#sara's late night musings

[romeowho]

actually the fact that i don't know how to loop videos is such an asset because there is one clip of a screen recording that if I could just put on loop and listen to while actually using my phone, I would never stop listening to it

[mochi-marmalade]

Rose & Scar

TWO: Perle

♡ series masterlist ♡

a/n: i really liked writing this royal guard!König x princess!reader 3.6k words chapter summary: the day of the ball arrives. little do you know a surprise visitor (with an even more surprising identity) will spice things up warnings: language, slightly suggestive (??) 18+ MDNI

You can’t remember the last time you felt this miserable. Sara pulls the bodice of your dress so tight you’re not sure you’ll be able to breathe later. The dress you’re wearing tonight is a dark, muted purple. It’s lovely, but you’re not so sure it’s entirely you. The short sleeves are puffed and you’re wearing soft gloves to your elbows, which you appreciate because you’re getting clammy. You’re dreading this entire event, and you know there won’t be any solace in comfortable conversation because your father gave your guard the night off. “Oh, Your Highness, you’re going to look lovely.” Sara muses. Trying your best to be nice, you give her a halfhearted smile. She applies a soft pink to your eyes and stains your lips pink as well. You’re afraid that you might look a bit garish, but when you look in the mirror it’s actually not that bad. She slips heels on your feet and mutters an apologetic, “I hope you don’t get blisters.” You wince at the mere thought of the last royal event, in which you were stuck wearing high heels for hours on end. In addition, you were unable to sit because people kept coming up to talk to you. The pain lasted for weeks. Finally, Sara stands back to view her work. “You look absolutely beautiful, Your Highness. And not a moment too late, the ball will begin soon.” Your smile fades at her mention of the ball again, and you smooth your skirt while you walk down the hallway to the ballroom. There are guards stationed throughout the castle and you can’t help but wonder what König is doing right now. Sleeping, you hope. He never seems to do it while he’s watching you, which is pretty much always.

Time passes slowly and quickly all at once as names are announced. You walk into the ballroom after your father, and flash your best fake smile while you walk down the stairs to the main floor. Soon, the party has truly begun, and people mingle while holding drinks in one hand. There are easily hundreds of people here, and you are expected to talk to all of them. People come and go and young men introduce themselves, some eyeing you hungrily, some obviously uninterested. Very few stick in your memory, but none catch your eye. The sights and sounds of the ball would be truly wondrous if you weren’t being forced to marry one of the men here. Older men come and introduce themselves to you as well, many indirectly flaunting their wealth. At one point, you’re so tired of it all that you excuse yourself to the table of refreshments. You lean on the table as much as you can without breaking your unspoken rule of maintaining good posture. This dress is tight, and you’re hot, and there are so many people, but you take a deep breath and remind yourself to take it one person at a time. You ask a servant for a glass of water, which they gladly give, and you do your best not to down it within seconds. Returning the empty glass to the servant, you continue to chat with nobles and wealthy citizens until you are undeniably bored. It seems like it’s been hours, and for all you know it has been. Each man who comes to compete for your hand in marriage is worse than the last, and it takes everything you have to not look as disgusted as you feel. Finally a small band of stringed instruments begins to play and you sigh in relief because this means people will be more occupied dancing. One of the young men who introduced himself to you earlier comes to ask you for a dance, and you accept. The two of you dance Le Allemande and, surprisingly, it’s actually kind of enjoyable. You’re pretty sure his name is Jones and he’s some sort of noble from a somewhat far land. He bows to you, and as you curtsy, someone speaks to you from behind. As you’re turning, you notice people around you murmuring and looking at whoever is behind you. When you see the huge, masked person you understand why. You don’t recall this being a masquerade, but the man wears a Venetian looking mask covering his entire face anyway. “Sir, I do believe you are in the wrong place.” “I am quite sure I am not.” He replies, holding out a hand to you. Slowly and hesitantly, you place your hand in his and he sweeps you onto the dance floor. You begin to waltz and you ask, “Who are you?”

“They call me the King, though I am hardly a monarch. I hail from Austria.”

“You are certainly in the wrong place, then, good sir. My father has arranged this ball primarily for men to ask for my hand in marriage.”

“I do not care to divulge information to people I hardly know, but I can assure you I am in the right place.”

You’re confused by his words, but figure that even nobles from other countries may be good candidates for marriage. His mask is red under the eyes and littered with stars, which you like. His eyes are stunning- they remind you of König’s. You wonder if a lot of people from Germany and nearby countries have blue eyes.  His strong hand is placed against your back as you sway along with him, and you dare say you feel secure in his hold. His brilliant blue eyes smile from under his mask and he asks if you’re enjoying yourself, to which you can only nod. “I dare say I’ve caught you speechless, Your Highness.”

“Perhaps you have, dear King.”

“Just let me guide you… There’s nothing to be nervous about.” He chuckles. It’s a low, gruff sound that fills you with warmth. He leads you through the rest of the dance and you swear the chemistry between you two is almost palpable. Once the song ends, you break all social rules to say, “Wait! Don’t go, let’s dance again.” He laughs again and tells you, “Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll meet again. I promise, I’ll dance with you another time. I have my own matters to attend to now.” He bows and disappears into the crowd. You are left just as mystified as when you saw him, completely confused about what he means. The rest of the night passes slowly. You barely notice other people talking to you and offering you desserts. At one point, you escape to the powder room and run into a few members of the royal guard. They eye you silently, and you notice one is wearing a mask like König usually does. König… You’d almost forgotten about him since you danced with the mysterious guest. Eventually the ball ends and you retreat to your room, completely exhausted. You quickly change clothes and cover yourself with plush blankets before falling asleep. 

The next morning you are not awoken by Sara, probably because of the late night. You feel groggy and not as energetic as you would on a normal morning, but you suppose that is to be expected. Yawning, you drag yourself out of bed and slide your sore feet into slippers. You’ve noticed the weather gradually getting colder, and although it’s not quite cold yet, there’s a slight chill in the air. You glance outside the window to see leaves beginning to fall and turn into fiery colors. You change into a pale yellow dress and drape a cloak around your shoulders to help keep you warm. You also take care to put on comfortable shoes, as your feet are mangled by blisters. “Good morning, König.” You say as you leave your room. “It’s nearly noon, princess.”

“Is it really?”

He nods and you realize you slept in much later than you thought. “Well, I had a late night. I hope you rested well.” You say. 

“I did.”

You’re pleased at his response, glad he got much deserved rest. The King lingers in your memory, and you think about just how charming he was. You’re aware that you’re staring into space right now and König will probably ask what’s bothering you, but you can’t lead your thoughts away from the elusive King. “What’s on your mind, princess?”

“Oh, just… A guest from last night.”

König looks at you inquisitively, and you feel compelled to explain. “He said people call him the King, and he wore a mask even though the ball wasn’t a masquerade. He was very curious, although… I dare say he captivated me. I probably won’t see him again, though.”

König sighs with some emotion you can’t place, and tells you, “You never know, princess.” You tilt your head at him, wondering, “Do you know something I don’t, König?” He laughs once, and you cross your arms, growing suspicious. “No, princess, I don’t think I do.” Huffing, you turn from him and begin to walk down the corridor. 

“What are we doing today, princess?”

“We are going horseback riding.”

Surprised, he says, “I didn’t know you rode horses.”

“I don’t. You’re taking me.”

Once you arrive at the stables, a stable boy looks at you wide-eyed. Clearly he isn’t used to the royal family visiting. “A destrier, for riding.” König tells the stable boy. He scrambles to affix harnesses and a saddle to a very large, strong-looking horse. Then he passes the reins to König. “Here you are, princess. Let me just…” He trails off as he lifts you onto the horse and you swing one leg to rest on the other side of the horse. König gets on behind you and explains, “This is a nice, strong horse used for war, he’ll have no problem carrying us for a while.” You stroke the horse’s neck along his mane and he whinnies. König finally directs the horse to trot away from the stables, following a dirt path through the grounds. The leaves fall around you and there are only a few clouds in the blue sky. You rest your back on König’s chest and smile up at him. You know that you’re getting into dangerous territory now, but you can’t help yourself. You don’t even know how long König will be around the castle, something could happen and he could leave or be replaced. Why not do what you want while you still can? Soon you’ll have to marry someone and become the queen, which you don’t even want to think about. He glances down at you quickly, then returns his gaze to the path ahead. Both of you sit in comfortable silence as birds chirp and the horse walks along. You return to the castle much sooner than you expected, and you don’t really want to go back inside, but you know the horse needs to rest. König helps you off the horse and the two of you walk back through the halls to the library. You want to read something- anything that’ll help you pass the time. Settling in a chair, you review the books you picked out: Some romance novel, a falconry handbook and a guide to German. You’d like to learn a few words, but before you even have the chance to open it, König swoops by and takes it out of your grasp. “A German guide? Why would you read this silly book when you have me, huh? I can tell you everything you need to know.” He scoffs. “Hey!” You exclaim. “König, how am I supposed to learn when you won’t tell me anything? You never even offered!” 

“Then ask me.”

You think for a moment, and finally ask, “How do you say princess?”

“Prinzessin.” 

“What does your name mean?”

He falls silent, thinking about what he should say. Should he lie? You’d know everything if he told you, but he doesn’t want to be untruthful. “You said it’s something people call you, like a nickname, right? What does it mean?”

“It’s… King.” 

Your face falls, making the connection immediately. “Are you…?”

“I’m from Austria.”

You get up and angrily make your way to him, shouting, “It was you all along! Why didn’t you just tell me?! I can’t believe you played me like a fool- is that what you think of me? A fool?”

“Princess, you know as well as I do I wouldn’t be allowed in a ball. A lowly soldier at an event for the elite? The thought itself is laughable.” 

You think for a moment, eyes locked with his own. “You- Ugh, I can’t believe you!” You storm away to your room. He knows you want space, but he follows you anyway because it’s his job. As you throw your door open, you step in and try to swing it shut, but never hear the telltale click of it closing. You roll your eyes when you see König standing there, looking almost like a child. He looks vulnerable and unsure, and it makes you soften a bit. “König… Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

“I know your father wants you to marry, that’s why he threw the ball. I’m hardly a suitable candidate, but I wanted to dance with you… At least once. I wanted the opportunity to be someone other than the rough soldier who doesn’t stand a chance.”

You look at him, and the darkening sky’s stars don’t nearly compare to the sparkle in his eyes. You step closer and catch him in an embrace. He seems taken aback, but after a moment he returns the hug. You fill with warmth and tell him, “We’ll figure something out.” You pull away and he looks different somehow. The sight of him fills you with joy, and you can’t help but smile. You realize it’s time for dinner and go to the dining hall to eat. You’re filled with glee and the attendant serving your food says they’re glad you’re feeling well. While eating, you think about what you’re going to tell your father, and you can’t think of any good options. You can’t just tell him you’re going to marry your personal guard, but what else is there to do? Finishing your food, you leave the table and ask König what you should do. “Honestly, princess, you’re asking the wrong person. The thought never crossed my mind.” You huff and cross your arms. “You could always, you know, just… Marry someone else?” The mere thought of that elicits nauseating feelings throughout your stomach. Your lips quirk in a humorless smile, and you are quick to tell him, “No. I could never be stuck in a loveless marriage knowing you’re out there.” König’s hand lands on your shoulder and he looks down at you, teasing, “Oh really? Why’s that?” You groan and playfully shove his hand off your shoulder. In response, his hands fly to your waist and he picks you up in a bridal carry. You’re laughing far too loudly, and try to quiet down before a servant comes to check on the commotion. “König, you’re going to get us in trouble!” 

“Princess, I am trouble.” 

You softly hit him, and he chuckles, gently setting you down. Seeing you yawn, he suggests you retire to your room for the evening. “But König, what about you?” His eyebrow lifts and he asks, “What about me?” 

