#last year I looked forward to ghosts more than opening presents

[outofconcheol]

Exit West (LMH x F!Reader) - Teaser

pairing: Minho x f!reader (afab) genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, post-apocalyptic au (based on the Netflix series Sweet Home), 18+ summary: Even when the world is plunged into its darkest hour, you find the faintest light in Minho.

warnings: mentions blood and injuries, food scarcity

word count: 580 for the teaser, anticipated 3k-4k for fic

a/n: happy valentines day, i'm here to break your heart! this was just an idea I had after I finished Sweet Home 2 (let's not talk about it ok). i'm not sure when this will be out, but i am trying to work on it every day so pls look forward to it (and let me know if you want to be tagged)!

The sharp wire of the metal fence cuts into Minho’s palms, digging into his mottled skin, and he braces himself for the jump. Leaping over, Minho lands silently on his feet, skills honed from many years of observing his cats take the same leap from couches or counters. But none of that existed anymore.

His eyes remain sharp, taking in the cover of woods around him, and he remembers that while the trees helped him stay hidden, they hid the monsters from his sight as well. No sooner than he’s managed to calm down the ever-present racing of his heart, he’s swinging the door to the bunker open, closing it quietly behind him.

Wincing, he examines the cuts on his palms, tinged with dirty specks of rust. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this, knowing the small supply of rubbing alcohol he’d managed to collect over the past few months was now down to the last bottle. And there was no more to be found.

The small bit of sunlight that streams in through the barely-qualifying window illuminates your sleeping figure nestled amongst a pile of dirty blankets, and Minho almost hesitates to disturb you like this. You look so peaceful like this, a stark contrast to the emptiness that fills your eyes when you wake, the pain of living through two starkly different lifetimes contained in their depths. He knows his eyes hold the same.

“___,” he shakes you awake gently, watching you stir. The gashes that mar your face have begun to scab over, leaving ugly scars in their wake.

“I brought dinner.”

That gets you to jolt up, rubbing sleepily at your eyes. 

“Are you okay? Anything hurt?” You shake your head, a small frown on your face when you see the fresh red marks that litter his palms. He has the feeling you’re lying to him again, but he doesn’t push it. A lot went unspoken between you two.

Minho wordlessly hands you over a full sleeve of crackers, your eyes lighting up. You chomp down eagerly on one, before pausing, holding it out to him.

“I already ate,” he lies, knowing he didn’t want you to sacrifice any kind of meal for his sake. He’d eat the less full sleeve when you fell back asleep.

Moments of silence pass between you, the soft sounds of your eating lulling Minho’s tired eyes to fall, becoming heavy with sleep. He rests his head on his knees, fighting back the shiver that night brought with it. 

A deafening roar breaks through the stillness, and you freeze, dropping the crackers to the ground. Minho is by your side in an instant, hand tentatively reaching out towards your shoulder. But he never closes the gap.

“Ten seconds,” you croak out, so softly that Minho thinks he might not have heard you. “If the distance that sounds travel is 343 metres per second, then ten seconds means that it’s far enough away from us.”

The ghost of a smile twitches at Minho’s lips, and he wants to praise your sharp skills, considering he’d only ever been a pabo, but you’ve turned around and fallen asleep again, your back to him.  Minho settles into the blankets across from you, watching you for a few minutes before his body is weighed down by the exhaustion of the day, knowing the exact same thing waited tomorrow.

The end of the world was more boring than he’d expected it to be.

a/n pt 2: i hope you’re as excited as I am! i don't really have an anticipated release date for this, but it's just something i'm working on for fun!

[candy-floss-consumer]

Hello every-sprout! My most recent event!fic was supposed to be my last one of the year, but when @zelda-the-sacred-realm announced an artist/writer event for their wonderful comic, I really couldn’t resist!

My event piece is based largely on the presently available chapters of the comic. I saw the weeping goddess statue in Chapter 2, Part 7 and the writing creature in my brain immediately began frothing at the mouth. This short story takes place shortly before the beginning of the main comic, with a lot of foreshadowing toward certain parts of said comic.

I know there is a lot of available information, but I wrote most of this before remembering that the archive existed, haha. (I did take a peak at the post of how ToTK may affect the story, though, given that I chose dondons as their ranch animal of choice.)

*As a note, as there are sentient Lizalfos seen in Chapter 2, Part 5, I played with the idea of different, kinder Lizalfolk who have no desire to be manipulated by the cycle of darkness.

I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Looking forward to how the rest of the Sacred Realm legend plays out! Much love 💕

SUMMARY:

Goddess Hylia has shed her tears for many of her children. The Goddess statues dotting Hyrule’s vast landscape and the statuettes held in many hands bring those tears into the mortal realm in order to heal wounds. According to legend, only the pleas of the righteous can bring them forth. But unknown to all, now that her powers have waned, only a Spirit of the Hero can reach her.

Still, the Goddess has other ways to help her people.

[Submission under the cut:]

a bit of warmth to you

a Zelda: The Sacred Realm Event!fic

     The tears of the Goddess had always been known to heal. Brought into the mortal realm by the statues made in her image, the myths surrounding the miraculous substance were nigh infinite. Fables that—in ancient times—ensured that any traveller with a shred of faith kept a statuette on their person. For safety. For assurance. For the day that they were brought to their knees. 

Or worse.

Pala’s great-grandma still kept one in her pocket on rainy days. On the desolate nights that her mother, Great-Great Grandma Cala, had marked the old cycle of the Blood Moon. Even now Pala could understand why she did it. On nights like those, every kind of ghost story felt real. 

She remembered snuggling up to Grams’ side in the old, creaky sofa still kept here in the summer house, a shiver barely touching the tip of her spine. The blinds to the window the sofa was placed adjacent to were cracked open just enough to see a sliver of the moon. Haunting as it was beautiful. Back then, her knees, young and knobby, would knock against her great-grandma’s with every fearful jolt. But Grams never said a word. Her gaze would flicker only from the statuette next to the old, weathered journal on the table to the silent vision of the moon above.

The sight of the eternally weeping goddess still stuck to the back of her mind, despite the many years that had passed since then.

She had gifted one to Pala at the end of her fifteenth summer. And despite Pala herself holding little belief in its power, she could not deny the comfort that the sight of the little statuette brought.

Unlike her great-grandma’s personal carving, this one was made of ivory. Likely sourced from a horn shedding one of their bucks had shucked off two winters before. Dondons were easy like that. Once their horn was detached, the shedding was no more important to them than a mildly interesting rock. Grandpa Dan had always claimed that was why their family had picked up ranching them. The horns were valuable. Easy to obtain if someone did it right. And dondons themselves were amicable animals.

The carving of the statuette was not shoddy by any means. It was actually quite beautiful. Made with more detail and skill than she had expected from her great-grandmother, given her arthritis. But Pala could tell there was a slight difference between hers and the one made of old kokiri wood Grams always carried.

Namely, the lack of tear tracks scorched into its face.

Even now she can picture the strangely perfect markings burnt into aged kokiri wood. Symmetrical. Down to the stray tear on either cheek. An impossible feat for human hands. The ivory statuette tucked away in the pouch at her hip had no such detail. 

But she knew better than to ask.

Pala rolled her shoulders, warding off the stiffness she could feel threatening to seep in. She needed to get moving anyhow. Heaven knows what Grams would say if she saw her still loitering around the front door at this hour. The sun was already tipping past the horizon line as it was.

She finished adjusting her breeches, tapping the heels of her boots a few times to get them fitting just right. Once everything was snug, she pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool morning air. It wouldn’t last for long, given the natural humidity in this region, but it was the best way to start the day. It made the gradual increase in heat more bearable. To Pala, at least.

She marched off the porch, grabbing a sputter lantern as she did so. Even with the sun pulling the sky into hues of purple and pink, the old stallhouse in the paddock hardly had an open ‘window’ for it to show through.

Their field in Upper Faron was quite a bit of land. It was less open than the one down near Lurelin, but it still had plenty of room. Most of the crowding came from the native flora. Crawling thickets and towering durian trees made it feel as if someone had built a low roof over the whole place. Not that the dondons cared any. They were short, heavyset animals with plenty of food to eat at their eye level. As far as they were concerned, the local thickets were an all-you-can-eat buffet. Another point of ease in their care, really.

Pala grunted as Lunal, the heifer in the stall closest to her, bumped into her keg with an unhappy snort.

“Fine, fine,” she placated, smoothing her hand over the beast’s blunt snout, “I get it. It’s scrub time.”

Lunal gave her the best estimation of a droll look that a dondon could perform. It was quite impressive actually. Pala shook her head with a laugh, lifting her scrub brush up to the beast’s back and getting to work.

══════════════════

     Pala looked down the field toward the river at the sound of a familiar shout. It was now about midday, and the sunlight easily permeated through the surrounding flora, allowing her to see. There, on the other side, was a quickly approaching Lizalfolk woman. As she grew closer, the clearer her features became. 

It was Talon. A Lizalfolk fisherwoman who had been a friend of the family for decades. Since around the time Great-Great Grandma Cala was girl, if she remembered right. Pala often thought of her as a sort of maternal figure. She was a mature woman. Confident and sturdy. 

Pala watched as she climbed up the small incline in a few short leaps. Almost as if she was in a rush. Pala had never seen her move so quick outside of fishing.

“Get Erta,” Talon grunted as she came to a stop in front of her. The panic that reflected in her eyes was unusual. Pala’s stomach twisted at the sight of it. When she hesitated, Talon frowned. “Now, Palais.” 

The intensity of her voice was alarming. But Pala nodded anyway and turned on her heel, rushing to the house. 

It felt like an omen. Like a warning. Briefly, she wondered about the town. About Hyrule itself. Hopefully, the royal family had received a warning as well. They were kind, as far as Pala knew. And they ruled well. It didn’t sit right with her that only she and her family would know. 

Though she wasn’t sure how they would be told about whatever was happening, but she was sure they could find out somehow. There was no way a bunch of dondon ranchers would be the only ones in Hyrule to be warned. 

Besides, didn’t heroes show up in times like this? It certainly felt like they should. Pala had never felt so nervous in her life.

She felt out of breath by the time she made it to the house. The door was already open, the muffled sound of Gram’s low voice easily heard. She sped inside.

Grams turned at the sound of her footsteps. She took one look at Pala’s face and frowned, sighing as she retrieved her cane.

“Talon—” She started. Grams waved her off, already limping toward the door. She glanced back for a moment. She gestured toward the outdoors with her chin.

“Let’s go, Palais.”

Pala nodded. She trotted forward, gently helping Grams walk as she guided her back to the lower hill. Talon remained where she had left her. The frown on her face must have remained the entire duration Pala was gone.

“Talon,” Erta leaned heavily on her cane as she approached the woman.

“Erta,” she returned quickly. She glanced behind herself, her eyes flickering across the empty plain. “You should move the herd early this season.”

Pala blinked in surprise. They had never changed fields so early. Not when the weather was so pleasant. At least, not to her memory.

Her great-grandma gave the fisherwoman a long, hard look.

“Dan won’t like it.”

“He doesn’t have to.” Talon glanced backwards again. “The thought of an adventure will win him over.”

Pala looked too, though she didn’t see anything. It was unlike Talon to be so jumpy. Yet she was. Pala returned her gaze to the fisherwoman as she spoke again.

“Besides,” Her gaze flickered toward the field Granddan was likely in, “The fresh Lurelin air would do him some good, too.”

Talon wasn’t wrong. Every trip back to Lurelin was always an adventure. It was never a guarantee just who someone could meet on the road. Nor could someone really predict the weather or how the terrain had changed in the past six months. Pala distinctly remembered a time when the river had moved, blindsiding the three of them.

The conversation continued, pulling her from her thoughts.

“What about you?” Grams asked. The natural follow up in a situation such as this. Pala glanced at Talon from her place at her great-grandma’s side. She wanted to know the answer, too. The fisherwoman shook her head. Pala frowned.

“Rivers are in my blood. You know that.”

Grams sighed. Her shoulders sunk, her mouth opening as she looked down, “Take care of yourself.”

“I always do.” Talon assured. Then, she turned her eyes to Pala. Her gaze flickers to the hilt of the throwing dagger at Pala’s hip. “Don’t forget what I taught you, Palais.”

A stone sunk into her stomach. Talon’s words felt less like a brief farewell and more like she might never see her again.

“I don’t think I could even if I tried,” she tried to smile, but she was sure it appeared more like a grimace. It was the best she could do. When Talon returned it, Pala didn’t say anything about how sad it looked.

The fisherwoman gave her an approving nod. Then, she looked back to Pala’s great-grandma. Despite the sincerity of her words, they sounded brittle. 

“May we meet again, my friend.” 

When Pala glanced at her, Grams smile had stiffened. She made the impossible promise anyway.

“Until then.”

══════════════════

     Grams had been right. Granddan was not happy about moving the herd. No matter how her great-grandmother had played it off as an adventure like Talon had suggested. Pala had always known that Granddan had been an adventurer when he was young. Peddling dondon ivory and the like as he went searching for anything that piqued his interest. He even claimed that a boy he’d met would one day grow up to be the Hero talked about in the old legends. Grandma Malta had called that particular claim hogwash all the way up to her deathbed, but for the first time in nearly a decade, Pala hoped it was true.

Hyrule might just need a hero right now.

She stayed quiet as she shuffled around the kitchenette, listening in as predictably, Granddan disagreed with the spontaneity of the plan. He didn’t like changing things so abruptly. And to be perfectly honest, neither did Grams. Which was probably what actually bothered him. Something about this entire situation had forced Grams’ hand. She would have never agreed to Talon’s suggestion otherwise.

“You understand this doesn’t make a lick of sense, don’t you?” Granddan asked, the question nearly rhetorical. Pala glanced at the pair just in time to see Grams raise a single, thick brow.

“And since when has ‘sense’ meant so much to you?” She rolled her shoulders, continuing her work and packing things away. “Don’t forget who raised you, boy.”

Granddan grumbled a bit under his breath.

“Guess I’ll have to head into town to send a courier down to Lachlan,” he spoke up, already turning toward the front door. Pala quickly looked back at the counter, hoping she wasn’t caught listening in. Granddan’s snort told her otherwise. She lifted her gaze. There weren’t that many private conversations in their little house, anyway.

“Don’t.” Grams called out before he took more than two steps. Granddan whipped black around, his brows drawn together in consternation.

“Whaddya mean, ‘don’t?’ He’s gotta know we’re coming.” Her grandfather made to turn back toward the door again. Grams wasn’t having any of it.

“I said, don’t.”

“You gotta start making sense sometime, Ma!” Granddan hissed. He gave up, marching over to one of the dining chairs and dropping into it with a heavy thud.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, Danel.” Grams pointed the knitting needle in her hand at him as she spoke. Wisely, Pala continued to stay quiet as the two ‘argued.’ Grams continued, “And it’ll make sense when it makes sense. It isn’t as if Lachlan puts anyone up in our old hut anyhow.”

Pala peered at Granddan, waiting to see what he would say. In the short silence that followed, Grams put her knitting away. When Pala glanced back at her, she saw that she had pulled the old calendar book from Great-Great Grandma Cala. Granddan had clearly caught sight of it. He didn’t say anything, but the frown on his face deepened. He looked to Pala just as she returned her gaze to him.

“C’mon Pala-girl,” Granddan said instead of what he so clearly wanted to, “Ol’ Kilo won’t listen to anybody ‘cept you.”

“Yessir,” Pala said as she, too, turned fully toward the front door. “Though, I think s’just ‘cause he don’t like you all that much, Granddan.”

Granddan sniffed.

“Maybe he would if he made better choices.”

“Don’t put him up in the stall next to the hutch, then.” Grams called out from behind them. Granddan couldn’t deny that she had a point. Pala figured he would refute it despite that. After all, dondons weren’t meant to eat cuccoo eggs. Kilo did it anyway.

“He should know better!” Granddan called back.

Pala thought to herself that Kilo did, in fact, know better. He just liked getting a rise out of Granddan. Just like his sire once did. She briefly wondered if her grandpa actually did know about Kilo’s tricks before quickly discarding the idea. If Granddan knew, he wasn’t letting on.

“C’mon Granddan,” Pala tugged on his arm, “I’ll even let you have Helt’s pasture.” She watched her offer work like a treat, the irritated look in Granddan’s eyes disappearing almost immediately. He patted her on the head.

“You’re a blessing straight from the goddesses, Pala-girl.”

“Course I am. I had you to raise me, didn’t I?”

Granddan laughed.

“That y’did, Pala-girl, that y’did.”

══════════════════

     Talon wasn’t there to see them off a few days later. Something about it seemed wrong to Pala, though the fisherwoman wasn’t always around to say goodbye most times anyhow. But a lot of things were different this time around. The way they felt watched when she came to them, her suggestion early move, Grams allowing the early move—nothing added up. Not really. It made Pala worry.

But Grams had been strict in their preparations. There was no time to go searching for her. Worse yet, a storm seemed to be approaching from the west. If they left now, they could probably outrun it. And mauve that had been Talon’s plam all along. Even if it felt like there was something more to it. But leaving now gave Pala no time to do anything else. No time to say goodbye. Not to the townspeople or the other Lizalfolk Pala knew. There just wasn’t enough.

That was what rattled her most.

Pala sighed, checking over the doors and windows in the house one last time. Granddan was out securing the last of the tarps, and the cuccoos were already caged up in the back wagon with Grams. She was the last one left. And terribly, she had the strangest feeling it would be the last time she was. The summer house wouldn’t be here when they got back.

At least not the way it looked now.

She shook her head. Stepping out into the late morning sun, she reached back to pull the door closed. It slotted almost perfectly into the frame. Each half of the latch mechanism lined up, clinking together as she moved the latchbolt into place. Her hand lingered for a moment. The other reached into the pocket with her ivory statuette of Hylia, holding tightly around the well-carved object.

Pala closed her eyes.

The prayer was short. But it didn’t need to be long. All Pala needed was safe passage and the promise of reunion. So that was what she asked for. The statuette sat warm in her hand, though she couldn’t tell for sure if it was the warmth of summer or an answer. She chose to believe the latter.

Her eyes opened.

“C’mon Pala-girl!” Granddan called from the driver’s seat of the front cart. She glanced over at the caravan. The entire herd was present, ready to follow Kilo and Lunal, the dame and darrow. Squinting, she could see that the two were already harnessed up. “Sun’ll only get hotter!”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Pala jogged up to the front cart, climbing into the seat next to her grandfather. Looking at the well-trodden path ahead of her, she could easily imagine they were going out on an adventure. Out to save the world, though it really only felt like they were saving the herd. Still, the thought made her feel a bit better about leaving. 

Two clicks and a familiar whistle later, they were off.

As the wagon rumbled over the ancient, weathered road, Pala felt the statuette in her pocket pulse once more with warmth. It was of little comfort, though it did soothe her nerves a bit. The distant clouds were suddenly just a bit lighter.

As if everything would somehow be alright.

[doiefics]

no regrets

pairing: jihoon x gn!reader

prologue: when you finally open up your heart, jihoon has a logic. perhaps things can be made better at a ghosted book store.

genre: fluff + friends to lovers

wordcount: 897

warnings: slight age difference even though both are adults

"No! That's mine!" You whined at the older male as he teased you by threatening to devour the chocolate bar in his hands.

"Maybe it was." He commented, emphasising on the past tense.

"If you don't give it to me I won't think twice before ruining your white shirt with this weird mix of yellow, blue and green paint. It's acrylic." You warned him with an evil smirk.

"Will you?" He teased you again.

You inched your paintbrush's tip dangerously close to his clothing, and Jihoon's eyebrows started to furrow in response.

"There you go, all right." He gave in right away.

He offered you a bite since your hands were preoccupied with the colours in front of you.

"Don't drop it, they are gonna charge you for the amends." He warned you in a whisper. Perhaps painting at a bookstore was a bad idea.

"Nobody is listening, there's no one here." You spoke casually.

The atmosphere was filled with the smell of old paper and wood emanating from the dozen shelves that were arranged all around you. Jihoon leaned against one of them, using it to support his back while you sat next to him. The owner of the place wouldn't mind you two being there when no one else was here either, you were never the type to draw on books.

You had known Jihoon ever since you were a toddler, he was your neighbour's son. Even though he was four years older than you, you both enjoyed great chemistry.

The differences in preferences, from conversation topics to lifestyle choices, were noticeable in the younger years but given the present time they were more or less similar, you both were now adults, after all. 

Jihoon's attention from his book was diverted at the sight of you struggling to keep your hair in place. 

"Did you shampoo your hair today?" He mocked again but his laughter was quickly brought to an end as you raised the brush again.

"Which book are you reading?" You leaned your head to the side to have a better look as you peered into the pages.

"Something your dumb brain wouldn't understand." He spoke, without lifting his eyes from the words that were tying down all his interest.

"Tskk!" You voiced as your hair flicks slid through and in front of your eyes, again, caused by the motion of the head

Jihoon closed his book, tipped his body in your direction, and reached out to tuck your hair back in place.

His face was close, albeit not too close or too far away, giving you a view of his face. In a snap of a moment, you felt different, even though on the inside you knew you had been suppressing what you felt for him.

Ever since you came of age, Jihoon seemed more than just a friend. 

As he fixed your hair, you poked the heart-shaped mole on his cheek. He made eye contact with you and grinned in response to your action.

Maybe this was the right time.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his soft, pink ones. It was only a peck. The two of you paused for a brief second, not moving. You softly slammed your lips to his again, this time the contact lasted longer, the lips started to move in sync with each other, eyes closed and an odd surge of hormones was coursing through your body.

Jihoon abruptly pulled back as he shook his head. "No!" He breathed, his eyes never meeting yours. "This is not right, Y/N. You’re younger than me." He reasoned. 

"I'm an adult. I know what I am doing." You protested back.

"I'm four years older than you!" His voice held emotions.

You backed off, showing him a subtle yet apologetic smile. "If you think that's right."

Jihoon was buried in thought, so he remained silent for the next few minutes, increasing your tension. Would this act end all of your past dynamics? For some reason, however, your gut held no regrets. 

The hands of the clock moved to indicate the passing of more time. Silence still prevailed, and you joined Jihoon in staring into a blank space.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked.

"About us." He said.

"Huh?" You gained back your focus.

"This is so wrong." He repeated. 

"I'm sorry. let's just forget it happened-"

He cut you off. "I can't convince my heart." He confessed.

"I like you Y/N, but I can't help but think of how wrong it would be."

"Why would it be wrong?" You questioned again, proceeding to give him a reason by yourself. "We are both adults, and what's wrong with loving each other? It's not a crime." You explained.

"The age difference. What if you regret being with me after some years?" Jihoon was very emotional yet serious about this.

"Then I'll have to call you grandpa for the rest of our lives." You said playfully, taking his hand in yours. 

"No regrets." You promised.

"No regrets." He repeated as he opened his arms, and heart for you.

You wasted no time in falling into his embrace, without taking notice of one thing. The paint.

"This was my favourite shirt!" He whined, again. 

"Oops." You pouted.

Jihoon took the brush away from your hand, using it to make a heart shape on your cheek, making you both blush like idiots.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

[macravishedbymactavish]

Equinox (Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! Reader)

TW for symptoms of depression and mental illness. It has some loving fluff, though!

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2 Masterlist |

Loving Simon definetly wasn't an easy task, it was never linear or smooth. Some days it reminded you of skateboarding down a sidewalk, the small bumps in the concrete vibrating the wood under your feet. Other days, a ship sailing through a storm. Find something stable to grasp onto and hold on tight until the storm resolves. Hills and valleys, loving someone is a series of hills and valleys.

Loving someone who lost their way, felt an equinox.

Summers bringing warmth, new growth, lasting memories. Never wanting to stay inside for too long, late nights spent talking, cuddling and planning your future as the air smoothly dropped in temperature.

Winters bringing a stark reminder that you'll never quite know what you have until it's gone. The warmth replaced by chilling winds, the world now hidden under a blanket of white. Beautiful to look at, but motivated you to stay inside under warm blankets. Listening to storm warnings as you planned the holidays with family and friends. Who's hosting, what should I bring.

One could argue that both times of year had positives and negatives (sunburns vs frost bite, bugs vs ice); this never seemed to help the phases between when you knew change was coming. When all you could focus on is the positives you're going to miss, and the negatives coming down the line.

For him, summer was filled with laughter and a touch of happiness. It was a time of personal growth, he'd leave the door to his heart open just a crack. Enough for you to peek in, whisper words of affirmation, give him the smile that makes him melt. He loved with everything he was willing to give, basking in the feeling. Things just felt lighter.

Without much warning, after a short autumn -- his winter would come. A storm kickstarting the season full force. He would sleep more, a few more hours each day until he realized:

It's getting bad again.

Winter was heavy, much like the wet snow in the driveway. His bone marrow replaced with led, his mind transported to the past, his heart colder than the weather outside. Memories of what was followed him during every waking hour, reminded him of the life fate had chosen. God, what he would do to not be the main character for once.

With tortured eyes, he would watch you suffer the consequences of such an abrupt change in season. Emotional whiplash that caught you off guard, even years later. You would never admit to him how much it hurt, having him withdraw from you entirely. From sharing body warmth between the sheets, to barely being in the same room. You would never tell him how difficult it was to love him. Because loving someone who's bound to a life of loss, without losing yourself in the process is a near impossible task.

But anything is possible if you put your mind to it.

"Tom used to sit like that all the time, could never understand how it was comfortable" he commented once, spring on his horizon. This was the first time he told you anything about Tommy, about his family. You froze in shock, the offhand comment reminding you how little you knew about your lovers backstory. The guilt that followed ate you alive for days.

From that day forward, he would give you small seeds of information. Nothing major at first, mostly small parallels he made between his past and his present.

Sounds like what Tommy always said

Mum always loved those flowers. Would comment on 'em everytime when we passed the flower shop

While still a rarity, and mostly superficial observations you cherished every piece of his past he entrusted to you. It took more will power than you were proud of to keep yourself from asking the burning questions in your mind. Wanting to know more about those he cherishes in his memory; heart begging to help him carry on their memories. But you never pushed. He'll let you in when he's ready.

Simon would never admit it, but you brushed off on him in the time you spent loving him. Rubbed away some of the hardened mud and blood that caked over his soul. Let a little bit of light shine in to the darkened room; dare he say it you started making him hopeful again. In his eyes, it was nothing major. Softly whispering "when I come home..." instead of "if I come home" before being deployed. He'd stopped shutting down the ever ongoing questions about marriage asked by distant friends as quick, now playing it off with a light shrug. You became his ray of sun through the clouds. Never faltering, never allowing yourself to be closed off by the clouds, and somehow reminding him of all the love you think he deserves.

You made him think of the future again. One without an assignment leading him through every point, one where he felt at peace again. One where he would grow old, complaining of joint pains and asking when the grandkids would be coming by again.

You became his anchor in the storm that was his mind. When the nightmares from his upbringing and memories from missions would sink their claws into his conscience -- the thought of you kept him above water. Kept him sane.

Simon was your destiny, your endgame. Through hell or high water he was yours. You've never had a partner quite like him. You've never had an equinox.

Loving Simon wasn't always an easy task... but love never is.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[theficblog]

NO REGRETS

PARK JIHOON

Prologue: When you finally open up your heart, Jihoon has a logic. Perhaps things can be made better at a ghosted book store.

Genre: Fluff + Friends to Lovers

Wordcount: 888

Warnings: Slight age difference even though both are adults

"No! That's mine!" You whined at the older male as he teased you by threatening to devour the chocolate bar in his hands.

"Maybe it was." He commented.

"If you don't give it to me I won't think twice before ruining your white shirt with this weird mix of yellow, blue and green paint. It's acrylic." You warned him with an evil smirk.

"Will you?" He teased you again.

You inched your paintbrush's tip dangerously close to his clothing, and Jihoon's eyebrows started to furrow in response.

"There you go, all right." He gave in right away.

He offered you a bite since your hands were preoccupied with the colours in front of you.

"Don't drop it, they are gonna charge you for the amends." He warned you in a whisper. Perhaps painting at a bookstore was a bad idea.

"Nobody is listening, there's no one here." You spoke casually.

The atmosphere was filled with the smell of old paper and wood emanating from the dozen shelves that were arranged all around you. Jihoon leaned against one of them, using it to support his back while you sat next to him. The owner of the place wouldn't mind you two being there when no one else was here either, you were never the type to draw on books.

