#totally subtle and not on the nose symbolism

[doughkazoo]

Von Karma household

[mariasont]

Sundress Season - S.R

a/n: spent all friday & saturday writing so sorry 4 dumping so many works 2night lololol

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer decides to come help you out with some research and gets a little more than he bargained for

warnings: fluff, thigh kink if you SQUINT LIKE SQUINT

wc: 0.9k

You crossed one leg over the other, your nails drumming against the table, while your eyes bored holes into the book that lay open in your lap. You loved reading, more than most people, but when it was something you were interested in, not when the pages were smeared with the arcane symbols of mathematical algorithms that you could not seem to comprehend. It was giving you a migraine. 

At the call of your name, your head lifted abruptly, a welcome excuse the cast aside the loathsome book, expecting your coffee to be awaiting you at the counter. You weren't, however, expecting to see Spencer standing there. Your brows knitted together in a moment of confusion before you face relaxed into a warm, welcoming smile.

"Spence? Hey, what are you doing here?" 

"JJ said you were researching the neural network algorithms," Spencer said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement as he pulled out the chair across from you. "I figured I could lend a hand."

“Oh, bless your heart, Dr. Reid,” you praised, hand dramatically pressed to your heart, “I could kiss you.”

The subtle rosiness that blossomed on Reid’s cheeks didn’t escape your notice, and you couldn’t deny the small thrill of saying things designed to elicit the delightful blush. It was cute.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing towards the book, ignoring your words.

You give a nod and pass it over, his fingers brushing over yours in the process. It was hard not to stare at his face, admittedly, your scientific knowledge (or any knowledge) didn’t rival his, yet surely there was some explanation for why you found him so attractive.

You watched, curiously, as he made quick work of the pages, absorbing the information with the ease of a child flipping through a picture book. Maybe that was it—his intelligence, now that wasn’t far off. I mean, who didn’t want a man who could effortlessly recite pi to the hundredth decimal?

You found yourself following the lines of his face— from the subtle shadows under his eyes to the rhythmic movement of his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he concentrated, down to the soft dip of his lips. God, he was so beautiful. And even that term barely did him justice.

Your blatant starring was broken only when you realized his lips were moving.

“Yeah, totally,” you said, bobbing your head in agreement, clueless to his actual words but hoping you said the right thing.

He regarded you with a puzzled glance, his brow raised while carefully marking his place in the book. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

That famous, gorgeous smile of his spread across his face as his eyes darted around the coffee shop. His fingers patted his cheek thoughtfully in silent, teasing challenge.

“Wait, what?”

“The issue was with adjusting the weight initialization to prevent the vanishing gradient problem,” he remarked with an easy shrug. “Seems like the perfect time for that well-deserved kiss.”

His words sent a wave of warmth flooding your cheeks. Was he serious? You decided you didn’t care. Rising just enough to meet him, you cupped his face and planted a sloppy kiss against his cheek. As your drew back, you couldn’t help but delight in the sight of his ears, now tinted with a charming blush of red.

The intimate bubble burst as the barista’s voice rang out, announcing that your coffee was, in fact, prepared at last. You tapped his nose lightly before standing fully. “My hero.”

Spencer watched with a slack jaw as you walked away from the table, his eyes drawn to your thighs. The air seemed to escape him in a rush, his gaze locked on your outfit, now fully revealed as you stood up. He was so used to seeing you in dress pants, he’d never seen you in a dress, a sundress at that.

He was already burning from the feeling of your lips on his cheek but now it was spreading through every part of him as he traced your curves before landing once again on your supple thighs. God, you were beautiful, and that ass—

He was on the cusp of entertaining some rather less-than-holy ideas when the shrill ring of his phone intervened. He mentally berated the caller, wishing to preserve every detail of your image in his mind. Morgan. Naturally.

He swiped deftly at the phone, realizing it was FaceTime. Morgan’s head filled the screen, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in Spencer’s appearance.

“Morning, lover boy.”

Spencer was unsure what he meant. “Huh?”

Morgan simply flicked his cheek with a smirk. “Looks like ya missed a spot, hot stuff.”

Spencer’s face warmed with a fresh flush, hastily angling the phone away, his fingers working to erase the lipstick stain.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up, man! You on a hot date or something? C’mon, Reid, who’s the lucky lady?”

Once assured his skin was free of the pink evidence, Spencer lifted the phone again. He didn’t get a chance to ask Morgan’s reason for calling, as your face appeared behind him, curiously glancing at the phone.

“Oh, hey Morgan!”

Morgan’s mouth dropped open. “No way! You’re kidding me! Penelope is going to freak—,”

His words were cut short as Spencer swiftly hung up.

[naviiq]

4#-> 💌: a letter has arrived from satoru gojo.

dear y/n.

hiii babbyyy!!! it's the fourth letter soo i'm sure the gifts have been sent! i wonder if the pastries came as well.. well anyways! :3

first off, i got you a little plushy. it’s a panda, it's one of those that has little, embroidered eyes and a tiny, hand-stitched smile. you can use it whenever you’re annoyed with me (i know you do are sometimes) or when you wanna think of me. it’s this soft, round thing, about 6 inches tall, with little black ears and stitched-on eyes. the cutest part? it has a little red scarf around its neck ＞0＜!! to be honest it's soft, a little too soft.. it's the type that makes you want to squeeze it every time you look at it, much like me!

next, i found this tiny, hand painted teapot, and i’m not even gonna lie, it’s totally your vibe. it’s ceramic, no bigger than a coffee cup, and it’s got this cute design where the spout is a little cat’s tail, a little cat face is painted on it, ears and nose to! so cute!!

then, i found these hand carved wooden bookmarks. they’re really simple but beautiful dark wood with those grain pattern and these little tassels hanging from the top. one is shaped like a lotus flower. they’re just the right size to slip into any book, and i thought they’d be a perfect way to keep track of things you’re reading (or pretend to read). you know, for when you want to act like you’re doing something productive, or you’re just waiting for me to show up.

oh, i picked up a pair of socks while i was walking through the town market. they’re fluffy, white, and have bear faces right on the toes, with little ears that stick up from the top. when you wear them, the bear looks like it's staring at you, ready to fight—kinda like how you look when you’re mad about me doing something stupid.

last of all, i found this little silver bracelet. it’s thin, almost delicate, with a simple charm that looks like a crescent moon. the thing is, if you look closely, there’s this faint engraving on the inside of the crescent, like a tiny, almost hidden star. it’s subtle, but it’s there. i thought it was a good symbol, something that’s quiet, but always present, like how i am in your life. i guess you can interpret it as the moon is a little reminder that no matter how far apart we might be, we’re still connected, even if it's in a way that you can’t always see. i hope you’ll wear it when you need to remember there’s always light, even in the dark.

if you did get some of the yummy food i sent then i'll spoil it for you, one of them was these really tasty koala shaped cookies filled with creamy chocolate and strawberry filling. i also sent over some morinaga milk caramel, it's soo smooth and buttery.. uughh, the perfect chewy texture.. they’ll melt in your mouth for sure! ;). i got you some honey toasts since we both wanted to try that but never had the chance to.. the thick slices of buttery, toasted bread soaked in honey, topped with a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and dripped in chocolate, yeah that one! i also sent in a little sour kick, i threw in some sour grape puccho!! the chewy, fruity candy with sour powder and candy bits inside, super tangy but sweettt! that's some of the ones i remember.. i stuffed all the treats i got in this bag so there's a looott.. hope it's not a mess..

with love -handsome man

p.s. eat all of it in vain for me!! savor it all though! (=｀ェ´=)

[charmwasjess]

What do you think of the Tirra'Taka and how it symbolizes Dooku's fate? Do you invoke it often in your fics?

