#sometimes he jingle jangles

[sir-fluffbutts]

how many weapons can kenny shove down his throat? (wait that sounds wrong-)

imma answer this by how much can kenny shove down his throat cause his wepon (especially his spear) is a different case as its made with a special metal and it can be folded to a size of a small tin can

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first, imma start with the fact that im 100% confident kenny can pull shit like this

so with his figure, he can easily swallow something as big as a baguette (which is around 70cm)

and counting weidth as well, he can store at least 5 of these in his stomach

but he will be looking like this after

[babyshoesnerdshit]

night shift

CW cursing, child neglect, sexual harassment, misgendering, drunk person (although not very well written lol), general violence, slight infantilization

idk i wanted to try my hand at writing some shitty platonic yandere batfam x transmasc reader (its self indulgence bby)

Hunger pained (y/n)'s stomach. Stupid cheapskate convenience store didn't give employee discounts though so he had to wait until he got home to eat anything, if there was even anything to eat that wasn't spoiled. (y/n) would have just stolen something to eat from the store (he didn't give a shit about their profit) but the security camera mocking him in the corner kept him from it. And with his phone almost dead (y/n) had nothing to do but stair at the wall and listen to the shitty radio station the store played.

(y/n) hated the night shift, it almost guarantied he would have to deal with more crackheads and drunks than his coworkers. Regardless of his feelings about the night shift it paid the most (even though that was still barely minimum wage), and he really needed the money. Even though (y/n) still lived with his mother (and technically father but he was hardy ever around), his parents had stopped taking care of him a long time ago. So (y/n) was the one to take care of himself. Sometimes he had to take care of his mother too, reminding her to eat or sleep. The bells on the door jangled, shaking (y/n) from his train of thought. Ah yes, the other type of Gotham crazies. Vigilantes.

"Hey kid."

"I'm not a kid." for some reason the batclan had decided that the 5th avenue convenience store was the best place for mid-patrol snacks.

"Ah yes, the old and wise 18 year old. My bad." Red Hood had a thick layer of sarcasm in his mechanical voice. (y/n) couldn't see his face from behind his helmet but was entirely sure he had the stupidest smirk underneath. (y/n) simply rolled his eyes (fighting back a smile) as hood moved about the store grabbing a random assortment of food and drinks. As hood was filling his arms the bell sounded again, this time it was a middle-aged man. (y/n) could smell the alcohol on him from the register. The man looked around, stopping as he saw (y/n).

"Welll helllooo~" the man had started leaning on the counter of the register. "Yoou're a fine slut, i could show you a reeall goOod time~" He smelled even worse up close. (y/n) sent a panicked glance over to Red Hood who had dropped his things and was now walking aggressively towards the man. "Wha you ignorin me BITCH!" the man lifted his arm to strike. (y/n) flinched, lifting his arms to cover his face.

"Leave. Him. Alone." Hood's voice was dark and low. His grip on the man's arm was painful if the man's face was any indicator.

"H-hey Mr. Red Hood. me and the lil' lady were just havin a niice talk." The man had lost any confidences and aggression he once had in fount of the crime lord. "She wuz jus bein a bitch, you understaannd right?" he sniveled. A sickening crunch was heard from the mans arm where Red Hood's grip tightened. The man started convulsing with pain and screaming. (y/n) felt sick.

"I'm going to deal with this trash. I'll be right back." Hood dragged the man out of the store, bells jingling behind him. It was moments like this where (y/n) remembered just how dangerous Red Hood actually was. Living in Gotham, (y/n) had gotten unfortunately used to getting catcalled and harassed, but he could never stop the shaking of his hands and the sinking feeling in his stomach that came with it.

Moments later the bells sounded again, (y/n) couldn't help but jump slightly. It was Red Hood.

"Sorry about that kid." hood picked up the food he had dropped earlier and set it on the counter.

"Ah, it's ok." (y/n) hated how small he sounded. Taking a breath he started to scan the things hood had picked out and tried to steady himself. "It's Gotham, shit like that happens all the time."

"That doesn't make it ok." Hood sounded softer than before. (y/n) felt anger crawl up his throat, the bats always treated him like a kid. Even Robin! And he was, like, 12!

"That'll be $29.47, you want a bag?" (y/n) tried not to show his anger. As upset as he might have been, Hood did just save him from an icky situation.

"Nah." Hood picked up half of what he bought with one arm as he flipped a 50 onto the counter. "Keep the change." He started to leave.

"Hood, you're forgetting half your shit." He had left a large banana nut muffin, a pack of gummy sharks, a chocolate milk, and a packet of pizza flavored combos.

"They're for you kid, you look starving." He was out the door before (y/n) could protest.

(y/n) sighed with a light smile, well at least he wouldn't be hungry for the rest of his shift.

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

Jason was fucking livid. This god damn BASTARD! Who the fuck did he think he was, harassing his little brother. Raising his FILTHY had at him. Jason was seething.

"RR" Jason turned his comm on.

"Jonathan Davis, 54, 237 Maple Street, apartment 122, married to Eliza Davis, daughter is Maria Davis, place of work 57 West End Road." Tim already knew, he was watching it from the security camera back at the cave.

"I only spared him so that you could make his life something worse than death." Jason staired down at the beaten and bruised body of the man.

"Don't worry. It will be." Tim's voice was cold and calculated. No doubt already planning all the ways this man would watch his life fall apart.

Jason leaned down to the barely conscious man, "If you DARE go fucking near him again, I'll leave your head for your wife and daughter to find in your fridge." the man simply looked at him with fear. Jason grabs him by the scalp, "Do you understand?" his tone was dark, made even more intimidating by the mechanical modulator.

"Y-yes! I understand! I understand!" the man cried.

"Good." Jason shoved his head back into the filthy ground of the alleyway. 'right where trash belongs' Jason thought to himself.

[lunarfleur]

Sure! I don't mind requesting something new! So you write somewhere in your works how Miles 42 and reader met through location, "whether it be going to the same school or living in the same building or whatever"

I wanna' see a fanfic in Miles pov how he and reader met and how their relationship developed throughout the process! I wanna' know if he's going to make a move in interacting with reader or such. :))

Mr. Tambourine Man ~ Earth 42! Miles Morales

A/N: Many people will tell you this song is about a drug dealer. I, however, have always taken Mr. Tambourine Man as an analogy for youth. Take this as you will.

Tagging: @juneberrie @sluggmuffin @hiyaitssans @nagi3seastorm @luvjunie @milesmolasses @n1cole-ghost @kombuuuu

This is x fem! Reader

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to

Growing up, Miles had always been the dull kid in the corner of the classroom. It was his nature.

He didn’t really remember his dad’s death, but there was always a sort of emptiness in the Morales apartment that never got filled. The emptiness has always been there, in his home and in his mother.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you

On the late nights, he hears his mother sitting in the living room all by herself lonesome. She sits on the couch, in the same spot she has been all these years; next to the spot his father would have taken up.

He can imagine it: his mother curled up under a blanket, her husband’s arm resting over her shoulders. He’d kiss her head and the spot behind her ear. She’d pretend to pay no mind and act as if he doesn’t still make her giddy like he did back when they were young.

Though I know that evening's empire has returned into sand, vanished from my hand.

Left me blindly here to stand, but still not sleeping.

But his father was not there. The late Jeff Morales did not get to stay up with his wife, watching the television as their child sleeps. He was dead, but it sometimes felt like his ghost was haunting the city. He’s gone, but it’s like he’s still there.

As he grew up, Miles did not get the joy his classmates did. He watched his mother work like a dog to support the two of them. He spent many nights alone, waiting for her to come home.

It was sad. Miles was sad.

My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet.

I have no one to meet, and the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

So here he sits, in the corner of his studio art class, his last period of the day. Miles is behind an easel, dried paint covering his hands and table. There was music playing in his headphones, but he wasn’t really listening. It was to block out the other noises.

The door opens, and in walks a girl he’s never seen. It was an odd feeling, at first, a shred of nervousness he didn’t quite understand.

He looked around the room, at all the other students and seats, only to realize the one next to him was the only one open. Perfect.

She talks to the teacher, nothing he can hear, snd watches as she slowly makes her way over to the spot next to him. Miles turns away, picking up his paint brush to avoid and other contact.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.

Unfortunately for him, Miles looks unapproachable. He looks like he should be friendly and open. He’s got those big, brown, shiny doe eyes and dimples. His face is dusted with freckles. His lips are big and plush. His nose sits perfectly in the center of his face, blending together nicely with every other feature.

However, people avoid him. He’s quiet and keeps to himself. Miles is sort of a mystery, someone people don’t know much about. He’s got eye bags and an RBF, so people leave him alone. Sometimes it seems as if he’s invisible.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.

My senses have been stripped.

The girl sits down, taking out her supplies as she was most likely directed. Tense hands moved shakily. Her breaths were harsh. Her eyebrows furrowed tightly against her forehead. She was nervous.

With a skip of his heart, Miles clears his throat. Her head snaps over quickly, eyes wide with anxiety as he stared her down.

My hands can't feel to grip.

My toes too numb to step.

“Uh..I’m Miles.”

She hesitates, biting the inside of her cheek before nodding.

“Y/N.”

Miles doesn’t look away. Y/N peeks over at his canvas. Her lips curve down into a smile, any trace of her previous fear gone. Her lips pressed together tightly, eyebrows raising. No tension, no anxiety.

“You’re really talented.”

“…Thanks.”

Her smile did not falter. She looked at him for a moment, and that one moment felt like an eternity.

Her nose, cheeks, and lips were a blend of heaven sitting on her face. Her hair was smooth and clean. Miles swore her eyes looked like stars.

Y/N was definitely beautiful.

Wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.

I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade into my own parade.

Cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it.

“What, uh,” Miles spoke again, “what class was you coming from?”

He watched as Y/N fumbled with her schedule, a blue piece of paper crumpling in her hands.

“I have Spanish II, but I was in the office.”

Miles nodded, a small simper forming across his lips.

“I’m in there, too.”

Y/N grinned at him, eyes squinting slightly. It was almost bright.

Though you might hear laughing, spinning, swinging madly across the sun, it's not aimed at anyone.

It's just escaping on the run.

“I’ll walk with you, tomorrow?”

It came out as a question, and Miles would be lying if he said that didn’t surprise him. There was a fuzzy, warm feeling in his stomach that, for a second, made him question if he was getting sick.

Y/N chuckled, a simple melody that sent flowers blooming across his skin. It felt like goosebumps, but much more intense. The sensation matched that of bathing in the sun.

“I’d like that.”

And but for the sky there are no fences facing.

And if you hear vague traces of skipping reels of rhyme to your tambourine in time

Y/N glanced over to a small group of kids sitting diagonally from them. They were watching intently, eyes wide with curiosity. As quickly as it came, Miles’s almost cheerful expression fell back into place. The corners of his lips dropped, so did his eyebrows. In less than a moment, he was tense once more.

It's just a ragged clown behind.

I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're seeing that he's chasing.

They turned away awkwardly, returning to their projects. Y/N sucked in a breath. There was tension within her chest. It was a sudden, sharp sensation in his fingertips.

“So did you just move here?”

Y/N smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, from New Jersey.”

Miles nodded along intently.

“How come?”

“Family.”

Questions and answers came as the two packed up their things.

And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time

The loud and obnoxious bell rang, and every other student in the class shoved past one another to get out of the room.

Far past the frozen leaves, the haunted frightened trees.

They walked down the hallways together slowly. For the first time, he felt as if he could ask questions. For the first time, someone answered. She answered.

Out to the windy beach, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

“So, what’s Jersey like?”

“Well, it’s fun. The food is great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Miles snickered.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky, with one hand waving free.

“Do you like New York?”

“I’m…adjusting.”

“Adjusting?”

“It’s easy to get lost, here.”

Smiling shyly, Y/N pressed her lips together firmly. Miles could almost feel the heat of embarrassment coming from off her face.

“You just need someone to show you around. It gets easy, after all while.”

Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands.

“What’s there to show?”

Miles smiled, looking at the girl next to him as they stepped down the front steps of Visions Academy.

“The sky.”

There was a sudden melancholy feeling that ran down Miles’s spine. It was the same feeling he’d felt on those late nights, waiting for his mother to come home.

Miles did not remember his dad’s death. He didn’t remember the funeral. He just remembered the day the apartment felt less like home.

With all memory and fate, driven deep beneath the waves, let me forget about today until tomorrow.

“It’s the same sky as the one in New Jersey.”

“Different view.”

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

“You’ll show me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll show you.”

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.

“Good.”

“I’ll show you my mural, too.”

“Mural?”

“For my dad.”

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

Miles nodded, smiling. She nodded back, humming in reply.

Miles had always been so much like his father. The same smile, the same attitude, the same wit.

Y/N looked at Miles curiously, and Miles became painfully aware of that fact. Birds sung in his lungs and trees grew in his mind. Fresh air.

“Let’s go, Miles. I’m expecting a tour.”

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.

[sillygoofyqueer]

Crowyuan and Sha Hualing, jingling outfit buddies. Hehe.

Once Sha Hualing ‘determines’ Binghe is a cut-sleeve only, and maybe gets a girlfriend, they should become friends. They’d be the ultimate mean girl duo.

If you’ve been up to something bad, and you hear jingling coming down the hall, you’d better run! They will either verbally or literally eviscerate you! Maybe both!

Sha Hualing sometimes gains everyone's attention by just violently shaking Shen Yuan around - honestly, it's like a whole bank is in those pockets with how loudly he jingle jangles. He kind of lets it happen, blinking around in confusion as everyone goes silent; I like to think he's become immune to how loud he sounds if he so much as trips without muffling talismans on, so everyone's reactions confuse him as he's placed back down onto the floor. They're the kind of people you'd see gossiping in court, giggling and absolutely slaughtering people with words alone as they admire each other's shinies - yes, SHL sometimes has to stop SY from stealing them, but she finds it hilarious and he just REALLY wants those shinies. They get each other the best gifts because they both always just want jewellery, okay??

[niteshade925]

April 12, Xi'an, China, Daci'en Temple/大慈恩寺 and the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda/大雁塔 (Part 1 - Temple and Architecture):

Daci'en Temple is famous in popular culture mainly for one reason: the monk Xuanzang/玄奘, or the real person who inspired the character of Tang Sanzang/唐三藏 (sometimes translated as "Tripitaka") in the novel Journey to the West/西游记. Xuanzang was in charge of Daci'en Temple after he returned to China in 645 AD from his journey throughout Central Asia and India. More on him later.

The temple is also known for two more things, first is its importance to Chinese Buddhism, as the temple is considered the cradle of the Consciousness-Only School (weishizong/唯识宗) and the Dharma Characteristics School (faxiangzong/法相宗)(both are part of Chinese Mahayana Buddhism), and second is the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda (built in 652 AD while Xuanzang was in charge of the temple).

The temple has been rebuilt over the years, and the current temple (excluding the pagoda) was mainly built in 1466, during Ming dynasty, thus the current temple consists of Ming-era architecture:

Drum and bell towers within the temple

Giant Wild Goose Pagoda in the distance

More pictures of the architecture. I have to say it's better preserved here than in other places so far...

Coming up to the Mahavira Hall/大雄宝殿 of the temple

As mentioned in the previous posts on Qinglong Temple, I avoided taking pictures of the Buddha statues as this is considered disrespectful. But because it's just hard to avoid including them in pictures of the architecture, the statues may be partially visible sometimes.

Approaching the Tushita Hall/兜率

More pics of the architecture, note the pattern on the windows, called chuangling/窗棂. This particular one is a "three-crossing"/三交 pattern, the highest grade of chuangling.

There were two visiting monks taking pictures of this relief behind Mahavira Hall, so it's probably okay to snap a picture of it. The interesting thing is the bian'e/匾额 above it, which says 人天欢喜 (right to left: "human and heaven rejoice together"). Usually it's "heaven" before "human" (天人), but here it's clearly "human" before "heaven".