“How are you going to sleep if you’re standing guard?”

“Oh, I do sleep. Just not quite as often as you do, Dornröschen.”

You yawn again and finally agree to go to sleep. Quickly changing into a nightgown, you turn the lights down and get in bed. The day replays in your head as you lay in bed, slowly falling asleep.

You stretch awake, slowly sliding out of bed. Today you’re more excited than usual, and Sara is quick to dress you in a lilac purple dress. “You seem particularly chipper today, Your Highness.”

“I suppose I just slept well.”

She nods and finishes lacing your bodice, then wishes you a good day and leaves. You step out of your room, but before you can greet König, you realize it’s not him at your door. You stare at the stranger in surprise, and he smiles in response. He speaks in a heavily accented, gravelly voice, saying, “Sorry, princess, I know I’m not your usual soldier.”

“...Where is he?”

“In the barracks. Said he’d be back before long.” The stranger responds. He sports a thick mustache and beard, and you’re curious how convenient that is for him as a warrior. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Captain John Price, Your Highness”

“You sound… British.”

He guffaws, a loud and booming sound. “I am.” You turn from him and begin your journey down the hallway. Much to your dismay, he follows you, but you suppose there’s not much you can do about it. If he’s standing in for König, it’s his job and responsibility to watch you now. “Where are we off to now?”

“The barracks.”

He takes a few long strides to catch up to you, and advises, “Your Highness, you can’t be serious. He’ll be back soon. Trust me, that is a place you don’t want to go.” His string of pleas don’t do anything. In fact, they just strengthen your resolve to go. It’s unusual for König to be gone, and if you’re being honest, you’re not sure you can stand being stuck with anyone else. Eventually giving up, Price follows along and occasionally makes small talk. “I don’t actually know him too well, just know he owes me now. He always wears that mask on his face, which is a little strange. I’ve heard he’s a good soldier though.” You don’t want to be rude, but you don’t really have much to say so you nod and hum in response. Finally reaching the doors to the castle, you realize you didn’t bring a cloak. You don’t want to seem cold, though, so you tough it out and pretend the hairs on your arms aren’t standing up. Price is still following you when you enter the barracks, men’s voices echoing on the stone walls. You walk up the stairs to what looks like a common area and are met with men playing card games and drinking. Some are only half dressed, and as soon as they see you, they rush to their rooms. A man with the sides of his head shaven gets up to greet you, bowing deeply and kissing your hand. You’re not quite sure how to respond to all of it. He generously offers to get König, snickering as he walks away. Another tall man with a mask sits at a table, and nods to you. You think about what it must be like to live here, in the uncomfortable stone walls with scores of other men. Finally, the man with a shaved head returns, and a sleepy König trails behind him. “What was it you wanted from me?” He asks, before spotting you. “Ah, hell! You didn’t tell me she was here!” König is… only wearing pants, and it takes all of your self-control to avert your eyes. You look in his general direction again, careful to keep your eyes on his mask, and see him holding the other man by his shirt. You cough just loud enough for them to hear you, and König drops the other man before quickly going to put his gear on. “Well, princess, for all they lack in social awareness they make up for in combat skills.” Price says, shaking his head. König comes back a few minutes later to see the man with the shaved head trying to talk himself up to you. “That’s enough, Soap.” König growls as he makes his way to your side. “Thank you.” He says to Price.

“You’re very welcome. Don’t forget about this, now.”

You spend time with König, mostly sitting and reading in the library. You wish you could sit in the garden, but the temperature seems to drop by the day, making it too cold to spend an extended amount of time outside. Although König undeniably makes your days better, the fear of having to tell your father your decision lingers in the back of your head. König notices you occasionally blowing on your hands for warmth and places his large cape over you, which helps. “König,” You sigh. “How did I ever get so lucky?” He crouches to your level and places his hand over yours. “I do believe I’m the lucky one, meine Taube.” It’s funny how quickly things can change. It was just the other day that he was nothing but your guard, and now you’re… Well, you don’t actually know, but you’re something. “König.”

“Yes, meine Perle.”

“You use such pretty words. What are we?”

“Hmm… I suppose it’s up to you, princess. I would leave this place now and never come back if it was what you wanted. I would stay forever if you said so.”

“Lovers, maybe.” You consider. “Yes, lovers. That’s a nice way to put it.” He says, hand cupping your face. His thumb rubs your cheek, and you feel so blissful, you can’t possibly begin to describe it. He finally gets up and collects his cape, motioning for you to get up too. “Ready for bed?” He asks. You frown, thinking it’s still afternoon, but one look at the dark windows tells you it’s much later. “I suppose.” You concede. He leads you to your room, lifts his mask a bit, and places a kiss on your cheek. He smells clean, like pine and woodfire. His lips, although a bit chapped, are soft on your skin. “Goodnight, my princess.”

[voradtras]

i've seen this character playlist challenge post resurfacing lately so i'd like to expand on the idea and create a more fully-fledged, more difficult challenge that'll hopefully expand your music horizons beyond the usual tumblrcore/fandom music taste

the challenge

create a character playlist of at least twenty (20+) songs without using the artists and genres listed below* in under an hour

("below" meaning below the readmore)

the restrictions

no artist can appear in the playlist twice

you must have at least three (3+) distinct genres in your playlist

you must include at least three (3+) artists with less than 100,000 listeners on spotify

you must include at least three (3+) songs that are primarily in a language other than english

you must include at least one (1+) hip hop/rap song from a non-white person (be creative with this! rap has a diverse range of sounds from doja cat to dr. dre to death grips)

you must include at least one (1+) song thats from a reasonably obscure and/or underground genre (this does not count to your 3+ distinct genres requirement)

some of these restrictions can be met simultaneously (e.g. a spanish rap song fulfills both the non-english language requirement and the hiphop/rap requirement)

feel free to reblog with your playlist in either the tags or the caption! i'd love to see what people come up with :)

restricted artists/genres are below the readmore

restricted genres/categories

video game osts

musical theatre/showtunes

steven universe songs

five nights at freddys songs

disney movie/tv songs

hazbin hotel/helluva boss songs

homestuck songs

anime ops/eds

anything made by lin manuel miranda

anything made by at least one of the beatles

anything produced by jack antonoff

all kpop groups and artists from SM, YG, JYP, and HYBE/big hit

restricted artists

when in doubt, use ctrl-f or a similar find/search function

mother mother

lemon demon/neil cicierega

my chemical romance

fall out boy

panic! at the disco

imagine dragons

bastille

linkin park

paramore

derivakat

billie eilish

mitski

marina

mountain goats

penelope scott

cavetown

florence and the machine

halsey

oh hellos

crane wives

sleeping at last

ajr

will wood

ricky montgomery

hozier

jack stauber

twenty one pilots

idk how but they found me

coldplay

lana del rey

taylor swift

harry styles

glass animals

conan grey

tally hall

cigarettes after sex

arctic monkeys

machine gun kelly

eminem

phoebe bridgers

bo burnham

olivia rodrigo

beebadoobee

mumford and sons

melanie martinez

lovejoy/wilbur soot

beach bunny

mac miller

joji

weezer

ac/dc

nine inch nails

ajj

the weeknd

david bowie

they might be giants

vampire weekend

the chainsmokers

car seat headrest

joy division

maneskin

cosmo sheldrake

led zeppelin

guns and roses

radiohead

the national

cage the elephant

tegan and sara

black country new road

mxmtoon

bill wurtz

muse

rob zombie

the white stripes

oingo boingo

major lazer

zedd

iron maiden

gorillaz

metallica

marshmello

mori calliope

corpse

tones and i

glaive

all time low

simon and garfunkel

lewis capaldi

arcade fire

slipknot

foo fighters

girl in red

death cab for cutie

of monsters and men

ghost

tramp stamps

sufjan stevens

depeche mode

chvrches

oasis

system of a down

rammstein

porter robinson

[rikyos]

@onthealcor sent : 👫 / for four headcanon's i have about our muses relationship. (selectively accepting)

when   beidou   took   the   traveler   to   inazuma   for   the   first   time   kazuha   was   very   almost   stressed   out   enough   by   the   potential   risks   to   her   safety   that   he   didn’t   have   a   chance   to   worry   about   how   he   was   going   to   feel   when   he   got   there.   he   asked   her   very   seriously   to   stay   out   of   the   conflict   because   he   was   massively   overthinking   and   the   idea   of   beidou   being   caught   harboring   him   as   a   fugitive   was   terrifying ,   as   was   the   idea   of   her   coming   to   harm   while   aiding   the   rebellion.   it   also   probably   would   have   had   some   not   so   positive   implications   for   liyue   &   inazuma   politically   if   their   most   renowned   armed   fleet   suddenly   appeared   on   the   frontlines.   of   course   we’ve   already   established   together   that   beidou   and   kazuha   are   very   similar   and   are  .  .  .   not   very   good   at   listening   to   each   other   when   asked   to   take   care   of   themselves   so   they   end   up   going   to   help   in   the   battle   with   gorou / kokomi / sara   together.   but   he   absolutely   BEGGED   her   to   stay   away   from   the   final   assault   on   tenshukaku ,   maybe   explaining   the   crux’s   absence   from   that   scene?   he   would   never   forgive   himself   if   anything   bad   happened   to   beidou   after   what   she’s   done   to   help   him.    

i   imagine   that   considering   how   miserably   quiet   kazuha   was   for   the   first   couple   weeks   to   months   that   he   spent   onboard   the   alcor ,   he   shocked   beidou   with   how   talkative   he   is   when   he   started   to   come   out   of   his   shell   a   little.   when   he   first   joined   she   was   almost   exclusively   the   only   person   he   spoke   to    (   out   of   a   sense   of   obligation   really ,   because   he   needed   her   to   be   aware   of   what   she   was   taking   on   with   him   )   but   even   at   that   he   wasn’t   really   giving   her   much   to   work   with   so   when   he   starts   to   feel   like   himself   again   it’s   probably   ???    weird.   but   he   felt   like   he   bonded   with   beidou   very   quickly   so   he   opens   up   easily.   lots   of   late   nights   talking   about   life   and   other   meaningless   things.   talks   her   ear  off.

she   also   has   one   hell   of   a   wingman   in   kazuha.   he   speaks   so   highly   of   her   constantly.  has   definitely   dedicated   a   poem   to   the   uncrowned   lord   of   the   ocean.

kazuha   wasn’t   up   to   actually   working   very   much   while   he   recovered   from   his   injuries   and   he’s   still   milking   that   for   what   it’s   worth   to   this   day     —     only   because   he   doesn’t   love   a    lot   of   the   manual   labor   of   sailing.   he’s   here   to   romanticize   being   at   sea ,   not   load   the   ship   with   heavy   boxes   or   mop   the   deck.   he   claimed   keeping   lookout   as   his   job   early   on   so   he’s   often   chilling   out   in   the   birdsnest ,   probably   smoking ,   when   he   doesn’t   really   need   to   be   up   there   at   all   to   have   a   good   perception  of   what’s   heading   their   way.   he   conveniently   disappears   when   it’s   time   to   move   stock / supplies   until   beidou   notices.   whenever   she   asks   him   to   get   into   gear   he   happily   complies ,   but   he   does   find   it   a   little   bit   funny   and   has   his   suspicions   that   she’s   turning   a   blind   eye   to   his   slacking   off   from   time   to   time.

for   some   time   beidou    (  and  juza   too  but   he’s   not   important   rn   )    is   kazuha’s   only   friend   in  liyue   so ,   whenever   he   wanted   company   and / or   know   what   to   do   while   they   weren’t   sailing   he   kind   of   just   followed   her   around   a   lot   like   a   lost   puppy.   for   that   one   lantern   rite   where   everyone   was   hanging   out   around   the   jade   chamber   and   beidou   didn’t   bring   him   he   was   just   🧍‍♂🧍‍♂   okay.   obviously   he   does   find   v   good   friends   there   over   time   and   warms   up   more   and   more   to   the   rest   of   the   crew   but   he   used   her   as   a   bit   of   a   crutch   at   first.   

when   he   decides   it’s   time   to   take   a   break   from   the   alcor   and   go   on   some   of   his   own   travels     (   he   ALWAYS   comes   back   don’t   worry   )    he   has   a   surprisingly   hard   time   saying   goodbye   to   beidou   for   someone   who   has   been   wandering   constantly   for   years.   it   wasn’t   enough   to   stop   him   but   she   is   like   a   sister   to  him   and   he   misses   her.   he   always   brings   back   gifts   from   the   places   he   visits   and   puts   wayyy   too   much   thought   into   them   every   time :     he   knows   beidou   is   also   a   pretty   well   traveled   person   who   wouldn’t   have   much   use   for   souvenirs   so   he   tries   to   get   things   that   would   be   more   personal   to   her   or   something   she   would   find   funny.

