siblings’ snowballs while lodging a few of your own -- how wonderful it all would be.

But he squashes it down as quickly as possible, because you escaped his grasp. You ran away from his advances temporarily and even though you gave him permission to seek you out come the spring semester, he worries that you might take it back. Something will wake up inside of you to keep him out of your heart and your life, and he’s not confident enough at this point to believe there’s a good chance you will come spend the holidays with him and his family next year.

“Maybe next year, ma,” he sends her a hesitant, yet somewhat broken purse of his lips that’s just the least bit curved. It tells her everything he’s thinking, and the quick patting of his cheek lets him know she understands.

Half an hour later, Childe finds himself curled up on his side under the sheets, phone in hand as he stares at a blinking cursor. It shouldn’t be so hard to send a text to convey his holiday greetings, because that’s all it is -- part of him is becoming desperate and aching for some interaction with you, even if it’s just a text sent back for conventional social pleasantries. He’ll take it for now, right?

Before he can totally chicken out, his thumbs quickly type a, “Happy Holidays, (y/n) :)”, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly after he hits the ‘send’ button that he tosses it over his shoulder so he’s not directly looking at it anymore. His heartbeat is too quick and he prays for no phantom vibrations or phantom sound notifications to avoid any disappointment of thinking he got a reply. It was a harmless text, yet he’s treating it like he just got assigned on a mission to go and murder someone for the first time. What will he do if you never text him back? Does that mean you really don’t want to talk to him? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere? Did you change numbers and not tell him? Did your twin get all the details and make the executive decision to block his number? Will he never get a chance to talk to you again, even if it’s about something in the Teyvat Mythology class next semester? Will you--

His shoulder screams in protest when he quickly flips himself over at the text notification sound, hands shakily unlocking his phone and opening up your conversation again. His heart rate significantly decreases, reaching back to its normal pace, especially as he reads the little words on his screen.

“Happy Holidays, Ajax ^^”

There is hope.

-

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

You’re huddled under the comforter of your twin’s bed, phone just peeking above the edge as you stare at it with a brightness in your eyes. For the most part, you had been sulking there, apart from meals and going back to your own room to sleep, and mentally berating yourself for the way you reacted to Childe the week before.

“He just texted me to say happy holidays,” shrugging to put on a facade of indifference. It’s stupid that you’re trying to hide your feelings from your twin of all people, who could pick apart and identify your emotions in a heartbeat. A roll of his eyes lets you know that you haven’t fooled him at all.

“So you think that whatever comment he made, which was very suggestive and indicative of clearly non-platonic feelings, was just something...friendly? Remind me again how you came to that conclusion?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking!” You whine, looking around to see if there was anything you could toss at him. “It’s just, with everything, all the dreams and stupid gut feelings, I just -- I don’t know, okay?? I can’t tell you enough how much I wish I had just kissed his stupid face and see where it goes from there.”

“Okay, gross, but don’t beat yourself up. Though...I do have a good idea on how to maybe get a good reaction out of him. You wanna go to the New Years’ celebration at Xiangling’s?”

“I think she’d threaten me with a knife if I didn’t. She wanted to go shopping at some point, too.”

“I’ll drop the overprotective brother act for one night, okay? One night, just to let this happen, and for your peace of mind.”

He does a fair amount of conspiring with Xiangling, a friend they met one time at a restaurant a couple years ago, even tagging along on the shopping trip. Together, the three of you find yourself a dress that Xiangling swears would make any person drool over you, including Childe, because at the end of the day, he was a person with the possibility of being attracted to you.

You think it’s a bit silly, but honestly, what do you have to lose at this point?

-

At 11:57PM on New Years’ Eve, Childe is standing outside in the freezing cold with his family, arms lifting up bags of sparklers and fireworks. They’ve driven out closer to the wild like they do every year, and everybody excitedly gets lighters ready, making sure someone’s got a clock out there that tells the seconds. As the younger kids open up the packaging and argue over which one to set off first, Childe’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

It’s 11:58PM when he manages to fish the device out and thank himself for buying gloves that are touch-screen friendly, excited to see that there are two texts from you, the latter reading, “Happy New Year!”. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little early, but he’s mainly intrigued by the fact a photo came before it. In his mind, you’re probably curled up with your twin brother, hopefully a selfie because wow, he misses your face.

He gets something else instead, and he is so glad that it’s dark outside and the electric lamp they have is too far away from him to draw any attention.

You have your arm around your brother’s waist and another girl’s that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a full frontal view of your outfit, one that hugs your curves beautifully and shows more cleavage than he’s ever seen from you, sophisticated and elegant, yet fun and leaving enough to the imagination. There’s a bright smile coming from all of you, and you look like you’re at someone’s house or apartment with plenty of other people milling around in the back, but they don’t matter, not when all he can focus on is you.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, arousing, mind blowing, and gods, he wishes he could teleport to Liyue at this moment, find you, and kiss you right at midnight. Fuck the fact that he doesn’t exactly believe in superstitions like, “Kissing your significant other at midnight means you’ll last forever!” but he’s willing to take the chance with it on this night and the ones after, if he’s allowed. He tries not to think too much about pinning you against the wall and letting the world dissolve -- wants to be the one with the privilege to drag down that zipper and feel his bare skin on yours, and --

As Teucer starts yelling there’s only a minute left, he instinctively locks his phone and shoves it away out of anyone’s view. The last thing he needs is his family teasing him about ogling at your photo for a straight 50 seconds, wide-eyed and pupils on the verge of dilating, the visible breath leaving his mouth just a smudge more dense and prominent than usual.

The only thing he can do to distract himself from popping a boner in front of his parents is to join in on the countdown, making sure all the fireworks are set up correctly and grabbing a sparkler for himself. He waves it around with Tonia and promises to fulfill her wishes of taking one of those pictures right as she draws a pattern in the air. Their excitement is palpable and addicting, and even though the larger fireworks set off a few seconds after midnight hits, the nostalgia fills his lungs with fond memories and future wishes that they only continue this tradition for as long as possible, and hopefully, with you at his side.

-

When it’s 12:04AM, you get a picture message back of Childe bundled up in a black paletot coat, matching beanie and all, a gloved hand holding a sparkler and lips curved upwards, with a caption that says, “Happy New Year’s! See you soon :)”. You show it to Xiangling and your brother, both taking it as a win in their books, although the former does tipsily protest that there should be a better indicator of Childe’s brain breaking at how amazing you look right now. Maybe she’s prophetic, because another text chimes in and the words set you aflame, as well as suggestive whoops into your ears.

It’s a simple, “You look incredible btw”.

If you didn’t want to properly savor this moment, you would’ve found the nearest shot of the strongest liquor and tossed it back with abandon. But you want to remember the warmth in your veins that wasn’t from the alcohol or the heating, the fluttering of your heartbeat, the teeth-baring grin that you couldn’t fight off, the constant re-reading of those four words -- because they’re so different from everything you had been feeling before with him, the need for protection, the need to escape. Instead, you’d like to be in his arms right now and see for yourself how he’d look at you in this moment, and if he would take any action.

You want him to. So, so bad.

-

Childe spends his last week at home hating the fact that you’re just sitting around somewhere in Liyue, doing whatever you’re doing, probably doing some light preparation for your last semester of classes, and he’s not there to take advantage of all this free time and hang out with you. When classes start, it’ll be busy and hectic. You still have your thesis to finish and revise, and while that won’t eat up all your time, it’s still some that he’d want to fill in with his presence if he could. He debates whether or not he should ask for your schedule and compare it with his, maybe set up meetings every other day or propose that they all eat one meal together every day. Childe’s not quite sure of what you plan to do after graduation, as it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but either way, he’s determined to stay in contact and make things work out. Long distance isn’t ideal, but with technology now, he’ll take it.

He feels a little bad for how excited he probably looked to be leaving home, uncharacteristic for the most part. His older siblings have already gone back to their respective homes, and it’s mainly Teucer and Tonia that worry and tear up when he starts packing his belongings. Tonia finds it unfair that Teucer got to meet you first and the latter makes sure to rub it into everyone’s faces. It’s hard for Childe to sleep on the plane because he’s thrumming with excitement, yet somehow even more nervous than usual when the plane hits small bouts of turbulence, and he doesn’t seem to relax until he sets foot back on campus.

He’s here. It’s January, and you’re physically closer to him than ever in the last two weeks.

-

“Found you.”

On the first day of classes, you’re sitting alone with some salad greens in a bowl, poking your fork at some scraps while you watch something on your phone, earbuds in and back towards the entrance of the canteen. It would explain the unannounced entrance of the very person who’s been at the forefront of nearly every thought in the last 96 hours, his fingers gingerly removing an earbud to surprise you as best as possible, and you startle in your seat.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when he hands you back your earbud and pulls out the seat next to you, setting his own plate of food down as he plops down in his chair. But then he says nothing afterwards, instead choosing to send you a cheeky grin before digging in. You’re left to slowly phase out of your state of shock, stuck between either running away or frantically texting your twin to come and save you even though he was off on a date with Keqing.

