#this screenshot cracks me up man it's like.
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
tacitcrow-blog · 9 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Real quick unpolished dtiys for. For the day it is
70 notes · View notes
pixelblooming · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
welcome wagon could've gone better
befriend a few locals
max out gardening skill (1/10)
first / previous / next
1 note · View note
mossyivy · 9 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
NSFW ALPHABET
[DI! Leon S Kennedy Edition]
❗Minors Do Not Interact ❗
A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)
Cuddler, massive cuddler. Honestly I see Leon as enjoying his partner being cuddled up to his chest but as long as you're touching each other he really doesn't mind. He just needs to be grounded after sex because he's not use to intimacy. (Remember y'all, aftercare in important FOR EVERYBODY INVOLVED DOM/SUB/SWITCH WHOEVER!!!)
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)
Definitely proud of his arms. Man's got two pythons where his forearms are supposed to be. I'd be proud of those bitches too. It also doesn't help how often you tend to cling to them, admire them while cuddling up together or compliment how they look when he flexes.
When Leon's asked the good old "tits or ass?" question older than time itself he smirks and simply says thighs. He loves something plush to nap on when he comes home from work. He always says it'll be a quick 30 minute nap but he's always out for 3 hours when he's laying his head on your lap. They're just such a nice pillow and even nicer wrapped around his head.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Usually prefers finishing inside. If not then on your stomach. There's just something mesmerizing about watching his cum slowly drip out of you on down your belly that just makes him so horny that he can't get enough of you.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Okay... So you send Leon pictures and he saves them. (He'd never share them though) But he secretly has an album in his phone labeled as WORK meticulously organization so that when you open the album it has important looking photos but if you scroll far enough it's just things you've sent him. Nudes, videos, even screenshots of steamy texts.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)
Decently experienced. Enough to get him by but also good at listening to his partner. Takes criticism well in the bedroom. Just wants his partner to have a good time and show that he loves you.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
On your side or anything he can see your face. He's often tired so slow easy strokes on his side and using his hands is right up his alley. But for when he's feeling more energetic he's definitely up anything he can see your reaction with. He aims to please and the man is a good shot.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Definitely 50/50. Leon can crack jokes when his life is at risk I'm sure he'd probably say something goofy to make you laugh or even something stupid like "come here often?" When you're changing positions and his creaky body pops or cracks he'll say some smart ass comment about the bed makes weird sounds again.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Definitely trimmed. Leon doesn't strike me as a massively hairy guy to begin with. But what hair he does have is well kept.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Intimacy is his favorite part of it all. Very tender and soft compared to what he is during work. Enjoys the touching the most. He's very touch starved. Cuddle him and he'll melt into a puddle. He LOVES being little spoon.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Jerks off often. Uses it as a stress relief thing but doesn't do it as often when he gets a partner. But I do think when he's away on cases and he has downtime at night he tends to call his partner and have phone sex.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Begging, biting, breeding, dirty talk, edging and roleplaying
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Anywhere at home. Leon would most likely be super hesitant about doing anything outside of the house and risking criminal record.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
His partners touch. Leon just really likes being touched. If you mostly just kiss him and move to his neck (it's sensitive, that's why he rarely wears anything that constricts his neck) you'll get him going in no time.
N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)
No hitting, nothing with feet, no bathroom related stuff, no voyeurism or exhibitionism and no humiliation
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
50/50. But definitely more giving in the oral department. Uses it as a form of foreplay. Enjoys it because he loves hearing your slowly break and cry for him.
Sometimes he's just to exhausted to fuck so those are the times he'll just straight up tell you to sit on his face. He doesn't care if you're bigger, he knows you're not gonna hurt him. If you try hovering her will definitely wrap his arms around your thighs and pull you down on him. The man is skilled with his mouth and hands. So be prepared for the time of your life.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Definitely slow sensual type of guy. He likes making every moment last. But there's definitely been a flurry of passion after gets back from particularly long cases.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
If he has to go out for work and he has a little bit of time before leaving, most definitely he'd be down for a quickie.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He's fine with experimenting but not often.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Good for 3 rounds unless he's super tired. Last decently long, always makes sure his partner gets off first each time.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Oh Leon definitely owns one of those vibrators that work with apps. Sometimes when he's due to come home and he knows you have it in you he'll just tease you on the way home.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Usually Leon doesn't tease but when he's in a particular frisky mood, he will make beg to cum. And he doesn't care if you want it. If you don't beg like he wants he will make you wait and keep bringing you to the edge over and over like an asshole.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Not loud in the slightest but he's definitely not scared to moan or whimper. Even curse under his breath, especially if he has you on your side and he's right in your ear.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Said I love you for the first time during sex. Was mortified with himself, he meant it but was extremely embarrassed. Apologized profusely and told you he did mean it. And thankfully you love him back, obviously.
X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)
Ah yes, python 3. I'll be honest, I'd say he's at the higher average end in size but makes up for it in girth... Like a fucking coke can.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Leon had little to no sex drive but once you two got into a relationship he's like a teenage boy again. Can barely stop from wanting you all the time. But he's still more of the romantic intimate type and would rather just exist with you than constantly be at each other.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He clings onto life afterwards. Just wants to make sure you're taken care of but the second you relax against him he's down for the count. Like a god damn bear in hibernation.
1K notes · View notes
base0h · 5 months ago
Text
HOW HAIKYUU CHARACTERS WOULD REACT TO YOU COMPLIMENTING ANOTHER PLAYER
a/n - I’m alive I swear 💀 I just rewatched some of haikyuu so I’m more familiar with that rn 😂😂
warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, fluff/crack, pre-timeskip characters btw, I don’t feel like making picture banners for all of them like I do with one piece forgive me for just putting text 🥲
Tumblr media
HINATA
- yeah you just broke your bro’s heart into a billion pieces
- remember that time when he got nailed in the crotch by a ball in S4? Yeah that’s what it felt like
- “Isn’t he so cool Hinata?!” -you
- but he’s also torn because he also thinks they’re awesome af 😭 so he can’t decide if he’s more saddened by the fact that you’re not saying that about him or if he’s excited that you also like one of his idols
- “…Yes he’s— very cool.” -hinata
- “…You do know my fav player’s always gonna be you though right?”
- oh you don’t even KNOW. How happy you just made him. You just turned his life around with just a single sentence
- bro could burst through the ceiling now
- he basically smothered you with a hug after that and did one of those koala hugs where he was basically just clinging onto you with pure adoration and affection
- it’s one thing if some random other student or little kid came up to him saying he was cool— like don’t get me wrong he’d probably freak out in a good way about that too
- but when it comes from you? He could have all haters but if he still had you? He’s totally fine. All bro needs is your support
- but do be careful because he might actually suffocate you one day if you compliment him too much
- each time you say something good about him his hugs get stronger?? If that’s even possible idk 😭
- you’ll have a great free chiropractor tho so woo hoo😁👍
Tumblr media
GOSHIKI
- bro has a thing for getting compliments or getting praise. I saw it VERY clearly when Hinata gave him that compliment about his spikes during the shiratorizawa training camp
- and then when Tendo said his bangs were cool bro was so happy 😭 (he’s so sweet oml)
- but of course when you watch his matches— I mean— you’re gonna be impressed by ushijima
- who wouldn’t be? Bros a literal nuclear bomb ahh spiker 💀
- after one of his matches you went up to him and started talking about ushijima and how cool his spikes and serves were
- “I feel like he’s gonna literally pop the ball everytime he hits it! It’s awesome!” -you
- he agrees wholeheartedly with you! But— man. He wanted you to say that about him 😭
- “Yeah— he’s amazing right..?” -him
- “He’s a third year right?”
- Goshiki nodded and scratched the back of his head sheepishly, looking a bit down
- “Oh so he’s just clearing the way for you then! There can only be one ace so he’s gotta move out of the way for you.”
(I couldn’t find the proper meme to put here so here’s the actual screenshot of him)
Tumblr media
- bro could ascend
- he could die right then and there
- but then he remembered he has to show off for you still so he stayed on earth
- ushijima heard you say that btw
- it looked like he wanted to murder you but in reality he thought it was very nice of you to say that to lift goshiki’s spirits
- he just— looks like he wants to crush you and send you to mars 💀
- also Tendo makes fun of him for being so happy about being praised
- “HAHAHAHAH— you LOVE it when y/n ever tells you something positive about you huh~??” -tendo
- yeah no he’s not gonna leave your poor bowl cut boy alone about it now
Tumblr media
BOKUTO
- like the other two, he’s big on praise
- I mean before every match the manager tells him someone in the audience said he looks cool so he plays better 😭😭
- having you supporting him at his matches is like having an entire stadium full of people cheering his name
- you make Akaashi’s life less stressful. Good job y/n, Akaashi loves you for that and will legit pay you money to keep coming even though he knows he doesn’t have to. He’s that grateful for you
- I ain’t kidding one time Akaashi just started tearing up thanking you for being his fail safe plan if his 2000000 other plans to get Bokuto out of his emo mode don’t work
- he knows just like one compliment from you will cure Bokuto
- yeah so guess what you had to go and say right before a match started?
- “I just saw itachiyama play and wow that Sakusa guy who’s one of the top 3 spikers was just as good as they said he was!” -you
- akaashi might just do a backflip off of the stadium roof at this point 🙂 hardcore parkour
- the way you could literally see Bokuto’s hair droop down is insane
- konoha and sarukui were like: holy shit we’re absolutely cooked 😀
- this wasn’t an emo mode this was an avant garde mode
- but right as Akaashi was about to seriously jump off the roof, you saved everyone from the disaster you created
- “I don’t know why you’re not in the top three though, imo you’re a lot better than that guy, and a lot cooler looking too.”
- Akaashi looked like he was gonna live again
- Bokuto’s hair flipped back upwards and he excitedly smiled at you, giving you a big hug before going onto the court with an ecstatic air about him
- Akaashi is genuinely terrified of how you can simultaneously destroy their team and bring it back together with singular sentences
- you’re Bokuto’s weakness number 38 which akaashi does not have a solution for 💀
Tumblr media
AKAASHI
- Akaashi is honestly happy you’re just with him
- he doesn’t really mind it if you can’t come to see him play, of course he’d love for you to be there but he totally understands if you can’t, and won’t be destroyed about it
- he loves your support and will always appreciate you for cheering him on (and being his mental support because taking care of Bokuto is life draining and he probably gets about a month taken off of his life everytime Bokuto goes into his emo mode)
- during the match with nekoma, you noticed how the setter on their team was also quite an intelligent and skilled player despite seeming so bored and uninterested in the sport entirely
- he had a hold on Bokuto for a good while and it was impressive how he managed to put Bokuto in a slump so smoothly and discreetly
- after the match, you congratulated fukurodani on their victory, and akaashi thanked you for coming like the gentleman bro is
- “That setter on nekoma was really good— he was so calculating and calm about his strategy to make Bokuto go into a slump!” -you
- Akaashi was still a bit traumatized by Bokuto literally forgetting how to do cross shots entirely so uh— 😀
- yeah it didn’t really sound great to him
- bro had to pull out a whole ass speech plus hinata to get Bokuto back on his feet and then you say that 🥲
- he isn’t mad or anything but he isn’t very overjoyed either
- “Yes, he was a really tough opponent. Kuroo-san was too.” -Akaashi
- Akaashi was good at hiding his displeasure, so it just sounded like he was saying something normal like he usually would, in a straight steady tone
- “No match for you and the team though, you guys definitely deserved the win. And you actually look interested and not like you want to die on the court unlike that setter on nekoma— he looked like he wanted to collapse and sleep forever after the first set.”
- he wasn’t expecting you to say that, and he looked pleasantly surprised
- Bokuto grinned and put his arm around the setter
- “Y/n’s right as always, Kenma’s no match for akaashi!” -Bokuto
- the rest of the team wholeheartedly agreed, and akaashi felt glad, happy to know that his team, and especially you thought so highly of him
- no one else could handle Bokuto like he could, and no one could be as cool in your eyes as he was
- you could probably tell him his glasses looked nice and he would never take them off again—
- he’s the type of guy to listen to whatever you say a bit too much sometimes 😭
- he legit remembers the outfit you wore the day he first met you
- kinda creepy but sweet ig? 🤷
Tumblr media
OIKAWA
- bro has a billion fans and only really cares abt you cheering him on
- like ofc he needs other people to be cheering him on too because he’s extra like that but it’s 80% you
- don’t ask abt the 20%
- yk how all those girls were asking for his picture and stuff? Ever since he got together with you, he’s been avoiding them a lot more
- he knows it’s probably especially annoying for you to see a bunch of random people asking your boyfriend for pictures and giving him handmade things
- just know that he thinks you’re better than any girl combined and if you ever like start walking away before he’s finished trying to get the girls away from him he will legit sprint after you while screaming
- “Y/N-CHAN WAAAAAAAAAIT!!!”
- my dude is running, and I mean running like a mf track star. You piss off his fangirls so much bro it’s so funny how they look at you like they want to poison you in your sleep💀💀💀
- he reassures you on the daily that you’re beautiful and amazing, but still it’s annoying to see all the girls fawn over him
- so you decided to give him a similar taste of his own medicine
- at the next matches, you were watching with him a match with karasuno and shiratorizawa. You know VERY well that he does not like karasuno or shiratorizawa
- ushijima is probably the one who’s the worst…
- perfect.
- “Whoa Ushijima’s serves are so cool!! And he uses his left hand too damn that’s unique! I’ve never seen a left handed player like him before, and those spikes look like they’re about to tear karasuno’s blocker’s arms off!” -you
- I don’t think he’s ever been more simultaneously heart broken, and pissed at ushijima at the same time before
- he’s such a baby about it too
- he’ll cross his arms and act like he doesn’t care when obviously he does, and with the way he’s pouting about it like a little kid was proof that your little plan worked very well
- “Hmph, I guess so.” -him
- “What, you salty since you lost?” -you
- “Would you mind not rubbing salt in it? It’s only been like two days!”
- you couldn’t help but burst out into laughing because of how upset he was by this— it was ridiculous
- if you had your phone out you would’ve taken a picture of his face and sent it to iwaizumi for shits and giggles
- “I’m joking Oikawa, I think you’re much cooler than ushijima. You have a lot more personality than him.” -you
- “That’s damn right I do!” -him
- “…I didn’t say a good personality or anything.”
- “Pardon me?! I’m very demure and cute thank you very much.”
- “You saying that just proves you’re anything but that.”
- “Y/N BE NICE TO ME :(“
- “No. :)”
- “I knew I shouldn’t have let you hang out with Iwa-chan, he’s turned you against me!”
Tumblr media
KUROO
- you’re the carbon to his dioxide
- the hydrogen to his peroxide
- the deoxyribose to his phosphate group (I paid attention in science kuroo, yw)
- even if he doesn’t get to be interviewed by some reporter, and even if he doesn’t get to go to nationals
- if you’re there and supporting him he feels better
- talking to you and hearing you say how cool he plays is more than an interview could ever mean to him
- seriously you make him chemically insane
- like he does not understand how just being around you releases endorphins somehow (you’re magical)
- you had heard of their opponents nohebi from eavesdropping on a couple of random people’s conversations in the lobby
- they were a strong team, and you were intrigued by how a lot of people seemed to dislike them a lot for the way they played.. which was very underhanded
- but even with their underhanded tactics, they were a solid team with good technique and teamwork
- “Whoa the captain of nohebi is actually pretty good!” -you
- “Ugh I know right? Come on nekoma!” -Akane (Yamamoto’s little sister)
- I feel like kuroo has horrible eyesight but then absolutely amazing hearing? Idk 💀 but whatever the case was, he heard that
- loud and clear
- mhm he’s ready to kill nohebi now
- bro is legit a one man Great Wall of china now
- he’s “powered up” as Kenma would say
- Kenma took note that you were kuroo’s power up skill, and would remember to use you in the future as well
- I’m serious bro is flexing so hard on you rn 😭
- he is working double time, sweating, tryna channel his inner Bokuto
- yaku hasn’t needed to save the ball because kuroo’s trying so hard to impress you 💀
- honestly it’s kind of amazing— seeing him sprinting left and right and slamming balls down like it was no one’s business but his
- he checks like every five seconds to see if you’re watching his amazing skills
- and after the match— Kenma went up to you first and thanked you bc Kuroo did like 70% of the work for him 😭
- Kenma legit gave you a Nintendo gift card he’s had in his back pocket since 2019 as a thank you gift and as a “please continue making kuroo do all the work” gift
- god knows how it’s stayed in his pants that have probably been through countless wash cycles 💀
- “Oh kuroo! Fukunaga’s last spike was so cool! He totally hit that line shot perfectly!”
- way to stab kuroo in the back 🥲 he’s legit about to collapse from emotionally throwing out his back
- old man down over here
- he was so destroyed— you left no piece of him intact he’s in literal shambles
- “But kuroo you were so cool! You kept blocking and repelling the balls like you were oppositely charged from the ball!”
- and he’s alive again, you’re a magician
- complimenting him using a science reference?
- oh just marry him already 😭
- he knew you must just be dopamine bc he smiles like an idiot whenever you’re around
- somehow his smile gets even dorkier when you compliment him
- if it’s a science compliment he could quite literally ascend to the moon
- “Hehe thanks y/n.” -him
- “Were you tryna show off in the last set?” -you
- “…Why? Did it work?”
- “…Hm. Perhaps hypothetically, yes.”
- “How does one go about making that hypothesis a true statement? 😏”
- kuroo is so nerdy and his pickup lines are so bad that it just takes whatever smoothness he had (very little to start with btw) away 😭😭😭
- like pls when he first met you when yall were paired up to do a science project about magnetism— bro said
- “Even Neodymium would lose if it were to compete against your magnetic personality 😏🌹”
- “…What? 💀” -you
- you weren’t really sure if you should love bro for his effort or be scared of how bad his pickup lines were
- the answer is both
- it all ended up ok anyways— you’re bonded to him together since yall are oppositely charged ✌️
Tumblr media
a/n - no I don’t know how to make pickup lines 💀
549 notes · View notes
haztory · 6 months ago
Text
a matter of principles
Tumblr media
— diluc ragnvindr x f!reader; arranged marriages, best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, miscommunication trope, unrequited/requited love, lots of angst, fluff ending, she/her pronouns
— word count: 24k
— photo source: freminent hearth’s screenshot from hoyolab
— summary: Arranged marriages, Diluc finds, are the most atrocious of practices that Liyue has ever had the audacity to uphold in their commitment to contracts. Very much a Monstadt originated belief, but a sure one, he thinks. He heaves a breath, one that shudders at the slow cracking of his ribs and heart. “Surely, you don’t want me to make the decision for you?” “No… but advice would be welcome.” You say. “Fine.” He settles into his seat, noting with little amusement that he suddenly can’t get comfortable anymore, “Tell me.”
Tumblr media
Prologue:
The number of friends Diluc has is often a point of teasing by many a drunkard who enter into Angel's Share. And while the banter would usually earn a simple glare and a cutting off of the drink, its lack of an answer has caused quite the festering of gossip in the tavern. Everynight it seems, whether the man is there or not, Diluc's social life becomes a topic of conversation. 
Pestered and prodded upon with surgical precision, both in day and night. Names are thrown out, each person wondering if said individual  would be considered a friend to Diluc, or even an acquaintance. And while Diluc would never outwardly venture forth to call a Knight of Favonius a friend, his lack of denial does little more than stir the flames higher. 
Jean must be a friend, right? A reliable confidant, at least. 
One did see Diluc conversing rather animatedly with Barbara at the Springvale Seasonal Gathering. 
What about Kaeya? someone asks only to meet the unanimous and vehement shake of heads. 
It isn't until Venti pries just enough that the answer is revealed.
"One," Diluc says with a sigh, wiping a glass down with a white rag and beyond tired of being the subject of this routine conversation. "I have one friend."
The whole tavern is suspended in silence, each member looking at one another with unsatisfied curiosity, silently nudging the other forward. All begging for the one question to be asked.
Until Venti takes the bait, "Who?!"
Diluc knows of you, in parts. 
Remembers the separate fragments that make up the great whole of you— each moment stained in the wonderful tint of happiness, fitting together like a masterful mosaic that he pedestalizes in his head. Yellows, and pinks, and warmth spreading across his mind, all from you.  
He remembers you in childhood, in the middle years, in the now; He reminisces on the happy parts of you and him, wistfully smiles at the sad ones, finds himself lost in thought at the great constellation of scattered fragments.
A child in the customary Mondstadtian colors of white and black, and another in the Liyue garments of dark reds and oranges, fretting across the span of closed eyelids and reliving the joyous memories. 
He would never outwardly admit that you take up the great measure of his thoughts, but when he finds his gaze fixated on the flames of the dancing fire in his study, business ledgers strewn on his desk and exhaustion nigh, the colors ring eerily familiar and he swears, swears, that in the crackle of the wood that Adelinde has started, he hears a laugh oddly similar to yours ringing throughout the room; Sees your figure dancing in the swirling and heightening flames. As quick as he sees it, does it disappear. Embers crackling and images fading in the instant and it is then that he does come to terms with the circumstances at hand. 
A friend he still considers you to be. One of the greatest to him. He isn't sure if the sentiment is reciprocated much these days as fall turns to winter; Oranges turn to white, liveliness turns to barren and with it, the fate of your treasured friendship.
His one and only.
Interlude: Fall 
The friendship began before Diluc’s impeccable memory began to serve him. 
An introduction through family, as all friendships are at such a tender age. Your father, one of the biggest exporting merchants in Liyue struck a good enough agreement with Diluc’s own about wine exporting to warrant a warm and frequent visit between the two businessmen, the children tagging along as all children do. 
It wasn’t an immediate kindling, but one in the making, as the more he saw of you the more he grew to you and you to him. Friends, eventually; Playing in between the vineyards of Dawn Winery or exploring the cabins of your father’s ships while your respective handmaidens shouted and begged for your return. While his brother, a shadow of blue, followed close on your tails.
To no avail; Wherever it was that you wished to run to, it was hard to get Diluc to change his mind and do anything but follow you— stubborn, he is and was to a fault. 
Even as the working relationship between your fathers’ came to an end with the death of Diluc’s, there were always the brief moments facilitated by the strength of the surviving bond itself. Letters and gifts, planned visits, ears attuned and pressed to the ground for rumors holding each of your names that crossed nations. The most entertaining of which being a whisper he heard during his time as a Favonius Knight as he patrolled the pathways right before Wuwang Hill, two elder women in their travels whispering of the esteemed Liyue merchant’s daughter finally receiving a vision! 
Diluc, in that tender age in which he had hardly learned that the best way to learn details was to listen without looking, all but stared at these women— awaiting their tales. He soon discovered, just before being reprimanded by the two traveling passerbys, that you were suddenly granted the gift from the gods in the form of the Vision of Hydro. 
A neatly written letter from you arrived in no less that one week after his hurried and hastily written one to you that would reveal that falsity behind the rumor. That you weren’t by any means gifted with such a vision, nor would you be granted one soon. It wasn’t in your nature, you wrote. 
‘And how terribly offensive of you to think that the grannies of Liyue would soon learn of my gifts before you! For that transgression alone I will heartily withhold the details of my recent mythical learnings from my visit to Mount Hulao. That will certainly teach you.’
(The shame he felt was unlike anything he’s ever felt before, shame in being so invasive, but a subsequent visit from you a few months later would quickly quell such feelings. The sight of your smile and the sweet fragrance of you being more than enough to tame that which runs rampant within the flames of Diluc.)
There has never been a moment in which you weren’t at the forefront of his consideration; Of his time.
 A friend, Diluc considers you to be— one of his most trusted. 