[celcstialls]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )

★ NAME Seelie (bo beelie) ★ PRONOUNS they/she/any ★ PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION Discord~ Cause tumblr ims are fucky wucky and I can send my meme emojis on discord ★ NAME OF MUSE(S) Uh. Yes. Most active? Traveller Twins, Kujou Sara, Sandrone (Also, Mun of @kabvra-ya and @dollctten)

★ EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?) Uhhhhhhhhhhhh I'd say since I was a teen so? Probably around 12 ish years?

★ PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED tumblr, discord, skype, fucking dark spyro chatrooms, ---club penguin??? They were dark times.

★ BEST EXPERIENCE My best experience so far was when I was in a big OW comunity on skype, some of them I am still friends with to this day granted we don't talk much anymore. It was just a lot of fun and chaos.

★ RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS Dash drama or just drama in general. Negativity or vent posts not under readmores/untagged. Not deleting tbd posts. Untrimmed posts. Ship discourse. Elitism (generally thinking that people are better than others due to writing styles, layouts, edits and graphics). Pressure to be replying constantly or at the same speed as a rp partner. People shitting on others for wanting to only write certain dynamics (eg. shipping focus or storyline focus blogs.)

★ FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT ALL. Fluff/Angst > Smut tho, mainly cause I get flustered easily in regards to smut and I just enjoy writing out character interactions and dynamics a lot

★ PLOTS OR MEMES I prefer plotting first just to get a basis on how our characters may interact and vibe with one another before just.. Throwing them out into the ocean. Memes are typically more for fun/not to turn into threads or for people I have plotted with

★ LONG OR SHORT REPLIES It really depends on my mood and how much my partner writes. I feel painfully obligated to match my partners length in replies due to getting one para'd so many times when I write out long-ass stuff in the past.. It sucks! So yeah.

★ BEST TIME TO WRITE Late at night is typically when my hyperfocus/random insomnia seems to kick into gear. It's also when most people are asleep or just waking up so I don't get distracted by others chatting with me.

★ ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S) I have so many muses that all have very different personalities so- it's hard to say no? I'm sure I am like some of them in some ways. Though, I have been told that I am pretty much a mixture of Hu Tao and Bennett rolled into one. Mischievous, fun-loving and puppy-like.

tagged by @rosemourne ♥!! ILY GOOSE BESTIE tagging nobody; I posted this super late and feel embarrassed because of it. Cnbf tagging anyone. Please steal

[crownhcart]

SHIPPING INFO // ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR MUSES SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S)?

ohh boy, i have so many characters over here- but mhh, let's see. i'd say khelada (my original character) with sara (gio's original character), whatever the beheaded and the queen have between them, polendina with antonia even if one-sided, cecil with carlos... and peppino with a good night of sleep i guess sjfkg. i'm probably forgetting some, though.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?

uhh i'll be real, i don't think i get uncomfortable easily with age gaps? but after all i always loved milo and kira, and their age gap was thousands of years, so i might say that a fantasy age gap doesn't bother me. in general, as long as both characters are adults i think i'm pretty okay?

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?

i guess i am pretty selective, yep! i usually tend to ship with people i have already written with and i have a bit of trust in - but even more than that, i guess the alchemy is something i look for the most. if two characters have that spark, then it works for me!

WHO ARE OTHER CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?

considering this blog a sort of a soft reset, i think i can't really list many other ships apart from the ones i've already written sjfgkh. but rest assured, i said i'm pretty selective, but if i list every single ship i have you'd be scared, :'3

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?

yes, please. once again, i look for the chemistry, but even as it happens naturally between the muses i'd rather be asked to ship, and put down our boundaries before anything else. i like to write difficult ships, too, so boundaries are especially important in these cases!

ARE YOU SHIP-OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?

ship more-or-less! once i might have been more into shipping, but i love to write all kind of relationships so i tend to look for all the types, not only romantic ones.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?

OH UH. UHHHH. heck it might be polendina with antonia (one-sided, as already specified). the bittersweet. the pure display of emotions. wwaaahhhh,,,

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?

grabby hands emoji. COME HERE YOU.

tagged by: @miratenebrarum! thank you honeyyy <3

tagging: anyone who wants to do it! i'm late to the party so probably almost everyone around here already did this one sjfkgh

[from-the-notebook]

@timeguardians sent. meme! (For any and all your muses)

🪥 - Do they have a bedtime routine?

Olivia grew up with a very strict bedtime in her aunt and uncle's home. Af 12, she had to be in bed by 9:00, not a minute later- even on weekends. (Though her cousins Sara and Justin had no such rule) After brushing her teeth, it was pj's and hair care. When she was younger, Aunt Catherine helped Olivia moisturize her hair, braid it, and put it in a bonnet before bed. Though the child began to do it herself as soon as she was able as her aunt was "too tired" to be bothered each night. After that she had a few minutes to get her things ready for school the next day and it was off to bed.

Asteria... it really depends on both the day and her mood. Sometimes, she just collapses, other times, she likes to curl up with a cup of tea and a book. If she's in a less populated area, she'll stargaze and wonder about her sisters.

Clarisse generally has a routine that she sticks to. Like Asteria she'll also curl up with a book at the end of the day. Other times, she'll look over tomorrow's agenda and make some last minute adjustments if needed.

👚- What do they wear when they go to bed (pajamas, regular clothes, half naked, etc.)?

Generally all three stick to pajamas, though Asteria has also just collapsed in the clothes she was wearing, especially in the earlier days, as she felt she needed to be ready to move at a moments notice, and later during some more... physically and emotionally taxing occupations, she was too tired to bother getting out of her work clothes.

📖 - What helps them fall asleep? Some music? A story?

Olivia has put herself to bed for as long as she can remember. Her Aunt and Uncle weren't exactly the storytime or lullaby types. After moving to Genovia under Mia's care, her family makes a point of giving her the things she grew up without. The castle staff make sure there's a plate of cookies and warm milk on her nightstand, and that does help her sleep. She likes hearing stories about the father she has no memory of, but she also likes it when Mia or Grandma sing to her.

Asteria generally likes noise, as total silence makes her feel on edge, it reminds her of just how alone she is. So, she listens to the things around her, even just a clock ticking.

Clarisse, used to love music and stories as a child. She loved sharing them with her sons.

🧸 - Do they sleep with plushies? And if so, are they ashamed of it?

Olivia has slept with a bunny plushie since... forever. It was a gift from her late mother when she was born. Though she has no memories of Elizabeth, she's always still slept with it. She's not ashamed of it per say, but if she's at a sleepover with anyone except her best friend Nishi, She's worried about it seeming babyish and the bunny stays in her backpack (though still close to her)

Asteria and Clarisse do not sleep with plushies.

⏰ - When do they usually go to bed and when do they usually wake up?

Olivia, as mentioned before is in bed by 9, and woke up before six to catch the bus for school.

Asteria... again, depends on her mood and the job she has at the time. In earlier eras, she was often up before dawn- especially if she was working as a servant. Out of habit, she sometimes still does.

Clarisse usually goes to bed and wakes up at a reasonable hour.

💭 - How often do they have dreams? What is a dream they vividly remember?

A dream Olivia remembers? On the silly side, there's the one where she's at an epic birthday party, but she had no idea who's it is. On a different note there's just the feeling of being held and a woman's humming.

For Asteria, She dreams of her sisters... of their life before enslavement... of dancing by firelight and them calling to her... of training, of laughing, of helping others... This woman has seen entire civilizations rise and fall, Even all this time later, the dreams still creep on on her.

Clarisse sometimes dreams of her late husband... of her son... sometimes they dance, other times they walk through a garden...

👹 - How often do they have nightmares? What is a nightmare they vividly remember?

Olivia's are mostly bully related, or her in the dark unable to find anyone. She had one about her Aunt deciding she was better off in foster care... Later she worries about growing distant from her friend Nishi now that they're in different countries. She has one of people taking her away from Mia. Or of Grandma, Joe, and Mia dying like Mom and Dad.

Asteria's mostly relate back to her time in slavery. She has one of harm coming to her sisters and her being helpless to stop it.

Clarisse has nightmares of harm coming to her granddaughters. She worries of Olivia blaming her for not coming sooner... when the fact of the matter is, she blames herself.

[hogmilked]

9, 14, 82, 100? 👀👀 (also hiiiiii <3)

hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 💖

9. Tattoos i want:

SO MANYYYYYY. next up will likely be the reverse bear trap from saw, a jackalope, and a shark. eventually i want to do a medusa half sleeve with a black smiling medusa with python cornrows. there’s also an artist near me who does really cool abstract work and i want a full spine piece from them

14. Piercings i want:

i’d love a septum and ring in the left nostril to match the one in my right. i also fuck heavy with industrials so might get one of those. maybe an eyebrow but im not sure how good it would look. i also am super into unusual dermals, i know someone with one at the base of her neck and someone else with one in her sternum and they’re both stunning. OH AND A BRIDGE. THATS THE BIG ONE

82. Have you ever dream that you married someone?

not that i can remember. i’m not super attached to marriage as a concept in general, at least the way it’s treated in the US, so it’s not really ever been on my conscience. wish i had a fun juicy answer for that but i literally care so little about marriage that it’s not even in my subconscious. i have dreamt of lasting love late into life though

100. Give us one thing about you that no one knows.

i think little voice by sara barellies is one of the best albums ever made. i think that since i’m very openly into either alt rock, rap, classic rock, new wave, and harsh noise, people don’t think i’m particularly into any sort of pop music, but i am a fan of what one of my noise buddies and i call White Woman Music™, which is like natalie imbruglia and sara barellies and sheryl crow, stuff that plays in like department stores. little voice and tuesday night music club by sheryl crow are no skip perfect albums that i genuinely love with my whole entire heart, which trips people up because i only ever talk about like muse and kendrick lamar and suede and oh sees and like masonna and merzbow and then i go and put on golden hour by kacey musgraves at work lol

[ask game ]

[genshinlover101]

hiii may i request rosaria, sara and shenhe w a s/o returning from their travels and bringing back souvenirs? ^^

Bringing her Back Souvenirs

Characters: Rosaria, Sara, Shenhe x gn!reader

Warnings: none

A/n: ahh- yes, this one is short but I hope you enjoy nonetheless <3

• You had recently traveled to Liyue, although the trip wasn’t for leisure, you still had quite a bit of free time. Traveling from the vendors and buying all types of trinkets that you wouldn’t find in Mondstadt.

• Since Liyue was big on the Adeptus and Rex Lapis, you easily found a bunch of merchandise or toys for children. That included a Rex Lapis dragon plushie. Even taking a picture of yourself with the Jade Chamber in the background.

• Rosaria was never big with cute trinkets or gadgets. You always gifted her something like that and she’d always stare at it and thank you, only for it to rot in a corner of her room somewhere. You hoped this time she’d treasure it, considering it was from Liyue and whatnot.