The Guanyin Hall/观音殿. Guanyin is the Chinese name for Avalokitesvara. The smaller red lanterns are where visiters hang their wishes from:

And finally the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda, one of the landmarks of Xi'an. This pagoda was originally built to house all of the Buddhist texts and relics Xuanzang had brought back from India, and is the largest Tang-era brick pagoda remaining today. In Tang dynasty (618 - 907 AD), people who passed the imperial exams to become jinshi/进士 would tour around Chang'an on horseback with flowers in their hair and write poems before this pagoda, called "雁塔题名".

Before we entered the temple, I could hear a weird jingle-jangle from across the street, but it was only when we came up to the pagoda that I realized where the sound was coming from. There were bells hanging from every corner of every level of the pagoda, and they were pretty loud for their size.

Since it was pretty hot outside that day, to avoid possible heat stroke we didn't attempt to climb the pagoda (I don't think there's air conditioning inside considering that this pagoda is 1300+ years old.....). I think there were several important artifacts/relics inside? But I can find some pictures from online for part 3.

[nica-my-beloved]

I haven't played it but I've seen screenshots of Emma turning into a rabbit event. So I was wondering if the princes were turn into the animals according to their insignias but as baby versions!

Gilbert turns into a black baby tiger with glittering red eye and other eye covered with an eyepatch. Emma wakes up from her sleep and *boo* a baby black tiger cub jumps onto her bed to wake her up with glittering red eyes. ASDSADAKDAKDHAKDHAKFHDKADHASKDAGHKSDHA. Despite looking all cute, he's still evil. He holds his cane in his mouth because he's too small to hold his cane or demands Emma carry him in her arms while hanging the cane on her wrists. Also he can't let out his voice because it sounds like a pathetic cute meow rather than a beastly roar. So he only smiles and talks with his glittering eye. Emma also have to feed him cookies because he cannot eat it with his hands. When he wants to read a book, Emma would have to let him sit on her lap and both of them should read it together.

Silvio becomes a dalmatian puppy while also wearing all the jingle jangle stuff, blue long cape which is bigger than his body and walking around all haughty. He tries to kick Emma's door open but the door doesn't budge. Tries to push it open with his head, doesn't budge. So he embarrassingly barks loudly, commanding the bitch to open her damn door. He tries to look and sound like a tyrant but looks like this btw:

He barks and groans angrily but it's not intimidating at all. When Emma kisses his nose, he jumps out of her hand flustered, hides under her pillow feeling all bashful and shaking. Only his tail is unhidden, vigorously wagging up and down showing his happiness. When Emma cheekily pokes his tail, he realizes his tail is unhidden *shoot* hides his tail under her pillow as well. Emma smiles seeing the small shaking lump under her pillow.

Rio turns into a golden retriever puppy happily walking towards her room while carefully balancing a tray on his head. His eyes are shining while he barks happily indicating 'Good morning'. He lets Emma cuddle him and touch his soft golden fur. She can see his happiness from his wagging tail and the obvious smile:

He acts like a real puppy, ready to play fetch. But when he sees Silvio, he starts to groan. Both of the puppies start to have a groaning competition. When Emma kisses his nose, he runs energetically and happily round and round.

Chevalier becomes a majestic-looking pure white tiger.....cub with blue eyes. Also he's reading a book, while siting on his chair in the palace library. He sits on his four legs, his tail neatly tucked next to him. He wears his furry cape and black gloves. His sword is place next to his chair as well. He barely talks (like always) but this time it's because his roar sounds like a meow just like a certain other tiger. But the personality is still the same. He flips the pages of the book with his paw or sometimes with his nose. When Emma enters the palace library, she decides to pick baby Chevalier cub up and place him on her lap. He doesn't say anything and lets her do whatever she wants. He still continues fixated on the book, but his tail very very slowly wags when Emma strokes him.

Clavis becomes a baby leopard cub. He only wears his royal blue tie. He climbs on the shelves of the palace library to jump at baby tiger Chevalier who is quietly reading a book, but baby leopard Clavis accidently slips by sitting his paw on his long tie and falls on Chevalier's head. Baby leopard Clavis's size is much smaller than tiger baby Chevalier and but Chevalier doesn't budge and continues reading his book. Feeling embarrassed that his plan failed, leopard baby Clavis jumps off of Chevaliers head and briskly walks around pretending as if nothing happened. Seeing him walk away, Chevalier scoffs but it sounded like a meow. Baby leopard Clavis goes out to the garden to dig holes but the hoe is too big for his small body. So he tries make holes with his paws because he doesn't want to give up. The whole scene looked so cute that Emma was giggling from somewhere afar. She walks up to him and picks him up to clean the mud off his face.

Yves similar to Silvio, he becomes a baby pure white kitten with glittering blue eyes, cat-walking all haughtily through the palace hallways as if he owns it. He wears the his white necktie because his outer pink jacket is too long for his small body. His ear piercings are smaller compared to his usual one but he still wears it. While walking and swaying his tail right and left he suddenly catches Emma walking in front of him. He runs and hides behind a pillar. Then watches her carefully. Then he runs and hides behind the next pillar. Then watches her carefully. Emma can hear him behind her but pretends not to notice. He's cannot call her because of the cute meowing sounds. Kitten Yves's tiny legs couldn't run fast enough and he falls down all tired. Emma giggles, picks him up and says that she's going to give him a bath. Flustered, the kitten Yves froze looking at her, as she happily walks towards her room while humming.

Keith is stag right? I thought it was a reindeer. So baby stag. Drinking his tea with a straw because he has to look elegant and maintain at least some kind of etiquette. On the left side, dalmatian puppy Silvio is cutely groaning on and on about how Emma kissed his nose and on the right side, baby tiger cub Gilbert simply smiles brightly because his can't open his mouth because he's never going to sound intimidating with his meows. Baby stag Keith sits quietly and nodding to everything Silvio says. Emma comes and sits next to baby stag Keith. Baby stag Keith bows elegantly, dalmatian puppy Silvio groans and looks away, and black tiger cub Gilbert only smiles even more with his glittering eyes. Emma starts stroking baby stag's head and back and Keith shyly looks down as it's ears flutter. Seeing her gesture, the other two jumps on her lap for her to pamper them too.

Nokto becomes a small baby fox with bright red eyes wearing the small earing and his long loose black tie. He looks incredibly cute than sexy and walks giddily towards Emma when he sees her. *Oops* he accidently steps on his long tie and slips and his small body rolls towards Emma's feet and stops. Emma picks him up to see if he's okay and baby fox Nokto looks at her, smiles and winks. Emma pouts for a second because that was all his trick to get her attention. But Emma cannot look away from his adorable red eyes and his bushy white tail which was vigorously wagging for attention. Having given up, Emma hugs him tightly and walks towards her bedroom.

Baby bear Luke his wear his green jacket, while hugging a branch of a tree like a Koala and sleeping. Emma comes with a plate of honey cakes. The smell of it wakes Luke up and he falls from his branch into a heap of fallen leaves. His head pops out from the heap of leaves and runs towards Emma, coming after for the honey cakes. He climbs on to chair with Emma's help and sits on it like an obedient child. He then starts eating his favorite honey cake, but also maybe spilling the crumbs everywhere. Emma cleans him up and then hugs him tightly. Her body heat was comforting enough for Luke to fall asleep again.

I don't know too much about the other princes' personalities. Once I learn about them more, I'll try to write about them as animals as well. Also the upcoming new princes - the unicorn, owl and lynx. OMG!!!AZEL TURNING INTO A UNICORN!!!🩷🩷🩷🩷Yes that's right! I need to learn more about their personalities to write about them!

[phantomdoofer]

Tower Town, Chapter 30 - New Year

Giuseppe stared out the window of his dressing room, watching the snow gently drift down. Anita had decided on having their ceremony on New Year's Eve.

“We'll start a new life along with a new year,” she'd said.

He'd tweaked her chin. “You think things will really be all that different?”

She'd gently tugged on his beard. “Let me have a little romanticism in my life, Sepp. I know I'm normally a no-nonsense sort of woman… but this is different.” She'd turned and given him the warmest look she'd ever given him. “On that day, we'll be joined together. Personally, I intend for it to be permanent. I want to make it special.”

Peppino walked up behind him, already fully dressed in the suit he would be wearing. In keeping with the theme, Peppino was wearing a version of the Army formal suit. While he'd never been an officer, the government had given him and Gustavo permission to wear a replica.

The official who Giuseppe had spoken to had been almost ecstatic. “Mr. Spaghetti deserves that much, as does Mr. Farina!” He'd leaned over conspiratorially. “I heard they're thinking of making a medal for you guys.”

Something that had turned out to be true… but Gustavo and Peppino didn't know it yet. He smirked as he thought of their surprise.

Giuseppe had returned to the tailor who'd done Peppino's chef's outfit before…. and had promptly had to get Peppino to return for remeasurement. With all the exercise Peppino had being doing alongside him, plus all the weight he'd lost carrying Tony around, he'd changed pretty dramatically.

Peppino ran his hands down the front of his suit. “I haven't-a been this trim since-a the War.” He put a hand on Giuseppe's shoulder. “You OK, fratello?”

Giuseppe laughed uneasily and turned. “I have a whole flock of butterflies in my stomach, but I guess I'm fine otherwise.” He gripped his stomach - he wasn't afraid. He knew Anita was a few rooms over.

But the anxiety was getting to him.

Peppino held up the formal military coat Giuseppe would be wearing, jingling with decorations. “Come on, Major, let’s-a get you in your own outfit.”

Giuseppe dutifully held up an arm, and Peppino slipped it over, weaving around to assist him with the other sleeve. “You know, fratello, sometimes I'm-a jealous of you.”

“What for?” Giuseppe said.

Peppino bounced the coat, and it jangled like a tambourine. “You-a did so much, in your time. So much decoration. I never-a got more than-a my basic bars. Never, ah, never distinguished myself.”

Giuseppe turned to his brother, who began the process of closing the coat. “Don't think too highly of all this brass, Pino. There's a lot of pain in each of these. A lot of… lost friends.”

Peppino nodded. “Ovviamente. But…” he sighed. “Some-a-times I just wish I had-a done something more-a… noble.”

Giuseppe reached out, grasping his brother's shoulders with both hands. “Fratellino, saving the entire world isn't noble?”

“But I-a had you guys with me,” Peppino said.

“And you think I was alone, all these times?” Giuseppe said. He pointed at the various badges and medals. “Each one of these was a group effort, fratellino.”

Peppino dutifully pointed at the lurid orange medal that indicated the Battle of Inferno. “And this one? Only-a you succeeded.”

Giuseppe thought of all the other runners who'd died to destroy the superweapon. “Dozens died for that one, Peppino. And that's not even counting the ground battle that happened outside.” He thumped Peppino in the chest. “And besides, who was the one who damn near broke reality to destroy the Pizzamancer? You.” Giuseppe bent over, picking up the sash that was the last part of his outfit. “You're just as deserving of praise as me, Pino. More, in some ways. To the world, you're a hero.”

“It doesn't-a feel like it,” Peppino muttered.

“It never does,” Giuseppe said, smiling as he clipped the sash. “Until somebody in the street stops to thank you, or someone hands you a coffee on the house.” He chuckled. “Or the government gives the bank a little poke when they're not sure about giving you a loan.”

Peppino did a double-take. “How-a did you-?”

He shrugged. “I didn't know, I guessed.” Giuseppe laughed. “Fame does have its privileges, fratellino. Says a lot about someone, how they use it… or don't.”

Peppino muttered something about him being a “intelligentone,” and Giuseppe laughed. “Takes one to know one, fratellino.”

As he finished the last bits, there was a knock at the door.

Giuseppe knew who it was. “Get that, please, would you, Pino?”

As Peppino walked to the door, muttering “I said I'd be your best-a man, not-a your manservant,” Giuseppe walked over and grabbed two small boxes from a drawer.

Peppino opened the door… to find Gustavo standing, dressed exactly like him. “Amico? Aren't you supposed to-a stay with the bride?”

Gustavo shrugged. “Seppe said he wanted to see me before the ceremony.”

“Close the door, please, Gus,” Giuseppe said. He was almost bursting with excitement. As Gus did so, Giuseppe turned, one of the boxes in hand. “I needed to see both of you. I have something for you.” He held up the box.

“That-a looks… very official,” Peppino said cautiously.

“That's because it is,” Giuseppe said with a smile. “I won't stand on too much ceremony, but… atten-tion!"

The tone of his voice clicked an old reflex, and both men stood up straight.

Giuseppe walked over to his brother. “When I spoke to the military office, they had something else for me. They wanted to make it some grand ceremony, but… I thought this would be better.”

Peppino and Gustavo both looked puzzled.

Giuseppe opened the box… and pulled out a medallion. “Peppino Spaghetti, Gustavo Farina, I, Giuseppe Spaghetti, have been authorized to give you this - the only medal ever given and recognized by all major governments. The International Medal of Valor.”

Peppino's bottom lip began to wobble as Giuseppe pinned the medal to his chest. “I… I-a don't…” he looked Giuseppe in the eyes. “How did-a you know?”

Giuseppe laughed. “When you started in about medals, I almost broke. This is as big an honor as you can get, you two. Bigger than anything I ever got before.” He patted Peppino on the shoulder, smiling. “Congratulations, Sergeant Major Spaghetti.”

Peppino's eyes grew wide. “S-Sergeant M-M-”

“Oh, I forgot to mention. They gave you both an honorary promotion. I have the insignia for you, too.” He clipped it on Peppino's shoulders, and the man looked ready to cry.

Giuseppe bent over, doing the same for Gustavo, who looked ready to bawl himself. Then he glanced at Giuseppe's shoulder. “Wait. Your own bars are different.”

Giuseppe laughed. “Yeah. Apparently they were feeling generous. My official rank is now apparently Brigadier General. I'm still retired, but…” he beamed. “Anita's a Colonel, now, herself. Gave her her medal and insignias yesterday.”

Gustavo's voice wobbled a little as he spoke. “I thought she seemed more excited than usual. I thought it was just wedding jitters.”

Peppino examined the medal. “So, does-a the design have any meaning?”

Giuseppe pointed. “The gold ring, inlaid with blue and green, represents the world, since this is an international honor. The five stars around the edge of the gold ring indicate it's the highest possible honor.” He pointed at the lurid purple bar, above the circular medal. “The purple bar indicates the Tower, of course. That part's unique to this version.” He shrugged. “Of course, who knows when this might get used again?”

Peppino looked over at Gustavo's, noticing a difference. “Why does-a mine have a ruby in-a the center of-a the bar, and not Gustavo's?”

Giuseppe smirked, pointing at his own. “That's a special bonus. For those of us that died there and got brought back. You, me, and Anita have the ruby. Noise and Noisette will get one, too.”

“Oh, great,” Peppino muttered. “Just-a what we need, something else to inflate-a the gremlin's ego.”

Giuseppe finished pinning the medal on Gustavo's chest, and he stood and saluted the two. Peppino and Gustavo returned it, tears in both their eyes.

“Thank you, fratello,” Peppino choked out.

Gustavo nodded. “My parents would've been so proud…"

Giuseppe smiled and put his hand down. “Hopefully Mama doesn't have a coronary from happiness.”

“You haven't-a told her yet?” Peppino said, incredulous.

“Well, I did just get these a few days ago,” he said.

Gustavo looked down. “So it's okay for me to go back to Anita's room with all this? She knows, right?”

“Yep! She should have her own stuff on by now.” He glanced at the clock. “Affrettarsi, though, we're getting close to time!”