You’ve arrived at his home today, the second week of the Fall season and the height of the vineyard sales, in what seems to be the finest carriage in all of Liyue— no spared expense for the only daughter of a wealthy Liyue merchant. 
Diluc meets you at the end of the path trailing to his manor, a small smile on his face as he opens the door to your cabin and holds a hand out for you to step down with. Tendril of his red hair swaying with the breeze that has suddenly been brought forth on this day, no doubt by your arrival. 
Elzer and Hartman are already at the back of the carriage, unloading your bags with smiles on their faces.
You take his hand, white silk gloves in his black leather ones, grip tight as his own and he feels the reflection of his own longing and deep yearning become electrified in the meeting of your palms. A feeling he swears must also plague you, one he only feels more compelled upon when you step down with the warmest of grips of your hand in his and the warmest of glints in your eyes. 
An enchanting one, a sight Diluc can hardly tear his own practiced measured gaze from. 
“Diluc,” You breathe out, grin erupting into a toothy one, voice airy and light and horribly, horribly, wonderful to hear after so long. The both of you are older now, clearly, in the way that he is no longer part of the Knights of Favonius, but the owner of Dawn Winery and you are no longer just learning the ropes to your father’s business but the actualized Ambassador to his overseas ventures. Seasoned and traveled, twenty-eight and twenty-five, adults still smiling at one another like children.
He says your name just as breathily as you have uttered his, followed with a gentle bow of his head.
“I hope you didn’t mind the late notice of arrival. This is all incredibly sudden and I’m terribly sorry for that. ” Your smile is overly apologetic, and Diluc scoffs. Come rain or shine, planned or otherwise, Diluc could never mind an appearance from you and you should know as much. Would be horribly blind if you didn’t. Diluc had less than a day of preparation for your arrival and yet Dawn Winery was ushered upright and ready for you by the pull of one thread by its master.
“Of course not,” He says. Mind, he never does, yet with his measured and calm tone, he cannot deny the fact that the abruptness of your visit and short notice itches within him. Something that, try as he might, he cannot scratch. 
That nagging detail is quickly quieted by the latent realization that your hand has yet to let go of his, and, he begins to note, the danger of the creeping truth in the fact that he doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, he relishes it. 
“Dawn Winery is always delighted to welcome you home, Ambassador.”
You smile brighter at both the sentiment and the title, if such a task was even possible. Warmth of the grin rivaling the rivulets of the sun, more blinding than the dazzling glow of cor lapis. The exact stone that sits on the corner of his desk after all these years and often finds itself the object of his fixation many an afternoon.
“I am glad to be home.” You respond in kind, a gem of amber brilliantly shining through the words and it takes every ounce of Diluc to return his attention away from your smile to the task at hand of guiding you into the home. His home. 
Your home.
But he does, with the lightest of curls on his lips that he doesn’t even realize has made permanent residence upon his face now.
It is always a reunion when you manage to grace Dawn Winery with your appearance. 
Adelinde shines with a smile that seems endless as she steps towards you in a warm embrace, a dramatic turn around from her very pointed sighs that are usually targeted towards the master of the house. Elzer is much the same, the older man alight with a jovial sparkle as he greets you, taking your bags in his hands without a second thought, and eagerly engages in conversations of matters other than business with you— a renowned feat that even the most skilled of conversationalists find hard to accomplish with the graying businessman.
Diluc, the master of the house and employer to his affable attendants, is all but pushed to the side the minute you’ve stepped foot into the threshold of the door, the congenial and loving welcoming imparted upon you in great Mondstadtian manner.
“Welcome back, dearest!” Adelinde exclaims, propriety thrown out in favor of obvious affection as she throws her arms around your shoulders and squeezes. “It is so wonderful to have you back. It’s been too long!”
“I have missed you greatly, Adelinde.” You say in kind, the same excitement and candor laced in the breathless laugh you exhale as the older woman smothers you in her embrace, swaying from side to side.
The head mistress all but shakes you vigorously when she pulls away from you, holding your shoulders in her hands as she addresses you. Mother henning instilled in the widening of her eyes. 
“Have you eaten? Surely you must be hungry after such a journey to us. Come! I’ll prepare something for you. A Northern Apple Stew, perhaps? Or Sweet Madame! You were quite fond of that one last time!”
“Adelinde, please.” Elzer cuts in before either you or the neglected Diluc are able to intervene, a quiet scolding in his tone, “Let our guest breathe the air of nostalgia for just a moment rather than drown in the overwhelming one you are no doubt suffocating her in.” 
He turns to you, bags in hand and a crooked elbow held out for you to grab. Gently smiling, “Come, my dear. We shall unpack and get you settled before Adelinde stuffs you to the brim with food and endless questions.”
Scoffing, Adelinde all but throws her hands down, slapping her palms against her apron-cladded thighs. “Oh, Elzer, how can you send a guest to their room on an empty stomach? After such a long journey, too! Liyue is a whole nation away and yet you would rather enslave her to the schemes of chores than a proper meal. Have you no shame?”
“I ask only for a moment, my dear Adelinde. If you can not even spare to be parted for one, then I must beg you to reconsider who should be shamed.”
And so begins the low clamor of a bickered argument, the two keepers of the manor diverting their devotions towards each other as they nip and poke at the other on the best way to treat you, their beloved guest. A frequent occurrence— exhausting, nonetheless. A look is shared between you and Diluc, one of annoyance from him and only pure amusement from you, that of which, turns Diluc’s own sour look into one of less acidity. 
“Actually,” Diluc clears his throat, silencing the boiling argument. Your own delighted gaze darts to him in captured attention alongside the two head attendants of the house. Diluc folds his arms behind his back and gazes at his onlookers with little more than happy indignation— a feat only manageable by the likes of him. “Dinner preparations for our esteemed guest will be handled by me. I will also be seeing to the arrangements of the Ambassador's room, for old times sake. You both are dismissed for the evening.”
If life were a comedy, you were sure that this moment would be met with a thunderous roar of laughter. Elzer and Adelinde stare owlishly at Diluc, mouths open in stunned stupor as they stand almost a hair’s width apart, their fueled arguments replaced with something else entirely. Something more… bewildered.
“You… sir?” Elzer asks after a beat— a long, awaiting beat.
“Cook?” Adelinde follows, her voice raising in octaves as she takes in the master of the house, the boy she has raised.
Diluc rolls his eyes, “I manage a tavern, Adelinde. I can cook.”
“But can you cook… well?” Elzer questions after sparing a side glance to the graying woman. 
“In all my years,” Adelinde mutters, more to herself than anyone, “I have never seen you cook, much less know where the kitchen even is—”
“Yes, that’s quite enough, thank you.” Diluc interrupts, eyes of garnet turned to slits, “You both have been of great help to us this afternoon, but I think it best we let our guest settle.”
“Well, if you’re interested in expelling yourself to such lengths for this arrival, maybe you would be interested in seeing to the manor’s gutters?” Elzer says with a knowing look and a teasing tone as Adelinde hides her laugh with a cough. “Now that you’re doing things you’ve never done before—”
Diluc’s eye twitches.
“You both are dismissed.” He hisses, but neither attendant takes much offense to it. Instead, they only let the playfulness of their smiles broaden on their faces. Their heads downward in acknowledgement to both you and the master of the house before exiting as prompted. 
It isn’t until the sound of the door closing behind you two in the great entrance hall of the manor that the vibrant echoes of your laugh finally resound around the room. Diluc is quick on his heels to turn to you and point a finger in your face, a sternness to his voice and a furrow to his brow. Quick to halt the teasing before it begins.
“I will be pressed to remind you—”
And yet—
“Dinner?” You howl, and the sigh that escapes Diluc is enormous. Not that you could hear it, what with the volume of your fervent giggles masking it. He tuts, crossing his arms over his chest and watching with well-tempered amusement as you practically fold in half at the waist in laughter. 
“Don’t flatter yourself. This is hardly out of the ordinary.”
“That is not what Adelinde says.”
“Adelinde does not know of my late night eating habits.”
“I would wager a guess to say that she knows more about you than either of us do.” As your laughter begins to peter out, you lift a finger to your eye to wipe a stray tear. “What is the occasion, my dearest Diluc?”
“Your arrival.” 
You scoff, “I’ve arrived many times before and you’ve never demanded to cook for me.”
“I hardly demanded—”
“Insisted, then.”
“Then, there is no occasion. Only my wish to do so.” He says neutrally, hardly a rise or fall to his tone of voice as he says the words, but maybe that’s the tell all on its own. He doesn’t need the rhyme or reason in order to do as he’s never done before— no special date, no pertinent news needing to be shared. 
Only ever really needs—
Your smile widens tenfold and you shake your head at the man before you. You're removing your gloves, finger by finger, then throwing them haphazardly onto the great dining room table that has been host to many of your great laughing fits. Hands of great elegance are revealed and soon placed onto your hips as you stand in the middle of his open foyer. 
He should take offense to the gesture— should at least reprimand you for the lackadaisical way in which you make yourself at home. Prim and proper Diluc should not at all condone any kind of reckless behavior, especially in his own manor, but he hardly minds. Only huffs a breath through his nose at the sight of the gloves that now sit on the mahogany. The soft white of the fabric a stark, yet pleasant, contrast to the dark wood.
You stare at him, a slight shake to your head and the knowing smile on your face. “Well then, I shall insist that you allow me to be your sous-chef and assist you. Archons above know you Mondstadtians could benefit from some more spices in your life.” 
You turn on your heel, leaving the great hall lined with the portraits of his family, of the great arts and literatures of Mondstadt, and enter into the kitchen held off to the right side of the manor. 
The great entryway is one that he’s seen many times before, yet derives little comfort from. It’s a farce, of sorts. A living mausoleum of all that was and all that could have been, left to him to haunt the halls with. He’s confided this to you before, many years ago when it was too late to be called night yet too early for morning. Detailed it to you over the slow heat of a dying fire and the steady pace of a chess game, with your rook creeping eerily onto his knight, he confessed how much he hates the darkness of his home. How trapped he feels in it at times, how despite the many candles he lights, and the windows that Adelinde cracks open, it always feels cold.
Funny that, he had said, a pyro-user lying frigid in his own home. 
Does it ever not feel cold? You had asked curiously, softly, genuinely vying for the answer. Orange hue of the fire lighting the side of your face as you studied him. 
When you enter the dark manor with dark hardwood walls, and dark curtains this time, just as the many times before, you glow. Bring indescribable life to the empty home that only awakens upon notice of your incoming arrival— stays awake as you float from room to room, knowing the home as it is your own, and lay pieces of you across random surfaces. 
Shining, effervescent cor lapis in the great abyss of this manor. 
Sometimes, Diluc remembers responding quietly. Engrained even further, he remembers the gleam of the smile you gave him as it's the same smile he receives now. The one thrown over your shoulder as you prance forward into the kitchen, another tease rolling off of your tongue. 
“I offer my home and my services to you, and get repaid in insults?” He finally speaks after willing his tongue to renew itself from sludge to form words, a false scoff in his tone. His feet follow behind you, spurred on by the geniality of a core memory as you pad across the tiled floor and wash your hands within the basin.
“A helpful tip!” You rejoice, “Seeing as you’ve suddenly decided that today was the day for cooking—” 
“I have a penchant for burning things, you know.” It’s a thinly veiled threat, one that falls flat as you both meet eyes. 
You smirk, “All the more reason to let me assist.”
“You are a great nuisance, Ambassador.” He says, discarding his coat to the side and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, left then right, almost missing the fixating of your eyes on his newly revealed skin, and how quickly you avert your eyes; Face contorting into a quiet scold. As though you were punishing yourself for indulging, for losing propriety in just glancing. 
He should enjoy it, find delight that you find the muscles that have been earned through years of claymore wielding strength and battles to be admirable— but something mirs your tone immediately after. Something secret, solemn. A slight twinge that no one but him would catch, would understand to know that something was amiss.
Quickly, you grab a handful of vegetables from a box placed on the rack against the wall and bring them to the basin to wash. Potatoes and carrots galore. 
You forcibly smile, “Oh, you love it.”
The itch flares tenfold. 
Barbatos Ratatouille takes approximately four hours to make. It’s a slow cook, the lengthiest portion of its preparation being the time needed for it to remain covered on the stove on low heat. However, the most arduous part of the meal is the design of it. Not necessarily due to difficulty, but in the way that the carrots must be thinly sliced and laid in proximity to the cubed potatoes and strips—decorated to perfection. It’s halfway between a stew and a casserole, but alive with flavor as it simmers on a low boil. 
A herculean dish, an amateur culinarian’s nightmare; Diluc’s personal choice for your arrival.
Truthfully, he should’ve begun the meal before you arrived—should’ve had it ready for when you entered the manor. But, with the dish on the stove and three hours to kill, the suggestion of a walk around the winery as a means of relaxation and much needed catching up is hardly punishment for his error. Even though you have already been chatting throughout the duration of your meal preparation, discussing nearly everything and anything that comes to mind. 
But, you both reason, there is much he must show you.
The sun sits just above the horizon as you exit the manor, the great sky of orange and pinks lulling you both into a gradual and steady trot down the paths of the winery. Through the greens of growing grapes, he walks to the right of you, pointing to the items that have been updated since your last visit. Namely, the irrigation system to the vineyards. The slow and onerous move from a drip irrigation to one of a pumping unit handcrafted by Wagner located a few miles behind the manor. A hassle to craft, install, and maintain, he tells you with a tired smile, but a necessary venture for productivity. 
It reminds you to recount the traditional manner of tempered inundation that you witnessed when you finally obtained traveling papers to Inazuma. Farmers cultivating their crops to the cycle of the rivers, relying solely on its seasonal rise and fall to serve as a means of irrigation.
“And what happens when the rivers eventually decide to break tradition and flood?” Diluc asks with dumb amusement as your conversation leads you down the path that turns to gravel, winding away from the vineyards and down towards the lake. He means it as a rhetorical question, knowing in both science and anecdotal evidence nature makes a great fool of prediction. 
A large rock obstructs the pathway, and while it doesn’t take much effort to climb over it, he nevertheless holds his hand out in assistance. Nevermind the fact that this trail and this particular rock is one that you and he have taken many times before, one that you are fully aware that contains a rocky terrain as you walk nearer towards the body of water, and yet, ever the gentleman he is as he offers his assistance, you take his hand.
“Inazuma is the land of eternity.” You tell him succinctly, “They would be more pressed to believe that the world would end before the land and its dutiful Shogun would disrupt tradition and predictability.” You step over the large rock with great ease. Diluc makes sure of it.
“How archaic.” Diluc mutters once he knows your feet are on stable ground once more. You shake your head with a smile.
“That is only a matter of perspective. To Mondstadt, it is limited. To Inazuma, it is nature.”
Diluc only hums, his eyes narrow as carmine irises dart across your face. Any opinion of the idea, if you even had one, is imperceptible. Hidden carefully behind a neutral gaze and the generality of your statement. Trained, you are, to be as open and peaceful with any and all walks of life. Barbatos knows Diluc would hardly be able to bite his tongue with something he strictly disapproved of. 
“Born and bred for the role of Ambassador. I would've offended a whole nation if I were in your shoes.”
“Nonsense,” You smile as you link your arm with his, hand holding onto his bicep as you both resume your trek to the waters, “I think you would make for a wonderful advocate for the people. You are tough and unmoving. The kind of person everyone would be lucky to have on their side.”
He says nothing more to that, content to let the conversation die and allow nature to become the fixation of your thoughts. 
Compliments have never rendered well for the likes of Diluc. He knows too much about himself, of his nature, of his own beliefs, of all that he has done to ever be convinced by another that he is at all a good man. Especially on the basis of one’s words.
They never mean much anyway. Words are never strong enough to be binding; They are the buffer between hope and disappointment, and oftentimes find themselves leaning to one side more than the other. It is why he never makes promises he cannot keep, it is why he hardly believes in things that come from another’s mouth unless he himself has experienced it. The sting of old promises and their frosted bite are too ingrained within Diluc to compromise on. 
Add that to one of many things Diluc knows to be true of himself.
He is too prideful, too stubborn, too controlling, too set in his ways to believe in anything other than what he knows to be true about himself and the world. He is the stark contrast to you, and, not for the first time, he wonders how a friendship of such strength could remain when he burns too bright and you—oh, you—
Where you are amenable and compromising, he is rigid and sure; Where you are appeasing and complimenting, he is static and blunt. He does not care for the pleasantries as you do when he doesn’t feel them warranted. He’s entirely sure, as sure as the sun that sets every day and as resolute as you are on the charm of cor lapis, that he would make for a horrible dignitary considering how opposite of you he is and how well you fit into the role. 
But… the way that you say it. The way that the statement rolls of your tongue with hardly a second thought, the way that you seemed assured of his nature as though it were truth— the way that you seem to believe him an honorable man despite being worldly traveled and knowing many of many honorable people—
Gravel turns to sand and a quick glance your ways reveals the brightening of a smile as you both near the lake and all the tumultuous thoughts, the internal fight over the slightest of compliments and the need to extract the lies from the truth within them, silences as he looks to you. 
Diluc burns, and he burns bright, and you extinguish the flames of him that itch and ache to hurt. This isn’t a new realization, but it is a staunch one as it hammers away at the walls of his mind and heart. 
Everything about this is as it has always been, and yet, the habit of cynicism so ingrained in him makes it feel as though things are different. That behind these immortalized affections from he to you and you to him hides something of greater importance. As though something lies in wait behind the florals and flowerets of your arrival. 
As his mind thrums with his well known truths and his heart sings with the surprise of your presence, he can’t help but wonder when the other shoe is to drop— he tries to never be doubtful of your words, but he trusts his intuition more. 
And it tells him that whatever he is waiting for, is coming.
“To the water, Diluc!” You call to him, already throwing your shoes off of your feet and hiking the skirt of your dress up as you inch closer to the crystal blue waters. 
He shakes his head, tendrils of red strands displacing themselves from his ponytail as the wind blows gently. While his face remains stern, contorted into the serious disposition many a Monstadtian recognizes, his hands are slowly removing layers of his clothing— the boots, first. Then his socks and cuffing the pants of his slacks. All the while, following behind your prancing figure.
“I find water to be rather disagreeable.” He calls out after you and you bark a laugh. One that echoes around the empty space of the open lake and high mountains. It dances on the wind, pirouetting its way back to him, sticking to him like honey— sweet, warm, sticky honey. Slowing his thoughts down in the sinewy constitution of it. 
“What isn’t disagreeable to the great Duke of Mondstadt?” You tease as your toes brush against the edge of the chilled water. Though the blue certainly isn’t as warm as many of the lakes in Liyue tend to be, the change in climate isn’t an unwelcome one. Refreshing certainly, and as the chill jolts its way through your bare toes and travels up your spine, it’s an appreciated embrace when in the presence of such a ferocious source of heat like Diluc. 
Diluc who sets things ablaze with his stoicism and piercing gaze, Diluc who uses such talents to stare at you from afar— the flames of something sparking in his irises— and the urge to drown yourself in the cool waters grows tenfold. 
A determined reminder of things that you have shoved to the side for too long, truths that you were hoping to dismiss for just a moment.  
Not an uncommon feeling to experience whenever you’re around him. Latently, you can hear the whispers of a wry voice belonging to a Favonius Captain comment on how he too wishes he could drown himself when in the presence of the tycoon, and you laugh quietly. Anything to distract yourself from the feeling of a heavy stare on you. 
Your question, as redundant as it may have been to you, hangs in the air unanswered, but it doesn’t bother you much. Find your brain too swayed by the heat of his gaze and the chill of the water to think much of even trying to find an answer.
But he does. Silently, in the train of his thoughts that never end, the answer is abundantly clear. 
You are entirely too agreeable to the Duke, he thinks, as you wade further into the water with a joyful yelp. The water halfway up your shins with your skirt bunched in your hands and your face furrowed as you will yourself to move further into the lake. You are entirely too agreeable, he thinks, as he finds himself approaching the edge of the same lake and following in after you—even though he knows it probably isn’t the wisest decision, safety reasons, all encompassing. 
Should something emerge through the treeline, something he wasn’t particularly anticipating, and he were soaking wet— there would be a late reaction, late preparation in being able to protect the both of you. Or, if a Fatui officer were to find their way here to you both, with you being visionless and him impacted by the counteracting measures of water against his pyro, it would be a hassle to say the least. While he vigilantly patrols the acres of his land in strict routine, there is always the chance of those bastards infiltrating his lands. He would be remiss to put his guard down, especially when they’ve been establishing encampments only a couple hundred miles from his home, as of late. 
Or, what if—
“Something touched me!” You squeal suddenly, running away from your place almost knee deep into the water and back onto the shore. It happens faster than he’s able to comprehend, but the sound of your yell is enough to have him propelling forward. 
He’s rushing to you in fevered panic just as you rush into him. His left arm encircling around your waist and lifting, a flame already erupting in his right hand, aimed at whatever enemy has made an appearance. Your legs fold upward into his chest, your own arms tightening around his neck as your unintelligible squeals erupt from your mouth and into his ear. 
“Where?!”
“I can’t—“
“Who goes there?!”
“Diluc—“
“Show yourself!”
“I think it was a fish!”
Chaos quiets in a second, Diluc’s burning fury splashes cool as his senses catch up to one another and the realization of your words corroborates his vision. He sees no enemies, clearly one couldn’t have slipped by in the few minutes since your entrance to the water. He does, however, see the speeding trail of a Medaka swimming away beneath the water. 
The flame then extinguishes in his hand, “I loathe you.”
He feels your head rise from its burrow in his neck, “It scared me!”
“It’s a fish—“
“I didn’t know that! It could’ve been the tendrils of a slime!”
A bitter retort finds itself on the tip of his tongue, an item he is ready to unleash just as he turns his head to face you, only to feel it die at the sudden realization that—
—You are in his arms. 
Held tightly to him, your body melding into his and your faces hardly more than an inch apart. Your eyes wide in residual panic, sparkling with the blend of humor. And then…he’s drowning.
Choking on the feeling of closeness, suffocating in the swarm of feelings in his lungs as he realizes that as abnormal as the occasion is to have you in his arms, it feels pointedly normal. He’s startled at how quickly he had thrown away the makings of a gentleman the moment your arms wound around his neck; Lost—completely, entirely, unabashedly—at how the weight of your gaze buoys him in the tides of a long lived affection. 
An image of eternity finds him, then; A quick flash in the stagnation of thoughts, a future he had never allowed himself to fantasize of before— a cinder of hope to wake up tomorrow, two days, two years, two decades from now, and have this.
Knowing that it is something that he can never have, however, fills his lungs with a choking fluid.
“Enough of the water.” He mutters quickly, his cheeks tinting red in what you can only surmise is anger. “We should return for dinner.” 
He’s lowering you back into the water then, making a short effort to remove your limbs from him and turn his back towards you, trekking towards the shore at a brisk pace. 
It’s whiplash; A ferocious brand of rejection heats your body even as your feet are placed back into the cool lake. You stare at his retreating figure in dismay, but shock isn’t a feeling that registers. When he’s bitten by the bug of his own tumultuous thoughts, it doesn’t take long for Diluc to turn cold despite all of his heat. It’s a tell tale sign, one you can predict, but have never been able to fix. You can only pretend to understand what went through the mind of the Great Duke of Mondstadt. 
Whatever it was that made him so cold, made the lick of heat that you’ve always associated with the man disappear in an instant, clearly is one he’s not ready to share. He has always been stubborn; An adult he may be, but a child he frequently can become. That, however, is always something you have been able to meet with equal measure. With a roll of your eyes, you follow after him.
“But Diluc!” You protest, rather immaturely, hand finding his and tugging him back to the water. “We just got here!” 
He hardly budges. “I dislike the water and clearly, you dislike the fish that reside in it.”
“An overreaction on my part! I wasn’t mindful of my steps.”