It’s not that you weren’t elated at the fact that Childe had done exactly as you told him last month, you just weren’t...prepared? It’s a shitty excuse and a cop out -- you’re mainly just having trouble with racking your brain to find the right words. What are you supposed to say? What should you do? Is it socially acceptable to lean over and kiss him on the cheek because that’s what you’d like to impulsively do at this very second??

“So you did,” you settle and steal a roasted potato wedge from his plate. It’s his turn to be taken by surprise, but he gets over it much quicker than you do. In fact, he spears two wedges and drops them in your bowl, smiling at you as best as he can with a mouth full of food. You give them your thanks before the silence settles in again.

“Did you have a good break?” He asks before his next bite.

“I did. You?”

“It was nice. My parents said I should’ve brought you and your twin home to spend the holidays with us. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind before finals.”

Holy shit, what? “We couldn’t intrude like that, but that’s really nice of you guys.”

“That’s okay, there’s plenty of chances to visit later.”

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “But we graduate this semester?”

Childe challenges you with one of his own eyebrows raised. “And? Are we never gonna see each other again?”

Honestly, the possibility had occurred to you. You aren’t entirely sure of Childe’s plans after graduation, and if that meant he was staying in Liyue or going back to Snezhnaya or even moving to Inazuma or Mondstat. While people preach on and on about how lasting friendships and relationships are often formed during college, you believe it’s more common to slowly drift apart as life gets busier. And if Childe moved away, or if you did, it’d be hard to consistently keep in touch with 10 hour workdays.

The thought saddens you, regardless. You like him so much and you’re glad that he was even in your life to begin with, because as unbelievable as it sounds, seeing him was almost akin to the feeling of coming home. Amidst all your nerves, your confusion, your spiraling thoughts, something deeply sated in your heart was a comfort that you found with very few people in your life whenever in his presence.

The thought of leaving and never looking back somehow doesn’t feel new -- it’s bittersweet, but the air in your lungs feels like it’s surrendered to something, like it was to be expected.

“You can’t just leave without telling me--”

“It was last minute! I had no choice!”

“You could’ve written up a message, anything--”

“Can you imagine the position you’d be in if the message got intercepted? I wouldn’t have been safe, she’d make you come after me--”

“As if you’d be any safer in Inazuma of all places! That’s the one place I can’t easily get to!”

“I can take care of myself, Childe, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“This isn’t about me protecting you, (y/n) and -- stop walking, will you?!”

“Then what is this about?” You spin on your wheel with eyes aflame. “Why are you so angry with me? It’s normal for me to disappear for weeks at a time, why was this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died!” He yells back in despair, chest heaving. Your silence is his cue to continue. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until much later. You could’ve died and all I’d ever think about were the things I never got to say to you, and how I wish I had treated every day with you like it was our last.”

It isn’t hard to tell that you’re stunned and at a complete loss for words. Childe often hides behind facades of charm and wit, and only when he is truly weak does he choose to be this vulnerable, baring his heart for you to see.

“I only have two nightmares in this world. One, my family being harmed in any way. Two, reading in a report or hearing from an agent that you’ve been captured and killed.”

“I like to think that we will.”

His hand reaches out to lay on top of yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s make the most of it this semester.”

Conversation afterwards is easy, filling each other in on holiday activities. Childe speaks extensively about several family traditions and you listen with rapt attention, basking in how fond he is of all of them. Even as you both bring your dishes to the return belt and leave, he immediately offers to drive you both somewhere to get boba, noticing your reluctance to part ways. But boba shops have to close, and you both have class tomorrow morning, and you’re both finding any excuse to keep talking, even if that means sitting outside your dorm building on a nearby bench.

You eventually bid each other good night’s and see you later’s, him refusing to walk away until the heavy door locks shut behind you after you swipe your student ID, and you looking over your shoulder to watch his figure disappear into the night.

-

True to his intentions, Childe makes great efforts to meet you at least once a day, and he can’t get enough. Each parting from you tugs and tugs at his heart, as if there’s a high possibility you’ll never want to see him again the next day, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Your twin and Childe get along well for the most part, and he even meets Xiangling on one of her shifts at her regular restaurant, who sends you a salacious wink and an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder that nearly causes you to burst from embarrassment.

February rolls over without a hitch, even if you’re a little disappointed that Childe didn’t make a move for Valentine’s Day. Granted, you two still spent time with each other and he’s so darn physically affectionate and he bought you a carnation from the event his dorm held, but you wish you had the guts to fess up and just kiss the man.

It’ll happen some day, you tell yourself. You have time before graduation.

Two days before the end of the Friday that would signal the start of Spring Break, you wake up in a cold sweat, mind reeling and head splitting, heart so so heavy, as a connection is made between your present and your dreams. Not long after, there are tears streaming silently down your face and into your open palms placed in your lap, and you sit in shock as everything comes back to you. Memories are such treasured burdens, you realize.

For the most part, you had gotten used to the dreams, choosing to take charge of what you know and feel now with Childe over succumbing to some strange neurological premonitions. Especially in your dreams when many people’s faces were blurred over and hazy, and the only things you could rely on were voices, touch, and other physical features. You thought that maybe your mind was just playing tricks by transposing Childe’s hair onto a body that was also strikingly similar to his, but for the first time last night, you could see each defining feature on his face as clear as day.

The sight of his figure arching gracefully over yours, the water arrows that appeared out of thin air, the back that protected you from some military men, the voice that said, “Hey girlie, hold still.”

And that was when you had snapped awake to your current state.

Past the initial shock and uncontrollable tears, you soon bent over as sobs wracked your chest, overwhelmed by all the emotions and the pain the memories brought you; losing your twin, finding him to only be left with even more questions after roaming for decades and decades, meeting all your loved ones throughout Mondstat and Liyue, fighting yet falling so hard for Childe, feeling the fear when facing his Foul Legacy form, hating him for Osial, loving him, breathing heavily as the tip of your blade was pointed at his neck and his own just centimeters from yours, tendrils of water inching closer and closer--

Everything makes sense now.

When you meet your twin for lunch at the cafeteria, you pay no mind to the fact that you’re in public and hug him harder than you ever have in years. He’s already a little alarmed that your eyes seem swollen and you look like finals came two months early, but when he asks what’s wrong, all he gets is a shake of your head and nothing more than, “Just a bad nightmare. I love you, y’know that?”

“I love you too?”

“Don’t sound so unsure, now let’s go and get in line before they run out of Jueyun Chili Chicken.”

Even when you meet Xiao later in the early evening to talk about your thesis, you find yourself holding back more tears just two minutes in, reminded of his past and his own life, and he’s moderately concerned, hesitantly handing you a tissue from the corner of his desk when a stray tear escapes. “Is everything okay?” He hesitantly asks, really hoping that he didn’t do anything to make you cry.

“No,” you almost wail and sniffle while dabbing at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”

Xiao’s inquisitive gaze softens, remembering how hard undergraduate life could be sometimes. Graduate school was a whole other level, but that shouldn’t discount your own personal difficulties. Plus, in all of the year and a half that he’s known you, you’ve never broken down like this before in front of him.

“You work really hard, Xiao,” you continue, and he’s not sure where this is coming from. “You’re always so helpful and willing to work with me and answer my stupid questions and like-- you practice self-care, right?”

Xiao nods as a white lie, but it seems to comfort you. Maybe too much because you pull him in for a quick and unexpected hug, and you both decide to reschedule this meeting for tomorrow.

As per usual, you wait for Childe to join you for dinner since you finished up earlier than expected. It gives you more time to think about everyone from Mondstat -- Kaeya, Diluc, Lisa, Jean, Amber...funny to think that some things never changed as you compared their past version to the ones you know now.

“Mora for your thoughts?”

There’s a peace that warms your heart when you hear Childe’s voice, one that forces you to smile at him as he sits down next to you. “Just thinking about old friends.”

“I have to admit, I’ll be a little jealous if it’s another guy taking up more space than me in that pretty brain of yours.”

What a flirt. This man isn’t good for your heart. “Who said you had any to begin with?”

He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, (y/n). How will I ever recover?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snicker. Childe reaches over to pinch your cheek and you bat at him in protest. Easily, he grabs one of your hands and simply pulls you towards the food lines, knowing that you’ll stop fighting back soon.

Part of it feels strange now to feel and see his hands with no leather gloves on.

“Childe,” you start halfway through your meal, continuing after he hums back in reply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He freezes briefly, but recovers so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed. “I think it’s neat, the idea of having past lives. Why do you ask?”