Ah, the Tirra’Taka! IMO, the cover of Dooku: Jedi Lost REALLY should have been an 80s Blind Guardian style metal album motif with a shirtless, shredded Dooku standing astride the Tirra’Taka, holding unconscious, beautiful Sifo-Dyas aloft, while flames and lightning and cracked groundquake holes consume the foreground. Lene Kostana is a breasty witch with flowing robes vibing in the background while the Truthseeker falls like a stylish comet from the sky. 

God did not grant me the gift to draw, because this artwork would be Too Horny.  

But yeah! Cavan Scott sure did give Dooku a psychic empathic connection with a lightning breathing Serennian dragon, abused and used by the Sith, who he loves and thinks is beautiful and ultimately destroys trying to help, and I’ll never be the same?!?

I mean, the metaphor is so on the nose. Dooku is the Tirra‘Taka. 

I like it because I like Dooku having a weird connection to specifically Serennian history and magic. I like that the planet’s Sith baggage becomes uniquely personal to him, through his relationship with this animal that he doesn’t understand, and of course, his father’s total rejection of him for being Force sensitive. And I love that the most prolific user of Force lightning in the series has a seemingly natural, organic connection to a lightning beast. I imagine the Tirra’Taka whispering dragon lullabies into his Force-sensitive dreams when he’s floating around in the womb.

And let’s not forget that the last thing Dooku does with the Tirra‘Taka is mentally bond himself with her before ultimately losing control and having to kill her. What did that, ah, do to him?? You know, Sifo-Dyas, on seeing Dooku do this, collapses on the ground in hysterical sobbing laughter and is thought by Jenza to have shattered his mind. And he’s just LOOKING at Dooku do this. What happened to Dooku, who was mentally inside the dragon, during that scene? 

As for my fics, I’ve kept it pretty subtle. I have played with the idea (mainly in Milk Run) that Dooku’s seeming extra talent for Force lightning is natural to him, a result of exposure to the Tirra’Taka in utero/infancy or being a Serennian Force sensitive. And that once he realizes this, he can use it for light side applications as well as dark - he can scramble electrical systems, or zap electro-cuffs off himself, or maybe he gets a little overpowered and feral during thunderstorms...

….actually I’m just realizing I missed the perfect opportunity to have him restart Sifo-Dyas’s stupid heart in Rabbit Heart that way, with lightning, instead of doing Space CPR. Damnit! :c 

[oodlyenough]

arcane s2 act 2

so my main criticism of act 1 was that everything felt rushed. that has not gotten better lol

i knew going in that two seasons -- of nine episodes, and short 40 minute episodes at that -- was probably going to be too little. and it is. well. what can you do, i guess. i'm glad this isn't my number 1 fandom interest the way it was in 2022 because if it were i'd be much more bothered lol. many of the beats we're hitting are beats i like on paper but we are blitzing through them so fast they have no time to breathe or sink in before we're onto the next one.

also i respect the huge amount of effort that goes into creating an animated series that looks the way this looks, but these episodes are so short. the runtime is 40 minutes and five of that is credits and another five of that is our obligatory stylized music video. it's just too little time to dedicate to a large ensemble cast and a complex plot. it sucks to be watching the final season of a show and realize you haven't seen [Major Character] for entire episodes, or entire acts (!). outside of jinx and ambessa, it feels like everyone's fave is getting shortchanged on screentime, some more than others. with only three episodes left it's hard to imagine they'll manage to resolve everyone's arc and all the outstanding mysteries and bring everything to a satisfying conclusion. fans freaked out when they first accidentally let slip that after s2 they were moving away from these characters and fans were right. womp womp

more detailed spoiler stuff:

sevika. the hair. why :(

"jinx is a symbol of resistance" is one of those things that i didn't feel they entirely set up. sure, she has pushed back on piltover -- but every time she has, piltover has cracked down even harder on zaun. there's really no zaunites who resent her for that? hm

isha is a character i struggle with because i thought everything about her was too on the nose in act 1 and then we had open act 2 with jinx stating the thesis aloud to the camera. "gee you remind me of my old self powder. i wonder if this is how silco felt about me, powder." lol

i was DARING the show to have vi flashback to punching powder after she hit isha lmaooo. impressed they resisted

whatever tho i did enjoy the jinx-sevika-isha unit while it lasted

vander's werewolf self going back to the hideout he used to share with silco... their jackets hung together... bro...

i have to say i'm actually not sure i like the felicia stuff that much. i don't know. arcane isn't subtle ever and this felt like another sledgehammer. i think i also ... actually derive a bit less meaning from vander taking them in/silco raising jinx if actually vander and silco were besties with their mom and knew them growing up, too. not that it stopped silco from wanting to murk vi lmao so i guess it's no guarantee of his affection for jinx, but... yeah. idk. subtle as a brick: that's arcane

also was this telling me that vander saw felicia die during a rebellion they all incited, flipped out and blamed silco and tried to DROWN HIM ... like... jesus man that's pretty harsh lmao i'd start villain monologuing too

mel in the torture labyrinth was interesting, and i loved getting to meet a version of her sexy brother kino. as soon as [man's voice] appeared i was like omg is it her sexy brother... and it was! sort of! i'm assuming his look and personality and voice match real kino even if he was some kind of trick monster thing. i like the medarda family lore and i liked getting to see mel and kino interact, if briefly

on the other hand, mel being trapped in the torture labyrinth meaning that's her only 5 minutes of screentime for all of act 2 and the reveal is that she has magic powers which we already surmised from the s1 cliffhanger... i don't know... and an illegitimate baby plot? like... we have so many plots. please.

also she's totally pregnant and i hate that. lol.

i started this season ambessa's number 1 fan and i have enjoyed her but also there is a lot of her, when other major characters from s1 get little screentime. i had hoped seeing more ambessa would mean seeing more of ambessa and mel, bc their relationship with each other is very interesting, but... nope??? i mean, sure there's act 3, but we've had six episodes so far of little.