As the gnome exited, Peppino was fingering the rank insignia. His chin wobbled as he did. “You bastardo sporco, there I was, talking all that-a nonsense about recognition and rank, and you had-a this just sitting in the drawer…”

Giuseppe laughed and gave Peppino a hug. “Took everything I had not to tell you, fratellino.” He held him at arm's length. “Looking good, Peppino. Now you have some decorations, too. The biggest decoration in the world.”

Peppino smiled, trying to maintain his composure. “Sì,” he whispered. “I never thought I would have something like this. A life… a life like this. A son. Honors. A successful ristorante. A brother.” He clasped Giuseppe's shoulder, and Giuseppe returned the favor.

Giuseppe smirked. “We're brothers-in-arms, too, fratellino. It doesn't get much closer than that.”

Peppino wiped away tear. “Sì.” He dropped his arms. “I'm-a not taking orders from you, though, General,” he said with a grin.

Giuseppe put on a mock scowl. “So, it's mutiny, then.”

They stared at each other… then burst out laughing at the absurdity. “Come on, Sergeant-Major. We have a wedding to attend.”

~~~~

Giuseppe stood at the altar, at ease, smiling and trying not to fidget. Peppino flanked him, beaming. They'd spoken to their mother before the ceremony. If she smiled any bigger, we wouldn't need candles, Giuseppe thought wryly.

They hadn't gone very flowery, like most weddings; a wedding between two professional soldiers called for something a bit different. Plus, Anita doesn't care much for flowers. Or frills, for that matter. There was ivy everywhere, though. Though the snow was piling up outside, a warm breeze flowed through the room, and birds sang. They'd hired an environmental illusionist to decorate the room. They'd spoken to Margherita at length, and now it was as close as they could get to her old home, back in Italy, on a nice spring day. We should visit there, sometime.

The overhead lights were dimmed; instead, candles of various sizes, from small tea lights up to monolithic towers, illuminated the room. A few of them were floating; most were illusory.

All their friends were in attendance. They'd even talked Fake into coming out. They sat beside Brando. Brando was almost shaking with pride at the medal on his chest, and Fake… well, Fake's expression could be hard to read at the best of times, but they almost radiated pride - both theirs, and for their son.

Pepperman sat at the front. He and Anita had become close, and she'd insisted he be front and center. He'd sworn to paint a portrait of them as soon as the ceremony was complete. “I'll burn it into my mind’s eye,” he'd said airily. They'd fashioned a long collar for him to wear his medal. He's probably burning an entire country’s supply of smugness right now, Giuseppe thought.

Behind him were the Noises. Noisette had worn an amazingly flashy dress, and the medal clashed magnificently. She was bouncing up and down, and as his gaze swept over them, she waved energetically, which he returned, much more subtly. In her arms, Tony babbled happily; the little Mingle had taken a liking to her, and she had almost fainted when Peppino had entrusted her with him. She'd elected not to stand with them as a result, but she was still beaming with delight. Meanwhile, the little bean was reaching for a tea light, fascinated by the floating objects. He kept staring around, almost as interested in all the new faces as he was the lights. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

Beside her, Noise held his head high. Giuseppe had expected him to crow and yell and proclaim his greatness, when he'd received the medal; instead, the little man had been quiet, unnaturally so. It had thrown everyone off completely. Even Noisette had seemed surprised. Then Noise had pulled Giuseppe aside. “Wanna say, I don't deserve this, big guy.”

“Noise, you saved the world, just like the rest of us,” Giuseppe had said. “You destroyed the Pizzamancer's monster army. You fought him. I can still hear that big damned bomb going off,” he said with a grin.

Noise chuckled, still unusually subdued. “Yeah, that was a good one. As for the monsters, Noisette and the others did most of it. All I did was press a button.”

Giuseppe had rolled his eyes, amused but now slightly exasperated. “Listen, folletto, when a General says “take your laurels,” take your damn laurels. You deserve it, just as much as the rest of us.”

Noise had looked a little surprised at the big Italian's vehemence. “Well, uh… I guess. If ya say so.” He flipped the medal on his chest, and gave the most genuine smile Giuseppe had ever seen on his face. “I never got any honors like this before. I mean, I got awards for shows an’ such, but… this is different. I'm gonna wear it proud-like. Gonna get it framed, put it in my office. Thank ya, big guy.” Then he'd grabbed Giuseppe's sash, looking oddly desperate. “Don't tell Peppino, OK?”

Giuseppe had smiled and simply made a zipped-lip motion.

Even General Burne had shown up. Giuseppe and Anita had both been shocked to see the old man, and they had had to explain to most of the others just who he was… and why they were so stirred up.

Anita, in particular, had been nervous. “I, uh… I'm sorry I ran off on you, all those years ago, Maj- er, General.”

Burne had waved a hand and smiled, his mustache, now white as snow, bristling. “Personally, I understood, Anita. I'm the one who signed the order dismissing the charges, after all.” Then he'd winked, which had thrown both of them off. “Besides, I think saving the world qualifies you for a bit of forgiveness.”

He was sitting near the back, taking up a huge amount of space. An active general came with quite the retinue, after all.

Anita had invited a few of her family, but none had shown up. “I'm not surprised,” she said, disgusted. “Most of ‘em I didn't really want here, anyway. They're lowlifes.” She'd looked around. “My family's already here.”

A whole cloud of Spec Ops agents had shown up, headed up by Captain Lambert, the Frenchman who'd liaised with them. “A Brigadier General requires at least some presence, monsieur, to say nothing of a Colonel,” he'd said with a wide grin. “Plus… a lot of the youngsters miss you, General Spaghetti.”

Giuseppe had laughed. “Being too hard of a taskmaster on them, eh, Louis?”

The Frenchman had shrugged. “Someone has to keep them in line.”

Anita had chuckled. “Tell them if they don't straighten up, I'll come out of retirement to whip them into shape.”

Louis had grinned… if a little painfully. In her short return, Anita had terrorized the whole organization, running them through their paces like the toughest of drill sergeants. “I'll tell them. No offense, Madame, but even I would be terrified of such a prospect.”

Finally, the doors opened at the end of the hall, and everyone stood. Gustavo escorted Anita down the aisle, acting as both Father of the Bride and bridesmaid/groomsman. He smiled impishly - Anita was short enough he didn't have to unduly stretch to hold her hand, and he was enjoying the experience.

Anita wore an outfit identical to Giuseppe's, though somewhat less festooned with insignia; she'd immediately rejected the idea of a dress. “I'm not a dress woman,” she'd said. “I'm a former soldier, a professional.”

Giuseppe had just smiled. “Wouldn't have it any other way, ‘Nita.”

Of course, she had her own chest full of metal; she'd been quite active before she'd left. The Colonel insignia, as well as the new medal, gleamed in the soft light.

Her face was the most serene he'd ever seen her wear.

They had eschewed music, too. “Ugh, too fru-fru for my taste,” she'd said. The birdsong had been her idea, though. She loves nature.

Vigi stood beside Giuseppe, the officiant - as Sheriff, one of his duties was the ability to officiate weddings. He'd almost burst with pride when he'd found out that was his role, and he was taking it seriously. “Been practicin’ fer weeks,” he’d said that morning.

“But… it's only a few words,” Giuseppe had said, laughing.

“Maybe,” Vigi had replied. “But they're important words.”

Anita stopped beside Giuseppe, and Gustavo took up his position, mirroring Peppino. She grinned at him. “Looking sharp, General,” she whispered.

“Don't rub it in,” Giuseppe replied.

Together, they turned to the Sheriff.

Vigi gestured for everyone to sit - the medal glittered as he moved. Lacking anywhere else to put it, he'd pinned it to his hat.

“We're gathered here t'day t’ witness the joinin’ of Giuseppe Spaghetti and Anita Morelli in matrimony. Both bride an’ groom have elected to forego any long, flowery speeches.” The crowd laughed quietly. “They have, however, elected t’ say few words.” He gestured. “Go ahead.”

Giuseppe looked into Anita's eyes. “For twenty years, part of me was lost,” he said. “A part I wept for, mourned for. A few months ago, it returned, quietly, subtly, but as bright as the sun. For the first time in ages, I felt whole.” He smiled. “I never want to lose that again.”

Anita nodded. “For twenty years, I searched the world for something I'd lost,” she said. “It took me all that time to realize - I had left it behind. It was waiting for me. I just had to have the courage to return. And, even though it ended up getting dropped in my lap unexpectedly… it really was what I'd been missing, the whole time.” She smiled. “I’ll never let it go again.”

They turned back to Vigi, who cleared his throat. “And as such, today we bind the two of you together, never t’ be parted again.” He turned towards Peppino. “The ring, sir?”

Peppino pulled the ring box out of his coat pocket, grinning like a cat, handing it to his brother. Giuseppe opened it, revealing a shining titanium band.

Giuseppe took Anita's hand, slipping the ring over her finger. “Had to pull some strings for this one. It's a piece of the shell of Inferno.”

She grinned. “Well. Great minds think alike, then.” Gustavo, on cue, proffered his own ring box, and she opened it to reveal another titanium ring. As she slipped it over his finger, she smirked. “Another piece of Inferno. Had to pull some strings of my own to get it.” She snickered. “Probably best you don't ask how, though.”

Giuseppe laughed. “God, we're too much alike, sometimes.”

Anita grinned. “More like two parts of a bigger piece.”

Giuseppe nodded, and they turned back to Vigi.

The sheriff cleared his throat again. “By my authority as Sheriff of Tower Town, I declare ya husband an’ wife.” He grinned. “I'd say ‘you may kiss the bride,’ but… I think that goes without sayin’.”

They both laughed, turned, and Giuseppe grabbed Anita, doing a full dip while kissing her.

Everyone cracked up, then applauded.

As he stood her back on her feet, she glared at him… but she was smiling. “A little over the top, don't you think?”

He smiled his most roguish smile. “Glad I can still surprise you.”

~~~~

The reception was winding down; almost all the attendees had left already, hoping to at least reach La Crosta before the snow became impassable. Gustavo had volunteered to take Margherita home. “It's on my way, anyway,” he'd said.

Before she had left, she had insisted on giving the couple, as well as Peppino and Gustavo, a hug. “I'm so proud of you all. You all survived so much. Now look at you. Honored as you should be…” she gestured to them all, “you two, married…” she gave both Giuseppe and Anita a kiss on the cheek, “you two, having given me my first grandchild,” she did the same for Peppino and Gustavo, “to say nothing of giving me a nuora e genero.” She beamed at them all. “I've never been more proud of you all.” She patted Gustavo on the shoulder. “And I know your genitori are beside themselves with joy, genero. Stand proud.”

Gustavo blushed, then cleared this throat. “We should get going, Mrs. Spaghetti. The roads could be treacherous soon.” He waggled his finger at Tony, in Peppino's arms, and the boy giggled. “Be careful going home, you two.”

“Fai lo stesso, amico Mio,” Peppino said. “Take care, Mama.”

As they left, Peppino, Giuseppe, and Anita looked around. The room was being cleared away - they hadn't opted for a big reception, either.

That hadn't stopped everyone from providing housewarming gifts, though.

Peppino walked to the pile, which was impressive. “Do-a you need me to help you get this-a home? I can load some of it in-a my car…”

Giuseppe waved a hand. “Nah. We've got room. You should get home. No need to keep the bambino out in this mess.” He bent over and tweaked the boy's nose, who giggled. “Do you need me to come by tomorrow and watch him?”

Peppino shook his head. “Fake is-a going to open the pizzeria tomorrow - but I don't-a expect much business, between the snow and it-a being New Year's. Too-a many people will be sleeping off the night before.” He smirked. “And besides, I doubt you will-a be up to much tomorrow, eh?”

Even Anita blushed. “Just announce it to the world, why don't you…”

Peppino laughed. “It's-a what newlyweds do, eh? No one would be surprised.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And I can't-a wait to have a nipote o pronipote to spoil.” He went quiet, reaching up to finger the medal and the rank bars. “I still-a can't believe it.”

Giuseppe and Anita held each other. “You deserve it, Pino, you really do,” Giuseppe said.

“Forse,” Peppino said quietly. He picked up Tony's bag, looped it over his shoulder, and shook hands with Anita. “I know, you've-a been doing it already… but take-a good care of mio fratello, OK?”

Anita looked up at her husband. “I will. I mean it when I said… I'll never let it go again.”