“You haven’t brought any extra clothing. You’ll be walking home soaking and cold.”
“Then you can just snap your fingers and make me warm again!”
Diluc sighs heavily, “Ambassador—”
“So formal, Diluc. Let go, for a second. Come have fun with me!”
He yanks his hand away from yours, turning to face you in a ferocious manner. “Is that what you came all this way for? To have fun?”
All joy seems stripped from you in that moment as you halt in place, “Do you… not want me here?” 
“Of course I do.” He says, and while the statement is true, his tone is stoic and cold—almost making you wonder about the validity of his claim. 
He watches your brows furrow, watches as the skirts of your dress dampen as you no longer care to hold them upward but instead stare deeply at him. Watch as something clouds his mind that he cannot seem to shake off. 
Shame, mostly, for his anger. “I just… am curious. You’re busy these days, my friend.” He says, eyes softening as he meets yours. You give him a gentle smile.
“As are you, dearest Diluc. I just wanted to see you.” 
His heart should flutter and soar at this measly proclamation, but it doesn’t. Because in all the years that he has had the pleasure to know you, he can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That your arrival isn’t for any reason, that your touch is lingering, and that there is something you aren’t telling him. 
He doesn’t confront you about it even though his mind races and wars and urges for him to. You will tell him in your own time, that much he trusts. If he confronts you now, when no initiative has been taken to show that anything is awry other than his own confidence in knowing you, then you will lie. Tell him that everything is alright, nothing is wrong.
Diluc doesn’t trust words, despises lies more— even if they do come from someone as agreeable as you. So, he says nothing. Only insists that you return home lest the food burn. And you do as he asks; Walking beside him in silence and climbing over obstructing rocks without his assistance. Feeling both of your skins burn despite no longer being close enough to touch the other.
“Well,” you say, peering over his shoulder and onto the food that he neatly plates onto two white porcelain dishes, “It looks edible.”
He huffs in laughter despite himself. A scolding tone far from his realm of view as he spares a sideways glance towards your face hovering above his shoulder. 
“I can still arrange for it to be burnt.” He says, without any real threat.
“It was a compliment.” You meet his gaze in kind— soft over the warmth of his creation, diluted in the wake of previous tension.
“I recant all previous judgements of your character; You make a horrible foreign dignitary. I am terribly offended.” He says flatly. 
“I hardly think my skills in flattery uphold our relationship.”
“You’re right. They destroy it.”
“The Great Duke, Mondstadt’s very own Darknight Hero, in need of reassurance?”
“Would you look at that?” Dilic begins boredly, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you, his index finger held upward in the air and a flame dancing atop it, “I suddenly have lost control of my motor functions.”
Dinner, even in the simmering of side glances and veiled suspense, is much like it has always been between you two. Easy and warm, seated beside one another despite the great length of the table; Him at the head of the hall table, and you to his left, finding one another and enjoying the closeness in company with a surprisingly well-made meal. 
You tell him as much, with a shrug, a raise of your brow, and a disbelieving nod of your head. “It’s edible.”
He glares, you smile, and the ire of before dissipates into nonexistence. Neither of you able to remember what caused it. 
The company at the table extends beyond dinner. Plates scraped clean of their respective meals, yet you remained seated. Weaving through the ebbs and flows of bountiful conversation and comfortable silences. Diluc listens with quiet interest as you recount the mining operations, the new additions to your family, friends and their gossip, books you’ve read and you, in turn, let him interject his dry responses that then turn into debates on trivial items. Most recently, the introduction of a new card game that you can’t understand the rules of no matter how many times it is explained, much to Diluc’s mild exhaustion.
It hardly lasts long, before you’re mentioning something and discussion is renewed. It is the most Diluc has spoken in months. A surprise to everyone but him. The night ticks on, a fire stoked and the familiar orange hue cast on your person and all is right once more. 
It is in discussing ledgers and letters that it happens. The itch is finally revealed. 
“Have you received any?” You ask, head tucked downward as you swirl your glass of wine, avoiding his eyes. 
Diluc stares, and can only stare, startled upon the realization that he’s forgotten himself once again. Got lost in the intricate tethers of commonality and the sanctity of long-awaited reunions that he forgot that at the basis of he and you, lies a fundamental difference. 
Between upbringing and duty, between values and expectations, between daydreams and reality. He knows exactly what you are asking, girl from the land of contracts. 
“No.” He lies, easily.  Diluc dons the farce of nonchalance that strains against the lines of his face at this very moment. He doesn’t need you to know of the large box that he tosses the offers in at the end of every day, the box that Adelinde insists he keep. The box piled with letter after letter that he hardly spares a second glance at. “Have you?”
He knows the answer. Maybe it’s hoping otherwise that has him asking anyway. Such is a stupid, stupid notion.
“Yes. A few.” You say, eyes still averted, neutrality in your words. No excitement or dismay, no begging or joy; Just fact. He nods, emptily. A motion without purpose.
“Have you accepted any?” He questions further, and it’s then that the mask slips. The air of coolness he so expertly concocts suddenly grows hot with invasive curiosity, with burning bitterness. His jaw pulses and his knuckles blanche beneath the table. Your eyes meet his, honest and open and he finally sees it.
The teachings of prim and properness fade and you crumble with the weight of emotion, too. Something, in your eyes. Slight and small, but noticeable to him— for he’s seen these eyes in every shade and situation. In childhood, in mourning, in light, in dark, in duty, and in dreams. Diluc knows your eyes better than his own; Sees them in every phase of the moon and every Spring. 
He knows of longing well enough to be able to see it surface in the pools of your irises. He knows you, girl from the land of contracts. And the itch, that blasted thing, starts to be scratched.  
“A decision is expected soon,” You say with a thick swallow, placing the napkin on the table yet never losing his heady gaze. The air shifts, the stale politeness gone and replaced with something more ignited. 
You adjust in your seat and he watches. Shoulders stiffen, neck elongating, posture righting itself as if you’ve now realized the revelation that came to Diluc only a moment before, regarding the stiffness of the air; Regarding the mutuality in the suppression of all things inherent and true, burning and blazing alight. 
“I wanted to speak with you before I gave an answer.”
He wants to yell, wants to throw the plates off the table, shout to the gods above about the cruel and cynical games they make him play, but instead he does as he has learned to do and stares. Looks at you, soft and comfortable, entirely at home in his manor. The manor he has made to be suitable for you. 
Arranged marriages, Diluc finds, are the most atrocious of practices that Liyue has ever had the audacity to uphold in their commitment to contracts. Very much a Mondstadt originated belief— a city of freedom— but a sure one, he thinks. 
He heaves a breath, one that shudders at the slow cracking of his ribs and heart. “Surely, you don’t want me to make the decision for you?”
“No… but advice would be welcome.”
“Fine.” He settles into his seat, noting with little amusement that he suddenly can’t get comfortable anymore, “Tell me.”
“There’s Liu Fuey’s son, an aspiring noctilucous jade merchant—”
He hums discontentedly and you pause in consideration of it. You look at him, and he places his index finger against his temple. “You couldn’t possibly think that an advantageous match, could you?”
You lift your cup to your lips speaking into the glass and shrugging lightly. “His son is quite nice. A bit too young, however.”
“Nice is one thing; Prosperous is another.” 
You tease a gentle gasp, a coy smile curling onto your face as you ask, “Whatever do you mean?” 
Diluc rolls his eyes. Sarcasm, unfortunately, a color you wear too well in times where it’s less than appropriate. You must know what he is going to say, wouldn’t be the inheriting child of one of the biggest exporting businesses in Liyue to not know— your father would all but roll over in his eventual grave before he ever let you exist without the capabilities to be exactly as you are now. And still, the fact that you're even contemplating a match of this nature turns him acetic. 
The fact that this is happening at all turns him more bitter than the drinks he makes nightly.
“I hardly meddle with Liyue affairs and yet even I know one cannot derive a great fortune from the noctilucous jade market. Too much supply, little demand.” Diluc says after a gentle pause.
“Controversial opinion.” You smile at him and he must turn his gaze away before the cracks of an ill-tempered scowl breaks out onto his face. 
“Yet, you agree with me.” He mutters.
Your smile—it’s too ill-fitting for something like this. He can hardly stomach it, much less fathom how you can even muster the curl of your lips when taking the businesslike approach to this. To think of your potential spouse as a transaction than what it actually is: the tying of life and body. It’s archaic; It’s depriving; It is the death to the bloom of life; It is not befitting for his beloved of Liyue that shines brighter than the most carefully extracted gems and blossoms with the incoming warmth of the replenishing seasons. 
This is not you—but it’s not as though he could really say more than that. 
He meets your amused gaze with little more than a stoic one, “Continue.”
You detail, with fine-lined trepidation and mirth, a number of other suitors that have been presented before you. Isamu from the Yashiro Commission, a match considered for the strengthening of national ties and Diluc grits his teeth because that’s hardly a bad option. Shabandar, the Navbed of Sumeru for merchant dealings and exports and while it certainly isn’t a creative choice, it’s a solid one.
“And—” You pause and Diluc raises his gaze. Hesitation flashes for the briefest second before you gather yourself, etiquette kicking in to disguise the weakness with mere coincidence. But he sees it, he sees all of it. 
And he waits with a sip of his drink. 
“The second son of Tsaverich, who will soon be taking over the overseas branch of his father’s merchant operations.” His glass of grape juice stays perched against his lips, halted at the words and weighted. 
“Mikhail?” He repeats seriously, once the words have settled— albeit thickly— and you nod. “Mikhail, the one that engages surreptitiously with Fatui officers and embezzles from lowly merchants when he can. Namely, merchants here in Springvale; That, Mikhail?” 
There’s a sharp edge to his tone that digs and pierces you at every syllable. Try as you might to not physically cringe at what he’s said, you can hardly suppress the waver in your voice as you speak.
“They’ve offered a grand sum for a marital union—”
“He’s a criminal.” Diluc spits and you sigh. Fingers place themselves onto the center of your forehead and press, attempting to soothe the beginning pulses of a tension headache.
While you hadn’t expected this conversation to be one of ease, you certainly hadn’t anticipated the extent of which this pit of turmoil would lie in your stomach. This surge of angst that causes your shoulders to tense and your heart to thrum with exertion. You’ve had far more heated negotiations with merchants and political officials that did less damage to your psyche than this. 
You should’ve known better. 
A conversation of this nature with Diluc would not only be painful, but would serve to have you aching and longing for a different fate altogether. One where he looked at you with less contempt, one where the conversation around marriage was less centered around other men and more around him, one where your hands were intertwined with his rather than clenched and white-knuckled. 
You discard such a fantasy with the release of a heavy sigh, and begin once more. “The only reason you know that is because you interfere with Fatui business in an equally surreptitious manner. To everyone else, he’s just a wealthy young man. To my father, he’s a handsome prospect.”
Diluc scoffs, flaming and burning, aimed directly towards your heart. “And you would agree to a marriage and condone such immoral behavior? That is not you.”
“It’s not like I can make such a claim without evidence, Diluc. Tsaverich is funded by a number of businesses across Teyvat. They all have an interest in him and your preventative measures for some of his endeavors have caused quite the stir.” You explain, leaning forward in your seat if only to put yourself further into his blazing eyesight. If only to make him see.
“I’ve had a hard enough time convincing merchants to not pursue the Darknight Hero on their own volition, it would be even harder to convince them of Mikhail’s bad behavior with Fatui. Especially when he is the one fueling the hatred for your alter ego.” 
Your words meet the side of his angular face as he finds his body slumping into the wooden dining chair. This is nothing he doesn’t already know, nothing you haven’t already transcribed in your monthly letters to him as he dons his nighttime persona and you wield the mantle as his political protector in the daytime. Nothing you haven’t discussed moments prior to this.
“Would you rather I expose your nightly endeavors in the presentation of proof and have the consequence be multiple nations come down against you and Dawn Winery for interference in business?”
His averted gaze meets yours once more, quickly. But he’s even quicker in his reply, “If it means you don’t marry him, yes.”
It is your turn to roll your eyes, as you throw yourself back into your chair, “Oh, please.”
“What I am hearing is that you would be okay with marrying a murderous, thieving, criminal—”
“I am not. I just don’t have a choice.”
“There is always a choice—“
“The Tsaverichs have been the most enticing opportunity that’s been presented thus far and my father’s never been much for politics anyway. And… hypothetically, if I were to marry Mikhail…” Your voice trails off, as though the mere mention of marrying the man were enough to have bile pushing up your throat, “Hypothetically, I would have more political leverage and be able to wield it in favor of the Darknight Hero and—” 
“Do not use me as your excuse. I would never ask this of you.” Diluc adds, missing only the liquid of venom for his statement to be rendered poisonous. It stings nonetheless.
You shrug, defeated, “Your consternation is just a matter of principles, but you mustn't forget that this is just what it must be. I am just trying to consider all the positives here.”
“No. You’re wrong.”
“A contract is a contract—”
“One you haven’t willingly entered into yet.”
“Only because I was able to barter for some time of contemplation with my father. My time is running out.”
Diluc breathes out a wry breath of amusement through his nose, “Hence why you are here.”
His tone is bitter and disapproving, but you can only nod in agreement for it is the truth. “Hence why I am here.” You repeat, and Diluc turns his head to the side with a heavy sigh. 
“How long?” He asks, eyes finding the window, watching as the wind sways the orange trees and leaves descend to the fading green grass. Silence encompasses the room and drowns in the undercurrent of his ire and bitterness. Thick and unrelenting.
“Until Spring.” You supply lowly, and he scoffs. His head shakes, fingers finding his chin. 
The food that once brought great warmth to you now churns unpleasantly within your stomach. Maybe it would’ve been better to have made a decision in private with your father and inform Diluc through an invitation to the ceremony— it certainly would’ve saved you the exhaustion of the debate you now found yourself glued to. But such a thing is a matter that you would never find it within yourself to do. 
There is too much respect for Diluc, too much admiration, too much love to do something so cruel to him. Maybe, it is even crueler to make him privy and liable to the decision you make here, too. 
You had prepared early on for the day requiring this commitment— knew in the depths of young childhood and the blossoming of your role as Ambassador and heir to your father’s business that this fate was inevitable. It was easy to separate yourself from it when understanding it to be a part of your duty. There were no tears, no despair, no tantrums thrown when your father presented the candidates he deemed most viable to a marriage. You had anticipated such a resignation of yourself throughout the duration of your choosing and eventual betrothed.
Here, sitting before Diluc in the home you know too well, in the space of memories that belong to him and you, and drowning in the heat of his anger, does such a resignation wilt and the weight of your repressed feelings come forward.
“Tsaverich does not fit with your name.” Diluc mutters after a moment.
There is one man you would choose without a moment’s hesitation, but he is not a candidate. Has not made himself to be one, no matter how often you wish he would. Unsure if he has ever thought about you as more than a beloved friend.
That is something you could live with—being his beloved friend for years and years, if only to have him close to you—but, you fear, as this conversation grows more sour and the figurative space between you seems to increase in size, that the berth has become too wide and a bridge of reconciliation is too weak to span such a distance. There are few things you dislike more than Diluc being upset with you.
But you try for remedy, nonetheless. 
“I… knew,” You begin quietly after a moment, and Diluc finds his eyes drawn to you without much more of a reasonable request other than the sound of your voice, “I wouldn’t be able to get your blessing. But I figured I could at least get your advice. Or comfort… in your presence.”
He takes a moment’s pause, voice only finding grounding once he’s able to temper the severity of his feelings to little more than a dull ache in his chest. He’s monotonous when he says it. 
“Is that what you want? My blessing?”
“I want to make a decision. And I want you to be happy with it.”
He scoffs once more, vicious and mean, and unafraid to be so because it’s you. You, who knows him in and out, through years of flaming moods and dark lows, who knows what he thinks and says before he even gets the chance to. He, who sits astounded because how could he ever say, in the gentlest ways possible, that his happiness on your betrothal to anyone other than him is something that would never be granted? And more importantly, how could you not know that?
“My happiness?” He responds, no longer trying to hide any disdain, “And pray tell, of what use could my happiness serve in making that kind of a decision?”
You tilt your head in soft dismay, “Diluc—”
“Would you like me to choose for you the best man I see fit, is that it? Lay the offers out on the table and have me select which seems to reap the most monetary benefits for you?”
You shake your head, “No, that isn’t what I—”
His tongue grows more ire, the toxin that resided in the depths of his soul is now unlocked, and seeping through him. Gasoline to the flame, and he burns, burns, burns. “Oh, I see. You’d like to make me equal, if not worse, to the role your father currently plays in this hell of a mess. You’d like me to select in accordance with familial values. What would make father happy, is that right?”
“You forget yourself.” You spit at him, equal in the anger that he has pushed you to. “Not all of us were born in the land of freedom. Some of us have duties that must be seen through.”
Diluc leans forward, elbow braced on the table as he pushes his finger into the hardwood for emphasis, “This isn’t duty, this is atrocity.”
(Diluc has only ever known duty to himself and the Dawn Winery. Diluc only expects that your own duty would be so aligned— duty to yourself and the business you hold dear. A voice speaks from the recesses of his mind, the parts not addled by fire and brimstone, reminding him that he has always had a duty to you, too.)
“Arranged marriages are common!” You speak with a broken laugh, in disbelief as the red-haired man stands from the table with a violent push of his chair back. 
“A violation against the wants of the person, in favor of what?” Diluc paces around the table, feet taking him towards the walls decorated with paintings yet hardly sparing a glance. He turns back to you, hands placed on his hips and brows furrowed in desperate anger, “Connections? Land? Wealth?”
He looks to you in charged silence, awaiting an answer. You shake your head at him.
“It isn’t a simple answer, Diluc. You know that. It’s culture, and duty, and—and the need for security. I want to—”
“This isn’t what you want.”
“And how do you know what I want?” You narrow your eyes and such a thing would be insulting we’re Diluc already not a few stops short of a blown fuse. “You’ve spent most of this conversation speaking over me to know what I want.”
“Because I know you.” He insists harshly. “This is your father’s doing.”
He takes a step forward, “And if it's money he wants then tell him I have more than enough that I know not what to do with. If it’s land, tell him I own acres of Mondstandt with the plans for expansion. Your children, your grandchildren, and their children will have land to their name, I will make it my life’s mission to make sure of it. Connections?” He holds his hands out, letting them drop to his thighs with a resounding clap.
“You bring more of that than I ever could.”
To anyone else, his words sound much like a proposal. 
To you, it sounds like a proposal. 
Your breath hitches, and the words are practically whispered. “...What are you saying?”
And the truth that you both know in your own respective manners, yet remains unknown to the other, comes forward on his tongue. It waits there, stagnated yet burning in his mouth. 
He should just say it, make the feelings that survive deep within the depths of his soul actualized in this very moment— where you demand them to make their appearance. Tell you that he says these things for the sole purpose of making himself the contender for your hand in marriage. Tell you that he says these things not so that you could abide by duty, but so that you could have the freedom to choose. 
So that you could choose him.
The words are desperate in their crawl up his throat, digging their nails into soft tissue and drawing blood. His mouth floods with the ichor, too stubborn to swallow and too scared to spit. 
So, he does nothing but choke.
“Freedom… within the contract.” He says quietly, cowardly. “I will… sponsor whatever fee or promise may be necessary if only to give you what you want. The chance to choose whomever it may be that you wish to marry. This decision isn’t mine to make. Nor should you make it because of me. And to be frank, I don’t want to be a part of it.”
Silence encumbers the space.
A look of measured disbelief sits ill on your face, and in feats unlike him, he finds himself raging. At this, at you, at himself. His decision feels like brittled tar coming off his tongue, settles in the room like a death sentence, and yet the stubbornness within him threatens the burning flame of truth in his stomach like a hovering guillotine. The blade shining with the promise of an ill fate.
“...sponsor?” You murmur.
Behead the hope before it can take flight. The blade descends.
“Yes. Sponsor.” He bites, “Until you can rid yourself of that inane notion of duty.”
You stare at him, a heartbreaking silence filling the room as fragments of the friendship seem to crack and shatter in place. Baring your soul to him, open and honest, vulnerability displayed at the most monumental decision you could make, when you were desperate for comfort, and he spits at you. Treats you pedantically, insulting the very thing you care deeply enough about to ask for consultation on; Throws things as insignificant as money your way and tells you, more or less, to leave him alone.
This is a Diluc that you have heard of yet, seen on occasion, but have never met. Angry and distanced, cutting strings before they have the chance to vibrate against him. You don’t like it. It sparks something within you, something equally as vitriolic and vile. 
“What is it about this situation that angers you, Diluc? Hm? Because I believe that you are misguided in directing your anger to me.” You return to him woefully digging for a futile truth that Diluc has already locked deep within him, key thrown into a fire and burned with no remorse. If only you knew how close you were to uncovering it, the root of his ire. How your hand almost brushed the cage of his heart, fingertips barely scraping along the bars of its confinement.
He yanks you away, “You sit there content with this, amiable as you always are. You always want to placate, you stand up for everything but yourself when you clearly must. Then, you bring this to me, seeking help in something I greatly disapprove of, something I do not wish to be involved in, and yet I am misguided for trying to save you—”
“I don’t need your money, Diluc. And I certainly don’t need saving.” 
“Then what could you possibly be doing here, then?”
“I apologize for inconveniencing you with my need to seek the comfort of a friend. How burdensome of me, how juvenile. Because I forget that the great Master Diluc can handle these things on his own, so why should I do anything different!”
“I gave you my answer.” He says, eyes burning. An ashen field of the garden of your friendship reflected in his stare, “I suggest you take it.”
And for the second time today, you feel the hot brand of Diluc’s rejection.
He doesn’t need to spell it out, his words are as clear as day to you— the professional linguist in Diluc's veiled bluntness. He has no intention of respecting your decision, nor does he intend to be involved any further within it. 
The room is silent once more, this time in a way that is entirely different from the other instances. This is a silence of heartbreak as Diluc embraces the characteristics of his nature that he knows well and fine to be true of himself. This is the silence of heartbreak that shatters your soul and clogs your throat as it comes to actualization that your long held resignation of this fate was not born out of duty, but of hope that maybe, Diluc had felt the same way about you as you did to him. That from this, maybe, survived the chance of an outcome unneeding of your intervention, but instead a mutual confession that would sweep you off your feet. 
Such a thing will never happen.  
He does not return your feelings, nor will he ever. He sees you only as a pitiful friend in need; A friend that he can help free from the shackles of inane duty like a good gentleman should. You aren’t sure what stings more— the unrequited feelings, or the insult against your capability.  
Diluc may be a formidable blaze that anyone may stand intimated by, but it is equally remiss to take you as something not equal in that strength. As a damsel in distress, as a child, as someone in need of a savior. He, of all people, knows better than that. 
This is the silence of a heartbreak at the realization that a dear friend has misunderstood you horribly— romantically or otherwise. And born from its stillness is a blade of your own.
You rise from your chair. Vermillion eyes follow you with focused intensity, titillating as you waver not. Steel becomes you, and it is in the few moments like this that Diluc is astounded that the gods did not grant you a vision. 
“That is an honorable offer, but I will not subject you to a stipulation of pity. This is not a horrid fate, it is a duty I have and will continue to embrace.” There is no amiability in your words despite the cordiality of them. Your tone is the embodiment of the negotiator that you have assumed completely in your adulthood.
Surely, he could back down now— apologize, admit his foolishness, but that would mean accepting the circumstances of the arranged marriage and that is something he could never do. He holds his head high. 
Optimism lies decapitated most cruelly on the floor between him and you, two blades now stained with the blood of a lost union.
“A duty that I accept without remorse. Something I thought you of all people would respect. I see now that I was wrong.” You bow your head curtly to the gentleman of the home. “Thank you for the enlightening dinner and your hospitality, but I believe there is nothing further to be discussed. Good night, Master Diluc.”