caitlyn's arc was such a disappointment to me. the end of act 1 with her was such a strong stark scene and by the time we pick up with her in act 2 we've already montaged past all her war crimes and into the part where she feels bad about them and is ready to turn a new leaf. like. come on man.

her reunion with vi was way too smooth. i would love vi to be angry with her for her bullshit. maybe they'll fight again next act, they fight all the time, but like... ugh. 2.1 was such a big falling out and then vi just shrugs it off and we're back to "cupcake". poor vi the writers dgaf about her

viktor's cult was not what i expected at all, i expected something more outwardly sinister lol. people on twitter are arguing back and forth about how obviously evil it was but i am not sure that's the case -- or like -- i mean i think as an audience member aware you're watching a tv show, it's easy to be like "this is clearly evil and will be revealed as such later", but just in terms of what the show is putting down in act 2 i think it's presented as this bastion of hope which is then destroyed. in act 3 we will find out why it was destroyed, i assume, and can retroactively decide if that was a good decision or not.

sky. sis. i wish they like. made you a person in s1. i have no frame of reference for if this feels like the real sky whose consciousness is now in the void (like viktor's seems to be?) or if she's like the hexcore's avatar for getting what it wants (which is what i feel act 1 implied), because they did not spend time in s1 to establish her

i joked in s1 a lot about salo getting a front row seat to jayce and viktor's weird gay thing over the years so it's nice he got to participate in their last conversation flkhghgl. but this was another scene where i felt the pacing was nerfing things -- i like the general exchange on paper, that there's been this time apart and viktor wants to show jayce what he's working on and jayce is all fucked up and bitter or whatever, but in real time their reunion, split, and then this scene happen in such a condensed time ... we haven't really seen either of them apart, we didn't see jayce's time growing bitter or whatever and even if we see it in act 3 it's belated?

i also thought it was odd how viktor was like "i was clouded by emotion" when honestly their breakup was the most emotionless he'd ever been to that point lol

it is very funny to think that jayce came out of s1 and the hell void and the lesson he learned was he should continue shooting first and asking questions never

i can think of several possible explanations for jayce's behaviour, ranging from "something i'd be super into" all the way to "i don't want to type it out in fear of invoking it into the universe". so i'm trying not to speculate all that much tbh, lest i grow attached to the former and get the latter

"peacock princes... an old family joke" and "you once told me every system has limits" are two great examples of stuff feeling rushed. these so clearly feel like they should be callbacks to scenes we actually *saw* but they just aren't. because we never got flashback kino, and viktor and sky never held a conversation until she died.

ekko and heimerdinger died on the way to their home planet...

this all sounds exceedingly negative listed out, when in reality i was mostly having a good time. it's just... the cracks are starting to show as the the show strains under the pressure of accomplishing all its goals in a measly 18 episodes. that crunch means any time someone's watching a scene about a plot or characters they like less they're going to start feeling impatient, any time a musical number doesn't hit (and i have to be honest, s2 is more misses than hits for me so far) they're going to feel impatient... i don't know. i find it difficult to see how they'll pull all of this off without leaving the audience thinking "jeeze that needed another season", or "why did they waste time on X when i wanted to see Y".

[warsamongthestars]

We did it, we did the "Versus". We have successfully beaten up fictional characters intended for a children's cartoon show.

We've broken their defenses, now its time to take the castle.

First , we have to address what we're taking.

We already addressed the obvious major problem, and that's the totally original-character-no-no-stealing.. though technically its not by her character, but merely how the narrative wants to bend the world around her character.

( On her own, she's perfectly fine. I want to make that clear--I simply don't like what she represents and I hate the narrative and what its done to get this far. )

Now the subtle problem.

The subtle problem is... The Writers were not writing the Bad Batch.

This one is going to be a bit hard to explain without a full on episodic breakdown (and that takes time, patience and energy, lemme tell you ).

But the writers were writing Clones... But they were writing the 501st Clones, not the Bad Batch. Oh it was dressed up as the Bad Batch just fine, but they were not writing those characters.

THe first is Hunter. Hunter is not stoic, he's compulsively sarcastic. He's not some "take it on the shoulder" character, he tends to get overwhelmed (and in that case, one of his brothers steps up to back him up) and goes quiet. He plays around just as much as the rest of his team. He's just as pointedly aggressive towards Regs as the rest of his team (though he simply more composed about it... some what)

As I've pointed out in VERSUS... TBB Hunter isn't Hunter.

.... TBB Hunter is Captain Rex. Stoic, No Nonsense, keeps things lawful and under control, never once speaks out of turn or really let's anyone speak outta turn? That's Rex all the way. We have 7 years of that being Rex.

TCWs Hunter is meant to be Rex's Contrast, his Opposite; not his Foil. Its the ragged wild snarker who breaks rules versus the hard nosed clean shaven by-the book soldier.

TBB Hunter is written to be an Early-Seasons Captain Rex.

And the rest, save one, all follow that same thought pattern.

TBB Echo is written to be Fives. He's a badly written Fives, but he's written to be in Fives' place. I know the fandom logic is that Fives is shonen-comic wild, but that's not true. Fives is grumpy, Fives prefers professional straight-forward takes when on mission, Fives snarks and bitches...

They basically resurrected Fives, when they wrote TBB Echo, but then never bothered to keep up with the fact that Fives and Echo are both wild sons of bitches who will take matters into their own hands if given the slightest opportunity.

( But if TBB Echo had done that, they would've actually have to make him a main character and they can't do that--they have Omega for the main character spot. )

It doesn't end there.

Wrecker? Hardcase. Like, straight up, Umbara depicted Hardcase. Hardcase was basically the proto-type Wrecker. But like with TBB Echo.

The interesting one, is Crosshair's.

Because they replaced Crosshair... with Jesse.

Look back on TCWs Crosshair, is he actually a character that gives one shit about missions, causes or even ranks? No. He openly mocks characters in front of their commanding officers and generals. He actively undermines Rex's authority and respect. He randomly picks fights with soldiers he's meant to be working with. If Crosshair honestly gave one shit about missions and causes, he wouldn't be working so hard to cause that much disruption. Oh its clear that he does take a lot of pride in being a sniper... but one can be a Sniper outside of the military (The galaxy is filled with bounty hunting after all).

But Jesse? Absolutely. He's snarky, he's snippy and he's hardcore to the cause... How do I know? The man tattooed the symbol of the Republic on his face. If that's not a hard core character statement, then I must be going blind.

Omega is just fill in for Ahsoka.

Tech is the only one who doesn't have a direct line to a TCWs Clone... but that would make sense as to why it was a reason kill him off Season 2. After all, they aren't going to kill main characters "Rex", "Fives", "Hardcase", "Jesse" and "Ahsoka". Kill off the new guy, he was never going to last long anyway after all...

They effectively wrote TBB for the TCWs main clone characters (Even those who died in TCWs), but then dressed them up as TBB Characters.

Same familiar TCWs archetypes... wrong roles, and wrong faces.