You had known Jihoon ever since you were a toddler, he was your neighbour's son. Even though he was four years older than you, you both enjoyed great chemistry. The differences in preferences, from conversation topics to lifestyle choices, were noticeable in the younger years but given the present time they were more or less similar, you both were now adults, after all. 

Jihoon's attention from his book was diverted at the sight of you struggling to keep your hair in place. 

"Did you shampoo your hair today?" He mocked again but his laughter was quickly brought to an end as you raised the brush again.

"Which book are you reading?" You leaned your head to the side to have a better look as you peered into the pages.

"Something your dumb brain wouldn't understand." He spoke, without lifting his eyes from the words that were tying down all his interest.

"Tskk!" You voiced as your hair flicks slid through and in front of your eyes, again, caused by the motion of the head

Jihoon closed his book, tipped his body in your direction, and reached out to tuck your hair back in place.

His face was close, albeit not too close or too far away, giving you a view of his face. In a snap of a moment, you felt different, even though on the inside you knew you had been suppressing what you felt for him. Ever since you came of age, Jihoon seemed more than just a friend. 

As he fixed your hair, you poked the heart-shaped mole on his cheek. He made eye contact with you and grinned in response to your action.

Maybe this was the right time.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his soft, pink ones. It was only a peck. The two of you paused for a brief second, not moving. You softly slammed your lips to his again, this time the contact lasted longer, the lips started to move in sync with each other, eyes closed and an odd surge of hormones was coursing through your body.

Jihoon abruptly pulled back as he shook his head. "No!" He breathed, his eyes never meeting yours. "This is not right, Y/N. You’re younger than me." He reasoned. 

"I'm an adult. I know what I am doing." You protested back.

"I'm four years older than you!" His voice held emotions.

You backed off, showing him a subtle yet apologetic smile. "If you think that's right."

Jihoon was buried in thought, so he remained silent for several minutes, increasing your tension. Would this act end all of your past dynamics? For some reason, however, your gut held no regrets. 

The hands of the clock moved to indicate the passing of more time. Silence still prevailed, and you joined Jihoon in staring into a blank space.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked.

"About us." He said.

"Huh?" You gained back your focus.

"This is so wrong." He repeated. 

"I'm sorry. let's just forget it happened-"

He cut you off. "I can't convince my heart." He confessed.

"I like you Y/N, but I can't help but think of how wrong it would be."

"Why would it be wrong?" You questioned again, proceeding to give him a reason by yourself. "We are both adults, and what's wrong with loving each other? It's not a crime." You explained.

"The age difference. What if you regret being with me after some years?" Jihoon was very emotional yet serious about this.

"Then I'll have to call you grandpa for the rest of our lives." You said playfully, taking his hand in yours. 

"No regrets." You promised.

"No regrets." He repeated as he opened his arms, and heart for you.

You wasted no time in falling into his embrace, without taking notice of one thing. The paint.

"This was my favourite shirt!" He whined, again. 

"Oops." You pouted.

Jihoon took the brush away from your hand, using it to make a heart on your cheek, making you both blush like idiots.

LET ME KNOW YOUR VIEWS + ALSO SEE : MASTERLIST

PLEASE REFRAIN FROM PLAGIARIZING ,TRANSLATING, OR POSTING OUTSIDE THIS PLATFORM.  

[darkcrowprincess]

Goldenlight week 2023: 💜💛 Day four Human Realm/School

"Trrrrrrrrrrring." Went the school bell, signaling the last class of the day was over. That the school day was finally over. It's Friday and all the students of Gravesfield high school had a whole weekend to look forward to. Anticipation and teenage excitement was relentless in all of the student body. In Luz's class everyone else jumped out of their seats. Some talking to friends while walking out, others grabbing their stuff and bolting out of class. Quickly to leave school behind. Luz wasn't. She was lost in her head and being purposely slow. Stuck in a day dream about this or that. She would have stayed in her daydream, vaguely staring out the window if something hadn't hit her head.

"What?" Says Luz confused, than she notices a paper airplane stuck to her curles. Written on it in neat handwriting was the words "Read me." Next to it a really cute drawing of bird in flight.

Luz turns around to see who threw it, but other than the math teacher packing up their stuff, eerily no one else was here. Luz quickly gathers her stuff, pulling the note out of her hair as she does it. Slipping her blue backpack with stars and little clip on figurines of the good witch Azura she heads outside. No one was waiting outside for her either. So walking mindlessly down the locker strewn hall with out paying attention, she opens and reads the note.

If your not ready to go home yet, come meet me at my secret spot. Go to the school auditorium, and meet me on the stage.

-Hunter.

Luz blinks at this, reads the note again to be sure. "Hunter," hums Luz. Hunter is one of her friends. Though honestly he's her best friend. Though even more honestly the feelings she's has for him are confusing and strange. But not in a bad way. The problem is, well it's hard to explain. No one would probably believe her.

It doesn't take her long to walk to the school auditorium. Opening the big wooden doors, everything is quite. From the long rows of orkastra seats, to the balcony seats above. It's dead silent. 'A ghost town.' Luz laughs at that thought. Walking between the isle she looks up on the stage, where the big red curtains are closed. "Hunter? I'm here?"

Walking up the stairs to the stage, she moves to part the curtains. Something taps her on the back before she can.

"Ahhh!"Luz yells, surprised. She almost trips and falls off the stage if someone didn't grab her. Catching her in his long strong arms. As if doing a salsa dance dip. Luz blinks at not falling and looks up at her savior.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," Hunter says with a sheepish smile.

Luz pouts at him, grumpy but still happy to see him. "You need to stop doing that."

Hunter brings her up and out of the dip he has her in, but doesn't let her go. "Can't help it. It's in my nature."

Luz continues to pout at him for a moment or too. Than remembers why she's here.

"I got your note, what did you want to show me?"

Hunter smiles in mischief. He finally lets her go to disappear through the curtains into unknown darkness. Than he sticks a hand out back to her. One finger makes a come here motion. "Do you trust me?

Luz puts her hands on her hips, but can't help but smile, "Despite the present situation, yes." Than she takes his hand, no hesitation at all. Hunter pulls and gives her in darkness. She can't see at all, but him being him, he's use to it. His gold brown eyes glow in the dark. The only light, and leads her to a wall to flick several switches.

Out of the darkness comes soft blue light. Like moonlight. Luz also finally sees why the curtains were closed. To hide what the theater club was painting for this year's musical Aladdin. A dark blue starry night sky sparkles back at Luz. Full of glitter and sparkle, it looks magical in the soft blue stage light.

"Woooow!" Luz says amazed, stars and wonder in her eyes.

"That's not all."

Hunter hits another switch and soft music starts playing. And instrumental theme of "Whole new world," Soon fills the tiny room. Luz turns to him, but before she can say anything,he has her in her arms and in a moment they're floating. A few feet up. Luz holds tight to him. They start to rotate slowly, as if in a slow dance. But Luz still feels safe. Hunter always makes her feel safe. Hunter than brings her even closer. They are almost nose to nose. Hunter with his eyes half lidded and with a hopeful look on his face, "Can I keep you?" Even if Hunter wasn't a ghost, and hadn't been lonely for a long, long time. He still would have asked Luz the same question. Luz says nothing. Just closers her eyes and kisses him. His kiss a little cold, but still solid, firm and real just for a moment.

[transitranger327]

Ehn’yuste: the Three Ways, Chapter 4: Building Ranks

Summary: A flashback to the beginning of Sabine’s journey as a Jedi. In the present, Shin and Sabine contemplate their future. Sabine offers guidance to a struggling Bo-Katan.

Notes: This chapter kept growing longer and longer, until I couldn’t finish a scene. Then I realized I could just move the scene to the next chapter. So I did. Did you know there’s an S in Vizsla? I didn’t!

A Mando’a glossary is in the end notes (below the cut), but you should check it out, I did a bit of linguistics

Eight years before the Ignition

The former Jedi stepped off onto a cold desert moon. The remnants of the Jedi holy site still breathed, but it was a halting, wheezing breath. She couldn’t bear to venture to the crater formerly known as the Holy City. Instead, Ahsoka turned to the outskirts, where the crew of the Ghost were assisting the remnants of Gerrera’s Partisans trying to expel the remnants of the Imperial presence. Not exactly a welcoming place for a meeting, but she supposed it would do. As she approached the rebel camp, she heard familiar voices shouting from tents. “I’ve been playing with explosives since I was a TODDLER! I know EXACTLY how much rhydonium we’ll need for a bomb that size!” She saw a Mandalorian woman storming out in a huff, whose mood improved immediately upon seeing the former Jedi. “Ahsoka! You made it!” she said as she embraced an old friend. Sabine radioed her crewmates to join her in the Ghost, then turned to Ahsoka, “Come on, let me take you to the family.”

The freighter-turned-rebellion symbol was at once familiar and yet distinct. Kanan and Ezra’s absences were palpable, yet a new kind of joy had begun to take their place. The former imperial Kallus (she was looking forward to learning how he became a turncoat) had taken Ezra’s old bunk, and Zeb seemed to be a lot warmer to his presence than the young Jedi. Rex now seemed to be living on the Ghost full time, and he was using Kanan’s old room. And this new member, Omega, well…

“Commander! Ezra told me you survived Malachor, but I couldn’t believe it until I saw you with my own eyes.” “Rex, what did Kenobi always say?” “Yeah yeah, I know, ‘your eyes can deceive you’, but not all of us have force powers. Anyway, this is Omega. Omega, this is Ahsoka, my old commander I always told you about.” “Another sister? Older, I sense?” “Wait how did you know?” Omega was surprised, very rarely had anyone guessed that correctly. “Like I said, looks can be deceiving. Anyway, so glad to meet you.”

Allegedly, Omega was staying with her brother in Kanan’s room, but more of her personal effects seemed to be in Hera’s room. A story for another time, perhaps, when they didn’t have war plans to make. After making their plans to liberate the Kyber mines, the crew began to ask what Ahsoka had been up to. She began to explain her recent travels, “There has been some disturbances in the Force lately. Not significant exactly, but concerning. Sabine, Ezra said you were with him when he visited the World Between Worlds. Can you tell me more?”

Sabine thought back to that day, the last days of Lothal’s occupation. The last days she saw her dad and brother. “Ezra and I were investigating the Empire’s looting of the Lothal Temple. We discovered a mural, one that could be changed to open the gateway Ezra used.”

A mural would line up with what Ahsoka had discovered on Malachor. “Can you show me the mural?” She assumed Sabine had made either a copy or her own art inspired by it. 

As Sabine went to her room to grab a sketchbook, Omega worked up the courage to inform Ahsoka of her own personal history. “For 3 years after the Empire started, there was a secret cloning research program focusing on m-counts. Kids my age and younger subjected to a bunch of medical testing. My brothers and I staged a breakout that destroyed most of the research, but do you think it could have anything to do with what you’re dealing with?” She hoped she wasn’t making a bad impression, and had learned how to be a bit more tactful since meeting Ventress all those years ago.

Ahsoka was intrigued. “It’s certainly possible. The Empire has a habit of kidnapping kids who would’ve been Jedi younglings. Would you be willing to put me in contact with the ones you rescued?”

An offer to be in contact with a Jedi for more than just generic rebellion? Omega leapt at the chance, “Of course, some of them still live with us.” 

Sabine returned to the commons, sketchbook in hand. She projected up a page featuring a charcoal illustration of three figures. “The mural looked mostly like this, but the arms of these three moved depending on if the gateway was opened or closed. The imperial leading the looting was convinced they were gods of some sort.” 

Ahsoka frowned. “He was right. I’ve met those gods. They called themselves The Ones: Father, Son, and Daughter. The Son was the embodiment of the Dark Side. The Daughter was the embodiment of the Light Side. The Father attempted to keep them in balance. I found a mural of just the Son, deep in the Malachor Temple. It helped me start to piece together how these mysteries work.” Sabine asked what happened to them. “They’re dead. But their legacy lives on.”

—

As the impromptu conference came to a close, and the crew of the Ghost dispersed to prepare for the fight, Sabine lingered with Ahsoka. She was trying to find an angle to ask for Ahsoka’s…help? Guidance? Tips and tricks‽ “ugh why does this ha—”

“Sabine, do you have something you want to ask me?” The Mandalorian’s silent pleading could’ve been noticed by anyone, but the Force made it much easier for Ahsoka to sense the intentions. Curiosity, not sorrow. 

For a moment, Sabine was thrown mentally off balance. She had known Jedi could read minds, but it had been more than a year since a Jedi was close to her (The Skywalker kid was off hanging out with Rogue Squadron), and she had forgotten. So the story started spilling out of her mouth “EzraGaveMeHisLightsaberOkay? AndAnd, ItFeelsLike, LikeHeWantsMeToUseItOkay? iHaveDarksaberExperienceBut, ButItDoesntFeelEnough?”

Chuckling, Ahsoka replied. “All right, okay, slow down. Does the lightsaber call to you?” Sabine’s face changed, as if digging deeper into memory than she was used to, then nodded “Yes.” Smiling, Ahsoka proposed a solution. “I may not be able to train you as a Jedi, but I’m more than willing to train you how to connect and wield a lightsaber. Especially one as connected to you as a parting gift from family.” 

—

One and a half years after the Ignition

Two Jedi were meditating together. If you had told either of the them two years earlier that they’d be meditating with their wife, neither would’ve believed you. For Sabine, the idea of meditating was far-fetched, much less meditating with someone else. “Been there, tried that” had been her mantra when it came to the Force. Shin had no such misgivings. Steeped in the Jedi traditions of her master, she had a deep connection to the Force. But a wife? She had never fallen so deeply in love as she had with Sabine. The taunting of enemies had become a teasing between lovers so subtly that she had barely noticed the change. The more they competed, the more compelled to each other they had felt. And now their spirits were intertwined, feeling the air and the water and the beskar and the trinitite around them together, a small pocket of a thriving world. 

But Sabine sensed some nagging doubts in her wife’s mind. “Cyar, what’s wrong?” A simple question that could be answered as simply or complexly as Shin needed. 

The question was unexpected. Shin didn’t think that those feelings were notable for even a Jedi to sense. But if anyone was good at reading people, it was her wife; an abnormal Jedi whose strength arose in relationships and attachments. “I love how we’re teaching each other. I really do. But…I think I need to find a Padawan of my own. Like you and Grogu.” 

“Waitwaitwait, Grogu isn’t my padawan. He’s just…” Sabine tried finding the right word, but the implication of being a traditional Jedi had short-circuited her. 

Shin decided to fill the space. “Baby, the Dins practically live at our apartment now.” Sensing her wife’s defensiveness, she pivoted. “We can call your mentor-student relationship something different, if you want. But I would like to also be teaching someone new. I think the Galaxy can use more Jedi.”

The ideas started solidifying for Sabine. “Are you suggesting we start a new Jedi Order?” A small smile and nod came from Shin. Sabine started brainstorming out loud, her preferred method of planning. “I think we can do that. It would still have to be Mandalorian. I don’t think I can disentangle my heritage from my training. Which means family and relationships would be allowed and encouraged.”

A laugh emerged from Shin, “Well I certainly wasn’t planning to be hypocritical. I definitely want to be your riduur.” She kissed her wife, with all the feelings of love and support she could offer. “But we would need a temple. We can’t just have everyone in our apartment.”

Sabine remembered something Ezra had found. “Temples tend to be built around vergences in the Force. What about that small one Ezra and Jacen discovered? Were you able to learn anything about it?” After her brother and nephew found an anomaly, she and her wife occasionally visited, trying to understand what and why it was, but Shin was also researching historical documents to learn more. 

“I think it was Tarre Vizsla’s childhood home. Something about his connection to both the Jedi and Mandalore left a small knot in the force there.” Shin understood the immense irony of starting an order where you didn’t have to choose between Jedi and Mandalore at the place where that choice was first made. “Do you think the Vizslas will give us any trouble for wanting to use one of their family’s homes as a Jedi temple?” 

“Didn’t the old Jedi Temple have a massive library? If we established our own library there dedicated to preserving Jedi and Mandalorian history, and made it open to everyone, maybe they would see the temple as an honor to their family and not a desecration.”

—

“Stars, I really need more advisors.” Bo-Katan sat on her throne-turned-conference-seat, exhausted from the sheer amount of decisions she had to make. Her beloved Armorer was willing to advise, but even she looked to the Manda’lor for final decisions. A younger her, the one that joined Death Watch, would’ve relished in the power. But now the weight of tradition was starting to crush the Duchess, and most people were unwilling to share the burden if they couldn’t have all the power for themselves. 

Footsteps approached the old throne room. “You’re stressed.” A woman in purple and teal walked thru the doorway. “I would ask if you have time for me, but I know you’re ani’ures’hukaan”

Bo-Katan snorted, “trying to Jetii’layari?” She had been friendly with some Jedi for years, but occasional caf meetups with Ahsoka was very different from multiple self-avowed Jedi running around on Mandalore. Even as she grew more accustomed to them (Sabine was a family friend, after all), most of her people were still unsure. Whether it was traditionalists who opposed Jedi on principal, the remnants of her sister’s faction who hated their hypocrisy, or the select few who were close enough to think the Jedi could’ve helped during the purge and didn’t. 

“No, you accidentally sent me your entire schedule for the next week and it’s booked.” Sabine hoped she could ease some of the stress Bo-Katan was under, so showing off her Jedi skills wasn’t an option. “How did this not happen when you were governor all those years ago?” 

The older woman sighed, “You might be too young to remember, but we used to have an elected assembly. We had a council and a prime minister, the duchess never ruled alone.” She tried to not feel hurt while remembering her sister. “Gar Saxon and the Empire destroyed all that. We never knew peace afterwards. We had to function purely as a military, and look where that got us.” Her souring mood would’ve been evident to anyone, but she knew Sabine could feel the deeper despair. “Even now, everyone looks to me like I’m their general and not their duchess.” She felt two hands on her shoulders and another forehead press against hers.

“Hey, hey, hey, ner vod, you’re fighting too many enemies alone.” Sabine could tell Bo-Katan was surprised by her physicality, but not opposed. She reached out in the Force, not to communicate, but to build a sanctuary where Bo-Katan could feel safe while vulnerable. 

She felt safer the longer Sabine remained. “I want to do the most I can to rebuild Mandalore, but the more I succeed, the more work there is.” For some reason, it was now easier to rummage thru her feelings. “I love Mandalore and I love that we have so much history and I’m scared that if anyone else tries taking over they’ll try ignoring all of that in favor of their personal vendetta.” Tears started silently dripping out of the corners of her eyes as she tried to catch a breath. “Stars, why am I crying over this?”

The younger woman heard that thought loud and clear, but tried to craft a response that wouldn’t come off as knowing-too-much. So she produced a small handkerchief from a belt pouch and offered it to Bo-Katan with, “it’s okay to be overwhelmed with running an entire planet.” She watched as Bo-Katan wiped away her own tears, then continued. “I find it helpful to meditate; to clear my thoughts and refocus my energy, both at the beginning and end of the day. Even the middle sometimes.” When Sabine saw the older woman’s grimace at the thought of doing something Jedi, she added, “this isn’t just sitting, legs crossed, connecting to the Force. It’s also spending time free from distractions, like target practice alone. Ahsoka and her master often meditated by tinkering with machinery. I’m willing to bet the Armorer achieves a similar state of mind while smithing. It’s all about letting go of your conscious self and acting on instinct.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” mused Bo-Katan as she relaxed back into her throne. “That’s nice, but I only have a finite amount of time in the day. Do you have any suggestions for my practical needs? Not just my spiritual ones.”

Sabine understood the gravity of Mandalore’s situation, and considered how similar it was to the Rebellion. “Elections for an assembly would take a while to set up. Why not start with a council of the heads of each clan?” She realized, too late, that this would mean more responsibility for her. “Then we build a consensus on how an assembly would run.” She glanced at her chrono, and saw her meeting with the Vizslas was fast approaching. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your work.”

“Hang on you can’t just come in here, listen to me pour my heart out, and walk out!” Bo-Katan was now shouting at the unexpected departure.

Sabine retorted from across the room, “Actually Duchess, I can!” 

“Once a rebel, always a rebel I guess,” Bo-Katan sighed, before realizing she had no idea what Sabine was up to. “Wait, why did you come here in the first place?” 

“Shin and I are planning on starting a Jedi temple, just wanted to let you know!” The doors to the throne room closed behind her.

“Stars, she’s gonna be the death of me.”

—

Deep in the Unknown Regions

A Mirialan man was strapped to a hospital bed. His blood was slowly being drained for Imperial research. He bore stitches where large tissue samples had been taken. His only hope was that his longtime friend would be able to find him before it was too late.

—

Mando’a Glossary: Cyar: love Riduur: spouse Ani’ures’hukaan: in over your head. This one I spent a lot of time on, because it really wouldn’t make sense for a Mandalorian to say “swamped” because there are no swamps on Mandalore. So I figured “exposed during a fight” would make sense, so this is literally “completely without cover” Jetii’layari: showing off Jedi powers, lit. “Jedi-swagger” Ner vod: “my friend/sibling”

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Spillways (Chapter 2) A Gilded Age fanfic

(The title is taken from one of my favorite Ghost songs, which is about confronting old wounds and pain in order to heal so you can move forward.)

Faceclaims for George and Randolph Stewart

Contents: Prologue, Chapter 1

Word count: 1441

Summary: All of New York society is in a tizzy over the news: The Earl of Galloway is in town with his son, the 30 year old (bachelor) Randolph.  Marriage-minded mamas are on the prowl but the Earl and his son eschew most of the lavish parties and teas they’re invited to...except to a certain tea with Agnes Van Rhijn and her niece, Marian.

Rating: Everyone (Ratings will be *by chapter*, so subsequent installments might differ in their rating.)

Author's Notes: This is a canon-divergence story beginning a few months from episode 5 of Season 2. This is obviously not going to be historically accurate, also I'm from America and I've only gleaned a cursory knowledge of the Scottish peerage from my reading and basically am just using the titles, locations and names as vehicles for these characters please just go with it lmao

DISCLAIMER: I am not affiliated with The Gilded Age in any way beyond being a fan, I do not own the Gilded Age characters nor am I using them for any commercial purposes or making money from this, this is just basically word fanart of the show

Lovely divider is by @muchomago

—Five months ago—

Every time the letter came, she set it aside.  As usual, she waited for Peggy to finish up for the day before dealing with it herself.  Just seeing his name made her blood boil every time.  Not even bothering to open it to read, same as all the others, Agnes Van Rhijn angrily ripped up the letter from George Stewart. 

Since the death of her husband Arnold many years ago, the letters had begun coming regularly, like a bad case of the influenza.  Instructing the servants to always throw out the letters from this George Stewart would have invited gossip, the last thing she wanted.  She suspected Bannister already knew but he would never be so crass as to divulge Agnes’s history with the man to the rest of the servants. 

 “It is another solicitation for patronage.  From Scotland, this one.” she had said in the beginning, in a noncommittal manner, to hide her anger.  Bannister had merely nodded.

She had never written back (she refused to give him the satisfaction) but he had kept at it, sending a letter yet again.  And Again.  She tore up his letters.  Again and again.   Today was different, however.  The sting of the reminder, the annoyance of it, his sheer audacity to keep trying to communicate…it mocked her now more than ever.  Really, after Marian’s humiliating betrayal of having secured employment at a school and then for it all to become known at Dashiell’s welcoming tea the other week… she had had enough.  No more.

With an efficiency she hadn’t possessed since boarding school, Agnes sat at her desk and smoothed out a crisp sheet of paper and quickly dipped her pen several times before beginning to write.  Peggy would have been unable to properly convey the seething hatred she felt, this written rebuke to George Stewart must come from herself.

Agnes scribbled furiously, almost missing the inkwell several times, managing three sheets before finally packaging them in a sturdy envelope.  Bannister was instructed to see it reached the Post Office Department steamboat before it left the harbor that week.  

Enough was enough.

Let that wretched letter I got today be the last I ever hear from him…Agnes thought to herself. 

—-- Present Day—--

“Father, I don’t see the issue.  Marian Brook is from a great family.” Randolph Stewart stood before his father in their suite’s parlor, having just relayed his intention to call on Marian.

Lord George Stewart was not pleased.  “Her breeding is not the issue.  I did not bring you here with me to go prowling around for women.  You’re to shadow me as I look over my investments in lumber and petrol-driven carts. Your future sources of additional income when you become Lord, might I remind you.”

Randolph was indignant.  “Marian Brook is not the type of woman one goes ‘prowling’ for!  Do not speak in such a way.”

“I will speak as I please.” 

“Oh? What of your business with Mrs. Van Rhijn?  It's quite rich of you to be berating me for calling on a lady when it is the sole reason we have sailed to the states.”

“I am not berating you.  Furthermore, I am not going to call on Agnes Van Rhijn, I am going to meet with her.  It’s a very crucial difference and not at all social, there’s no comparing the two situations.”

“So you say.”

“ENOUGH.  Enough.” George huffed.  “I am not going to bicker with my own son about this! We have several business meetings to attend to.  You will not have time for your little tea with Miss Brook.”

“Oh, but you will have time for yours with Mrs. Van Rhijn?”

“I do not have a meeting with her yet but I will soon. I will figure out a way, never you mind.”

“Hmm.  I am still going to the tea with Miss Brook.” Randolph said.

“As I have stated several times now, though, that is quite enough.  I do not have to explain myself to you and you’re not to dismiss any of our appointments for something frivolous.  You will do as I say.”

“Or what?” Randolph smirked.  He knew where this argument was headed. His father would eventually give in, as he usually did these days.

Ever since their shouting match the day before George had finally received a response from Agnes, Randolph felt closer to his goal: living life on his own terms.  

After they had ceased their screaming in that fight, Randolph had threatened to leave forever.  He had said he would not return even if George would pass away.  It would put the Earldom of Galloway in the uncomfortable position of trying to wrangle their new Earl back to Scotland while having a chosen family member looking after their holdings, like a common steward.

Randolph didn’t know what this Agnes Van Rhijn had written to his father, but after reading that letter he was a changed man.  An out of character, sincere apology was given to him by his father the next morning.  No longer did he bark orders at his son or moan about his many projects for the betterment of the poor.  George Stewart’s contempt for Randolph’s hunger to change things in society seemed to have evaporated.  He still made cutting remarks, yes, but as one would after reading a particularly bad book or having sat through a very boring play and not as if helping the less fortunate was something…revolting.

George Stewart had begun to finally behave like father, a person that Randolph admired instead of growing to hate.  Better late than never, he supposed.

As for himself, Randolph felt changed as well.  He could finally see that something horrible had eaten away at his father for many years and caused him much anguish.  That had been the source of his anger and bitterness, and he had finally made a decision to confront it by coming to America.

Randolph was proud.  He planned to thank Agnes Van Rhijn in person, even if she had no clue what her letter had accomplished, but he had another idea..one that could very well make Marian’s aunt direct her fury to him.

“You know, father, you could come with me.  To this tea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Father…if you must meet with Mrs. Van Rhijn, why not come with me?  I can send a note to Miss Brook and ask for our upcoming visit to be at their home on 61st Street.”

“An Earl does not just foist himself upon events he is not invited to!  It is unseemly!  Where are your senses?”

“An Earl should also not deny so many invitations to promenade or dine.  Accepting only the one to Mrs. Astor’s luncheon hardly seems proper to me.  People might think we lack the funds to socialize around town as befits our station.” Randolph said idly, fiddling with a flower arrangement on a nearby table. “I can ask Miss Brook to send a formal invitation and include you on it.”

“Are you mad?  Agnes Van Rhijn will never agree to it.” George stated. 

“Yet Miss Brook was at a school, teaching a class on watercolors.  I’m told her aunt wasn’t agreeable at first but eventually caved to the idea.” 

George Stewart still was not persuaded. “If Agnes is as I remember her, she rules her house with an iron fist.  Miss Brook would have better luck trying to part the red sea.”

“Miss Brook will do it, I know she can.” Randolph insisted. “So, shall I do it?  Send her a note?”

When George remained silent, Randolph knew he had to go in for the kill.

“Of course, if you’d rather people think our family are paupers and can’t afford to-”

“Fine!  Fine. Very well. Send the girl the note.” George said dismissively, rubbing his temples.

Randolph walked over, taking his father’s shoulder.  “Father, you needn’t act as if you’re about to have your teeth pulled.  Whatever this business you have with Agnes Van Rhijn is about, I’m sure that facing the issue head on is better than letting it fester any further.”