You return to your bedroom without a glance backward, the sound of the bedroom door slamming echoing loudly throughout the manor. The mansion is soon thereafter submerged in a freeze that etches away at his skin. He stands there, the last witness of the murder. 
If there was something to do, if he had an idea about it, maybe he would’ve handled the next moment more appropriately. But he doesn’t; he returns to his room a few moments later, stopping only to briefly glance at your door. No light peeks from underneath the door sill and no noise sounds when he leans his ear against it. 
Sleep doesn’t come. Dawn breaks and his eyes ache with the need to fall yet his mind roams. It ambles around in so many directions he hardly notices the sound of movement in the hallway as the sun breaks the night and pinks and oranges become the day.
It isn’t until he receives silence when he knocks on your door that the thought of doing something becomes a tasteful thought. He knows it’s too late. Your room and all of your belongings are vacant by the morning and he does nothing but stand there. 
Your sudden departure with a written note of goodbye on your neatly made bed inspired all of a twelve-hour huff and puff from Adelinde and a stern shake of the head from Elzer, but the deep scowl on Diluc’s face stops any further questioning cold in its place. Diluc is more than aware that such a response, particularly a nonverbal one, leaves much to be desired, but truth be told, he has no desire to explain himself. 
Whatever transpired between you two rests solely between he and you, no one else; No matter how strong third party affinities may lie. He will honor the privacy of your friendship by keeping your argument under wraps and, subsequently, his rather… brutish behavior unknown to further scrutiny. 
(Let it be known that that was hardly the deciding factor in his secrecy. His shame pride. No, of course not. Rather, he believes it pertinent to only describe a story if both sides are there to present it, lest any details become muddied by perceived rights and wrongs, transgressions and righteousness, little he said, she said’s. It is best to act accordingly, with honor to the other even if they aren’t there to defend themselves. Which is why he pledges his silence to the issue.
Even as he spends minutes, hours, days mulling over his words, reliving the argument and the kind of temperament that was exalted from him in response. He can hardly be ashamed by the genuinity of his anger, it is a direct reflection of his morals and to be dismayed by those is to be deceptive of himself. 
So, no. He does not tell Adelinde and Elzer the intricate details of your battle, unsure as to whether he would omit certain phrases he had uttered or not, in honor of keeping the situation between the war of morals and opinion between you and he. 
Or so he says.)
“You needn’t be concerned.” He tells the vexed headmistress, keeping his breath and stare as neutral as one could possibly muster when one hardly believes the words they say. “It was a minor incident. It will be nothing in two weeks’ time.”
The words do not placate Adelinde. They only serve to make the older woman shake her head in agitation and return to the kitchen in a brisk walk as she prepares breakfast. She mutters something underneath her breath, but Diluc is too concerned with pretending to focus on ledgers to listen intently to the words. If he did, he’s sure there would be some vernacular strung together to express the sentiment of “foolish” and “idiotic”. 
And he’s likely to agree with them. 
Winter
Fall exits Mondstadt with haste and winter follows on its heels with great delight. Nipping at skin and verdure mercilessly, the wind gusts powerfully from Dragonspine, expelling its subzero climate onto Mondstadtians as though it had been waiting for lifetimes for the chance to taste skin once more. 
It has sparked many an overheard conversation. The weather being the heated topic of discussion, irony of the statement notated with a hearty laugh— even within the Dawn Winery.
Adelaide remarked to Elzer one frigid morning how unfathomable it was to even try to adjust to the suddenness of the cold as she wrapped a third quilted cardigan around her shoulders. Much too vicious, she screeched. Elzer nodded with little more than a mumble, trying to play off the chattering of his teeth as purposeful, pondering what could have brought forth such a merciless chill so quickly; So violently. 
The answer seems obvious to Diluc, but that is a truth he keeps held tightly to himself. 
Punishment, he thinks. You took the warmth from the manor and all of Mondstadt when you left. Absence of heat has left an arctic presence in its retreat. He tries not to focus too much on it; But the days grow colder, the days fall shorter, and life is ever more bleaker. Trees are barren, snow builds on the veranda, and the lake you once pirouetted and danced in freezes over. 
Even worse, Ernst exemplifies himself as Mondstadt’s greatest mail courier in his commitment to delivery despite the freeze and danger. Diluc sees him every mid-morning, the man trudging through the blockage of snow with a wagon in tow. 
Diluc nods courteously to the man’s gloved wave. Sometimes a greeting is verbalized, other times the two men meet eyes and continue on with the day, and yet try as he might to deny it, carmine eyes linger on the postman in repressed desire. Hoping even as the man treks past the deciduous trees and his figure becomes smaller and smaller in Diluc’s line of sight, that maybe, just maybe, the man will stop in his place. Maybe, he’ll look into the wagon that holds the great number of tied mail, and turn around in surprise. Run back to Diluc with paper in his hand and a hearty laugh, forgot your mail, Master Diluc! The phrase caught on the wind and swirling its way back to him. Your script on the front of the letter. 
It never happens. 
Ernst fades into the white blanket of snow and Diluc finds great difficulty in trying to take his eyes off of his figure. It is only when the chill finally catches up to him and Adelinde screeches a scold to him that he returns inside. No letter in hand. He can't say that he’s surprised.
It’s been a little more than two weeks and the incident remains frigid. Only, no longer is it a crime scene of stained blood, but a coffin buried in the ground. A headstone hidden under two feet of snow. 
Reading: Here lies the friendship I once knew.
"Ah, Master Diluc. What a pleasant surprise."
"Kaeya."
It isn’t a surprise to see the owner of the Angel’s Share doing as he usually does behind the counter, but both men know that. To find Diluc in the sanctity of the tavern, away from the emptiness of the manor and in the warmth of the hearth  is almost traditional. But there is a certain stink that circulates throughout the tavern this morning; A pitiful one, sour and rancid. It emanates from the bartender in a choking waft that is even more pungent than usual. Kaeya almost coughs. 
Sauntering over to the counter, Kaeya seats himself with the kind of confidence that exists uniquely to him, hesitation hardly a recognizable shade in the man when asking for his usual. The request is met with a visible eye roll, but other than that, the two remain silent. 
Angel’s Share is empty this morning, save for the owner— understandably. Seven feet of snow lines the buildings within the walls of Mondstadt and were it not for the official weather advisory granted by the Knights of Favonius, business most likely would have come to a standstill on its own. Not Diluc, though. Never the honorable Master Diluc. 
His business stays open despite sending all of his workers home for shelter during the cold. How noble, how sweet. What a kind capitalist he is, one that knows exactly how to make Death After Noon just as Kaeya likes it.
Kaeya sips from the glass before finally deciding to break the silence. 
“Lovely weather we’re having, wouldn’t you agree?”
Diluc grunts disapprovingly. Kaeya takes another languid sip. Despite being appropriately dressed for it at all occasions and all hours of the day, Kaeya knows rather intimately Diluc’s averseness to freezing temperatures and strikes of chills.
“There is something so beautiful in the snow. Shame that our neighboring nations don’t get to see it too often. I’ve recently returned from an expedition to Liyue,” The corner of Kaeya’s mouth curls upward as he swirls his wine around in his glass. A knowing smile in the fact that even as Diluc maintains a focused gaze on the glass that he is drying, he has his complete attention. Caught at the mention of the nation, of what resides there. “Whispers of an outgroup seizing trading merchandise a little ways beyond Stone Gate led me there, and I must say I am quite envious at how un-winter-like Liyue can be.”
“Fascinating.” Diluc drolls, placing one glass down only to pick another up. Kaeya plows on, hardly bothered by the man.
“The snow practically stops at the edge, right before the marker of the two nations. Pretty impressive, if you ask me. Apparently they will see the rare bout of snow pull in from Dragonspine in a particularly cold season, or so I’ve heard. From a… friend.”
There is no room for insinuation, it couldn’t squeeze into the damn place even if it tried. Your name all but shouted throughout the emptiness of the tavern. Diluc grits his teeth, and try as Kaeya might to find some smugness in this—sadistic joy in the way that the man grows uncomfortable and fights the urge to run— he cannot.  For, try as he might to deny, Kaeya is and always remains his brother’s keeper. 
And Kaeya knows a man in longing when he sees one.
He figures he might earn some deductions on his ledger of sins for ending the other man’s suffering early. So he begins again. 
“You know, I was told a story during my time there. One, in particular, that I think you would find great value in.” Kaeya places the cup down, the sweet liquor of Death After Noon blossoming on his tongue, “Of course, it is a tale told to the children of Liyue to teach them certain morals, so I think you will be rather challenged in this story. Would you like to hear it?”
“I can’t imagine that I have much of a choice.”
“You don’t. Do try to pay attention.” Diluc gives nothing more than a bored glare at the man across the counter. Kaeya plows on. 
“This story began with a question: When roads converge, do we assume them as fate, or do we impose our will upon them?”
And so he weaves a familiar tale of the target of two gods, Morax and Guizhong. The brawn and brains, the seal of a contract and the cursive words it comprises of written by plume, stone and dust; The firm and the wise. An unlikely partnership formed throughout the centuries, the makers of the era.
A tale of Morax, who has always been much too hard-headed, incapable of seeing the path laid before them, and Guizhong— sweet Guizhong, whose smile settled ashes and her wrath decimated stone to particles— finding herself as Morax’s advisor. The growth of wisdom from shouldered burdens and friendship, an unexpected term that hardened stone accepted in time. 
A tale of growing affections, hidden smiles, and intertwining fates, lingering in the coiling of their lives together yet never voiced. Always dancing beneath the grounds of sand and stone. Until war ravaged their land of prosperity and brought an end to their union—Guizhong laying stricken upon the Guili Plains, her ichor forming into the rivers of the land, her flesh becoming one with the grass. Dying, in his hands, bemoaning their fate of all that was left unspoken.
“And Morax looked down upon the fallen god with what one could only describe as deep sorrow and asked, ‘Why has this happened? Why could you not have waited for me?’. Guizhong, taking her last breath, said to the god of stone, ‘I would if you had asked me.’” 
Kaeya draws a finger around the rim of his cup, his one revealed eye flicking up to Diluc, knowing stare boring into the red-haired man. “A tragic story of missed opportunities. But of course, it is just a fable.” 
Diluc says nothing, but meets his brother’s stare with a stoic one of his own. Cold and void, as it always is, but swirling in the iris of flames lies the starting spark Kaeya was looking for. The twinge of reminiscence; The flint striking against stone in the flicker of realized parallels. 
“Riveting.” The barkeep says, tearing the windows of his soul away from the man who rivals him in skill of knowing all. But, is it really in the silent ability to read the room or is it in knowing Diluc well beyond any shadow of a doubt that has Kaeya acting as lighter for the wicker of ignition?
"I heard our friend came into town."
“You heard correctly.”
“I heard she came with a question.”
Diluc stills and Kaeya hums. As though he had nary a worry in the world and all the time for this moment, he brings the cup to his lips and takes a slow sip of the wine. Long and obnoxious and captivating for all the wrong reasons. Diluc can’t help but watch as terse silence settles between the two of them, the fire of frustration licking at the nape of his neck just as Kaeya seems to grow colder in his seat. 
If only arrogant Kaeya would stop playing his mind games. 
Detached and quiet and entirely too pleased, Kaeya sits at the fact that as much as Diluc tries to deny it, they both know he is dying for Kaeya’s next words.
 If only precious Diluc would stop being so stubborn and admit that he needs help.
The glass is placed on the counter with a gentle clack, and neither man can deny the weight that escalates at that moment. “The poor girl practically offered herself on a golden platter. Well, as much as a dignified noble woman could.” 
“She asked for my opinion on her suitors—”
“And she was hoping you would make yourself one of them.”
“That—you do not know that.” Diluc seems affronted, almost scandalized.
Kaeya sighs this time, loud and obnoxious, “No, of course I don’t. It’s not like she and I remain friends outside of you.”
Gloved hands place an ivory piece of paper on the wooden bar surface. Beckoned forward by unfettered curiosity, Diluc wastes no time in picking the item up, hardly remorseful even if a smirk settles onto the tanned man’s face. 
“If you do not make yourself known, someone else will. Sooner rather than later, it seems.”
The paper reads: Kaeya Alberich, you are cordially invited to the wedding of Mikhail Tsaverich and — 
Diluc tears his eyes away before he can make out the neat script of your name on the paper. 
“I know that you have a tendency to make a fool of yourself, but do try to not waste the opportunity that is presented before you.” Kaeya raises a brow, leaning his head on his closed fist. “The gods have made the mistakes so that we do not repeat them.”
Vermillion eyes meet crystalline ones, perfect fragments meeting together. 
“I am, unfortunately, rooting for you. I quite like our girl.”
The words linger within Diluc far longer than he would like to admit. They swirl around him even as Kaeya makes his teasing departure—Until next time, he said. They echo in the emptiness of the tavern, they trail behind him as he rides horseback to the manor. His boots are caked with the frost, and his ears are bitten with the freeze, but all that he can feel is the steady pulse of his Kaeya’s words. 
Do not waste the opportunity before you.
Night falls but sleep eludes him. He sits in his bed and ponders, before deciding that he must do what he does with all of Kaeya’s keen words of wisdom and ignore it. 
Imagine his surprise when he finds that he just can’t.
Rage finds Diluc in the guest bedroom a month later. Your bedroom.
The snow is at its thickest, wet and cold, blanketing all of Mondstadt in its frosty embrace and daring them to try to escape. No one attempts to compete with the force of nature, even the valiant Ernst throwing in the towel as blizzards obscure the pathways and the days begin to blur together in the white wall of relentless snow. 
The manor is kept warm by the fires that Adelinde stokes, but it does nothing to soothe the deep and aching chill that settles within Diluc. It grinds his teeth, has him pacing the rooms. Unable to sit with the unease now in being so cold all the time. 
(He remembers a time like this once before. When the shadows of blue and red converged so violently, only to part in equal fierceness. The kind of wintry bitterness that stings from the hollowness of a severed bond. The immediate aftermath of his father’s death.
Quietly, he wonders what Kaeya is up to.) 
Adelinde, for all her mother henning, seems to understand that the discomposure that runs through him isn’t something she can solve. So, she keeps the fires warm, lights the candles in corridors and arched niches of the home, and keeps her distance. Although, if Diluc didn’t know any better he would think she’s keeping him out of her way. Annoyance and ire from the woman has been kept well fed and loved by her hand if her continued scoffs and mumbles are anything to bear in mind. It leaves her just one hair's width away from lecturing him once more—not that he needs anymore of it. He’s at the receiving end of his own indignation plenty.
Tonight, however, that familiar bite of his own self hatred is sparked by the flames. 
In the crackle of the wood, he hears a laugh oddly similar to yours ringing throughout the room; Sees your figure dancing in the swirling and heightening flames. As quick as he sees it, it disappears.
He had been attempting to write a letter—an unfortunate consequence of Kaeya’s lingering words. At the very least, an explanation behind his behavior, a request for an update on your life, and maybe even, hidden beneath the flowery description of a cold Mondstadt and the dull season of the wine business, a quiet apology; A plea to reconsider. Each attempt is more pitiful than the last, the words becoming less poised and more of a mad man’s ramble as ink scribbles across the surface; Looking more jagged and unsteady than the previous. Paper after paper is thrown into the inferno and with it, his patience. 
Frustration leads to the rage. He has no clue as to what parasite of uncertainty has bitten him so deeply, and that pushes him further. Hating that he has no idea where this has come from, why it is happening now after so many months, why this blasted thing won’t go away. Macabrely, he wonders what limb he needs to cut off to finally rid himself of its unabated punishment. It burrows so profoundly within him that he’s willing to take a gamble and partake in self-mutilation of all visible skin until he is fixed. Hack away at each joint of meeting bone with his claymore until the solution is found. 
Until his mind is rid of your violent eyes and your corrosive goodbye. Maybe then he will find some semblance of sweet relief. 
Diluc is proud fire and acidic sulfur. He does not and should not doubt himself. It is unbecoming of him to be so dubious of his own actions. Were you to stand before him now and pose the same question that you did in the Fall, he would have largely the same response that he did then. He’s sure of it. He would still be unmoving in his confidence that an arranged marriage was a barbaric idea; He would continue to rage at your disposition in being so accepting of it; He would maintain his morality in asserting that you need not be bound by such a restricting design. There was no need, no purpose. 
But…if he was to be largely the exact same now as he was before, why does he keep replaying the memory in his mind? Running every look, every sigh, every word that comes off your tongue over and over and over. Wondering what could have been said differently to make you see what he meant; Wondering what he could have posed more nicely and less igniting to have made you stay. 
He quickly shakes away the thought. No— there is nothing he could have done or said that would not have been a compromisation of his own ethics. He himself is not only to blame. You were equally as acidic, as defamin of his meaning in the height of the argument. 
Such is the truth and the truth is final. The truth cares not about feelings. He has grown accustomed to that notion. 
(Then why are his so hurt?)
His feet find himself in the bedroom before he knows any better. In search of… something. An answer, maybe, in an item left behind. Any sign of you that he can conjure up seeing as three months have passed since that wretched argument and he has nothing to show for the fate of the friendship other than its ashes.
No letter and no lingering scent of you; No gifted cor lapis and certainly no mundane detailing of day to day life, and thoughts, and jests, and imparted wisdom that he knows to only come from you. That he only listens to if they come from you. There is nothing left but a raging mind and the burning lacerated wound of a scorned memory. 
It’s a fool's game, he knows. Adelinde had gone in and cleaned the room after her long stew of anger upon your departure, so chances are if there was anything for Diluc to find, it is long gone now. Having been taken away by Adelinde’s hand. The thought of that fills him with a quiet seethe that he knows is beyond irrational. It’s his fault he hadn’t entered the room after you left, much like it is his fault that he hadn’t entered when you were still here. Even with the light off, he should’ve entered, admitted his faults and come to a truce. If only to still have you. 
The room is dark upon his entrance, lit only by the dying fire previously mended by the headmistress. The bed is made neatly, royal ruby covers folded with expert precision and the curtained posts drawn back to reveal the array of pillows that decorate its surface. 
This room has, more or less, always belonged to you. It is where his father hosted yours and when you tagged along on business ventures, where you stayed. That tradition remained. The room becoming less of a guest room and more of your own room, right between Diluc’s and Kaeya’s. Playing in one or the other when either brother decided they wanted your attention. 
Toys and Guoba plushies left behind remained in there, sometimes summer clothing and bathing suits would remain stocked and stored in the dresser drawers for your future arrivals. Remnants of you have always decorated the room beside his which is what makes its neat barrenness so much more jarring. 
The room is practically wiped of any memory of you, due in part to the natural passage of time— where plushies were replaced with whatever task you brought that is seen as the new fad taken up by young socialites, and summer clothes were outgrown and changed with wear that are appropriate for maturing young women, everything in this room has aged just as you and he— 
This is the natural progression of things, yet he remains resistant. This is what would have naturally happened; You would soon marry, arranged or otherwise, and this room that belongs to you would slowly become empty. Disused, void of you, unless you were to occasionally visit alongside your husband, whoever he may be. and your… children; because that too would be the natural progression of things. 
Then this room would become theirs, and he would make sure it was known that it was theirs. 
And maybe that is what bothers him the most. It never came to mind that this room would be empty because he had always assumed, one way or another, a part of you would always be in it—married or not. Ideally, it would have been you married to him. Or neither of you married. Together in the infinite in the ways and routines that are so known to you both, content with each other. 
He would have been elated, beyond happy were that the case. It speaks volumes to him that he hadn’t realized that sooner or later, you wouldn’t be. 
He is sat on the edge of your bed, lost in the thought of possibility, when Adelinde enters. 
“Would you like me to start a fire, Master Diluc?” She asks, quietly, head poking into the room. 
Diluc’s gaze is too fixed, too comfortable staring into the void, so he remains there. He says, “No, thank you. No need.”
“You are not cold?”
“If I was, I could surely start one myself.”
Adelinde hums noncommittally. She lingers for a second in the doorway before moving forward to him, sitting beside him on the bed. She heaves a great breath and Diluc prepares for the lecture. 
He will take it, as he always does. He just hopes she’ll cut it short this time. 
Instead, she asks only a question. “Are you going to finally tell me what happened or would you rather continue looking into the void?”
Quiet settles, in the same way that it has existed in this house for eons. Sobering, stilting quiet that aches and etches into the depths of bones. Weaving into the fabric of skin, unspoken truths tearing at the seams, begging for their voice.
It is through great misery and effort that Diluc is able to clench his teeth together and finally utter the wretched words. “She is… getting married.”
Adelinde’s face betrays no thought, unfortunately. There would have been great catharsis in being able to see some kind of validation seep into her face, but alas, wrinkled lines of wisdom remain soft. She hums. “To a good man?”
Diluc is quick. “No.”
“Does she know that?”
He grits his teeth, skin splitting further as the coal ignited deep in him simmers a low broil. “It was made abundantly clear.”
“Well, you have always had a way with words.” Adelinde folds her hands on her thighs with a sigh. “How do you feel about it?”
“Fine.”
“Hush now, child. Do not lie in this house. Your father taught you better than that.”
Offense should be taken at the reduction of age, but he cannot muster strength nor energy to deny the truth of the matter. The angst within him reduces him, grinds him, wears away the tethers of tendon to bone and makes him feel like the rageful child he once was years ago. Violent at the spring of growth, harboring resentment for a world that demanded so much from his father, from his brother, from him— 
He is eleven, again. Furious at the news of his mother’s death at sea, Adelinde whispering in his ear to voice the tense feelings of grief that he could not yet name, feelings that you smothered with the feel of your hug. He is eighteen, blade stained with the ichor of his father, readying it at the throat of another and willing to stain it once more with that of his brother, stuck in the aftermath of a solitude interrupted only by the delivery of your letters—letters he could not answer, yet. He is twenty, swallowing the thirst for revenge with the blood of fatui, traversing through Teyvat in search of answers that will forever be inadequate, writing to you (finally) from wherever he lands, detailing no more than his safety and a promise to return home. 
He is all of those at once, a child again. Sitting on this bed, feeling the emotion that turmoiled in his youth bubble once more within him. 
“...Angry.” He grits out, finally. The ability to voice that which festers within him is less of an achievement of emotional intelligence but instead the identification of the familiar taste of a fire that simmers on his tongue. 
“And why is that?” Adelinde probes. Diluc rolls his eyes.
“Because she should not marry him.” 
Adelinde blinks calmly. “Because she should not marry him or because you do not want her to marry him?”
A mirthless laugh tumbles out of his mouth. “Is that not the same thing?”
Adelinde knowingly hums and he can taste wrath that settles like burnt tar, charred pieces of skin that rolls around in his mouth before he finally decides to spit them out. “If you have something to say, Adelinde, speak it.”
She waits for a moment, a solid and silent beat that weighs in the air before she asks. “Why did you not offer?”
“Arranged marriages are barbaric. She should be free to choose whoever she wants to marry—”
“And she had her pick to choose from. Why did you not make yourself one?”
“Selecting from a batch of suitors is not a free choice. That is asking to pick the lesser of two evils, where is the freedom in that?”
“There is freedom in the choice.” She says, simply.
“It is a forced hand.”
“One that only you are unsettled by.”
Diluc’s head snaps towards the headmistress, his eyes narrowed in a venomous stare that she meets with fortified steel. “What is it that you trying to say?”
Adelinde shrugs elegantly, as though this were a mere discussion about the weather, or dinner options rather than a fated conversation about marriage, and love, and you. “You are attempting to rewrite rules to a game that has existed long before you. You clearly want something, and yet, you are unwilling to navigate the game to get it—”
“You believing marriage to be a game affirms that my position is correct.”