[loki-who-remains]

Today I’ve seen not one but a number of posts about Mobius’ possible death/sacrifice by the end of s2. (Here a great analysis of Mobius arc by @kiteblue42 part 1 and part 2)

And on one hand I kinda see it too. Like, explanations and analysis make sense, totally. Frighteningly so. I love Mobius and I want no one else in this role but Owen Wilson. He’s brilliant, funny and consistent. He’s also very handsome but it’s not my point

But on the other, when something slowly becomes obvious to a part of viewers, will it really happen?

I mean, for example, the time loop stuff is very on the nose. We don’t need any deep symbolism or details to pick that up. By 2023 everybody has seen a bunch (or at least a couple) of beautifully developed time travel stories with all sorts of outcomes and combinations, paradoxes and ways of t-travelling. Will a time loop happen? I guess so. it has to, otherwise it would be impossible to save Loki in s2e1. But since we already know a certain part of what happens, it would make sense to have a twist that no one (or only very few) could think about. Something that will make this particular time travel story memorable, and worth viewers’ anticipation and time.

Timely’s connection or becoming HWR has been also pointed out. This one is a bit less easy to see. But there are still plans for Kang’s dynasty phase, regardless of Majors being recast or not, and they will have to do an explanation, so the movies can be watched separately from the series and still make sense. What I mean is, they might postpone confirming/debunking this bit till later in the current mcu phase, so Timely might stay Timely till the end of s2.

Mobius’s death theme is even more subtle. Here you have to dig and ponder a bit. But his thinking about problems at hand and enjoying small things on the go kinda give the vibe of someone who lives fast. Or is it just me? He doesn’t wear protective gear (he did once during Roxxcart mission in s1e2) and is so vulnerable but evades danger. For how long? Will there be a heart breaking scene where Loki tries to save Sylvie and Mobius at the same time and has to make an impossible choice? Let me grab some cracker jacks 🍿

In s1e4 he is pruned but is actually alive in the void, in s2e1 he survives the Loom experience (purely by chance at that point), so viewers would (intuitively) think, he had fatal adventures, survived and now he’s invincible to all harm by the laws of cinema. But, when he put on that chunky suit and it had a crack in the visor, and all of it was made basically into a joke, I thought to myself, also jokingly, well, that’s it, Mobius has been marked by death but is temporarily healed with a piece of duct tape; now just wait till the duct tape falls off!

[msharmonycobel]

"Probably with a veneer of it being common to be so blatantly in love with one's husband" OBSESSED with this phrase & idea💀

I have been cackling ever since I first read it - I can picture the way Mrs. Astor would turn up her nose at whatever shenanigans the Russells have The Audacity™️ to Commit in Public. It's not like they're usually subtle, but it'd be interesting to see her view of them 👀 Also on the topic of outsiders' POV on G/B, I found it oddly endearing how Mrs Bruce&co were speculating on whether Bertha had forgiven him during their fight in s2 - there's a distinct lack of malice in their gossiping that I thought was really sweet 🥹

Sorry for it taking me twelve years to answer this- I do totally think that although we see love and fondness between couples like the Fanes and the Morrises, the way George and Bertha are insane for each other is just not normal for these people. Mrs Astor is particularly interesting because of her strained relationship with her husband but also just as the main symbol of Society.

And yes, I feel like I should hate how the servants are fond of them because eat the rich but I don't. It's fucking cute.

[mamamittens]

I finally decided to draw the weird little AU idea I had of priestess/prophet Nikia and I'm... Mostly okay with the dress so far. Hope to finish tomorrow.

I wanted to go for "She's either holy and here to save you or a demon to damn you". But we'll see how well it comes through. Thin, delicate jewelry with bells littered on it. Looping from her dress collar and perhaps her wrists. Didn't originally draw the wings but I might put them in tomorrow so I can have the excessive amount of jewels and gold chains weighing them down. Very on the nose, in your face symbolism there, but I like the idea of them later being removed and realizing how strong her wings have gotten just holding up the finery.

Maybe a funny scene where she's talking to Whitebeard like

"How do you feel about treasure?"

Whitebeard laughs, naturally, and cheerfully throws his arms out.

"My children are my treasure!"

"uh... That's... Actually really sweet but like... How do you feel of more... Economically valued treasure?"

Whitebeard clearly is about to answer much the same but Marco stops him, very aware of how much it costs to feed their entire damn crew.

"Never hurts to have a little more. Why do you ask?" He ignores Whitebeard pouting a little at being denied the chance to espouse how much he loves his kids.

"Because I want out of this kingdom, damnit! The only reason I stayed was my dad--do you know how horrifically awkward it is to know there's a council of weird old men arguing about who gets the right to your body? I mean that fairly literally by the way, they're way too invested in who I give visions to and the inevitable question of how or if I should eh, 'continue my gifted lineage'. It's gross. And weird. Did I mention grossly embarrassing?" She huffs, wings shifting noisily behind her. "They hated how quietly I walked, so they put literal bells on me. And I have to display all my 'gifts' on my wings and that shit hurts. You would not believe how much of a compromise this was. I'm convinced if Dad didn't step in with his ridiculous rules they'd have plucked me or cut my ankles by now. Very unhinged at the idea of not having total control. I don't want to constantly watch my back for their bullshit or some clever plot. Like selling me out to the government or staging a forbidden suitor. I know damn well they've discussed at length if there are stronger visions with more... 'intimate' contact. Fuck that. I want out!"

She doesn't know that Whitebeard fully intended on stealing her by this point, but that he also loves such conveniently timed requests.

"Hell yeah!"

"...Thatch, could you maybe pretend to be subtle for five seconds?"

"No. C'mon, sweetheart! You can bunk with me!"

Izou slaps the back of Thatch's head.

"Ignore him. He's not house trained yet."

"Well, you'll definitely need new clothes."

"Oh, hell yeah! These dresses suck ass."

"... I thought they were pretty..."

[conceptuma]

Hi! Sorry for the wait!! here is my darkhenge!captain darkiplier design as of right now!! :D

There might be inconsistencies but it doesn't matter; anything can be changed or simplified or stylized, I encourage it

(goes for anyone who wants to draw him)

Some annotations for clarity/highlighting if it's helpful:

His bangs are flipped unintentionally, they would be consistently kept on the same side as canon Darkiplier's hair

Giving him a downturned/hooked nose would be cool. I don't think ive ever drawn it on him but it's something I think about as a way to contrast from the other egos if desired.

the shoulder palettes were very rushed, I always get a bit indecisive on them. you can draw them however you like, and using "captain shoulder palettes" (or shoulder boards , shoulder pads) as reference via an online image search is encouraged for that if youd like!

the left one is drawn more femininely in bodytype than the middle one. this is just styling and to show that he can be drawn any way (due to being gender ambiguous/fluid/nonbinary and plural) It turns the red fabric padding on the waist of the suit into a more hourglass shape, while the blue side is a straighter blocky shape. That's just me being campy with gender, but if someone wants to include that asymmetry on the suit itself, it would be pretty cool :D

an important design philosophy i like for my cptdark is that he's wearing a lot of layers and constricting types of clothing, to an excessive degree. it's symbolism for how he is restricted in his position in darkhenge, it's a huge element in darkhenge for dark to feel trapped; confused; limited; repressed; restrained, and have to work around it / live with it. (he's kinda like that in canon anyways, he's just having an especially trying time in darkhenge... lol)

I realize now the garterbelt thigh highs OVER suit pants is SUUPER campy but I just love drawing it :D anyone can totally draw him with regular suit pants or high boots instead of thigh highs. Or the fishnets i drew him in one time lol. I like it all *_*

His hair, or the shadow it leaves on his face, forms like a cracked mirror, or like cracks in a porcelain doll's face.