What he really wants to ask is if you’ve been having those dreams, too; if he’s starring in your nights like you have been in his.

“Just a thought, especially since you’re taking Teyvat Myth now, too.”

“Do you...do you think if there was a past life, that we knew each other?”

There’s something about the look of content on your face before you meet his gaze -- he thinks that you know more than you’re letting on but you’re holding back for some reason. He wants to know what’s going through your brain right now, why the fondness in your eyes sends a jolt through him like he’s been searching for it all his life, if you know anything about this magnetic pull between you two.

“I like to think that we knew each other well.”

-

Even though the first day of your returned memories was somewhat eventful, you couldn’t help but feel yourself wanting to pull back from Childe -- at least, until you can successfully compartmentalize which emotions belonged to you past self and which ones belonged to your current mindset. You didn’t quite agree with his duties and his affiliation with the Fatui back then, even if he had his reasons that did make sense, to some degree.

The killing, the threatening, so intent on stealing Rex Lapis’s Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa, summoning Osial as a mean to an end -- and you definitely can’t forget how stubborn he was in not listening to your protests, so caught up in his brain that you had betrayed him and sent you plummeting to a near-death experience despite his earlier promise of no intention of killing you specifically.

Everything had been toeing a faint, thin line with Childe then. Undeniable chemistry and tension, guarding yourself for yours and Paimon’s safety, slashing at Fatui agents, whispering out pleas and affirmations of “I’m yours” while riding him, sometimes having to sneak out in the mornings…

The only thing you don’t remember is how everything ends -- maybe it’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, you think you’re okay not knowing.

If Childe still doesn’t remember anything from back then, you think it’d be unfair to spend time with him in all your conflicting emotions, even when it’s spring break, where you have so much more hours in the day to be with each other than normal. Fun plans around Liyue had been made, like a two-day one-night trip to Yaoguang Shoal, and you’re this close to cancelling on him.

But he had been looking forward to it so much, even made most of the preparations for it. Who are you to rob that joy from him when it was you who couldn’t figure out your own shit? Are you self-destructing?

Perhaps.

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the scenery. Somehow, it pleased you to see that the nature of Liyue had been carefully preserved over the many centuries despite its development into the modern age. You get lost in picking apart the differences between then and now that you don’t notice how quiet you’ve fallen and Childe looks over worriedly when you show no reaction to your favorite songs playing on the stereo.

Even when he calls your name once, twice, nothing gives as you clearly have tuned everything out. So he leaves you be until there’s about half an hour left on the drive, unable to hold back and succumbing to reach over for your hand. You startle so strongly that he almost feels bad for having done it unannounced. But what’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t really the first time.

You’ve been talking to him less, often sitting quietly and staring off into another world that he can’t seem to reach. His texts are answered less frequently and with less wit and enthusiasm, so much so that he just appreciates you still show up to see him. Each time he asks if you’re okay, you always affirm that you are. He’s had a hard time believing you, but Childe believes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, surely.

It’s a little ironic yet fateful that Childe planned to bring you here, of all places. In the past, you had spent many days and nights running around in the sand with him, fighting slimes and hilichurls and collecting starconches for him. You remember laying on a large towel next to him as you both looked up into the sky, pointing out stars and constellations while sharing endless kisses away from prying, spying eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve zoned out,” you sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay, I just wanna make sure you relax while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’re right,” you agree and squeeze his hand. “Let’s make the most of it before we become adults who are too busy to have fun like this again.”

And you do. Childe rented a small beach cabin (rich boys) closer to one end of the shoreline, just big enough with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. You help him bring in your bags and some groceries bought the night before, setting them down quickly so you can peer out the window again to take in the view. Childe picked a good time, too. Although it’d be a little chilly at night, the day was still warm and mainly overcast with clouds.

“What do you say we change into our swimsuits and head down to the water?”

“Sure.”

Childe hadn’t really been expecting for you to step out in a large, casual tee and gym shorts, one shoulder exposed. He might have been hoping to see a little more skin, but his mother didn’t raise a chauvinistic pervert for a son.

The light in your eyes as you both approach the water is everything he had been missing the last few days, your excitement and joy contagious. As soon as you place everything down on the sand, you kick off your flip flops and leave him behind to step into the water, giggling at feeling the waves crash over your ankles and bring sand between your toes. Childe approaches you from behind and starts smearing sunblock on the back of your neck, to which you just grin beautifully at him in thanks and he has to fight off the desire to kiss you right then and there.

You’re too caught up in embracing the ocean afterwards to feel the shrinking distance between you two, mistaking his warmth for the general spring air. It isn’t until he’s done with your shoulders that he hands you the bottle to leave you to do the rest of your body, and when you turn to thank him, he’s much closer than you remember. His eyes are gentle, holding your gaze and almost daring you to look away first.

But if there’s one thing you can place without a shred of doubt, it is the unmistakable look of love, because you had seen it many, many times before without knowing until later what it meant.

How so incredibly lucky you were to have Childe back in your life now, loving you all the same, and with no life-threatening barriers. Fate or the Archons have given you a second chance, and you’d be damned to take it for granted.

Childe welcomes your lips against his, wasting no time to bring you into his arms so you’re pressed against him as much as possible. He can’t care for the overt public display of affection because this is everything he’s wanted for months now, waiting patiently for you to give him permission to make you his. Your lips are incredibly soft and pliant against his as you first kiss him patiently, then applying more force and desperation to taste more of him. He mirrors you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other on your neck with a thumb extended to your jawline, teeth moving to nip at your bottom lip. It’s dangerous, the way you smile against his lips, and when he sinks his teeth in deeper before pulling back, your quiet mewl nearly drives him over the edge.

But you’re in public, and this was an amazing first kiss. You two have a beach to enjoy and a fun night planned, and now that he doesn’t have to hold back on his affections, it’ll be even better.

His lips part from yours regretfully, his eyes languidly opening to meet yours. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue starconch in the sand and freezes.

It’s not that he’s never seen one before, but something clicks. You. The shore. Starconches. Starry nights. His dreams. Monsters. Gods. Fighting. So much fighting. Training. His family. Dragons. You. Falling. You falling. You fighting him. Yelling. Kissing. Loving. Chasing. Him chasing you before you disappear at a teleport waypoint that somehow you only can operate. The abyss. Your twin.

Oh, Archons.

“ -ou okay, Ajax? Ajax?”

He snaps to look at you again. How does he go about this? How does he ask?

“(Y/n)...have you ever heard of the Fatui Harbingers?”

He has to admit that it’s a bit amazing to be able to identify all the emotions that cross your complexion, from curiosity to realization to conflicted. You’re actively trying to piece everything together without revealing too much on the off-chance that you’re wrong, that Childe hasn’t regained his memories and is just asking about something from class randomly and completely out of the blue.

Wait.

“You haven’t reached that material yet in class,” you whisper, heart in your throat at the realization. Could it really be…

“I was once Tartaglia, eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, who possessed a Delusion and used my Foul Legacy Transformation with you several times,” he murmurs back, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. “Is it too late to apologize again for summoning an ancient god and letting you fall about five floors with no warning?”

He should’ve been prepared for you wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “No, never, but I spent weeks after kicking your ass so you’ve been long forgiven.”

Childe burrows his face into your neck, breathing in your scent and basking in this moment. There was so much to talk about, but you two arguably had more time in the world than ever with nothing holding you back. There was no impending war looming over, no one on the run, no opposing forces. His silent wish for a different life with you seems to have been answered finally. If running into you had been the event to set everything in motion, he only wishes he’d done so earlier.

All that matters now is you’re here together in this plane of existence, given a chance to love again, and experience everything you couldn't before.

As written in the stars, take my soul for it is forever yours.

fin

[jynxlovesluck]

To Love The Sky Chapter 2

There is something missing from the way we love when it is distant.

The cavern, empty and mindless, swallowed them whole.

Logan led, trying to find the path that would be what they needed. But the subconscious grew your paranoia, flourishing in the unlikely and harsh environment for them all. And the conscious did not like letting them go.

There were moments. Flashes, just like Virgil's skin in the light. They would reveal the ugliness below, the gushing and squelching that made be rise in their throats.

Patton cleared his throat. The tunnel absorbed the small shuttered sound like a meal. “How do we know we're going the right way?”

Roman brought out his sword in one smooth motion, metal melting and extending more metal as a sword. Logan should tell them to drop the fake skins. There wasn't much point going to the subconscious and pretending they were anything human. “We know where we are going as we are the main parts of the mind!” His sword glowed, and lit their way as even the light couldn’t avoid the neverending hunger that kept them moving slowly, slowly.