Peppino nodded, content. “Va bene. Ciao, you two. See you later.”

~~~~

Giuseppe dropped the last of the gifts on the counter in his kitchen, as Anita closed the door to his apartment. “You know,” she said, flopping down on the couch, “even if we hadn't just got married, I think I'd stay here tonight.”

Giuseppe nodded; the snow had picked up considerably, and they'd had to clear a path to the stairs. “No kidding. Good thing I stocked up. Looks like we're gonna be snowed in a few days.”

He walked over and sat down beside her, undoing the sash and his coat’s bindings. Anita had already shucked hers. “This stuff is pretty comfortable, for a dress uniform, but…”

She reached over and helped him shrug off the heavy broadcloth. “Yeah. At least we didn't need a coat in this cold.”

She stood, draping the coat over a chair. “We'll just put this all away properly… tomorrow,” she said. She flopped back down.

Both of them sat in silence for a bit, just enjoying each other's presence.

Suddenly, outside, distant singing started, and, despite the snow, fireworks started popping.

“Huh…?” Giuseppe said, checking his watch. It read 12:00. “Well, I'll be damned. It's already that late.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Happy New Year.”

She returned the favor. “Happy New Year,” she said, snuggling up under his arm. “What year are we in now?”

“2593,” Giuseppe said quietly. “47 years now, I've been here.”

Anita nuzzled his chest. “48, for me. But thanks to the regeneration, it's like 28 all over again.” She looked up and grinned.

He smiled. “Yeah. A whole new life to live.”

They sat and watched the burst of fireworks through the window, softened by the falling snow.

[aimfor-theheart]

Act I, Part I

|| kaeya alberich x afab!reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort/fluff || wc: 13k || ao3 || masterlist || Act I, Part II -> ||

When you, a beloved artist and performer of Mondstadt, attract the attention of the Fatui, there is only one person you seek out for help; the infamous Cavalry Captain of the Ordo Favonius, Mondstadt's beloved bastard.

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+ only

❀ for you are the world (as i am in pieces) - @lorelune ❀

a/n: it is finally here!!! this is apart of a lovely collab with my buddy @lorelune that you should check out!! i've linked their fic above!! thank you so much to @acerathia for beta reading this!!! this is the first act of three that will be posted but this act has been broken into two parts because tumblr hates long posts so i will link that shortly as well! everything will also be on ao3!! thank you so much and i'd love to hear your thoughts!! <33

tags: afab reader (she/her pronouns but is rather gender fluid/binds her chest sometimes and presents both femme and masc), alcohol use, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of stalking/full on stalking from the fatui to the reader, eventual smut (not in this chapter), mentions of heartbreak/abandonment issues, bodyguard au technically, fake dating au technically

SCENE I

Our story begins first in the open night, beneath torchlight and on an ancient, well-loved stage in Springvale. And then our world should open up to the wilderness, to the Mondstadt streets, until we end up in Kaeya’s home; it’s as mysterious and stylish as he is. Everything could or couldn’t tell you everything about him, everything might or might not mean something to the Cavalry Captain. 

The night sky shudders into shades of endless plum blue, kissed with silver-burnt stars and the gentle curve of a sweet moon. 

Kaeya’s eye catches its brilliance, reflects it back like it was made from the very same moonbeam, the very same starshine. 

You roar to life in the darkness.

Fire bursts from your mouth in a red-gold crush of heat, swinging in an arc around your head to illuminate you. 

The audience cheers, hollering and clapping, murmuring excitedly at the way you leap from your pedestal above the stage into a crouch. 

Your costume twinkles, shimmery and scale-like, jangling like mora in the pocket. It’s slinky, baring midriff and thigh, the curve of your bare feet, ankles and wrists adorned in jingling, scale-like jewelry. Your hair is wild, horns twisting out from your head. 

It’s cute, Kaeya thinks, watching with an amused, little smile. 

“The dragon careened from the sky and bore down on the knight!” Your narrator exclaims and with a flash of movement, you and the other actor clash in the darkness. Your fire lights up the stage only briefly, to catch another flash of movement, before plunging back into darkness. And then again, a burst of flames in another sharp picture;

The knight’s sword raised above his head to strike you down. 

Darkness. 

Before your fire explodes out in a plume to make the knight stagger back. The audience gasps. 

You twist and turn and move serpentine, fluid like water, or the licks of your flames. 

Kaeya hasn’t seen you perform in awhile, perhaps years, but it brings back memories of childhood. 

The way you’d light up a room and perform whether it was to sing or dance or entertain.

As a child, you were bursting with it, with freedom and joy. He remembers nights in Ragnvindr manor, tucked away in smoky parlors with adults who cooed to you, who encouraged you to sing for them, to play the piano or violin. He remembers candlelight and the way it seemed to glow brighter for you as you opened your mouth and let all of that wonder out of you. 

Your audience adores you here, too, out here in Springville, at this little outdoor theater which is perhaps just a couple half-hazard pieces of wood nailed together. Nonetheless, you make it feel like the rocky terrain of Dragonspine. 

And by the end, your audience is hooting and hollering, on their feet, perhaps a little drunk, but adoring nonetheless. 

Though it’s nice to see you perform, that isn’t exactly why he’s here tonight. 

He sips at the mug of ale in front of him, leaning back in his chair. 

He waits until you appear again in plain clothes, changed from your pretty costume, fresh faced. 

And my, my are you popular. Everyone stops to talk to you, to snag you, to hug and hold you and laugh with you. He can tell, though, that you’re making your way to him as the night grows later and longer.

He waits.

Until you are in front of him once more, moon a halo above your head. 

“Riveting performance.” He purrs. 

“Captain Kaeya,” you say his name like it bursts sweet and sharp on your tongue. 

He says your name in return, honeyed and slow, taking you in all your glory. 

Then you say, “you came,”  and your smile is an infectious little twist of lips. 

“Of course I did.” He responds easily, looking up at where you’re standing in front of him, and then as if it was innate, only natural of him, “you asked me to.” 

Your eyes flicker just behind him, catch someone in the darkness, before settling back on him. 

Call it instinct, but he feels his hackles rise, hair on the back of his neck stand up. Kaeya knows danger well and can feel it now, the way you can smell a storm that is approaching. 

You offer him your hand, palm up, and in the firelight of the torches around you, it shimmers in his vision, dancing with shadows. 

He quirks a brow at you.

“Your place or mine?” He asks.

“You’re not even going to get me a drink first?” You ask, feigning scandal. 

Kaeya feels the corner of his mouth tick up, “call me impatient.” He says, but he finally puts his hand in yours, envelopes it in his and realizes he has not taken your hand in many years. Perhaps not since you were children together. Your hands have grown, but so have his. Calluses rough up against your smooth, soft palm.

So untouched. So unscarred. Soft as–

“Yours.” You say decisively.

And you pull him up and into the fray of people, into the sweet night, turning away to guide him but with your hand still in his. He trails after you and if it looks suggestive, if there are some hollers and calls to you–

“The good captain, even?” A fellow actor of yours crows, ale sloshing in his mug, “is there no one in Mondstadt safe from your wiles?” 

“Not a soul,” you vow with a laugh and the group roars with cheers, drinks spilling. 

“Don’t tell me you two are leaving already!” Another says, “the night is still young!”

“All the more reason to leave now,” Kaeya sings and there is even more uproar, whistles and suggestive howls. 

You seize his hand tighter and pull him closer, pick up your pace as if to show your eagerness, leaving all their laughs and hollering behind. 

Your shadow persists, though, and Kaeya doubles his step to get closer, to sidle up next to your side. To guard your back. 

“Been awhile,” Kaeya hums, “you must be desperate to have reached out to me.” 

“Well, in all of Mondstadt, I could think of no one else I’d rather have.” You grin at him and the trouble is, you’re being honest. He can feel it, or perhaps he just wants to, that you would want his presence beyond this, beyond–

As you wander over trails and stones back to the city, hand always in his, he helps you along, or keeps after you like an eager dog. He lifts you off of a stone ridge you climbed, hands fitting along your waist like they belong there. He laughs when you dart away from him, chasing after you only to catch you around the middle, letting you yelp and twist in his hold, tossing your head back onto his shoulder to laugh up into the heavens. 

It feels like he’s a child again, a teenager, stepping through time and into another. Nostalgia rips at him, tugs at the seams of him. He wonders if you feel it, too, but doubts it. 

Not with the person loping not too far behind, keeping distance but not too much. Not enough. 

The gates of Mondstadt are alight with torches. 

You walk backwards to face him and for a moment, he really does almost lose his footing, because there is something so bewitching about you. He can’t stop looking, the curl of your smile, or the raise of your brow. It’s a natural sort of beauty, one born from within, he thinks, something in you that’s just so–

Wonderful. 

And then you turn back over your shoulder and take off, pulling him after you. Nimbly, he is your shadow. Footsteps on cobblestone, clattering together, until you yank him into a dark little alcove. You press your back up against the stone curve, pulling him by the front of his uniform so that he crowds you, shrouds over you. 

“Kaeya–” you say his name a little breathlessly and it echoes in Mondstadt stone streets, voice throwing so that someone could hear you. Will hear you. 

He’s quick to catch on, ducking his head into the crook of your neck, though not close enough to touch. 

Your follower has paused at the entrance of this alley. Kaeya  can see the shadow in the torchlight.

You suddenly pinch his ear hard enough to make him yelp a little. 

You laugh, but it’s warm and sultry, head falling back against the stone like you’ll give him more room. 

“Right here?” He asks, but his gaze glances past you, at your follower. 

You nod to his real question, but pitch your voice up in the charade, “please–” 

The sound makes him flush a little. 

And it makes your shadow scurry away when he realizes what you’re getting up to, clearly embarrassed, or in the least, shy about being a voyeur. Kaeya fights the urge to snort. 

He does realize your hand is still curled in the front of his uniform. And the column of your throat is exposed, pretty, and open for the taking. 

He focuses squarely ahead, listening closely to see where the footsteps have gone. 

He only catches the grin on your face out of the corner of his eye, before you suddenly let out a louder, lewder moan. 

He shushes you, almost reflexively, but he has to fight the urge suddenly to laugh. You do start to giggle this time and although it still sounds deeply intimate, he covers his hand over your mouth so you can laugh into his palm. So that you won’t blow your own ruse. 

You keep this up until he finally takes your hand and pulls you away from the wall. You stumble with him, until he’s got you tucked up under his arm. 

You’re still laughing a bit, clearly pleased with yourself, as he takes you a strange, meandering way to his own place. Your follower is gone, perhaps for the night off, assuming that you’ll be in Kaeya’s bed. He wonders if your shadow will find you again come morning or if he’ll scout out Kaeya’s own place for the night.

He leads you into his own apartment building, up the wooden stairs, and into his home. For an apartment, it’s rather spacious. Open. There’s a balcony off the bedroom, one that overlooks a great deal of Mondstadt’s streets. The bustling world below and the peaks of Mondstadt’s skyline above. It’s his favorite part. 

Once the door is shut and the lock nestled into place, you finally drop the act. 

His hand leaves yours, body leaves yours, for the first time that he’s seen you tonight and instantly, he can feel the rush of cold ease in. 

“Make yourself at home,” he says, slinging off his own coat, setting his boots to the side. 

He wanders in only to collapse on his sofa, eyeing you as you toe off your own shoes and carefully hang your own jacket beside his. 

He forgets sometimes, what it's like, to have someone else here. 

To have a coat beside his own, shoes kissing his. 

“I take it you figured out my letter?” You ask, padding deeper into his home. 

Kaeya smiles, “well, you can imagine my surprise when Jean handed it to me.” 

“Jean saw that?” You ask, eyes rounding out in horror. “Does she think–does she know we’re not actually–?”

“Sleeping together? Romantically entangled?” Kaeya asks, standing suddenly to move to his office. You follow tentatively after him, only to watch him rifle through his desk and produce the very letter in question.

The envelope is covered in lipstick marks. 

“You could’ve been a little more discreet.” He says, before inhaling a little sharply, “did you spray your perfume on this?” 

“Do you like it?” You ask in return, “it’s new.” 

He laughs, low and soft, “it’s nice. I think you traumatized Jean, though.” 

“I wanted people to be too embarrassed to look inside the letter.” You retort, “clearly, I succeeded.” 

“That you did.” He agrees, “and even if they did–”

An excited glow comes to your eyes, “did you figure it out?” 

“Well, I knew it was some sort of code since the content of the letter was—fabricated, to say the least.” 

“What? You don’t remember our clandestine trysts? I’m hurt—“ 

“You’re very clever.” Kaeya says then unabashedly and he thinks you melt a little at the praise. Or at least, you quiet down. “And it seems you’re in quite a bit of trouble.” 

When you speak this time, it’s hushed, like you’re worried someone is listening now somehow. 

“Can you help me? I had no idea who to turn to without tipping them off.” 

“Well, if it’s one thing I’m good at, it’s dealing with secrets.” He muses, but then he gazes at your letter again, perhaps scouring the contents of it once more. 

On the surface, it seems like a love letter, filled with winding, romantic phrases and memories of old; romps under star bright skies and hurried instances in the library. Nostalgic flashes of youth, when you danced the nights away with him. It details a sort of on and off again fling that neither of you can seem to quit. 

But beyond that, there are ciphers, a code to uncover. And Kaeya pulls a slip of paper from another drawer of his desk, lays it out on the surface. Your true message reads very clearly in his messy scrawl;

Help. Fatui watching. Must be careful. 

Kaeya gestures to the chair across from his large desk. You sink down into it with a nervous little breath. 

“How long has this been going on?” He asks and perhaps the air changes, or the way his shoulders settle back. It’s the voice he uses as captain, twinged with authority and coolness.

“I noticed them following me about a month ago. Maybe longer, though.” You answer. 

“Do you have any inclination as to why?” Kaeya asks now and he sets your letter aside. 

You take your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment and Kaeya watches the movement, before you release it. 

“It isn’t a secret that I’m not their biggest fan.” You finally answer. “I tend to toy with them if they get too close.” 

Much like Diluc, you harbor a deep loathing for the Fatui. 

You are a vocal and known defender of Mondstadt’s freedom from Fatui and their meddling hands. Notoriously, you’ve openly mocked them on stage and even worse, outwitted them in social entanglements. At every turn, when they tried to use your family’s name, coerce you financially, or corner you with social politics, you’ve managed to weasel by. They have tried endlessly to get you to bend to their whims, whatever they might be, and you have refused. 

For the past few years, they have tried desperately to get someone as loved and known in Mondstadt in their pockets. 

And for years, you’ve escaped them. 

You’ve done much to outwit them. You’ve caused all out personal brawls between underlings, made a fool of yourself at one of the largest balls between nations, led them on wild goose chases that amounted to nothing, and even gone so far as to reveal salacious scandals to get your way. 

Socially, in a battle of wits, you are a wicked opponent. 

But physically? You are a sitting duck. And as beautiful as those flames of yours are on stage, you’ve never once used them in battle. 

Kaeya remembers you as a child, trying to keep up with Jean and Diluc, well on their way to being knights, and all you did was cry and cry and cry.

It was so clear you were never meant for battle, always been more of a lover, in his mind. Crybaby that you were, you were meant for the arts; your sword a pen, your battle cry a song. 

“No,” Kaeya agrees, “but many people are not fans of the Fatui, to varying degrees of vocalness. I can’t imagine they’d be so foolish as to target the very Heart of Mondstadt for no other reason than your disapproval or mischief now.” 

The world has coined you Mondstadt’s Heart. It’s Light, it’s Shooting Star. You are as close to an adored princess (—and you’d scoff at the idea of royalty, like a true Mondstadtian—) as you can get in this nation and though you carry the bloodline of Imunlaukr, you have spent your days with the everyday man. You traveled and performed and dined and drank with those far from nobility. 

As soon as he and Jean and Diluc had joined the knights, you had already joined an acting troupe. You were already off, free as a bird, to compose and write and perform and sing and dance your way across Mondstadt. Across the world. 

But you always flew back home.

At one point, he’d been close to you perhaps, in his youth. You’d grown up alongside him and Diluc and Jean.

He always assumed, actually, that you and Diluc would—

Well, you’re both the beloved figures of Mondstadt. 

It’s light and dark, truthfully, blessed by the Pyro Archon.

But everything had fallen apart when—