He appears to have black lipstick and eyeliner on, but it sometimes looks like it's poorly applied or has been smudged off.

I drew an optional hand gun holster. I don't usually draw it, but I like to add something on his belt if possible.

The choice of 4 pointed "diamond" shaped buttons and corset belts is just my go-to due to the very subtle homura akemi inspirations (of which has very cool usage of the "diamond" shape in her design). I almost had the boot belts be the same, but I didn't like it at the time

The garterbelts and harness belt is inspired by Solid Snake's sneaking suit design

I also didn't include the badges or other details that Head Engineer has, despite sometimes drawing Cpt. Dark with them. Since I usually change it a bit everytime (I haven't settled on a design for it) You can add those to Cpt Dark if you want, using a head engineer ref from ISWM :]

GIVE ME YOUR DARKIPLIER DESIGNS FOR ME TO DRAW PLEASE

Hello everyone !! Remember when I asked for you guys to send me your designs of actor mark like I did back then Here ?

Well ! I decided it was Time to do the same thing with Darkiplier this time !!

Any type of designs welcome, canon inspired, from alternatives universes or body horror, anything is fair game !! I want to see everybodys creativity

If you are interested, I just need you to attach a reference of your Darkiplier design when you reblog this, colored if possible, but no need for a full body since Ill draw them bust style like so :D

Not sure exactly when Ill get started because Id like to prepare and participate in Artfight this year but that just gives you more time to send me your designs !! Ill announce when I stop taking designs :3

I would mighty appreciate it if you guys could reblog this post to spread the word <3 Thank you so much !!!

[goldensunset]

ok i actually have something to say here as an endgame conclusive thought. so in the first game the symbolism with neku’s headphones was pretty obvious- they represented how he shut everyone else out and never wanted to listen to them. he put them on at the very beginning and wore them the entire game until he took them off at the very end. showing that his character development was complete.

with rindo… it’s a little more subtle. i mean the way they handled his character development in general, but also specifically the physical representation of his anxiety. it’s the mask, right? totally. i mean it’s confirmed by the creators that that’s the reason it was incorporated into his design. rindo never speaks up for himself and hides who he is. but then many people feel that the symbolism falls flat since he only actually wears it properly over his mouth and nose one time, at the very beginning of the game. (i guess devs didn’t want to go the whole game without showing half the protags’ face, but i think it would have been perfectly fine. and actually super cool too. ah well.)

however! it’s at this moment that the other piece of symbolism becomes apparent: his phone. the guy isn’t always wearing his mask but he IS always holding his phone. in almost all of his sprites. in his 3D character model. from the very beginning of the game. and better yet, a lot of his sprites have him looking so closely at his phone that he’s holding it directly in front of his face. he’s hiding behind it. like it’s a mask.

he never expresses himself out loud in person. he buries himself in his apps and games and only talks to his online friend. he’s got a social media addiction and seeks validation on the internet (feel called out yet?). but now he’s real friends with other people in real life. and better yet, his online friend is right here in person. and now he knows the real her too. (not to say that swallow was a fake persona, but it was only one part of her. online friendships are real and valid but there’s only so much you can claim to know about someone based on your interactions behind a screen. they’re still effectively a stranger.) anyway, rindo doesn’t need to be glued to his phone anymore now that he has a healthier support system in his life.

and much like the last shots of twewy have neku taking off his headphones, here in the last few moments of ntwewy, rindo puts away his phone, ready to get out into the world again. good for him.

[rodeoxqueen]

Dante and Vergil When Their Daughter Is Born With Blonde Hair Like Eva’s 

ThePortugeuseNinja Requested: 

Howdy Rodeo! If I'm not too late, I'd love to toss in a request! This is a sort of specific prompt, but how about Dante and Vergil having a daughter with their S/O, and due to the magic of ~recessive genes~ the child ends up with blonde hair like Eva had? What sort of feelings would they have in response to having a physical reminder of their mother like that?

Read It On AO3

Tags/Warnings: Implied AFAB! S/O, Slight Angst, Childbirth, Mentions of Childbirth Complications

Dante 

Dante is very excited to be a father, supporting you the whole way with your delivery and letting you practically rip his hand off. 

He’s ecstatic to have more family, to be a father, and to have you be the mother to his child. 

When the doctors tell him his baby is a girl, he quickly holds your hand, eyes shining. 

“She’s a girl! We have a daughter, babe.” He says excitedly, as the nurse hands her to you. 

The baby was crying with loud rattling breaths until you’re skin-to-skin with her, kissing her head and telling her it was going to be okay. Eyes wide to the world, she stares into nothing while pressed against your chest. 

When she’s cleaned and dried, you gladly take her again into your arms. You caress her cheek with an index finger, kissing her head. 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” You ask Dante, whose blank stare concerns you. 

“She’s-” 

You hear Dante’s breath hitch, fingers hesitating to touch his daughter. You get worried, looking down. 

“Dante, what?” Your darling has the perfect skin, the most gorgeous nose, and the prettiest eyes. She’s totally okay and healthy, the doctor told you her vitals were just fine before she left. 

It isn’t until you peer at the color of her hair when you figure it out. 

“Blonde.” Like, mom. She..she’s-

The baby, the granddaughter of Eva, tilts her gaze at her father, the white-haired son of Sparda. 

Dante’s face is of still surprise melting into pure adoration. For the first time, he is something truly human. 

“She’s perfect.” He says, whispering almost. He traces her short blond locks with callused fingers. 

You offer her to him, telling him how to hold her. She’s light. She’s small. 

She’s human. She’s so human. 

And Dante is so so fragile.  

He’s in his mother’s place now, and he knows it’s his turn to be a good parent. No, he’s going to be more than that. He’ll protect her from anything, from anyone. And he’ll love her astronomically. 

“I’m going to spoil you so much,” Dante says to her, rocking her gently. 

“Trust me, Eva. Your father will.” You add, watching Dante’s eyes squint when an unbearably happy smile reaches his face. 