It would have been convincing, if Roman's eyes didn't go from chocolate diamond to yellow sapphire. Logan  those eyes whispered; begging, tired, paradoxical in their hopeful and hopeless hold onto him do we know where we're going? Another, tugging the answer like maybe this wouldn't end in a crash, are we really gonna get Virgil back?

For the first time since he had woken up and headed for the dark, Logan paused. Virgil had apologised for some reason or another. Had said he felt sorry.

Had kissed him alive. Had kissed him goodbye.

Instead of being the voice of doubt, (which, unfortunately, is who they were getting), Logan became something close to who he used, and who he would be. The voice of reason.

“Roman is correct. While it will be more difficult later on, we are the main aspects of Thomas’ person. For now, we are fine.”

Patton sighed in relief, Roman not far behind him. The walls didn't close in, but the pressure on Logan's shoulders almost made it seem like they did.

The dastardly silence wasn’t the faux comfort one of his own mind. This one held tension like it’s newborn babe. No invisible walls. No chains to hold him down, dragging his body. Nothing but his own heart and the others’ fears to rip him up.

Logan swore he was no doll. No matter what, Logic is something greater than a faulty toy.

He paused.

Wasn’t there a reason why he had been a toy? Some underlying cruel joke, making Logan a useless plaything.

“Logan?” Patton’s voice, a quiet tremble of what it should have been. His and Roman's eyes burned Logan’s body.

Wasn’t that familiar?

“Logic.” Roman’s voice, deadly and-not poisonous, but pointed and sharpened stuck in him. A needle ready to bare into his throat, ready to cut his strings. Logan shivered. “Get a hold of yourself.”

That may have been more effective then a bucket of water, or a slap to the face. It hurt a lot more, though.

“Roman,” Patton hissed, his teeth shining despite the dark, “I will bury you if you don’t knock off this stupid idea that-” His voice ended as swiftly as it had began.

They shouldn’t be stopped, they needed to leave, Virgil was counting on them, he was-

“-waiting on us.” Roman had closed his buds, a thorn filled rose that wilted under his gardners gaze. But his eyes were still steel, unforgiving, and Logan could take a guess about what he thought.

“I agree.” Logan sighed. “I apologise for stopping, I am merely a little disoriented.” He shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his arm in a slow movement. When his hand reached the length of his face, he flicked his hand in a jerked movement, and a ball of starlight made the cavern glow. “This might be able to hold more light then just our forms and your sword.”

He wasn’t sure how long it would last. Patton and Roman seemed to get the hint, and followed behind him once more.

The uncertainty followed faithfully behind, too.

-

They didn’t know when they existed the cavern, as Logan’s light had finally broken apart a day’s walk ago.

There was no telling how long they had really been gone, and a few days travel could either be a moment or a week on the outside. The mind had a funny way of trying to process the intricate ridiculous nature of time, and despite knowing how futile it was, Logan still yearned to know how long they had abandoned their charge.

A cloud glowed in front of them.

“What’s that?” Patton tried to go forward, but Roman held his elbow gently in his grasp, his other hand lifting the sword towards the unknown like their were small and he needed to protect the lot of them from nightmares.

“I am not sure, but I think it might be-”Logan reached out, his skin chipping away the closer he got. At the same time, the cloud transitioned from grey to white, swirling faster and faster, a whirlpool in the middle of their path.

“Logan wait!” Roman let go of his sword to try to reach him, his eyes wide and horrified. But it was too late.

Half of Logan’s hand dissolved, already twisting painlessly off his body. His arm, his shoulder, his feet. Logan turned back to Patton and Roman. With a gasp as the light enveloped his whole body, he reached out with his hand and told them, “Go forward. Keep going. I’ll be there soon.”

And then poof. Gone. The blinding white light left as it had come, and Logan took several minutes to see again, adjusting his glasses as he steadied himself.

What he saw could only be described as a graveyard with none of the bodies buried or molded.

And everyone had his human face.

Logan didn’t panic. He didn’t move. Insteaded, he looked around, trying to analyse and observe like their biology teacher in eighth grade taught them how too. Around the room, bodies laid around. Some were postered like one would lay a body in a coffin. Others were in a fetal position, cocooned in their own arms.

Logan peered down at the body below, one that seemed to be carelessly tossed. It’s arms were out, and one of it’s legs looked uncomfortably bent.

“Dolls?”He kneeled down and touched the side of its neck. It still had Thomas’ human face, but something besides that seemed familiar.

“Do you recognise him?” A voice ghosted over Logan’s shoulder into his ear. He shivered. “Besides the obvious, I mean.”

Logan looked around, but saw no one. “Where are you?”

There, a pregnant pause. No answer.

He huffed, and bent down again to look closer at the doll. The outfit screamed old, a green dinosaur costume with the sleeves fraying and dusty from a lifetime of stiff disuse. The person Thomas, but younger, with rounder cheeks and no eyebags or laugh lines.

It clicked. “Wait. This is Thomas’ first school play character. Oh what was his name.” Logan squinted.

“Berry Good, the Lord of the dinosaurs.” A foot appeared on the outskirts of Logan’s vision. A glance up and he knew exactly who had found him.

“Aren’t you the sleep character?” Sunglasses on, starbucks cup in hand, this most definitely was the ‘personification’ of Thomas’ sleep schedule, according to his vines.

“That’s Remy to you.” Remy put his hand on his hip and toward over Logan. “Some of us really appreciate the fact that even if Thomas didn’t name us, the audience he adores did. I got a name, and more character development from fans then Thomas had time to put into me.” His eyes appeared to be fire burning when his sunglasses fell down his nose. “So don’t act like I’m another throw away, Logan.”

Logan raised his hands up in what he hopped was a submissive gesture. “I apologise Remy, I typically leave that information with Roman so that I may process other features of life for Thomas.”

Remy leaned back up, his sunglasses sliding back into place and a sly smile taking up residence on his face. “I’m glad we could reach a comfortable conclusion, Logan.” He held out his hand towards Logan. “Now come on, your probably have a million and one questions, and I don’t have much time before the Reset.”

Logan’s left eyebrow rose, but he grabbed Remy’s hand and stood up. “Alright then. Where should we go?”

Remy chuckled. “I think up there would be best, considering that’s his favorite spot.” He pointed to the dark corner on the other side of the giant’s room they were in.

Logan couldn’t even see the end of the room, in fact. “But why do we-,” Logan turned back, only to see Remy had disappeared. With a huff, he started to cross the room.

Every step he took felt like danger would creep on him like a crazed lover, every old face appearing in memories, every important character in Thomas’ life that caused them to be happy, sad, expanded ideas, explored concepts, every character that caused a change or left a mark, strewn about and forgotten.

The constant reminder of Thomas’ past colored his vision in warm memories and nausea. To see them there, like the wreckage after a storm, meant a few things and reminded Logan that the world where he existed only in one person.

Why? Why leave Logan here. Why not take the others while stealing him away? Why was Logan even agreeing to cross the courtyard when he desperately needed to get to the heart of the subconscious?

That soft voice of the hardest of them all appeared again to him, kind and mocking. “You're too curious for your own good, nerdex.”

Logan’s heart leapt out of his chest as he cradled his head in his hands with only the pitiful whisper of “Virgil.” on his lips.

“Good of you to see me.” Remy’s voice spoke allowed, right next to Logan.

“Wait, how did you get-”

“Now sit down, I don’t have much time.”

Logan sat down.

Remy was staring out the window, but as far as Logan could see, behind four panels of glass were nothing but white oblivion.

“We come here a lot, you know.” Remy lifted the side of his head, as though the very air would talk to him. Then again, hadn’t Logan been doing the exact same thing? “Virgil has always been kind, if not a bit strict with the Parts.”

“Parts?” Logan asked.

“Yes. That’s what they are,” he gestured to behind him with a thumb over his shoulder, “Each of those characters, no matter how short of a time, were once apart of Thomas.” Remy’s hand dropped, and he turned his head to face Logan. “And this is where they go unless they’re called upon again or forgotten.”

“Oh.” All those bodies, all laying there, waiting. Some for months. Others, years. Their eyes closed, their lives paused, and their dreams put to sleep…

Sleep.

“So is that why your the only one awake?” Logan leaned forward. “Because you are not only a part of Thomas’ sleep cycle, but you’re also a Part?”

Remy grinned. “That’s right. Who better to guard them all but me?”

A sweet note clanged into the distance. Remy’s face fell into narrowed eyes and a frown. “But we don’t have time. Virgil won’t last much longer. Remember, you cannot enter the heart of a problem till you accept it.”

They heard a second dong ring as Remy stood up. “Time for me to go Logan. See yah later.”

“Why are you leaving so suddenly?” Logan scrambled up and grabbed Remy’s shoulder. “And how do I get back to the others?”

Remy hummed, and looked out the window again. “Well, you know how Thomas and Roman can’t remember a dream long enough most of the time for you to record them?”