You took a deep breath, it had been three weeks since you last saw Rosaria, sending her a postcard with sceneries of Liyue like the Golden House and a message on the back saying you missed and loved her. As you looked at the sky, the sun was setting, she should still be home as her midnight jobs didn’t start until late at night.

Opening the door you found your purple-skinned girlfriend on the couch reading a book with her left hand, a smoke in the right, ditching presumably another prayer time for the sisters. “Rosariaaa~,” you mused. “Look what I brought home for you.” You were excited to reveal the surprises to her. You bought them thinking of her after all.

Setting down your luggage as you brought her the plushie and photo. “Look look, this is their archon’s plushie...” She looked at you unamused. You had forgotten she wasn’t very holy, she didn’t have a single care in the world for the Archons, much less her own. “And look, this is me behind the Jade Chamber... I look cute right?” You tried to get reassurance as you shoved the picture way too close to her face. 

Rosaria grabbed the picture with her own hands, you knew she got bored easily, so you hoped she wouldn’t react so poorly. “Interesting,” she mumbled. That was a win in your heart. You could be practically jumping up and down with joy right now. “Maybe if you find a frame we can put this picture on the wall,” she added, the plushie in her arm as she looked at you with a sparkle of determination in her eye.

• You traveled to Liyue as the Sakoku Decree was lifted, finally able to revisit distant lands that you had almost forgotten. Using this time as a way to relax since all the drama in Inazuma. Sadly Sara couldn’t follow suit, being weighed down by her responsibilities with the Tenryou Commission.

• You wanted to surprise Sara with a couple of items she thought she might like. Since she was a Tengu, it meant she was in touch with nature right? With that thought in mind, you picked up a star conch from a nearby beach. Even getting her some unique ores like Cor Lapis and Noctilucous Jade.

• In terms of little gifts Sara always accepted them with a straight face, not giving you much of a reaction. But what you didn’t see behind closed doors was Sara treating them like little treasures. Giving them their own little space and sometimes gazing at them thinking of you.

It had been a month since you last stepped foot in Inazuma, your mirage of the entire place hazy from your time in Liyue. With a massive sigh, you calmed yourself, entering the Tenryou Commission Headquarters. There, you saw your girlfriend standing over a wooden table with a battle plan below her. “Your back so soon?” She inquired.

Nodding happily with a big smile that she acknowledged you first, you approached her with a pep in your step. “Yea, and I got you some gifts Sara,” you proposed. You noticed she looked a little surprised, gifts? for her? Her heart pumping faster with the thought behind your actions.

As you gave her the ores and starconch she looked at the items lovingly as they juggled in her hands. “If you take the conch to your ear, you can hear the ocean they say,” you said. Sara took the hollow end of the conch and put it up to her ear, listening to the hollow walls as she gently closed her eyes.

“Indeed,” she hummed. “I will treasure these items,” she couldn’t keep her attention off of them. The beautiful blue hue from the Noctilucous Jade, and the striking yellow from the Cor Lapis. Even though she had little to no clue as to what the ores did, they let her know that you thought of her while purchasing them.

• You traveled to Inazuma once the borders had opened up for foreigners. Wanting to take a relaxing journey and explore the culture since Liyue and Inazuma were basically neighboring regions. Shenhe didn’t follow suit as she still was growing accustomed to Liyue’s culture and you didn’t want to overwhelm her.

• She always seemed so fascinated with the culture. The food, how people acted, dressed, etc. You thought she’d want some piece from Inazuma as well. Bringing her home a kitsune mask you found from a vendor during a festival. Even bringing her home a used firecracker shell from when you visited Naganohara Fireworks.

• Shenhe would receive it trying to look unimpressed, someone of her caliber was trained to not react to such mild gifts. That’s what Cloud Retainer had taught her however, but- with Cloud Retainer not in sight, she could allow herself to crumble to temptation once or twice.

It had been three weeks since you last saw your girlfriend. Your guess was that she was somewhere in the mountains training or in Liyue Harbor taking only a single bite of their finest dishes. You searched all of Liyue only for her to be at Bubu Pharmacy restocking on her herbs to consume. 

As you climbed the copious amounts of stairs you saw the beautiful white-haired woman. Her figure stood there gracefully as she analyzed ther selection that Qiqi had gathered that day. “Shenhe, I’m home,” you announced. The woman turned around with a stern pose, her hand resting on her chin as the other was folded. 

Her unimpressed look even though it had been three weeks since you last conversed. Although she was growing accustomed to human culture, she still had much to learn, especially when it came to relationships. “I see,” was all she said to you. From behind your back, you took out two small gifts for her. Both practically useless to her needs and only for appearance. 

“What is this? Souvenirs as they call them?” You nodded vigorously. The fox mask in one hand and the firecracker shell in the other. Out of the two, she was enthralled with the firecracker the most. “You only see fireworks during the Lantern Rite, but I bet in Inazuma you saw them almost daily no? I shall keep this safe, thank you.”

[romeowho]

you’re trying to tell me that Klaus ‘don’t tell me you wouldn’t climb Luther mountain’ Hargreeves wouldn’t sleep with sparrow ben because he looks like umbrella ben?

[hhhecates]

Like scraped knees-

# — pairings: kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, kazuha, mentions of kujou sara

# — summary: you don’t know how to call the way you feel around him

# — warnings: angst, allusion to death, mentions of injury, mentions of blood

# — tags: one shot, angst, hurt no comfort, very confusing feelings

# — notes: I don’t really have an excuse for this, I just wanted to write about love & heartbreak with kazuha

The first thing that you can think of is that he's pretty, he's always so pretty: perched on the crow's nest in the mid afternoon, after he's done with his tasks for the day, bandaged hand coming up to shield his eyes against the harshness of the sunlight, his own crimson eyes stubbornly stare at the horizon where the sun is slowly dissipating into the sea, sometimes you wonder what he's searching for. He's pretty in the early hours of the morning, when he greets you first, and only then everyone else aboard, with his messy ponytail swaying in the wind, rebellious locks of slivery hair framing his gentle face ever so softly as he smiles at you, and you wish you didn't focus so much on the way his eyes crinkle and shrink into crescents when he does so. You wish even more that the action alone wasn't enough to make you oh so painfully aware of the beating of your heart in your chest. He's pretty in the late evening, when the artificial light of the oil lamps is the only thing illuminating his features, so tenderly smoothing out the planes of his skin, it's such a harsh contrast with the teasing smile that he so easily offers you and the rest of the crew between wittily crafted lines of poetry and scalding, sarcastic remarks. His lips meet the edge of his cup, obscuring that smile from your view, and thank the Archons, but the cutting glint in his eyes stays, you dare say it takes on an even more piercing edge, you roll your own eyes at him and dismiss the feeling of your cheeks tingling and burning when you can still feel his unashamed gaze on you.

Kazuha's pretty, he's pretty, pretty, so pretty and graceful even when his blade is drawn and unforgiving wind follows his every move on the battlefield.

But now? Now Kazuha looks especially pretty under the silver tones of the moonlight, he looks especially pretty because he's sitting next to you by the bow of the Alcor, sailing away in the night, you swear you're not looking at him, but you can't help noticing how his pupils are still focusing on the horizon. What is he looking for? And maybe you already have your answer, but you'd rather discard it each time and ask yourself the question all over again.

"The wind is rather restless tonight." Kazuha ponders silently, yet his words hold firmness.

You resist the urge to turn around and look at him, to really look at him and let your eyes wander and roam, so you let yourself merely wonder what his profile might look in the moonlight as you meekly hum in agreement. He sighs at that.

There's not a wisp of wind tonight. The both of you know that.

The smell of summer is thick and coily in the air, so saturated that it bleeds in the night almost overwhelmingly so. Though you always enjoyed the feeling it brought, this time it's unusually stifling, but at least, it gives you a reason to ignore Kazuha's unspoken demand.

Kazuha is a person who values bluntness and honesty above everything else, you know, you've seen the way his eyebrows furrow in the most dignified of frowns whenever he's on duty to bargain with merchants for the good to stock before a long journey: said merchants take their sweet time roping him in courteous conversations in the vain hope to pluck some more money than it'd be fair. Oh, how much he hates that.

But Kazuha can be one big hypocrite himself, because the world will burn before he will give up his own ways to make you trip and stumble over his intricately woven musings himself. But you happen to be just as annoyingly stubborn as he is, in that subtle way that leaves no spoken argument but expectant silence.

"I can do this for the entire night Kazuha." you assert uncaringly, or that's you would like to say, you hate yourself for the tint of annoyance that manages to colour your voice. Kazuha sighs yet again, and this time you notice, with little sweet pride and the same amount of guilt, that it's out of exasperation.

"I did not lie, a storm is brewing in the horizon-" you don't even let him finish his sentence, it's too late- or too early, really, for you to deal with this shit "That's it, I'm going to bed-" he chuckles at that, but there's no humor in it, it doesn't make his chest rumble like when it bubbles out of genuineness "I thought you said you could deal with this for the entire night." he whispers teasingly, and though it doesn't have half of the strenght his usual mischievous voice holds, you'll take it. Archons, you'll take anything.

"With this? Yeah. Deal with you? That's out of question." he fakes a pained gasp at your rebuttal "You wound me, dove." you forcibly ignore the way your heart hums in response at his little nickname, like it knows, like it's answering a call of your own name. Instead, you swallow the words laying on the roof of your mouth, the sweetness and the reassurances, you swallow all of it down for the sour and bitter. But you forget that honey is thicker than acid, and when you swallow it down, it threatens to get stuck in your throat, seal your voice away with it too.

"Good." you finally manage, tune rough and trembling "Good. It might teach you to say what you mean." your words fade in the night as you speak them, a little too caustic. You don't mean them, you know, hell, he knows you don't mean them, because Kazuha always says what he means. But he humurs you, lets another chuckle escape those lips of his, you swear you're not looking at the way they move to accomodate the sound of his laughter, you swear, but you're not like Kazuha.

"And what do I mean exactly?" he questions you, the tone of his voice once inch away from amusement "You want to know why I'm troubled through the usage of very shitty storm metaphors." he hums "So you are troubled." Kazuha confirms in unspoken, yet so so loud, victory "Yes, now, will you leave me alone?" you see refusal written on his parted lips, ready to push you back, pick and pry for more, but Kazuha was never one to pry at all. He was never one to prod at a shattered mess of glass and pick and choose the pieces he wanted to his heart's content. So you watch as hesitation takes over the colour of his irises, and with the umpteenth sigh of the night, he nods his head in quiet acquiesce and turns his gaze back to the horizon.

It stings a little, his easy approval. Screw it, it's more than just a little. You think, of all of the times, why was it right now that Kazuha had to turn obedient to one's call but his own? But after all, how can you even complain when you're the one who's to blame, when you were the one to ask him to let go. Kazuha's always been awfully good at letting go after all.

Awful. That's what you should feel for your last thought, but you don't, the only feeling of guilt that creeps up your spine is the one that comes with the cynical realization that you don't feel guilty at all for what you thought.

Against your better judgement, you scoot even closer to him, your hand almost touching his bandaged one on the rough wooden surface, you feel the warmth that his body emanates, bask in it for a second too long. It's a silent apology, you think, one that you selfishly offer even though you never uttered those words out loud.

Another breathless sigh escapes Kazuha, and although you barely register his action, it does make you wonder why your companion keeps sighing like he's exhaling his damn soul.

Maybe he is. Maybe he wants to leave a piece of himself in something that's not promises of evermore, something that's not an 'if' or 'when' but a 'here' and 'now'.

It's lonely, you take note idly. It's an ugly feeling, one that you're accostumed to, but that doesn't make it any less ugly. Especially when you know you feel perfectly fine on your own, when loneliness and longing come knocking at the hollow of your bones only when you're in somebody's company. But this is the first time, it's the first time that your mouth fills with cotton and helplessness tugs at the chords of your soul when it's you and Kazuha.