“Diluc—” Adelinde says, suddenly serious. “Did you not offer yourself because you are afraid she would not pick you?” 
Diluc stares widely into the woman, stomach dropping at the utterance of his great fear. Coal stifled in its blaze, water dousing the flame as he is realized in the words of actuality. 
He stares, eyes of vermillion boring into the motherly figure. Adelinde takes his silence for affirmation and speaks with a heaviness that should take to mean her conviction in the matter, or, the extent of her confusion. “Why ever would she not?”
Words unable to string together, he is a child again. Figuring out how to piece emotions together through crafted hand cards made by the headmistress for moments when he could not voice what he felt, but instead could point. His finger, made bloody with how often he picked at the skin, pointing to the card written in purple ink, stained with juices of grapes for emphasis. 
Humiliated.
He finds himself muttering, “You did not see how she looked at me.”
“As though she were angry?” Adelinde raises a brow, a quiet admonish to the man beside her that looks just like the boy she used to wipe tears from, “People are allowed to be angry at you Diluc and it mean nothing more than the fact that they were angry with you. Just as you were angry with her. It is not a statement of your character.”
“You do not understand.” Diluc begins again, self-hatred and reproach ready to be released from the confines of the mind that it has swirled around so viciously in for all of these months. He is tired. He is weary. He wishes he could wake up and have this be the end of the nightmare. “I am not a good match for her.”
“A decade of friendship would speak otherwise.”
“We cannot return from where we came because of how I acted. I was mean and insulting, and yet I had never been more true to my feelings. I could not hide my nature even for the one I love the most, how could anyone ever be deserving of that?”
“Did you ever think that, maybe, the severity of your feelings intensified your anger?” “That does not make it acceptable.”
“You are right. You are long overdue in issuing an apology, but my dear, you spoke without filter in the heat of a moment. It is but a mistake.”
“She deserves better.”
“Archons above, Diluc, one would think with your manner of speaking that you have violated her innocence! She is not a girl, she is a woman. Give her more credit to understand and make her own decisions—with,” Adelinde emphasizes, holding a finger up before Diluc could even think to interrupt her with a string of excuses explaining how you have, in fact, made your decision to marry, “all of the facts of the situation. Namely, how you feel about her.”
Adelinde scoffs. Tickled at her train of thought. “Besides, if either of you cannot handle one disagreement, then maybe marriage should be a tabled conversation.”
“This was a fight.”
“One you will overcome. Diluc, here you sit looking into a darkness that promises you nothing because you believe that is what you deserve. But I am telling you that you are deserving of a happiness that you may think is well beyond your reach, but it is right there. You need only to apologize and speak to her.”
“What if it goes wrong?”
“You have sat in rage for years, my dearest. Why not let yourself find joy in what you know will bring it?” Adelinde smiles. She steps closer, her fingertips brushing aside the stray crimson hairs that fall onto his face. “You forget, my darling boy, that I raised all three of you. I know each of you better than you know yourselves.” 
And for a moment, Adelinde’s heart aches with a pointed swell. She sees a young boy once more, eyes glassy, fear holding tightly onto a long-held hope.
“When you decide to stop looking through your own eyes, and start looking through another, maybe then you will see that they want it, too. So instead, ask yourself, what if it goes right?”
Equinox
The Tsaverichs are an ambitious bunch. 
Your father makes note of this characteristic to you in a low murmur, watching with little enthusiasm as your future father-in-law booms and bellows with audacious designs for the impending wedding. Gathered in your family’s office in Feiyun Slope, the Tsaverich Family sits opposite of yours as details of the union slowly begin to be ironed out—emphasis on slowly. 
Despite the eager receipt in which the Tsaverichs acknowledged your acceptance of the marriage arrangement, their propensity for grandeur is oftentimes contradicting and irritating to your father’s own demands.
(“Cranes are a sacred animal to Liyue. We will not be detaining five-hundred of them for release at the wedding.”
“You wish to invite… how many people?”
“Out of the question! My daughter will not declare herself allegiant to the fatui in her vows!”)
Your groom-to-be sits quiet beside his father, silent to his demands and hardly makes any effort to look you in the eyes. Ten meetings so far about wedding preparations and your groom has done little more than provide a quick nod of his head and offer a surprised gasp at his father’s mentioning of future children. (Another detail attempted to be negotiated into the preparations: the immediacy of an heir upon your union. Your father—your hero, really—is quick to strike that from the table altogether.)
You do well to hide your smile as your father huffs another sigh of annoyance underneath his breath, but it remains a difficult task. Especially as your future father-in-law preaches incessantly about how important the venue to the wedding is for the sixth time, about what it means for the union, and other details that you try to listen to but repeatedly find slipping between the threshold of reality and thought. 
Consciousness caught between the dismayed feelings of your reality, of the eerie creep of the winter chill that seeps through the floorboards despite the fire blazing in the corner; Thoughts linger on the remaining tasks for the day, impending ledgers to sign, travels to prepare for; Memories springing to the forefront of your mind, how you wish you were ten again, running through fields of open grass without a care or an obligation to a man who can hardly look your way. 
How you wish Diluc were around to keep you company. How unassuming he would find these negotiations to be, how you would make it your life purpose to get him to crack a smile at that very moment. How angry you are with him.
You sip at your tea, bitterly. 
“--and that is why we demand that the union take place in the Schneznayan Mountains, as a respect for our culture and a formal introduction of the bride into her new home nation.”
Your father heaves a great breath, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes with two fingers. “As mentioned before, Tsaverich, we do not oppose a celebration within Snezhnaya. This is a union of two families, we will have two celebrations.” 
Tsaverich guffaws, his rotund stomach jumping with the action. “I will take a firm stance that two celebrations are preposterous! We are already spending a fortune on the one alone, two is simply making a mockery of the whole affair. And it must be in Snezhnaya, where the bride will live and where her children will be born.”
“I take this as a grand offense to my daughter’s nationality, Tsaverich. Do you wish to erase Liyue entirely from my daughter and my future grandchildren? These were not terms we agreed to upon acceptance of your arrangement.”
“Of course not, my good sir, but you must consider this from our perspective.”
“I have heard of your perspective greatly.” Your father sighs before standing to address the whole table. “I propose a different solution altogether.”
An array of pensive gazes follow his movements, your own included. Your father is prone to his eccentricities, the many of which have become great friends of his during his time as an entrepreneur. It has made for moments like this, a simple gesture coupled with a phrase having the entirety of the room still in anticipation of his next movement. Your father, a monolith, in a room full of mortal men. 
“They marry in neither of our nations.”
Said monolith states his solution with little qualm, even as the entourage of advisors and planners emit a low gasp at your father’s suggestion and your own head snaps to him in earnest—beyond curious. It’s not an unheard of solution, but certainly a drastic one considering the company currently kept.   
Your father bypasses the general din of unease with little more than a wave of his hand. 
“If we cannot come to an agreement about either location, we shall find another means of compromise. Hence the idea. I believe I have sourced an appropriate and fair opportunity for this and I hope—” In perfect timing, a knock resounds throughout the office. The door behind your father being the spotted culprit. He turns towards it with comical eagerness, practically dancing on his feet. “Ah, right on time!”
He approaches the door with a giddiness that is hardly seen within a negotiation room— as though his victory lies behind the wooden divide. His trump card ready for presentation, willing to wipe the room and render everyone speechless. 
There is much to admire about your father, but his ability to forgo proprietary notions in business meetings will certainly always be a top quality. It never fails to pull the corners of your lips, much like it currently does. A small smile crossing your face despite the horrendous nature of the planning so far, particularly when your father’s hanfu sways with his flippant movements. It is hard to deny that your father’s own excitement functions as a social contagion, your own interest beyond piqued. 
“I present the solution to our venue issue!” With his hand on the knob, your father delivers a grand smile to the room of waiting attendants and a pointed wink your way. Opening the door, he announces his winning deal with grandeur and delight. 
“Master Diluc Ragnvindr!”
Said interest shatters at the mere mention. 
There is great fortune in the fact that the name of the individual is equally as egregious to your Snezhnayan counterparts as it is to you— your startlement quickly concealed by the furious uproar of your future father-in-law and gasps of his entourage. 
A vision of red and black steps into the room, hardened boots deafening a hollow sound on the wooden floor as his presence fills the empty spaces of the room not contained by the shrieks of shock. 
You stare in angered amazement; Three months of stilted silence and lingering wounds have obscured the memory of his face into something more treacherous, vicious, and unkind. But, as he stands in the room affronted with the great upset that his arrival has caused, in a room filled with people, his eyes find yours in a split second. And they hold. 
You remember this face, even as your heart has tampered with recollection to protect you from the hurt, made him into something jagged and meaner. But you know this face, know the softness of his skin and the sharpness of his jaw; Dream of the breadth of his shoulders and the hauntingly beautiful warmth of his smile. 
You have gone a great deal of time without seeing him before—such is the nature of a long distance friendship. But, this time, Diluc Ragnvindr stands before you exactly as you remember him to be— eyes still the same burning shade, sharp and narrowed and able to pick apart a person with little more than a quick flick up and down. He is dressed as intimidatingly as he always does and the air that surrounds him is much the same as it always has been, and yet— there is something entirely different about him.
He is not the same man that stood in the dining room staunchly opposed to you, alight with anger and a furrowed brow that creases the delicacy of his even face. He is someone new altogether; A renewed vigor. A sense of determination.
Handsome. Frustratingly so.
You do not dare to take your eyes off him, even as anger simmers beneath you and the memories of your argument fill the silence. He does not move himself either; He lets himself be scrutinized and the object of ire. Not a new position for him to be in, but it is clear from the direction of his gaze that he lets himself be seen—unabashedly, unwaveringly by the entirety of the room—for you. 
A familiar language seems to speak in the meeting of your gazes. The words natural and inherent even in the gliding fit of anger. Bad habits finding themselves once more. 
It is your future father-in-law that shatters the charged gaze. 
“My, this is absolutely preposterous! You have invited a traitor to our familial conversations. He is not welcome here and I find your behavior to be most insulting to us and our great nation!” The Tsaverich patriarch boasts a face as red as jueyun chilis, his head shaking from side to side in search of validation in his entourage’s gaze. 
Your father placates, his hands held up in surrender. “Please, Tsaverich. Hear us, for just a moment. Master Diluc is not only one of Teyvat’s greatest businessmen, but he is an upstanding gentleman and friend. His late father was my dear companion, and Master Diluc has come to be his exact likeness. He has been a most trusted advisor and also a dear ally to my daughter. Let bygones be bygones in pursuit of our children’s future.”
Only then does Diluc tear his eyes from yours, meeting the gaze of Tsaverich and his son with a polite bow of his head that you imagine he swallowed a great amount of pride to do. 
It is only then can you finally exhale the breath you had not realized you were holding.
“I come only to offer a solution.” He says, low and even. Steadied, as if practiced. Sure, as though he truly believed the words he had said. “In favor of a friend.”
“Unbelievable.” Tsaverich mutters, and you can’t help but agree. 
You find it difficult to believe, relatively unfathomable. You were made acquainted with a man blistering in fury at the prospect of your marriage to a Tsaverich and here he stands offering a solution. 
Insult to injury, practically. A machination of divine intervention, surely, for only the gods would be so interested in seeing the mortals squirm with discomfort. 
“I offer a venue in Dawn Winery.” Diluc begins again, his hands folded behind his back and his stature erect and poised. Standing beside your father, he appears the very picture of an intimidating man. The spitting image of his father, with the same sense of honor. “The couple can hold the ceremony on our grounds with the full assistance of the manor’s staff and complimentary wine to celebrate the event.”
“No. The couple will be married in Snezhnaya and that is final!”
“I offer Mondstadt not as a means to usurp your desire, but to find a middle ground. Mondstadt is a friendly and fair nation, it holds allegiance to both families. The couple marries on neutral lands and the families avoid a generational war of resentment. It is a fair offer, Tsaverich.”
Whatever logic could be perceived at the suggestion at this moment is thoroughly clouded by the vindicating sulfur of rage. Tsaverich ignores Diluc entirely, his gaze and finger aimed directly at your father. “This is an insult to our very name. You could not be honorable enough to suggest it yourself, you had to be in cahoots with an enemy to our great nation—”
“Not an enemy. Just banned from entry.” Diluc clarifies stoically and, finally, you find reason to interject within the conversation. Albeit, involuntarily. A huff of laughter escapes your mouth, one that you quickly try to mask lest you fuel fires further. (Either, the branding fire of anger belonging to Tsaverich or the slow burning flame in the eyes of vermillion that are waiting, begging, for the catch of wind to breathe life into it. You wish to avoid both. A glance upward reveals that you’ve stoked one.
Familiar eyes flicker to yours again and a corner of his mouth is pulled upward. For only a second.)
“For heinous behavior!” Tsaverich bellows again, finger wagging in the air. 
Your father begins again, tone soothing. “Once more, I beg you to let things remain in the past—” 
Tsaverich points a finger accusingly at your father, “This is all very odd on your part, my good sir. Are you intending to sabotage this wedding?”
“Why don’t we defer to the couple for their opinions on the matter?” Your father says, quieting the murmurs of the room. Eyes fall quickly to Mikhail for answer but you feel the flaming burn of a particular pair land on you.
Mikhail seems startled that things have landed on him. A cold sweat seems to emerge upon his brow as his hands wring together. “Me?”
“Yes, you! Out with it, boy!”
Mikhail hesitates, his eyes bouncing from his father to the other members of his party. His mouth opens, his own thoughts and words coming to the forefront—the first to have ever graced the many convened sessions of wedding planning so far— before they disappear entirely at the closing of his mouth. His father bores a heinous glare into him and, briefly, you see the rest of your life in this moment. 
Set forever to be sat at a table on the discussions of your marriage between three people. You, Mikhail, and his father. It is a desolate image and, not for the first time since this all began, do you feel the bile of dread push up your throat. 
Finally, Mikhail decides to voice an opinion. “I-I believe my father is right.”
“That settles it!” Tsaverich begins quickly thereafter, his hand clapping his son’s shoulder so hard it jerks the boy forward. “The couple wishes to be married in their future nation. Let us put an end to this nonsense—”
“There are two people to be married and one of them has yet to speak.” Diluc’s tone is that familiar bite, the kind that was aimed at you three months ago. It is a gentlemanly gnash of his teeth, but his intent is verbose. Poisonous as he tears his deathly glare away from Tsaverich before finally falling onto you. 
Eyes softening, only then. 
“You have not spoken.” He says to you, gently. 
And you’ve never been one to need anyone to offer you the stage—you’re a negotiator, an Ambassador. You’ve learned how to command things when necessary. This is not Diluc being a savior, but instead, him being earnest—interested to know your position, determined to hear your thoughts. Which makes this all the more confusing.
He did not want to hear your opinion three months ago. Diluc was wholeheartedly, completely, and violently uninterested in any conversation surrounding arranged marriages— and yet, here he stands. Asking for your opinion on your own. 
You hate how easy it is to give it upon being asked by him.
“Forgive my silence,” You begin after a long beat. Sparing a glance to the number of people in the room, you compose yourself as quickly as you can. “I meant only to consider all positions before offering an opinion.”
“Heartily forgiven, my darling.” Your father beams, sweetly. “This is your wedding, you are allowed to do and ask as you please. Forgive us for forgetting that detail. Tell us, what are your thoughts?”
You nod, fingers fiddling with themselves as you find the correct words to tell. 
“It… is as Master Diluc says. Mondstadt is not only friendly territory for the two families that have conducted business there, but it is also my second home. Let us abide by a matter of principles. If venue is the object of contention, then I vote for the compromise.”
Tsaverich looks heartily annoyed by your words while your father beams a perfect picture of a proud man. Entirely too pleased to see that his plan has worked, thus far. You find your attention, however, drawn to someone else entirely.
Diluc stares at you as though fate were predicated on you entirely. 
And it is. The words are heavy coming from your mouth, an admitted desire at the revelation of your long held truth. It is breathy and uneven and the unearthing of truths that shatters the foundations of carefully built walls.  
“Let us begin a marriage with peace and trust. End the stalemate. I wish to be married on Dawn Winery.” 
He looks at you, a burning flame in his eyes. And for a moment you can see the unspoken language, you can hear the whisper of what he means to say ring in your ear.
Your father claps, its startling sound resounding throughout the room. 
“Well! There’s our answer! It is the bride’s big day after all, I believe we should defer to her wishes on this matter. Let’s put this down as a tentative idea. I will gather with Master Diluc to discuss more of the finer details of the venue, but for now let us all break for a much needed dinner.”
— 
He is quick to follow you, right on your heels as you lead a path from your father’s office into the upper pavilion. Past the lingering staff and into the seclusion of your own personal office where high windows overlook Liyue Harbor and the sun casts its setting hue into the room. The warmth of orange bathes the quaintness of your personal items in a settling glow. Your desk is filled with papers, and ledgers, and charming trinkets given to you over the years; Pictures of your family, a childhood dog, and even him, scattered on surfaces. The room is hardly fitting for the arena in which your emotions threaten to spill onto the man before you, but you suppose neither was a dining hall. 
You and Diluc certainly are aiming to have a knack for disagreements emboldened in the safety of personal spaces. 
“Is this your way of mocking me?” You turn quickly on your heels as soon as the doors to the office close. The question is pointedly aimed and his face contorts into a furrow.
“No, this isn’t that at all—”
“Then petty revenge, is it? A final ‘I told you so’? Even if my father did come to you for assistance, you should not have involved yourself—”
“He didn’t.” Diluc interrupts quickly. He holds his hand up in gesture and you notice briefly that in the duration of the walk back to your office, he has removed his gloves. They remain folded in his hands. “I offered to your father the Dawn Winery as a venue for your wedding.”
Your head pulls back, confusion etched on your brow. “...You offered?”
“Yes.”
You blink owlishly and despite the discomfort, Diluc has never stood more surely on his feet. “I do not understand. You oppose this wedding.”
“I do.”
“You said you did not wish to be involved.”
“I did.”
“Then why would you offer?”
The question does not catch him by surprise. It is one he knew would be asked and yet it still renders him quiet. All that which he had rehearsed, fortified as explanation when sleep evaded him and his attention waning as he rode horseback between the trail leading to Liyue, falls through at the moment of demand. He is speechless despite having much to say. 
The only words able to fall through his mouth at the sight of your furrowed gaze and waiting figure is: “I was a complete fool—“
“Of epic proportions.” You interject, and he nods absently. Deservedly.
“Yes. And, in my foolishness, I realized that I do not wish to be right. I care only to have you speak to me again. I was wrong to dismiss what was so important to you, and it was wrong of me to treat you so coldly. That is not how one treats their friends, and it certainly never should have been how I treated you, especially not when you had come to me for comfort.” He grips the gloves tightly in his hands, fingers wrenching over the leather material. If you look hard enough, you can see the blanching of his knuckles. “I was prideful, and angry, and that is my nature that I am ashamed I could not hide, even for you. But, I had to come. I had to see you.”
The space between you two—where he stands by the door and you by your desk—feels like the proverbial sea splitting apart lighthouses. Both of you, lamps circling and splitting through the fog, just barely missing alignment with one another. 
"I am not, nor will I ever be, proud of the man I was that night." He says and there is no shyness to his tone. He almost seems to grow taller, more emboldened where he stands, displaying his seriousness to the words he speaks. He means to make no mistake with his words. 
He stands before you replacing the man of rage you saw all those months ago with an apologetic one. Believing everything he says.
The hue of the setting sun wafts across his figure pristinely, softening the sharpness of the features that your angry mind made him out to be. The sculpted physique that has turned him from boy to man. An honorable man, always and still. 
The fortified walls of your sorrow crumble at the sight of him. Three months of built steel and rage crumbling in an instant and it is pathetic, and pitiful of you. Your beating heart tears at the sinews and seams as the truth confronts itself once more. You are and will always be in love with a man you cannot have. 
You will live your life in union with another, and still think of the tenderness of his gaze and the honesty of his words. Of his care for you. To cross a nation and offer his home in something that he despises, solely for the sake of an apology. For you.
For his friend.
You pull your gaze away, looking instead to the gold inlaid hourglass on your desk. You spin the object, more content to watch the sand spin than to look at the man before you. "I am not foolish enough to think that I am blameless in this disagreement. I cannot fault you entirely for your response. I knew it would draw forth an argument and still, I sought your counsel. And then, I ran when I was hurt by your feelings that were the fault of my actions. But, it was not your temper that hurt me."
The floorboards creak with the shuffling of his feet, his nerves once safely concealed by the steadiness of his figure suddenly betrayed by the squeaking wood. "Then…it was what I said?"
You sigh, sadly. "It was what you didn't say."
Diluc swallows, almost stuttering. "What... what did you want me to say?"
Your eyes are drawn to him, then. Something burns there, something that was burning once before in your father’s office. Your mouth opens and closes, hesitancy shuddering through you like a frigid chill. 
It comes forward, the truth, "...Diluc." You exhale it away, softly, before shaking your head. 
Diluc steps forward, crossing the sea and approaching the gravel of your shore. “No, no. Please. Tell me. I would like to be better. I would like to have my friend back.”
He takes your reticence to mean ways in which he can be a better comfort, a better friend in times of need. It isn't what you mean at all. You know what you wanted him to say, what you wished he would do. 
Sensing you pulling away further, Diluc begins again. “I… do not know how to express myself so freely like you. I do not know how to express myself so freely to you. But in that inability I realized that I was at risk of losing one of the most important people in my life. So, please, tell me how I can be better and I will.”
It would be pathetic to tell him that you had hoped that he would declare a love for you that he has never given an indication of. How stupid of you would it be to admit that the love you held for Diluc is not in the way that friends do, but something deeper, something more consuming.
“Maybe we are no longer meant to be friends. Maybe this was meant to happen.” You whisper. There is a tightness in your throat, a stone forming in the depths that your voice cannot overcome. “I am to be married soon and off to another nation. The nature of our friendship will surely change. Maybe this is for the best.”
Diluc steps forward again, a desperate hurry to his movements as he draws himself ever nearer. “I do not believe that. And I do not believe that you believe that.”
“I cannot live with a crumbling friendship, Diluc. Let us end it, be done with it. This is too big of an obstacle, we cannot be as we once were.”
In a turn of efforts, it is Diluc then who is forcing himself into your eyesight. A sharp contrast to months ago when you were the one pleading to be seen by his avoiding gaze. He bends his head down, boring his eyes into yours as you try to lean away. “You mean to tell me that only I have lived in the misery of our silence for these past three months?”
And you want to lie, if only to further avoid the ache and the drawing out of this, but you cannot. Your heart does not allow it. Not with him. 
“No.” The sharp threat of tears line your eyes. Diluc’s hands move quickly. They cast his gloves onto the surface of your desk and rest on the sides of your arms, gathering you into his hold. Squeezing you softly. 
“You cannot live with a crumbling friendship, but I will never be able to live without you. Your company, your voice, just thinking of you keeps me sane. My words cannot be easily forgotten, I know, but I beg you, come back. Be angry at me, treat me coldly, I do not care. So long as you are here. I cannot live without my friend.”
“But can you live with a friend who has made a decision that you disapprove of?”
Slow moving and rolling fog of silence clutters the room. Diluc swallows. The answer is obvious in the wavering of his stare, in the tightening of his hands on your arms. You wait. 
His voice is a low and a desperate plea. “Do not marry him—”
“Diluc—” 
He remains determined. Words picking up in speed, in desperation.
“You deserve more than him. You deserve someone who knows you like I do, knows your heart—not your fortune. You deserve to be in a marriage that is happy, and true, and of your choice—”
“Some people are not meant to marry for love. Some concessions must be made. And that is my choice!” You argue, again. Shaking your vehemently. His hold on you remains fixed and in this battle you realize that his face has become so much more closer to yours. 