Kaeya had assumed you’d sided with Diluc and never wished to see him again. Or, in the least, you had nothing good to say to him. You’d never been rude to him, but he’d kept his distance nonetheless. 

Perhaps for fear of your scorn. Perhaps he couldn’t face it. Of all the people who could scold him or reject him, yours felt particularly hard for him. He blames it on your otherwise playful and loving nature; to be despised by one of the sweetest of Mondstadt would be hard to stomach. 

You used to write to him, more than just coded letters when you were in grave danger. But slowly, the letters stopped, and he assumed Diluc must’ve said something or—

Your paths were easy to keep from crossing.

Kaeya deals in secrets and shadows and is busy with the knights.

And you deal in brilliant light and open-hearts, your whole life on a stage. 

Nonetheless, he’s surprised by your warmth.

“What are you thinking?” You ask softly and the way you’ve said it makes him think you could tell his mind was spiraling.

Kaeya sets down your letter, “that you’ll have to stay here for the night if you’d like your little shadow to believe your ruse.”

You open your mouth, perhaps to protest, to ask again—what are you really thinking about?

But you don’t.

“I suppose I’ll have to crash on your couch.” You answer, before a wry smile curls at your lips, “unless you’d like to stage a grand argument where I storm out.” 

“You’re still trouble.” Kaeya hums, eyeing you perhaps more fondly than he should.

“And you were my partner in crime once! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t now—“

“I would, if it benefited us.” He assures you, smiling himself, “but for now, I think keeping up a false relationship for the eyes of others may help us a great deal.” 

“Is this your way of asking me out?” You tease. 

“I think it would give me an excuse to be around you frequently to protect you. No one would think twice about two lovers recently rekindled.” 

“Surely, I don’t need—“

“In the least, I’d like to observe your observer.” Kaeya says smoothly, and then, “you’re not seeing anyone else, are you? We won’t have to worry about your real lover, do we?” 

The question hangs in the air for a moment, suspended.

“No,” you say then, something strange in your voice, a little shake of your head, “what about you?”

“I’m far too busy with the Knights of Favonius for a relationship.” Kaeya says flippantly, forcing his voice to remain even. “At least that makes things less complicated.” 

“Right,” you agree and there is a moment of silence as the situation settles around the two of you. There’s a shyness in the silence, a sudden uncertainty. Kaeya does not do well in it. And apparently neither do you, because at the same time, you both try to say;

“You can take my bed for–”

“I’m sorry to intrude on–”

You both laugh a little and try again;

“You’re not intru–” 

“I can’t take your–!” 

Silence again. 

Your eyes meet and there is a smile in the corners of them, laughing eyes, crinkled with their life.

He opens his mouth to speak again but this time, you lurch forward and beat him to it, “I can’t take your bed!” 

“I’ll change the sheets, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He says easily.

“No! It’s your bed and I’ve just–dropped in on your life!” You exclaim, voice pitching upwards. Dramatic little thing that you are.

But Kaeya can’t help but feel as if it’s a little true, not in any horrible way, rather in a way that is worse;

It feels poignant. 

Right, even. 

To have you fall back into his life the way you used to fall as a child, reckless and with wild laughter. 

“Not at all,” Kaeya says and he finds, surprisingly, that he means it, “besides, the couch is comfortable–”

“Then I can take it.” You counter. 

“No, I’m afraid it’s my home and I’ve already decided” 

“Kaeya.” You say, as if to scold him.

He says your name in return, in the same tone, as if to mock you.

Eyes locked again, Kaeya takes you in fully. 

After all these years, you have only grown all the more beautiful. Everyone knew you would be, but somehow you’re more than he remembers, a full bloom, a perfectly ripened fruit. A fledged angel. You’re more than he could ever fathom, somehow in his home, after years, and showing him a warmth and kindness he perhaps doesn’t deserve. 

Faintly, he wonders if he should work up the courage to apologize. 

For what exactly, he can’t name. 

(But for years now, he has felt the urge to apologize. To everyone. For everything. And yet it will never loosen from his throat, lodged there, down deep.)

“Would you like to borrow clothes to sleep in, too?” He asks and if his eye skips down to your body briefly, he is quick to avert it. 

Sheepishly, as sweet as ever, you smile and say, “if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he purrs and then he stands, stretches a little, hands raised above his head. “Shall we?” He asks and begins to move towards the door. 

You stand to follow him.

“Kaeya,” you say suddenly, his name flying from your mouth like a freed bird. 

He pauses in the doorway, the arch between two places; where you are and aren’t. One foot in and one foot out. 

He can tell by the look on your face, so painfully expressive, shuddering with several emotions, that you want to say much. You’re like an open book for him to plainly read, so vulnerable. 

He hopes you won’t say a thing, doesn’t think he can quite bear to hear it. 

“Thank you.” Is what you settle on and it’s soft, painfully earnest. 

Kaeya swallows, hides it all behind an easy, flippant smile, “of course.” 

And he turns away from you, turns his back on your seeking face because he can’t be what you find, doesn’t want you to pry. Your eyes are too searching and he has to be careful, so careful–

He gives you soft, worn clothes of his. He is careful not to look too long at how you fill their shape, or how you look with your hair undone or your face free of stage makeup. 

He is sure all the world wishes to know you this way. 

He tries not to make you laugh or smile and is certainly careful not to hold your gaze. 

He sleeps with his eyepatch on, shirt carefully buttoned and irritatingly twisted up over his body.

He stares up at the ceiling of his living room as you lay in his bed and he forces himself to think 0f anything but, to think of his duties in the morning, or the look on your face all those years ago. 

Why are you being so kind to him?

He turns the question over in his mind like a coin, over and over and over, as if it may land on a side and reveal to him an answer.

He hardly sleeps. 

And in the morning, the birds sing and so do you, humming under your breath as you dorn your clothes from the night before. 

“My great walk of shame,” you sing with a laugh. “Hopefully all of Mondstadt notices.” 

“Wait,” he says and the morning sun makes him lighter, your laugh brightens his whole home, and he disappears into his room momentarily to fetch his bottle of cologne. 

If he were a worse man, he would dab it onto your neck with his own fingers.

But instead, he hands you the bottle, “if you’d like them all to really talk.” 

You laugh again, full bellied and beautiful. So beautiful that you put the morning bells to shame.

You dab it on your neck, against your pulse points, the smell of sweet mint and amber, something boozy, almost like bourbon, hangs in the air and–and you smell like him. And your own perfume, the crush of vanilla and dark berries. 

They’d almost compliment each other.

And then you hang in his doorway like the light beams that linger as the morning turns to day and finally you say, “it was good to see you again.” 

“You’ll be seeing much more of me now,” he replies breezily. 

“And I’m glad for it.” You tell him, “at least something good has come of this.” 

He swallows hard. He averts his gaze from you and onto the Mondstadt streets beyond. The birds that flutter and coo as the day blossoms and grows. 

“Go,” he says gently, “and spread your rumors about us.”

You laugh again and promise to do just that, skip in your step, as you turn to take on the world as if not a thing could touch you. 

And he shuts the door quickly–to his apartment and home, and to his heart. 

He doesn’t dare think about it as he throws the lock into place.

But he’ll hum the tune you were singing this morning for the rest of the day and well into evening.

When he sleeps that night, it is with the thought of your form burning in his bed the night before and he thinks if he prayed much, he’d say oh Archons, what have I done? What have I gotten into? 

What does the world have in store for me now?  

***

SCENE II 

In Angel’s Share, warm and glowing, a love shared between the patrons. 

You— have the uncanny, incredible talent of prying open all that is around you, so that it bursts sweet like a ripe fruit into your waiting hands. You have known this since you were a child; if you listen, the world will reveal its secrets to you. If you sang, something sang back. And when you danced, all was moved with you. 

And now, all that world seems to hang on your every breath, the tavern hushed as your voice carries over the sounds of a lyre. All the patrons’ faces are relaxed, open for you, as you sing. 

Venti plays beside you, fingers plucking carefully, stroking into a fuller sound as your voice carries and rises. 

It’s a slinky little song, playful and flirtatious, heart-warming as the room coos and sighs. Not a soul is spared–and they never are, Venti always tells you with a laugh. You can feel it, the energy that simmers, that you manage to reach for and control. 

You’re singing about love. You don’t do it often. 

But the song is an old one, about young lovers, and petal blossoms. Spring fevers and moonshine. You trill and chirp like a bird, voice soaring and floating above the room. 

Until the last note blooms from your mouth and the patron’s of Angel’s Share erupt into applause. 

You hadn’t planned on singing tonight, only sitting with Venti and Diluc at the bar. But, as what often happens on lovely, slow-warming nights of spring, the tavern fills and the customers beg for a song as they grow drunker and louder. 

You know they will likely ask you for one more—a rowdier one that you will kick up your feet to and dance. You will clap and stomp and pull a drinking man into your arms briefly and everyone will hoot and cheer as you teach someone clumsier than you how to dance to your tune, for a moment so that he might see the world the way you do.

Or hear it with your ears.

They never quite can keep up, but it’s fun nonetheless.

And then, for Diluc’s sake, you will play a slow, soft tune with a violin perched on your shoulder. It will be an old drinking song that you have slowed and made into a minor chord so it rings with melancholy and not cheer. 

But it will lull the patrons and urge them to leave for the night, arm and arm, bumping shoulders.

You will help Diluc clean up and he will urge you to head home, too. Venti will linger, though hardly lift a finger.

For now, though, you retreat from your place of spotlight to take up your stool at the bar once more. Venti perched up beside you. 

“Another round, barkeep!” He announces.

Diluc looks flatly at you, before his eyes shift to Venti and drawl, “with what money?” 

“I’ll pay for it, Diluc.” You pipe up and he sighs and shakes his head like he always does. 

(He never charges you for them, anyways. You’ll still try to leave money for the both of you at the end of the night.) 

Instead, he says, “that was quite the song.” As he sets a glass of valberry wine in front of you; it is one of your favorites. 

For Venti, an ale.

“A love song!” Venti adds, waggling his brows as he loops his hand around the mug of ale. He takes a large sip, throat working, gulping it down far quicker than he should be. 

“I was in the mood,” you say breezily, lifting one of your shoulders in an easy shrug.

Diluc cocks an eyebrow but otherwise does not press you. He returns to wiping down the bar. 

Unlike Venti, who slams his mug back down onto the bar (sloshing some of the ale and Diluc, the poor man, sighs as he runs his rag over the splash) and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before saying, “you’re seeing someone!”

Now, technically, you are supposed to be sharing this little rumor in hopes of it spreading like wildfire.

But lying to Venti? To Diluc—

About Kaeya, no less. 

So instead, you say, “I wouldn’t say that, per se.” 

Venti pounces excitedly, “but there is someone! Who is it? Do we know them?” 

You swallow. Though you are an actor, you are hardly a liar and even now, it turns your stomach over itself to do it. You’ve never been good at lying; your heart has always been on your sleeve, emotions written so plainly across your face. Lying makes your skin itch, you can hardly ever do it, even rarer can you pull it off. 

“Well,” your voice goes high.

“We do, don’t we?” Venti asks, impish grin hooked onto his lips. .

He mistakes you for shyness or awkwardness over a crush, rather than nerves or guilt. You let him. 

Venti is a dear friend of yours and has been for several years now. It was a sort of instant connection with him; even stranger and more wonderful than that, once the world had given him to you, it had felt like he’d always been in your life, at your side. Your bard. Your drinking and dancing partner. Your confidant and mischievous accomplice. The games the two of you play are far beyond anyone else; you send each other all over Mondstadt with scavenger hunts and puzzles–for new sheet music he’s written for you to sing or exciting news you wish to tell him– tongue twisters and poems, cherished clues and inside jokes. Your letters are often in code or riddle. The two of you are always disappearing to secret places and hiding spots. 

He’s your dearest companion. 

Lying to him troubles you greatly. 

You’ll have to ask Kaeya if you can tell him, if you could explain to Diluc that–

Still, you swallow, “you do, yes.” 

“Let me guess!” Venti then says, tapping his chin in contemplation. And for a moment, you have half a mind to lead him down a riddle, instead of this guessing game. The wine is muddling your head, though. “Is it Franz?” Venti asks. 

You laugh, surprised, shaking your head quickly; Franz is a fellow actor. He’s great fun but—

“Franz is seeing Emil!” 

“It’s not Rosaria, is it?” Venti then asks, “I thought you said that was a one off sort of—“

“It’s not Rosaria!” You cut him off, cheeks suddenly blossoming into an embarrassed heat as you glance at Diluc. Venti had been the only one who knew about that. 

Until now, of course. 

You smile sheepishly.

“Rosaria?” Diluc questions, surprised as well.

“It was a one off sort of—“ You begin to repeat Venti, laughing nervously. 

“I just had to be sure!” Venti then cuts you off, before taking another long sip of ale. He makes a show of mulling over his thoughts. 

“Is it…” He trails off, before his eyes suddenly sharpen and pin you to your place. You swallow because you know him and you know that look. Sometimes, you think Venti knows too much. You don’t know if it’s intuition or–

“…Kaeya?” 

You freeze. 

“It is!” Venti crows.

“What?” 

You wince.

“It’s just—it’s nothing—really!” You squeak out. 

“I had heard you went home with Kaeya!” Venti continues, loud enough that, yes, this rumor will certainly spread now. 

And more importantly, you believe it’s loud enough to reach the ears of the man who has been following you all day; the undercover Fatui member sits not far off, keeping his eye on you. He pretends to drink alone. 

“You went home with Kaeya?” Diluc repeats and if he sounds as if he might scold you, you suppose you wouldn’t exactly blame him. 

You lean in towards them and instinctively, they do the same, the three of your heads ducking close to each other. 

“It wasn’t like that,” you whisper to them, “but if anyone else asks, it was like that.” 

Diluc’s brows furrow and a frown settles onto his lips. Venti throws his head back and laughs. 

“What are you two up to?” Diluc asks scornfully, eyeing you.

“Nothing!” You chirp but it isn’t very convincing. 

“I knew you had feelings for him,” Venti continues, perhaps a little too loudly again, and somehow, it’s as if his voice could carry. Like he’s thrown it playfully, caught it on the breeze from the open window. 

Venti has always been rather magical to you. In the same way it feels as if you’ve always known him, it feels as if he could have always been here, in Mondstadt, even before he appeared. There is something in Venti that sings to you, the way the wind does on a beautiful day, rushing through your hair and into your heart. You couldn’t name it, but you know it as well as you know the streets of your home, as well as you know your favorite sonnet or song.

You make a show of shushing him and he laughs heartily again before he throws you a wink. 

You grin mischievously yourself this time. 

“Has Kaeya ever taken a lover?” Venti asks now, perhaps wondering out loud. 

“Too many.” Diluc grouses. 

“He’s strange that way, isn’t he?” You muse, taking a slow sip of your wine. You consider your next words. “He somehow has the reputation of taking countless lovers, but I couldn’t name you a single one.” 

Venti’s eyes twinkle, as if he knows something you don’t. Like a child, you sometimes wish to beg him to tell you what he seems to know, what the world has given him, but you know that is no way to learn.

“Diluc?” You question. 

Diluc gives you another flat look, “I am not privy to Kaeya’s romantic life.” He puts away a glass a little more forcefully than necessary, the glass twinkling, “and I have no wish to be.” 

“You can’t name a single paramour of your brother’s?” Venti presses and the two of you lean against the bar in intrigue now, excited, shining eyes turned to Diluc. 

“No, thank the Anemo Archon, I can’t.” 

Venti snorts at a joke you can’t seem to grasp. 

But then you and he share a look, and this time, you can read very plainly what is in his face. You wear twin smiles, impish, and all trouble. 

Diluc shakes his head, “don’t look like that in my bar. If you’re going to cause trouble, do so elsewhere.” 

“You’re such a grouch,” you snip back at Diluc, taking another sip of your wine, the sweet burn settling deep in your belly. Warmth blossoms. “You’re not curious at all?” 

“No,” Diluc says again quickly. 

You narrow your eyes, “liar. I know some part of you cares, no matter how badly you pretend not to.” 

Diluc huffs, “if I cared, I’d know.” 

Venti hums, “then you do know.” 

“I just said–” 

“I think it has more to do with Kaeya, don’t you?” Venti then says lightly, perhaps too lightly, “if Kaeya wanted you to know, you’d know. Kaeya keeps his cards close to his chest.” 

Another sip of wine has you feeling flushed. Open. 

“Well, I’m just going to ask him the next time I see him.” You declare to the two, to the bar, perhaps to the whole world. 

As if maybe it was you who asked for the truth, he’d answer. 

“Good luck with that.” Diluc says dryly. 

“Good luck to you!” Venti cheers, jerking his mug of ale out to you so that you may clink your glass of wine against his. You do so, just as he laughs;