Logan nodded.

“Well, when the bell rings three times, I start forgetting.” Remy reached forward and unlocked the window. “I suppose its so I can’t become powerful enough to leave between my realm and here. If I want a chance to remember, I have to leave.”

Remy patted Logan’s arm as Logan let go of his shoulder. “I want to at least write down your progress before I become a clean slate again.” He stepped out of the dark room they were in and into blinding white.

He turned around for a moment. “And for the record, I didn’t bring you here. Guess that means someone else wants you to save Virgil.”

The door closed before Logan could say another word, and with Remy waving his hand, the glass panels fogged up until he couldn’t be seen. When they cleared, he was gone.

Logan started to turn before he realised, “I didn’t tell him I suspected he brought me here. I didn’t even tell him why I came to the subconscious.”

The same light as before appeared behind Logan, but instead of the intimidation he felt earlier, he only felt peace. Hopefully the others didn’t get into too much trouble while he was away.

“I’ll be there soon.” Logan took one look around.

And stepped into the light.

-

Hey guys! Long time no read...Sorry about that. Life’s been a bit chaotic, and I really didn’t have much passion for this story for awhile. But with summer getting closer, I do believe writing might be easier for a while so YEEHAW. Thank you so much for being so patient. I love you all <3

Tags:

@romansleftshoulderpad @poisonedapples @raiseafuckingglass @theincediblesulk @sillycookie1603 @fangirls-too-much @changeling-ash @notafeeling @today-only-happens-once @ravenclawangst @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @demonvirgil @sign-from-god-complex @severe-fangirl-syndrome @book-of-charlie @pastel-aesthetics-blog  @confinesofpersonalknowledge @madly-handsome 

[thesweetblossoms]

The Pink Dust 👑

🦩The color pink is the music of love carousing through the universe. Of all hues it is the one that is the most nurturing, healing, gentle, evocative and eviscerating. A pink rose may mend a merciless tear through the fabric of the shyest heart, a pink sky may ease a painful memory forever, a pink star may tease us recklessly of a love yet consummated, a pink silk dress may bring forth a proposal, a pink pearl may whisper the song of the mermaids, a pink dawn may unveil a gentle mystery, a pink book may be of mystical, ethereal and star dusted poetry.

Pink is the key to understanding the unspoken intents, motives and perspectives of nature. For the June peonies set the stage for a bewildering courtship, the pink silk lingerie, consorts with the perfume of jasmine, sandalwood and Bulgarian roses on the skin, the pink casts of clouds in a desert twilight gathers the lovers in a cocoon of mist, romance, chance, candlelight and whimsy while the pink cashmere blanket, is a gift for the baby girl that is born.

Pink is the reigning empress of the emotional realm. It bears a delicate hand, but carries an impenetrable will, it is innocent, demure, discreet, indelible and feminine, unreservedly loving men, women, children, flowers, art, music and the light. The hue is an attempt to ameliorate the sadness of life. As the women who wears a fragile seashell pink chiffon dress, even as her man, flows away with a younger lass, yet, returns with a richer, more passionate love on an inevitable, clementine ebb. Wearing it is a proclamation of the victory of goodness over evil, of cherishing the present, slighting the past and dreaming of the future.

We trust a person who wears a pink button down shirt as one who is seeking to temper the competitive drive to make space for the nuances, pauses and finer details in the billable hours. We know if someone is feeling happy, optimistic and hopeful when they appear in a pink floral blouse, we know that ballerinas wear pink ballet slippers to wither the pain and enhance the beauty, for that is pinks forte. Like the pink lipstick stain that doesn’t belong to you, but the short pink Montauk pj’s that do, or the burning India pink of the horizon as the light fades away, taking with it, yet another, never to be repeated, retreating, absconding day.

The symbolic meaning of pink is of peace, unequivocal love, pure magic, tenderness and compassion, it is the color worn when one is signing a large check to build schools, housing and hospitals for indigent populations, it is the color of the satin ribbon for remembering those who have succumbed to cancer as well as a notice of the ongoing search for a cure. It would be the color of a Starbucks in the pink coral islands of Turks and Caicos, for no other tint would suffice. Even the gems presenting in the softest wavelength, carry potent, intractable charm, a pink coral ring may be worn when unforgivable miles away from the sea, to bring it nearer, or pink sapphire earrings worn to melt the steeliest mesh over another’s heart, or pink pearls to celebrate the nearly indescribable bliss of summer afternoons, in a rose garden, in a pink lace dress, sipping rosé and watching the butterflies swoop onto the pink lavender. Raspberries, blueberries, beets, cherries and avocado pits, stain our lips and cotton pink, hinting at their superlative, palliative and nurturing qualities, while the flamingos, rose finches and pink robins, lead us to believe that we may have already trespassed into heavenly realms, for pink is the tears of angels, it is the strongest balm for pain, and the fiercest iteration of healing. We might day dream of a white English cottage with baby pink wooden shutters and doors sheltered with blooming magnolia, lilacs and wisteria, or a Parisian apartment with the illumination of a crystal chandelier falling on faded pink Persian carpets, shimmering recklessly off silver vases of café au lait dahlias and shelves filled with ancient Gallimard books. Pink serves as a haunting reminder of the infallible womb of our birth, but it also is a token, to remind us of the pink dust to which we return.🌷

[vennilavee]

golden hour - part II

golden hour masterlist

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Summary: a series of moments when everything sparkles, shines and glitters, just like it’s gold.

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1534

A/N: something different (for me at least). im here for the ride just as much as you are. enjoy. 

As if it’s a twist of fate, as if an unbreakable thread tugs Bucky towards you no matter where you are, Bucky starts seeing you more and more. 

Not that he’s complaining, but he questions it every time it does happen.

One of the few times he’s run into you, it’s at the Costco in East River Plaza. It’s a little far from Brooklyn, but Sam has convinced him that it’ll be worth it. All his grumbling ceases when he wanders in the warehouse.

Sam enjoys the look of curiosity and wonder on his friend’s face when he flashes the greeter his membership card. The industrial setting of the warehouse is oddly calming to him. A sense of peace washes over Bucky as he glances at the various sized television screens. Strangely enough, next to the television screens and computer monitors sits a long case of jewelry with intricate and simple designs of wedding rings, necklaces, and bracelets.

What an odd place to showcase jewelry, he thinks.

He’s drawn to it instantly, unable to take his eyes off the glinting gemstones that seem to call his name. Flashes of ruby red and sapphire blue wink at him, but his eye is caught on diamonds. The diamonds are quiet, less obvious, less flirtatious. But they hold their own sort of quiet beauty.

“Shopping for a special someone?” A voice comes from next to him. It’s the jewelry specialist who works at Costco and Bucky’s heart calms itself.

“Not exactly,” Bucky says with a shrug, “Just looking.” 

The worker nods and leaves him alone. Bucky wanders alone for a little longer, taking in the couches and tables that are scattered throughout the expanse of the store. It’s odd, that such a place can carry so many different types of items.

Bucky finds Sam in the fruit and vegetable section, where he’s sifting through boxes of blueberries, trying to find the right box. Bucky’s been on grocery runs enough times with Sam to know how picky he is about ripeness. ‘If it’s too ripe, then you gotta eat it quickly before it spoils. If it’s not ripe enough, then you gotta wait a little for it to be good. The trick is finding that sweet spot.’ Sam had said when Bucky had questioned him about it.

“Hey, will you grab me some peaches and mangoes? And a roll of everything bagels?” Sam asks. Bucky nods and hopes that Sam is happy with his selection of fruit.

Sam is the pickiest about his fruit, especially his peaches and mangoes. They had to be exactly the right shade of gold, otherwise they weren’t good.

‘It was something my ma taught me.’ Sam had told Bucky.

‘My ma used to let me cook with her sometimes. She wanted a garden of fruit in the backyard, but there was never any space. I think she liked fruit, too. She made a mean apple pie.’ Bucky had remembered vaguely.

‘Bet we can recreate it someday. With this thing called Google. Or Alexa, if that’s your thing.”

Bucky strolls over to the boxes of mangoes, perusing over which set Sam would be satisfied with.

That’s when he catches a glimpse of you. You haven’t seen him yet, but you push your cart towards the mangoes, and your face lights up at the sight of him. You turn your head, undoubtedly wondering if Sam is here, too and you grin when you see him by the avocados.

“Hey, Bucky!” You wave at him, still not quite sure if he’d be comfortable with a hug, “You on mango duty?”

Bucky greets you and says, “Yeah. They can’t be too ripe.”

“Sam’s crazy for his fruit, isn’t he?” You joke, gently prodding the mangoes to check for ripeness as well. You hold the juicy mango in your hand, apparently satisfied with the golden color and the softness of the mango. “Here, take this box. If Sam whines about it, you can blame me.” You wink at him.