“You can. We can.” He insists. “Make a choice with all facts presented before you.”
“I have—”
“Marry me.”
Your mouth widens, falling open and shut in a foolish manner. Your heart stops beating altogether. “...What?”
It is only then that he seems to realize what he has said. It flashes across his face in a masterful play of emotions. Surprise, fear, disbelief all replaced soon thereafter with a blazing determination. 
It can no longer be denied. Diluc has run from this for too long. Words fall before he can catch them, truth and the resounding levity taking over him. His hands slowly move from grasping onto your arms, to cupping the underside of your jaw. Holding, gently, within his palms.
“I raged against the imposition of an arranged marriage because it forced me to confront the fact that I am a coward in not making my affections for you known. Yearning for your presence, your heart, your mind in every waking hour and yet having to discuss your future with another… A future without me. I could not bear it and so I was reduced to a child. Helpless, and angry, and afraid to lose you. But it has only pushed you away, because that is what I know best.”
Tendrils of loose hair fall onto his face, painting the perfect image of raw sincerity. He’s beautiful and it crumbles the remaining walls of your heart. “Three months without you have been agony. I wake thinking of you, I sleep dreaming of how you are. I would rather be near you than to ever be right about something, again. And I must tell you that I have been in love with you since I first saw you on your father’s ship all those years ago.” 
His thumb sweeps against your chin, sweetly and you find your own hands being drawn to grabbing onto his wrists. He continues, his head dropping and finally tearing from your gaze, “I love you enough to hope for the return of your affections, but I will love you enough to put your happiness above my own. Even if your final decision is to marry him, with all the facts.”
You breathe out, disbelief and incredulity stiliting your words.
“Diluc, I don’t want this if you feel as though this is your last obligated effort to save me from something. I don’t want this if you don’t feel this.”
He shakes his head vehemently. Dispelling your thoughts before it could even take flight. “No. It should have been my first effort. I should have told you my feelings long ago. But, I hadn’t thought it possible. And, I was blinded by rage.” A humorless laugh tumbles out of his mouth, “Kaeya and Adelinde were quick to inform me otherwise.”
It is your turn to cup his face, his face falling gently into the touch of your palms. “You are everything to me, Diluc, and have been for so long. How could I not be affectionate for you?”
He shrugs, “Because I am prideful, and stubborn, and you deserve… much more than that.”
“You say that as if I am perfect.”
“To me, you are.” He says quickly. 
“I am not. Our disagreement made each of our faults abundantly clear.” You insist.
“You are to me.” He says again, resolutely. “Even your faults are everything good. You are intelligent, kind, and beautiful and… the good things of me, what little there are, are because of you.” 
His hands, strong and ungloved, calloused from years of labor yet soft to the touch, grab onto yours, then. Gently holding your palms to his, fitting together as though they were always meant to. He brings your hand to his lips, a gentle kiss to the surface as he utters his words. “And I do not deserve your forgiveness, but… if you will allow me to try, I will spend every waking moment of this life and the next hundred, earning it.”
And it is everything you had hoped and more. Eyes of vermillion boring into yours earnestly as he descends onto one knee and procures a ring. A single stone of cor lapis shining in the center of an embezzled design.
“If you will have me.” 
Epilogue: Spring
It is finally accepted, the idea that was presented and discussed so feverishly once before. A ceremony will be conducted at Dawn Winery—with complimentary wine and the assistance of the full staff, as was promised. Which, fortunately enough, didn’t take much negotiation this time around, further doubling your father’s excitement. His sense of propriety and restraint was thrown out the window the moment you informed him of the change in plans. 
Or rather, the change in groom.
No event could be more worthy of grandiosity than this. His daughter’s wedding— the long awaited union to the man they had all hoped it would be; had prayed to the gods to enact their divinity in making it happen. And in their blessed favor, it had finally come true. 
Your father gleefully informed the Tsaverich family of the broken arrangement while shoving a drafted wedding invitation into their hands — one that crudely scratched off the Tsaverich’s last name beside yours and messily wrote ‘Ragnvindr’ atop of the strikethrough— and shouted from the rooftops in Liyue Harbor of the great news.
His beloved daughter was marrying the love of her life!
You had been more than content to have a small affair, and Diluc had been at peace to do as you pleased, but when your father in his great glory had appealed to your senses and emphasized how important it was to honor the union of your families and their respective nations—how great of a duty it was to respect the ancestral lines!— you both had acquiesced with little issue. 
It would end the same whether the ceremony was performed in the great peaks of Mount Hulao or in the ravines of Windrise, whether there were two hundred guests or two people.
You would be married to Diluc, and he to you.
(And Diluc—
Poor Diluc who found himself at wit’s end with how elated is, who has found himself lost for words despite never trying to speak. A kiss from you, of which have they become more frequent these days, quells the simmering rage and forges a new fire in him; One of great joy, of great desire that he hadn’t even thought possible.
Poor Diluc who lays beside you on your shared bed in the manor as you peruse a booklet of different colors for table linen, offering a sweet yet lazy opinion whenever you ask for it, his fingers trailing slowly up the curve of your spine. Exposed skin the fodder for his eager touch, brushing over splotches of red, revealed only after the intimate moment of the night prior. 
—realizes rather latently and with great awe that Adelinde was right.)
“This is a good look for you, my boy.” Your father had told him when it was just the two of them. You, having been stolen away by Adelinde and a few older women of your family to plan, plan, plan!, just a few moments prior. 
Diluc raises a brow. “Hm?”
“Happiness. It does wonders for a man.” Your father says simply, patting Diluc on the shoulder, “My dear late friend would be proud of the man his son came to be.”
It’s a warmth he hadn’t realized he was waiting to hear. An affirmation he hadn’t realized he wanted. It strikes him rather deep in his chest. Has his throat closing and a sharp prickling irritating the corner of his eyes.
That is until your father, for all his eccentricities, pushes the matter further. 
“He would, however, be humiliated to know that he now owes me ten-thousand mora.”
“Ten-thousand?” Diluc questions after swallowing the ball in his throat. “What for?”
“I wanted to formalize your union when you were children but your father insisted that you both would eventually find your way. Ah, the scruples of men from the land of contracts and freedom. We bet the amount on it.”
Diluc pauses, “Forgive me, sir, but it sounds as though you owe my father. We made the decision on our own accord.”
Your father hums, a twinkle in his eyes. “You’re right. It does sound that way. But it would not have happened without a little push.” 
Your father gives a knowing glance to Diluc, patting him lovingly on the shoulder.  Diluc huffs a mirthless breath, realization falling onto him. 
"She was never going to marry Tsaverich."
"Archons above, no. Me? Tied to that man? Puh. I thought she was going to finally confront her ‘secret’ feelings when I informed her of the need to decide. Or, that you would have made your sentiments known when she brought that wretched boy to you as a candidate. But, you two have always been a stubborn pair, so I was hardly surprised when she came home early slamming doors. I decided to take matters into my own hands and push. With a little help from some friends, of course." 
Diluc huffs a breathless laugh. Speechless. Curious how he hadn’t seen the two strategically placed agents in Kaeya and Adelinde before. “Ten-thousand, it is. I don’t suppose you have a preference on cash or check?”
Your father laughs heartily, “Keep it. Invest it in my grandchildren. Now go, your bride is calling you.”
You are married, twice, in the Spring. With the sun setting on the horizons and the cranes returning to the land from their winter migrations, blessing your union with their homecomings. 
It’s a beautiful event, one that habitants of Liyue and Mondstadt are sure to discuss for the rest of their lives. Unable to forget the melodious romantic hymns of a joyful bard, and the profound prose of a well-versed director who insisted that this was the most harmonious wedding he had ever seen.
Now, that life has settled and the routine has become normal— your life being lived between Liyue and Mondstadt, in the warmth of the manor that was always yours and in the arms of the man that always belonged to you—when bar attendants jokingly ask Diluc these days how’s that friend of yours?
He tells them the truth with a roll of his eyes and a small smile.
“My wife is very happy.”
And when the manor is soon thereafter honored to welcome another guest to the home the following Spring—a swaddled bundle of joy with the scarlet hair of her father and the warm eyes of her mother that the gaggle that is your conjoined families can’t keep their hands off of— 
Well, Diluc is all too pleased to admit how happy he is, too.
Tumblr media
a/n: if you made it here, thank you. i have been working on this fic for four years now. its taken up so much of my heart and space. kind of in disbelief that its finished.
577 notes · View notes
sideblogfornothing · 3 months ago
Text
Y'all, I cant XD sometimes you run Into super horrifying stuff about how evil Israel is, and other times, you run into a serious video that's so weird you can't help laugh.
So I just ran into a video about how evil Zionists are, and the video goes like this:
A friendly man with a chanukiya tattoo on his back is walking through like a hallway locker room thing, he's being friendly, nodding his head/saying hello to all the dudes in the hallway, everyone is happy saying hi to the friendly man, until their eyes shift downward, in the direction of his crotch (I'm sorry but that's what it looked like) and their faces darken.
This guy continues to his locker, to which he pulls out a white jacket with an Israeli flag on it. He looks up and sees all the dudes he was friendly with cracking their knuckles, and looking like they wanna fight. They all approach him, circling him as they run their hands over his jacket, smearing a red paste looking thing all over it, one by one they coat his jacket In red, than they leave.
The guy looks down at his"bloodied" hands and jacket, and we see droplets of blood on the floor by his feet.
Here's a lil screenshot
Tumblr media
This video was obviously, trying to say that all Zionists are evil murderers, but ironically, I feel it delivers the opposite message.
Maybe it's just to me, but there's something so familiar at this point about being a nice person, but getting shat on for being Israeli.
This guy was shown to be a lovely person, but just because of his nationality, or his support of Israel he's automatically labeled as a murderer, even though his only sin was his ethnicity. And also the fact the the first thing we see is the chanukiya tattoo on his neck.
This video is blantently antisemitic, it's not even trying to hide it.
This video showcases how no matter how much people would like you, no matter how good you are, no matter how nice, everyone will hate you simply for being a Jew.
399 notes · View notes
astralis-is-typing · 2 years ago
Text
Gossiping with skz
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
⚝fic type: head cannon (comedy/crack)
⚝word count: 1.4k
⚝A/N: I had so much fun writing this lmao, enjoy my unhinged assumptions ʕ⁠ノ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠ノ Thanks to @yonglixx for helping me find the gif.
。Bang Chan*゚
Knows all the tea before you even bring it up.
Homeboy knows everything about everyone somehow. I guess it’s because Chan has this really welcoming aura that just makes people deem him trustworthy. He won’t even pretend to be surprised by what you’re telling him, so you might feel a little put out… but he’ll more than make up for it by telling you what he knows! Your eyes are literally bulging out of your skull, your jaw hanging open by the time he’s done. It feels like you brought a snack and he pulled up with a whole five course meal. He’ll smirk at the expression on your face and tease you for thinking you could top his tea.
To put it simply, you cannot outdo the doer. Bro literally knows it all haha. Also, he’s very low-key about what he knows– so consider yourself lucky that he’s chosen you as his gossip buddy.
。Lee Know*゚
He'll pretend he’s uninterested and act like he’s ignoring you, only dropping the act to scold you that it’s bad manners to gossip. That is, until you mention something or someone that piques his interest. Now he has to know.
You’ll probably be teasing him like, ‘oh, I thought you didn’t want to know’, sticking your tongue out and walking away. If he needs to pin you down to the seat/couch HE WILL. As Han once said, “I can’t tease Lee Know-hyung, he’ll use force”. Will grant you one of his death stares if you try make him apologize before you finally spill for ignoring you. Literally will not let you leave till you finish the story.
Lee Know probably gets so smug when he’s the one bringing in the tea. Like his eyes glimmer and everything. I feel like he’d do that pose where he’s got his legs crossed and his hands on his lap; flashing you a cat-like grin and sitting so stoically upright while you’re borderline dangling out of your seat, just to hear what he’s saying because he won’t speak up.
  。Seo Changbin*゚  
Gossiping with Changbin would have to exclusively be done in private because he’ll be reacting so loudly! Gaping and pointing when you mention someone in his line of sight. And heaven forbid the tea in question walks past you guys… man will STARE.
Brace yourself because he’s the type to smack your shoulder exceptionally astonished.
I feel like both he and Lee Know would ask loads of questions. They love gossip but also would like to verify that it isn’t all just hot air, you know? Also, whenever the two of you were in the same room as the people you were gossiping about he’d keep looking over at you and grinning or pulling faces that make you struggle to hold in a laugh. You’d be scolding him and hitting him (playfully of course) afterwards, vowing to never share ANYTHING with him again. He’d whine, promising he won’t be as obvious with future topics of discussion (a promise that barely lasts 2 days).
Bonus: Changbin is the type to store screenshots from group chat arguments like court documents. He has pretty incriminating evidence on that android of his so better not test the guy.
 。⁠Hwang Hyunjin*゚
The type of friend to have just as much beef as you do with whoever you guys are talking about by the time you’re through with the tea.
Very reactive and will definitely be adding things on. Stuff like, ‘It isn’t even in their place!’ if someone’s talking smack about you and what not. With him it’s like sparring or a tennis match. When you serve, he will serve back; it builds up like a jenga tower. Just best friend material if you catch my drift.
Honestly there’d be a lot of tone variation haha. At some points you’d be whispering conspiratorially, leaning close to each other and whispering even if you two are alone. At other points your exaggerated hand gestures will be running the conversation. Gossiping with Hyunjin would be such a rewarding experience to be honest. In addition, he’s got a really expressive face, so you’d be knowing his opinion on whatever you’re saying immediately. Would definitely be slapping a hand over his mouth, frowning in disgust… the whole package.
Hyunjin has previously mentioned that he doesn’t judge a book by its cover, preferring not to believe rumours about people, and this is true. Nevertheless, he’d indulge you (thoroughly) because he trusts your judgement and you aren’t one to think badly of a person without reasons.
Bonus: Snacks and actual tea (or in his case, iced americanos) are FOR SURE part of the conversation. Would be sipping dramatically with raised eyebrows when you mention someone he knows. Let’s out a dramatic ‘SAME!’ because he doesn’t like them either. “I thought I was the only one,” he’d say while clutching his chest before shaking his head and continuing to munch on whatever flour-based snack he’s brought that day.
 。Han Jisung*゚
Cannot keep still while gossiping. Will keep standing up and will even pace/ walk around when something is particularly juicy. And with his weak ass legs he’d probably trip and end up just lying on the floor for a while… unbothered by it because the story is getting good. Yes, Han is a floor gossiper. (Insert Rose’s “everything I need is on the ground” meme.)
Han also is the type to get SO wrapped up in a tea time session that he won’t notice the time passing lmao. He’ll probably remember an even juicier story mid-story haha. “BY THE WAY! Did I ever tell you-?”/ “SPEAKING OF WHICH-!”.
Like, every new point you make reminds him of something else. The two of you are out here putting pieces of a puzzle together until you’ve found out who the neighbour is cheating on her husband with or something lol. Like it’s part gossip part detective work, you two actually deserve salaries for how good you are. If you guys are texting and you drop a bomb, be prepared (preferably with low phone volume) for an impromptu facetime with a SHAKEN Jisung. Also, if any of the other members know something about what you two are talking about he’ll be dragging them in. If it’s Seungmin, who’s very stingy with his tea, the two of you will be offering your kidneys for the information he most definitely can give you.
No snacks/ drinks here because he’s probably the type to spit out his water in shock haha.
 。Lee Felix*゚
Bro gets astronomically shocked. Like his reactions when he’s gossiping, watching people roast each other or similar situations are just priceless.
At first he’s pretty tentative with it because he doesn’t gossip much, but he’ll come around. He’s more subtle than Changbin but will still be nudging you with his elbow or foot when the ‘issue’ is in the room with you.
An adlib gossiper- he even gasps on beat and all that. You’ll be all like, “Felix you won’t believe what they said-” and he’ll be like, “Gurl what did they say??!” (You know, in the best aussified alternative for this sentence, cannot imagine the term gurl/gworl coming out of Felix’s mouth lmao).
If someone’s watching you guys they’ll feel so excluded (how I felt when watching skz talker in the gif *sigh*… feeling intensifies when there are no subs). Also I feel like a prime location for a gossip session would be the car! Long journeys where there’s not much to see outside the window, and you turn to him like, “Did you hear about…”
 。Kim Seungmin*゚
Now if you’ve ever watched 2kr (2 Kids Room) you KNOW this man has the inside scoop.
It’s an elite feeling to be gossiping with Seungmin because, as I’d mentioned before, he’s very choosy when it comes to who he shares his tea with. That stuff is scalding hot. Like between him and Chris, those two know all the jyp ent. secrets. Like bro probably has documents proving that Hyunjin and Yeji are related. Seungmin is INFORMED.
This is another member who’ll have actual tea with him, cradling the cup delicately with both palms and sipping slowly as he watches you lose your mind over the rim of the mug. Crosses his legs and acts so nonchalant while slapping you with the fattest, juiciest conspiracy/rumour you’ve ever heard. If you tell him something he actually doesn’t know, his composed aura will fade so fast- mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as you share your story.
 。Yang Jeongin*゚
Jeongin will 100% end a gossip session saying, “But anyways, who are we to judge?”
Between Innie’s attitude and Grandma identity your boy is a prime candidate for a gossip buddy. He’s just THE ONE. His yt/vlives are literally titled ‘Maknae’s Private Life’- doesn’t that scream tea to you? Like if you’re gossiping in a group his input is for sure the most awaited. People will be leaving to go look for him if he isn’t already present.
Gossiping with Jeongin is all hushed tones and huddled conversations. Bro might even go as far as putting his phone on silent if the tea is hot enough. I feel like he’d unintentionally switch to his Busan accent when things start to get really juicy lmao.
Abruptly keeps quiet or changes the topic whenever someone passes by the two of you. If you aren’t used to this you’ll get so confused, looking at him like ‘???’ when he randomly starts telling you about the new shoes he bought.
Idk why, but to me I.N’s really good at insta stalking and he would be pulling up people’s pages if you didn’t seem to know who he’s talking about.
Tumblr media
⚝A/N: How would you rank them MTL? I'd love to hear about it. P.s: in case you like them, the orange dividers originally by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more​ 
+Thank you for reading!♡ Here's a present for making it to the end😋:
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
krypticcafe · 1 year ago
Note
i wanna know how u think 141 + König & Alejandro would react/feel about reader doing this trend with them, ofc reader doesn't upload it or anything they just record it for fun :]
if the link doesn't work the trend is basically a person is putting on lipstick and they "mess up" and their s/o wipes it off for them and the camera pans to their s/o covered in kissmarks
this has been on my mind for a while i think its so sweet 🥲 i lovelovelove ur writing!! its so good lik oml <33
Lipstick trend w/COD:MWII men
rating: teen
character(s): Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Hound König, Alejandro Vargas / GN!Reader
warning(s): language, suggestiveness
wordcount: ~1.6k
summary: Silly little lipstick trend with your silly little military boyfriend.
a/n: the money I'd pay to kiss these men dizzy.
Tumblr media
Gaz
Knew about the trend for a while, was wondering if you'd do it, so it's not much of a surprise when you come to him asking about it.
Honestly, he thinks it's a little cheesy, but he's not so insecure that he doesn't want to do it, he's happy to make you happy.
Literally won't stop teasing you like "You sure you're doing this just for the trend?" when you're smooching him all over his face.
When you're done, you can't but stare for a bit.
"What, too pretty for words, love?"
"Shut up, Garrick."
"Make me."
Now his lips are a bright red to match yours<3
The recording goes pretty smoothly, but by the end of it, Gaz can be seen bursting into giggles which in turn makes you giggle a little until the recording cuts off.
You guys don't post it publicly, but I like to think Gaz posted a screenshot of when the two of you are in frame, looking at each other with goofy smiles.
Tumblr media
Price
The last person you'd expect to be up with any trends, but it's alright, you're here to help him!
He's hesitant, only because he's a bit bashful! When it comes to these silly little recordings and any of your playful schemes, he gets a little shy about it.
But if you really bat your eyes, pout a little, maybe even tug on his sleeve...
"Please? Just this once, sweetheart?"
He sucks in a deep breath. He's a captain for Christ's sake, he's resisted things worse than this, and no amount of hellish torture has ever made him crack in the slightes-
"Pretty please? For me, Johnny?"
What was he thinking about again?
He sits there while you practically bounce in your spot while you lather on thick layers of lipstick, wondering if this will haunt him.
But all his bashfulness goes out the window when you cup his face oh-so-gently, smother him with kisses, giggling about how ticklish his facial hair is, how it nearly messes you up, how you smile proudly at your work and at him.
You swear you won't post it because you know he can't risk his reputation as a captain... but you also know nothing is stopping you from bringing it up every now and then to him.
Pulling up the pictures and videos, smugly grinning and ogling them while he groans at how smug you are.
Real proud of that one, aren't you?
Tumblr media
Soap
"So basically for the trend I just need to put on some lipstick, kiss yo-"
"Say less."
Literally he doesn't care what he has to do, this man wants his kisses.
He'll be all "You missed a spot" when you're applying the marks on his face.
Your guys' version of the trend is a little different.
Instead, the video starts with you putting on lipstick, Soap takes it, commenting how the shade would look good on him, applying it on his lips before smothering you with kisses in the video, leaving the two of you all covered in lipstick stains.
After you wiped your face off, you notice Soap hasn't.
He's just staring smugly at the mirror, rubbing his chin, talking about how "Y'know, I think this actually looks good on me" and "Think I'll keep it on for today, yeah?"
"Honey, you can't go out like that."
"An' why not? I'm jus' wearin' makeup."
"Don't be a smartass- hey! Get back here MacTavish!"
Every day that man tests your patience, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
Tumblr media
Ghost
"You won't budge until I say yes?"
You're sitting on his lap on the bed, keeping him still, batting your eyes with faux innocence. He could lift you off if he wanted, but he doesn't, and that alone is enough of an answer for you.
"Nope."
He's trying to pretend so much that he doesn't care too much about it, that he's just letting you do whatever you want. Obviously, he's just playing along.
However, it isn't until you kiss that particular spot of his neck just right under his jaw where the stubble stops that it escalates.
"Oh? Is the lieutenant feeling ticklish?" You coo.
"'m not ticklish-" He's cut off by more kisses peppered around the area and a few extra on his face.
"Mhm, really, because," You're giggling in between your words, "When I kiss you here," He forces the fakest cough he's ever made when you kiss the same spot against, nipping it slightly. All he can do is lean back into the couch, leg bouncing impatiently, trying to bite back a chuckle or two until he finally cracks. The two of you are in a quiet fit of snickers and giggles until you finally let up.
After making the video, you silently gush over it, replaying it over and over. There's a hint of redness on his cheeks, and his eyes seem to flicker from you to the camera, it's the most flustered you've ever seen him be and you got it all on tape, lucky you.
Tumblr media
Roach
"That's so dumb, of course I wanna do it."
Roach is all for goofy little couples trends, so it's nothing new if you ask him to do another.
"Babe, stay still would you?" You pout, "I'm gonna have to start over if you keep squirming!"
"Mmm, I think I'd like that."
"Of course you would." Rolling your eyes, you pinch his cheek and he yelps, apologizing and letting you continue. He really can't help it though, it's really ticklish for him.
It takes maybe three tries for you to get the video right, ending with one where Gary messed up your makeup for you by swooping in to give you a sloppy smooch and clumsily wiping it only to further smear it while in a fit of giggles. He claims you were taking too long so he put matters in his own hands.
"So when do I get to do you?"
"What are you talking about, that's all there is- Gary!"
"Nuh-uh, c'mere!"