“Good luck on your endeavor to capture our Captain’s heart! If anyone could, it would be you!” 

***

SCENE III

The Mondstadt streets, early morning; bustling and lively. A flourish of colors as people pass to and fro. Our lovers meander, as if in another time entirely. Kaeya is often shrouded, by people, by vendors, by the world. 

You walk beside Kaeya, shoulder to shoulder, past vendors of food and flowers and jewelry. Children yell and chase each other past you, mother’s hollering after them. The smell of fresh food and perfume floats on the breeze. 

Kaeya swaggers beside you, sword at his hip, in his full knight’s uniform. You, on the other hand, are in simple skirts; white ruffled fabric beneath an outer layer of peach. A corset of flowers, woven, but hardy and loved, with silk ribbons in the back all tied up and tangled in your hair. Despite the dress, you’ve decided today to bind your chest. Some days, you bind, some you don’t. Some days you are more masculine and others feminine.

And often, you live in between, perhaps around the two. Both and neither all at once. 

Heads turn as you pass but this is what Kaeya wanted. 

He ducks his head now to say, “your shadow is certainly persistent.” 

His voice is low and soft, kept hidden from prying ears. 

You look up at him, “they always are. I swear, one day, they’ll follow me into the bathroom–”

Kaeya snorts, casting his eyes back outwards at the moving streets. 

Now, he says, more obviously, “what have you got left on your list?” 

You look down into the basket on your arm; the loaf of bread that is still warm, the couple of fruits and vegetables that fill in with color around it like large jewels. 

“Milk and eggs,” you respond, “but I like to look at the flowers, too.” 

“As you wish,” Kaeya smiles and you feel his hand at the small of your back, leading you through the crush of people, towards where you will find your milk and eggs. 

“Kaeya,” you say, soft as the breeze. 

“Hm?” 

“I have questions.” 

He quirks a brow at you now, intrigued, perhaps even wary. It’s hardly a flicker of his expression. But still, he asks, “of what kind?” 

“Mostly the secretive kind.” You answer; you’d like to ask who you can share this false relationship with. You want to know if he’s informed Jean. 

You step up to the vendor for milk and eggs with Kaeya at your back. 

“You should save those for later, when you’re in my home.” 

“Oh?” You ask, head turning over your shoulder to look at him,“I’m coming over later?” 

Your eyes meet and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the tension is real, the little fissure of heat that kindles inside you makes you flush with warmth in the face. Along the tips of your ears. 

Kaeya really is handsome. A true knight in shining armor or–he looks like a prince from a fairytale, you think. The regal line of his nose and pretty dip of his cupid’s bow lip, the depth of his blue eye; you swear it could be a shade of blue you have never seen before. One that you could give a new name to. 

“If you’d like,” he says breezily, his smile sharp and handsome, “I’ll provide dinner.” 

“And wine?” You ask, a smile of your own tipping up into a mischievous curve.

“Always wine.” He agrees and this time, you think his smile is more sincere. 

You purchase your eggs and milk with twinkling coins that you press into the warm, wrinkled hand of the old farmer who sells them. And then you are on your way again, meandering the streets at Kaeya’s side. 

“I do have a question that can be asked now, though.” You return, cradling the basket on your arm filled with your goods, letting it rest against your hip. 

“By all means,” he replies, as if he’ll be that easy to give you an answer. He gazes back outwards, at the world around him. 

And before you can lose an ounce of courage, you look up at him and simply ask, “have you taken many lovers?” 

He laughs, surprised, and his head turns sharply to look at you again. “Is this a trick question?”

You laugh now yourself, “not at all! I’m being earnest.” You implore him with your eyes now, expectant, and honest.

 He laughs again, softer, shorter, as if he can’t believe you. He returns his gaze to the street in front of him. “I’ve had a few.” He answers simply.

“A few?” You prod.

“My, you’re nosy.” He teases. 

“I’m curious. I want to know!” You defend, nudging him a little, “I want to know more than just the elusive rumors about the casanova of the Knights of Favonoius.” 

“Is that what I am?” He purrs, “a casanova?” 

“Don’t change the subject!” You respond with another laugh and it’s almost a little dizzying, watching him work in real time to slip from your grasp. You feel heat in your cheeks, up along the nape of your neck. 

But you adjust your grip, you try again. 

“I’ve had quite a few.” He amends sheepishly, boyishly. “I hope you’re not the jealous type.” 

“I am.” You snip back playfully, honestly, but still, “were any of them serious?” 

You can tell he is weighing how to answer as he lapses into a brief silence and then, as if he’d manufactured it, he urges you suddenly to a vendor for flowers, with her large bushels of them, beautiful and bright and fragrant. He ducks behind a burst of them, appearing around the other side with one in hand, which he offers to you. 

His grin is lopsided, handsome. “For you, my lady.” 

It’s blue and beautiful, full of fragrant petals and blooming a deep purple at the center. 

You snatch the flower from his grasp, “you’re avoiding my question.” 

Still, you bring the flower up to your nose and inhale deeply. 

Kaeya meanders around the other bunches of them and you follow after him, keeping the one in your hand close to your face, by your nose. It’s sweet smelling, soft and mellow, and fresh. 

“What do you define as serious?” He returns your question with one of his own finally. 

“Have you been in love?” You ask now.

“Sure,” he answers with a secretive slip of a smile. 

You don’t know why, but you almost think he’s bluffing. 

“So it was serious?” You encourage, trying to ease more out of him. 

He shrugs gracefully now and gives you another, “sure.” 

“Did you think you would stay with them forever?” You pivot now, knowing you have to be specific. The question bubbles from you without thought, as if you are asking if the weather is alright, or if he’d prefer the red or gold flowers this morning. 

He stops up short. 

He looks at you very strangely for a moment. 

And perhaps it is one of the first straightforward and honest things he’s said to you, “nothing lasts forever.” 

“No, but you could promise your own forever to someone.” You respond, letting the petals of his flower brush up against your cheek, soft and silky. 

“Well, what about you?” He returns smoothly, carefully avoiding what you’d just said. 

You smile, because you know now, you can tell he is an expert of avoidance. You smile like you’ve caught him. 

And as if to teach him, you answer very honestly, “I have been in love many times, but I only promised forever once to someone.” 

Now it’s your turn to meander around the flowers, turn over your shoulder and wander away from him a little. 

He follows tentatively. 

“And what happened?” Kaeya asks carefully. 

You pull another flower out of the bunch to admire it next to the one he gave you, a wispy white one, twinged peach at the edges. 

“I got stood up,” you admit and pick your head up from your flower searching to look at him briefly, “we were going to elope.” 

The look in his eye is perhaps a little too delicate for your liking. 

You return to fiddling with the flowers, pulling another, and another, to create your own, small bouquet of them. It’s easier when your hands are busy to speak about this still, which even years later, feels raw and prickly. 

“It was while I was touring in Liyue–we were supposed to meet at some old ruins–an altar– and be married at dawn. I was going to leave the acting troupe, leave Mondstadt behind forever, and disappear with him.” You say, carefully arranging your flowers, delicately shifting and changing them. You offer a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and try to joke, “it was all very romantic at the time.” 

You let out a breath, admiring your bouquet, “I waited all morning. And then all afternoon. All night. I thought something horrible happened to him but–”

You pick your head up again and this time Kaeya offers you another flower; one to match your bouquet. You accept it and it fits beautifully into the bunch of them, carefully placed at the center. It’s another blue one, soft and lovely and full to bursting. 

“It turns out he just got cold feet. He married a Liyue girl a year later.” 

“And what did you do?” He asks softly. 

“I went on to perform in Sumeru, Fontaine, Natlan, and Snezhnaya. And then I came home to Mondstadt, licking my wounds, and haunting poor Diluc and Venti at the bar. Singing too many heartbreak songs, drinking a little too much–you know, the whole spiel.” You say and this time, you do smile, because despite how hurt you were, memories of Venti trying to cheer you up, causing a ruckus, and poor Diluc trying his best to help you as well flood to you. 

Jean taking you out on girls’ nights and your fellow artists banding together to keep you afloat. Lisa finding beautiful copies of your favorite plays and stories. Good people who came back into your life and tried to put you together again. Good moments, despite it all. 

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Kaeya begins smoothly, reaching out to smooth a petal a certain way, “I think that is perhaps the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of any man doing.” 

You snort and Kaeya continues, “I’m serious.” But you can’t tell if he means it or not, “Imagine losing the very Heart of Mondstadt.” 

He suddenly takes the bouquet from your willing hands and goes to pay for them with shimmering coins. He returns the flowers moments later, settles them into the crook of your arm, but not before stealing one and tucking it carefully behind your ear. 

“There,” he murmurs, eye flickering over your open face, unreadable as always, “perfect.” 

And with that, he saunters away and you are left staring after him, on his coat tails for a moment. 

But he pauses, he waits for your skip of a step to come back into place at his side. 

The flowers fill the space of your kitchen with the color of blue you can’t name, the one that is caught in his eye, and the one you dream about in Mondstadt skies. 

***

PRELUDE TO SCENE IV

Late afternoon. Outside the monumental Cathedral. Once inside, light pours from stained glass windows in a kaleidoscope of color. The way it touches you is almost a mystery, a vision. The audience should never fully see Kaeya’s face as he turns and moves, always partially shadowed. 

“I need to check on something before we see Jean.” You tell Kaeya and he hustles to keep up with your steps. 

“In the Cathedral?” Kaeya asks, brows rising over his face in surprise. 

“Sort of!” You chirp and then you glance over your shoulder, throw him a smile he knows means trouble, and say, “it’s a secret.” 

Kaeya masks his face well as he follows you around a sudden stone bend that veers away from the main room. He assumes it will go up, to the spires, but instead, it goes down. He stares at curled stone steps that lead into darkness. He glances around for a moment as if someone might stop the two of you, but no one does. 

You disappear into the shadows and Kaeya follows behind quickly. 

Now at a door, you turn, press your back to it and Kaeya comes up short. It’s a tight space, this narrow crook, and if Kaeya were to step away, he’d have to take another step up above you. 

“Will you guard the door?” You ask sweetly. 

Kaeya can’t help but laugh, a little surprised, “are you supposed to be doing this?” 

“I have a key.” You protest, fishing out a necklace from beneath your buttoned up shirt–today you are in trousers, with your chest bound, but a pair of heeled boots. You hold it up and a gold key shimmers in dull light. It looks old and perhaps once illustrious, with a whirling, intricate design. 

“Who gave that to you?” Kaeya asks. 

You look perfectly innocent, “I found it myself.” 

Kaeya can’t help the smile, “does anyone know you have it?”

You narrow your eyes, “you’re not going to tattle on me, are you?” 

His smile turns into a fond laugh, warm and softly echoing in this little hallway, the arch of the door. “No. Should I be worried?” 

“No,” you respond and he’s fit to believe you as you turn back to the door and fit the key into the lock. With a gentle, easy click, the door creaks open. “I’m just going to fetch my diary.” 

“Your diary?” 

Without an answer, Kaeya watches as you disappear behind the door, which leads to another, darker hallway. You lift your hand and light fills the space, a flame of yours licking to life. There is another door at the end of the hallway. He assumes you’ll go on, push through that one as well. 

But instead, you turn to the side to face a bookshelf lining one of the hallways. There’s plenty of them. You push on what appears to be a small statue fastened to the shelf and use it as leverage to begin sliding it over.

Your eyes flick to Kaeya only briefly and you lift your finger to your lips as if to ask him to keep your secret. 

The door shuts before he can stop it, sealing him away. 

Instantly, he frets. 

He pushes against the door but it’s locked now. And you have the key. 

He tries to remain calm. He feels suddenly foolish or tricked. He just thought–

Well, he assumed you were a goody-two-shoes. Mondstadt’s proper, most beloved girl. He thought you didn’t have a rebellious or secretive bone in your body. He assumed, for all intents and purposes, that you were something of a prude in this way. A rule follower. 

Huh. 

Kaeya glances back from the way he’d came, to the door. 

Perhaps he doesn’t know you as well as he thought. 

He tries not to worry the longer the minutes grow. 

He doesn’t want to call for you because he doesn’t want to attract attention but if you don’t return shortly–

The door suddenly creeks again and Kaeya has to step out of the way as you reappear behind it. 

And in your hand is a small, leather-bound notebook. 

You shut the door behind you, sealing your secrets away. 

“Diary found.” You tell him with a smile, holding it up. Then, you tuck into the crochet bag on your shoulder.

He stares at you, still rather surprised. 

“What?” You ask, brushing past him, to head back up towards the curved stairs. 

“What secrets do you have in that diary that warrant such a hiding place?” Kaeya asks, still astonished. 

You laugh, warm and bubbling, as you return to the main floor of the Cathedral. The colors of the stained glass in the afternoon sun shimmer on you, dancing over your skin in a wash of violets and peaches, blues and crimsons. Emerald colors your shoulders. Gold along your face. You look like a wonder. A fairy. Part god–

“Nothing so important–just my feelings. Songs I’ve written. Snippets of poetry.” You tell him and he wishes he could believe you. You say it so earnestly. “Secrets of the heart, I suppose.” You joke. 

Kaeya glances behind him, then back to you, “and where did you–find that place? How did you–?”

“I know many places in Mondstadt that others don’t. I’ve stumbled upon them ever since I was a child.” 

You catch his gaze over your shoulder, shimmering in his vision, and smile, “maybe I’ll show you more of them sometime.” 

The afternoon light almost blinds him as you swing the massive doors open once more. He dumbly follows after you, taken aback, enamored, in awe. 

“Come along, Captain!” You sing like a bird, “Jean is waiting!” 

***

SCENE IV 

Jean’s office. Golden hour. The light turns the wood of her desk and floor and the walls bronze. Papers are scattered around her desk, haphazardly organized. Her hair is a halo glow in the last rays of the sun. Kaeya’s back is turned, towards the bookshelves and away from the audience, like he might be searching for something. He is careful not to look at you. 

You sit across Jean’s desk as the afternoon wanes into evening, the sun dipping you in honey rays, soft and dreamlike. Kaeya busies himself with the rows of books, keeping his back carefully turned away from the two of you. He listens closely, though, even as he pretends he doesn’t. 

“So you’re not actually…seeing each other?” Jean asks. 

“No,” you laugh, “did I scare you with my letter?” 

“Yes.” Jean says seriously. 

Kaeya fights the urge to turn and offer her a cold look. Still, she continues, “I thought I was going to have to lecture one of you. Though, I’m not sure which one–”

You laugh now, fuller, warmer. 

It’s a lovely sound, it fills the space with warmth. 

“Who else knows? Kaeya, I don’t appreciate you withholding this from me at first.” Jean says and Kaeya can feel her eyes touching the back of his shoulders like the tip of a sword might. 

“You know I deal in secrets.” He responds flippantly. 

“This is different.” Jean responds and perhaps he does know that. 

You and Jean are childhood friends, he knows Jean cares a great deal for you. Or harbors some sort of over protective, sisterly feeling towards you. And even when you went away, even when you hardly saw each other, he knew the feelings didn’t wane. 

No, he knows how childhood bonds are. 

“It’s alright, Jean, we’ve had to be careful. We needed to establish a believable cover.” You are quick to mediate, perhaps defend him. “I started this, anyways.” 

Jean won’t get mad at you, nor will she blame you for much. 

“Currently, we’re the only three who know.” Kaeya pipes up, allowing his finger to trace over the spine of a book gracefully. 

“I’m trying to convince him to allow me to tell Diluc and Venti.” You quickly add and Kaeya knows now that he’s lost that battle. 

Jean will side with you.

“Diluc doesn’t know? Wouldn’t he be a useful ally now? She spends a lot of time at the tavern; he could keep an eye on her when you can’t.” Jean says. 

Kaeya takes a moment too long to respond, he knows it, senses his mistake, because Jean pounces–

“You two are a pain.” 

“Now, now,” Kaeya begins smoothly, “I just think the less people know, the better.” 

“You know you can trust Diluc.” Jean scolds. 

“Diluc is a terrible liar.” Kaeya snips and his head snaps to the side to glance at Jean over his shoulder. He quickly rights himself and shields his face once more, returning to his perusal of books. 

“I’m sure if he knows what’s at stake, he could keep it together.” Jean responds, tone firm and unmoving. 

Kaeya sighs heavily, but his next reply is cut off by your own voice, “I don’t like lying to him or Venti.” And then, because you’ve never been one to shy away from the truth, you add, “especially about you.” 

“I think both would readily help us. The more eyes on her, the safer she is.” Jean agrees. 