You don't like it. You hate it.

You scoot even closer to him, teetering on touching, but not quite, you're not that presumptuous. And right there, you understand that your silent apology was never to Kazuha, but to yourself.

You gaze out at the horizon as well, and you find yourself wondering, wondering what would fill that hollow, what it would be like to give a name to what you feel when you're next to him, if that would be enough to make the constriction in your ribs feel good.

You wonder what it would be like to drop pretense, to forget that when you fall and scrape your knees it hurts, and remember that it burns so good too. Perhaps salvation would come with letting yourself be consumed, set ablaze in an all-encompassing flame that disembodies you and makes you one again just to breathe elation and destruction into you. Maybe it would still leave you breathless, like the cotton filling your lungs when Kazuha looks at you, maybe it would sate the craving.

"Dove?" Kazuha calls out softly, voice the slightest bit husky after not speaking for long. You don't answer immediately, noticing how now the nickname weights a little heavier on your shoulders, a little acrid in your heart. You scrunch up your nose in distaste, action that grants you a chuckle from Kazuha, the sound fading a little too soon in the undisturbed night.

Even then, it's still enough. Enough for you to feel it reverberating in your bones and leaving goosebumps on its wake, making your spine quiver as if it were his wandering fingers tracing routes across the skin of your back. You miss it.

So you wonder, perhaps it doesn't have to be like that, perhaps it doesn't have to burn until it bleeds. Perhaps the answer is gentle and unwavering like the ocean's horizon that Kazuha admires so much. Yes- you'd like him to look at you the same way he does with that. Waves that thrash whimsically, take away the shattered glass and bring it back mellowed out, you think, maybe then Kazuha would pick and pry in that heap of those tiny pieces, he would have the courage to pick and choose without leaving his fingers prickled and bleeding on jagged edges. In all tides there's a homecoming, unyielding stability admist precariousness that washes over you, soothing you in a balm of familiarity, it gently breaks you open and seeps into every crack and crevice.

You smile.

No, that wouldn't work. Kazuha wouldn't be afraid to cut his fingers on mere jagged edges, he would let the blood drip down his fingers and stain the glass until it stubbornly clinged at his nails, until he found what he was searching for.

The sky is painted in a watery blue hue, and you almost raise your arm to reach out and touch it, it looks like fresh paint. Oh- only then you realize, there's a faint ringing in your ears. You head is spinning like crazy, though the entire world seems unmoving. You hear a name being called, a voice firm and severe, but it's breaking open, desperation threatening to tear it apart from its very core. It's your name that they're calling.

Your eyes struggle to focus on the person in front of you, something in your mind is screaming in recognition, but your mind feels languorous and somnolent, and any semblance of lucidity seems to be slithering away from your grasp as you reach out.

A sharp pain in your chest forces a whimper out of you, and suddenly the figure in front of you appears in your eyes with appalling clarity.

"K- Kazuha?" he recoils at the sound of your voice, as if that alone was enough to burn him, his eyes look frantic, almost hysterical, he speaks of something, but you barely find any coherence in his words, brain too stuffy to make sense of what he says. Kazuha applies pressure on your chest, and suddenly you're lurching forward in a fit of painful coughs. The taste of blood fills your mouth.

Oh- oh, you remember. You were on the battlefield, fighting against the shogun's troops, guided by none other than Kujou Sara herself. And it was one of her own arrows that was now impaled in your chest. If your head stopped spinning for a second, maybe you'd laugh at how tragic this must look. You're no hero, no person guided by some fervent ideal of righteousness or following the patriotic ideal of freedom for the liberation of your nation. You're not particularly selfless either. You owe nothing to these people, nor to your conscience. No, perhaps your only fault is being quite a little too much of a nihilist for your own good.

Your own cruel mind points out in indisputable logic how you're just one of the many people laying bloody on the battlegrounds now, not more or less value than any of them. A selfish part of you however, holds onto Kazuha's sleeve tighter. Am I worth your tears?

The pain in your chest intensifies, the remains of electro energy the arrow was imbued with reverberating through your body. The tips of your fingers numb, limbs fall heavy, Kazuha's pleads trip down his lips, hasty like a prayer, but bitter like a curse.

Your heart is beating. It's beating so fast. And of course it always was, always is, but now you're acutely aware of it, of the thumping against your ribcage, and you want to feel it, feel it race even faster and feel your chest burn some more too. As the pain flushes in your abdomen, hums through your body, only one thought emerges through the haze of your mind. Can this be like scraped knees? Can this burn so good too?

How morbid. A broken laugh leaves your lips, Kazuha looks at you in madness, and you wonder, which one of you is the goner?

You reach your hand out, a feeble attempt to cup his cheek, Kazuha catches your trembling limb, brings it to his face with a desperation that is so unlike himself. And as the pain burns more and more, you hum in sudden understanding.

It feels just as exhilarating, and you know, deep in your mind you know, that it has nothing to do with the way Kazuha holds your hand like a lifeline.

Perhaps this is what it is.

Quelling in both venom and elixir. All demolition and all divination, it shoves you down to take the fall, but never lets the impact come. You stand afloat in anticipation: it leaves you stuttering and hesitating, can you hold onto it? How does something that barely exists fill the hollow in your bones and free your lungs from cotton?

It's not lonely anymore. You exhale softly, Kazuha holds his breath.

"So pretty." the you whisper in a hazy breath.

Kazuha doesn't know if you're talking about the sky or not.

It's 2.30 in the morning and I have no filter.

[guessimwritingficsagain]

Kiss Number 1 : New Year's Eve

Summary : Javier muses on what could be.

Pairing : Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)

Warnings : None.

Rating : T

-------------------------------------------

Your face looked harsh under the cold lights of the office. Javier, cigarette in hand, watched you stretch your neck and rub your left shoulder before taking a sip of your coffee. You shouldn’t be here. Not that late. Not today.

‘Crime never sleeps, Sir.’ You’d joked when he’d told you to go home. ‘Not even on New Year’s Eve.’

You were finishing some reports, and he was- he was watching you, really, his own files forgotten on his desk. The clock was reading almost 10, and he felt tired. To the bones, three-days-of-sleep-won’t-fix-it tired.

So Javier got up, put his jacket on. Crushed his cigarette. Lit another, out of a filthy habit he couldn’t shake. Slowly, he walked to your desk. You were humming something, he realized, some tune he couldn’t place. For a second there, he envisioned rapping his knuckles on your desk to get your attention. He’d tell you to go home. You’d say no. He’d insist, his voice stern, arguing you needed to sleep. You’d admit you were finding it hard to sleep those days. ‘Then let’s grab a drink, but let’s just get out of here’, he’d answer. You’d smile, and he’d smile back. Then he’d help you put your jacket on. He’d walk to to the elevator with a hand on a small of your back, barely there. A drink’d become a second, maybe a third. You’d let him take you home. He’d stop on your doorstep, but he wouldn’t come in. He’d just-

Javier never did that. Javier never didn’t come in. Even with Lorraine, the sex had been part of the relationship from the very beginning. But then again, he’d never worked closely with her. With you, though-

With you, he wanted to keep things civil. Be a gentleman. He didn’t want to spook you because he liked you, as in-

As in he had a whole lot of respect for you. He didn’t want you to think he saw you as just another body to keep him warm on the lonely night that precedes the new year. So he didn’t want to spook you, because you showed him the same amount of respect he showed you and he felt that Javier the-serial-fucker Peña was not a Javier you’d appreciate, not right away. Not with the way he saw the secretaries giggling with each other at the coffee machine the morning after you brought one of them home, one night. He knew those talk made their way back to you. So he’d be a gentleman. He would put his mouth on you, just to kiss you on the cheek, chaste and soft and sweet.

But God how he wanted to put his mouth elsewhere. Everywhere else.

He took a breath.

Rapped his knuckles on your desk to get your attention. Told you to go home.

You smiled.

‘Yes, Sir.’ You said.

You put your jacket on before he would react, body frozen by the way this was not going how he had planned.

‘Goodnight, Sir. Don’t work too hard.’

Your head was raised towards him. You smiled again.

‘And Happy New Year’, you added.

Chaste and soft and sweet.

Javier leaned down. Pressed his mouth right there, on your cheek.

Chaste and soft and sweet.

‘Happy New Year’, he whispered back against your skin.

A faint red glow warmed up your cheeks as you adverted your eyes.

He watched you walk to the elevator, watched you turn around, smile at him. Then the doors closed and he was alone again.

_________________________

Taglist

@pedritobalmando @amidjarin @ajeff855 @justpedropascal @sara-alonso @sarahjkl82-blog @amidjarin @sara-alonso @justpedropasc@mrsbentallmadge @farfromjustordinary

[albakore]

Buying them flowers

Synopsis: They were overworking themself again, so reader thought it might be nice to do something thoughtful for them.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Jean (gn!reader)

Warnings: none, just fluff!

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘•⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅ ⊰ ⋅•⋅

Diluc:

we all know Diluc is the CEO of overworking himself. this man never lets himself catch a break

if you are in an established relationship, he definitely buys you flowers on the regular.

flowers are just the perfect gift in his mind: they don’t take up useless space forever, they look pretty, they smell nice, there’s variety, the list goes on

he definitely doesn’t expect to come home to you handing him a bouquet though

Diluc let his shoulders sag as he stepped in the door to the winery. The abyss had been more active than usual, and while it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, it still left him sore and grumpy at the end of the day. His eyes scanned the dim area that was his living area. There were a few lit candles about but judging by the stillness of the space he assumed most of his staff had resigned to their homes for the night.

Just as Diluc let his guard down and began freeing himself from his excessive outerwear he hid himself in all day, you stepped out quietly from your shared bedroom and approached him. Diluc noticed your footsteps right away, he was a well-trained fighter after all, so of course he knew how to pick up even the slightest shift in his surroundings. There was an odd rustling sound that accompanied you before he felt your palm placed firmly against his back to get his attention.

“Surprise.” You spoke softly as he turned around to spot the bouquet in your hands. You had a soft, sympathetic smile on your face as you took in how tired the man before you appeared. The ever perseverant and reliable Master Diluc with bags under his eyes and tussled hair and his jaw perpetually clenched. You took his gloved hand in yours and raised it so you could place the flowers in his palm.

“What’s this for?” He asked softly, looking at all the different kinds of flowers you had incorporated.

“For you, silly!” You chuckled at his reaction. “What, I’m not allowed to get my lover flowers?” You feigned defensiveness as you settled your amused gazed on his bewildered expression. He brought the flowers up to his nose and breathed in the pleasant floral scent before he wrapped his arms around you, exhaling a small thank you before letting his head fall onto your shoulder almost defeatedly — almost because nothing in this world had bested the Ragnvindr yet. You knew he was strong enough to push through this, all he needed was a little support. He took a few deep breathes, appreciating the presence of his lover, allowing himself just one moment of vulnerability. It seems a bouquet was all it took to break down yet another part of the man’s emotional walls.

Kaeya:

when he spots the bouquet his first thought is how you are just the cutest

he’ll occasionally buy you bouquets if he happens to see something pretty while he’s out adventuring or if Flora has something interesting out for sale

he’s a fan of single flowers, something he can tuck behind your ear gently while he watches you grow flustered by his actions

definitely a single rose kinda guy, even if it’s super cliche

Oh, what’s this? He muses to himself, eyes glinted with mirth as he approaches his desk. He glances over the flowers and the note and wonders who the anonymous suitor could be. He hopes to himself as he reaches for the note that you were the one who left these flowers for him but he knows he has his fair share of people pining over him, so it wouldn’t exactly be a surprise if it were someone else. Even despite you two’s public relationship, that doesn’t always stop the odd bold soul from thinking they could steal him from you, wrongfully so of course. His eyes instantly flit to your named signed at the bottom and his smile grows from his normal cocky smirk to a genuine soft expression.