Tumblr media
Hound
He's confused as ever but agrees to it on a whim since he's often entertaining your needs and wants anyways.
As you settle on his lap, his hands rest on your sides and he looks up at you with affectionate eyes. He was looking at you like that when you were putting on your lipstick, too. You almost don't want to ruin his pretty little face, but at the same time, you think it'd look so much prettier with your kisses all over it<3
His eyes close and he stays still while you mark his face all over, even when your lips tickle sensitive spots like his scars. Patient as ever.
When you pull away, he looks like such a doll for you. Your hands cup his face and his lashes flutter open, showing those big brown eyes still giving you the same adoring look, and your chest is basically hammering. He can probably hear it, too. He reaches up to hold your hands and presses his lips against the knuckles. You swear your heart just stopped.
"Everything alright, sugar?"
Oh fuck, what were you supposed to be doing?
"Mhm." You nod frantically, face burning while his thumb brushes over a knuckle, "Y-You know, maybe we can just... tonight... haha... holdmeplease?"
Yeah... you never did quite get your video.
Tumblr media
König
"What, with me?" He asks, bewildered.
"Of course?? Who else am I going to do it with? Oh sure, let me call up Horangi, I bet he'll be happy to-"
"Nonono! I want to do it!"
Moments later, he's sitting on the edge of your bed, hood off, fidgeting awkwardly, and watching you quietly. Now you know what he meant when they told him he couldn't stay still for the life of him.
"König, honey, you act like I'm going to hurt you or something." You chuckle, popping your lips as you apply your lipstick in the mirror. He wasn't even this skittish in bed so what had him all jittery?
Setting your hands on his shoulders, you reassure him with a kiss first on the forehead. "Relax, I just want to take a video, that's all."
"Sorry schatz, I'll behave." He hums, easing up at your touch and you smile, planting kisses all over. It seems he just didn't know what exactly he was in for.
You show him how he looks on your phone, "Thoughts?"
"Not bad..." He attempts to wipe off the marks, but you swat his hand away from him.
"You think we're done, mister?"
"Huh?" Practically pouncing on him, you cut him off with a hungry kiss, hovering your body over his. What, he didn't seriously think all you wanted was a video, did he?
Tumblr media
Alejandro
He snickers, "If you just wanted my attention, you could've asked."
"I'm serious, Alejandro, it's a thing!" You beam, pointing to the videos on your phone.
He jokingly dismisses your claim and settles onto his office chair, looking at you expectantly. You're confused for a moment, what was he staring at you for?
"Are we going to do this or not? Don't tell me it was actually an excuse now, mi vida."
"No!" You blurt, though now you're debating if you should do this or just leave him waiting with how much he wants to tease you. Then again, you can't pass up this opportunity.
While applying your makeup, you can spot him quietly admiring you in the corner of his eye, and it nearly throws you off your game.
As you kiss him, he keeps his eyes on you, a grin on his lips. Not for a single moment does he tear his attention away from you, instead pointing at a few spots for you to mark.
"I got it, I got it," You huff, mumbling to yourself, "You're certainly enjoying this, colonel..."
Post-production, when you get up to wipe off your lips, he looks at you with offense, "What, that's it?"
"Yes..?"
"Nonono, I think we need to do it again, my way, this time." He snickers, pulling you in by the waist.
"Your way? Alejandro!" You whine without fighting back as he pulls you in for a longer kiss, all your protests forgotten.
Tumblr media
a/n: homies i kinda regret writing this so close to valentine's day haha...
566 notes · View notes
six-eyed-samurai · 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Silly reasons the Tokyo Rev Boys have dialed you for based off…actual reasons…people have called me for…
🌸Takemitchy calls you for conversation, which suddenly turns to school and "WAIT DON'T WE HAVE A TEST TOMORROW?". Obviously the both of you panic and whip out your books, meaning to study together via phone call but also simultaneously realize you've forgotten the topic...and which class it was for. The rest of the call is just sitting in panicked silence, punctuated with the occasional "We're so screwed."
🌸It’s canon Izana plays guitar! Do you ever think he writes his own songs as well? Maybe, and that's why he calls you in the middle of the night to tell you about it, wanna hear it, oh am I bothering you, it's fine you don't have to listen now (and you'll say “I SAID I'D LISTEN TO IT AND I WILL KUROKAWA NOW SING.”), any suggestions for improvements? And then somehow it spirals into the both of you doing your utmost best to be off key, off tune and completely ruin the song with as many voice cracks as possible.
🌸Chifuyu, bless his heart, calls you out of the blue with no prior warning, at an inconvenient time and scares you enough for a heart attack, but he doesn't realize it, too intent on forcing you to watch the latest anime trailer for the both of your favourite manga with him after you say you can't load the video. He’s downright scandalized, and in his defense he did text you about what he was going to do - only you hadn’t understood he meant call as in call now. I mean, at least the both of you got a kick out of it as he shares his screen, so win-win?
🌸I think Inupi would call you for no particular reason other than to be in your company. You both don't say much but somehow the call spirals to a three hour dial. Whenever one of you gets up you'll flip the camera to show the other where you’re going or what you’re doing. Inupi likes to think it’s like the both of you are having lunch together, doing that jigsaw puzzle together, doing the dishes together…it’s alright if you spend two thirds of the time in silence, your company is enough for him.
🌸Koko calls you for a venting session! He rants about the idiots he’s encountered, his worries, the gang, money problems, boasts on how much he’s made today, stuff he’s bought you, anything really. He knows he could’ve just texted you about it but it’s a lot more personal for him if you pick up and reply back talking, but occasionally he does feel bad he keeps calling you - although you assure him you love it! You do, really, because in turn you get to vent about whatever’s on your mind and Koko always has the best reactions (damn if that girl hasn’t been an absolute bxxch, nooo, she did what now?). He’s like a gal pal and a boyfriend combined.
🌸You’re the one to call Baji, actually, because it’s the only way to get him to study with you if you’re not free to go to his place. You put up with his complaining and force him to answer a bunch of quizzes. The study session goes great for the first half….then somehow you both get sidetracked when Baji says he’s bored and leaves to make yakisoba. You make him take the phone with him and it could’ve been romantic, both of you making noodles from your ends of the line! But no, Baji ends up getting distracted flirting with you and overcooks it into a mushy mess that has you gagging and hanging up on him.
🌸Ran and you call for normal-people reasons like chatting or studying, but more often than not Ran’s childish nature has him more interested in playing with the phone call’s filters (if let’s say you’re using apps like Instagram) and making you pose with him before screenshotting - by the way, you’re the one doing that, because Ran has TERRIBLE timing when it comes to taking photos. If there’s those filters that let you draw on your screen self, oh man does Ran love doodling moustaches, beards, cat ears, the whole gig. If you don’t call him handsome he gets pouty and threatens to hang up or leak that ugly screenshot of you when the phone froze from lag.
🌸With no apology to your ears, Sanzu will call you at 3 a.m. in the morning to either a) make the most terrifying/fart noises known to mankind or b) bombard you with meaningless philosophical questions that made you get out of bed and actually Google them. Of course he doesn’t do this all the time, mostly when he’s high as a kite. Yet you KNOW for a fact he’s sober that night when he suddenly dialed your number and when you picked up, dead silent until the most unholiest rendition of your favorite song is being sung (read: screamed) out. You yelp and hang up, but not before you hear him cackling.
🌸He’s the sort to honestly forget to call you but when he does Mikey makes the call drag on for hours because he has his ways of making you not hang up, but the times he DOES remember to call you is after you tell him no, you can’t eat twenty five dorayaki in one go, I’m not paying for that. He’ll be feeling petty and when he gets his hands on dorayaki he calls you for no other reason than to chew it as loudly as possible next to the microphone so you get the Mikey Premium Dessert ASMR. If you hang up he’s sending voice recordings.
Tumblr media
342 notes · View notes
sacrednova · 2 months ago
Text
Drive me home | Simon "Ghost" Riley | 6
fem!reader | In this story, a young woman mistakenly texts Simon "Ghost" Riley, thinking he's her Uber driver after a wild night out. Despite his gruff, reserved nature, Simon shows up. Contains fake screenshots with texts messages and calls!!!! Start reading from the beginning: Part 1 | Part 7
It wasn’t like she wanted him, not exactly… It was the mystery, the curiosity of him—the man who never showed his face, who spoke in dry, single sentences that left her mind spinning. Tonight, would he take off the mask? Of course, he would, right? How would he even drink if he didn’t?
Stop overthinking, she reminded herself. She slid into her black dress and forced herself not to linger in front of the mirror. She didn’t want to pick herself apart tonight.
Then, at 11 p.m., her phone buzzed.
Tumblr media
Heart racing, she bolted to the door, hands a little shaky as she turned the lock. Her legs felt numb as she stepped outside and saw his truck parked on the street, his door cracked open. And there he was—stepping out, a shadow in all black, face mask and cap concealing everything but those dark, piercing eyes. Does he ever take any of it off? she wondered, caught in a breath. But damn, even like that, he looked so good. It was all in his stare, in those brown eyes that seemed to look right through her.
She reached the truck, her pulse racing as he opened the door for her. And just like that, she melted a little. There was something so unfairly attractive about this tall, serious man with that effortless chivalry.
"Good night for a drink," he murmured, voice low and smooth.
“It is… a good night… for a drink.” What was that?! Her words fumbled, sounding ridiculous even to her own ears.
She could feel his gaze, steady and unphased. He didn’t comment, just nodded as she climbed in, settling into the seat. The truck felt like a world of its own, quiet and filled with the heavy, unspoken tension between them.
She felt the thrill of it all, of not knowing what the night would bring, and the unshakable feeling that maybe… just maybe… she wanted to be around him for more than one drink.
To Simon, having her there in the passenger seat felt… different. Not because she was a woman—that had happened plenty of times before. He was almost forty, after all. But it was how she looked at him, like his presence was something worth having around. Like she wanted him there, not just anyone.
He could feel it in every quick glance she stole at every red light, like she was hoping for him to say something, anything, to break the tension. But hell, he was as nervous as she was. Ridiculous, he thought, feeling like a rookie on his first deployment.
Get it together, Riley. He wasn’t some jittery teenager; he was a soldier trained to stay calm under pressure, to keep his emotions in check. But somehow, her quiet breaths, her shifting in the seat, and the faint sighs she let out felt louder than any battlefield.
Finally, at a red light, he gave in to the temptation. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick, blunt message to the one person who would probably laugh at him the most for this:
Tumblr media
He hit send and glanced back at her, hoping she hadn’t noticed the message. Just sitting beside her, seeing her nervous fingers tapping at her dress, somehow made him realize just how much he wanted her to feel… good here.
Soap’s response came through quickly, just as Simon expected: a blend of teasing and actual advice.
Tumblr media
Simon rolled his eyes, already regretting asking. But another message followed almost immediately:
Tumblr media
Was he? Good at listening? Simon didn’t think so. Listening had always been a matter of survival, a skill honed for the field where every sound and word carried weight. It wasn’t about connecting—it was about completing the mission. But now, as he glanced at her while she nervously fiddled with the strap of her bag, he realized something unsettling. There was a reason to listen to her, though it was hard to name. It wasn’t tactical or practical. It was… something else. Something personal.
When they reached the bar, Simon parked the truck, stepped out, and moved to walk beside her. She started talking almost immediately, her voice animated as she explained how her friends would never agree to a place like this.
“They’d say it’s boring. Too quiet, not enough lights or—are you listening?”
Her voice snapped him back, her playful tone laced with curiosity.
Simon paused, glancing down at her as they walked. “No,” he admitted with a small shrug, his thick Manchester accent cutting through the cool air. “But I’m tryin’.”
Her expression flickered, amusement and a hint of insecurity mixing. “Am I boring you?”
“Not at all,” he replied, his voice steady. “You just distract me.”
“Distract you?” she echoed, her brows lifting slightly. Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, the color deepening as she smiled nervously. “How… how is that?”
Simon’s gaze softened, though his expression stayed firm. “I can’t take my eyes off ya,” he said simply.
Her breath hitched slightly, her eyes widening at his bluntness. She looked away for a second, brushing her hair behind her ear with trembling fingers, but the small, flustered smile that crept onto her lips didn’t escape his notice.
And damn, Simon thought, he could’ve stood there all night, just watching her get flustered like that.
Tumblr media
They found a corner table, tucked away from the faint hum of conversation. The bar wasn’t loud—dim lights, wooden tables worn from years of use, the quiet clink of glasses. It was understated, grounded, like the man sitting across from her. He leaned back in his chair, broad shoulders almost too large for the small space, his dark hoodie blending into the shadows.
Simon hadn’t said much since they sat down, but she didn’t mind. The silence between them felt alive, charged with something unspoken. She fiddled with her glass, pretending not to stare at the way his gloved fingers tapped the table absently, his focus elsewhere. Or maybe not—maybe she was his focus, but he hid it behind that mask, the black fabric pulling tight over his jaw each time he shifted.
The waitress came and went, delivering their drinks with a polite nod. Bourbon, neat, for both of them. Typical, she thought, hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass. Strong, no fuss, and maybe a little bitter. Exactly what she imagined he'd order.
And then it happened.
He reached for his drink, long fingers curling around the glass, and pulled the mask down.
Her breath caught.
His features were… everything she hadn’t expected and exactly what she had. A strong nose that looked like it had taken a few punches over the years. A sharp jawline, scarred just enough to suggest a life she couldn’t even begin to imagine. His lips—pressed tight together, like even they weren’t ready to let her in—completed the picture.
And the scars. God, the scars. They weren’t grotesque or overwhelming. They were real, etched into his skin in a way that felt like history carved onto stone.
She stared, unable to help herself. And for a moment, she thought she should look away—shouldn’t she? But then he lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, heavy and unreadable.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. He could have any other face—softer features, smoother skin, a nose that had never been broken—and she’d still be so completely into him. It wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he was. The way he carried himself, like the world had thrown its worst at him and he’d stood tall anyway. The weight behind every glance, every word.
And maybe that was why she couldn’t tear her eyes away, not even when he set the glass down, licking his lips briefly, almost absently.
“What?” he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges like sandpaper.
She shook her head quickly, a small laugh escaping before she could stop it. “Nothing,” she said, though her chest felt tight, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears.
He didn’t believe her—she could tell by the way his gaze lingered. But he didn’t press.
Instead, he leaned back, one arm resting on the edge of the table, and said, “Good bourbon.”
And just like that, she knew. She was in trouble. So much trouble.
She picked up her phone the moment Simon leaned back, his eyes scanning the room like he wasn’t the center of her universe right now. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, her heart doing somersaults like she was seventeen again. What the hell was happening to her?
Quickly, she opened the chat with Lottie and fired off a string of frantic messages:
Tumblr media
Lottie’s response was instant:
Tumblr media
She set the phone down quickly, realizing Simon was watching her again, his head tilted slightly, like he was trying to figure her out.
“What are you texting about?” he asked, his voice even but carrying that low timbre that made her spine tingle.
“Nothing!” she said quickly, stuffing her phone back into her bag and gripping her glass like a lifeline. “Just… uh… girl stuff.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. Instead, his focus shifted. “I want to know about you.”
The simplicity of the statement caught her off guard. There wasn’t a trace of pretense, no charm or manipulation. He just wanted to know.
“Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter. “Well, uh, where do I start?”
“Wherever you want,” he replied, leaning in just enough to let her know he was listening.
So, she talked. About her job, the friends who made her laugh, the ones who drove her crazy, how she loved a certain weather. She rambled, unsure if any of it mattered, but he nodded along, his eyes steady on her.
But then, curious, she shifted gears. “What about you?” she asked, leaning forward slightly. “What’s your favorite day? Do you even like the rain? Or are you one of those people who thinks it’s a hassle?”
His expression stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Lot of questions,” he said, voice low and clipped.
The change was immediate. She froze, words catching in her throat, the slight sharpness of his tone cutting through her like a cold wind.
“Oh,” she muttered, pulling back slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Didn’t say stop,” he interrupted, though his gaze flicked away, landing somewhere past her shoulder.
She blinked, uncertain of what to make of his sudden dryness. He wasn’t annoyed—not exactly. If anything, he seemed… guarded, like the spotlight had been turned on him and he wasn’t ready for it.
“I’m just not used to it,” he added, softer this time, almost like an apology.
Her chest ached a little at that. “Used to what?”
“People asking.”
The air between them grew heavier, more intimate somehow, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many walls he had built up, how many times he had pushed people away before they even got close.
“Well,” she said, keeping her voice light, “you’ll have to get used to it. Because I’m curious. And I ask a lot of questions.”
His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner. “Figured that out already.”
This time, when he looked at her, it felt different—less guarded, more… something she couldn’t quite name. But whatever it was, it made her heart do that high school thing again, and she was so not prepared for it.
Tumblr media
tags: @sleep101 @all-by-myself98
I'm incredibly busy right now—so much work and so many things going on in my little life. But despite all that, I'm really happy to have some time to write. Thank you for the feedback and for letting me know you're enjoying it; I truly appreciate it! ♥
[Part 7] ---->
135 notes · View notes
rottenpumpkin13 · 9 months ago
Note
I think Sephiroth would have somebody to curate his social media for him. Any head canons about what the SM manager would be like & if they get along with Seph?
Sephiroth's social media manager thinks they landed the opportunity of a lifetime. Not only are they curating a hero's social media, but Sephiroth is notoriously likes to keep his personal life private, so this will definitely be easy. This SM manager has worked with unhinged celebrities before, and Sephiroth is definitely not going to cause any trouble.
That is until they find out the hard way that Sephiroth was recently ordered to post to social media frequently, and the man is a master at malicious compliance.
Highlights of things his SM manager has had to delete quickly include:
• A selfie with a notorious Anti-Shinra group leader where Sephiroth is smiling and doing a thumbs up.
• A mirror selfie taken in Angeal's apartment after a sleepover. Genesis is seen in the background with cannabis leaf pajama pants, Angeal is seen with NO pants. The caption reads "We make a nice threesome."
• A candid photo he took of Rufus Shinra in the distance. Sephiroth's middle finger is photo bombing the picture.
• A screenshot of a text conversation that should not have been shared. Sephiroth captioned it "Help your friends ❤️"
Zack: This energy drink is doing nothing for me. I need something stronger.
Sephiroth: I know where you can acquire crack cocaine.
• A photo of an empty mako tank in R&D, Sephiroth captioned it "Childhood memories ❤️"
• A picture of Angeal shedding tears while chopping onions. Sephiroth zoomed in on Angeal's face and captioned it "How I feel inside."
• A five second video taken in Reeve's office, where Sephiroth and Reeve are toasting pill bottles.
• A screenshot from the SOLDIER group chat.
Kunsel: The fridge in the break room is on fire. Where the fuck is Lazard
Sephiroth: *sends a photo of him and Lazard doing shots together*
• A mirror selfie of him and Genesis. Sephiroth is wearing a T-shirt that reads "I'M INSANE" while Gen's reads "I LOVE INSANE BITCHES"
• A group photo of Sephiroth, Genesis, Angeal and Zack posing with the President Shinra statue, all of them doing the middle finger.
• Sephiroth took a photo of the fish aquarium on the SOLDIER floor and captioned it "I relate to them on a spiritual level"
• A five second video of him coming up behind Professor Hojo on the stairs and kicking him down said stairs.
218 notes · View notes
kuschelkissen · 5 days ago
Text
Oh dear. I didn't think I'd be able to love Xia Fei more, but...?
Tumblr media
The process was fraught with challenges, naturally, but the turning point came with the "birth" of Xia Fei. At first, no one really liked him. Probably because he was too ordinary. A little fox teetering on the edge of life, gritting his teeth as he pushed forward. There was this one scene where a client maliciously forced him to drink. Cornered, the kid smashed a wine bottle over the client's head with a loud crack, bolted out of there, and texted his boss a long apology while on the run. The next day, hungover and ashamed, he rolled around under his blanket, regretting his impulsiveness.
Is this one scene something we will see somewhere, or is this like... backstory musings? Because... man... (probably the latter, but imagine.)
Sure, he wasn't cool at all. But when criticized for that, I couldn't help but feel indignant. Then one day, perhaps because work had become unbearable, I suddenly decided to let XF take on the world. Cool? A boy who's been stomped on by the world's malice, yet stubbornly gets back up and flips the world the bird with a grin- how is that not cool? Natural diamonds may dazzle, but what truly endures is wild grass, which no fire can extinguish. And so, youthful defiance became his defining trait. He gets scared, he messes up, he sulks, but he also laughs, cries, makes trouble, claims credit, calls for help - and most importantly, helps himself. He gave me strength, pulling me along to fight back against the malice of work and life. Never bowing, never yielding. "If you mess with me, if you anger me, I'll punch you right back." That's my favourite lyric from "The Boxing Ring of Fate" (laughs)
Oh Baby... T///T He really has had it rough, hasn't he?? ;_;
So... While I still feel like he's carrying a deathflag around... "He gave me strength (...) never bowing, never yielding" would you find strength in someone who dies?
"what truly endures is wild grass, which no fire can extinguish." Is it... ok to be slightly hopeful that he will survive this arc? 🥺 pretty please?
Full transscript of the screenshots under cut, but these were those about Xia Fei.
A Farewell to LC after a year of script completion
One year after the script for LC was finalized, it's time to say goodbye. For me, the latter half of 2023 stretched endlessly, like a bleak and drizzling rain.
After experiencing the ups and doens of work, I began sneaking time at my desk to prepare for my PhD entrance exams. Yet, when the final part of the Yingdu arc landed in my hands, it felt like holding a scorching hot potato.
"I can't fix this, I can't write a word of it. Well, it's not like I'll be the one getting blamed if it flops! But… there are still people looking forward to it. Yet, I'm just an employee. But-" Frustration circled overhead, buzzing loudly in the hollow spaces of my heart. Of course, as a true worker, I grumbled but still rolled up my sleeves. The process was fraught with challenges, naturally, but the turning point came with the "birth" of Xia Fei.
At first, no one really liked him. Probably because he was too ordinary. A little fox teetering on the edge of life, gritting his teeth as he pushed forward. There was this one scene where a client maliciously forced him to drink. Cornered, the kid smashed a wine bottle over the client's head with a loud crack, bolted out of there, and texted his boss a long apology while on the run. The next day, hungover and ashamed, he rolled around under his blanket, regretting his impulsiveness.
Sure, he wasn't cool at all. But when criticized for that, I couldn't help but feel indignant.
Then one day, perhaps because work had become unbearable, I suddenly decided to let XF take on the world.
Cool? A boy who's been stomped on by the world's malice, yet stubbornly gets back up and flips the world the bird with a grin- how is that not cool? Natural diamonds may dazzle, but what truly endures is wild grass, which no fire can extinguish.
And so, youthful defiance became his defining trait. He gets scared, he messes up, he sulks, but he also laughs, cries, makes trouble, claims credit, calls for help - and most importantly, helps himself. He gave me strength, pulling me along to fight back against the malice of work and life. Never bowing, never yielding.
"If you mess with me, if you anger me, I'll punch you right back." That's my favourite lyric from "The Boxing Ring of Fate" (laughs)
There was a lot of dissatisfaction, but even more joy. I'm especially grateful for meeting Director Li, for crossing paths with my favourite girl, and for the support and encouragement of my colleagues and friends. Passion is enough to defy fate - we truly love donghua.
"We're the generation that grew up with the internet, traversing countless virtual worlds. The characters from those worlds are as real to us as anything else." Animation, comics, games, and fan creation make up the fast galaxy that defined my adolescence.
Honestly, I never anticipated how much I'd worry about public opinion after the Yingdu arc aired. But I suppose self-doubt is just the dust stirred up by a still-burning heart. After all, Link Click was why I joined Haoliners in the first place - and why I'm leaving now.