George covered his son’s hand on his shoulder with his own.  “Randolph…you cannot know the shame it brings me.  I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“Of course you can!  I will be there with you.” 

George Stewart smiled briefly before standing from his chair, shuffling his suit before heading to their balcony.

Randolph felt elated.  He was going to see Marian again and his father might finally get closure for whatever was plaguing him. It seemed too good to be true.  Hopefully Agnes Van Rhijn was more accommodating when Marian came to her about this invitation. 

NEXT: Chapter 3

[angelofrainfrogs]

Spend the Night: Ch. 31

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy��s: Security Breach

Description: The familiar melody of Grandfather’s Clock chimes through the echoing halls of the Pizzaplex…

Charlie wakes up in her Puppet’s vessel yet again with one goal in mind: to stop William Afton’s reign of terror for good. She enlists the help of Glamrock Freddy, the emphatic leader of the newest iteration of the Fazbear Band. But there seems to be more to this bear than meets the eye—and the same goes for the mysteriously familiar kid the duo find tinkering with animatronics down in Parts & Service.

With some help from friends new and old, Charlie’s journey into the bowels of the Pizzaplex will unravel mysteries none of them ever expected. 

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

Unserviced servo turning Refurbished fur perturbing It doesn't matter where you go They'll find you

~They’ll Find You by Griffinilla~

Hannah was quick to take Charlie’s offered hand, sparing a lingering glance over her shoulder at the fading purple substance before turning forward. Whatever that stuff was, she decided she didn’t want to know. To distract herself from thinking back on her untimely demise, she asked Charlie: “So if you’re staying in Freddy’s room, does that mean he’s helping, too?”

The bear seemed amiable enough for a robot purely from the small interaction and other info Hannah had absorbed about him over the years. Although she couldn’t quite see him assisting with taking down a child murderer… maybe he was just letting them borrow his room as a safe space?

Silently thanking Vanessa for leading the charge back upstairs, Charlie glanced down to the younger girl.

“Freddy? Oh man, I don’t know what we would’ve done without him,” she laughed, jovial and affectionate at the mention of the superstar bear. “Freddy’s been protecting us. He also happens to be my personal favorite character—at least from the Glamrock line.”

As they approached, Charlie hoped Gregory wasn’t at the door to psyche her out with a false demand for a password that didn’t exist. Last time was stressful enough. “Everyone should be inside; don’t be shy…”

It was Freddy himself who answered the door, his usual smile bright and welcoming. It stayed present as he took in the newest addition to their little band of misfits, nor did it slip when a cursory, non-obvious health scan revealed that this girl didn’t have a heartbeat.

“Hello, there,” Freddy greeted, crouching to Hannah’s level and resting his arms on his knees. Unfortunately, his facial recognition software didn’t seem to work that well on ghosts; he couldn’t get a read on who this girl was. “I have seen you around the Pizzaplex before! I did not catch your name, though—mine is Freddy. What is yours?”

Hannah giggled at his formality, her tension easing at the bear’s friendly demeanor. Still holding Charlie’s hand for the time being, she replied: “I’m Hannah… Nice to officially meet you, Freddy!”

“Likewise!” he replied, standing again and ushering the group inside. “We have many things to share with you, Charlie. But first, as you all heard, this is Hannah.” He gestured to the girl, then to the two boys near the couch, looking as if they’d been playfully fighting over who got more room to sit moments before Freddy opened the door. “Hannah, this is Gregory and Michael.”

Mike gave her a jaunty little salute, his gaze hooking onto Vanessa over Hannah’s head. The guard’s shameful nod told him everything he needed to know—this girl was indeed one of his father’s latest victims.

As the group entered the backstage bedroom of Freddy Fazbear, Charlie gave Freddy a quick hug. She was happy to see her friend again after the emotional rollercoaster of finding those lost souls. She was sure Vanessa needed the break, too.

“Go take a breather, Ness,” Charlie murmured, sounding less formal than she had before they'd left on their journey.

On the couch, Gregory and Michael had been needlessly attempting to dominate their sides. Gregory was pinned, shoved, and squished into the corner as he was overpowered by Michael easily. Though once his silver eyes landed on Hannah, he ceased all retaliation. He grasped for a pillow and press it hard against his face as if he was hiding from her.

Was he shy? Charlie hadn’t expected such a trait. Then again, Gregory never mentioned friends before. Or perhaps his bashful mature stemmed from his newly acquired… condition.

“Gregory!” Charlie attempted cheerfully. “There’s a new friend I’d like you to meet! Come say ‘hi,’ buddy!”

This only seemed to make Gregory sink into himself. He wanted to be friendly, but the first normal-looking girl here was only going to pick on him—he just knew it. A thoroughly muffled “…Hi.” was muted into the bowtie pillow, something he’d hug close to his head for comfort.

“He’s being a little shy,” Charlie murmured to Hannah. She let go of the girl’s hand to allow her freedom to roam about. “He’s a good kid, though! Promise.”

“Yeah, don’t mind him; he’s just a weirdo sometimes—hey!” Michael let out a surprised laugh as a tiny hand shot out fast as lightening to smack him on the arm. Mike quickly retaliated with a rather intense ruffle of Gregory’s hair, which spurred Freddy to intervene.

“Boys, please relax,” the bear said in a measured tone, coming to stand next to Hannah. He’d just locked the door after a quick chat with Vanessa, who opted to sit right outside the room to play lookout and subsequently give everyone else time to bond. She’d only feel like an uninvited guest if she stayed with them, anyway.

“Your accent is cool!” Hannah said after a moment of the boys separating and resituating themselves. She looked to Michael, a small smile tugging up her lips. “I’ve only heard people talk like that on TV before.”

“Oh—uh, thanks,” Michael replied. He gently nudged Gregory with his elbow, trying to toe the line between encouraging his brother without pushing too far and making him upset or shut down further. “Come on, she seems nice, right?”

“I’m not gonna bite you or anything!” Hannah started to laugh, although this quickly trailed off as she realized the very obvious reason why the boy might be afraid of her. Looking to her shoes, she clasped her hands behind her back and admitted: “Oh… I feel like you guys already know this somehow, but I’m kinda… a ghost. Sorry if that freaks you out or whatever.”

She didn’t want to scare off potential new friends, especially the only one who seemed to be around her age, but she couldn’t help her unfortunate circumstances.

A ghost? Gregory was roused by his brother’s nudge, and the pillow was pulled back down to his chest in an instant. His startling eyes looked right away to the girl, and found nothing wrong with her. She looked the same as Cassidy—in the sense that she looked just like a normal child, save for a slight transparency coating her skin. Gregory felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He should’ve known it was just another ghost.

“—Man, that’s a relief,” he said, now reclined and relaxed. He figured that Hannah couldn’t judge him for the way he looked no more than he could judge her. He took stock of her, then quickly ruffled his hair back into place.

“I’m Gregory; this doofus is my brother!” he’d say before Michael’s hand lurched out to mess with his hair again as he was often want to do. “—Noooo! Dad said stop!”

Gregory laughed, batting fruitlessly at Michael’s arm. Charlie could only watch as the boys made fools of themselves in front of the newest ghost. She hoped that Hannah found it as endearing as she did.

The boys were strange, to say the least. Brothers that shared some vague facial features if one looked hard enough, but spoke in opposing accents. They didn’t seem shocked Hannah was a ghost—in fact, Gregory was outright relieved.

And not to mention the elephant in the room—or maybe “bear” was the correct term. Hannah might be young, but she was smart enough to piece together that Freddy Fazbear was the one who’d told the boys to stop messing with each other… so why in the world did Gregory call him “dad?”

“Do not pay their antics any mind,” Freddy murmured, almost as if he’d sensed her thinking about him. Hannah glanced up at the tall robot, seeing a weirdly articulate look of fondness on his face as he offered her a smile. “I am sure you will all get along quite well.”

Hannah nodded, turning back to the pair. Emboldened by Freddy’s vote of confidence, she stepped a little closer to the couch. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words were replaced by a gasp as she got a clear look at the flash of silver she’d seen earlier when Gregory appraised her.

“Whoa—your eyes!” she breathed, staring intently at the boy’s face. Michael instantly stopped his brotherly torment, ready to either comfort or vouch for Gregory based on Hannah’s reaction. The room itself seemed to wait with baited breath until Hannah added with an excited grin: “They’re awesome! Are those contacts?! I wanted to wear these bright red ones for Halloween but my mom wouldn��t let me… The silver ones are way cooler though!”

Gregory was ready for it. He could take it, resigned to the fact that he would forever bear the mark of death on his face.

Then, Hannah surprised him. He stilled on the couch and with fluttering eyelids, giving her a confused look. It then turned to relief, followed by the feeling of caterpillars crawling inside his guts.

“You think my eyes are cool?” he asked with a scoff, trying to play it cool. He crossed his arms, leaning back to take the compliment in stride. “Y-yeah—” he’d say, coughing when his voice cracked to clear it up. “—they’re my real eyes! What was your Halloween costume going to be?”

He could relax; Hannah was an alright person but there was something about her that made Gregory want to conduct himself a little different than he had been earlier. Much to the benefit of Charlie’s weary conscience, she was glad that Gregory and Hannah were getting along. Gregory was in need of a friend his age anyway. She came to the couch and sat next to Michael, balancing herself on the armrest to watch them interact.

“Your real eyes?! Whoa…” Hannah sounded more impressed than before. She paused, thinking of the dozens of costume options she’d gone through before finally deciding on the perfect one.

“I was gonna be a vampire!” she announced proudly. Her ponytail swung two and fro as she quickly shook her head with the need to clarify. “Not one of those lame ones that sparkle or don’t really look like vampires or whatever—I’m talking red eyes, fangs, and my sister was gonna help me put fake bite marks on my neck! She’s good at special effects and stuff.”

A bit of the sparkle left Hannah’s eyes as she thought of her sister. Man, she and her mother must be worried sick wondering where she was…

“That sounds awesome!” Michael chimed in, also able to spot the telltale signs of someone falling into their dark thoughts from a mile away. “Hey, who knows—maybe we’ll find a way to make the vampire look still happen.” He shrugged, the not-quite-promise the best he could do. It did its job to get Hannah out of her head though, as she nodded at Michael with a tiny smile.

Charlie sent Michael a glare that could only last so long before it broke into a smile. It was hard to even pretend to be mad at him. Her attention turned then to Hannah’s anecdote, then at Gregory’s face. He leaned on his hand, listening to her intently.

“You’d make an awesome vampire.” Gregory agreed, and Charlie was sure she hadn’t ever heard Gregory speak with such conviction before. He thought it was important for her to know that her being a blood-sucking demon of the night would suit her well.

“Oh yeah! There’s gotta be stage make up around here. When we have free time, we'll find a place to play dress up!” Charlie reassured. Hannah won’t ever get to see Halloween outside the Pizzaplex again but the four of them could still make it fun for her, she figured.

“…I want to dress up like a clown. ‘Cause Mike hates clowns.” Gregory grinned, tenderly mocking him.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Do you guys ever stop picking on each other? Or did it get worse while I was gone?”

“Oh no, it for sure got worse,” Michael said matter-of-factly, then shot his little brother a glare. “And I don’t hate clowns in general, I just hate a few very specific clowns.”

“Ennard is being quite helpful, Mich—”

“Nope, I don’t want to hear it, Freddy.” Michael cut the bear off with a raised hand, then offered him a strained smile. “Sorry—let’s just talk about that whole situation later, okay?”

Freddy nodded in deferment, knowing it best not to press the matter. Hannah simply stared between the group, realizing there was a huge ton of contextual information she was missing. Well, hopefully if they actually became friends they’d tell her in time.

“Anyway, don’t worry about how all this is connected Hannah, but speaking of clowns… we have news for you, Charlie!” Michael continued, eagerness filling his voice. “We found out who else is in the basement with your dad and Cassidy: it’s Evan and Lizzie. Don’t be mad, but… we took a trip down to see them while you girls were wandering around.” He grimaced, folding back into the couch slightly as he waited to get an earful from his best friend about visiting their old families without her.

Michael’s gut feeling about Charlie’s reaction turned out to be accurate. There was a heavy gasp before she leaned over and shook his shoulders. She was over the moon now knowing that Liz and Evan were waiting for them! But of course, Charlie was guarding Vanessa and collecting the soul of a lost child—so of course she missed a reunion with her childhood friends.

“AHH! Lizzie and Evan?! I miss those guys like crazy!” she admitted, unable to stay mad for long before letting go of his shoulders to give him a break from sudden vertigo. “PLEASE tell me you gave them hugs for me.”

Gregory laughed at this exchange before his gaze flickered back to Hannah. He stood, stretching his legs and giving Charlie a chance to fully seat herself into the couch. While she and Michael caught up, Gregory went to get Hannah’s attention.

“Do you want to play Freddy’s arcade game with me?” he asked, fishing around in his pocket for his tethered coin. He flashed it to her, then swung it on the clear string it was attached to. “It’s on me!”

“Of course I gave them hugs and said you missed them.” Michael sounded offended at Charlie’s suggestion that he wouldn’t do such a thing. As Charlie settled on the couch next to him, a look of decades-long relief fell upon his face.

“We… all had a good talk,” he murmured quietly, leaning in so his more intimate feelings weren’t overheard. He didn’t care about Gregory and Freddy, as they’d witnessed his entire slew of weekend breakdowns, but Hannah had been through enough recently—she didn’t need to see his emotional trauma fifteen minutes into their first meeting. Mike let out a soft laugh, looking sidelong at Charlie. “They told me I was being a dummy and they’d forgiven me for everything eons ago…”

And this was exactly what Charlie had been trying to tell Mike the same thing this entire time. She snaked an arm around her best friend, pulling him in for a hug. She could tell that there was a weight lifted from him now—a semblance of normalcy had returned to Mike's life. It was amazing what forgiveness could do.

“How do you feel?” Charlie asked, imagining that it couldn't all be okay, but things were better. They were similar to how they were before—

Fixing the broken parts of their shattered lives bit by bit.

“God, it… it’s so much better, knowing for sure they don’t hate me, Charlie,” Michael echoed his friend’s thoughts, leaning onto her shoulder and allowing her to hold him close. He never thought he’d receive forgiveness from anyone, let alone his siblings.

Let alone Evan.

By this point Hannah had eagerly followed Gregory over to the arcade machine, slightly in awe as he showed off his handy-dandy coin trick for endless fun. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at Freddy who, to her surprise, did not come over to lecture them about cheating the game with fake money. In fact, he wasn’t even paying attention to them, moving to the door to have a muted conversation with the night guard through the closed metal. Only when they were done talking did he turn and catch Hannah’s eye, smiling warmly and making his way over.

“I’m surprised Freddy lets you get away with that,” she said, watching as Gregory began a game. Hannah flashed a grin, shrugging slightly. “Not that I’m complaining—it’s cool you get to hang out with him! Did you get to meet all the other animatronics, too?”

She had no idea how long Gregory had been here, but from his mildly disheveled appearance she guessed a while. Hannah certainly wasn’t judging though—her body was currently frozen stiff as a board in a random secret room in the basement. Appearances didn’t matter all that much once you were dead…

Gregory stepped aside to let Hannah go first, as this would be his fifth time this night trying to beat his own personal high score at the leader board of Superstar Skater. Gregory's hair was coated in a slight sheen of sweat and grease; in fact, he'd been slicking it back this past night due to the grime. Again he raked a hand through his hair before smirking wryly.

“Freddy loves me, dude. He doesn't care what I do,” he bragged—even if that last part was somewhat of a fib. Freddy didn't let him get away with just anything. It was all within reason. But if such an ideal impressed Hannah, then sure, Freddy would let him get away with murder if he wanted.

At the mention of the other animatronics, Gregory rolled his eyes.

“Those guys are such tools. But... They're not themselves right now. So—I don't know,” Gregory remarked with a defeated attitude before showing Hannah the controls on the game before them. Then, he stepped back and allowed her to take the reins.

Hannah had stepped up to the console, absorbing Gregory’s instructions and meshing them with everything she already knew about how these arcade games worked. She wasn’t the most skilled player, but she enjoyed the console platformers nonetheless.

In the midst of their momentary peace there was a sudden commotion outside the room, though with the curtains drawn the group could only listen and guess what was happening. It started with a loud banging in the vents that led from Rockstar Row directly to Freddy’s room. A low, simulated laugh echoed through the walls, making Vanessa shoot to her feet with her flashlight pointed towards every grate she could find. She raised a fist to knock on Freddy’s door and warn them of danger, but there was an even louder noise that caused her teeth to grind together.

The surprised and then terrified scream from Monty was quickly overshadowed by the shrieking of tearing metal. Seconds later a vent cover in Freddy’s room busted open, clattering to the ground mere feet from where Vanessa had been quickly ushered inside. She jumped at the sight but didn’t have time to process before Monty’s head came shooting out of the opening, skidding across the floor to smack into the base of the couch. Whatever efforts Vanny made to get him back in commission were all for naught—it was clear by his stillness and features mangled worse than before that the gator was not getting up again tonight.

This was proven further when his upper torso fell from the vent opening, seemingly pushed out by an unseen force… Which Vanessa quickly discovered as her shaky flashlight beam moved back up just in time for something to stick its face out with a grinning clown mask and too many wires.

“Holy shit!” she yelled, pressing her trembling good hand over her mouth. “What the fuck is that?!”

Charlie had all but jumped into Michael's lap, frightened by the sudden commotion. She hadn't realized who was in the grates helping them and figured it was something worse than Monty. She shielded Mike before the rest of Monty's torso came out of the vent, busted beyond repair. Just like Roxy...

“It's cool! Guys—chill! Chill! It's just Ennard up there!” Gregory shouted, aimed mostly at Charlie since she had to deal with the alligator head landing not two feet away from where she sat. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Gregory shouted towards the open vent. “Thanks, Ennard!”

“YOU ARE WELCOME...!” It was so hard to hear them, especially when their voice had even more distortion and echo from being inside of the air ducts.

Gregory went over to Monty, inspecting his busted pieces with curiosity. After a quick nudge with his foot, Charlie got off of her friend and told the boy “—Dude don't mess with him like that.”

“Why?” Gregory questioned, smirking at the gator’s weak attempt to get the drop on them. “He's busted. Look! Look how busted he is.”

Looking over his shoulder, he glanced at Hannah nonchalantly. “Oh yeah—don't worry about it, but there's like... robots after me. No big deal.”

He spoke as if he hadn't been internally screaming this whole weekend wondering if he would live to see the next day outside the Pizzaplex.

“Um… okaaaaay?” Hannah breathed out in a voice rife with skepticism. This little event prompted so many questions, but honestly she didn’t even know where to begin.

“What the hell is that thing?!” Vanessa reiterated, eyes fixed to the dark hole in the wall. Her heart was still racing, so Freddy guided her into his vanity chair so she could sit properly.

“You really don’t want to know,” Michael replied with a heavy sigh.

“Ennard means us no harm,” Freddy assured, gently patting Vanessa’s shoulder. She simply shook her head, then massaged the bridge of her nose as if to relive some tension.

Hannah had wandered close to Gregory, staring down at the decapitated gator with a pinched expression. “So like… is Monty dead or…?”

“Huh?” Gregory seemed almost confused by her question at first. After glancing down at the dismantled bot, he gave a shrug. “Nah—he'll be fine. Eventually.”

He didn't really know that Monty would be okay. They might have to scrap the whole model… Though Gregory knew all that made Monty up was a line of coding, several data points and some fixed personality traits that could be downloaded into any endoskeleton.

Bumping, Hannah's shoulder he reassured: “He'll be good as new come tomorrow. I'm sure of it.”

“Okay,” Hannah relented, because really what else was there to say about everything? She was no expert on robotics, but surely there were failsafe’s in place in case the main animatronics malfunctioned. They were too important not to have backups. After a lingering glance at Monty, she shrugged and moved back to the arcade game, wanting to distract herself from her new, very weird reality with familiar animated graphics.

Charlie laughed at Michael's brief warning about Ennard, quiet and under her breath. Despite the robot having actively saved their asses so many times now, he’d forever remain bitter and salty when conversing about them. Not that she could exactly blame him.

“It's best not to think too hard about all of it, you know?” Charlie said to the group, having finally chilled out about the busted Monty being shoved past the metal grating. “You alright, Ness?”

“Yeah… I’m fine,” Vanessa replied after a brief pause, giving Charlie the faintest ghost of a smile. “Everything’s just—a lot, you know?”

“You are already helping a great deal,” Freddy reassured, smiling down at the guard.

Vanessa let out a wry laugh, rolling her eyes. She really hadn’t done much except lead Charlie to William’s lab and find the missing kids—but it was already too late for them. She hadn’t even been the one to bring Hannah back… that was all Charlie. At least Vanny was no longer a threat; that was probably the best thing to come out of this whole fiasco of painful memories.

“So did you find anything down there?” Michael asked, directing the question more towards Charlie. His gaze briefly flickered to the kids at the arcade machine. “Besides Hannah, I mean.”

Charlie glanced away, thinking about the backroom and hidden stash of Remnant just waiting to be used. Two jars, with one already used up... Two kids still astray, with one successfully made immortal. It wasn’t hard to understand exactly what William planned to do with the rest.

Charlie didn't want to think about it.

“Remnant. There was a lot...” She looked down at her hands where they rested on her lap. “There's a backroom full of endoskeletons. They're programed to—to deal with the kids after they're brought to Parts & Service.”

She reclined into the couch, hugging herself with her palms on her elbows. It was hard being this distant about things sometimes. “I... don't want to say more than that.”

With their present company, she felt like it would be far too graphic to share, not to mention rude.

Michael leaned back into the couch as well, slipping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders to pull her into a side hug. He knew how hard this topic was for her to discuss, despite how well she hid her discomfort—no amount of time would ever make up for the pain and torment Charlie and all the other restless souls of William’s victims went through.

“We’ll get rid of the Remnant and the endos once my father is dealt with,” Michael reassured, rubbing Charlie’s upper arm reassuringly.

“The Remnant’s taken care of,” Vanessa chimed in from the vanity chair. When the group turned to her, one corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. “Charlie smashed it.”

Michael let out a hearty laugh, squeezing Charlie tightly against him. The gesture said everything he needed without words. Freddy’s expression softened into relief now that the risk for anyone else to be subjected to an immortal injection was gone.

At the arcade console, Hannah let out a groan of frustration as she lost her last life. She’d held on as long as she could, but a slight misjudgment of where the platform edge was caused her character to plummet to their doom.

“Aw man!” she lamented. “I’m not good at these games…”

Charlie cracked a smile, content to relax on the couch for just a bit longer. Now that all of them were together, she’d take a few moments of peace before starting their ultimate plan.

Then she looked to Gregory, watching him as he played with his new friend. As he gently reassured her about how much he used to suck at the video game, he showed her what to do.

“It's all about memorizing the platforms! I was pretty bad until I stayed the weekend here,” Gregory told her, hitting the start button for one more try.

Charlie almost didn't want it to end for him. But if they didn't do anything about William tonight, there may not be another day for Gregory to play.

“So, now that we're all here...” Charlie began, subtly getting the ball rolling as she leaned her head into the flat part of Michael's shoulder. “We should probably get this over with... Right?”

In an instant, the room grew thick with tension as the stark reality of their situation came crashing down. They couldn't keep pretending like they were a happy family—not yet. Not until William was purged from the face of this earth so he couldn't hurt another soul.

Michael held onto Charlie for a moment, bracing himself for the encounter ahead. He wasn't nervous or scared of meeting his father again. He felt quite the opposite, in fact—it was going to take all his strength not to try and rip that rabbit apart with his bare hands the moment they set eyes on each other. As Michael looked to Freddy, who was watching Gregory with a reluctant expression, he had a feeling the bear might not be so docile either when faced with the man who'd tortured his new family and used his best friend's body as a puppet.

“Yeah...,” Michael admitted somberly, looking back down at Charlie. He shifted to embrace her in a proper hug, holding on tightly for as long as he could. Eventually he let her go, offering a tiny smile that he tried to inject as much confidence into as possible. “So, the plan is: you'll take Gregory down to the basement to wait with the others. Meanwhile, Freddy and I will track down William and act like we're pissed at ‘Evan’ and are trying to get him, causing William to chase us right where we need him to be—that's the gist of it, right?”

“I'll stay here with Hannah,” Vanessa offered, half-heartedly raising a hand. She grimaced as she looked at the little girl still involved in her game world. “I think I'll be more of a burden than anything if I go with you; I'll make sure she stays put and let you know if I see anything go down around here.” Vanessa patted the walkie on her belt, and Michael nodded.

“Sounds good. Oh, damn it—what should we do with Ennard?” Michael asked, shooting a frown up towards the vent. Not five seconds after their name was called, an eyeball on a wire stuck out of the opening to stare at Michael and Charlie.

The eye dropped down on a long cable, staring at them before batting its eye playfully. This made Charlie laugh, having to cover her mouth so she could actually hear what Ennard had to say.

“UNT-T-TIL THE BASEMENT, WE—E ARE YOUR BACK-UP. IF THE—THE PLAN GOES SOUTH...” Ennard paused, their voice slowing down to an eerie, glitching lull. “We rip him apart...”

The even and clarified tone of their voice sent a chill through the room. It was like every robot in the entirety of their system had agreed for once, unanimous in their hatred. Charlie nodded slowly, glad not for the first time that Ennard was on their side.

The eye blinked at Mike, its gaze turning deferential. “IS THIS-S-S A GOOD PLA-AN, MIKEY?”

Michael heaved a sigh, hating that Ennard actually had a good, solid idea. He stood, moving near the vent and looking at up the amalgamation with a stern expression.

“Yes, being back-up is good,” Michael confirmed, but before Ennard could get too excited he went on a little louder. “But listen—you've got to forget your obsession with me for this to work, okay? I need you to focus on protecting everyone else first and foremost—especially Gregory. Do you understand?”

Whether Ennard would actually take this direction into account if the situation turned dire, Michael couldn't be certain. He just hoped that if it came down to saving himself or Gregory, Ennard would continue their trend of obeying Mike’s instructions and help the child first.

Said child was currently being tapped on the shoulder by his father, who smiled down at Gregory and Hannah when they turned to him. In a light, friendly tone, Freddy said: “It looks like you two are having fun!”

“Mm-hmm!” Hannah nodded, her own grin bright and excited. “Gregory's showing me all the tricks to get the best score!”

“That is wonderful—do you mind if I borrow him for a moment?” The paw on Gregory's shoulder indicated that they didn't actually have the option to say no. Still, Freddy kept his tone measured, not wanting Hannah to sense any of his rising concern. “Perhaps you can try out some of those new tricks for yourself!”

“Oh, uh... sure.” Hannah shrugged then promptly turned back to the game, deciding it best not to argue with the giant robot. If Monty was clearly on the fritz, who knew if Freddy was being affected by the glitch too.

Freddy took Gregory's hand and led him over to his siblings so they could catch him up on the plan and make sure they were all on the same page. As he was reluctantly pulled away, Gregory made sure to impart a last piece of advice. “Make sure you get that balloon; it's more points! Okay, bye—”

Ennard’s excessive eyes trained on Gregory as Freddy led him over. It was clear to anyone that Ennard was calculating the risk in their mind. Keeping Gregory as a priority meant that Michael, in the event of an emergency, could lose his skin. This would be bad for Ennard as Michael's skin was rather homey—even if this one was made of silicone. But if Ennard let Gregory die due to neglect, then there would be no way to ever convince Mikey to potentially lend Ennard his skin someday.

Choices, choices...

“GREGORY IS TOP PRIORITY... YES,” they decided resolutely.

Charlie made a pyramid with her fingers, resting the side of her index finger against her own nose as she reiterated her part of the plan aloud. They couldn’t afford to make any mistakes in these final hours. “So I'll be running with Gregory, pretending that you're both chasing us? And we'll be meeting again in Henry's workshop. Correct?”

“Correct,” Freddy confirmed, resting both paws firmly on Gregory's shoulders and squeezing them in comfort. He would love nothing more than to leave Gregory here to get lost in the world of video games with his new friend, but unfortunately the boy was an integral part in the plan.

“We'll try to keep as much distance as we can between you guys and William,” Michael said, coming to stand next to Gregory and running an absent hand through his hair. “We'll try to bring him straight to the workshop, but if anything goes wrong... I'm sure you'll know soon enough.”

Despite his best efforts, Mike's anxiety was peeking through his façade of overconfidence. His fingers shook, snagging a lock of Gregory's hair which made the boy flinch. “Crap—sorry.”