The letter reads:

How’s work, Captain? Home feels emptier without you here. I miss you telling me good morning and good night every day. I know Mondstadt’s needs are more important right now than one individuals, but that doesn’t stop me from awaiting the moment I can wrap my arms around you again. On the bright side, no one’s pinched my ass in days! That’s about the only positive part of this whole situation, though. Say, when your workload lessens again we should get dinner together! Sara from Good Hunter keeps asking me when you’ll stop by. Well, I’ll let you return to your work now. Thinking of you, always.

Kaeya sighed as he set down the note and picked up the flowers. He’d been covering for Jean for a few days while she attended to other business. He didn’t mind, really, it was the least he could do in return for all she did for Mondstadt, but he couldn’t deny he missed you too. He’d been staying in his old dorm at the Favonius HQ to make his life a little easier; he was up late into the night working on paperwork in her office and up early in the morning to go on patrol. It would only be a couple more days until she returned and he could yet again have you laid on his chest comfortably.

He’d have to remember to ask Albedo for a vase to keep these flowers in, and surely Sucrose would know of a way to up their longevity so he could keep them on his desk for as long as possible. He sat down in his chair and picked up a pen and loose piece of paper to begin writing you his response.

Jean:

jean is an absolutely sucker when her s/o buys her flowers.

everyone knows Jean’s secret favorite pass time is reading romance novels

so that kind of super corny but romantic shit is right up her alley. how to woo jean gunnhildr 101

she doesn’t get to buy her lover flowers as often as she would like. the thought that she should always crosses her mind at the least convenient of times.

she’ll be nowhere near flora/any sort of flower patch and she’ll think “i should get them some flowers to make up for not being home as often as i would like to be”

but then she’ll be whisked away by someone else in mondstadt who needs her help and well…

Jean was fresh out of the shower, hair down and damp, towel wrapped around her body as he made her way to your shared bedroom. You had gone out to fetch you two something to eat for dinner, so it was just her left in the apartment. She opened the door quietly and was taken aback by the scene in front of her. There were candles lit all along the desk and dresser, there were flower petals scattered about the floor from the door to surrounding the bed. In the middle of the bed sat a bouquet of flowers awaiting her.

She hadn’t moved an inch, her mouth was slightly ajar and her hand still firmly gripped the door handle — in a good way of course. She hadn’t registered the front door opening that signified you entering with dinner. You paused and watched her for a minute before setting the food down and making your way over to her. You brushed some of her hair away from her shoulder and pressed a kiss there causing her eyes to snap over to you. “(Y/N)! I-I don’t even know what to say-“ she stammered over her words, cheeks growing redder by the second. You giggled, bringing her knuckle to your lips.

“Go put on some comfy clothes and then we’ll eat. We’ll worry about everything else later. You’ve been working so hard lately, I just thought you might appreciate some.. relaxation.”

She sighed before leaning over and pecking your cheek. “Thank you, really.” She murmured before stepping into the bedroom. You watched as she continued to glance around the room in awe as she made her way to the closet. You turned and walked back to the boxes of food you had brought home. Of course you two had to enjoy dinner before dessert.

[kthynes]

the love we have

pairing: chris evans x ex-wife!reader

request: hey, can you do one where the reader is Chris's ex wife and she's about to be married again to a guy she doesn't really love. so in the night of her bachelorette party she's really drunk and she ended up going to his apartment and tell him that she still loves him and that she wants to hate him because he was the one who file for divorce but she can't, then she leaves. on the day of the ceremony their 10 year old kid tells Chris that he should go after her before is too late. - anon

warnings: angst (I need to be stopped), mentions of divorce, some course language and alcohol consumption - there'll definitely be a light at the end of the tunnel

a/n: before I sign off for the weekend I leave you with another saucy request. I love that many of you are onboard this angst train of mine aha! Gotta love a good old win me back troupe. Any who thanks for this request nonnie, I truly enjoyed writing this one 💋

this is unbeta-d so any mistakes are my own

Musical muse: a whole lot of Sam Smith and Breathe Again by Sara Bareilles - I was in my feels while listening to this!

Taglist: @patzammit @mrs-djokovic

this gif is not mine - credit goes to the rightful owner!

-:-

One shot.

Two shot.

Three shot.

Door?

It's the night of your Bachelorette, a wedding tradition that you've certainly grown out especially after encountering it the first time around. But that doesn't stop you. There's a lot to life that you've let up on and not having a good time wasn't one of them.

But after fruitfully knocking back a couple Kamikazes and a shot of tequila; no salt, no lime and no chaser, you find it in you to wander away from the group, going on an uncalled adventure.

Your dancing feet dawdle out of the club to hail a cab. You get in and then hop out of said cab when the meter reaches an undesirable rate. In the conundrum of your actions, you get adroitly yelled at by the cabbie who realizes you are lost cause and another nuisance that'll have him working a long night. He suffers with you and it's unlikely that you'll feel any sort of remorse for your actions. And you don't.

"Oh go to hell!" You tell off the sputtering cabbie who says something in his native language before accelerating down Broadview, a narrowing strip in downtown L.A that you'd frequent on your worst behavior, tonight being of them.

You aimlessly amble through the wet side streets, your lead legs atrophy while being restricted in the confines of your slutty little sequins dress, the top of the line pick that would have many men ogling you as you stagger by.

It's a drag but you're on a unfettering mission, snapping at a few disorderly teenagers on the wrong side of town. They try to catcall, whistle and rally a rouse out of you. You get prissy and mother-like, telling each of them to euphorically choke on a dick.

"Only if you'll choke on ours." One of them snickers and you loose your shit crackers. You fight them, they're harmless little punks testing their bravado.

"You think your father would appreciate that?" You brickbat and that's when a onlooking cop directs them away and retributively waits by you so there's no further ensuing trouble,

"I swear to you officer that I'm up to no good," You mean well, you really do but then the older, defilade man cringes. There's no falling back on your defenses, you were dumb drunk. "Wait. That's not it. I'm fine, I am, look it."

You twirl around in your four inch heels, putting on your own silly version of the sobriety strut, testing him by all means.

"Alright, how about we get you home yeah?" It's like your own father is talking down to you with that harrowing displeasure. "Do you know where home is?"

You're appalled. Of course you knew where you laid your head at night. What did he know?

"I do!" You profess and then snicker while remembering your stupid vows. "I do."

The constable scrupulously watches you order an Uber to much of his own discretion. Your ride arrives shortly after, he’s assured and then solemnly, you wind up at the last place you'd ever find yourself pleading for resistance.

1357 Adelaide Crescent.

The palatial grand towers that you'd make one stop visits on your designated drop off days becomes an impromptu acervatio of reconciliation.

He has to be here. You recollect in the haze of your own drunken thoughts after being ushered up by a small gathering of tenants that live in the complex. Each of them forelay their pity, making way as you hold onto a good, progressive fight up the elevator shaft. Huffing and puffing like the village idiot you were, your breathing becomes shallow and pained, working with the high intensity of your emotions.

You are a heartbroken maudlin who is about to get married in two days to a man who you couldn't love with your whole heart. No one could ascribe to this uncertainty but you. It's a shitty feeling and mixed with alcohol, the whole world is about to know that crockpot of disparity.

"Christopher Evans!" You pound your fist against the wooden panel door, jiggling the knob as you normally wouldn't, making an imposition out of your own debauchery.

Chris is peacefully laid up on the couch when the loud, thunderous knocking interrupts his long awaited slumber. He doesn't sleep much for various, sometimes unknown, reasons. Tonight he's quietly picking his head up to see his son passed out on the loveseat across from him, mouth agape while the TV is slow rolling the end credits to the Princess Bride. It puts an easy smile on the fathers face who sees his sons peace as his own.

"Open up!" You funnel your hands to act as a megaphone while you boom and beckon for your ex.

Your impatience is a chorusing call for Chris as he slowly rubs his tired face. The wall clock tells him that it's 1 am in the morning and not a passing second sends you away or brings you to your senses.

Chris grovels, flips on the foyer lights before finding the door knob and opening the door. Your body reactively lurches forward, bracing the frame and nearly falling over when his full figure comes into view.

It's one of the rare pleasantries that comes at a fraction of the cost and you definitely trouble him for his two cents.

"Oh!" You stand up a little straighter, your blooming chest heaves while you're panicked and out of breath.

You didn’t think this far ahead. You just showed up and Chris simply looks to you all disheveled and pouty, eyes narrowing as your intoxicated pride is strung a mile high.

"Y/N?" He manages to say, his face crumpling up with concern. “What are you..."

“Where’d we go wrong Chris?” You cut straight to the chase. It's a loaded question that has Chris unremorseful, disorienting the pieces of the large jigsaw puzzle before offering his best rebuttal.

“You're drunk.” So you didn't know.

“Can you just answer the damn question.” You meander your words in a exasperated, whiny tone.

“Our son is asleep right now, let’s not do this alright?" Chris warns you.

You only cared about your son. Your entire existence was around him. You fought for him and Chris fought right back. Joint custody as they say, was the underlying dissolution of your marriage, the only reason you came around and the only reason he'd be there.

“You filed for a divorce behind my back.” You state, throwing it right back in his face with the partial truth.

Your union with Chris was a beautiful mess. There wasn't many arguments just doubts and over time, you knew it was inevitable. You saw the separation lines being drawn up. You overheard the hushed, late night phone calls that Chris would have with his manager, publicist and lawyer. A team that once ran you through what it meant to be Chris Evans wife, what it meant to openly walk in his shadow. It was an accumulative process that broke you after coming to a full stop.

With will and way. Everything came undone.

When Chris’s highly esteemed lawyer served you the notice one summer afternoon, you were embittered, painted as the bad wife. To the press, you became the selfishly aloof small town girl who couldn’t handle her famous husbands success, who could’ve possibly had a pandering love affair with one of his friends from Boston. The dilapidated housewife was the common denominator and point of reference that you couldn't seemingly shake off. The odds were stacking up against you when Chris had proven to be the best husband, leaving you behind in the dust.

But then to add insult to injury, the line of communication got staticky. Everything fell out of place, the settlements were being laid out, there was talks of alimony and court briefings. Not a second was spared for a proper explanation let alone a fulsome goodbye. In the dulling moments of your marriage, Chris couldn’t tell you why he had given up and you faithfully let him have his way. Maybe because you were trying to not seem crazy or demanding of an answer, one that you might've not been fond of hearing.

“Why'd you do it?"

"Why?" Chris reiterates with disbelief, slowly loosing his tiredness.

"Yes! Why?" You voice breaks, your clenched phone is vibrating in your hands. You're getting countless incoming calls from your friends who are probably looking for you while you're having an intense standoff.

"It’s been five years Y/N, you never wanted to know why. Where is this coming from?”

"Five years?" You choke. The perception of time is now beyond you. Chris saying it the way he did wasn't meant to hurt you. But sometimes the truth hurts. You and Chris have been separated for five unassuming years now. This would’ve be known to you but then there’s that tunneling sliver of hope you hold onto along with your obliviousness that is convoluted because Chris has always been around, not for you but for your son, his son, Ben.

It’s hard to tell. Your dynamic with Chris has always been cordial, vying for all the good parts that come out of your amicable separation. It wasn’t meant to be an endowing realization but there is that admission, it is harrowing and slightly troublesome.

“Oh my god."

"Y/N." Chris groans, he's inadvertently apologetic. He sees that you're hurting, winces when you retreat with crestfallen tears that spill.

"What am I doing?" You ask yourself as you bury your wet face in the palm of your hands.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? Please?” Chris insists, a hand grazing your elbow and holding you there.

"I can't believe you." You start up again while standing your stubborn ground, shrugging away his ghosting touch.