From the stacks of fanfiction I filled as a child, to the stories I typed out word by word after school, to the joy radiating from readers at convention booths, to the sincere comments on lofter. From the screenwriting assignments I turned in during my seven years at the Communication University of China, to the tears shed on live-action sets, to the countless files in my "Bilibili work" folder…
Looking forward is an act of justice, but when you glance back, you can't help but be moved - you'll see traces of love, scattered and fragmented, but unmistakably glowing.
May the peach and plum trees speak for themselves, and their paths bloom with flowers unbidden.
69 notes · View notes
pedrospookie · 1 month ago
Note
hello, my dearest 💛
with this ask I challenge you to write a ficlet (or anything bigger if you want) inspired by this screenshot:
Tumblr media
may the writing muses be with you,
kissing you on your forehead (if you allow it not then just waving from the distance!)
Howdy howdy!
Thank you for sending in this ask 🤭 I love me some Jack Daniels— my favourite cowboy! I was inspired by Elton John this week and caught myself listening to I guess that’s why they call it the blues while writing this. I’ll be curious to know if you can spot the songs influence! This is my first crack at writing in over half a decade, so I feel a little rusty… but i think it’s cute!
I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues — Jack Daniels x f!reader (fluff/angst)
wc: 2.1k | mild swearing, intimacy is hinted at, nothing wild for my first crack back
A smoky, twangy voice and the strum of a guitar murmurs through Jack’s bronco, filling the comfortable silence between you. His thick hand wrapped delicately around your thigh, claiming what is his as you parade through the open roads, the sweet smell of honeysuckle filling your lungs with every gust of the evening breeze. The bluebells were in full bloom this time of year, glowing almost a pale shade of purple under the lazy setting sun. These quiet moments with Jack had grown to be some of your most cherished moments together, life often getting in the way of the simple life you shared.
You knew Jack as the wholesome country boy from down the way, a man who straps on his boots and Stetson every morning, who appreciates the taste of an ice cold sweet tea on a scorching hot day and who could tame a horse quicker than a cat on a hot tin roof. The soft, kind boy with the crooked smile and whiskey coloured eyes, who wants to do things right, the boy who would go to the end of the world and back for you. To you, he was just Jack— a simple boy from Kentucky, not Agent Whiskey, not an international spy or trained assassin, just a boy who fell in love with a girl.
Yet, somehow your quiet, simple life together was being interrupted once again. In less than 20 hours, with a kiss and a pinky promise to comeback to his sweet girl, he would be off.
Jack would disappear and Agent Whiskey would be somewhere halfway across the world, undisclosed and unreachable. It made Jack sick to leave you. He knew the toll it took on you and your relationship. It broke his heart to go, every time he stepped out that door he cursed himself for it. He knew how his career haunted you, yet you never complained. You only had one simple ask, that he had to come home. Jack felt resentful towards the countdown running in his mind, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He had to cherish this time with you, his girl. His sun, moon and stars. Together under the canopy of the setting sun, nestled on the leather seats of his Bronco, Jack was desperate to get you home, where the sleepy ranch awaits, and tangle himself into you.
“Darlin’, can you promise me one thing?” Jack’s rough voice breaks through the silence, pulling your attention to him.
“What’s that, dear?” You smile, placing your hand on top of his, both resting them on your thigh. Jack lowers his sunglasses with his free hand, looking at you sincerely. The look in his eye sent butterflies bursting through your tummy, it was so charming and sincere. Your sweet boy.
“That when I’m back, you’ll take the day off so we can spend the mornin’ together again? Like that one time?” His chocolatey, brown eyes beg, voice so soft that it is nearly a whisper. The sound of his request tugging on your heart strings. How could you deny him that?
That morning had been perfect.
After several long, agonizing, worrisome weeks apart, Jack had finally made his return, embracing you the moment he entered the door and refusing to let go until the next morning.
You woke in a messy tangle of limbs and bedsheets, the sun shining through and glittering it’s rays across Jack’s soft brown hair that was sticking up every which way, coaxing a small laugh from your lips. Your soft laughter stirred the cowboy awake, his grip on your increasing until he had you nestled under him, burying you with affection. I have a lot of catching up to do, he murmured gently along your neck, pressing open mouth kisses down your pulse points. Once he had had his fill, he was overcome with hunger. I’m a lucky man, he chuckled, getting my dessert before breakfast, the words tumbled from his plush lips as he flipped eggs in a fry pan. The record player was crooning along to an old Hank Williams album as you watched your darling cowboy make his way across the kitchen, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder as he focused on making the perfect sunny side up egg for his sunshine. He was just an old sweet soul taking care of his girl, pure domestic bliss. A sigh found it’s way across your lips as you admired the man in front of you. It felt so right to have him back, to have him home with you. Your sigh caught his attention, a smug look crossing his face as he approaches you at the kitchen table, spatula still in hand. Can I have this dance? He asked in a tone as sweet as sugar, quirking an eyebrow in anticipation. Jack would give anything or find any excuse to have you in his arms. How could he not? You looked extra beautiful, seated at his table, wearing his shirt and the warm morning sun cascading over you, making you glow. Maybe she was an angel after all, he thought to himself as he pulled you into his chest, his large hand pressing into your lower back, beginning to sway along to Hank’s melancholic voice. Jack had no idea how he managed to snag a woman like you, but he counted his lucky stars for it. He would lasso the moon for you, if you asked. Jack inhaled deeply, catching the sweet scent of your shampoo and the lingering remnants of your perfume. It was good to be home.
Your moment of bliss was rudely interrupted by the blaring sound of the fire alarm, smoke starting to waft through the kitchen, stirring a panic between the two of you. Fuck! The eggs! Jack yelped, reaching for the window above the sink and promptly flinging the burnt scraps from the fry pan out the window.
“I’m pretty sure I still owe you a dance.” Jack chuckles, thinking back to that morning, the sound of your laugh tugging on his heart strings. It was hard to keep his eyes on the road, the short peeks weren’t enough for Jack. He wanted to see the way you crinkle your nose when you giggle like that.
“And a new fry pan.” You shoot back with a cheeky grin. Jack could only shake his head at you before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, steadying his gaze on the road ahead. I’ll get you something even better than a fry pan, Jack smirks to himself as he admires your small hand in his, thinking about the twinkling secret tucked at the back of his night stand.
“And a new fry pan.” He rolls his eyes playfully, “But I will be cashin’ in on that dance once I’m home, gorgeous. I’m gonna wine ‘n dine ya ‘til the cows come home.”
“We’ll see about that, cowboy. Do you remember the last time you promised to take me out to the city?” You snicker, watching his mouth fly open and his moustache framing his surprise, completely aghast.
It was a day hotter than hell itself.
The tall grass moped, praying for a break from the beating sun, crunching under each foot step as Jack led you towards the barn. One last chore, he had promised with a wink, needing to put out some extra water for his horses before taking you into town.
The hose groaned awake as Jack twisted the squeaky spout, the sound of flowing water starting to rush through the rubber. Anticipating a splash, you held out the rusted bucket waiting for water to hit. However, your pail remained as dry as the desert. A look of confusion crossed your face, lacing your brows together, matching the similar look on Jack’s face, until he spots the reason for this drought. His rough, calloused hands pick the old hose up and twist it, relieving the rubber of the kink in its form and releasing the pent up water from within it, dousing you in the process. The shot of cold water shocked your system, spraying your face and chest, the bucket in your hands doing a piss poor job of catching any of it. Jack was beside himself, eyes as wide as saucers, moustache twitching as he mutters apology after apology. Sugar, I am SO sorr—He is interrupted by a loud splash, water hitting him square in the chest, his white shirt sticking to his bronze chest as a roar erupts from you cutting the tension in the air. His worried eyes relax as he chuckles along with you. Oh, now you’re on, missy, he warns, picking the plastic hose back up and chasing you through the old barn.
“Well darlin’, I don’t remember you complaining about that,” Jack murmurs smugly, “something ‘bout how I’d win a wet t-shirt contest?” He flashes you an award winning smile, his moustache curling ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth, this gorgeous smile sparking a warmth across your face and chest.
“Alright, alright. Easy does it, cowboy.” You chuckle, refusing to give Jack the satisfaction of knowing that he’s right. You were going to miss his playful banter and southern charm. The weeks away were always hard, even when you tried to fill them with hobbies and your friends.
“You know I’d keep you under the covers all day if I could, sugar.” Jack croons with a twinkle in his eye, placing a delicate kiss to each of your fingers before reaching the back of your hand. He could feel the mood shift, dancing away from lighthearted teasing to something deeper. He caught the sad look in your eye, feeling guilt wash over him. He looked back at the road ahead of him once more, before turning back to look at you.
“More than just the covers, pretty girl, I need you every day.”
He could feel it in his heart of hearts, that burning desire to be home, that it was time for him to hang up his lasso. Jack was ready to be wholeheartedly present with you, that it was time that could be better spent with you. Making memories together, building your life together, making babies together. His life as Agent Whiskey was one that had come and passed, exciting and cathartic at first, but it had sucked his soul dry. He was tired — exhausted — and ready to be home, to spend his days on his quiet farm, dedicating every waking moment to you. Jack would get that dance, and at then end of the night he would share that twinkling secret with you in hopes that you will say yes. This was promise to you; that you would finally start living the life that he promised to give you.
His grip on your thigh tightens, giving you a little love squeeze bringing you both back into the present. The sun now peeking lower on the horizon.
“I’m going to miss you.” You murmur, tears slowly filling your eyes as you fight the growing lump in your throat. You keep your eyes on the road, counting the stop signs to distract yourself. 3 more until you’re home.
The sound of your breaking voice tugged on Jack’s heart strings. It killed him to see you this way, to know that it was because of him, that he caused this pain and sadness.
“I know, darlin’. I’ll be missin’ you every moment of every day.” He smiles weakly, placing a soft kiss against the back of your hand, refusing to let it go. “It won’t be long before I’m home, it won’t be forever. There’s never a moment where I ain’t thinkin’ of you, of your beautiful eyes, that gorgeous smile…” his voice drifts off for a moment, until he sighs. “I’ll be countin’ down the hours til I’m back here with you, baby.”
While he’s putting on a brave face, his eyes give way to every emotion he is feeling, a mistiness creeping across those big brown puppy dog eyes.
“Please come back home to me, Jack,” You beg, squeezing his hand to emphasize how serious you were.
“I always do, baby. Pinky promise.”
tag list: @josephquinnswhore @iamasaddie
62 notes · View notes
cinnamon-stixs · 1 month ago
Text
It's time for another addition of 'A new episode of something cinna really likes just came out so now they have to rant about it!
(Spoilers for tadc episode 4)
-ragatha trying to teach gangle to pitch auughh
-"You're wasting your time raggy" SHUT UP
-yesss chew his ass out ragatha
-This episode was such a huge w for us abstradgedy shippers
-side tangent, I loooove gangle's voice
Tumblr media
-Her signature catchphrase!!
-"The curse of the violent psychopath butcher!" Bro is trying SO hard
Tumblr media
-No fr it's so funny that caine only has the human emotion capacity to equate 'mature' to 'scary'.
-THERE WAS A SUGGESTION BOX THIS WHOLE TIME?!
-Not the zooble pinata...
Tumblr media
-THIS SCREENSHOT IS KILLING ME LMAOAOAO
-Why are bubble's and caine's tongues connected...
-NOOO KINGER SITS IT OUTTT QnQ we get like no content of him in this episode I'm so sad
-"You can shut up now! :D"
-"Being a shift manager was my job at one point" LORE?!
-As someone looking to go into the culinary service field, love the mention of non-slip shoes
Tumblr media
-I'm such a sadist when it comes to Jax. (Also amy come get your man off the floor)
Tumblr media
-GET MY WIFE OUT OF THERE?! THOSE ARE FUCKING 3RD DEGREE BURNS!! THAT'S LITERALLY BOILING OIL!!
Tumblr media
-This zesty ass man.
-PUNISHMENT?! GANGLE WOAH.
Tumblr media
-GANGLE PULL HER OUT!!
-"It's called a manic episode!" So true queen. I love how this episode really pushes the bpd allegory gangle's masks have
-"This is really weird" YA THINK?
-Zooble burning their hand :(
-I love orbsman. I also love that they can just understand him for some reason.
-Jax constantly checking the clock is so me
-"i'm addicted :3"
-High ass ragatha. Oh I love you high ragatha.
Tumblr media
-I THOUGHT THIS WASNT A HORROR ADVENTURE
-abstrabbit crumbs yayyyyy!!!
-"Caine's not gonna do anything malicious, it's not in his nature" Just a line I wanna put a pin in.
Tumblr media
-GUMMIGOO NOOO. HE DOESN'T REMEMBER HER IM GONNA KMS
Tumblr media
-I can't even blame her for being so awkward. Like imagine watching your friend die and then they show up, no memory whatsoever, at your fucking job
Tumblr media
-"She's flirting with the gummy guy." this one line is gonna spark so much ragapom and funnygummy art, i just know it.
-I love that ragatha's more honest in calling people out while high. Go off queen.
-"I wish someone would flirt with me.." I WILL!!! I WILL!!!
-The occasional cracking sounds when gangle is annoyed is SUCH GOOD FORESHADOWING
-"... Does this count as a bus?"
-GLOINK QUEEN!!!!!
Tumblr media
-She named all her kiddddsss :(
-"well that doesn't really sound like a can-do attitude to me!" "it's not."
-"You're better when you're sad" KILL YOURSELF NOW!!
Tumblr media
-Nothing to say here I just like this screenshot
-Gangle wanted to be a comic artist in life, but gave up on the dream.
Tumblr media
-WHAT IS GOING ON
-"Huffing paint?! AND NOT WAITING UNTIL A DESIGNATED BREAK?!"
-"I miss my horses" Ragatha probably had horses of her own in life
-"No offense, but you're kind of annoying when you have your happy mask." You're sleeping on the couch tonight Ragatha.
Tumblr media
-Someone get her a therapist, and I DON'T mean Caine.
-"Yeah that clock's broken." good job queen
-Why is there ANY information on gloink reproduction. And is that the sex joke goose was talking about?
-"I like.. hate you, but I don't want you to hate me" So real!! ow!!
-The little casual moment between jax and pomni, and all of the characters in this episode, makes me so happy.
Tumblr media
-Me core
-Pomni has such a big heart I love her so fucking much.
-"Oh Ragatha.. I love her, but after a while it gets hard to tell how genuine she's actually being" THIS IS SUCH A GOOD LINE!!! I love how it shows how Ragatha is really trying her best, but she's been worn down so much over the years that they can tell her kindness is a mask, sort of like gangle's comedy mask.
-(Also gangle said 'i love her' in reference to ragatha, w for the gangle x ragatha shippers)
Tumblr media
-real.
-I love how we get to see zooble's softer side in this episode.
-Gangle's not having a good time: the musical
-Again, pomni is just so sweet :(
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
-Ok but why does this ending sequence eat so hard
Tumblr media
-EXCUSE ME
-I could go into a whole rant abt how this ending could possibly hint to all the cast being dead, and how this ending is a sort of recreation of Gangle's death, but I'm not sure goose would do that. It's a plausible theory after this episode, but i don't think the "They're all dead and living in a digital purgatory" theory fits the themes of the show well.
-Gangle chooses to be honest, even when faced with possible consequences.
Tumblr media
-ROYALTEETH CRUMBS!!! I like to imagine Caine and Kinger went on their own little date adventure :3
-C&A logo on Caine's computer
Tumblr media Tumblr media
-Family guy death pose and a reference to that one weird bootleg caine costume
-"and now I don't think anybody wants to talk to me anymore" My autistic ass relates to that a little too much
-"I still like talking to you" AHHHHHHHHHH <3
-"I always like seeing what you draw" CRYING
Overall, I thought episode 4 was really good. Probably my least favorite so far, really just because of the slower pacing. I can't wait to see what's next!!
74 notes · View notes
fishermon · 1 month ago
Text
Another drawing I did for Rose and Lavender :] I'm very proud of this one, I saw this pose reference on Pinterest (then lost it again after I finished the drawing and it took ages to find it again 💀)
But yeah, my inability to draw Ghosts tattoos is on full display here :D (aka I made them the fuck up just to put SOMETHING on his arm) I'm tagging it with ghostsoap because this is another piece "drawn by Johnny"
Tumblr media
I'm very proud of this tho, specifically the colouring, the pose is whatever, all I did when I drew it was make him beefier, because that man will have no fat on his bones over my dead body, how do you expect him to have massive tits if you won't let him have any fat?
But yeah, I really like how his scars look in this, especially his flogging scars and the way they kinda look like a firework coming out from the meat hook scar :] He's just pretty.
Pose base ref I used, snippets of the chapter this art shows up in, as well as general other nattering under the thingy :]
Also you cannot convince me Simon doesn't have a builders bum. You can't. He does. I don't care if he has so much ass to keep his trousers up, he has a builders bum crack and Johnny likes to poke it because he thinks it's funny.
You know what I'll post the screenshots of where abouts in the fic this drawing comes as well (chapter 16).
Simon uses the words "schitzo" and "psycho" in a derogatory manner in these, in case that's not something you want to read. He has a LOT of internalised ableism issues
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
"you make them look okay" is Simon's way of saying "you drew my scars in a way that doesn't make me feel sick to look at"
Also "going by a 'funky new nickname'," was actually Simon's system having a host switch to a guy named Sy who shows up much later in the fic :D
Tumblr media
The pose ref I used was that one but it was flipped by whoever put it on pinterest
43 notes · View notes
judesmoonbeauty · 5 months ago
Text
Miss Fairytale Keeper, Come Have Fun With Us: Nica Schwartz END
Tumblr media
Translations will not include screenshots or CGs as mentioned here. Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Thank you, for you support! ☾.
Tumblr media
Nica: I’m proud that you chose me in this case, Miss.
Nica grabbed my hand tightly and pulled me up.
Nica: Now then, let’s get out of here quickly.
He cracked his neck and drew a gun from his holster.
Kate: [Gasp] !
He shoots and kills those attacking us without hesitation.
Kate: Don’t kill them!
He paused at my words for a moment, but didn’t stop pulling the trigger.
Nica: Look, Robin,[1]
Kate: What…..?
The corpse lying on the floor was extremely emaciated and poorly dressed.
Nica: This is fate of the foolish who’ve lost everything by gambling.
Nica: What the hell did he bet? It’s definitely more than money.
Kate: That’s-
Nica: Besides,
He laughed and aimed his gun at a man who was attacking him,
Nica: I, hate people without money or power.[2]
BANG, a dry sound rang out and the man fell to his knees.
(There’s no hesitation in killing other people…..)
His cold eyes were so spine-chilling that I nearly stopped in my tracks, but the reason we definitely were able to escape, was because he held a gun.
[At the sea port.]
Nica: Ahh, what a terrible fire. It’s all over now.
The flames that appeared from the building in the distance grew stronger, and black smoke melted into the night sky.
Nica: Your mission from the Queen was a failure, Miss fairytale keeper.
In contrast my being stunned, Nica spoke lightly with the corners of his mouth raised.
Kate: I’m going home!
(I need to leave Nica and quickly find Jude….)
The man in front of me was the kind of person who can kill without hesitation.
It’s scary that he doesn’t feel anything for the lives he took away.
(Crown members have had to kill in order to conquer evil,)
But it was for the sake of the mission, not for personal feelings -
(Nica, he killed them because he didn’t like them.)
The moment I tried to let go of his hand to leave the place,
Kate: [Jolt] !
I was pulled hard and my heart pounded.
Nica: Did you think you could just go home?
(I can’t stop my heart from pounding probably because of everything that’s happened.)
Nica: Is your heart beating hard right now because of my ability?
Kate: What?
Nica: My ability is that anyone who holds my hand becomes charmed by me. [3]
Nica: You’ve been completely taken in by my ability.
(My heart’s been racing because of Nica?!)
I let go of his hand in a hurry, but this time he held my wrist.
Kate: Did you use it on the women at the casino too?
Nica: Well, even if we didn’t hold hands, my charm was enough for them to fall in love with me.
Nica starts walking and talking calmly.
Nica: Even if you all desperately try to crush it, this is just the tip of the iceberg, and it’ll happen over and over again.
Nica: It’s a daily occurrence in every country.
Kate: ….I don’t want that to become a daily occurrence, so I’m doing what I can.
When I stopped in my tracks, he smiled with a complicated look on his face.
Nica: ….It’s so dazzling that’s it’s unpleasant.
Suddenly, my wrist was released.
Nica: You’re so dazzling that I wanted a kiss from you, but I lost the bet.
Kate: How do you know that?
Nica: Because at the last moment, I could see the ball going into the number chosen by Mr. Company President with the evil looking eyes.
(Are you talking about Jude having a evil look…..)
It's hard to describe the way that expression captures those characteristics.
Nica: Unfortunately, we’ll have to postpone.
But his lips came close to the back of my hand.
Kate: Hasn’t it been postponed?!
When I reflexively pulled my hand away from his face, he had a wide smile.
Nica: Wouldn’t it be nice if you thanked me for saving you?
Kate: Thank you?
Nica: Kiss me, if you can’t do it, I’ll do it for you.
The voice that came from the lips close to my ear was extremely seductive.
Nica: ….So, where do you want it?
(It’s dangerous to just go along with this person….)
If I accept it, I feel like I'll fall into the depths of Nica and won't be able to return.
Kate: I- I’ll do it myself!
Sensing a dangerous situation, I grabbed his sleeve,
Nica: Huh,
I lowered my lips onto his slender, beautiful fingertips.
Kate: …..Thank you for your help!
Kate: Is this okay?!
Growing desperate and embarrassed, I let go of his sleeve as he froze in surprise.
Then Nica’s expression changed -
Nica: Ahaha! What’s that?
He started bursting into laughter, and this time I was the one who was surprised.
Nica: You’re so funny, I’ve never met someone like you before.
Kate: You’re making fun of me aren’t you.
Nica: Now, which do you think it is?
Kate: I’m going home first!
I leave him as he’s still laughing.
(The mission didn’t go well, and I was teased, it’s been a rough day.)
The sea breeze-scented air was a bit chilly, perfect for cooling down the evening heat.
Nica smiled happily as he watched her small back walk away.
Nica: I was only teasing you, but you and did something amusing.
She’s so pure and honest, I never thought she’d kiss me.
Nica: I’m becoming more and more interested.
Nica’s smiled deepened as he started walking, while she made a gesture to release the heat from her cheeks.
Nica: She truly is a cute robin.[1]
Tumblr media
Ftn [1] - After receiving confirmation from a friend who is native in JP, it seems Nica is just calling her “robin” in this context in a casual form. Which makes sense because his overall tone is super casual. He does use Katakana to distinguish when he calls her “robin” in German, but it depends on the context, like his first CE story. Ftn [2] - This could also be rendered as “dislike,” as 嫌い ‘Kirai’, denotes hatred/dislike/disagreeable, but I chose hate because he’s killing people left and right without thought. Ftn [3] - 魅了 “Miryō”, has several meanings: charm; fascinate; to captivate; to mesmerize; to enthrall; to hold spellbound. I’m choosing to use charmed in this context and future translations until further information is learned about his curse.
Tumblr media
[Master List] [Nica Epilogue] Dividers: @.adornedwithlight
Tags list: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @letter-from-afar @nateko Please let me know if you'd like to be added to my tags list!
Eeeeek, I was SUPER nervous translating this because I don't know a lot about Nica's personality, speech or other mannerisms. This will be interesting to see how my translations for him will develop over time, so for now, please expect them to be a bit bare and basic since I'm trying to be cautious. I really liked Nica's end personally, and I have a character dissection planned too, after the epilogue is completed.
Tumblr media
88 notes · View notes