Vergil

When you delivered and the doctors ushered him out, Vergil was incredibly concerned. His mother had several complications when birthing him and his brother, and he was terrified it would be the same for you. 

Finally, the baby is born with a loud cry. Vergil hears his child revealed to the world. Another Sparda has come to exist. 

He rushes to see you after the doctors deem you and his daughter safe and sound. 

“My love is that-” You hold her in her swaddle, a small cloth cap on her head as she sleeps soundly. 

“This is her. Our daughter.” Vergil takes a seat next to you, staring at his child. 

The doctors decided to leave a while ago, deciding you two needed a moment. 

You stroke the bridge of her nose, noting how her brow scrunched just like her father’s as she cried earlier. 

“She has your nose.” You tell him quietly, leaning over slightly so he can see clearly. 

Vergil nods in agreement. 

“I see our daughter holds a resemblance to you more.” He said. You tutted. 

“Yes, but there’s one thing neither of us has that she does.” 

Vergil’s breath leaves him as you slip off her cap, revealing soft blonde hair. Memories of long blonde hair and loving smiles flash through his mind. 

She is placed into his strong arms, which are rigid and hesitant. 

Vergil stares at her with a stoic expression that you know speaks volumes. 

He doesn’t know what to do, seeing this unlikely trait passed down a generation. Vergil slowly brings his hand to stroke her hair. 

You know how hard it was for Vergil to lose his mother and how long it took him to accept his human side. Yet his child is a clear symbol of the humanity in his blood. A subtle symbol of his redemption in himself. 

A reminder of his mother, he promises he will never leave her unprotected. He promises he will always be there for her. 

Finally, he smiles. It’s full of old hurt and new joy. And he shines tenderly, his heart beating warmer than before. 

“Let’s name her Eva, if you’re comfortable with that.” You tell him. 

“I would expect nothing less.”

[ticklishraspberries]

Official (Jade/Katie)

Summary: Katie and Jade get to know one another at college. (Another femslash fic!! I suggest everyone watch the movie The Mitchells vs. The Machines - it’s so heartwarming and super funny!! Hope y’all enjoy the fic.)

While it was strange to go back to her normal life after the world almost ended, Katie Mitchell was still incredibly excited to dive into the college experience. She had dreamt of attending film school since she was a child, and now it was finally her time to shine. Plus, saving the world had given her quite a bit of street-cred with her fellow students.

However, there was only one person at school she really wanted to impress.

Somehow Jade was even cooler in person, and prettier, too. Her dangly earrings and taste in movies had Katie immediately smitten, and as the weeks of school went by, the two girls grew even closer.

They watched films together in Katie’s room, and it wasn’t long before the brushing of fingers in the popcorn bowl became holding hands, and the subtle scoots closer on the couch turned into cuddling. In her small town, Katie hadn’t had many friends, let alone any chance to explore her sexuality with another girl, especially one as cool as Jade. Not with somebody who understood her, not with somebody who would happily listen to her rants and celebrate her weirdness.

It was during a late-night conversation about the movie they’d just finished, where they both agreed that the symbolic use of lighting was a fascinating choice, that Katie got the courage to lean in, pausing as a silent request for permission, before kissing Jade softly.

Jade asked her if they could make it official the next day, and Katie had all but done a happy dance in the school hallway.

Ever since becoming a couple, the girls were enjoying getting to know one another even more. Katie learned that Jade was a huge fan of cheesy horror flicks, that she had always wanted her nose pierced, and that she missed her mother’s cooking. Jade learned about Katie’s crazy family, her music taste, and…

“I can’t breathe!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Jade teased. “You can fight robots but you can’t handle a little tickling?”

Katie squirmed wildly beneath her girlfriend. “Those are totally different things!” she cried, laughter interrupting her words.

Jade grinned, mischief twinkling in her brown eyes. “I wanna hear you snort again. What spot did it again? I think it was right around here…” She trailed her fingers back towards Katie’s armpits, and was met once again with Katie’s snorting. “Ah, there it is!”

Katie clamped her arms to her sides desperately, her glasses tilted on her face, threatening to slip off of her face and leave her nearsighted as well as incapacitated by tickles. Double whammy.

After a moment, Jade decided to let up, not wanting to push things too far, and Katie slumped against the couch with a sigh of relief. “You are relentless,” she said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Jade smiled. “And you’re adorable.”

They shared a quick kiss before Katie’s lips turned into a grin of her own. “Are you ticklish, too?”

The tables were quickly turned, and Jade’s laughter filled the dorm.

It was certainly weird to have such a normal life after being so close to losing it all. She felt lucky to be alive, to have her family, to be at her dream school, and to have the most amazing girlfriend. And while she rarely patted herself on the back, she was pretty proud to be a part of the family that saved the world.

[amesliu]

I know it’s late but it just needs to be said.

I may not get every bit of Symbolism or notice the importance of a frame break when it happens, but I have to say. When I wake up and see the “Strung our Heart had posted” Notification, it makes my day. It’s the first thing I do and I’ll read the same chapter several times because it makes me happy.

Thank you for making this wonderful comic!!! ❤️❤️❤️

this is so sweet omg

its totally fine that not everyone notices everything i think these things should be subtle. they shouldn't feel super noticeable unless you're looking for it because the point is to make you feel the feelings without being on the nose <3

[ererokii]

— broken strings and beautiful melodies

diluc r. x f!reader

Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, gore, this does not follow the og plot and lore/ some spoilers for “We Will be Reunited” Archon Quest Note: this is for Attack On Academia’s Mythology Summer Collab! Please be sure to check out the masterlist for everyone else’s works. They all worked super hard and it turned out amazing! And big thanks to @reddriot and @axther for betaing <3

Synopsis: A simple love story between the Pyro Archon, and a mortal.

taglist || masterlist || server link || collab masterlist

Another four days pass and it’s finally Friday. Fridays at Angel’s Share were no different from the ones prior. Exhausted adventurers and townspeople venture inside the tavern to drink their woes away, to forget, or to have a great time. It was annoying, to say the least—hearing the laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.

However, Diluc had to say nothing was worse than a certain pigtail braided bard strutting in with his lyre. The redhead had no choice but to serve the bard his choice of drinks after figuring out his true identity (although he still makes him pay the whole total—even if the singer can’t find a way to pay). 

Like before, the bartender lifts his head up, crimson eyes boring into the crowd gathering beside the bard at the nearby table. 

The bard’s soft voice matches with the melody of his lyre, fingers pulling and gracefully sliding past the strings. His eyes closed, telling a story to the nearby peers and the quiet man standing behind the counter. A tale Diluc heard once, yet it weighed on him all the same.

“The story of this archon is no better than the rest, yet, the most tragic comes from the debris of war. The god of War was like no other. Loads of strength, yet grief and sorrows weigh him down like an anchor in the vast ocean. Love is a mere factor, yet love is one of the many things the god brought ruin to.”