"Y/N just come inside."

“You thought it was okay to leave me, to leave us. Our son, because you felt like it? Is that it?" You maliciously prod.

"That's not it. I wanted—“

"No! No you don't get to be holier than thou. You don't get to live your life and then tell me to move on with mine because that's what you think is best for us. You don't."

"So what? This is on me now?" Chris punitively lowers his gaze at you.

"I never got a say Chris! None of this would've been on you if there was some way of choice."

"And then what?” Chris immediately shakes his head, not wanting to spiral into a heated and regretful debate. “Okay, listen, we really can't be having this conversation, not out here and not like this."

"Drunk words are sober thoughts, Christopher. So to hell, we're having this conversation.”

"You're getting married, Y/N." Chris exasperates under his breath. "Everything between us has already been said and done. You can’t just turn up wanting to know how, when or why, it shouldn’t even matter anymore."

"It matters to me. I was served the notice, I signed it, I never asked the questions when I should've and now I just need to know.”

Chris draws in a deep breath and then bows his head with some digressing thought.

“Has it ever occurred to you that we weren't good for one another and that we inevitably saw each other out?”

His rhetoric stuns you but it's instantaneous as you rebut back.

"Oh that’s bullshit.” Chris shakes his head, refusing to meet your eye. “That's... We were talking about having another child Chris! We were working towards something, getting somewhere."

"Somewhere to nowhere." Chris iterates. Pin drop silence.

"I thought you loved me.” You finally hiccup.

“I did and then I realized it was just me.” Right through the heart.

"Wow, okay.” You sway in and out your thoughts. Chris knows he didn't mean that. He would take it back in a heartbeat if he could because seeing you shatter was the last the vial of immanency he felt.

“You know, I could never find it in myself to hate you Chris because you do such a stand up job at being the right kind of man. You’re perfect." You edge away with tears floating in your eyes, words of culpable despair echo for Chris to sink into. "And Ben has only ever gotten lucky with you."

"That's not true." Chris quickly offers, reclaiming the situation with more pity that churns your insides.

"You wouldn't know. You two are basically cut from the same cloth." You pathetically sob.

"Y/N." Chris patronizes.

"Look I shouldn't have come by tonight and you'll remember much of this more than I will so do me solid." You stop to stare him dead in the eyes. "And tell me to fuck off when you see me at the wedding. Or better yet, don’t come.”

You walk away as Chris adamantly calls out your name.

Hurt takes you home and closure puts you to sleep.

* * *

Two lonesome days later, Chris walks around the apartment on the morning of your wedding. Everything is a rush job, a distraction, as he's frantically trying to rally his son out the door. In the midst of the chaos, Chris can't help but think of you. His brain noise keeps relaying your convictions, piggy backing on your pain as his own guilty submission. What was he supposed to do now?

"Can you help me with my tie?" Ben exclaims while skipping out of the guest bedroom. Chris who was polishing his wing tips, looks over his shoulder and eyes his son who looks dapper in his custom made suit. There's a glimmer of emotion that passes Chris's azure orbs as he graces a fatherly smile and then calls the young boy over.

"Yeah sure." The boy hurrahs and bounds his way over, crowing his neck after handing his father the tie. Chris grabs ahold of the silky material and starts to work around the bow tie to the best of his ability.

"Are you okay?" Ben hesitantly begins while watching Chris intently knot each loop, struggling at first but then getting there soon after.

"Yeah why wouldn't I be?" Chris answers, giving him a small passing look that doesn't convince the young boy one bit.

"I don't know." He shrugs haphazardly. Chris stops after adjusting the ends of the bow tie and then notices Ben's long face. Something is up.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He carefully croons, holding the child by the forearms while remaining mindful of the time that clocks on. Ben exhales longingly, lips flapping like any other distressed youngling.

"I thought you'd be with mommy." He whines, eyes filling up with sadness that could stake any father alive.

"I mean that's..." Not a stretch. Chris still yearns to be around you. His heart still reservedly beats for your presence even after the separation. He waits for you on your drop off days just so he could see your warm smile and hold onto the light conversation you'd make about your work day. He tells himself that if he's allowed to have that then he shouldn’t ask for anything more. Loving you from afar was the best he could do and for his child it was never enough.

"Do you love her, dad?"

"I want the best for her, sure." Chris rephrases, pulling on the lapels of Ben's dress coat, patting down his hair and then placing a broad hand on the little boys cheek.

"That's not what I asked." The 10 year old says, just like his mother he's adamant and swelling with knowingness.

Chris smiles apologetically and that's when his phone rings. It's Madi, the wedding planner who is probably wondering where the ring bearer was.

"C'mon we need to get going." The little boy huffs as they both shuffle out the of the unit together giving Chris a lot of time to mull over his thoughts and over to you.

* * *

They say the universe works in mysterious ways. Sometimes it's favorable and sometimes it's the unexpected. No two instances are a coincidence but simply a second chance in disguise.

"What's going on?" Chris breathlessly hurries over to your mother who shakes her head sadly and watches the crowd of loved ones scatter outside of the old Charlottetown church.

"He left." Your mother confesses to your ex. She's never understood why Chris became the one who got away when he's been the right man all along. But like any other mother she tries not voice her reason, only keeping her head tilted back, watchful and reverent of Chris who now has all the wheels turning in his head.

"What?" He unintentionally hisses, looking around to hear the pointed whispers in tune of your misfortune. It's unfair. You weren't owed this. You deserved your peace, your happiness, your moment.

"The scumbag didn't say a word."

"Where is she?" Chris commands.

"Still down at the altar." Your mother sighs, disappointment seeps her form. Chris briefly eyes his former mother in law who presumably had her own ruminating thoughts.

"Hey buddy I want you to stay with your grandmother, alright?"

Ben nods and then quickly holds onto his fathers hand, squeezing it as tight as he could to drive the message home. "She loves you dad. She always has."

Your mother purses her lips as Chris painfully looks up at her. "Just go, I'll keep an eye on him."

"Thanks Etta." Chris frees himself to find his way to you. His heartbeat hammers. It's the first time he's unable to breathe. He doesn't know what to say or how to react but apart of him is thankful and piecing together what he should've said that night.

Chris gradually walks down the aisle and right by the pews, he sees you with your best friend who does his job of wiping your tears. You're gutted. You're deteriorating demise still radiates beauty in a timelessly slim fitting white satin gown. You move animatedly as if you're arguing but then your body language falters, you've given up and that's when Chris appears in the frame.

Your best friend looks at him and smiles wobbly. She’s as distraught but she's also glad that Chris is around, leaving you alone in his care.

You peer up at him through your long, inky lashes. Nothing like this moment prepares you for how you're about to feel. It's a sickening revelation that has you grappling at his mercy and comfort.

“I’m so sorry.” Chris reclaims the seat next you, his hand reaching for yours and you let him.

“It’s fine, I had it coming anyways.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

“I don't know what I deserve anymore." Your eyes crystalize with tears and Chris studies the proportions of your face that mirrors the brokenness of your soul. "I mean tried, I gave him my everything, I let him in and yet I came up empty handed. But I guess that's how life works, right?"

You sniff and glance at your knotted hands, not willing to cry in front of Chris who is dying to hold you close.

"Is, um, Ben here?" Your voice cracks.

"He's with your mother."

"Lovely." Chris stares at your side profile that quivers with restraint and strong will. "Thanks for, um, coming - I mean this is one way to tell me to fuck off."

You laugh flatly as Chris tilts his head at you and that's when the boughs come breaking down. Your face streaming with hot tears that instinctively has Chris pulling you into his embrace, one hand on the back of your head while the other is situated on the square of your back.

"I would never." Chris whispers in your hair as you calm down and retreat from the familiar warmth of his hug.

"About the other night... I'm so—“

"Can I say something? And please don't apologize, I'm serious."

"Yeah sure." You notice reverend Jackson passing through the mantle, giving you a kind gentle smile. His subtle actions musters your strength as Chris quietly voices his sonance.

"I'm glad you came by that night. I'm glad you said what you had to say. And to answer your question: we went wrong in all the right ways.” Chris softly states, holding you at arms length and watching your face slowly contort. "We did everything by the book Y/N, we got married, had a kid, our careers took off and then we stopped being their for one another."

"We got comfortable and then at some point we became distant. That imaginary spark was gone.” Chris stops himself not knowing if he should continue but with your prolonged silence he flourishes a bit.

“You were the hardest person to love on some days but that didn’t stop me from loving you the same. You know that?” Chris admits. Your tears are free falling, warming your cheeks in remission.

"God was that it?" You finally exhale.

"I'm an idiot Y/N and the truth is that I was trying to be some sacrificial martyr in our marriage, thinking that if I kept you away you'd be happier, fully yourself and not in the shadows of my fame and fortune. I wanted to be the one to give you a way out, an ultimatum, all because of my own relenting fears and insecurities.”

"And how's that worked out for you?" You sniff.

"Horribly because I've realized the best part of me has always been you."

"Chris." You sternly chide him and he shakes his head.

"No you're going to want to hear this, at least before you decide to swear me off for good."

"Okay, fine." You shut your eyes and swallow the growing knot in your throat.

"I want you to know that Ben is nothing like me because he's kind and he's soulful and he reminds me of what an amazing mother you are and what an eternally grateful man I am. He's lucky to have me because you mean the world to him."

"I don't think that's necessarily the case."

"But it is. He loves you so much Y/N and I..." You look at him expectantly and Chris tries not to double down on his words. "I love you too."

"Like a husband should love his wife." He finishes with an underlying proposition. "And I... I don't know how to shamelessly ask you this but marry me again Y/N. Come back home, our home, with me, just us and Ben of course."

Chris laughs, tearfully and choked up.

"Please? Please.”

"This is going to be work. You and I, we're work.” You're full of chagrin as Chris nods, whispers an 'Oh I know' before gently grabbing a hold of your tear stained face and leaning in to seal his affirmations with a kiss.

As your lips slotted over his, the lost spark is reignited.

There is newfound love. Newfound perspective. Love that'll require work but it's love nonetheless. Love that you've both silently fought for and now conquer.

[ignisaeri]

~

At that time, all Alatus could hear was the howling of the wind, and the screams of the Yakshas as they waged war against their karmic debts.

A blaze of crimson flame splits the night sky as the Pyro Yaksha shrieks, clawing desperately at scarlet locks of hair with bloodied fingernails, trying to rid herself of demons only she can see. Her eyes flash with the light of a thousand stars as she throws her head back, pleading with the darkness in ragged gasps to leave her, to go somewhere where they could not haunt her. She’s still begging as she dies.

~

The Geo Yaksha rests his foot against the Hydro Yaksha’s abdomen, using her still body as leverage to draw his sharpened blade out from between her ribs. His eyes stare into the distance, unseeing, pupils clouded over with an inky black, fingers twitching as they hold the weapon that had killed one of his oldest friends. The Hydro Yaksha only lays quietly, death caressing her form with its bony fingers, the pool of water beneath them tinged pink from blood.

~

The Electro Yaksha falls to his knees, gaze finding Alatus’ one last time, seemingly apologizing for leaving the Anemo Yaksha alone for eternity. His slender hands float over the blade embedded in his chest, then collapses onto his side as his last breaths leave him, currents of violet electricity flickering out into nothing. He dies silhouetted against the blackness of The Chasm, as silent as the sun creeping over the horizon, even as the battle rages endlessly around them.

~

Rex Lapis gazes at Alatus with such pity, such sadness, before smiling hesitantly, gold eyes meeting the Yaksha’s.

‘Sit, Ever Vigilant Yaksha. The archon war is over. Let us share a cup of osmanthus wine.”

“Alatus, I free you from your duty as a Yaksha. In the fables of another world, the name Xiao is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. He endured much suffering, as you have. Use this name from now on.”