Bucky laughs unsurely and scratches the back of his neck. You seem to sense his unease though, and shoot him a smile that’s more tender than the mango in your hand.

“Is this your first time here?” You ask, trying to ease his nerves.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, “Their jewelry selection is right next to their tv screens...” He whispers it to you like it’s a secret.

You are unable to stifle your laugh. “That’s Costco for ya. It’s the greatest place on Earth. They have free samples here all day.”

Bucky’s face lights up at that.

“Wanna go eat our combined weight in samples?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows.

Bucky looks back at Sam, who still hasn’t see you. You call his name and he looks around in confusion, before his eyes land on you.

“Hey, Costco Queen,” Sam greets you with a hug.

Bucky tries not to wonder what that feels like.

“Don’t mock me in my own kingdom,” You joke with him and nudge him with your elbow.

Bucky quietly observes you and the way you speak to Sam so animatedly. With an enthusiasm that only comes with camaraderie. Your face shines as your laughter strikes him with invisible shards of gold.

Why can’t he speak to you? Why is he so quiet? Can’t he get out of his head around you? Why? Why? Why?

“Buck and I were going to get some free samples. Wanna join?” You offer Sam.

Buck. A nickname of a nickname. It sounds sweet, like nectar, coming out of you.

“Nah, you kids enjoy. I’m gonna finish up. I’ll text you when I’m done, Bucky,” Sam waves his hand at you, “Don’t let him hang out in the milk section too long.” The crooked grin on his face and subtle wink he throws you is only slightly mischievous.

You’re someone new. Despite having known Bucky for a little over a year now, it had taken him a while to be comfortable interacting with you. He relaxed significantly when Sam started becoming closer to you, too.

You weren’t just a psychologist at the VA Bucky sometimes went to. You were a friend now.

You continue to ramble about all the reasons you love this wonderful warehouse. Bucky hangs on to your every word, as if you’ve told him some great secret.

As you shove samples into his hands and push your cart along, he finds himself being pulled further into your web made of golden strings.

He realizes he never thanked you for the other night at the charity event.

“Wait,” Bucky says. You pause and turn around, about to grab a piece of dark raspberry chocolate from the sample tray in front of you. “I never-I- Thank you. For the other night.”

Bucky deflates and wants to squeeze his eyes shut. His face is warm and his stomach feels funny. It feels like something is bouncing around inside of him-  eager to burst. The funny feeling travels through his bloodstream quickly, and he is confused when it doesn’t leave him struggling to breathe.

He doesn’t recognize the feeling.  Whatever it is leaves him yearning for you to acknowledge him. To smile at him. To shed some of your golden light onto him.

“No need to thank me, Buck,” You say airily. You flash him a smile- your nose  scrunches and your eyes crinkle. He feels like champagne for a moment- bubbly, airy and fizzy. Bucky wants to float into your smile, if he could. He has the same fleeting, unfamiliar feeling he had when he saw you at the charity ball.

Later, when Bucky is driving back to Brooklyn with Sam after spending close to forty-five minutes with you roaming around Costco and listening to your every word as you fed him samples, he tells Sam about the funny feeling he had-

“I think it was indigestion,” Bucky says plainly, “It felt like my stomach was turning and I was gonna throw up- but it was also like a happy feeling. What the hell is that?”

“Hands felt a little clammy?” Sam asks knowingly and Bucky nods, “Heart kinda jumpy? Kinda shy?” 

Bucky furrows his brows at Sam, who’s gazing at him with a sad sort of smile.

“It’s really been that long, hasn’t it?” Sam asks softly, “I think you have a crush, man.”

A what? 

“You want her attention. I see you look for her when you’re at the VA. You like when she talks to you. You like hanging out with her. You think she’s pretty,” Sam says matter-of-factly.

“But I like hanging out with you-Steve-Natasha- I don’t have a crush on any of  you! Crush... That sounds so childish.”

“I dunno, I always suspected you had a thing for me. I know you dig my baby browns,” Sam teases and Bucky shoves his shoulder, “Fine, it’s not a crush... It’s just you being fond of her.”

Bucky is quiet the rest of the drive home, his mouth etched in a deep frown. 

A crush. How silly. And yet, his tummy flutters with every passing thought of you. Bucky can’t get the thought of you with honey in your eyes, warmth in your voice and sunshine kissing your brown skin.

Bucky sees you everywhere. Or rather, he sees you because he subconsciously goes out of his way to run into you. 

For a former assassin, he sure isn’t bothering to be subtle. But you react the same way every time you see him, whether it’s at a Starbucks, at the VA, at the Avengers compound, at that Thai place in Brooklyn, at the bookstore near the VA in Manhattan- you react with a big smile and honey shooting out of your eyes.

You make it so easy for him to accept the fondness flows through him like silk and satin. He blooms for you, spreading his petals... only for you. You make it easy for him to laugh freely.

His booming, rich laugh sends your heart into a frenzy. When Bucky smiles, a real, genuine, toothy smile, it’s like a sunbeam is cast in your direction. You’re floating through the sky guided by a rogue shooting star and you’ve landed on a cloud whenever Bucky smiles at something you’ve said.

You’d do anything to hear that laugh.

When Bucky had told his therapist about you, not giving your name- you, a psychologist yourself- he had been proud of Bucky. His therapist had said that it was a huge step, admitting to himself of how he felt about you.

Dr. Velazquez knew everything about you from Bucky.  He knew how much Bucky wanted to open himself up more to you, wanted to befriend you as much as he could. He wanted to mold himself to you by the golden thread of your web. He wanted to be present in your luminosity, in the sunset that was your eyes.

His therapist had helped him to better himself independently of you. He’s becoming better because he wanted to.

Even if he can see Steve and Sam’s pride in their eyes. Even if your small smiles and encouraging whispers of ‘I’m proud of you’ make him feel fuzzy.

Even if he doesn’t shine as brightly as maybe he once did, he feels golden, too.

[lasaraleen]

Gemstones, hot coco (but it doesn't have to be Starbucks) flower petals, woolly scarfs, clouds, and fae!

Gem stones: what’s your birthstone/ favorite stone?My birthstone is a Ruby and I think my favorite is either a ruby or a sapphire.Hot coco: favorite Starbucks drink? My favorite coffee shop drink is currently a London Fog, but Starbucks doesn’t make it quite right, only a local coffee shop in my town does. Flower petals: what’s your favorite flower?This ones tough, because I love pretty much all flowers. I love moonflowers a lot...Wooly scarves: what song do you think relates most to you?Phhh this ones good! It really depends on my mood. I would say, for the most part, that Still That Girl by Brit Nicole is very me. So is Work Of Art by the same artist I previously mentioned. I relate a lot to her music and her message of hope.Fae: describe yourself as a fairy.Oooo I think I’d be a woodsfairy, and I’d have a cute pixie cut and I’d wear green dresses all the time and I’d have really delicate wings.Either that, or I would be Merryweather from Sleeping Beauty. Thanks for asking!

[monsterlovinghours]