With an annoyed huff directed towards his own self-doubt, Michael crouched and wrapped his arms around the boy in a tight hug. Freddy released Gregory's shoulders, letting the boys have their moment. As Michael felt Gregory's telltale warmth of life, he was able to take a deep breath—soon, this would be all over and the worst thing they'd have to worry about in the near future was which hotel they'd try and finagle their way into staying at so everyone could get a nice, long rest.

“Keep Charlie safe, kid—she needs at least one strong brother to look out for her...,” Michael murmured into Gregory's ear, managing a smirk.

Gregory's eyes were clamped shut as Michael hugged him. He managed to squeeze his arms around the elder boy in a strong hold. It felt different being told to be the one to protect Charlie. Normally it was the other way around. This made Gregory feel the need to put his best foot forward and to be brave for the both of them, despite having the utmost confidence Charlie would always have his back.

“Are you ready to do this?” Charlie asked, watching as Gregory took a deep breath. He patted his brother's shoulder, knowing if he stayed any longer that he would never leave the comforting glow of his family.

“Yup. Let’s go. Love you guys—and don't let the stupid rabbit bully you.” After stepping away, Gregory glanced to Hannah and sent the girl a smile. “I'll be back to play video games with you later. You know, if you want to...”

“Mm-hmm,” Hannah replied absently, fully immersed in her game world. Vanessa watched her from the vanity, deciding it best to wait for the tension in the room to ease before revealing that she was going to be Hannah's babysitter. Hopefully the girl would just play on the arcade machine for the rest of the night anyway—at least she didn't need to worry about taking a break to get some food...

“Love you, too,” Michael said to his siblings, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched Charlie and Gregory head for the door. Freddy was still at his side for a moment, but as Michael looked up at him the bear suddenly rushed towards the pair and scooped Gregory into his arms in one fluid motion.

“I am sorry, I could not help myself,” Freddy apologized, clutching his son in a grip almost too tight for comfort. “Stay safe, superstar—I love you so much. We will see you both again very soon and put all of this at an end.”

Michael had to look away or else he'd join the hug... and then Charlie would surely add herself to the pile and they'd just end up standing in a huddle until daybreak.

Gregory was robbed of his breath from the intense squeeze. His dad was worried, but with good reason. It wasn't long before Gregory hugged him back, knowing the bear wasn't likely to let go until he felt a smidge of returned affection.

“—Love you too, Dad!” Gregory grunted. It wasn't an annoyed grunt, more like one that struggled for breath. The hold betrayed how scared Freddy really was for him with these strange new emotions. “I'll see you again real soon...”

In the vents, some muted thumping was heard as Ennard retreated. They were to move into the hall, set on following the pair. At the door Charlie had to look away, unable to bear watching them say what could be their collective and final goodbye.

Satisfied that his affection for his son had been thoroughly expressed, Freddy set Gregory back on the floor. Though he wore a smile, his bright blue eyes betrayed his worry of all the things that were to come. However, Freddy was designed to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and this time was no exception. A simultaneous wave from Freddy and Michael was the signal for Charlie and Gregory to slip out the back door. The boys watched until the pair were out of sight, then turned to each other.

“Ready, big guy?” Michael asked, holding up a hand to Freddy for a high-five.

“Ready,” Freddy confirmed, smacking his palm against Michael's without hesitation. As Michael moved to the front door, Freddy paused a moment before going to Hannah's side. He bent slightly, speaking softly as he told her: “Hannah? We to step out for a little bit, but we will be back shortly—Vanessa is going to stay here with you until then.”

The name ripped a jagged hole in Hannah's 8-bit world. Her eyes widened in fear as she looked back and forth between Freddy and the night guard. “C-Charlie's gone, too...?”

“Just for a bit,” Freddy reassured, placing a hand on top of her head to provide some comforting pressure, his expression nothing but sincere. “Vanessa will not harm you—I promise.”

Hannah sniffled, and for a horrible moment Michael thought she was about to cry. Then, confident in the animatronic's word she gave a little nod, shooting Vanessa a warning glare not to mess with her before returning to her game. With that task out of the way, the bear met Michael at the door.

As one they exited the sanctuary of Freddy's room and stepped into the cold, foreboding air of the main Pizzaplex.

***

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[louderrthanwords]

tw: suicidal ideation

1.2.23 || A List Of Observations, In No Particular Order

i. The year is fresh and new, and I am the loneliest I have ever been. 

ii. I listen to After Laughter by Paramore on repeat and scream along, trying to sing myself out of my cynicism.

iii. My friends are all scattered across states and countries and timezones, tied together by a connection to the internet and a tether to my heart.

iv. It is so stifling here that if I have to stay under my mom’s roof for another year, I think I might actually cross the line into insanity.

v. I haven’t read my Bible in months.

vi. I don’t know if I want to be an actress anymore, but I know the ever-present restless itch to create and perform still burns inside my sternum.

vii. Sometimes, the thought of suicide is a comfort. When things start to feel unbearable, the only way I can console myself is by remembering that if life is ever truly too much, there is a way out that I’ll never take, but contemplate for some sense of control.

viii. Sometimes, the only person I stay alive for is my best friend.

ix. Every song I write these days is sad.

x. I drink coffee now, in the early mornings when I work the opening shift. I’ve started looking forward to the sweet, bitter taste on my tongue.

xi. Lying is easier than it has ever been. Telling the truth is more difficult. 

xii. Now, with my short-cropped hair, not feeling the tips of my hair brushing past my shoulders is exhilarating. Now, in the mirror, I see someone beautiful: the kind of beautiful I’ve always wanted to be. I can’t regret cutting my hair, if it means the girl reflected back at me is more genuine than I’ve seen her in years, if it means I feel more at home in my body, if it means I get to feel the wind ghosting across the back of my neck. 

xiii. My mom lost her temper at me three times over three days. I cried each time, and each time it took all my willpower to remind myself that now is not the time to run away, not yet, to stay a little longer and wait out the pain.

xiv. I miss my dog more than anything.

xv. Everyone is lonely; everyone is running after things they desire but don’t yet have.

xvi. I mentioned offhand that I’ve never been kissed, and a girl I know offered to kiss me. Joking or not, I think I’d like to know what it feels like. I’d like to feel something good.

xvii. I finally had the courage to remove his contact from my pinned messages. Last night, when we talked for the first time in months, I realized I can’t continue to exist on crumbs of approval from the same person, he who once buttered me up with kindness and now rubs me raw with reality checks. Maybe this is my toxic pattern: say something vulnerable about myself to a man, trust him, and linger on even after I know he doesn’t love me. I held on a little longer than I needed to. But now I’m tired of not being valued by the people I try so hard to impress.

xviii. It has been two months since I last had an appointment with my therapist. I don’t know if there is something deeply wrong with me or if I am just deeply misunderstood.

xix. I keep the dream of moving away and finding my own home folded away under my pillow. I fall asleep with the promise that I am one day closer to finally making it real. 

xx. During all the moments when I wish for a kind embrace to fall into, she is miles and miles away.

[roland-emberlain]

Remnants of Gilneas

-Effect and Cause-

“P-Please. Don’t.” The boy puttered out, his voice both hoarse and breathless. They were the last gasps of someone who was not long for this world. He looked up to the figure looming over him, but his vision was beginning to go. He could no longer see clearly. The figure was just a blur as his vision lost focus.

“S'already done.”

The boy raised his hand towards the figure, and even as the shape of his hand slowly lost its form, he could tell something wasn’t right. His hand was short three digits. His thumb was barely hanging on. It nearly looked like a stump. His hand trembled. The rest of his body fared no better.

The formless figure began to take shape as he moved closer. It bent down, and the boy could only make out the two glowing orbs of his eyes. They were a golden orange, filled with hate, disgust and rage.

“We..” the boy licked his lips, “Made a m-mistake. P-Pleas-e..”  His eyelids became heavy, and it became harder and harder to keep them open – or was it the blood from his forehead that was beginning to pool in them?  “Mercy.. Ser..” he gasped out. It was becoming harder and harder for the boy to speak, as his throat dried up and tightened. His breath was labored. He was a dead man ten minutes ago, but he just didn’t realize it yet.

“Did you show my people ‘mercy’ when you slit their throats while they slept?”

He tried to explain himself -- That it wasn’t his idea. That he was just following orders.  He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Just guttural gurgles followed by a deep inhale, which offered no reprieve. The world was black, but he could still hear the figure walking a circle around him. The heavy thud of each armored footstep almost hurt his ears.

“Can’t promise you mercy.”  The figure spat out, “Can promise you’ll die here tonight in this courtyard, an’ I can promise that it’ll be slow an’ painful.. Yer lungs will fill up with fluid, an’ you slowly suffocate with each ragged, wretched breath you take.. But you wont be the only one who dies here tonight. Can promise you that.”  

He just wanted to see his family once more. He would give anything for it. He didn’t care about the riches of Gilneas. He would have never come here to hunt the Worgen. He would have never come to pillage. He’d have never bought into this whole bloody idea. The Worgen were supposed to be mindless beasts.. He would give anything to go back and change things. Maybe things would have been different. He should have left when he was given the chance.

The footsteps of the figure slowly sounded further and further away, until all that the boy could hear were distant screams and his own rattled breath.

He would suffer there, lying in the middle of the burned courtyard, for an eternity until his lungs filled with fluid and his body gave out. By morning, he was gone.

-Present Day-

Roland pulled his hood up as he made his way into the Old Gilnean territory. It had been some years since he’d last been back, though he thought of it often. More often than he’d like to admit, perhaps. His eyes scanned the landscape and felt his blood boil as he surveyed the destruction which lay before him. An eternal rain covered and oppressed this Kingdom of ruin. The last time that the Worgen had left this area, the din of battle raged all around him. But now he was met with a deafening silence. He walked familiar paths through a warzone whose front had long since departed. Abandoned siege machines, armaments and forward camps littered the grounds.

We can’t leave, Roland. This is our home.

For a moment, there was an overwhelming sense of comfort as he heard her voice. But as reality washed over him, the comfort was replaced by overwhelming anger. The scowl on his face darkened.  There were ghosts everywhere around Gilneas, no matter where he looked. Coming back to this place pained him. But still, he carried on down the path beside the Northgate Woods.

-There’s No Home For You Here-

“We just can’t, Roland.  I refuse to budge another inch!” Anilla pleaded as she grabbed onto his wrist and dug her feet into the ground in defiance among the trees of the Northgate Woods. She looked back at the others and lowered her tone, “We want to fight. We want to help!”

Roland looked over the band of survivors – it’d been weeks since the Wall fell, and while the worst of it was over, it was still incredibly dangerous. They were being hunted. By Forsaken. By opportunists. One by one, they were being picked off as they tried to defend their home. It made Roland feel utterly helpless, and that was a feeling he loathed more than any other.  Their pack of fourteen was now down to eight. Most of them were not warriors – they were merely common folk who’d never held a weapon in their lives. They’d maybe held a shovel, not a sword.

He pulled Anilla away from the group, his voice was hushed but firm, “They aint fighters, Anilla. They’re scared. They’re hungry. They’re tired. They need to get away from this place an’ seek refuge.”

Anilla stood determined in her defiance and shook her head, “You’re not giving them a chance, Roland!”

Roland pinched the bridge of his nose in growing frustration, “I’m tryin’ to give them a chance, Anilla! Look at them!” He motioned back to the group, which got their attention as the Worgen raised his voice. They cast their heads down, “This lot aint turnin’ no tide of battle. You’ll have them throw away their bloody lives. Be realistic.”

“They want to fight, my love.”

Roland grinded his teeth as he was pulled in two directions. He understood where she was coming from. He, too, was going to fight for his home. He knew these people would give their lives for that, too, when push came to shove. But they would be fodder. They needed to survive, so that his home could carry on.

“We’re goin’ to the Emberstone Mines. Can hide in the tunnels until I can find us a path out of Gilneas. Safely. That’s that.”

Anilla’s frown deepened, “You can be a real asshole without knowing it, Roland. Or maybe you do know and just don’t care. That makes it worse.” She turned on her heels and stormed back towards what was left of the pack.

Roland’s hardened gaze broke, if only for the smallest moment, before he steeled himself once again. Her words cut him, as they always did. He knew she spoke true. He would take her ire, if it meant that she and the rest of them survived.

The Pack quietly made their way into the Emberstone Mine.

It had been some days since the group had found themselves settled within the winding caverns of the Emberstone Mine. There had been a few close calls – Forsaken patrols which had dared enter the territory, but the group managed to stay one step ahead of them and remain hidden.

There was still some game on the plains outside of Tempest’s Reach, but Roland found the area too open for his liking. He couldn’t risk it, no matter how plentiful the bounty. Instead, he opted to hunt in his old territory – the Blackwald.  There was less to be found, but enough to get by. Through the evening hours, Roland stalked his prey until he’d collected enough to satisfy the hunger of his pack of eight. The rest was doing them good. He saw their spirits slowly returning as they ceased being on the run.

Those days in the Mine were as good as it got after the Wall fell. Until they weren’t.

Somewhere ahead of him in the Blackwald, he heard the snap of a fallen branch. His ear’s flicked instinctively, honing in on the direction. He set down the carcass of the deer that he’d just slain, got on all fours and dashed through the forest.

Crack, crack, crack, shuffle

The animal was close now. But it was on to his presence – after all, how could it not be? He was an armored Worgen rushing through the Blackwald. He could tell the animal was frantic by the way it moved towards the exit of the black forest. With each moment that passed, the closer the animal got.

“Please! No!” a Human male, possibly no older than eighteen, turned in his tracks and cowered in fear before the Worgen.

As Roland descended upon the human, he came up just short of the boy before looming over top of him. He was taken by surprise for a moment, his eyes widened as the boy curled into a defenseless ball. Roland quickly looked around, observing his surroundings. If there was one, then there were more likely in tow.

“P-please! Don’t!”

“Quiet.” The Worgen snarled out.

The boy screamed, but Roland was swiftly upon him. He grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up to his face. His mouth opened to a snarl, large deadly fangs before eyes filled with pure hatred.

“I said quiet!”

The boy quieted to a whimper in response, his entire body trembled in Roland’s grasp.

“How many more are with you?”

 The boy could hardly get a word out, he was terrified.

“Answer me if you value havin’ a lower half..” Roland growled, his grip tightened on the lad.

“J-Just o-one other.”

Roland’s ears twitched as he heard the click of a Pistol’s hammer.

“Drop him now, Dog, and place your hands in the air..” A confident voice came from beyond the trees behind him, “We don’t want any trouble.. We’re just here for the goods you lot’ll no longer need.”

Roland turned, holding the boy up between him and this newcomer. His eyes were alight with rage. He remained silent, but stood defiant.

“Thata boy. Now lower him and I won’t have to put a bullet in that mutt skull of yours..” The man took another few steps towards Roland. He was an older human, perhaps in his 40s. He had greased back hair, with a mustache that curled at the ends. He looked every bit of the piece of shit that he was. “Do it.”

Roland slowly lowered the boy until his feet dangled just an inch from the ground.

The man fired a warning shot into the air. Roland didn’t flinch, but the boy began to wet himself.

“I wont ask again, you dirty fuckin’ dog.”

Before the man could pull the hammer back on the pistol, Roland dropped the boy and lunged for him. Roland grabbed for the wrist which held the firearm and jerked it up into the air. The gun let off another shot, but now Roland held the man by both the wrist and the throat.

 “You don’t want trouble?” He exhaled in a deep, irritated huff, “You come to my home. You pillage an’ steal from my people.” The Worgen again breathed deeply, readying himself for the next few moments, “Oh, you’ve found trouble.”  Roland sunk his claws into the man’s wrist, causing him to let out a piercing scream. The man’s finger futilely pulled the trigger again and again before the pistol fell from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

Roland’s grip on the man’s throat tightened. The profiteer began to gurgle and choke. He began to kick and thrash. Another futile attempt as the human body began to fight against its own impending death. The Worgen stared the man down, who couldn’t meet him in the eye. He looked all over, perhaps for salvation, but there would be no salvation. There was only the brutality of his own final moments. Before long, the man ceased struggling. Roland’s grip tightened and there was a crack before the man’s body fell limp to the ground.

Roland turned back to the boy, who cowered against a tree, whimpering and muttering gibberish. Perhaps it was a prayer to his God. The Worgen stalked towards the boy.

“I-I-I j-just want t-to see my mother.” The boy blathered, “P-Please..”

Roland looked the boy over. He was a pathetic thing. Weak and frail. He had no mettle. No will. No purpose.

“What were you doin’ here?”

“H-hunting f-for food, S-Sir. F-For the camp.”

“Where’s the camp?”

“I-In the city. B-by the cathedral.”

“How many others are there?”

“Twelv—er—Thirteen.. Maybe fifteen.”

Roland’s patience grew thin. He slammed a fist into the trunk of the tree that the boy cowered against.

“How many?!”

“Fifteen!” The boy curled back into a ball before the Worgen.

“Fourteen now.” He looked back at the human corpse behind him, “Thirteen if you get the fuck out of my lands.. Am I understood, boy?”

“Y-Yes! P-please, Sir. T-thank you! Thank you!” the boy was panting so hard, it was clear he was somewhere between a mix of a panic attack and shock. Likely shock. The boy stood up and ran. He ran harder than he’d ever ran in his life. Down the path, out of the Blackwald, he tripped, barely touched the ground and was off again.

Roland searched the corpse, taking the pistol and anything else which might help his people. After gathering the animal carcass, he headed back towards the mines.

In time, Roland would come to regret showing sympathy for the Devil.

-Take me with you when you go-

It had been days since the incident in the Blackwald, and while things remained quiet within the Mines, it still nagged at the back of Roland’s mind. He held watch himself the first night, and again on the second and third. There was no sign of anyone but the occasional Forsaken patrol. That was a good sign, at least.

The group would soon need food, and it would be up to Roland to hunt once again. The Blackwald was now out of the question, as much as it pained him. For all he knew, they’d been lying in wait for him to return these past few days so that they could finish what the dead man started. He couldn’t take that risk. The Worgen was then forced to do what he preferred not to do before, and that was to hunt among the open, but under the cover of night.

As night fell and it drew closer for his time to depart, Roland began to make his way to the entrance of the Mine.

“Roland. Wait.” A voice from behind called out to him. Roland’s ears perked and he sighed. He knew Anilla was going to try to get him to move their group once again. He knew she would argue that they needed to leave the safety of the Mine and go on the offensive. She was impatient and she was also angry. Angry at feeling helpless. Angry at her home being destroyed. Angry at the loss of her people. Anger often clouded judgment, and it was often a bad combination. If only he could see that anger was clouding his vision all the same.

Roland stopped at the mouth of the Mine and waited.

“We can’t stay here forever, Roland.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s move.”

“The mines are the best shot we got at defendin’ ourselves, Anilla. Until we find a lull in the front line to get past the wall, we’re stuck.”

She let out a frustrated sigh, “We’re stuck because you refuse to act.”

Roland turned, finally facing the girl and narrowed his eyes upon her. He grinded his teeth as he looked for the words to say to her. He’d long since known her stubborn nature -- it was what he’d admired about her and fallen in love with. It was her strength and resolve, no matter the odds -- However, it meant she could be a royal pain in his side from time to time.

“Just need you to trust me.” He said softly.

Anilla’s brow furrowed deeper, if only for a moment, before she looked into his eyes and then her frown softened. She huffed and grabbed his arm, giving it a squeeze, “Roland, I just have concerns.. The longer we stay, the more of a target we become.”

Roland knew she spoke truly, however, their options were limited.

“I’m not sittin’ here idly, I promise ya. I’m workin’ a plan to get us out without losin’ anybody else. I can’t lose..” his mouth became dry and he found himself lost for words. Anilla squeezed his arm more tightly.

“Okay. But please.. Talk to me about it when you get back, okay?” she released her grip on Roland and stepped back.

Roland nodded, “We’ll talk when I’m back. Ask Shelby to keep watch while I’m out, alright? The rest of you lot oughta get some sleep.”

Anilla nodded and without another word, made her descent back into the mine. Roland stood there at the exit of the Mines for a moment. He let out a sigh and steeled himself from the biting exhaustion which grew with each passing day.

He departed into the night.

-

After an evening of hunting, Roland finally returned to the mines -- Though something felt off. By all accounts, nothing seemed to be disturbed in the area. But there was something in his gut that felt off. Feelings like that often meant something. He learned early to trust his gut with such things. He quickened his pace and came to the mouth of the Cavern. There was nobody sitting at the post inside. 

There should have been.

He dropped the carcass to the ground and drew his blade, weaving his way slowly through the mine. 

He listened. 

There was nothing. 

He quickened his pace, soon coming to the antechamber that his pack had been using as their home. It was there that he saw the bodies. Crimson blood stained clothes and matted fur, as his people were slain. Their throats cut from ear to ear, horrified looks on their faces as they were likely woken from their sleep as the blade passed over them. He stood there for a moment, in disbelief, before a voice called out to him from the back of the dimly lit chamber.

“Well, well. He finally returns. You’re a hard beast to track.”

Roland couldn’t take his eyes off of the corpses. His gaze shot from corpse to corpse, almost frantically, as he searched for Anilla. She wasn’t there. 

“We’ve been watching out for you for days now. You know why we’re here, right?”

There was a soft, gagged whimper at the man’s side. Roland’s eyes finally snapped in his direction and settled on a bloodied and battered Anilla, as she was bound at his side. Around him were three other men, all with cocky shit-eating grins on their faces. Roland took a start towards the men almost immediately.

“Oh no no.” The man drew his blade and pressed it against Anilla’s neck, “You’ll stay there.” Roland froze, though his body shook with rage. He wanted to, and would rip this man limb from limb when given the slightest chance.

“You killed one of my men, so I’ve killed some of yours. I’m thinking we’re starting to get close to being even now. This one we’re gonna have fun with.” The man said with a wicked smile.

“Let ‘er go..” Roland growled, “It’s me you want, fine. You’ve done yer damage. Leave her out of it.”

The man gently ran the tip of his bloodied blade along Anilla’s throat, “No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. I think I’m gonna let this one watch me gut you, and then I’ll do her in after. All of your pelts fetch too nice a price to let any of you go. It’s why we’re here, after all..” he whistled with glee. His cronies laughed.

Anilla looked to Roland through bloodied eyes. Though she could not speak, she didn’t need to. Her amber eyes, filled with both rage and defiance, told him everything that he needed to know. She mustered her strength and swiftly rose to her feet, jamming the top of her head into the bottom of the man’s nose. It sent him snarling back, howling in pain. 

Then time slowed.

Battles like this were often decided in a few short moments. To an outsider, it was over in almost the blink of an eye. To those in the fight, however, it could feel like an eternity -- depending on if you were the one who survived or not.

As the Hunting Party leader recoiled back, his men all lept from their positions to descend upon Anilla. She ran towards Roland, and Roland towards her. His blade was drawn, and each step he took seemed to lunge him further and further forward. 

The quickest hunter of the three was able to gain ground on Anilla, and grabbed her by the shoulder. As she spun around, she again drove her head into her attacker’s face. The second time must have been the charm -- as an audible pop was heard, and the man grabbed at his nose before collapsing to the ground. His limp body twitched, as Anilla seemed to jam the bone of his nose into his skull.

As the second hunter caught up with Anilla, there was the momentary realization that something was amiss, as Roland’s sizable blade bit into his neck, and continued right through it. The man’s head was taken clean off and clattered to the floor, where his body followed.

The third hunter, having seen all of this unfold, broke off from his charge towards Anilla and Roland, and tried to scramble out of the antechamber. He wouldn’t make it far, however, as what felt like five daggers sank into his back and then dragged him to the ground. He seized in agony, as blood dripped from Roland’s armored claws. There was a brief moment where he looked up towards his attacker, and saw Roland standing above him. Everything went black as he felt a sudden severe pressure against his skull and Roland’s plated foot sank into it with a crunch.

That left one. The Hunting Leader was on the ground, still nursing his wound. His face was a mess, as his nose leaked blood, “You mother fuckers!” He hissed out from the floor, and scrambled against a far wall.

Roland looked to Anilla and cut the bindings on her hands. She immediately wrapped them around his neck, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” she repeated, over and over. The shock that her body was experiencing was beginning to set in. 

He held her closely and shook his head, muttering against her ear, “I should have listened to you..”

Roland pulled away and looked into Anilla’s eyes. There was tremendous pain at the loss of his pack -- of his friends. But also a tremendous relief that he hadn’t lost her. 

The man continued to scream at them from afar, but Roland paid him little mind. He would get his due shortly.

As Roland turned to finish the man, there was a deafening bang, which echoed through the antechamber. And then second and then a third. In the next moment, life drained from Anilla’s eyes. Her body spun almost completely around, staggered forward against Roland and then slumped to the ground. Her body limp and lifeless.

Roland sank to the ground with her body, both frozen and immobile. He cradled her body, “No, No..” He muttered frantically, “Anilla. Please.” Her body was a ragdoll in his grasp. Her death was immediate. A thousand thoughts and feelings ran through his mind at that moment. Anger. Hatred. Blame. Loss. Doubt. He would never hear her laugh again. He’d never hear her call his name again. Those eyes of hers would never shine with delight, and she would never be able to tell one of her awful jokes. There would be no future in which she was by his side. 

Roland felt the gun barrel press against the back of his skull. He came back to the present.

“Guess we had a change of plans, eh? Said I’d let her watch you die, but this’ll do just fine.” The man blew his nose, a wad of blood shot to the ground beside Roland and Anilla. 

“Get up.” He commanded, “Drop the weapon and the bitch and just get the fuck up. I’m bringing you back to the Camp and we’re gonna string you up for what you did.” He stepped back as Roland gently placed Anilla to the ground and stood. He dwarfed the man by several feet. 

“You made the mistake of letting the boy go, you stupid fucking mutt. We woulda assumed the Forsaken got our guys in that forest. We’d be none the wiser to you and yours. Guess that’s why they say no good deed goes unpunished, eh?” 

The man pushed Roland with the tip of his gun barrel, “Start walking.” Roland complied and began heading towards the exit of the Mines. His gaze lingered on Anilla, and then his fallen friends as he passed them.

The man continued to goad the Worgen, gloating at his defeat. “What’s wrong, Worgen? Got the fight knocked out of you?” He pressed the barrel into Roland’s back, but Roland made no struggle against it. “If you’re not gonna make this fun for me, then I guess I’ll have to make it for myself. You know what we’re gonna do to you when we get back? We’re gonna string you up, and then I’m gonna have the rest of my people bring the bodies of your friends. We’re gonna skin each and every one of em in front of you, piece by piece.” he chuckled at the thought, “I aint gonna kill you until you’re begging for it to end. And I aint gonna make it quick either. I oughta let the boy do you in, as a reward. Let em prove himself.”

Roland looked ahead as they weaved in and out of the tunnel passages through the Mines. They were coming up to a tight bend, and that would be where he would shut this one up for good. As they rounded the bend, Roland stumbled forward to his knees, feigning a trip.

The man laughed and pulled the hammer back on his pistol, “Get up, you fuckin’--” before he could finish his insult, the man’s breath was knocked out of him. The Worgen used his force to slam backwards, sending the man careening into the cavern wall. The pistol clattered to the floor, and in one brief movement, Roland kicked it away and descended upon the man.

Hatred flowed through Roland’s veins as the man scrambled beneath him to try and regain his footing. Roland held the man down with one hand, and then brought a plated fist down upon him. There were no words he could say. His mind held no capacity for that in that moment. He saw red, and wanted to end this man who had caused so much suffering. There was the soft crunch of bone breaking, as a series of blows turned the man’s face into unrecognizable gore. The man squirmed and squealed in horror. The squeals turned to bloodied gurgles and then.. Stopped. The Worgen wouldn’t stop, though. He couldn’t. Not until this man was grinded down to paste against stone.

He wasn’t satisfied and would never be satisfied. However, the agonizing pain eventually caught up with Roland, and he collapsed to the ground in a roar of utter anguish. He’d never see her again. He’d never get to see the outside world with her. He’d never get her to safety.

He would, however, have his revenge.

-Cause and Effect-

The Worgen watched as the Hunting Camp went about their evening. His eyes transfixed on the boy he let go. He was laughing with the others in camp. Oh, how those laughs would soon turn.. He'd leave that boy for last..

They were all woefully unaware of the fury that was about to descend upon them.

“P-Please. Don’t.” The boy would putter out, his voice both hoarse and breathless..