-

With heavy footsteps, a red-haired male walks along the dirt path in no shoes, wearing the silkiest of robes one could ever obtain. He hums to himself, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face, letting out a huff of annoyance when it falls right back into the same position as before. 

He breathes in the crisp air of the summer night, relishing the winds that brush across his skin. Summers in Natlan were one of a kind. While it was scorching in the morning, when the night came around, all was calm. The harsh rays turned into blissful winds that cleansed the land of heat. 

During the other seasons, it was never too cold, nor was it ever too hot. The temperature was just right for all men, women and children. 

Located in the southwestern region of Teyvat, Natlan was home to the Pyro Archon, known as The God of War. The god, Murata, is unlike any other god. Ruthless and fierce, he does not handle any threat lightly. Anything thrown his way, he does not hesitate. With kindness and love, Murata will no doubt protect his nation.

His statues are scattered across the land. Standing with his formal rags and cloak that shields his face, Murata holds his claymore in his right hand, the tip pointing down to symbolize his foes beneath him as he celebrates in victory.

In the night sky, his statues act like lights to guide those on safe journeys home or to neighboring nations. Along with being guides, the structures are used for a place of reverence. Often many would journey far and wide to pay thanks for everything he has done. 

In the center lies the biggest of them all, flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. Like the other Archons, Murata was grateful for his people. When roaming the land, he spots commoners on their knees by the base of the statue during the late of night or the crack of dawn. Not wanting to disturb, the archon watches from afar. 

Today is different. Murata continues to walk along the path, listening to the noises coming from the forest animals and the creeks as the waters begin to rush at this hour of the night. He can’t help but let out the faintest of hums at the sounds of nature. 

He reaches for the side of his face, tucking a red strand behind his ear. Often the god will put his hair up into a low or high ponytail, but for outings in the cool atmosphere, he prefers to wear it down. His powers were compared to his hair many times. When describing his appearance, he listens to the children exaggerate saying his hair is literal flames that he can produce from the palm of his hands. Of course, this is nowhere near true, but a child’s imagination is quite amusing. 

In the distance, his crimson hues bore straight ahead at the small flickering light. 

“Someone must be up now,” he whispers to himself, debating on leaving them alone but instead, chooses to go up ahead and observe from a closer proximity. Muratans knew what their god looked like. He comes out during the day to pay visits but never for long periods of time. 

As quick as they see him, it's as quick as they’ll see him leave. No one can ever hold his attention for too long. 

The sound of strings being played can be heard from his spot-- and he halts. A lyre, one of his favorite pastimes and favorite instruments. 

Over the hill is a figure sitting beside the statue, back turned to him but he can see the movement of their arm. Curious, Murata continues to stalk forward quietly, not wanting to disturb the worshipper. 

The melody played is show-stopping in his eyes. He wonders if Celestia had sent down someone he was unaware of to play this just for him, and only him. If anything, he could settle on the grass and listen to them play for ages on end, wearying his immortal days out. Music was the only thing that could settle him, but not forever. 

Now, he's a mere few steps away from the cloaked figure. His face is lit up by the candles by his feet. His tongue peeks out of his lips as an unknown feeling bursts through his body. His palms felt sweaty and his heart rate increased. 

He winces when the wrong note is played, gritting his teeth together. The redhead doesn’t think much until a force pushes him backward.

“W-Why are you standing there watching me?! Don’t you know this place is meant for us to come together, not to be creepy like you just were right now?!”

“W-What?” he whispers in surprise, bringing a hand to cover his nose that suddenly feels wet. He pulls away, noticing the red drops on his skin. Blood.

“Don’t question me that way! You know exactly what you were doing…  A pig is what you are. Oh, just you wait until Murata finds out about this.”

“Murata huh?” he questions, wiping his hand on the grass, watching the blood dissolve into nothing-- the red trails of blood trickling down his nose come to an unsuspecting halt.

He clears his throat and comes to stand, staring down at the figure behind him. With the candlelight, a glimpse of crimson eyes and matching hair can be seen. In a matter of seconds, it's silent. Until there is a subtle gasp.

It amuses the Archon greatly to see a change in behavior and the fear present in the civilian's eyes. He wouldn’t dare try anything to her, but maybe it would lighten the mood if he did.

With desperate breaths of air, you reach forward and grab ahold of the man's hands, squeezing as hard as you could. “M-My Lord, I deeply apologize for my behavior! Please forgive me! I was foolish!”

“No need to be formal all of a sudden…mistakes are made and all can be forgiven. I must say, you are quite gifted with that instrument in your hand.”

Your face heats up, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than him as you gaze down. Your god had just complimented you and yet here you are losing the composure you had seconds ago. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, hand clutching the lyre close to your chest. “It’s an honor to hear such wonderful words, especially coming from you.”

Murata stares down, an unexplainable look upon his face. Then, he smiles. 

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? As someone as gifted as you, I think you deserve to have your name remembered.”

“My name is Y/N. For some reason, your kind words seem to boost my confidence. I normally don’t play in front of people, I’m too shy and afraid of their judgement. I only like to play in front of the statue… or in this case, you.”

“How about you play for me again?”

-

The angelic sounds of your lyre had been played more often since you’ve met the god. The night was when you shined, when no one was around to listen or stare at you. The dark sky made you feel alone, yet you were at peace. You found pleasure in playing for the Pyro Archon statue, yet having him sitting beside you and listening made your heart beat just a bit more than before.

During the day, you find yourself sitting under the big oak trees, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and shining upon you two. Murata lays close to you, eyes shut and lashes resting against his upper cheeks as the song lulls him to a quick nap or a state of serenity. 

He’ll comment on a subtle note, saying how he loves the pitch, or give recommendations. Many times Murata has taken your instrument and played a tune or two for you. He says every gentleman should at least know how to serenade a lady.

As a child, your family spoke highly of him. They even used him as a threat against you when you’ve done something wrong. Now that you look back, it was a mere hoax and it possibly scarred you just a bit. When you first told Murata this, he stared with his lower lip quivering before his shoulders started to shake and then, he let out a laugh. 

“Surely you didn’t believe that, right?”

“I did! I was a child, what else was I supposed to do?! I nearly wet my sheets when my mother told me that you would come and scare me!”

“Well come on now, are you still scared?”

He enjoys seeing you worked up—then again, he loves seeing you play the lyre. He stays quiet and watches your fingers move as if they had a mind of their own. You move with grace, without hesitation. There is no wrong note, no wrong string when you play. Sometimes being here with you in this moment made him feel like he was mortal. Like he was able to live freely.

Being bound to divinity in Celestia, Murata had wandered Teyvat for ages, alone. Each person he had gotten close to, he had to watch them disappear from this world in the shadows. At some point, he even had to pretend to be lost so others could forget about him. If they forgot about Murata, would the load be easier on the Pyro Archon’s shoulder?