Kaeya can not explicitly express why this makes him bristle— or perhaps he simply doesn’t want to admit it. He knows it, somewhere inside of him, knows that the thing that claws and scratches looks a little too close to jealousy. It is perhaps just a little too green. Maybe, he wanted to keep you to himself just a little longer. 

But he knows, logically, Jean is right. And if it’s for your safety–

Kaeya finally turns to look at the two of  you. Which is foolish, because the sun is setting, and you are in its window. You are caught in its light, warm and relaxed, with your chin in your hand as you turn to look at him.

“As you wish, Acting Grand Master.” Kaeya says evenly and offers a (frankly) rude little bow. Jean will know he’s mocking her a little and that he doesn’t particularly like the decision made. And then he says to you, “shall we? I’d like to get you home before sundown.” 

You prick your head up, concern and surprise on your face, “am I staying with you for the night?” 

Kaeya is careful to let the tone of your voice roll off him and not take it or covet it. 

“No,” he muses, “I thought I’d stay with you for the night.” 

He pretends he doesn’t notice the way you brighten or the way you jump up from your seat to follow him. He doesn’t turn to look at you, but he hears your soft goodbye to Jean, and her murmuring something in return. Your sweet little laugh. And then your quick steps to catch up to him once more. 

When you exit the Knights of Favonius headquarters, taking the steps with a little skip, you suddenly sidle up to his side. 

Right underneath his arm, attaching yourself. 

He is careful to school his features, dropping his arms around your shoulders easily. Yes, he supposes it’s wise to look like a couple heading home together. 

“Sorry we ganged up on you,” you say and the way you peek up at him would be enough to send any foolish man’s heart into a tailspin. 

Kaeya is desperately lucky he’s never been a fool. 

“No,” he soothes, “Jean is right. And you shouldn’t have to lie to your friends.” 

He feels your fingers flex at the bend of his rib, in the fabric of his clothes like you’re tightening yourself to him. He walks in step with you, with your side pressed to his. 

Has he ever done this, he wonders, so openly with someone? Walked through the cobblestone streets with a lover under his arm? Or has he kept everyone in shadows and secrecy? 

It doesn’t matter. This is a secret, too. It isn’t real.

And still, the question flies from his mouth before he is prepared for it, “why didn’t you ask for Diluc’s help?” 

You stop walking and as he continues for a moment, you slip from his embrace. 

He turns to look at you. The sun is a crimson flare, catching on your ruby Vision, on the look in your eyes. 

You smile like a cat that’s caught a canary. 

“Kaeya,” you say his name like a melody, “are you the jealous type?” 

For a heartbeat, he almost feels harpooned, caught, suddenly struck in place. It’s frightening to be picked apart so effortlessly, with that smile on your face. Earnest. Horribly lovely. 

What a strange creature you are, he marvels. 

But then he laughs and lies, “not particularly.” 

You hum and begin to saunter towards him, walk on past him, and he is caught in your shadow. He follows. 

“It would’ve made sense to ask him.” Kaeya continues. 

“But I asked you,” you say simply, “you’re who I thought of.” 

Carefully, he reaches for your hand, the brushing of his pinky to yours. As if to ask, may I play pretend with you? As if to ask, may I take up the role of the one who gets your hand? 

You readily accept it and the part, too. And then you smile at him again, impish, filled with mirth;

“Besides–can you imagine how scandalized Diluc would’ve been if I’d given him the same letter I gave you?” 

Kaeya truly laughs now, deep from his belly, and you laugh with him as you pull at his hand, as you press up against his side. Your fit of giggles fills the sky. 

And the world must watch as you stroll through Mondstadt together and wander up to your home on the hill. He thinks the world must watch as he slips through your door, through your fingers, like a serpent in a garden. 

Like a sweet sinner, a non-believer, slipping into the back pew in the house of a love-spun god. 

***

SCENE V 

The trail from Springvale to the main city should feel familiar to us. Though lonelier now, shrouded in darkness that was easily chased off with two. Later, Kaeya’s apartment; a rapidly growing safe haven. 

After your rehearsal on the stage in Springvale, you meander back to the city. Kaeya said he would meet you halfway, but currently there is no sign of him. As the hush of night descends, a feeling of wariness overtakes you. You hear the owls begin to hoot and the distant, far off call of a wolf. The wind rustles the bushes. 

You turn to glance over your shoulders, again and again, half afraid that one of the times you may find someone staring back. 

You try to calm yourself. You swear you’re being paranoid; you have taken this road countless times. There is little to fear. 

And still, the feeling persists. It grows. 

You turn fully to look behind you, allow a burst of flame to erupt in your palm to illuminate your darkening world. 

“Is someone there?” You call out. 

With everything in you, you wish to hear Kaeya’s voice reply. Or Diluc’s. Maybe a fellow actor lollygagging behind? 

Your heart thuds hard in your chest, quickening. 

And even before you see the rush of a shadow, something instinctive, something ancient in you, tells you to run–

You take off as you plunge yourself into darkness, fleet-footed and desperate. 

You run hard and know certainly now that someone follows. You can hear it, feel it, the press of them behind you. The city lights of Mondstadt in the night sky are your beacon. 

If I can just get to the city, to the light, to my city of light–

You run harder, more wildly. Fear sharpens and quickens you. 

A flash of silver ahead of you. 

Your heart knows it before your mind;

“Kaeya!” 

You nearly collide with him but he’s got you, hands on your shoulders to steady you, eye flying over your face desperately. 

“What is it? Are you hurt?” He asks before looking past you. 

“There’s some–” you turn to look with him. 

But the forest behind you is quiet. The darkness is hushed. Almost unnaturally so. Goosebumps erupt over the nape of your neck. 

Your words die, dwindle in your mouth. 

You swore–

You try to catch your breath, try to quell your racing heart. “I thought there was something behind me.” 

Kaeya has gone inhumanly still, too, listening, watching. You think he senses something, too. He must know danger, know its call, no matter how silent. 

He’s got his hand on your lower back, corralling you closer to him protectively. He doesn’t stop eyeing a spot ahead, though, in the darkness. 

He hums. “Perhaps it was an animal.” But he seems to know differently. 

After a moment, when you have your breath under more of your control, you manage to get out, “must’ve been.” 

“Let’s go,” Kaeya turns you away, hand slipping around your waist for support. 

You lean into him. 

Belatedly, you realize you’re shivering. Hard. Trembling all over. 

He ushers you into his apartment above the city once more. The moment the door is shut and locked tight, he moves with more urgency to guide you to his couch. 

He disappears momentarily and you almost want to call him back, like a child, you want to reach for him. He returns with water and sets it on the coffee table. 

He kneels in front of you now, like the knight he is. 

“Are you okay?” He asks first and again, he searches you. “Are you hurt?” 

You shake your head, the movement jolted, unsteady. 

“I just feel–strange.” 

Kaeya’s eye softens fractionally, “probably an adrenaline crash. I’ll grab a blanket.” 

Again, he disappears and you want to stop him. You want to grab his wrist before he can slip from you, you want to sink into his arms. You want to be held. 

But you sit and you tremble. 

When Kaeya gently fixes the blanket to your shoulders from behind, you jolt, startled. 

“I’m sorry,” he says then, “it’s just me.” He comes around again to kneel in front of you. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders, affixing it to you, bundling you in it. 

It smells like him. You try and take in a deep breath to still your trembling. 

After a moment, you say, “there was someone.” 

“I believe you,” Kaeya agrees softly, “someone was chasing you–I heard the second pair of footsteps and came running.” 

You inhale shakily. Tense silence fills the space. 

You can hardly speak, “do you think–do you think they were actually trying to–?”

Kaeya inadvertently answers your question, “I think we should be more careful from now on. I want eyes on you always from here on out.” 

“I thought it’d be fine–I always walk home from rehearsal and–”

“I know,” Kaeya soothes, “I thought I’d get to you sooner. I should’ve been. I’m–” 

“They’d just followed me around before.” You say uselessly, almost in disbelief, “why would they–?” 

“We’ll find out,” Kaeya says gently, “but for now, you should rest. How do you feel?” 

“Shaky,” you answer, “I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep tonight.” 

“I’ll be right out here,” Kaeya promises, “they won’t try anything now. It’s clear they’re waiting until you’re alone.” 

You want to beg him to allow you to stay on the couch with him, or for him to sleep in bed beside you. You feel needlessly clingy, like a scared child. How silly, he must think of you, to be so frightened of a little chase. You’re sure he’s seen so much worse, faced danger you can only conjure in storybooks. 

You bite your lip, catch between your teeth so it won’t wobble. You nod. 

Kaeya studies you for a long moment before you feel the careful press of his hand on your knee, the delicate swipe of his thumb in a soothing caress. 

“Would you like me to draw you a bath?” Kaeya asks softly. 

For a moment, you’re surprised by him or perhaps his attempts at soothing you. A bath does sound appealing though being alone doesn’t.

(Instantly, an image flashes hot in your mind, of you in the bath, and Kaeya leaning against the counter to chat idly with you. Or seated beside the basin, his sleeves rolled up, or–)

“No, I don’t need–” you’re quick to try and assure him. 

“It’s no trouble at all,” he stands with grace and ease and makes his way to his bathroom. In a moment, the water is running and steam is filling the small space. The scent of iris and eucalypts. 

You force yourself to stand on trembling legs, astonished with how thoroughly adrenaline has riddled your poor body. You’d think you’d be used to adrenaline in some way, the sharp plummet of your heart because of stage fright. 

But performing dangerous tales is significantly different from being a part of one. 

“Thank you,” you say gently, catching Kaeya’s hand to squeeze momentarily.

“It’s nothing,” he brushes you off and slips from you, allowing you to disappear behind the door to the bathroom. 

All alone you can hear the drum of your heart again. 

Your reflection looks strange to your own eyes in the mirror. Everything feels different; unreal, almost. You look away quickly, towards the running water, the filling bathtub. 

You try not to think, to strip yourself bare, and to leave the jitteriness on the floor with your clothes. 

You slip into the warm water. 

Kaeya left you clothes of his, a towel. 

You want to call for him. You want your heart to quiet. You want your fear to dissipate like the steam. 

You force yourself to take deep breaths. You force yourself to wash and scrub at your face and neck. You are okay. Kaeya is outside the bathroom and you are safe. 

Still, your feeling of unease doesn’t leave you. 

Even after you have donned Kaeya’s clothes and stepped from the warm bathroom. 

You linger in the archway of his bedroom. 

He looks like he’s about to speak but you beat him to it, “will you stay with me? In your room?” In your bed? 

You watch Kaeya’s brows raise in surprise before he quickly schools his features. “I don’t want to intrude.” 

“I’m asking you,” you respond and perhaps there is a note of vulnerability, perhaps there is a wobbling, small part of you that sounds a little too desperate to his ears. 

You find some form of embarrassment in the press of heat in your face. But you don’t retract it, let your honesty hang between the two of you like a pendulum. 

“I’ll sit on the armchair in there until you fall asleep,” Kaeya compromises, “how does that sound?” 

Relief is sweet and cool and winding around you. You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding tightly to. 

“I’d appreciate that.” You say and you turn to try and make yourself comfortable in his bed once more.

There has been several nights now where you have slept in his bed alone while he sleeps on the couch. Each night, you offer to take the sofa, and each night, he denies you. 

Tonight, he drapes himself over the lovechair in the corner of his room.

He settles deep, eye flickering over you as you turn the covers over and crawl into bed.

In the silence, you can hear your heart again, “I’m sorry for making you do this.”

“There’s no reason to apologize,” Kaeya says smoothly, waving away your concern, “I’m glad I could help.”

You wonder if he means that or if he’s saying it because it is the right thing to say. You don’t dare ask him. You don’t dare press; some truths you would rather not be revealed to. 

“You look like you’re about to tell an incredible bed time story in that arm chair.” You joke instead.

Kaeya snorts, head rolling a little onto his chest. He looks tired, too, disheveled a little in a way that he rarely is. 

But he’s still so buttoned up; you wish he’d show you the defenseless side of him. The one not in perfect ruffled blouses or knights’ coats. The one without the eye patch or the carefully charming smile. 

“Would you like me to tell you a story until you fall asleep?” He asks dryly.

But when you laugh a little and say, “yes, actually,” you mean it.

Kaeya’s brow quirks upwards. 

“I don’t have many bedtime stories.” He tells you. 

“That’s okay,” you reply, “I’m going to fall asleep soon, I’m sure.” 

Kaeya hums lightly, letting his head fall back against the back of the chair. He hangs there for a minute, revealing the lovely brown shade of his exposed throat.

Finally, he says, “I’ve got one.”

“Please share,” you encourage.

Kaeya draws in a slow breath, allowing the silence of the room to be sucked in, too. He holds it so the only thing you can do is wait, watching him in the near-dark.

Finally, he speaks and his voice is nothing like you’ve heard it before;

“Once, there was a prince from a far away, forgotten land…” 

The soft cadence of his story, hushed, and almost tentative, lulls you. It eases your heart and your mind. It reminds you of the wash of the waves against the shore or the wind as gentle as can be. 

In no time at all, you are drifting off into strange, plum-darkened dreams of lost princes and beasts in the night. 

And unknown to you, Kaeya gently pulls the covers of his own bed up over your shoulders. Gingerly, he tucks you into bed and watches your sleeping face for a moment. 

With a breath loosened, he finally leaves your side and finds his place on the couch. 

And in the morning, for once, you are awake before him and find him on the couch. 

Carefully, you tuck the blanket he’d thrown over himself up around his shoulders. You brush a strand of his long hair from his face. You let loose a quiet breath. 

He sighs in his sleep and turns towards your touch, chases it in his dreams. 

And though you linger, you don’t bother him again, but turn to begin making coffee for the two of you. 

You hum softly, an ancient little melody from a faraway land, and it stays in your head the entire day, with thoughts of a lost prince who, in your mind, surely looks like Kaeya; handsome and refined and beautiful. He must be noble and kind and charming like him, too. 

And more than anything, his eyes must be stars like his, too, and his hands must be calloused and gentle. 

And his voice must be like his, too, when he murmurs sleepily, rubbing at his eye, “where did you learn that song?” 

“I don’t remember,” you reply and you set a steaming mug of coffee on the table beside him, “I think from a traveler, a long time ago.” 

“I haven’t heard it since I was child.” He admits. 

“You know it?” You ask.

“Thank you,” he says softly, voice still rough with sleep, “for the coffee.” 

“Thank you,” you respond, “for staying beside me last night.” 

“It was nothing,” he assures gently. And then he finally answers you, perhaps in a way that you know is personal to him, “it’s a lullaby.” 

You smile behind the lip of your own mug, gentle and sweet, and say;

“Then the coffee is nothing, too.” 

***

Act I, Part II –>

[tamarieatsbatteries175]

yahoo huzzah *insert tbh creature gif*

It's called HouseholdClan! Our leader is Notebookstar (after five star notebooks), Cowboyhat is the deputy (because the word deputy reminds me of that kinda stuffs), and out helaer/med. cat is Pillbottle (for obvious reasons) and their apprentice is Soappaw (full healer name is Soapbubble)

The story revolves around Forkkit and Knifekit (Med cat and warrior names are Forkfang and Knifeshine) and them being part of a prophecy along with their cousins Toolkit and Couchkit (warrior names Toolbox and Couchcushion). Toolkit and Couchkit also have a brother named Clipboardkit (Clipboardclaw) but he's lame/silly

Other cats include: Engineroar, Microwavehum, Outletface, Waterbottleshadow, Headphonewire, Housefire, Tapwater, Eggyolk, Electricalwire, Rustedmetal, Bookcover, Sunnyday, Cameraflash, and Flagpole

Also we have the obligatory pjsk references, Dramapaw (Dramamask, Mafuyu), Paintpaw (Paintbrush, Ena), Recordpaw (Recordplayer, Kanade), and Ribbonpaw (Ribbonshine, Mizuki)

We also have two other cats names Shrimpshade and Sharkfang. I justify their non-item names by saying they're from a different Clan I called SeafoamClan (maybe I'll make that a thing,, I love making warriors clans you don't even know)

Annddd our elders are Chairleg, Houseplant, Butterknife, and a former kittypet named Stella!

We also have a few cats outside the Clan, which are Falcon (a friend's OC), and Jingle and Jangle, who come from a travelling group of circus cats! Dramapaw was actually originally from them, and sometimes Jingle sneaks in through a back window to taunt Dramapaw about their past and try and get them to rejoin

Other stuff:

Chairleg had a mate named Carpetfur and their kits are Microwavehum and Outletface!

Microwavehum is mates with Cowboyhat and their kits are Toolkit, Clipboardkit, and Couchkit

Outletface is mates with Headphonewire and their (adopted) kits are Forkkit and Knifekit

Sunnyday and Cameraflash are accidental omori references

Pillbottle and Stella are mates and try to hide it from Soappaw butnits so fucking obvious everyone can tell (old cat yuri,,,!!!! wtf!!!!!/silly)

Ok that was wayyy longer than. expectdd,, sorry

-🎭🍎

This is so wonderful and amazing /gen