-Present Day-

Roland looked out across the sea to the setting horizon. Though it rained in Gilneas, as it always did -- out there, among the ocean, it seemed both peaceful and serene. He’d traveled across continents and seas, fought battles and tried to find peace. With each step he made, he’d always felt as though something was missing. It was her. 

With a sigh, he placed a flower down beside the grave marker. It was one grave among too many others in Gilneas, and one that he hadn’t been back to since he’d laid her there to rest. He was afraid. Afraid of his mistakes. Afraid of his guilt. Afraid of his blame. Afraid of having to come to terms with the loss of her.

He inhaled deeply and took a seat beside the unmarked stone, which sat among itself among the rolling plains of Gilneas. He grinded his teeth and looked for the words to say -- but the right ones escaped him. They often did when it came to her. But she loved him for it regardless.

So he would start with the truth.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long..” 

He spoke as the sun set and continued well into the night. He spoke of the things he’d done in the time since he’d left Gilneas. He spoke of the things he was proud of, and the things he wasn’t. He spoke of the journey he’d taken, and where he thought it might lead. He spoke of his regret, and his fear of having failed her. He spoke of the home he longed to regain, and how he wished it was with her. Most of all, he spoke of his love for her, which had never left him. Not even for a moment.

End

[yoongiblunt]

I’ve been running my mouth a lot lately

I kinda closed up hard for a few months

Folks commented on hour quiet I got

I didn’t really notice, I’ve been dealing with a lot of stuff and sort of stopped going out/stopped being active in various friend groups/stopped throwing parties and bar crawling

A lot of people just sort of assumed I was doing really well w my sobriety tho and left me to it apparently

Mic told me that was sort of what the vibe felt like a couple of days ago when she asked me why I wasn’t hanging out so often

I really just haven’t had the time/energy with all of the constant changes I’ve been going thru

But over the last few weeks I’ve been having a surprising up swing, but I think it may just be mania. I find myself saying things that I normally wouldn’t say, telling people information that I usually would keep to myself? Tonight I jumped forward to warn a girl that the guy she was talking to was the same one who hit me up after I was literally told by a 17 year old that he was flirting with her. Now, usually, I would tell the girl in private and let her know, but in a bathroom full of girls I overheard her while I was pissing and got up and literally opened my stall door while I pulled my pants up to tell her to ghost him.

On top of that, earlier tonight one of the guys in my friends band told me that they were not thinking of going with the new bassist that they picked up, who is also a guy that works at my bar. He soft offered me a spot on the forgotten few, though it’s been soft offered to me multiple times. Obviously we hung out and talked a bit, but he told me that the new bassist oversold himself and couldn’t even find the notes he was looking for and that someone else would be filling in for him at the next couple of shows. He then told me that if there was ever a project I wanted to work on with him, that I could text him.

Later that night he popped up and bonked my shoulder with his kids hand and introduced me to his wife. That’s all besides the point, just prior info for my drunk brain.

For whatever reason, I felt the need to tell that nixed bass players bestie (my friend who is staying the night) all about this whole interaction.

I usually wouldn’t run my mouth about anything like that

Those are all things that the passive version of myself would keep my mouth shut about until the proper time or place for those sorts of conversations. Not at a bar or ina crowded bathroom. I’ve also just been saying things that are more abrasive than I used to. Not necessarily at anyone, but in reference to others.

I don’t like how messy and mean that feels. I wanna keep a better check on that kind of behavior because while honesty is important, and often times helpful in situations like with that guy and the minor, there’s a level of tact to it that I’ve been lacking.

Id like to be more careful with how I present information and who I present it to, because lack of tact has cost me many a decent friendship. I don’t want to ruin the ones I have with lack of growth

[seoafin]

HI HELLO I READ THIS ON MY FLIGHT TO JAPAN AND I WAS TYPING DOWN EVERY SINGLE THOUGHT IN MY NOTES

The opening...off the bat I love the themes of fate and destiny and personal choice!!!! especially in the context of like....love. is love preordained??? is it personal will?? a mix of both???

The air of familiarity as soon as the mc enters Mondstat is so nostalgic like the longing is there but also something seems to have happened which tainted the city for them :( but also it's such a warm scene when they enter the library and everyone recognizes them. it feels like a relief after years of being a stranger which comes with being a traveler

I'm sooo curious as to what went down between the mc and kaeya....the tone change when he enters the library!!!

Familiarity is a wretched comfort....yeah..... diluc as The Wretched Comfort!! Soggy man.

Ohhhhh when the mc is looking over the bar and you see the familiarity of their memories vs change in the absence of their presence ghhhh

see I am a SUCKER for childhood to lovers I love the slow build up and I love the small moments of diluc and the mc's childhood relationship it was so sweet to see diluc protective of them as well as their relationship with playful kaeya and crepus' dad like presence

Mc choosing books for crepus based on the covers.....I love them

I knew we weren't going to get the whole of the incident(tm) in the chapter but I was still hoping for it 😭 but!!! All the small hints pointing to it being diluc leaving after crepus' death and mc's teacher's death....eagerly anticipating the full backstory reveal

Oh god the last convo you really said emily bronte "you said I killed you—haunt me then!" diluc is so gothic romance (I have not played genshin I don't know much about his character)

but also wow there so much to pick at and discuss in the last convo....it seems to me diluc is being somewhat considerate of mc's feelings but the mc is more hurt at the fact that diluc wants pretend there is no history between, that they're nothing more than strangers. ack I love my misunderstandings sooo much I love how they can illustrate the thought process of characters (hence the misunderstanding) and I love seeing them resolved

You are sooo skilled at building atmosphere/the tone....the entire time I was reading this fic I was so nostalgic. Like I said before the constant comparisons of past vs present but more than that the LONGING for the people they used to be....they are seeing the ghosts of each other when they look. It's been years! They are characters that have grown without each other but they are also people that only know the other person in the way they used to be ....sorry if this doesn't make sense but I'm obsessed with the dichotomy of past vs present in terms of people....the natural progression of growth in people especially as it pertains to two people who have spent their childhoods and teenage years together and their divulging paths. Fate throwing back together after all these years! But is it actually fate? Or just the mc's own longing....justifying it as fate to make it seem as if it was inevitable. As if they didn't have a choice to begin with! That way they don't have to deal with their diluc baggage in a way that doesn't place the onus of responsibility and desire on them 😭😭 I love mcs who just pack up and leave. So relatable. That's me fr. Good for them!!!!!!

anyway I apologize if I got anything wrong I don't play the game and I'm not familiar with diluc's character past fanfics and the wiki but I do have a fondness for genshin fics considering ive seen and read many well written ones and this is another one I enjoyed immensely!!! looking forward to the next chapter whenever it's available!!! thank you for writing!!!!!!

part o - part iii

|| diluc ragnvindr x f! reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, fluff, post-trauma || wc: 16.2k  || ao3 || masterlist ||

You return to Mondstadt after many years away, sick, with an feeling that's all-too familiar and unwelcome.

❁ my heart, your song - @firein-thesky ❁

minors & ageless blogs dni

a/n: AH!! here it is :'^) the diluc fic!!!! thank you so much to @itoshisoup for beta reading (along with my non-tumblr pals han & ennis as well!!) this section contains four chapters, separated by partitions. if you'd prefer to read this fic with the chapters/parts separated, it will be posted as such on ao3!

this fic is a collab with the lovely cielo (@firein-thesky)!! our fics share a mostly canon compliant universe :3c give it a read!! it's linked above!!!

...

tags: alcohol use, descriptions of vomiting, reader with chronic injury, reader is referred to as 'little sister' by kaeya (not related), unreliable narrator/reader, soggy soggy SOGGY diluc, protective diluc, diluc and reader were childhood friends to lovers, reader is a healer

PART o: kismet

Once, on one of your several trips to Sumeru, you visited the Akademiya. You only went to poke at dusty books and sit in on a few lectures as a wanderer who liked a good story and a bit of learning. There, you met a scholar whose name didn’t stick with you, from the Rtawahist darshan.

They had the far-off look in their eye of someone who had seen a bit too much, for who they were. You knew that some scholars went mad in their pursuit of knowledge. Saw things that they couldn’t cope with even if they tried. Your new friend looked to be close to such a threshold.

Perhaps, in an act of pity, you took this scholar out for a drink. Or two. Or seven. The exact number of cups and goblets escapes you now. But what you do remember, as you sat together on a terrace high above Yazaha pool, legs swinging, was their ramblings. 

“There’s a map of everything, up there.” They gestured wildly to the sky, twinkling and bright, with the moon as company. “Deciphering it... Well. That’s another thing. But it’s there. And if we figure it out, fate will be in our hands to know.”

They continued, stretching their hands to the cosmos above them, as if their fingertips could decipher the orchestration of the Gods with nothing but passion, wine, and will. It was admirable, in your drunken state. Perhaps foolish to your sober mind. 

Nonetheless, such an idea stuck with you. Even after you departed from your bygone friend, and continue your wanderings, you think about it. You laid on your bedroll more than once, staring upward, and wondering—

Why did the gods mosaic the sky? 

You are just a mortal, how are you to know? You tried not to dwell on that specific thought. The one you find yourself coming back to, in your worst nights—

(If I could read the stars, and foresee a tragedy, is there any way for a calamity to be stopped? If you knew fate’s charted course, the crest of its fortune and the wake of its tragedies— could you circumvent them?)

(Could you have stopped your calamity?)

It was a self-deprecating thought, and it dragged you back to a place and time that was both unpleasant and unnecessary to recall. 

There’s no way to change the past, you reminded yourself. You could only move forward. Never back. You only balked at the stars in your weakest moments and pondered such ideas like fate and destiny. You could live in the illusion of carving your own destiny as you traversed Teyvat. One where you wrapped gauze around wounds after the disaster had passed. Heal sullied ground. You could do everything you could to help people. That was enough, you decided early on in your travels. 

You’d help people (and avoid the nation Mondstadt). Simple enough.

One foot in front of the other.

PART i: there’s a puzzle we crafted

You’re tired. 

So tired. 

It’s a merciless type of exhaustion that you rarely, if ever, let yourself slip into. To wander Liyue’s peak and narrow paths in such a condition is dangerous, even if the Millelith and Guild did a decent job keeping settlements of Hilichurls suppressed. In general, you can take down slimes on your own— except when you find yourself this deliriously tired. 

Normally, you don’t even bother traveling in this state. You would drag yourself to the nearest village, throw some mora at a layperson and set up shop wherever they had space. Be that an inn, back room, or stable— you aren’t picky. As long as you could rest for a few days, perhaps help out the village in your spare time. 

Your most recent wanderings, however, took you far onto the Yaoguang Shoals for several days, and by the time you returned to solid, proper earth, you were desperately low on essentials. Your nearest respite was an old village crawling with Hilichurls. Your next best option would be a miniature expedition onto the shores of Dragonspine and hope the cold wouldn’t kill you before you could find shelter and stoke a fire.

So, you keep going.  

All the way past Stonegate and the quarries beyond it. You’re only half-lucid as you wander into Mondstadt for the first time in years. 

You roost in an abandoned cottage some ways down the road. Finally resting for the first time in days. Never mind your still-damp bedroll or the structural unsoundness of the ruin. You practically fall to your knees and pass out, given your state.

(Running has made you tired, hasn’t it?)

When you awaken, you ache. (Familiar). You nibble on the last of your rations and it hits you—

You’re back in Mond, aren’t you?

Archons.

You should leave, really. It’s your first thought when you realize where you are. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not even near the city proper, but a panic unfurls in your chest like you’ve been struck. You immediately begin to pack up your things—

Two things hit you then:

One: You’re far lower on supplies than you had thought. 

This isn’t a new development, however. It’s just far worse than you thought. You paw at the contents of your bag, realizing that the dried zaytun peaches and jerky you had for breakfast were the last of your rations. The weather had been poor across Liyue in the past weeks, and many of the normal markets you would’ve run into were shuttered because of it. Regardless, you didn’t think you were on your last fucking morsels. 

Deep in your bag, all you have is a torn, unusable tarp and a pitiful handful of the crystalline shards you used to purify water. 

You don’t even need to look at your medicine kit to know the paltry state it’s in. Far too many empties. 

Two:  A burning sensation that splits you wide open and threatens to eat you alive. 

You barely twist your foot the wrong way. Hardly at all. Regardless, something like liquid electro shoots from the twisted (broken, mutilated—) parts of your right foot, up your thigh, and shakes you down to your bones. 

You stumble, using the wall for support and keeping your weight off the injury. It shouldn’t be aggravated this early in the day. You shake it off from your ankle, lowering yourself to the dirt floor to massage out any of the tension and subsequent pain that you can. You’ll be able to walk, surely, but it’s getting harder and harder to deny that the old injury isn’t worsening over time. 

You remember, vaguely, hearing tell that there was a skilled healer in Mond once again. Younger, a Vision-bearer in the Church, maybe? 

You know enough about the Church of Favonius that they would at least look at your injury, if this half-remembered healer really does exist and is affiliated with them. 

You hate that Mondstadt seemed like the best option. 

(Later, you’ll realize it’s all a bit like fate, pushing you toward that stupid city.)

You find yourself at a loss, shake your head, and sigh, “... I guess it wouldn’t... really be so bad to visit.”

You’ll just stay for a day or two.

...

Mondstadt’s front gate is so familiar it nearly hurts. The guards have different faces than the ones you remember from your youth. Their demeanor is the same— kind, open, like how people from Mond tend to be. They don’t hound you too much as you pass, and you enter the city without issue. 

Midday sun lights Mondstadt proper when you arrive (your journey from the quarries took a bit longer than necessary, considering your route went wide around a particular plot of land that you refused to go near.)

The city bustles with noise and activity. Merchants line the streets, carts and stalls overflowing. Seafoam banners and floral wreaths hang along the stone arches and walls, while garlands of fresh flowers stretch from building to building. The scent of fresh flowers, baking bread, and sweet wine envelopes you.

Windblume, you remember. It is spring, after all.

You hope the crowds of the festival will help you blend in as you meander through the city. You keep your head down, counting cobblestones and being quick with your purchases. Better to get in and out, probably. If you can snag a new tarp and bedroll, you could set up across the bridge for the night, and be gone by morning if you could track down that healer within the afternoon too. 

As you walk up the main run of Mond proper, toward the fountain and the smell of warm spiced meat, someone, archons, gasps from behind you and says your name.

(Later, you’ll recall this moment. Perhaps kismet turned on its axis for you to still and—)

You freeze, going stiff. You’d know that voice anywhere. Sweet and teasing, curling down your spine in a way that feels both ambiently flirtatious and horribly familiar. 

Part of you screams to ignore her. Let her think she has the wrong person and continue your journey in Mond unimpeded by an old specter. You could be out the gates in a number of hours, if not minutes if you really need to (run, run, run).

But, there’s a temptation. It breathes itself alive, from the back of your mind to the front, entirely unavoidable. 

(How long has it been since you’ve seen a familiar face? One that you know instead of just recognizing?)

You turn slowly. “... Hi, Lisa.”

...

And, somehow, you end up in the Knight’s of Favonius headquarters, with a perfectly warm cup of tea in your hands, nestled in a library you hadn’t been inside for nearly a decade. It smells of old parchment and leather. Steam rises from your cup, fragrant with Sumeru rose and Guili cinnamon stick with black tea leaves. You recall the scholars of the Spantamad darshan favored this blend; you shared more than a cup or two during your visits to the Akademiya. 

Lisa settles in the seat across from you, with a small box of pastries that look sticky and sweet. Your mouth waters. 

“How have you been, dear?” Lisa gives you a soft look. “It’s been so long.”

So long, you add to yourself. Sitting across from Lisa is giving you a gut-twisting sense of deja vu that has your palms sweating.

“I’ve been well,” you say, gently. “Travelling, still.”

“Oh, how exciting.” Lisa smiles and lays her cheek on her palm. “What was your most recent destination?”

You hummed. “I recently went to Natlan’s capital, just for a few months. I ended up staying with a smith who gave me odd jobs in exchange for housing.”

“Oh, wow,” Lisa preens for you. “And before that? I apologize, dear, I’m not caught up with your journeys.”

Ah, the lack of letters.

“I apologize.” You rub your forehead. “I haven’t been writing lately. It’s been... hard to keep track of things, though it’s not an excuse.”

“I would disagree.” She flashes you a sympathetic smile. “You’ve been crisscrossing Teyvat; it makes perfect sense why you would struggle to keep in touch with folks. I’m sure you’ve met plenty of friends on your travels, too. I imagine you have lots to juggle.”

Lisa is partially correct, you suppose.

“You continue to give me so much amnesty— too kind,” you laugh, and lean back in your chair. 

Lisa looks a bit wistful as she puts down her cup in exchange for one of the pastries. You recognize the expression on her. You’ve only seen her wear it once before.

“How long are you staying in Mond?” Lisa asks, nodding down to the box. You leave the treats untouched.

“Not long.” You refuse to look at her as you answer, “Just for the day. I needed some supplies and Mondstadt was the most convenient.”

It’s a clinical answer. One you say intentionally, perfectly, so she can’t poke holes in your logic. You hope, pray, she doesn’t push back on your short visit. Any longer, and you might accidentally run into more faces you don’t wish to see. Lisa was tangentially related to... everything, but she was the least obtrusive person you could have run into. Still, you’re in the lion’s den, in the Ordo’s HQ, for a cup of tea, praying that you can slip in and out undetected outside of Lisa.

(It’s easier like this, you tell yourself. You can’t get twisted up in this place again.)

Lisa examines you, tracing you up and down with her gaze in a way that’s horribly disarming. If it was from anyone else, you’d think they were checking you out, especially with the sweet, upward quirk of her lips. But, this is Lisa, and you had forgotten how astute she is.

“Only a day? That’s a shame.” She sighs, sitting back and stirring the tiny spoon perched in her teacup. “It's Windblume. You should stay.”

“I could,” you muse and give her a sympathetic smile. “But, I don’t think it would be wise. It would be better if I got on my way quickly.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How far back would a few days in Mondstadt put you on your travel plans?” 

‘Plans’. 

You nearly bark out a laugh, but you keep it lodged in your throat. 

“Not terribly far, but I... I don’t want to stay, Lisa.” You reach across the table and squeeze her free hand. “It isn’t good for me to linger here.”

The look she gives you breaks your heart. Her brows wilt, her eyes get a little sadder, and she grips your hand unyieldingly. “... Are you sure, sweetheart? I’m sure the Knights could put together some lodging for you—”

She presses, and you hate the feeling of it. You know her kindness is not misplaced, but it makes you roll around in your skin regardless. Archons. You interrupt her with a tight smile, “Truly, Lisa, I am grateful for the offer, but I will be on my way come tomorrow morning. Perhaps another year.”

“Perhaps.”

You sip your tea in silence for a moment. You stew, barely, not at her specifically but circumstance. It boils just underneath your skin, just as it has been since you entered Mond’s border. Speaking to Lisa has only made the feeling grow and burn. 

You can’t meet her gaze— you can’t. You can feel it on you regardless. You know you’ll see more pity and maybe that familiar bite of anger she wields so well. 

“Why don’t you tell me when and how you got that Vision then?” She nods low, down to your waist. Your dendro Vision hums there, tied to you with a fraying, braided string that desperately needs replacing. 

There isn’t a problem with indulging a bit of... this, is there? You’re only sitting to chat. Drinking some tea. You can hunt for that healer and duck out of Mond’s walls by sundown. Easy. You pluck one of the buttery-looking pastries from the box and plop it on your plate. 

“Sure, but only if I can get a refill on this tea.” You smile and raise your cup.

...

You lose track of time, talking to Lisa. 

You do tell her how you obtained your Vision, and of your subsequent journey through Snezhnaya to its port following your graduation. She tells you some of the new gossip of Ordo Favonius, and that she’s been thinking about picking out a ring to give to Jean (though, she has a hunch the other already has one in mind. Lisa thinks it'll be fun to meddle with whatever precise plan the Acting Grand Master (nice) has in place.)

She continues to pour you tea and push more baked goods onto your plate. You enjoy them, and her company. It’s a rare treat to sit down for so long with nothing more than chatting on your mind. 

“How was studying in Snezhnaya?” Lisa asked, eyeing your various bags. “Cold, I imagine?”

“Very.” You grimace, fishing around in your satchel. “But, worth it.” 

You pull forth a palm-sized metal insignia. You keep it tucked away, most of the time, only flashing the thing when necessary. You only need legitimacy every so often.

“Oh, wow.” Lisa gawks a bit. “May I see?”

You hand it to her. “Be my guest.”

She studies the metal, running her fingertips along the edges where the different colors meet. Vibrant blues meet greens and whites, with pink and purple flowers cast around the bottom edge. The shape resembles something between a shield and wheel, with each one of its seven portions having some meaning for the institution. They escape you now. 

“I’ve heard that the Tselostnyy School is quite the place,” Lisa says. “No one at the Akademiya seemed fond of them, but I imagine it was out of some sort of insecurity.”

You snort. “Probably. Folks at Tselostnyy actually teach healing— not just study the human body for the sake of some academic pursuit. The two schools have opposing goals.”

It was one of the main reasons you declined to apply to the Akademiya at all. 

“I’m glad you found a place to study— I know it was hard, after Teacher passed away.” Lisa reaches out as she speaks, going for your hand. 

You withdrew your own from the tabletop, hiding it in your lap. “It was. But I managed.”

‘Managed.’

Lisa gives you a look that drips pity. She looks as though she’s going to reply, just as the door to enter the library clicks open. 

Your gut drops to the floor and your shoulders stiffen. 

“Lisa? Could you proofread this draft for me? I’m afraid I sound too formal again—” It’s Jean, it’s Jean.

It’s her voice, the distantly familiar click of her hard heels against the wood flooring. You bunch the fabric of your trousers in your fist, forcibly reminding yourself to breathe. Jean walks from behind you, rounds the table, stops at Lisa’s side and looks at you. 

Jean’s eyes widen.

“Oh, sorry sweetheart— I’m a bit busy with a friend right now,” Lisa says easily, oblivious (seemingly, probably not.) She gestures to you and winks. “I can take a look after lunch, if you can take a break with me.” 

Jean says your name— gasping it more or less, tightening her grip on the document in her hands. 

“... Hi, Jean.” You give her a little wave. “How have you been?”

It’s bittersweet, the feeling that curls and grows in your chest as she brightens and pulls up a chair next to Lisa. It’s familiar and rotten, all the same.

...

The commotion in the library brings other visitors.

Lisa wears a smitten smile as other knights make their way into the library. Aramia and Flyn— they look older, long grown out of their adolescence and more into their skin. Hertha has crinkles around her eyes that grow tight when she recognizes who you are. 

The Spark Knight barrels in the room being lazily chased by—

Kaeya.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck— 

He scoops up the little knight and turns to the tea table, now surrounded by familiar faces, and you can see he has his lips pursed for some sort of teasing quip. Probably at the expense of the Ordo’s acting Grand Master and Librarian.

Then, Kaeya sees you. 

You watch his jaw snap shut. Whatever clever thing he had to say dies on his tongue and you watch it. It’s a little satisfying after all this time. You’ll cherish this moment, you think. The split second of confusion, the realization, the shock and— the guilt.

He wipes the expression off his face easily, as if it were never there to begin with. But you’ll revel in his discomfort. Your own little revenge, several years too late.

“Oh, wow—” Kaeya whistles, clicking closer and settling Klee on his hip with a bounce. He says your name almost breathlessly. “Little sister, it’s been quite some time. We’ve missed you.”

“Did you?” You tilt your head. “That’s surprising.”

You hold your tongue. You dig your teeth into the sides of it, forcing yourself quiet. The feeling that’s boiling in your chest won’t be extinguished by verbally thrashing Kaeya in the middle of the Knight’s HQ— but, Archons—

It’s tempting.

“‘Sister’?” The little knight’s nose scrunches. “Mister Kaeya, you said you only had Diluc, who’s only kinda your brother. No sisters!”

“He’s teasing me,” you placate her, voice sweetening. The little knight looks at you with wide eyes, a little awed. “‘Mister Kaeya’ is an old friend of mine, we played together lots when we were little like you.”

An oversimplification, of course. Little Klee doesn’t need to know what happened after the sun-swept days of sword fighting and house ended at the winery. Kaeya’s air quickly fades as Klee squirms down and asks kindly for a hug. You don’t think she can remember you— you only held her once, when she was so small— but you know her kind age and remember so differently from your own.

“Why are you in town?” Kaeya asks. “I thought I’d never seen you within city limits again. Color me surprised.”

You lock your jaw, as Klee bounds away from you and wrestles her way onto Jean’s lap, “Passing through, is all. I’ll be gone by morning.”

“... So, you’re not staying for Windblume?” Kaeya sits, pouring himself a cup of tea. You think you might hate him. “That’s a shame.” 

“I’m not,” you clarify and roll your eyes. “Though everyone is insisting that I do.”

“You really should.” Lisa takes the opening and insists, “It would be lovely to have you.”

Of the group that has congested in the library, you only hear agreement. Jean has a bright look in her eye that makes you shy away. 

“I... I really shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” Kaeya grins, foxlike. You think he just likes making you squirm.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Jean inquires, setting her chin on her fist.

“Well, no—” There’s always somewhere for you to be. You can’t stay. You shouldn’t even be here now. 

“Then, stay.” Eula leans against the doorframe, entered at some point. 

You’re being thoroughly peer-pressured, it seems. 

“...I’m being bullied into staying for Windblume, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps.” Jean gives you a sheepish grin. “You’re missed, Windblume is just an excuse.”

You ache. 

“Stay in the city, enjoy some wine,” Lisa insists. “Catch up with folks. I’d love to see more of you while you’re here. I’m sure you have stories to share of your travels.”’

You barter, “... If I do stay, I need to find a healer. I heard that there’s a skilled one, living in Mond. A Vision holder.”

Jean opens her mouth, but Kaeya speaks first. “Done.”

You consider. 

You’re fully aware that your arm is being horribly twisted into staying for Windblume. You know this is unwise. But—

(There’s something to it. Something you can’t admit it to, not aloud, not yet— but being in a room full of people who do not see you as a stranger, but rather an old friend. They know your name, and you know theirs. There’s something to knowing the streets you will walk if you stay. Familiarity is a wretched comfort.)

“If you need lodging, the knights could easily put you up in the dormitories,” Jean offers.

“No, I—” You sigh, scrubbing a hand down your cheeks. “I appreciate the gesture, but if I do stay I’ll camp outside the city.”

“So you’re staying?” Klee’s eyes shine. 

“I—”

“In that case, come out for drinks tonight,” Kaeya insists with a sly smile that makes you want to eat glass. “I’ll buy a round.”

“Wait—”

“Angel’s Share does bring out its Windblume vintage tonight—” Lisa says enticingly. 

“Absolutely not.” You smack your hand on the table, far louder than you intend. 

Kaeya cocks his head, amused. Lisa and Jean share a look, and the rest of the knights look a bit bewildered. You hate to raise your voice, but Archons, this crowd can be pushy.

“I’ll stay. But I’m not going to Angel’s Share.” Never ever again.

Lisa does seem to notice her error in suggesting it and gives you an apologetic smile. She reaches for your hand and squeezes. You feel a bit lighter.

“Diluc won’t be there,” Kaeya states. On the nose. “He doesn’t bartend on weeknights, even during Windblume.”

“... Really?”

“He doesn’t,” Eula corroborates. “I have knowledge as well that he is in the middle of merchant deals with a group from Natlan. There is no reason to think he’d be at Angel’s Share this evening, if that’s your concern.”

You pick at the skin around your nails. 

“I’ll think about it.”

(You agree, by the time you leave Ordo HQ. After many other promises of free wine and dancing, you find it hard to refuse. It doesn’t hurt that you confirm with multiple others that Diluc doesn’t bartend on weeknights. That he’s been caught up in business, and hasn’t been in the city much at all.)

...

You had enough mora for a few nights of lodging. You figured that Goth may have even given you a discount, as an old friend of his. Archons know how many times you worked odd jobs for him and his sons, patching up walls and the occasion twisted ankle or jammed finger. 

After some searching, you find Goth in one of the many gardens of Mond proper. As happy as he is to see you, he regretfully informs you that he has no free lodging. 

“Windblume has booked out all of my short-term properties,” Goth sighs. “Unless you’re looking for a minimum six-month lease, I don’t have any rooms available.”

(Goth explains to you that the goddamn Fatui has rented out the entirety of his hotel... indefinitely? Upfront? Hence the lack of a room.)