All of the soft asks 👀

WOW you're literally the sweetest and I love you so much 💖💖💖💖🌸Blankets: Have you been in love? -Yes! Am currently still in love.🌸Stuffies: How did you meet your best friend? -One I met at a college worship service, and the other I met on OkCupid.🌸Fluffy Pillows: What happened in your most recent dream? -Sadly, I very rarely remember my dreams.🌸Scented Candles: How do you relax? -Hot soaks with a bath bomb, lots of orgasms, rain sounds, and retail therapy. Not necessarily in that order. 😉🌸Gem Stones: What’s your birthstone/favourite stone?-My birthstone is sapphire, but my favorite stone is amethyst. I actually have a tattoo of a cluster of amethyst crystals.🌸Pyjamas: Describe your favourite pyjamas!-Black cotton shorts and a tshirt. Add socks in the wintertime. 🌸Fuzzy Socks: What’s your favourite movie?-It (2017) followed closely by Silence of the Lambs.🌸Kittens & Puppies: Name of your pet or your ideal pet? I have two kitties, Ryu and Salem.🌸Laughter: What’s the funniest joke you’ve heard? It wasn't so much a joke as my friend being funny, but not too long ago my friend Chris was over, and at some point one of the potatoes in our pantry had escaped and was just lying on the kitchen floor. About the time we all noticed there was just...a potato, just hanging out, Chris dramatically throws his arms out toward this wayward potato and in an impeccable Irish accent, yells "HENRY ME SON, WHAT WOEFUL FATE HAS BEFALLEN YE? NEVER A FINER LAD THERE WAS IN THE VALLEY." I don't think I took a breath for ten minutes.🌸Mittens: Do you like the snow? I love it!!!🌸Hot Coco: What’s your favourite Starbucks drink? I don't really go to Starbucks that often except for PSL season, so we'll say pumpkin spice.🌸Soft Kisses: Describe your OTP I self-ship a lot, so my OTP is my self-insert Molly and whichever Bill Skarsgard character I'm currently obsessed with. Right now, it's Henry Pearl, the softest of boys. 🌸Rainy Days: What do you do on a rainy day?Open all the windows, put on Brian Crane, drink lots ofntea, and take naps. 🌸Flower Petals: What’s your favourite flower?The iris! It's sort of become a symbol for the women in my family.🌸Cotton Candy: What’s your favourite candy? Reeses, in all its variations.🌸Bubble Baths: Your favourite memory? When I was 18 and my cousins took me to go see The Producers at the Starlight Theatre.🌸Wooly Scarfs: What song do you think relates the most to you? Oh God. I honestly don't know, I relate songs more to characters than to myself. I guess Raglan Road, by the High Kings.🌸Roasted Marshmallows: Your camping with friends! Describe the forest you’re pitching your tent in. Well, it's right next to a lake. The trees aren't very old, and there's still plenty of light because the leaves are starting to turn and fall. We're bundled up in cozy sweaters at night, and the fire is big and bright.🌸Bird Songs: Name 5 things you love 1. The fact that Bill Skarsgard exists2. Roses3. Black cats4. My friends who put up with my bullshit5. My online community🌸Old Books: Do you read? If so, what’s your favourite book series? I do! I really like the Iron Druid series, though offhand I can't remember who writes it. Of course I love Harry Potter, have since 2nd grade. And I really want to get more into the Parasol Protectorate series.🌸Warm Hugs: Who would you love a hug from right now?Bill Skarsgard or Tom Hiddleston. Just wrap this big ol' gangly limbs around me and rock until I forget I was ever sad.🌸Clouds: What’s the best shaped cloud you’ve seen?When I was young, I saw a cloud that was almost exactly shaped like our Christmas tree angel. Also I saw this cool wall cloud a few years ago that actually ended up being a tornado later that night. We chased the damn thing for about seven miles then went drinking. Welcome to Kansas.🌸Fae: Describe yourself as a fairy Chubby, literally always covered in sparkles, purple everything, moth-like wings.🌸Holding Hands: What was the name of your first love? Tobi. 💖🌸Cupcakes: Favourite cupcake flavour? Red velvet 🌸Tealights: Describe a romantic date perfect for you Dinner (doesn't matter where), a walk through the Plaza, kissing by all the fountains-there's a lot of them. End with a drive out to the country with some blankets and a bottle of wine to stargaze. 🌸Gardens: What’s the sweetest gift you’ve received?Last year for Valentine's day, my girlfriend got me a custom book full of 50 things she loved about me. She also gave me this giant jar full of Hershey's kisses, and she said, "There's 365 in there. One for every day I couldn't kiss you." (We were long distance at the time)

[wigglytuph]

🌸 all of the ones u havent done yet

OH BOY HERE COMES THE READMORE

🌸Blankets: Have you been in love?

- sadly lol

🌸Stuffies: How did you meet your best friend?

- a drawing website called sketchfu in like 2010?? 2011?? something like that. and then we all met up irl for the first time this year in july!!!!!!!!

🌸Fluffy Pillows: What happened in your most recent dream?

- OK IVE BEEN MEANING TO TALK ABOUT THIS BUT I THINK I HAD A CONNECTED DREAM WITH SOMEONE??  i dont remember who but i remember having a very specific connection with a person after i woke up who was in the dream with me but like we went to space in a minivan for sketchy government suff and i was like… this is wrong… i gotta do whats right and sabotage all of this… and then i woke up sjdkfhs

🌸Gem Stones: What’s your birthstone/favourite stone?

- opal is my birthstone (october), and my favorite is maybe sapphire

🌸Pyjamas: Describe your favourite pyjamas!

- my DREAM pj’s would be super fuzzy huge pants, maybe even a onesie, but for now in arizona heat i sleep in as little clothing as a person who lives in a house of 5 people can

🌸Kittens & Puppies: Name of your pet or your ideal pet?

- my dog’s name is gidget!!! and idk i dont rly have an ideal name, its something thats gotta just be connected to the dog you know. like some dogs are hanks…. some are cages…… some are humphreys… read the mood quincy

🌸Mittens: Do you like the snow?

- i would die for the snow i used to live in colorado and i fucking miss the snow SO MUCH

🌸Hot Coco: What’s your favourite Starbucks drink?

- im not a coffee guy, i usually get a strawberry frapp or a strawberry acai refresher

🌸Soft Kisses: Describe your OTP

- i dont do OTP’s cuz they make me feel weird sjdkfhksf me and my right hand next

🌸Rainy Days: What do you do on a rainy day?

- go out and jump in the rain bitch tf!!!!!!!

🌸Cotton Candy: What’s your favourite candy?

- STRAWBERRY CREME SAVERS BUT THEY DONT!! FUCKING!!! MAKE EM ANYMORE!!!!!!!!

🌸Bubble Baths: Your favourite memory?

- probably the mbmbam liveshow i went to in california with my friends!!! or meeting my other friends will and gabe the same day and spending all day with them!!! it was a good day

🌸Wooly Scarfs: What song do you think relates the most to you?

- ok this is edgy and emo as fuck but. oh no - marina and the diamonds dont @ me

🌸Roasted Marshmallows: Your camping with friends! Describe the forest you’re pitching your tent in.

-giant trees where you can only barely see the night sky through!!! deep thick forest with lots and lots of trees and logs and stumps to climb on and explore, a creak to splash in, rocks to climb, bugs to find!!

🌸Old Books: Do you read? If so, what’s your favourite book series?

- not rly tbh i used to read the warrior cats books i still have a bunch of the books i got for christmas a long time ago but i dont read a lot

🌸Warm Hugs: Who would you love a hug from right now?

- litterally fucking. anyone. but also gabe my fursona fuck i love that boy

🌸Clouds: What’s the best shaped cloud you’ve seen?

- it looked like yoshi!!!!!!!!! it was so cute

🌸Holding Hands: What was the name of your first love?

- hm hm hm hmh m next question :)

🌸Gardens: What’s the sweetest gift you’ve received?

- litterally everything and everything ive ever gotten i cant rank them im so overjoyed and overcome with happiness whenever someone does something for me !!!

🌸Cupcakes: Favourite cupcake flavour?

-honestly i dont have a preference just no frosting

🌸Tealights: Describe a romantic date perfect for you

- litterally just! cuddle and watch a movie and enjoy eachothers company we dont even have to do anything special just spending time together with someone id love sounds pretty nice

[acekatherineplumber]

I haven’t done asks in a while, so here’s a little ‘About the Blogger’

🌸Blankets: Have you been in love? Yes, and it hurts more than you could ever imagine.

🌸Stuffies: How did you meet your best friend? I met one of my best friends on the playground in 5th grade, and the other in gym class in 7th grade

🌸Fluffy Pillows: What happened in your most recent dream? I couldn’t find my classroom where I teach

🌸Scented Candles: How do you relax? I DON’T. It’s an issue.

🌸Gem Stones: What’s your birthstone/favourite stone? Birthstone, peridot. Favorite, sapphire.

🌸Pyjamas: Describe your favourite pyjamas! Honestly just a t-shirt and leggings

🌸Fuzzy Socks: What’s your favourite movie? The Princess Bride

🌸Kittens & Puppies: Name of your pet or your ideal pet? Three cats, Lily, Luna, and Jet

🌸Laughter: What’s the funniest joke you’ve heard? The un deux trois quatre cinq joke

🌸Mittens: Do you like the snow? I like the idea, but not the reality

🌸Hot Coco: What’s your favourite Starbucks drink? Matcha lemonade

🌸Soft Kisses: Describe your OTP Enjolras/Grantaire, or Cosette/Eponine. What else do you need to know?

🌸Rainy Days: What do you do on a rainy day? Tea, blanket, and a book/Netflix

🌸Flower Petals: What’s your favourite flower? Irises and sunflowers

🌸Cotton Candy: What’s your favourite candy? Vanilla Tootsie Rolls and Justin’s Dark PB Cups

🌸Bubble Baths: Your favourite memory? Studying in France

🌸Wooly Scarfs: What song do you think relates the most to you? It’s constantly changing!

🌸Roasted Marshmallows: Your camping with friends! Describe the forest you’re pitching your tent in. Ew. I hate camping

🌸Bird Songs: Name 5 things you love Les Mis, France, long walks, Indian food, and cats!

🌸Old Books: Do you read? If so, what’s your favourite book series? I do! Definitely Harry Potter.