“Yes, Morax.”

~

The God of Freedom seeks him out one evening, when he’s resting quietly near the edge of a cliff, feet dangling restlessly off the side, imagining the faces of the lost Yakshas floating through the clouds. Barabatos’ braids glow a gentle forest green, and he inclines his head slightly towards Xiao as he nears.

“Alatus, correct?”

“Xiao,” the adeptus corrects him.

“Xiao,” Barbatos says, “Rex Lapis told me of you.”

~

“It was you with the flute, was it not?” Xiao tells Barbatos as they watch the workers construct a massive statue in Liyue’s center, honoring the late Tianquan. Ningguang’s placid face smiles down at them as the workers dust the marble, freeing it from dust and grime.

Venti bobs his head, gaze never straying from where Rex Lapis (now Zhongli) stands with arms folded, gaze dark. With Ningguang gone, the last of the Liyue Qixing has perished.

“Yes,” Venti says. “I saved you that day.”

~

Tonight, they drink, in honor of the dead. Zhongli gingerly holds a glass of osmanthus wine, a glaze lily tucked into his hair. “To Guizhong,” he says. “Havria, Ningguang, and Tartaglia.”

Venti hiccups, face the color of an overripe tomato, the glass of dandelion wine tipping dangerously in his grip. “To the children of Mond,” he choruses. “To the Ragvindr brothers, to Jean, to Lisa, to Noelle. To Klee!”

Baal is here tonight too, and she leans forward restlessly. “To Kujou Sara,” she adds. “To Kitsune, Chiyo, and to Sasayuri.”

Tonight should be solemn, Xiao thinks, as they list the names of their dead companions. Yet, nearly five hundred years after the last of them passed, he feels nothing but contentment.

Xiao raises his own glass. “To the traveler and his sister,” he says. “And to the Yakshas”.

~

Xiao watches as Venti’s fingers dance, weaving an enticing melody through the hollow sounds of his flute. He’s sitting against a rock, the cool water of the stream lapping at his ankles, washing against the outcropping where Venti stands, a face full of bliss as he plays.

The song is one that Xiao wished to hear, one that he had first heard from the cart of a passing merchant shortly after the end of the Archon War.

The notes seem to float away into the air as he listens, chasing away the darkness in his soul, and he closes his eyes, reveling in this small moment of peace.

~

Sometimes, when Xiao sleeps, he dreams. He dreams of a woman wreathed in fire, eyes burning tears down her cheeks. He dreams of a not-truly-there man, standing with his blade buried in the chest of a woman floating limp in blood-tinged water. He dreams of purple lightning dying as a man takes his last breaths deep within The Chasm.

~

He knows, of course, that he cannot run forever. One day, he will become engulfed by his karmic debt, like the Pyro Yaksha, or go mad and disappear, like the Geo Yaksha.

That day comes sooner than he thinks.

~

Liyue is burning. The city is just as Xiao remembers, a perfect place of beauty. If he concentrates, he can still barely remember the night of the Lantern Rite, thousands of years ago. He closes his eyes and wishes to see the light of a hundred lanterns, instead of the light of fire the buildings shudder and succumb to the roaring flame.

Zhongli stands in front of him, something akin to pain in his gaze, one arm thrown to the side to keep Venti from rushing forwards. The Anemo Archon’s eyes are wide and wild, hat askew and bow grasped in shaking hands. Baal stands straight, weapon drawn, sorrow dotting her gaze.

Fontaine’s archon, the God of Justice, flits around the backdrop of burning flame, hurriedly trying to save as much of Liyue as she can. Her hands wave, spilling waves of water over the temples and buildings, undoing the damage that Xiao caused. The Dendro and Pyro Archons are busy, pulling screaming mortals from the wreckage and destruction.

Three torches and three exploding barrels, compiled with Xiao’s anemo attacks, had set all of Liyue aflame.

There is distant screaming in Xiao’s ears, sounds he knows only he can hear. Deliriously, he recalls the Pyro Yaksha howling at non-existent demons millennia ago and wonders absently if the same will afflict him.

The karmic debt has finally taken over, and it seems to favor the path the Geo Yaksha had taken. Xiao almost laughs as he realizes this, feeling trapped within his skin as he wields his polearm, pointed unwaveringly at the archons.

“I am sorry,” he rasps. There is darkness at the edge of his sight, and the screams only intensify. He can hear individual voices now, hissing and howling and wailing, crying for mercy and death and blood.

“Do not apologize,” Zhongli says. “It is not your fault.”

“What is this?” Venti gasps, the sound echoing in Xiao’s ears. “Xiao, what is happening?”

Baal answers for him. “It is the fate of a Yaksha.” Electricity begins to crackle around her shoulders, eyes darkening to violet as she calls the power of the storm.

Xiao wants to weep at how much she reminds him of the Electro Yaksha.

Maybe, he muses, he will see his fellow Yakshas again. Maybe he’ll meet Aether and Lumine too, in the place that lies after death. He may finally meet those who used to belong to Mond, the ones that Venti talks of so adoringly.

Zhongli finally draws his polearm, an earthen pillar appearing before him, casting protective gold around the archons. Xiao knows why.

He can feel the wind gusting around him, responding to calls he does not remember sending out. Leaves swirl in the gale, and trees rip their way out of the ground. The pain in his head intensifies as the number of screaming voices triple.

Xiao meets Zhongli’s gaze. Sometime, somehow, over the years, the archons had become his closest confidants. Yet, Zhongli was always his oldest companion, so now, Xiao asks Zhongli to do the impossible.

“Morax,” he croaks, using a name that hasn’t been spoken for ages. “You must.”

Zhongli’s gaze is pained, yet resolute, and that is how Xiao knows that Morax will kill him to save the world. Baal seems to sense this too, and lightning strikes the ground not too far away, anxiously awaiting her command.

It is only Venti who has not yet seemed to grasp the situation. He frowns at both archons. “What must you do, Zhongli?”

Zhongli only shakes his head, and Xiao knows it pains him to be the one who will have to kill the last Yaksha. So he answers Venti, limbs shaking as he desperately tries to contain the whirlwind threatening to tear from his chest.

“He must kill me. If he does not, I fear I will destroy Teyvat. I have lost control over my body, Venti.”

Barbatos’ eyes flash green, and Xiao is yet again reminded of the power of the archons. “No,” he says simply. “You cannot die. To live for thousands of years, to drink with us, all this time? You cannot die like this.”

Xiao loses concentration, just a tiny sliver, yet the gust of wind that tears from him shears the top off of a nearby mountain. He groans, harnessing the gale yet again, even as the action forces him to his knees.

“Morax,” he says again. “Please.”

Zhongli looks at him, and the archon’s eyes are glistening in the light of the dancing flames, as wind whips his hair into his face.

“Alatus,” he says, and his voice is full of hurt and resignation. “It has been an honor.”

Yes, Xiao wants to answer back, but he cannot force his mouth to move. He just nods, shaking his head as if he can jar the wailing into silence.

Venti starts towards Zhongli, power thrumming at the edges of his fingers, seemingly ready to resort to battle in order to prevent Xiao’s death, and that is when Baal moves. She slams into Venti, pushing him into the ground, even as wind starts to whirl around them - Venti’s magic, not Xiao’s. Her element locking curse comes a second later, binding itself around Venti, even as he hisses at her in protest.

“Xiao,” Venti cries, twisting as if he can escape the curse. His hat is lost, blown away in the wind, and his hair has come loose from its braids, flying around his face.

“Barbatos,” Xiao whispers. “I never thanked you, for saving me that day.”

Venti pauses, for a second, stunned into silence.

“Thank you,” Xiao says, over the voices in his head. “Thank you.”

Baal only looks at him solemnly, and Xiao stares back at her. They exchange no words, but Baal just nods, once, the simple gesture conveying everything he needs to know.

Xiao holds her gaze for a few more seconds, turning back to find the point of Zhongli’s spear resting above his heart.

Zhongli's face is twisted in grief, yet his blade still hits true, sliding into the hollow space between Xiao's third and fourth ribs.

Xiao chokes, the whirl of wind around him finally dying out. His legs buckle and he falls ungraciously, feeling gentle hands grasping at his clothes as he does.

Somewhere, Venti is screaming his name.

The wailing inside his skull is dissipating, and near the edges of his sight, Xiao can make out swirls of color. At first, he thinks they are the archons, and his failing body cannot see the details of their faces. Then, he recognizes a blue that does not belong to those in the present.

“Rest,” Zhongli whispers, as Xiao fades. “Rest, Alatus.”

And Xiao does, letting himself fall into the embrace of the Yaksha's, who are only becoming clearer, even as Xiao dies.

~

637 years later, a scholar strolls through the bookshelves of Sumeru's most famous academy, searching for a piece of information that could support her thesis.

She turns into a lane labelled Mondstadt: The City of Freedom, and begins to scan the titles, careful to replace everything exactly where she finds it.

There are two other travelers within the small space between the bookshelves, and they're talking to each other, quite loudly.

The scholar frowns. No matter how foreign these travelers are, the rule of silence in a library should be universal.

The first traveler, a tall man with golden eyes and umber hair that falls to his lower back flips another page in his book, completely ignoring his companion. A jade spear is strapped across his back, and the scholar thinks idly that the weapon looks more like a piece of art, with great wings of green jade shattering outwards from the main spike.

The tall man's companion is quite short, with yellow cat like eyes and evergreen tufts of hair, a pink pearl necklace slung loosely around his throat. His boyish grin seems quite misplaced.

It only takes the scholar a few moments to figure out why.

A few months ago, the scholar had studied ancient folklore of Liyue. Among them was a tale of several Yakshas, the last of whom had supposedly been buried beneath a statue of himself, on the highest peak in Liyue.

The man standing before her looks exactly the same as the grainy photo in the text. However, in the scroll of lore, the last Yaksha had worn a fierce scowl across his features, nothing like the one that stands before her now.

"Come, Zhongli," the should-be-dead Yaksha says, tugging on his friend's sleeve. "Baal is waiting for us."

"Baal can wait a while longer," the taller man says, turning the page of his book a while longer, which the scholar now sees is a copy of The Ruling System of Mondstadt: Grandmasters and Cavalry Captains.

"You said you wanted me to learn more about Mond, didn't you?" the taller man continues. "Besides, I am quite intrigued as to exactly who this 'Kaeya' is, the one you keep referencing."

The yaksha frowns. "Kaeya," he says. "Diluc's brother."

At his companion's blank stare, the yaksha says. "I'll remind you later," he chides. "We really must be going, Zhongli."

The scholar startles, embarrassed that she eavesdropped for so long. However, she still hears what the tall man says back.

"Fine. Let us go, Venti."

[mugiwara-no-angel143]

The content hum of physical training was buzzing through his relaxed muscles. He just came out of the shower, drying himself off and putting some pants on. He noticed that he forgot his shirt in your shared room. Cursing under his breath he made his way back to your room. Not passing much attention to his surroundings he was startled when your familiar voice reached his ears.

"Don't bother putting that on..."

Sara my love! I promise I wasn’t ignoring this! It came when I had such a bad week with work and everything .. and I would just drool every time I opened it 😅

——————-

You close the door and He turns cocking his head at you, eye brow quirked up. He’s irritated with you. That irritation coming from you volunteering to help Sanji clean up the kitchen tonight instead of joining him for a little late night tub rendezvous.

“Oi, I thought you were helping the shitty cook clean up.” Turning back around to finish drying off his hair and grabbing the shirt he went in looking for.

“If you’re gonna be like that I’ll just go see if he wants to have a drink with me then.”

You turn to the door hand on the knob it cracks open and then it’s slammed shut. You gasp at the intensity of it slamming hard causing the wall to vibrate.

“You’re a damn handful you that?” He growls in your ear.

“Well swordsman, that’s what you have two hands for, huh?” You muse.