You tell him it’s no trouble, wave off his concern. You don’t mind a few more nights of camping. The only allure of an inn or hotel was the possibility of consistently bathing and a soft mattress. 

You pick a spot outside of Mondstadt proper to set up your camp. There are many tents already set up— travelers, like yourself, here for the festival. You recognize colors and fabrics from all over Teyvat. It warms something in you, that you aren’t alone in being an outsider here.

(Such a thought feels wrong, because it is, isn’t it? You aren’t an outsider at all. This is your home. The only place you’re not an outsider.) 

You struggle to set up your tent, and decide to leave it for later. Wandering around Mond for the afternoon aggravated your injury, and you instead take the time to poke around in your medicine kit for a quick tincture. Something to settle the—

(Burning, screeching pain that tracks up your leg. You’re grateful the other travelers aren’t watching how you collapse against a pile of discarded crates, barely holding back a hiss of pain.)

(It’s getting worse, isn’t it?)

Teacher always said that nothing was harder on sickness and wounds than stress. It was a wisdom you remembered but barely heeded.

You use the dropper and place the tincture under your tongue. It tastes bitter and coats your throat as you swallow. 

...

The sun rains gold on Mond as you meander toward the Angel’s Share. Liquid amber that coats the buildings and cobblestones. It’s nostalgic in too many ways, and it makes something behind your ribs ache.

(You’re hit with the distinct urge to run. To turn tail and leave Mondstadt forever, again.)

You shove it down, swallow it whole, and bear it. Bear it. Not forever, just for a few days. You can catch up with some old friends, leave any old scores unsettled and untouched (undisturbed, unthought about—), and depart. Maybe even fix up your foot in the process.

You hesitate outside of Angel’s share.

It looks different than you remember. The door and its frame have been replaced, the door and its frame hardly ached. There’s a message board outside that you can’t recall being there previously. A wreath hangs on the door, woven with blue and white flowers for Windblume.

You want it to be different. You do. Because if things are different, walking into Angel’s Share wouldn’t feel so daunting. You could pretend that this horribly familiar tavern was someplace else entirely. Maybe even delude yourself into thinking that this little building was its own, unique, carved-out square during one of your travels. A fantasy where you’ve never been here before.

(The warmth under your disgust wouldn’t feel so misplaced then.)

You enter.

It’s lively, bustling with patrons of all types with the festival beginning so soon. You recognize clothes and people from all corners of Teyvat, and it comforts you once more. You blend in easily, lingering near the door, and peek at the bar.

Diluc is nowhere to be seen. Another barkeep mans the kegs, barrels, and bottles. You don’t recognize him— which brings you some relief. 

It would be easy. To be delusional about this whole thing. That Angel’s Share could be just a tavern in the middle of nowhere and the faces that are around you have no chance of being familiar. You’re in a sea of folks who are travelers, just like, or mostly unfamiliar. You could, couldn’t you? Tell yourself that this isn’t a place where—

(You had your first drink. Learned how to mix cocktails with Crepus. Play fought Diluc and Kaeya in the rafters on the third floor. Where you last saw Diluc—)

You clutch a hand to your chest. Who knew that emotional pain could be so violently physical? 

Jean calls your name from across the room, pulling you from your stupor. You meet her eyes, and the smile you force to meet your eyes feels a little more genuine.

With the call of your name, several other patrons look up and gawk for a moment. You get a few more ‘oh hello!’s and ‘I didn’t know you were in town!’ thrown your way and you give them all sheepish smiles. Faces you can’t place very well. Features and familiar expressions mutilated by time and a botched memory. It makes you feel sick to your stomach— archons, and you haven’t even sampled this year’s selection of thousand-wind’s wine, have you? 

Jean flashes you a sympathetic look when you finally make it to their table. The table is flushed full— intimidatingly so. The knights have come out tonight. Lisa and Jean cozy up on the same bench seat, while Kaeya (die) and Albedo sit across from the two. You offer the alchemist a timid wave, which he returns in kind. Some of the other knights have spilled out to the tables around you, chattering away with wine-stained lips.

And the night’s still young.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show,” Kaeya practically purrs (choke) and leans closer to you on an elbow. “Were you able to find some lodging for the festival?”

“Yeah, I found something that will work.” It’s not technically a lie. Besides, they don’t need to know where you’re sleeping.

Kaeya raises an eyebrow and Albedo elbows him politely in the ribs. You make a note to buy him a drink later.

“I’ll get this round,” Lisa says, standing and grabbing you by the arm. “My treat. A welcome home present.”

You let her tug you through the crowd.

You end up seated properly at a barstool while Lisa orders. She wove her way through the crowd and up to the bar so easily, like liquid. You hardly have to wait at all before a drink is passed to you across the bar top.

You gulp half the glass down, greedily.

You, notably, have chosen not to cessate from dandelion wine in your absence. It was a rare treat to come across outside of Mond and Liyue, so when you could get your hands on glass, you let yourself partake. Whatever melancholy it brought with it could be tempered with more of it anyways.

It goes down easy— it always does. Thicker than other wines, sweet but bodied, with some type of nutty and berry note to it. You never understood the process of winemaking, despite so many years spent at the winery. When Crepus or Diluc or one of the staff attempted to explain, it all easily went over your head. 

The tannins sour your cheeks. You swallow down another mouthful, greedy, and slam down your empty goblet. Lisa looks at you wide-eyed.

“I don’t recall that you were ever much of a drinker,” Lisa remarks as she flags down another glass for you. She sips her own, mischief in her eyes. 

You shrug, nodding to the barkeep who fills your cup. “I indulge, occasionally. Forgive me for needing a drink in this environment.”

You gesture to the carousing around you. A lyre and fiddle play in the corner, and you distinctly hear two different bard songs. One is significantly better than the other, and you may have even enjoyed it if you could hear it fully. 

Being near the bar forces you to see changes. They’re hard to not notice. The signage behind the bar has changed. An old menu and drink list have been changed out for something sleeker. Paintings and their frames replaced. The glass you’re drinking out must be new, along with the tankards that the barkeep washes whenever he has a free moment.

There are still ghosts in the corners.

“Gods, you look like a wet towel.” Kaeya’s shouts, nearly in your goddamn ear, as he slips into the empty seat next to you. He drapes an arm over your shoulders like you’re old friends and not the byproducts of a dissolved relationship. You think about shrugging his arm off, but decide against it. 

You throw back the rest of whatever is in your glass and shout for another.

Kaeya catches your eye for a moment with a nearly unreadable expression. You recognize it (and concur that you need to be far more drunk than you currently are in order to survive the evening.) His brow lays smooth, lips in a not-quite smile, and his posture is a bit too rigid. You know he’s picking you apart, albeit quietly.

The expression disappears a moment later, and he has a new bottle of wine in his hands (“For you, little sister.”) Your cup fills yet again, and you drink.

The world begins to feel fuzzier, easier, and the pain in your foot and leg dulls. God, you try not to indulge in drinking too often (it’s simply a recipe for reliance, given your condition. Regardless, you're a physician who knows better than to turn to the bottle rather than medicine), but you feel the temptation of it occasionally. 

It’s an easy friend to indulge in under these circumstances.

One of the bards, the one with loose braids, strikes up a conversation with Kaeya, looping you in with an exchange of introduction. Your cheeks warm when you notice the slur of your words, sipping your cup to disguise any embarrassment. The bard must be drunk, with how much sweet wine he drinks, but he hardly acts it. Poised.

Lisa pats you on your back after your fourth glass, seemingly pitying you in your stupor. 

The good bard, at some point, leaves Kaeya’s side. Kaeya’s back to leaning into yours, the furs of his outfit prickling your nose. If you were sober, you’d be spewing curses at him. But in your drunken mind... it was fine. Fine. Maybe the warmth of him against your side wasn’t entirely unwelcome either.

You loosen up, whether you want to or not. 

Lisa drags you out of your stool after your fifth drink, to take pulls off a pipe a traveler offers and to dance with her in the main room of the tavern. The bards play a duet now, in tune, though the good bard from earlier carries the performance.

You laugh as she twirls you, dipping you near the floor. Some of the patrons cheer and whistle at the move, and you let loose a giggle that never would’ve left you in your right mind. Her face swims before you. Your insides are warm. Things are okay, maybe. For now.

So, you dance.

You dance with Jean and Kaeya, even dragging Hertha in for a round. Eula refuses, though apologetically. She’s a bit too drunk herself, and Amber insists on staying by her side to nurse her with water and pyro-warmed pets to the back of her neck.

(Do you envy them? Maybe. The skinship of it seems nice. They’re so familiar with each other, even from a distance. So lax and tender with each other even within such a setting. You cannot imagine receiving such treatment.)

Kaeya spins you back to the bar and buys you another glass.

“You dance better than you used to,” he croons in your ear. “even with that dreadful limp of yours.”

You bark out a laugh and punch him in the arm with hardly any force (you’ll regret not making it hurt more, later). “Wow, and here I thought wine curbed your silver tongue.”

“Unlike some, I can hold my liquor just fine.” He shrugs and sips.

You, on the other hand, turn the corner from ‘tipsy’ to ‘blasted’ as you hit the bottom of your goblet. Your stomach churns, spelling a hangover that will rot your stomach and the space between your eyes come the morning. The room doesn’t spin, not quite yet. 

You lay your forehead on the bartop. 

“Aw, had a bit too much?” Kaeya tsks. “How unfortunate of you, to not know your limits, even after all this time.”

You grumble something unintelligible. 

He sets a cold hand on the nape of your neck and your ground yourself on it.

(You can regret it in the morning.)

You have absolutely no idea what time it is, though the tavern is still rowdy. You imagine late, at least near the high moon if not into the early morning. Windblume was a celebration of drinking after all. Angel’s Share stays lively, despite the hour, though the drone of voices and folk songs becomes lost on you as your eyes slip shut.

Amongst the din, there’s a firm thud— the sound of wood on wood. Another sounds just after, though much closer and more shallow. You only make out the sound because of its old familiarity. The sound of the counter flap falling and straining its hinges. It must be one of the only pieces of original hardware from the old Angel’s share— the sound is identical to the one in your memory (maybe, you’re drunk, you may just be nostalgic—)

The barkeep (Charles, he told you his name though you didn’t give him yours) shuffles away, maybe, based on the thump of feet amongst the roar of the tavern. A shift change.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show.” Kaeya’s hand leaves you. You can hear the grin in his voice.

There’s a huff from behind the bar. The clink of a glass. A squeak as it’s dried and shined with a rag.

“Do you think I’m unreliable?” 

Your eyes stretch open, wide, in a flash. Horrible, wretched familiarity (with the way a voice can bring you so much anguish and warmth in tandem.) You don’t look up. You stare down at the floorboards, count the grains and notches in the wood. Steady your breathing. 

You know that voice.

You look up, slowly, against all better judgment. If you were sober (Archons, if you were fucking sober—) you would’ve turned, held your eyes shut and ran out of the bar without looking back. You would’ve never dared to peak and pull the thread that dangled in front of you.

He’s blurry, but he’s there. A trim waist that leads up to broad shoulders, arms that bulge more than you remember, scarlet hair that falls in waves from a high-tied ribbon. Scarlet eyes, cut and polished like rubies. 

It’s Diluc, who meets your gaze for the first time in almost a decade. Just as shocked and wide-eyed as you are. 

The glass slips from his hands and shatters.

PART iii: the World (born)

You met Diluc Ragnvindr when you were just children, doing what children do best— playing while the adults talked.

Your parents— traveling merchants— and Crepus Ragnvindr sat down for wine and sweet rum after a lavish supper. Your parents shooed you off. They didn’t need you clinging to their legs while trying to discuss the intricacies of a potential (and lucrative) contract with Dawn Winery and its splendid dandelion wine.

Crepus takes you under his wing a bit, showing your parents to a fine vintage and you to his two boys.

“They like to play in the vineyard this time of day,” Crepus says, a bit wistful. He leads you by the hand. “The crystalflies soar lower when the sun dips beyond the hills, and the fireflies come out.”

You like fireflies.

He shows you out to the courtyard, and you catch sight of two boys scampering around amongst the greenery. Crepus calls them and they both dutifully bound over, the way young boys do, enthusiastic and fast. The one with the pretty blue hair follows the one with the pretty red hair.

Crepus introduces you. Kaeya. Diluc.

Diluc has round cheeks and a soft jaw. He carries baby fat still, pudgy in his arms and legs and round in his belly. His cheeks are flushed with the late summer’s heat and a day of play. He has a brush of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His hair is shorter than it will become, but long enough that you think your mother would envy him.

His eyes widen when he sees you. You’ll never be sure why.

(Kismet turned for him earlier, maybe. All it took was you.)

You spend the evening with your side wedged into Diluc's, watching the lazy flight of anemo crystalflies by the water. You tell the boys about the constellations you know, and make up a few that you don’t. You trace them in the sky with the tip of your pointer finger. You ask to braid Diluc’s hair and he lets you. 

Crepus finds you all, just after dusk, dozing as the fireflies begin to dance.

...

Your family visits the winery several times each year. You enjoy the visits immensely. You’ve grown quite close to the Ragnvindr’s, and Kaeya too. You always barrel off your family’s wagon, running ahead of them to greet the boys, who are always waiting for you too.

You play swords with them, though you aren’t any good at it. You always bring them trinkets from wherever you and your family have been. You like to gift Crepus a book or two as well, though you don’t know what they’re about. You choose them based on the covers.

Diluc lights up when you hand him a little shell from Liyue’s shore. You tell him about the cliffs where you found it, and how you’ll go there together some day. You’ll show him the geometric columns of stone that seem to climb all the way to Celestia. You will show him where the sand bars become one with the sea, and how to dig for crabs and shells with your bare hands. 

Diluc likes you, you think. He always lets you slip into his room after the manor has fallen asleep. You sit across from one another on the velvet window bench. You hug a pillow while he tells you about how he’ll start training as a knight soon. He holds a vision now— he pats it with pride. 

(He tells you how he obtained his vision in your absence. The first time he picked up a sword against an adversary, it appeared to him. It’s a grand thing, brave. He was protecting one of his favorite stray winery kittens from a boar near the edge of the property. He raised his rubber training sword and he was granted Celestia’s blessing.)

You think he’s lovely.

...

The boys start training with Ordo Favonius. They practice with the Gunnhildr girl, the older one, who wears a ribbon in her hair and has eyes like midday sky. She’s a few years older than you, and intimidates you with her maturity, but she’s kind. 

The older knights let you watch their training when your family visits. You post up during their drills, watch their forms, their blunders, and their successes. A knight named Varka always takes Diluc aside to teach him how to best wield his vision with his weapon of choice. 

(A greatsword. A claymore. It’s almost your size, probably. The one Diluc uses during training is Favonius issued, smithed with their crest near the base of the blade. You know the one he’ll really use. A family relic that Crepus brought up from storage for him— a rectangular blade, metal cast in black and red, with an elaborate furl stretching from the hilt. Crepus asks Diluc to wield it when he’s ready.)

Kaeya offers you his sword, one day, at the end of training. The junior knights soak in their own sweat as you take the blade from Kaeya. The knights make it look so effortless to wield such weaponry. They carry it at the hip like it's an accessory and not carved metal. When you wrap your hand around it, the weight shocks you. You barely heft it up, struggling with the balance of it. The trainees rib you a bit for it, and it makes you blush hot and hard.

Diluc scolds Kaeya, taking the blade from you when it's clear that brandishing it one-handed as intended is close to impossible for you. You feel some relief when Kaeya takes it back and shrugs. 

“You won’t have to worry about wielding a weapon like that— ever.” Diluc says on your way home (home, home, home, it’s becoming your home—) that day. “Especially a sword.”

“Why?” You ask.

“I’ll make sure you never have to.”

“Hm... what if I want to?” You try to be cheeky with him.

He gives you a playful shove and you bump into Kaeya. The latter groans and makes a choking sound.

“You don’t,” Diluc replies, flashing you a smile. “If you did, you would’ve played swords with Kaeya and I more when we were little. You always liked to watch.”

“It’s more fun that way!” You hip check him. “It’s interesting to see all of it, rather than participate.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kaeya chimes in. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how weak your arms are.” 

He squeezes your bicep and you shriek at him, chasing him ahead down the path. You squabble all the way home (home, home, home), rolling down the hills back into the Winery’s valley. You belly laugh together, tears in your eyes. It’s good. 

You only go silent when you notice your family’s wagon, packed and ready for departure, idling in front of the winery. 

...

You don’t travel well, you never have. 

Your parents had informed Crepus of this during your first visit (“Never well, even when my wife my pregnant— the little thing gave her the hardest time on the road.”) Despite this, you had always meandered with your family on their circuit from Liyue to Mond. 

One of your visits to the winery, just around the turn of your childhood to adolescence, you fall ill.

Your parents brush off your complaints upon arrival. Chills, aches, and a cough— “It’s from the rain. Your clothes are still damp.”. Your usually lively arrival was dulled. You barely touched the dinner Crepus provided before retiring to your favored room.

You hate being sick. You hate how your gut churns and you feel so cold, despite the fire one of the maid’s stoked in the big fireplace. You sniffle and snot over the back of your hand, fighting tears. You fall ill so frequently, but it doesn’t make it easier. Even your softest clothes feel scratchy against your tender skin— you feel horribly breakable. 

There’s a gentle knock on your door before it opens. Diluc joins you by your bedside, kneeling, watching you with wide ruby eyes.

“My father told me you’re sick,” he says gently. “You don’t look well.”

You give him a wilted look. “It happens.”

“... It shouldn’t,” Diluc says with a conviction that your fever forces you to miss. “He says that you get sick often.”

“I don’t travel well.” You parrot what you heard your parents say a thousand times, to innkeepers and merchant-folk alike. “It’s alright, Diluc. I’ll be well in a few days.”

Your teeth chatter. You bury yourself deeper in the covers.

Diluc looks unconvinced. He disrobes as much as is proper, and asks quietly if he can join you. He’s warm, from his pyro vision, he tells you. He can see how cold you feel.

Whether he had such a vision or not, you would’ve said yes.

You pull away the duvet, inviting Diluc closer. It’s innocent, a sharing of heat. You press your forehead to his chest and he lets his arms fall naturally to your waist. It cages you. It feels safe and warm, and you don’t think you’ve felt that before.

You give him the smallest ‘thank you’, voice burnt and charred with fever. Diluc chases off the chill and embers alike, replaces them with the hearth that he will become to you, and you think that kismet might’ve shifted for you then, too. 

...

You leave, a few days later, still sick. 

You return, several months later, still sick.

Whatever cold you had during your last visit had metastasized— or so your parents say. They seem moderately unconcerned as they sort through the inventory they’ll be taking for their run.

Crepus doesn’t look convinced. 

Diluc helps you inside. You barely hold yourself on two feet, and need to stop and catch your breath several times. Kaeya loops his arm over your neck and Diluc hoists you by the waist, and the two nearly drag you to your room. 

A doctor is called, a healer from Mond that knows the Ragnvindr’s well. Diluc and Kaeya stay by your side as the healer draws up tincture and grinds down herbs and oils into a soft balm to slather on your chest. 

Diluc lays with you in bed again that night, over the covers, not daring to touch you. You seem so fragile, only half-there in the room with him. He resents your parents horribly for allowing you to carelessly decline in such a state. It shows in the way his expression twists into a scowl whenever they’re within his vicinity.

...

Crepus offers his home to you— no, rather he insists.

You’re still ill, lungs gunky and fever hardly waned, by the time your family deigns it time to leave. They plan to cart you along, never mind your condition. Diluc, if he had less restraint, would’ve cursed them out in the winery’s foyer. 

(The wet sound of your breathing. The little whimpers when your fever spiked, signaling that it was time for more of the tincture the healer left behind. The way you balled your fist in his nightshirt during the worst of it.)

Crepus says it’ll be no trouble to house you, for however long you need. You’ve always taken to the winery easily, and clearly need a stable place to recover from your illness. He enjoys taking in a stray or two. One more, especially one he thinks so fondly of and that he knows his boys adore, is simply a blessing, not a burden.

...

Diluc ascends to cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius just around the time that you make a full recovery. 

It takes months— for both of you. Diluc patrols and trains with the knights when he’s not by your side. He’s incredibly well-regarded by Mond, beloved by his fellow knights and the townsfolk as well. He has ample support from all around, and his father glows with pride. 

(Diluc bears the weight of his father’s expectations well. You don’t even notice Diluc squirm under the pressure of it. It all seems to come naturally to him— being a hero.)

You see your healer every few days, drink your teas and diligently rest while you recover. The illness sticks in your lungs and you take to reading up on medicinal plants and potential treatments. It gives you some understanding of the remedies that your healer makes for you. Your healer finds you promising, despite your sickly state, and offers you an apprenticeship, if you choose to pursue such a profession.

It’s success after success, a time bathed in thick gold sun that feels as warm as it tastes.

You and Diluc dance at his ascension celebration. He holds you by the waist, clumsy like the young man he is, but you don’t mind. You loop your arms over his shoulders, memorizing the blush that paints his cheeks, and the dimples that carve them. You twirl him under your arm and laugh up to the sun and moon alike. You pull the ribbon from his hair so it unfurls over his shoulder. You run your hands through it without a care.

(Diluc looks at you, when you’re not looking at him, with such a reverence. You can’t see it yet, but it’s a burgeoning thing. Love and devotion caramelized by innocence, by want and need intertwined. He doesn’t know how to say how he feels, not yet; the feelings are still loose and undefined. But smoldering kindling he is.)

...

Crepus offers his home to you, permanently. You have taken to it so well, and his boys— his boys adore you. The staff does. You have so much growing for you in Mond, it seems silly to pack up your belongings small and tight so you can ride out on merchants circuit once more. Only to return sick once more.

You accept, hesitant at first. It’s a scary thing to give up the life you’ve known, even if the one Crepus extends to you is far more comfortable. Your parents have no qualms. You think they enjoyed your absence too much. They seem content to leave you at Dawn Winery, promising to continue their circuit, so you’d see them a few times a year.

It makes something in your ache and cry, but there’s many things to balm it in the manor. A warm fire and Adelinde’s recipes, along with whatever new tarts and sweets Crepus brings home from Mondstadt proper— they all make it easier. Good company too. Kaeya always has new ideas for schemes and little adventures. Crepus brings you gifts and makes sure you’re settling in well to your new space. Diluc is ever-dutifully at your side, whatever the circumstance, and you at his. 

You still sneak into Diluc’s room in the late night. You nestle up, side by side, on his plush window bench. You link pinkies and talk about everything.

...

“I thought this one was a bit boring.” You look up to Diluc, backwards, craning your neck. “The love interest was a bit shallow for me.”

“I agree,” Diluc answers from above you. He shuts the book deftly with one hand. “This author’s pieces usually have a bit more depth to them. This one was a bit flat.”

You tend to come to the same conclusion on the stories you share.

The Small Study (ow, ow, ow, ow) is a room most near Crepus’ wing of the manor. It’s exactly as it sounds— a small study. Something Diluc’s mother made sure was constructed for him, prior to her leaving. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line the walls, with a long table slicing the room in two. When you were young, very young, you, Diluc, and Kaeya would sit at the table and write your own stories. Color with paints that Crepus bought for you from Snezhnaya on recycled receipts and old ledgers. 

These days, the table is mostly bare and a bit dusty. You use it more than Diluc, though most of your studying with your teacher happens at their cottage, in Mond proper. Diluc and Kaeya have a training room a few doors down, one that Crepus constructed, with mats and straw targets, and more armaments than Ordo Favonius probably knows about. 

Most of your time in the Small Study is spent in the corner, tucked close to each other. You have amassed an impressive number of spare sheets, pillows, and blankets, and have constructed what could only be called a nest. You and Diluc take to lounging on it in the mornings and evenings, when you both have the time. You read together. Sometimes you aloud to him, and sometimes him aloud to you.  

Diluc’s voice has taken to breaking lately. You find it adorable and can’t help teasing him about it.

“I’ll have to hunt for a new novel at the markets today.” You sigh. The sun is rising above the cliffs, bathing the shelves and columns of dust ichor gold. You throw your hand up, watching the beam soak your skin warm.

Diluc catches your wrist and brings the back of your hand to his lips. 

Little things, skinship, he likes. He never says anything much about it, only asks quietly if it's alright that he keeps such proximity to you. You eat it up, his heat, his presence— you want all of it. You’re gluttonous in your youth (you have yet to know starvation.)

“Be careful on patrol today, okay? I’m helping Adelinde make that sweet bread you like before I visit Teacher.” You huff, maneuvering to you’re at his eye level. You tug his cheek, still soft with baby fat. “You better not have any extra bruises when I pick you up today.”

“I’ll try.” He rolls his eyes. “Even if I do, you’ll patch me up, won’t you?” 

“I could have Teacher do it,” you huff. “I know you don’t like how rough they can get with you.”

Diluc scoffs, “They don’t like me—”

“They like you plenty—” 

You squabble, soft in your chests, because it's all easy and slow. The romance novel gets tucked away into an overflowing shelf, bulging with others that you’ve already finished. 

Kaeya is shining his blade in the armory, and you collect him before heading to Mondstadt proper. It’s a routine, each day, one that you enjoy and cling to. You enjoy your training and you feel only pride seeing your boys bud and grow in their strength. You fight, like young ones of your age do, but it's all in jest. Simple. Your squabbles get settled with wrestling by the river or when Crepus intervenes and fathers the three of you.

It’s good and you never want it to end.

...

Diluc grows into himself. He’s gangly in his teen years— long arms and bulging shoulder blades he’s yet to grow into. The pudge he’d had around his belly has disappeared, sucked away by a growth spurt or two. He grows a bit more into his frame, each year closer to adulthood that he gets. Muscle building on muscle. 

Teacher says you’re doing well with your studies. You pour over books on medicinal herbs and medical techniques during the day, and watch Teacher heal when patients are around. You become adept enough to see patients on your own, for small injuries. 

You fix up Diluc whenever he comes home to you. Cuts. Bruises. The odd fracture or two. He’s the person you ever stitch a wound together for. He doesn’t flinch. So trusting.

...

Crepus gets odd, at some point. You’re almost old enough to be considered an adult. He starts asking you questions you know the answer to, but it seems like he’s seeking something other than the truth. Sentiments that he wants to squeeze out of you, to satiate something in him that you can clearly see, but don’t know how to name.

(He’s a businessman— is it in his nature to be greedy—?)

(Forget. Forget. Forget.)

...

You wish it had stayed so kind and good for longer. You wish you appreciated it more, but you didn’t fully understand the goodness laid before you until it was so brutally ripped away from you. 

The night Diluc turns eighteen, your world shatters. Burns. Immolates while you lay drunkenly dozing in a friend's warm bed. You don’t greet the wreckage until you awaken. Alone, drowning and with a new pang in your stomach.

PART iii: the stitch the wound the burning

You instantly slam your hands on the bartop. You whip your head around to Kaeya. He wears a wide, awful grin. So fucking smitten with himself.

You hate him. 

“Fuck you,”  you snap. 

You push up, knocking the bar stool over with a bang. You turn on a heel and run from the tavern. Wordless.

(You run. You should’ve run. You should’ve never come back. Ever.)

You know the display caused enough of a ruckus that Angel’s Share fell nearly silent as you left. You know that your vision shuddered out of your control, sending dendro to liven the flowers around the tavern. It felt sick. To know that the blooms would be wider and more beautiful while you ran. Running, running, running. 

Lisa and Jean, maybe, shout your name as you sprint away. You ignore them— you have to. The temptation to turn back and face them drowns in the wine that churns in your stomach. Your breath feels too hot and heavy in your lungs, like lead and steam. You feel like you might die.

(Diluc in the same room as you. Diluc in front of you.  Not a ghost, a breathing body. Flesh. He would’ve been a bit too warm, to the touch. You know him to be. He’d grown so much— how much had you missed? Archons, you miss him—)

You barely get out of Mondstadt proper before you bracing yourself on one its outer walls, forcing your finger down your throat, and heaving your guts out onto the high grass. All of the splendid wine you sampled color the ground blood red, surely staining your lips. Tears drip from your lash line. You feel sticky as you draw your fingers from your throat, spit and dribble sliding down your wrist. 

You curse and shake. 

You wipe your hands down on your trousers and scrub at your lips with the edge of your sleeve. You spit pretty scarlet and nearly hurl again.

The sun has set, and the dark is a comfort. It cloaks you, allowing you to duck easily between shadows and firelight that other travelers warm themselves by. No one looks at you twice. You’re sure you seem like a drunkard, not— Not whatever you are. You drag yourself back to your campsite.