🌸Warm Hugs: Who would you love a hug from right now? @hoogwoorts and @purplerainbowsrachel

🌸Clouds: What’s the best shaped cloud you’ve seen? Definitely a dragon

🌸Fae: Describe yourself as a fairy A water fairy who is the queen of her world

🌸Holding Hands: What was the name of your first love? Lydia

🌸Cupcakes: Favourite cupcake flavour? I don’t really like cupcakes. Just give me a ton of icing.

🌸Tealights: Describe a romantic date perfect for you Indian food and a Shakespeare play.

🌸Gardens: What’s the sweetest gift you’ve received? Any time that I’ve gotten tickets to a musical.

[isocialfanz]

via Social Media, Mobility, Analytics, Cloud: Tech Show! SMACtalk

On this episode of SMACtalk, Brian Fanzo and Daniel Newman discuss the impact of Artificial Intelligence on the retail space including how Starbucks is leveraging data analytics and AI.  They also breakdown the impact of GDPR but don’t worry this isn’t a full episode on GDPR because as we can all agree we’ve had enough of GDPR for the moment.  

Discussed on this episode:

Do today’s consumers realize that A.I. is already impacting them every single day?

What impact with the GDPR changes have on AI?

How will consumers demands of AI change in 2018?

“Nobody will ever complain that you’re helping them too much or providing too much value!”

Articles referenced in this episode:

Starbucks: Using Big Data, Analytics And Artificial Intelligence To Boost Performance

https://www.forbes.com/sites/bernardmarr/2018/05/28/starbucks-using-big-data-analytics-and-artificial-intelligence-to-boost-performance/2/#19cc302e5531

Stitch Fix: The Amazing Use Case Of Using Artificial Intelligence In Fashion Retail

https://www.forbes.com/sites/bernardmarr/2018/05/25/stitch-fix-the-amazing-use-case-of-using-artificial-intelligence-in-fashion-retail/#54cb012a3292

State of Digital Transformation Report

https://futurumresearch.com/futurum-2018-digital-transformation-index/

S.M.A.C.talk the podcast launched in 2014 and over those 3 years hosts Daniel Newman and Brian Fanzo have covered topics that included Big Data, Digital Transformation, Social Selling, Data Center Migration, Millennial Marketing, Digital Marketing, live streaming video, customer experience and everything else impacting today's technology world.

SMACtalk became much more than just a podcast as every episode is live streamed via Facebook Live and Periscope while also going live to technology events such as Mobile World Congress, IBM developer conference, CES, SXSW, HP Discovery, SAP Sapphire and other technology events.  Past sponsors of the podcast include IBM, SAP, SAP Store, Avnet, Adobe and currently Cisco.

Hosted by Brian Fanzo @iSocialFanz and Daniel Newman @DanielNewmanUV

Visit Dan’s speaker page at: www.DanielNewmanSpeaks.com

Visit Brian’s speaker page at: www.iSocialFanz.com/Speaker

Host emails DNewman@broadsuite.com Brian@iSocialFanz.com

[adamgdooley]

Panaya and Tricentis Deliver First Platform for Autonomous SAP Business Process Testing

Platform Accelerates SAP Business Process Testing and Eliminates Manually Engineered Test Scripts – Fully Automating Testing in SAP Environments.

Tricentis, leader in software test automation, and Panaya, the leader in SaaS-based test management, today announced a first-in-industry platform for autonomous software testing in SAP environments.  Autonomous SAP testing generates SAP business process tests automatically, diving deep into applications and using Machine Learning to observe and understand patterns in end user transactions. Comprehensive test algorithms observe real interactions between the user and the system, leverage Machine Learning to determine the top usage patterns eliminating redundant regression testing, and report when changes in the SAP environment could impact critical business processes.  The platform integrates best-of-breed testing technologies Tricentis Tosca, which provides test automation for continuous testing, and Panaya Test Center, which provides cloud-based end-to-end test management.

Autonomous SAP testing solves the dilemmas faced in both automated and manual test methodologies. Automated testing has had limited enterprise-wide adoption, while manual testing is slow and difficult to manage. Autonomous SAP testing spans test conception through validation, addressing all aspects of the functional testing lifecycle, including discovery, execution, acceleration and test management. The outcome of the analysis is a comprehensive set of use cases that reflect actual business usage, which is critical in verifying how SAP updates impact critical business processes.  As a result, new or changed SAP business processes can be introduced to the market faster and with reduced business risk.

The Tricentis and Panaya SAP testing platform is the culmination of joint research and development focused on the autonomous generation of a comprehensive and efficient suite of tests.  Organizations using the platform can automatically protect critical business processes and the end-users’ experience even as usage patterns change.  The platform creates a blueprint of what to test, leveraging AI to observe user-system interactions and automatically converting usage patterns into automated and repeatable business process tests that cover multiple layers of the application architecture. Furthermore, it creates regression tests that detect defects that could impact critical business processes when the application or the application’s dependencies change.  The result is autonomous, continuous testing that remains in lock-step with changes in business processes.

According to the Gartner Magic Quadrant, for Software Test Automation, “IT organizations struggle to move from the tactical task of testing software as part of a distinct phase or activity — and often done manually — to a more automated form of QA that essentially requires no human intervention… Ultimately, tests must demonstrate that applications not only work, but satisfy real business requirements.”*

*Gartner, Magic Quadrant for Software Test Automation, 15 November 2016

Powered by innovative machine learning, autonomous SAP testing eliminates manually engineered scripts and enables zero-touch test case creation and maintenance. The solution ensures that Quality teams can protect critical business processes by observing actual usage behavior from production. These observations from production are then converted into automated scriptless test cases. This automation accurately reflects actual usage patterns, eliminating the challenge of business knowledge transfer.

Key Capabilities of Autonomous SAP Testing

Change impact analysis

Lights out discovery for optimized regression test suites

Lights out test automation

Process automation and acceleration of manual testing with test evidence and collaborative tools

Requirements traceability and defect management

Process-centric Test Management with dashboards and advanced analytics

“Delivering innovation frequently without compromising quality requires a Next generation end-to-end testing platform.” Said Jake Klein, CEO of Panaya.

“While traditional solutions such as HPQC don’t engage business users and lack business process visibility, Autonomous Testing by Panaya and Tricentis addresses all aspects of a modern testing suite including automated process discovery, automatic test execution, manual test acceleration and test management. Today customers achieve up to a 50% reduction in test cycle time utilizing Panaya Test Center, and with Autonomous Testing we expect even greater efficiency and coverage “

“Tricentis and Panaya co-developed this breakthrough in testing to relieve SAP key users from the burden of manually creating, executing, and maintaining business process tests,” said Wolfgang Platz, Founder and CPO of Tricentis. “A recent survey of the SAP installed base found that approximately 72 percent of SAP installations are verified with manual tests.  This slows the pace of innovation and injects a tremendous amount of risk into the release process.  Our autonomous SAP testing delivers fully automated business process tests for regression testing. This is critical for reducing risk while accelerating the release of critical business functionality.  But more so, this joint offering is the missing link to helping organizations accelerate transformative business processes without increasing risk.”

For More Information

Panaya and Tricentis will showcase Autonomous SAP Testing at SAPPHIRE 2017 to be held May 16-18, 2017, in Orlando. As a Diamond Sponsor Panaya (An Infosys company) will address multiple topics including SAP Testing for S/4HANA. Panaya will exhibit at booth 700. Tricentis will exhibit at booth 1337 For more information, visit either Panaya (http://go.panaya.com/sap-sapphire-now-2017.html) or Tricentis (https://www.tricentis.com/autonomous-sap-testing-sapphire/)

About Panaya

With Panaya, an Infosys company, organizations can accelerate application change and continuous delivery of innovation. Panaya provides cloud based test management, test automation and application lifecycle solutions that ensure collaboration between the business and IT. Enabling faster release velocity while ensuring quality, Panaya delivers an optimized user experience with end to end visibility of the application lifecycle.. Since 2008, 1,600 companies in 62 countries, including a third of the Fortune 500, have been using Panaya to deliver quick quality change to enterprise applications.

About Tricentis

Tricentis, the Continuous Testing Company, specializes in agile market leading software testing tools for enterprises. We help Global 2000 companies adopt DevOps and gain success by achieving automation rates of over 90%. Our integrated software testing solution, Tricentis Tosca, consists of a unique Model-based Test Automation and Test Case Design approach, encompassing risk-based testing, test data management and provisioning, service virtualization, and more. Prominent analysts have recognized us as a Leader in both Software Test Automation and in Functional Automation Tools, with Model-based Test Automation as our standout feature.

Tricentis’ 400+ customers include global names from the Top 500 brands such as HBO,  Toyota, Allianz, BMW, Starbucks, Deutsche Bank, Lexmark, Orange, A&E, Vantiv, Vodafone, Telstra and UBS. For regular news and information about Tricentis and the automated testing market, like and follow the company on:

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