and THESE NAMES ARE ON POINT my favs are Houseplant and Housefire,,,

Tysm for sharing this with me i am full of whimsy now :3

[jupitermelichios]

Things that canonically exist in Riverdale:

street drug called jingle-jangle

parallel universes

a dog with a superhero healing factor

the literal-actual devil

satanic nuns

a ttrpg which possesses the minds of those who play it

the holy grail and the spear of longinus

100% provable evidence that unions are considered a tool of divine grace and unionising will help you get into heaven

heaven

an FBI unit specialising in pyrokinesis

an FBI unit which exclusively exists to break up illegal absinthe bootlegging opperations

19th century witch burnings

hellmouths

the corpse of what is claimed to be alien preserved in a barrel of maple syrup

an online auction site that exclusively sells serial killer momentos called E-Slay

a hotel chain called the five seasons (i need to know what the fifth season is called so bad)

vhs cassette rental stores specialising in snuff films

the real housewives tv franchise (not that weird, but it is weird that veronica's mom is canonically one of the housewives)

an illegal casino run and staffed entirely by highschoolers

twin children named juniper and dagwood (sometimes)

the ability for some humans to actually be angels without knowing it

American Psycho the Musical (this one exists in our world as well, but it shouldn't)

the body of a dead fbi agent mummified under the floor of betty's family's dining room

a porcelain doll possessed by the spirit of a 200 year old immortal lesbian witch

the greek god Charon

Asgard

a published tell-all interview with satan himself

a version of jughead who is trapped in an alan wake parody and is therefor sealed in a bunker underneath the town, using cosmic powers to write the lives of the friends he can never see again on his typewriter because if he stops then the world will end

and the epic highs and lows of highschool football

and traditionally this would be the point where i go 'psych, i actually made some of these up', but no, all of these are real, I could never come up with something this batshit

[snuffydoo]

Sometimes I like writing Dimentio as like this tired old man because he’s 3000 years old and he needs rest but he refuses because he’s a stupid jingle jangle clown

[owmylasagna-blog]

Another thing about Ed... I think fanfics should explore more his arguments/differences with Edd and Eddy. In most fanfics Ed is there as a mediator to Edd and Eddy, a middleman for their fights, which is fine... but I think it keep him kind of sidelined or out of focus, I'd like see him having his own conflicts with his friends too. Showing another sides to his friendships with them.

Thick as an Ed is a fan favorite episode because of this: seeing Ed and Edd arguing over their differences, Ed having a strong opinion and a dispute is pretty inedit. Also episodes like Postcards for Ed and Jingle Jingle Jangle shows that Ed not always agree with Eddy's actions (showing he has some moral sense himself) and would try stop him sometimes. I think it would be more interesting to explore in fanfics, along maybe showing his (if existing) flaws.

IDK, I LIVE for characters flaws, characters flaws are everything for me... I do love Ed really, but having a (almost) exclusively good character alongside more grayish, nuanced characters makes seem comparatively flat and two-dimensional. IMAO.

Can’t really hold it against fic writers because the overall tension of the show which grows as the seasons progress is between Eddy and Double Dee. Those two bitches argue way more with each other than they do with Ed.

And don’t get me wrong, I love to see the way the different dynamics play out between the characters and I love episodes and also fics that explore the differing relationships the three have more one-on-one. Episodes that comes to mind for me are Thick as an Ed (Edd v Ed, Eddy being a horrible mediator) Scrambled Ed (Ed and Eddy working together, Edd out of commission), or Little Ed Blue (Eddy and Edd working together for Ed’s sake). I’m sure I’m missing some obvious ones too and of course there are scenes sprinkled into other episodes.

Ed isn’t really the argumentative type. It takes quite a bit to get on his nerves. I do think he gets offended or defensive when Eddy or Edd try to undermine his stance or ideas on things. Which, fair. Let the guy speak!!

More than anything, Ed just wants to hang out with his friends and have fun. That’s in contrast to Eddy who is too preoccupied with his pipe dreams of conditional respect and adoration from his peers or Edd who gets his rocks off flaunting his intelligence through troubleshooting Eddy’s designs and engineering inventions for the job. For the most party Ed is sort of along for the ride just to have some quality time with his pals, his ego gets nothing out of the scams.

I personally have a friendship that is absolutely this dynamic and I’m the Ed in the situation. I don’t feel left out at all! I’m totally cool with hanging back while they get into boisterous conversation. My brain is slow in group conversations like that 🤷 And I’m also the one either will go to when they are disagreeing with one another or they are having trouble seeing eye to eye because they are very different (yes, I get caught in the middle of their tiffs and also work to smooth things over or lend an understanding shoulder to lean on. This feels very Ed). I often project my understanding and sympathy for other people’s perspectives and experiences on to Ed, so it’s easier to imagine him not jumping into the fray and being that mediator type.

But yes I like to see a balance too! Ed does have certain opinions and standpoints and worries like the rest of them. They have to butt heads sometimes! Maybe being cheeky and play mean - for sure - but again I don’t think Ed gets into many arguments and disagreements.

[gettingfrilly]

Please, which is your favorite special holiday? Can you do a short summary about what you think of each one (including the Alien invader special)?

Hoo boy.

I like all of them! Hank panky hullabaloo has some good what-if scenarios that give us more insight into the characters, jingle jingle jangle has some excellent Eddy character (almost) growth, boo haw haw has FANTASTIC art, and the Eds are coming gives us our only peek at all the kids working together as a team (except for when they all played football together but uh I don't really count that lol, Eddy mucked it up something awful.)

My favorite tho is definitely the Eds are coming. Usually when I especially love an episode of the show, it's because of what my favorite eraser head does in it, and this episode showcases some of Eddy's best qualities as a friend.

I've talked about this before, but I see Eddy as the "id" of the group. He's pure want and desire with little thought for morals and consequences. It's not all selfish, though- a lot of his goals are intended to benefit the whole group. Here are some examples.

I love this episode so much. Eddy enforces their group attendance, reads his brother's book to them, has them all practice on his mom's mannequin, then dresses them all in his clothes.

And the end of this episode is just so fucking sweet.

Look at how happy he is for Double D! You'd think with how Eddy is usually characterized, that he'd be bitter and jealous about Double D getting a dance while he didn't. Instead, he's filled with smug self satisfaction, happy that at least one thing went right under his command tonight and that he got to prove he was right about them all going.

And this kind of behavior goes all the way back to season one.

Once again, Eddy takes command of one of the group's social outings. More of this "we" and also more of sharing his brother's stuff and advice. (Perhaps another way Eddy tries to emulate his brother? He was, at one point, a mentor to Eddy, and there's several episodes where Eddy puts himself in a mentorship role, both with the other Eds and sometimes Jimmy.)

There's more examples than just these two episodes, but I wanna get this post finished sometime this year lol.

Eddy cares about more than the group's social status- he cares for their overall well being as well.

Ah, fistful of Ed. What an episode. What an ending.

This takes me back to my favorite special: The Eds Are Coming.

Gotta get Double D to safety!

And stop his besties from getting themselves killed! Never in the show have we seen Eddy be so outwardly protective of his friends, and it warms my heart.

Eddy is the self appointed leader, and while yes, that does mean he gets to feel justified in treating his friends like lackeys, it's also a responsibility he takes seriously. And Eddy may be the embodiment of greed, and that certainly leads to him being selfish fairly often, but he's far from entirely self centered. He sees himself and the other Eds as a unit, as a family, and his to make great and to protect. REMINDS ME OF ANOTHER EMBODIMENT OF GREED....

Double D and Ed are his friends. Emphasis on his. And Eddy hates it when people mess with his things.

[advanced-imbecile-art]

👕 9 + 🎲 12 for Elias!

You get a two-for-one since there's technically two of him!

Black Dragon Elias

👕What does your character smell like?

A mechanic who doesn't shower quite as much as he probably should. Musty diesel and grease plus alcohol and weed if it's an off day. Sometimes covered by shitty cheap incense from a gas station.

🎲What kind of music does your character enjoy?

Older country like Johnny Cash and pretty much anyone in the genre we now consider "Divorced Dad Rock." You will hear Dolly Parton blasting out of his truck at way too loud volumes.

New Vegas Courier Elias

👕What does your character smell like?

Worn down leather, desert dust, gun oil, and sweat. Man be walking around the Mojave all damn day.

🎲What kind of music does your character enjoy?

If Mr. New Vegas is playing it, he's listening to it. Though he can't quite stand Spurs That Jingle Jangle. It gets stuck in his head for far too long.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day...

This is not exactly a first-time playthrough. But I am ripping through yet another of one of my all-time favorites. Because apparently Fallout: New Vegas became a staple of Millennial trans culture and at times I do live up to stereotypes. You should see how wide-eyed I get at opportunities to use heavy machinery around the greenhouse. At least my PoliSci degree is useful here, because everyone knows the most fun thing in video games is complex political scenarios!

Seriously, we have a fun action RPG here but if I wanted that I'd pick up Fallout 4. Which I quite like a lot in it's own right. But there's something about the charm of New Vegas. Sorta become a Christmas tradition to play it while cooking my parts of the big get-together meals. How can you not love this beautiful concoction of 50s sci-fi B movie and old Western? Cowboys & Aliens shouldn't be just one random forgotten movie it should be an entire subgenre complete with it's own Samurai & Aliens analogue. World is bullshit sometimes.

Giant fuckoffty Gatling laser chem fiend build this time because I have spurs that jingle jangle jangle and usually rely on the Big Iron on my hip. Never done Sneering Imperialist in Honest Hearts before and yeah we're doubling down on the evil with enthusiastically supporting my original and current decision to the big question it all builds to. Who should Courier Six tip the scales toward in the battle for Hoover Dam? (Which I can never take seriously due to how many times I saw Beavis & Butthead Do America as a kid.)

House Always Wins bay-bay! And don't you dare sully the good name of this captain of industry by comparing him to Fuccboi Prime Elon Musk. Game gives you three factions and the choice to go it alone. The New California Republic, or the best candidate for the US government's successor on the West Coast. Caesar's Legion, a pack of Roman cosplayers complete with slavery and aggressive chauvinism while still being anti-drugs so like...wtf? Not a serious choice. If I have to endure a post-apocalyptic Mojave Desert I am going to make Hunter S Thompson look like Carrie Nation. You dorks managed to conquer Arizona, stop the fuckin presses (<3 you Piper).

Then you have Edwin House, an old CEO of a robotics Corp from before the great war on some kind of space-age life support for 200 years with a great big boner for Las Vegas. Yes, he's kinda a total douche but his goal is to mostly maintain Vegas as a city-state with his advanced robots. He's the one I lean towards because his resources at hand don't allow him to do much more than that and while he isn't perfect he seems content to operate through finding someone he can just pay. Doesn't seem too big on moralizing and honestly he's kinda funny. Like, recruiting tribes to fill out themed casinos is such a weird way of bringing "civilization" to the wasteland but...they did it willingly and it's been working pretty well. For all the shit Freeside gets even it's pretty stable by wasteland standards.

Obviously if you decide the main character Courier Six is a saint who'd never do wrong Wild Card where you do it yourself is the moral choice. But the kicker to me is that House and his agent sorta keep each other in check, especially if Courier Six has stuff like Big MT in their back pocket. House is ultimately doomed to fail because he only has so many of his big robots and his explicit goal is mostly about trying to get technological progress back on track. He can't really project power though. He's fine working with the NCR but they'll win in the very long game. Vegas staying a city-state that the Republic needs to sit down and stabilize if they want to oust is good for both sides and it'll get the Legion out. That's my view at least.

[ashtxeman]

Yes, I'm here with a late night post!

I have PO OC's, not ones relevant to lore I have or anything but ones that exist just to fill roles or for pure fun and whimsy. I thought I may as well make an extended post about them so the world knows they exist!

Ave Mirage

[AKA Edvard Lund]

Age: 21

Height: 5'8

From: Oslo, Norway

From top to bottom, Ave can be described as a totally average guy. He doesn't offer any cool tricks or unseen feats in the ring, and he certainly isn't an unexpected champion waiting for his big break, but that doesn't mean he's a lost cause! Coming from Norway, Ave Mirage is a Minor Circuit boxer who gets along with pretty much everybody he meets, and always remembers his place. The day this guy steps out of line is the day pigs fly.

He's a good friend and a reliable aid to other Minor Circuit members, and despite his balanced 12:12 record (with 6 wins by KO) is a quick thinker and incredibly adaptable in the ring. But with a position in his circuit between Von Kaiser and Disco Kid, and quite the underwhelming height, his contingency plans don't always go his way.

Plus, with glasses like his, he and his optician have frequent encounters.

Sobek Nile

[AKA Ramses Hamed]

Age: 24

Height: 6'2

From: Cairo, Egypt

Sobek is the pinnacle of approachable He's quiet, relaxed and always has something to talk about.. but he's also not the best listener and tends to ramble on about himself more so than anybody else. Taking a lot of pride in his career and the history of his culture, Sobek can often be perceived as egotistical, but in reality simply wants to uphold a persona people can enjoy. In reality he is a more genuine person and even a huge fan of holidays like Halloween. There's a lot more to Sobek as a person than what people see in the ring or on the news, but a harsh fact is that there isn't many people around to see. Not that he cares though, there's not a person in the world that's ever seen him mad or upset before.

Nile is a strong and worthy member of the Major Circuit, not too fussed about making his way up the ranks but dedicated to improving his skills and keeping his fans supportive. With a record of 20:7 (with 9 by KO) he has potential for the future, though right now the only thing standing in his way is beating Great Tiger..

Jingle Jangle

[AKA Jace Miser]

Age: 22

Height: 6'5

From: Prague, Czech Republic

From appearance alone its easy to tell that Jingle is a fun, loveable, and eccentric personality. Growing up a theatre kid he has more energy and optimism than literally anybody should have, and although it sometimes makes him come off as annoying he really means well and just likes to make people laugh.

He considers boxing to be the pinnacle of entertainment, making his goal as a boxer to bring joy to the people through multiple mediums.. mime, comedy.. and of course boxing itself. He holds a confident position in the B-Band Major Circuit with a record of 18:4 (7 by KO).

Ramirez Parks

[AKA That Announcer Guy That Makes Everyone Bored]

Age: 32

Height: 6'0

From: Chicago, Illinois, USA

Ramirez is a result of one of the WVBA's less intelligent employment plans. Seeing that Ramirez was willing to accept stupidly low pay (or it just seemed that way), they immediately hired him as a match commentator without taking one thing into account.. his incredibly monotone voice. Its said that at some matches commentate by Ramirez, people have literally fallen asleep from the sound of his dry ass voice.

He hauls himself around like he's on 2 hours of sleep, speaks like he hasn't slept at all, and frankly you can do just about anything around him and get no reaction. He's skilled in the art of not giving a shit.

And now for the joke ones..

Nuxh'ri C'thuiklan

[AKA Nux Cathulan]

Age: Infinite (Let's say 38)

Height: 7'5

From: Ph'Nglui, The Pacific Ocean

Nux is an honorary member of the Monster Bracket! He's.. also an Eldritch God, but there's not many people who like to comment on that. The day this guy showed up, the WVBA practically flipped. Nobody could explain why something so... interesting.. would possibly want to go into boxing, but nobody wanted to question it. Now he fights just like anybody else would, since he at least has the dignity to not do anything reality-bending at work, though albeit he still packs a hard punch.

Simply put, he's just another WVBA boxer.. nothing else. Just don't watch him whilst he eats, it's bonkers.

Billy Gruff

[AKA Is That A Furry?]

Age: 15 (About 50 in human years)

Height: 3'2

From: Picket Farm, Texas, USA

Gruff was encouraged by his farm friends to get his ass out into the world because he was 'capable of great things' in their words. now he gets his ass handed to him by alligators and bears so he's doing great.

Gruff, despite being a member of the Beast Bracket is ironically a scaredy cat! He gets scared of the bell ringing in matches, gets scared by loud noises, and sometimes gets scared by his own shadow but he's working on that.. His favourite boxers are Joe, Disco and Hugger since they're very kind to him and also quiet for him as well.

And that's all of them! They're all my babies and I'd.. crime for them. :]