You fall to the ground, drawing up your good leg by the knee and press your forehead to it.

Fuck.

Fuck the healer. Fuck Windblume. Fuck seeing any friends or familiar faces. You discard the plans, crushing them down until you decide they’re not worth it. None of this was worth it. If you’d only ducked in and out of Mondstadt’s market, you wouldn’t have met Lisa. Gotten twisted up with Kaeya. Dared to enter Angel’s Share. Seen Diluc.

You knew the mere sight of him would send you. You knew. You feel foolish. Stupid. If you were a fraction more sober, you would’ve dragged yourself out of self pity and set up camp for the night. Instead you stew. You swallow back dread and bile and clutch your shoulders.

(You always knew this was a risk, coming back here, didn’t you? That’s why you never dared to even get near Mondstadt’s borders. Now you’ve done it.)

You certainly have.

You rub your eyes again, grimacing at the taste in your mouth. Forcing yourself up is a task, especially trying to keep weight off of your (now very) bad foot. You struggle to balance, propping yourself up on a pile of discarded crates and get to work setting up your campsite for the night. You resolve to sleep until dawn, pack up, and be on your way. You’ll head back to Liyue and catch a boat out of the harbor. You’ll go anywhere. Do anything. 

(To be far away from here.)

You struggle with your tent and tarp. It’s infinitely harder to set up your sleeping arrangements when you’re hobbling around on one leg. Emptying your stomach of its content has made you lightheaded (or, it's the panic that is thick and porous in your blood. Burrowing into your flesh. Will you even be able to sleep tonight?) You fight to keep your breath steady as you struggle to stake the tarp into the dirt.

Someone says your name from behind you. Breathes it like it's lighter than air, weighted like a gospel.

You turn, for the second time, against better judgment.

Diluc stands above you, wearing the same shocked expression he had in Angel’s Share. 

Your lips twist, your brow falls. You feel yourself sink. It’s the same feeling you get in your stomach when you’re put toe-to-toe with an adversary out in the wilderness. It’s the feeling you get when you get a patient a little too late and can’t be sure if you’ll be able to drag them back from the brink.

You breathe his name right back.

“... You’re here,” he says. His voice has evened out. Deeper than you remember, and rougher, but barely.

“I am,” you answer as neutrally as you can. You school your expression and turn back to your tarp. “Please leave.”

Diluc doesn’t answer. He’s frozen above you, so close that you swear you can feel the heat coming off of him. 

“Don’t ask me to do that,” Diluc says, like a demand and not a request.

You bristle.

“I’m setting up my camp for the night,” you state plainly. “Then I will be sleeping. I will be gone by dawn tomorrow. I apologize for any disruption I caused at... at Angel’s Share.”

You press your hands over the top of a nail. The iron digs into your palms. You shove at it anyway, until it’s snug against the earth.

“I don’t care about that,” Diluc replies with an edge to his voice that’s unfamiliar. “That’s not of consequence.”

“... Then why are you here?” You crawl across the ground, brace yourself on a crate, and stand. Your weak foot hovers just off the ground. “Why follow me, Diluc? I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You say his name like it's a curse and face him.

(And it’s like coming home.)

(If you had any less of yourself, you would’ve sank into the earth and wept.)

“I don’t,” he says. Arms crossed. Shoulders square. You see him struggle with his words, chewing on the inside of his cheek, just like he used to. “You left so quickly, and Kaeya—”

“Bastard,” you spit. 

Diluc muffles a laugh (a full sound so lovely— you used to do anything to hear it). “He didn’t tell you I would be bartending, I’m assuming?”

“He told me, expressly, that you would not be bartending.” 

“... It is my tavern. Windblume is the busiest time of the year.” He looks a bit wounded. You can’t tell if you’re imagining it. “Kaeya sent word that Ordo would be at Angel’s Share in full force this evening. My presence was called.”

You scowl, “I realize that now.”

Diluc sighs, deep and hard and full, “You left so quickly, and Kaeya told me you were most likely staying outside of the city. I was... worried.”

You let out a breath through your teeth, maybe a laugh, some unholy thing and you shake your head. You can’t bear to look at him for too long, “Well, I’m fine. Promise. I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Clearly.”

“And you weren’t expecting to see me?”

“No.” Diluc sighs. “I... No. I wasn’t.”

You don’t know what else to say to him. 

“Go.” You shoo him off. “I need to finish setting up and get some sleep. Sorry again for causing any trouble.”

You turn away, going to reach for your tent—

Diluc grabs your upper arm. He keeps you steady and upright.

“You didn’t.”

The contact burns. Sears through you like you’re just gossamer and old silk. You tense with it. When did his heat become unfamiliar?

You open your mouth, part your lips just barely, but nothing comes out. Your mind empties.

“Come back to the winery.”

His words cut you from any of your reverie. Your grief forces itself up in plumes, from the base of your spine to the corners of your damp eyes.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You tear away from him. 

He lets you go. (You suffocate the part of you that mourns the loss.) 

“It’s not safe outside the walls.” He takes a step back. Breathing room. “There’s no lodging available in the city, I’m sure you found.”

“I did, and I’m fine out here, Diluc. I can protect myself just fine.” You pat the dendro Vision on your hip. Your weapon remains unsummoned and out of sight.

“It’s going to rain.” Diluc frowns. “And, your tent is torn.”

He gestures behind you, and sure enough, a massive tear runs through an entire side of your tent. You hadn’t noticed. 

(If you will not go where you are supposed to be, perhaps fate will push you there? Align the stars and cosmos just right—)

“I recall that you never enjoyed camping,” Diluc says and it's like a knife to the chest. The idea that he remembers anything about you. “You’ll have a bed for as long as you’d like.”

“Diluc—” You’re near to cursing him out, let the Archons, Celestia and the damn Stars hear it—

“I’m sure Adelinde would love you to see you too.”

Oh.

Oh— Adelinde. When was the last time you sent her a letter? Or read one of hers? You have a stack of them, sealed with purple wax and bound in twine, shoved in your bag. Among your most prized possessions. You’ve hardly let the ink smudge, despite time and condition.

“... She still works for you?”

“Of course.” Diluc’s voice sounds strained. 

“Elzer too?” You ask.

“Yes, he’s been at my side since—”

“Since you came back to Mondstadt,” you answer for him. “Since you returned to the winery.”

Elzer had been at your side too, when you were running the winery in Diluc’s absence. Same with Adelinde.

Archons, you miss them. 

“I’ll stay at the winery,” you say after a beat. “So I can see them.”

Diluc lets out a sigh, shaky and short. He flexes his hands, open and closed. Relieved. The moment of vulnerability passes.

“Will you be able to walk there with—” He gestures to your foot.

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” You put weight on it, swallowing down any pain. You can bear it. 

Diluc offers his arm, and you refuse it, striding past him. 

You walk side by side back to Dawn Winery.

...

It does begin to drizzle, eventually. Nothing close to proper rain, but a thick mist that dampens your hair and clothes. The chill of it sinks into you, unpleasant but not unbearable. You cling to the discomfort of it. You and Diluc do not speak to each on the way back, other than the time or two you announce you need a short rest for your foot.

Fatigue hits you as you stumble down the valley paths leading into the winery’s main grounds. 

You blame the wine. 

The front door looks almost the same, perhaps the wood refinished. Diluc pulls forth a shining brass key (different, than the one that you had during your tenure as ‘master’ of Dawn Winery. That key was thick, old iron. Rusting at its corners. It always felt cold and heavy. An entire year it was tied to you. Tethered to your waist on the very same belt that now holds your vision.)

The lock was replaced.

The interior of the winery is different too, you find. It makes stepping inside less jarring— the floors, once dark, long-planked hardwood, has been redone to intricate patterns of lighter, warm-toned wood. Less candles, more electro-powered fixtures set into the walls and ceiling. The couches look different, brighter and fluffier with fresh cushions. Even the grand carpet that covers the main room, bearing the Ragnvindr crest, appears to have been freshened. Maybe even re-tuffed. It’s generally brighter.

“You’ve... updated things.” Your voice trails off as you shrug off your cloak and hang it on your arm. 

Diluc follows your line of sight to a new tapestry on the east-wall. Not of the family crest, but the vineyard. It’s far more ornate than any you remember; you can see the metallic gold weavings shine, even in the lowlight. The tapestry is ringed by paintings, portraits and some landscapes. You recall Crepus commissioning many of them, or creating them himself. There’s a number of new photographs as well.

“I have over the years,” Diluc replies. “It was necessary.”

You hum, pausing. “... I like it. It’s nice.”

It’s nice because it doesn’t feel quite as much like you’re walking into a still-breathing cadaver. You expected to be greeted with an interior you had seared in your memory. Corners you’d still see ghosts in, picture frames that were askew that you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to fix. You know which floorboards were creaky and which windows had the worst draft. 

This version of Dawn Winery from your memory doesn’t exist anymore, in any way or facet. What’s left certainly isn’t blank or void, but it’s more unfamiliar than you expected. It smells like rose oil and beeswax rather than cedar and tobacco. 

“Master Diluc? You’re back earlier than expected.”

Adelinde breaks you from your stupor. 

She looks much the same— the same uniform, though perhaps her hair’s a bit shorter? There’s new wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, sun spots around her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are still kind. They go wide when she sees you, and the mug she’s holding nearly slips from her grip.

Your chest tightens.

She says your name and it’s like you’ve been cut through. Flesh parting around a sharp blade. 

“Hi.” Your voice sounds soft and so much more broken than you can accept it is. 

“Welcome home.” She smiles, all the way up to her eyes.

If you were a little more weak, perhaps a few months more weathered— you would’ve broken then. You would’ve fallen apart in the foyer of Dawn Winery, drowning and hungry and soaked to the bone in something colder than rain water. You hold yourself together, barely, thin threads wound around you to the point of constricting keep you upright. Sure-footed. Almost-whole.

But, Adelinde knows... doesn’t she? She must. She has an uncanny ability for these things. It’s because she watched you grow, watched your toils and supported you. Mothered you when needed. You counseled and consoled each other, during the worst of it.

It makes you feel less guilty, less ashamed, when you nearly throw yourself at her. You wrap your arms around her shoulders and smother your face in her shoulder.

Adelinde hugs you in kind. She still smells like pine-cleaner and that jasmine perfume she imports. She wraps you, in herself, squeezing so hard you’re afraid she’ll undo the strings binding your heart together. 

“H-How have you been?” you ask. Tears sting your eyes.

She strokes the back of your head, through your hair. “I’ve been well. And you?”

You smush your face into her shoulder. You don’t know what to say to her. Instinctual honesty climbs up in your throat— you suppress it. 

“I’ve been better,” you say, softly. You hope only she can hear. “Excited to sleep in a real bed. Take a bath.”

Adelinde goes still, slack— then she almost crushes you. You feel her heartbeat and your lip wobbles.

“I’m glad you’re home, then. Let me fetch you a cup of tea. I’ll make sweet bread in the morning.”

“T-That sounds nice. Thank you.”

Diluc, who has been silent and watchful, clears his throat. “They can take whichever room they like.”

“I’ll prepare the west wing guest room.” (Far from your old bedroom.) She whispers to you. “There was a Fontainisian merchant we were hosting— she left all of her luxury skincare and bath supplies here.”

You pull away, narrowing your eyes, “Are you implying something?”

“Not at all.” She gives you a good-natured smile. “They’re yours. Let’s get you settled.”

You nod and she guides you with a hand on your lower back, up the stairs, to the west wing. Diluc has made himself scarce, seemingly disappearing into thin air to the northern wing of the manor. You only half notice.

Archons, you’re tired.

Adelinde helps you settle in. She sets your bag on a vanity stool, shows you a newly renovated bathroom with a tub that could easily fit you and a Rishboland tiger in it. The rest of the details of the room fade. Something stickier and older than fatigue works its way up through your bone marrow, leaving your body as a yawn.

Adelinde gives you a sympathetic smile when she brings you a cup of lavender and chamomile tea. 

The world is blurry when you crash into the pillows. They smell like the herbal detergent you suckered Crepus into buying during your teen years. Diluc liked it. Whatever potential revulsion you could have has wilted with your exhaustion. Instead, something warm brews in you. You shove your nose into the silken case. The feeling is good. You don’t mind it. 

(Fuck, maybe you even need it.)  

...

You sleep for three days. 

You don’t mean to, and it’s not continuous. You rise for your promised sweet bread, tea, and a much-need, thorough bath. You’ve spent the past few months using communal bath houses or washing in rivers and lakes, quick and rarely relaxing. You indulge in the massive, stone tub for a private soak that leaves you pruney and smelling like rose oil and Natlani bright grass. 

The position of the sun feels arbitrary. You just sleep. Like the fucking dead. No dreams, thank the gods. Thick curtains keep your room dark and you relish every moment. You hadn’t realized how deeply fatigue had woven itself into you. You’d become so acclimated to exhaustion, it only hit you when you finally had a (safe and) quiet place to sleep with no end date. 

Adelinde brings an armful of clothes at some point. (“We put these in storage, when you left. I’m sure some still fit.”) Some do, thankfully, and you’re grateful to have more than four garments, especially when they go together. It’s nostalgic to slip into skirts and trousers you haven’t worn in so long, and you decide they’ll suffice. Unideal, but comfortable. 

The tiredness is an odd blessing. You feel too blurry and foggy to really pick apart your feelings. All of them. You’re aware of the knot that’s formed somewhere between your ribs and gut (or rather, revealed itself), and you ignore it for as long as you are able to. No one comes to you except Adelinde, who never presses you. 

(You don’t know what you would do if she did. Adelinde knows discretion, she knows wounds and scrapes and bruises, and knew yours once. Well and thoroughly. You think she can see all of your ills now too.)

(You’re glad she doesn't pry at you. In your moments between wakefulness and sleep, you tend to dream more loosely. You imagine what you might say to Diluc, had you... the opportunity without damage. What would you say to him? The you that’s mostly a dream screams at him sometimes. Enraged. Sometimes you cry, asking questions that neither your sleeping or waking mind has answers for. They’re not... unfamiliar dreams, but they’re unwelcome. They’re more vivid now that you’re staying in the Winery.)

They feel more real. Diluc is only rooms away at any given time.

(He’s not a specter.)

On the third day, you awake midday to a frantic knock on your door. Adelinde, you assume. Stumbling from bed, and pull on a dressing gown and nothing more, and pull open the heavy oak door—

It’s Diluc. Of course it is. In working trousers and a loose, white top. Dirt stains his knees and the tips of his fingers. Pretty red hair spills from its loose tie, bouncy with a fresh wash. He tenses, when he sees you. Fists balling at his sides and shoulders going rigid.

Your jaw locks and the air in your lungs suddenly feels heavy and too hot. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you gather up the satin of your robe before it has a chance to slip down to the crook of your elbow. 

(Just seeing him sends you. Into a rage. Into a fit of grief. The visage of him forces you to reckon with something more awful and sticky and molten than you know what to do with.)

(You wish it was more avoidable.)

You freeze.

Your several days of rest afforded you the time to... ignore Diluc. Hide from him, and the knot that you desperately don’t want to unravel. Despite sleeping in one of his beds and eating his food, you need distance. It feels like you’ll explode if you don’t have it.

“The child of one of the vineyard workers is injured,” Diluc says, maybe a little out of breath. “Can you take a look?”

“Of course,” you reply without hesitation. A hurt child takes precedence over most things.

The child and his mother sit in Diluc’s foyer, you can hear them as you approach. The girl sniffles and clings to her mothers sleeve with one hand, the other limp in her lap. One of her legs splays the wrong way, equally limp. 

You approach easily, introducing yourself. The air has an edge of crisis to it, but you wade through it easily. If anything, it’s comfortingly familiar. To be calm and confident in the face of serious injury or illness is often medicine in and of itself. 

You set your large, leather-bound caboodle beside you and take to the floor. Your Tselostnyy insignia is pinned to the outside. The mother’s eyes dart to it as she pets over her daughter’s hair, and she relaxes at the sight of it. A qualified stranger, you are.

The mother is younger, someone before your time as the Winery’s temporary master which is a relief. Diluc lingers behind you, watching you work, probably.  You attempt not to care.

You scooch forward, on your knees, knitting your fingers together and hover them over your patient. You focus on the spiral of dendro through muscle and bone, reading the injury:

Two clean breaks. Closed fracture of the left ulna. Closed fracture of the left femur.

It’s a miracle that the child isn’t shrieking in her mother’s lap. 

“How did you get hurt?” you ask the child directly. 

She sniffles. “I f-fell outta’ the big tree by the water. I was trying to climb it.”

Her mother almost scolds her, but you beat her to speaking. “That’s a hard tree to climb. The oaks by the stables are much easier.”

It’s just a slip of the tongue, to be so familiar.

You turn to the child and school a smile on your lips. “I’ll be able to heal your injuries with my Vision. You’ll get some medicine as well, and it needs to be stirred into juice. Do you have a favorite kind?”

The child looks unsure, and her mother answers for her: “She likes apple best.”

“Apple, master of the house.” You wave a hand behind you. “Can you fetch some?”

“Of course,” Diluc answers without missing a beat and you hasten him away.

Knitting your fingers together once more, you begin to work on her injuries. The child is holding up quite well, despite the immense pain she must be in. You work quickly regardless, but keep in mind you do have the luxury of time. There’s no one more broken or more sick just beyond her who needs to be treated as well.

Dendro sews together her bones. Encourages new flesh and muscle to grow where it is needed. 

When Diluc returns, you instruct him further, gaze never straying from the knitting bones, “Take the third vial from the right on the top row of oils, will you? Stir half a dropper into the juice and stir for a minute. If you see oil on the top, keep going.”

“What’s the medicine for?” The girl asks. 

“Relaxation and sleep,” You reply softly. “This type of healing is very effective, but it takes a lot of energy out of the person who is being healed. You’ll be tired once I’m all done, but you may have trouble resting since your body is still reacting to the shock of your injuries.”

The mother lets out a sigh of relief. Perhaps too wordy of an explanation for a child, but her mother seems grateful for it. 

When the child’s healed into proper pieces again, you unknit your fingers and fall back on your heels. Diluc wordlessly passes the goblet of well-mixed apple juice to the child, who shakily gulps it town. The medicine doesn’t have much of a taste, more of an oily texture to it that requires it to be drunk quickly after being mixed. The juice must be from one of Diluc’s best stashes because the child beams after chugging it.

“... That’s it?” She asks. 

You nod and crack your knuckles, now stiff. “That’s it.”

“... Nothing else?” 

“Nope.” You crack your neck. “Other than the fatigue, but a few extra hours of sleep should remedy that. She’ll be back to normal after a nap.”

“Thank you,” The mother says and your chest feels sticky and warm. “I know that Barbara from the Church has similar skills with her Vision, but I’ve never seen healing like yours. Mondstadt could use a physician like you, you know.”

The feeling goes cold, but you keep your smile. Bear it.

“I’m sure they do.” Teacher’s shoes hadn’t been filled, apparently. And you’d departed to the Tselostnyy School and never returned. 

The mother and her child give more thanks before leaving and you keep your facade up until they’re out the door. The girl’s no doubt ruffled still, even with the light sedative. The mother frazzled. The last thing you’d want to do is burden them with your own misplaced ire. They can’t know. They wouldn’t know.

Diluc, however—

He’s been the silent spectator to this whole affair. He idles by the couches and the hearth, arms crossed, still-dirtied from whatever vineyard work he’d been doing prior to fetching you. You’re sure he was working in the fields, heard the child shriek, and rushed to their aid. Typical.

Diluc stares at you like he could immolate you alive.

“You’re incredible.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like the sentence doesn’t implode something in you. 

Your fists shake at your sides. “Hardly. It’s just my profession.”

Diluc works his jaw and considers his words. You note the way he looks stumped and lost. It’s not intentional, if you’re being honest— so there’s no harm in enjoying the way he stumbles to speak around you, is there?

(It’s only fair. Diluc had always been so sure-footed and sturdy with his words. To see him flounder now reminds you that he’s changed too. Something in him has paled and been mutilated, just like you. Two wounded. His suffering isn’t what you revel in, but the knowledge that he’s affected. Neither of you came out unscathed and you’ve spent the last years refusing to imagine how Diluc might’ve coped.)

“Will you have tea with me?” Diluc asks, the words ringing off the glass chandelier in minor key. “You don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“I will.” 

...

Adelinde kindly brings you both tea, by the hearth and its embers. It’s served with a few small cakes and rounds of steaming sweet bread. Diluc takes his tea just as he did when he was young— a heavy dash of cream and a spoon and a half of sugar (“the half is very important” he had always said). Adeline leaves you a carafe of coffee and shoots you a gentle smile before leaving the two of you be.

You rest on one of the couches, leg pulled up beneath you and blow over the rim of your mug.

Diluc sits adjacent from you, in a resplendent mid-morning sun beam. The chair is high-backed, upholstered with the red and gold pattern of the Ragnvindr clan. He looks regal, like a king from the stories you used to read together. Sunlight halos the frizz in his hair and the dust that shifts around him.

He sits with one heel propped up on the opposite knee, cupping the tea cup from the bottom, unbothered by its heat.

(He’s pretty, just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe more so.)

It makes something in you feel rotten. You pick at your nails and curl over your core. 

He glances at you and you look away into the hearth, into the small flames that eat at the last of a birch log. 

Having Diluc in front of you is uncomfortable. Maybe worse than uncomfortable, as discomfort is bearable and the sensation crawling up from the back of your throat isn’t. It makes your skin itch and feel too tight. Your palms sweat. Maybe you want to puke.

(It’s dread, or something like it. Like just seeing him put you on a precipice you had convinced yourself didn’t exist.)

“When did you start drinking coffee?” Diluc asks, breaking you from your spiral. “If I recall correctly, you hated it. Too bitter for your palate, or something like that.”

Ah—

“In your absence. In the year I stayed here, when you left.” It’s the truth. “ Lots of paperwork. I got used to the flavor after a while.”

(You used to prefer tea, favoring some black variety that Crepus painstakingly imported from Natlan’s volcanic cliffs. The first time you tried to drink it following his passing, you retched it back into your cup.)

You both shift uncomfortably. 

“I see.” 

You pretend not to notice the way Diluc’s grip goes white-knuckled for a moment. Your chest feels tight, too tight, and you squirm under your skin. 

“I don’t know how to face you,” you blurt out. 

(You never thought you would have to.) 

Diluc looks away from you, into the fire. “If you don’t wish to ‘face me’, then you don’t have to.”

“Are you suggesting I simply ignore you?”

“If that’s what you would wish to do.”

“That’s not what I asked.” You frown, something burning between your ribs. 

Diluc chews on his words for a moment. “Allow me to clarify. I have no expectations of you while you’re staying within the Winery.”

“So, if I simply ate your food and slept in one of your beds, ignoring you, you’d be alright with that?”

“If that’s what you wish, then yes.”

(The answer hurts to hear. You refuse to think about why.)

“Alright.” You take a long sip of your coffee. You’re not sure when your stomach began to ache.

“You’re unsatisfied with that answer,” Diluc guesses.

“Entirely,” you reply. “You’re basing your wants off of mine. It’s bothersome.”

“It’s the truth. As I said—“

“You ‘have no expectations of me’,” you parrot. “Would you truly be satisfied if I didn’t speak to you at all while I’m here?”

Diluc chews the inside of his cheek (a new habit you don’t recognize). “My satisfaction isn’t of consequence.”

“Idiot,” You snap— you don’t mean to. “Of course it is. I don’t want to make this any more unbearable than it already is.”

“Do you think this is unbearable for me?” 

“… Yes?” You feel yourself shaking. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

(It’s worse than unbearable. The feeling in your chest is blooming, radiating out into your arms and legs, down to your hands. There’s a buzzing in the base of your skull.)

“I understand that it’s difficult for you to be here,” Diluc grits out. “I do not want to make that any worse by some expectation or assumption you think that I carry. If you wish to enjoy the festival and ignore me, that’s more than fine. If it would be easier for you to stay here and think of me as only some type of… concierge, I wouldn’t resent you for it.”

(You hate it. You hate him. You hate Diluc Ragnvindr endlessly, perhaps. You want to burn Dawn Winery to the ground.)

“Do you really think I could ever think of you as anything other than yourself?” You spit, intending to. “It’s insulting— a fucking affront to think that I could view you in such a way.”

“I don’t know how you view me.” Diluc’s voice wavers with what you can only assume to be anger. “I’m trying to make this easier for you.”

“In what way?!” You stand. “Do you think ignoring you would be easier for me?”

“I am making a well-intended inference based on the fact that you haven’t returned to Mondstadt for years.” Diluc stares at you like he wants to— “I am assuming you’d like to continue to ignore me, given that you’ve never given any indication otherwise.”

“… You’re the one who left first.” You spit the words, like how a sword cuts through air. “You’re the one who left and gave no ‘ indication’ of returning.”

Diluc swallows, thick and hard with a bob of his throat and he rises to his feet. You instinctively take a step back. He opens his mouth, then closes it with a snap of his teeth. The fire cracks and a log loses its structure, tumbling in the hearth with a flurry of embers.

He looks lost for words. You let loose a laugh, something awful and torn that you wish you could stuff back down your throat.

“Nothing to say?”

“It was a long time ago—“

“Ah, it’s irrelevant to you. I see.” Archons, you don’t want this. You should’ve never come back. It can’t be worth it, can it? It feels like your ribs are being broken, one by one. 

(How wretched it is, for him to have such a power over you.)

“Don’t twist my words.” Diluc rises, taking a step toward you. “I only meant to say—“

“I am well-aware of what you meant to say.” You want to vomit, maybe. “It was so long ago, so it’s easier, right? If I view you as nothing more than a doorman with a familiar face, and if you view me as a guest to be treated with pleasantries.”

(Let’s forget all the history. Etch a lie onto a slate that’s already been shattered beyond repair.)

Diluc’s expression twists. Your hands shake and you cross them over yourself, wrapping your arms over your own shoulders and squeezing. He looks… hurt. Gutted. 

“Do you think me cruel enough to ever think of you in such a way?”

“Yes, actually.” You laugh with a shake of your head. “Not even a letter, Diluc? Couldn’t even spare me a thought, could you?”

(Meanwhile, you clung to the hope that he’d arrive home through the front door of the Winery for months. How many did you sit in front of this very same hearth, wrapped in his old blankets and left-behind clothes and pray to any God who’d listen that Diluc would return?)

The admission guts Diluc. You can see it in his face, the way his expression tears open and he balls his fist and he almost seems to shake with it.

(Despite everything, it hurts to see him hurt.)

You step away, almost toppling into the couch. Diluc catches you by the arm with a lurch and keeps you upright. The contact burns like you’re too close to a roaring fire. You feel singed. 

“I can’t forget, Diluc.” You laugh, shudder in his grip and you feel the bits of you fray even further. “I— I don’t know. I’m sorry. I resent you. I hate you. I look at you and I’m struck by the feeling that I’m looking at a ghost.”

You watch Diluc’s jaw lock. “Pot, kettle.”

“Pardon?”

“You left Mond as well, dear.” Diluc says the pet name and then flushes. An old habit, unearthed by sparring. You maybe would swoon if you weren’t feeling light-headed. “You’re a ghost to me as well. Maybe something worse.”

“... Am I? ” you spit, writhing in your skin. 

His expression tightens and you see the hurt. A crack. His lip twitches and he stands. He has to look down at you and you feel the height. 

“Do you think I haven’t been haunted by you?”

Oh, it’s like being punched in the gut. You’re being flayed, surely, on his great room floor. If you’re not careful, your entrails will spill and you’ll die here. You’re sure. 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“You’re impossible,” Diluc says, grip almost bruising. “Do you truly think I’m lying?”

(You don’t.)

You swallow and step away from him. The moment you pull against him, Diluc lets you go, and you stumble back. 

(You’re too frayed for this. Burnt. Cinders at a masquerade.)

“I need some time,” you say, fire in your voice is gone. You burn down so easily. “I’m sorry.”

Diluc stays silent for a moment. You can’t be sure what he’s thinking.

“Take all the time you need,” he says, before striding past you to his office. You hear the door nearly slam. 

[mr-lancers-english-class]

After Death, After Life

Phic Phight 2022 here we go! I am one phic in and already have churned out more words than all of last phic phight, so that's something :D

Prompt from @going-dead: Ghostking!Danny meets one of his parents in the afterlife.

ao3

“Mom?” The word was out of the King’s mouth before he could even think to stop himself, strangled and pained. He hadn’t even said it all that loud, but it carried across the throne room of the Keep, twisting and coiling into the ears of every one of his subjects present today. The light muttering that always dominated the slower of the open court days disappeared in a moment, every ghost present turning in uncanny synchronicity to the throne at the one end of the hall, and half a beat later, to the grand doors thrown open to the courtyard.

The weather had been nice lately, and King Phantom much preferred natural light to the eerie glow of the ghostfire torches.

Of the two ghosts in the doorway, only one reacted as the King spoke. The taller of the two, not The Fright Knight but instead a younger fear knight in their own right, flinched slightly. Glancing between the smaller ghost slumping next to them and King Phantom at the far end of the hall, the knight steeled themself and began to float forward. They passed between the rows of ghosts from all across the zone with back straight and head held high. The smaller ghost followed close behind, light steps still managing to ring out through the hall. 

Not a single word was uttered as the two traversed the length of the room.

When the knight reached the bottom of the throne, they dropped to one knee, bowed their head, and finally broke the silence.

“My King.”

“Sir Ofn.” The knight, Sir Ofn, inclined their head at the acknowledgement, quiet as it may have been.

“I discovered this new ghost in the upper levels of the Realms.” Sir Ofn glanced at the ghost next to them. There was no indication she was processing anything happening around her; she was still slumping slightly, feet planted firmly on the floor of the courtroom, eyes dazed and unfocused. “I know it is not habit to greet every new citizen of the Realms, but this one was a hunter in life and it felt prudent to bring her-” Sir Ofn cut themself off with a light cough. They took a moment to collect, a moment that normally would have been filled with murmurs and whispers from the courtesans over whatever the latest gossip was, a moment that stayed as silent as the moment just before it.

Sir Ofn raised their face to look their King in his eyes, etiquette of the court be damned. Their voice suddenly soft, no longer ringing with the authority of the Knights of the Realm but instead with the care of one who does not wish to see a friend in pain, Sir Ofn said “My King, I’m so sorry. You needed to know as soon as possible.”

The King tore his eyes away from the doors at the end of the hall to finally look at Sir Ofn. He didn’t so much as glance at the smaller ghost, instead holding the knight’s gaze. Sir Ofn didn’t break the eye contact, not until their King seemed to collapse into his throne; his body went completely slack as a marionette doll cut loose from it’s strings. Any breath he might have had left his lips in a pained sigh and he closed his eyes.

Sir Ofn stood, fully aware of just how much they were breaking the rules of the court today, and as the temperature in the throne room began to drop, they turned to the waiting crowd.

“I need to speak with His Majesty alone. You may all take your leave.”

The assembled ghosts shuffled out without so much as a grumble.

It was common knowledge that the new Ghost King was not a full ghost. Not that anyone really cared: it had no bearing on his ability to lead the realm, and while he had been young and naive at the start, the past five years of ruling had sharpened his mind and spirit until he had earned the respect and trust of his subjects. There was not a single ghost who would say anything against him on the questionable status of his death, nor against those in the lands of the living who were just as much his allies as other leaders in the Infinite Realms were.

Even still, it was quite easy to forget just how much of his heart and mind the young King had among the living. His parents were never spoken of in polite company; being descended from hunters was about as shameful a heritage as any ghost could have. His sister was not an uncommon sight in the Keep, but few had ever spoken to her. His two closest friends traveled all across the Zone and were friendly with many of the leaders of the smaller realms and general populous alike, but everyone knew they didn’t entirely belong in the world of the living anymore either.

To see the King’s mother as a new ghost was a stark reminder of everything human about the King of the Dead.

And yet, now alone in the throne room with the King still slumped in his throne and the new ghost next to them just as unresponsive as ever, Sir Ofn couldn’t help but wish that their King would look just a little less like death.

“Your Majesty-”

“Just, drop the title.” His Majesty, King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, cut the knight off. “Please just, Phantom right now.”

“Of course, Phantom.” Both King and knight could hear how awkward Sir Ofn felt using the King’s personal name, but it was not the first time.

“Where did you-” Phantom let out a low exhale. “Where did you find her?”

“The upper levels of the realm, not far from your own portal. I didn’t recognize her, not at first, but,” Sir Ofn shrugged, unsure of how to explain.

“She’s strong. And distinct.” Phantom stood from the throne, unclasping the flowing cape of the King and setting the Crown of Fire on the seat.

“That she is, Phantom.” Sir Ofn snorted without humor. “She seemed… confused. Lost.”

“You could feel her fear.”

“Yes.”

“Has she said anything?” Phantom stepped down off the throne dais, feet just as firmly on the ground as the new ghost’s. “Or, y’know, done anything at all?

“She was quite talkative when I found her. She asked me where she was, who I was, what was happening. When I explained that she was a ghost, she shut down. She hasn’t said anything since, merely followed me.”

“I should call Jazz. She needs to know.” Before Sir Ofn could respond, Phantom had turned away and pulled out a set of Fenton Phones. From where, Sir Ofn could only imagine.

“My King- Phantom. Should you not confirm that this is actually-”

“What, Maddie?” Phantom glanced at the ghost in question for perhaps the first time since she had fully entered the throne room. “I don’t need to. It’s her. I know it.”

He tensed then, body closing off as he spun away from Sir Ofn and brought his hand up to his ear. “Hmm, Jazz? What? No, it was open court today, you know I have everything on silent for that. Jazz, Jazz I need you to slow down. You want me to come back home?” A pause on Phantom’s end as he listened to what his sister was saying. “Yeah, I get that you say it’s urgent, but something came up here and I don’t think I can leave just yet- it’s about mom?”

Phantom froze, hand still raised to his ear. Whatever his sister was saying, it was hitting him hard.

“She’s- yeah, Jazz, I know.”

Sir Ofn could have sworn they heard the yelp on the other end of the Fenton Phones as Phantom’s sister reacted.

“That’s why- that’s what- Jazz I can’t leave. No, I get what you’re saying. That’s- ugh don’t you get it? That’s why I can’t go home! Not right now!”

There was a long pause in which Phantom didn’t speak but it didn’t appear he was listening to anything either.

After far too long for the knight’s liking, Phantom nodded. “Yes. She’s- well, she’s here.” Another pause. “I don't know what I’m gonna do! But I can’t just leave her, not like this. Jazz, I won’t ask you to cover for me, not through this. Just, I don’t know, deflect to Sam and Tucker. I’ll let them know what to expect.”

Phantom glanced back at the two other ghosts as his sister spoke again, but Sir Ofn had the distinct feeling he wasn’t really seeing either of them.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come yet. She’s- I don’t think she’s handling it well. What? No, she hasn’t actually said anything to me yet. No, one of my knights found her- yes, one of the Knights of Fear- no that’s not- just, don’t come yet. I’ll- I’ll let you know when. Please Jazz, I need you to trust me on this.” Phantom’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Thank you, Jazz. I’ll, well I guess I’ll let you know if anything changes.Stay safe. I love you.”

Phantom pressed a button on the side of the Fenton Phones and turned back to the other duo.

“That- I mean- I can-” Phantom stopped to draw in a shaky breath. “Jazz wanted to tell me that mom-” He cut himself off again, voice trembling.

“I understand. You don’t need to say it, not if you aren’t ready. Should you alert your friends?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Yeah no, I need to do that. I’ll just, uh,” Phantom began to turn away again, pulling another device out of another hidden pocket. “It won’t take long, I’ll just be right over-”

“You said Jazz.” The voice was quiet and unsure, but both Phantom and Sir Ofn froze. “Why did you say my daughter’s name?” Maddie Fenton’s ghost finally, finally looked up. She ignored the knight next to her whose hand had drifted to their sword, and instead locked eyes with Phantom. He didn’t say anything, one hand clenching the little communicator tightly. After a moment, Maddie continued. “Is she dead too?”

That was enough to shock Phantom into a response. “What? No, of course not. She’s- Jazz is fine. She just, she called to tell me that you were- that you’re-”

“That I’m dead?” Maddie’s voice was still quiet, but her surety punched Phantom in the gut. “Why was she calling you?”

“I-”

“How do you know my daughter?”

“It’s- she’s my sister? Mom, it’s me. Danny.”

“Danny?” Maddie tilted her head a little, as if to size up the ghost in front of her. “You died too?”

“No- yes- sort of- ugh, kind of, but it’s been a few years now- Mom, I need you to look at me.” Danny took a step towards Maddie and held his hands out in front of him cautiously. Sir Ofn tensed, hand now resting firmly on the grip of their sword.

“Okay.” 

“Mom, can you tell me what you see?”

“I see you, Danny,” She paused, her brow crinkling slightly in thought. “Why do you look so different?”

“Mom, I’m Pha-” Before he could finish the word, Maddie’s eyes widened, her body tensed, and Danny felt himself flying across the room to crash into the base of the throne. Maddie was on top of him before he could get to his feet, pinning him to the floor.

“You’re not my Danny! You’re not- Who are you!” She screamed, less a question and more a desperate cry. “Where’s my son? Where is-”

Danny threw up a shield, hands held above his face as if they could protect him from his mother any better than the sheet of energy. Slowly, he pushed the shield up and away, forcing Maddie to back down as he stood up. He threw a glance to the rest of the hall; Sir Ofn resheathed their sword and backed away a few steps.

“Mom, I swear it’s me. Please can you- Mom I’m gonna let the shield go, but I need you to promise me you won’t do anything. Please, can you promise me that?” 

For a brief moment, there was no response. Then, after an eternity that lasted less than a second, Maddie nodded sharply. Danny dropped the shield and set his feet back on the ground.

“Mom, I promise you, it’s me, Danny. It’s always- It’s always just been me.” Maddie’s eyes ran up and down him in a frantic search. “Mom, can you see? It’s me. It’s me, and I can- I can help you, but I need you to stay calm, and then we can talk about this. Please, we can just sit and talk and I can explain everything.” Danny lowered himself to the edge of the dais. He set his feet to rest over the steps, and slowly, without looking away from his mom, tapped the spot next to him.

Maddie hesitated a moment, throwing looks around the hall now. Sir Ofn glanced back at the open door leading out to the courtyard, and when they felt Maddie’s eyes on them, looked at her with a slight shake of their head. They hoped it was comforting.

“Mom?” Danny asked one more time. Maddie sat next to him, her own feet mirroring his on the steps below them.

Sir Ofn bowed low to their King, and left the hall. Light whispers sounded behind them, and if they had listened any closer, they might have heard crying, but that was not for them to say.

[hey-michael-young-history]

31 Days of Christmas!

Day 14: I Love Making You Moan

Gods, they needed to try other positions more often. 

Hanzo bit down on Kuai Liang’s shoulder as he reached under his Omega and pulled his nipple. 

“Ohhhhhhhhh…” He hung his head and pushed back against Hanzo. No matter how many times they did this dance, it was the finale Hanzo most looked forward to. 

He could already feel the tell-tale shudder and–

“Grandmaster Hasashi, helloooooo!”

Hanzo opened his eyes and stared directly at Commander Cassie Cage. “How much longer will you require my presence?”

“I think it's nice that we have this time together,” Takeda said, with a grin. 

“Look, I know you guys aren't used to sitting your asses down for more than two whole minutes but this is important. We need to make sure that all of Earthrealm's defenses are on the same page. Just in case,” Cassie explained. 

“Ughhh I'm so tired,” Jacqui complained, with her head on the table. “This is worse than that social studies presentation you did without practicing.”

“Look alive, Briggs! We've got an important business meeting about business to business,” Johnny Cage demanded, spinning back to the table. 

“Then why isn't Kung Lao here?” Jacqui demanded. 

“He and Fujin are meeting up with Nightwolf,” Cassie explained. 

“And Jin?” Takeda asked. 

She rolled her eyes. “He just said, ‘no.’”

“We’re allowed to say no?”

“FOCUS!” Hanzo snarled. 

This was absolute torture. The meeting was bad enough but now he had these visions in his head, this taste in his mouth. 

 mind

A song running through his head, never quite reaching the end. A stuttering track. 

The ghosts of Kuai Liang's touches on his body, scratches he could still feel on his back and hands on his face. 

He closed his eyes and drowned out the discussion around him as he tried to imagine what his Omega was doing right now. What he was saying, what he was looking at. 

It was 1300 here in America, so Hanzo guessed that it was about 0400 back home. Kuai Liang would be asleep. Or mediating. He was getting up earlier, establishing a routine for their family. 

Faster. His voice, almost guttural but smooth and sweet as honey when Hanzo could pin him down. He wasn't very vocal in their intimacy. Even after all these years, he couldn't bring himself to do much more than pant and moan. 

But last night…

Hanzo straightened in the chair and opened his eyes. Johnny was looking at him with a knowing smile. He made a show of slowly turning back to Cassie. 

Damn him. Hanzo tried to occupy his mind. He tried to actually listen but Kuai Liang’s voice was growing louder.

You're my Alpha. You. 

You make me feel good, only you. 

…Grandmaster Hasashi…

Hanzo exhaled sharply. He had no idea Kuai Liang would get so turned on by him using his Alpha voice. He hadn't even said much. 

Tell your Alpha how you feel. 

The heavy breath that came in response. At that moment… they were… on the bathroom counter, Kuai Liang in his lap, two of Hanzo’s fingers in his mouth and his other hand around Kuai Liang’s waist while his Omega grasped the counter to hold them steady. 

It wasn't the usual hard breath. Kuai Liang had groaned so hard that Hanzo's fingers vibrated and his thighs tensed over his Alpha’s. Hanzo had put his fingers into Kuai Liang’s mouth as foreplay but then he was sucking on them, pulling them deeper into his mouth. 

The sensation went straight to his dick, already baptized in the amount of slick Kuai Liang was still producing. He yanked his fingers out and Kuai Liang groaned again. 

“Say it, ahhh, again.”

Hanzo was still in somewhat of a daze from the sounds Kuai Liang had been making. Frustrated, Kuai Liang grabbed the edges of the counter and refused to budge. “Say it again.”

All Hanzo could see was the sweat rolling down his Omega’s pale back. He missed seeing his face but hearing his voice and being denied his expressions was thrilling. “Tell your Alpha how you feel.”

“Mmm…” he let go of the counter and allowed Hanzo to start pumping his hips and grinding against him. “Mmmm…”

“Your Alpha wants you to keep talking.”

“Keep fucking me,” he demanded breathlessly. 

“Call me Grandmaster.”

“Grab my… my hair… Grandmaster Hasashi.”

Hanzo obliged, grabbing a fistful of Kuai Liang’s hair and pulling his body against his own, so that he could see his Omega’s face. “You're so beautiful like this.”

His skin was flush, light tension on his features from his face contorted in pleasure. His eyes were half lidded and he was almost smiling. “My… Alpha.”

“Yours and only yours,” Hanzo promised, sucking on his neck. Hearing Kuai Liang’s song wasn't enough, he needed to feel it now too. His breath was quickening and he reached back and grabbed Hanzo's face and tried to kiss him. 

“Not yet,” he commanded. “Tell your Alpha how good you feel.”

“I feel… I feel… ohhhhh fuck…”

“That's right, good. Good. Only for you, my treasure.”

Kuai Liang gasped and his body seized, digging his fingers into Hanzo's face, on his hand, and squeezing his cock hard. He muffled a groan himself before grabbing Kuai Liang’s face and panting, “Now.”

A kiss but it wasn't just a kiss. Hanzo squeezed his nipple as he secured his arm around Kuai Liang's waist. He not only heard his Omega’s orgasm, he felt it deep inside as their tongues welcomed each other. As his ass squeezed the orgasm out of Hanzo. As his Omega’s hips bucked, unleashing his own orgasm. 

That's it. He couldn't wait any longer. He would not wait any long. Hanzo stood, looked Cassie straight in the eye, and said, “Good day, Commander Cage.”

He vanished in a whirlwind of fire and heat, causing the remaining occupants to take cover. 

“He sure left in a hurry. Takeda, do you know why he had to go?” Cassie asked. 

Takeda did know, in fact. It had been so long since he lived amongst the Shirai Ryu that his Papa-san had forgotten the need to lower his internal volume. “Um… he uh, had grandmaster stuff to take care of.”

—--

Hanzo was surprised that Kuai Liang wasn't in bed. 

He has followed his scent here… Where could he…

“Good morning, Grandmaster Hasashi.” Frigid arms came around him and tugged him close, to a familiar body. 

“My footsteps?” 

Even cooler breath tickled Hanzo's ear as a voice thick with lust explained, “Your pheromones… Alpha.”

“Good. Then I have nothing to explain.” He vanished from Kuai Liang’s arms and appeared behind him, pushing him on the bed. “I cannot get you out of my mind.”

“You have a one track mind, Hanzo.” Kuai Liang didn't say anything more when Hanzo grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. 

“Address me properly. Whatever plans you had for today will need to be rescheduled. If any involve speaking, I suggest you postpone them as far out as you can.” Hanzo smirked and kissed him. “I expect that you will be particularly vocal.”

Kuai Liang closed his eyes and purred so deeply that he could barely hear himself agree.

“Yes, Alpha.” 

[landinoandco]

Our Love is a Game

Lando Norris x Reader

Request from @jamieeboulos

Warnings: pinch of fluff, cute ending because they are the best

Word count: 2.7 k

Requests are open :)

It all started with a phone number, an innocent exchange that would subsequently change the world you knew; mostly for the better. When you had met Lando, as far as you were concerned you had just met a 21 year old who lived in London and had a passion for cars. How wrong you were. It was only when things started to get serious that he sat you down and explained everything that came with being a formula one driver; more importantly the fandom that he was involved in. 

You had always been a private person and admittedly this piece of information almost broke your relationship but after some time to think you had decided that he was worth it all. You both decided it was a better idea to keep your relationship as quiet as possible - you took every precaution to make sure you stayed a stranger to the fans.

For the past 2 years, you thought you had managed to stay clear of the cameras, the photos and the twitch streams but it wasn’t until a fan-made compilation caused your world to spiral out of control. 

You and Lando were out for a run, it was a part of your morning routine - a great way to start the day and it was time that you two could escape the motor sport world and act like a normal couple without worrying about who might be watching. It was time you both valued and appreciated. On this particular morning, Lando had decided to add to his Instagram story, a short video of his morning adventures - the mist still hanging around the trees as you ran under a heavily graffitied bridge, the early birds song chirping animatedly. At the time you didn’t think much of it as you were too busy tying your hair back up to notice. 

It wasn’t until you got home and looked at his story that your heart stopped, rushing over to the kitchen island you placed your phone down and ran your fingers through your hair. It was a blink and you’ll miss it moment but in the corner of his video - the last millisecond before it ended - there was a flash of a purple top (the purple top you had been wearing) and a swish of brown hair as you chucked it back up into a ponytail. 

“Lando.” You called out, trying to keep your voice as calm as you could. You didn’t know why it had affected you so much - or why you were so desperate to keep your identity a secret. It wasn’t like you wanted to hide your relationship; you were the happiest you ever had been, everyday was exciting and offered new prospects - it was more that you were so used to being in this bubble with Lando, the idea of it bursting seemed rather unappealing. Usually you didn’t care for how others saw you but seeing some of the words that people used to describe him, it would be enough to trouble even the thickest of skins. 

Lando’s close proximity broke your thoughts as he stared down at your phone, pausing on the flash of brown and purple. “I am so sorry, love.” He almost whispered, his eyes widening at his carelessness. He picked your phone up to take a closer look. 

“It will be alright, won’t it? I mean, it’s a blink and you’ll miss it.” You had said, more to reassure yourself than Lando. He didn’t answer, anxiety building in the pit of his stomach because he knew exactly what he had started. 

The fan-made compilation didn’t go viral until a few hours later - as it turns out that flash of purple was the perfect cherry on top of an unappetising cake. Lando was sat on stream - not that this was out of the ordinary and Max had decided to join him, leaving you alone to rewatch Friends for the umpteenth time. 

The pair were sat reacting to videos on YouTube when a clip of a seal swimming into a shoal of fish started playing - the amusing part was that they kept quickly dispersing away from the seal in question. Unsurprisingly, they laughed and Lando spluttered: “This is me trying to find a girlfriend.” What the fans didn’t know was the apparent irony of that sentence and this was what caused the major meltdown; whilst Lando and Max were busy crying with laughter - that chat had filled up with the same link and references to the video you would be redirected through. 

Max was the first to stop laughing, tapping Lando on the shoulder as he pointed at the chat. Hundreds of the same message filled the screen: “That’s not what this compilation shows.” “Lando, what are you hiding from us?” “Lando and Max laughing knowing very well he has a girlfriend.” 

“Chat what on earth are you waffling on about.” Max chuckled uneasily, looking at Lando out of the corner of his eye. Lando sat with a forced smile, his nostrils flaring as he continued through the comments. He could only let out a tense laugh as he swallowed thickly - his throat feeling suddenly dry. You were still sitting, completely engrossed and unaware that Lando Norris was now trending on twitter. 

Max had come up with an excuse to end the stream not long after, Lando uncharacteristically quiet. His thoughts were with you in the other room, had you seen it? Did you know? How would you react? He felt as though he had lost all control, like he had failed you entirely - all he wanted to do was protect you yet he was the one to screw it up. 

“Hey,” Max nudged his shoulder, “It was bound to happen at some point. Let’s go and see if she’s seen it - if not then -” He took a deep breath, “We will watch it together. We need to know what we are working with here.” Lando nodded, unable to reply, his body went into automatic pilot mode and too quickly he was standing facing you. 

Pausing the tv, you looked at Lando - his jaw tightened and facial expressions set as though he had just seen a ghost. “Is everything ok?” You asked apprehensively. 

“There’s something you need to see.” Max reached for his phone, pushing Lando onto the sofa. You offered your arm to Lando, pulling him into a hug. Max pulled up the video and pressed play. A tense atmosphere held the room hostage - breath restricted and gazes fixed onto the tiny screen in front of you. 

It started with a clip from this year’s Goodwood - Lando preparing to drive his last hill climb - you remembered it well, a McLaren hat placed on your head mainly to cover your identity; knowing that there would be more than a few fans around. The clip moved to 3 separate stills - all of you in your McLaren hat. One with your back to the camera, you hand placed around Lando’s waist, the other two a side profile as you spoke to Max. 

The reaction was immediate, you slapped your hand to your mouth, Lando looked horror-struck and Max was watching you carefully. 

The video moved on, this time a clip from the quadrant video where Niran trains like Lando for 24 hours - Lando and Niran were in the kitchen preparing to eat their breakfast when once again the video moved to stills. This time they were of your reflection in the oven - holding the camera. You had thought at the time, if you were behind the camera it would stop every chance of you accidentally being caught on camera. Apparently not. 

The video had moved on again, this time to stills of Lando arriving on track - of course there was no way for you to get on track without being photographed and you were fine with that because you would just arrive after Lando either with Jon or Charlotte. Photos of you arriving with Jon and Charlotte flashed up - with them you were just another member of staff but put with those other stills and it really did yell out that you and Lando were romantically involved. Finally the flash of purple from Lando’s story. The game was up. 

“Oh my-” You stuttered as the video came to an end. Fortunately your Instagram hadn’t been shown but judged by how skilled you knew the fans to be - it would only be a matter of time. “I feel sick.” You admitted, wiping your hands across your face. Lando still hadn’t said a word, staring blankly at the floor. Max was the first to come up with something logical, turning to you and Lando. 

“It will blow over.” He started, “The fans will soon lose interest and move onto the next big headline. We just need to ignore anything we see regarding the subject.” He moved his attention to you. “Maybe avoid social media for a few days. Let everyone cool down -” Sensing your means to interrupt, he held his hand up. “I know you shouldn’t have to and I know none of this is fair but unfortunately people have no boundaries and believe because it’s on social media it is their business. If they were in our situation, I’m pretty sure they would be the first to complain. Let’s just go along with it for now. It will give you time to think about what to do next.” 

Lando cleared his throat, pulling you closer into him. “I’ve failed you. All I wanted to do was protect you.” At this, Max got up and left. 

Shaking your head, you pressed your lips to his forehead. “You could never. Think about how long we kept it secret for. Besides, until we announce or admit anything - it isn’t confirmed.” You offered, trying to soothe his worries. He nodded, still not convinced. 

“Our love is like a game and it’s not a game I enjoy playing.” He croaked, lacing your fingers together. 

“I know, Lando, I know. Let’s let everything calm down and then we can think about what our next step is.” 

Weeks later and it was the night before you were due to leave for your summer holiday. You would be spending it with Lando and some of his friends and family. Due to the current pandemic, it had been so long since you had been away - even if it was a bigger group of you going; you were still looking forward to spending that quality time with Lando. 

Max had decided to take himself and Tom off to the streaming room - leaving you and Lando to sort out the remaining items you needed for your time away. 

“I have a present for you.” He said suddenly, his hands behind his back. You beamed, taking a step closer to him. He shook his head, “If you want it - “ He pointed at his lips. 

Rolling your eyes, you pecked his lips then held out your hands like a child. Lando chuckled, “Close your eyes.” Hands still outstretched and eyes closed, you waited for Lando to present you with your surprise. He grasped your left wrist and attached something to it - “No peeking.” He added. A moment or two later, he dropped his hold of your wrist and said: “You can open them now.” You could hear the smile on his lips. You opened your eyes and looked straight to your wrist - he had given you a pink watch. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up at him, his eyes twinkled as he then pointed to the orange watch on his wrist. 

“Watches?” You asked, confusion laced your tone. 

Nodding, he said, “We all have matching watches but in different colours - they are for our holiday away.” 

You gave him a lopsided grin and wrapped your arms around his neck, “I love it. Thank you.” 

In the streaming room, Max was having to ignore the majority of the comments because they were all asking the same thing: “Who was the girl from the compilation.” He was trying his hardest to keep moving off the topic, instead showing off the watches - it had been his idea, blue for him, orange for Lando, a child’s watch for Tom and a pink watch for you. He had listed off all of the colours and said who they belonged to: “And then pink-” He paused, mentally face palming. He looked over to Tom for assistance - he hadn’t meant to say pink at all. “And pink is for someone.” He cursed his poor excuse but as if by magic - Lando walked through the door. 

Distracting the stream from his slip up. 

Croatia was a dream come true, the hot summer sun on your back and the time to just relax and recharge. Days spent with Lando sunbathing on the boat or stuck in a tense game of Uno. Not being the only female was brilliant as well - as they got to go off and not feel guilty about leaving you on your own. 

Currently, you and Lando were standing in each other's arms - the afternoon drawing into the evening as the sun began to set. You had your arms around his neck and his arms were around your waist, sighing contentedly you broke the silence: “This is nice.” He pressed his lips into your hair, a sign that he agreed with your statement. In that moment, it was just you and him - everyone seemed to disappear from around you and all worries vanished. It was the simple yet affectionate moments that had always meant the most to you. You felt as though you could relax every muscle in your body, listening to his steady heartbeat - you wished for this moment to never end, to forever be in his arms and to not worry about who sees you there. 

Ever since that compilation had been made, the thought had been on your mind a lot. Were you ready to go public with Lando? At the end of the day you were both happy and surely that was the most important thing. 

Later that night, you were sitting eating your meal when a phone was handed to you, displayed on it was a picture of you and Lando - in each other’s arms. 

Instantly you knew what this meant, looking at Lando you were met with the same expression. He did as well. 

You and Lando had decided it was time to announce your relationship, there was no point sneaking around anymore if people knew and were looking out for you. You had agreed that the best way to do it was if you joined him in a stream, that way they got to know you a bit more for who you were. 

“Is it ok to feel as nervous as I am?” You asked him, pulling up a chair beside him. He was setting up the stream, two mugs of tea placed in front of you. It seemed completely unnatural to sit facing the camera. 

“I mean, this is kind of a big deal so yes I would say, it’s completely natural for you to feel nervous.” He reached for your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Nodding, you took a deep breath. 

“Ok. I’m ready.” You said, your heart beating at a million miles an hour. The corners of his lips turned up, leaning in to leave you a kiss on the lips. 

“I love you and I’m so proud of you.” He admitted quietly, as though you were the only person in the world, his eyes flickered with complete adoration. 

“I love you too. Now, shall we start it?” 

Lando went to press the start stream button but paused. He turned back to face you, his eyes wide and offered an apologetic smile. 

“What did you do?” You asked, a smile toying at your lips as you had an idea of what it might have been. 

“Stream, meet my girlfriend.” 

He had already started it...