But now, you’re aware of his status and who he truly is. If you were to stay by his side, would he be the last thing you see before you pass into the next life? He’s not sure, but he’s hoping that won’t be true. He couldn’t bear with the guilt that will get him worked once more at the thought of another mortal dying in front of his eyes. 

“Murata?” you ask one afternoon, sitting by the same statue you met him for the first time. “What’s it like?”

He steers his gaze away from the clouds and onto you, an eyebrow raised in question. “What is what like?”

“You know—” you start, messing with the material of your dress, head lowered. “Being a god?”

And then he freezes. Out of all the questions you could have possibly asked, this one had to be the most unexpected. 

“Why do you wish to know something like that?”

“I want to know what it’s like. Immortality and eternal beauty sound pretty amazing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he immediately states, sitting upright. His body looks tense, posture perfect and hands in his lap. However, you notice the small twitch in his fingers, as if he’s thinking. You can hear the heaviness in his breathing—lips parted as the air slips in and out of his mouth.

How can living on this earth for years on end, watching people die in front of you like they are meaningless, be perfect? Is that what people thought about immortality? The faces of past friends from ages ago are nothing but a blob of color in his mind. He can’t remember their faces, nor their voices—only the memories they have shared, and even that is starting to fade away.

Murata cleared his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved up slowly, before falling at the same rate. Soon, he opens his eyes and faces you. He reaches up and tightens his high ponytail, running his fingers through the red tresses. “The life of an immortal is not...ideal.”

“There comes a time where living forever is not as good as it seems. A human like yourself might think differently since there is an end to everyone’s journey. Death is inevitable for a human, and almost all are afraid of the end itself. Even… I am afraid there will be a time I will be cursed with that end. But for now, that’s something that rarely crosses my mind..”

And he continues. Murata proceeds to tell you about the drawbacks of being a God. When he speaks, you can see pain flash across his eyes as he recalls a memory of a loving friend who passed before him. He tells you there’s no avoiding this never ending nightmare. If there was a way he could overcome this spell of immortality, he would choose mortal life in an instant. 

He believes nothing good comes with this. In his eyes, everything gets destroyed by his hands. If he hadn’t created this nation, he wouldn’t be here with you, nor would he have people at his feet who love and worship him for everything—for giving them a home. He would be a traveler with no home, or loved ones.

The Archon doesn’t realize how much of his thoughts he spilled until he feels the warmth of another—your hand resting upon his cheek. This alerts him as he jolts, eyes wide as he stares at you. You wear a small smile, head cocked to the side. Your thumb moves on its own, wiping the tear away that dribbles down the swell of his face. 

His body relaxes, shoulders slouching as he relishes your touch, not having been caressed by another, let alone a human. If he’s being honest, it's been at least a century since he has gotten close to another mortal. It’s a foreign feeling, but he loves it nonetheless.

Your soft spoken words are enough for him to be at ease. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue through the suffering.”

In a vulnerable state, the tears continue to flow down his face, arms slithering around your body as he pulls you in close. At first the motion shocks you, but soon you return the action, hand resting on the small of his back and by his head, stroking the soft locks. You can hear the faint sobs that escape his lips and it’s strange. From stories, they state Murata was fierce, barely any emotion in him.

But he looks nothing more than a broken man in need of comfort. 

You press your lips against his head, humming softly to him. His arms tighten around you, a shaky breath slipping past. As much as Murata hates this feeling, but after being alone for as long as Teyvat had been founded, he thinks he deserves to be this close to someone again.

After moments of silence, the god is positioned beside you, hand resting on your thigh and head on your shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, the area feeling irritated and scratchy from his crying. As much as the thoughts still swirl in his head, they seem to be drowned out by the melody you play for him.

He lazily draws organic shapes with the pad of his finger on your skin, eyes beginning to close. 

Your lyre is one of the few beautiful things he has come across in his lifetime. You currently hold the number one spot for the most beauty he has seen but when you sit with your instrument, he swears he can see the wings of an angel behind you. 

He steers his gaze from the lyre to your face, eyes taking in the small details of your visage. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he notices the slip of your tongue peek from your lips, eyebrows creasing in concentration. Along with the melodies, he listens to your small hums as you play a song just for him-- one of worship and love.

His hand runs up your arm, halting your movements at once. Eyes opening, you stare forward for a second before looking down upon him. He recognises your confusion and lets out a laugh, hand trailing up before his thumb rests on your chin, making you keep your gaze on him.

Your face heats up at this interaction, mouth parted. Your breathing becomes uneven when you notice the close proximity. Your stomach flutters, the back of your throat suddenly going dry—no words able to slip through. His chest rises and falls just as quick as your own. 

His tongue peeks through, licking his lower lip. His crimson hues stare at your lips before averting his gaze to your eyes. As much as it’s tempting, now is not the right time.

“Beautiful,” he whispers quietly, for your ears only. “So beautiful… like an angel sent down from the divine...”

- The lyre, made of nature’s resources and carved into the most adoring shapes—the ends curving in different directions and a piece of excess wood piercing straight through the middle with a pointed tip and a rounded end. Made for the best, the lyre contains seven strings that seem to glow throughout the day and the night. 

In the middle, an emerald gem shines embedded on the wood, reflecting the rays of the sun, sparkling for all to see. Around lies the detail of the sun, the soft yellows encircling it. And just beneath that is gold details that resemble the wings of those who are free. Two flowers that are foreign to the land of Natlan are delicately engraved—their colors showing pure innocence.

The Cecilia flowers stay in bloom, never once dying out. Nor has any other grown in their place.

A perfect instrument, one of elegance and purity. Perfect for you. 

The origins of said lyre are unknown, yet when it was given to you as a young child, you didn’t dare question it. Instead, you took it with the biggest grin and thanked your father as many times as you could. You were intelligent and extremely talented. At first, your mother was skeptical of such an object being in the possession of an nine year old, but your father assured it was in safe hands. 

Since then, it’s been by your side to this day. It’s never been out of your grasp and you only let certain trusted people play it. For some reason, seeing others hold the instrument made you feel weird. 

Playing your gift made you feel like you were above the world, like you could ascend to Celestia and play for the gods. It felt as if some sort of divine power surged through your veins and riled you up. And now at the ripe age of 24, having the Pyro Archon by your side as you play for him daily, it feels as if your purpose of living has been complete. 

Seeing his soft smile and slight nods he gives when he's impressed (which is all the time) or when he places his hand on yours to play along with you. Having him close to you makes you feel warm, excited and giddy; almost like a young girl in love.

Which... You won’t lie to yourself about that. 

There have been times during the day where you catch yourself thinking about the red head. Thoughts of him swirl your head as you drift off to sleep and he’s the first thing you think about in the morning. Sometimes you notice that you make motions in the air, like you are stroking something, when in reality, you wish to have his head in your lap again as you play with the loose ends of red tresses.

The god was just so breathtaking. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The color of flames held in his eyes drew you in so far, it felt as if you were walking through a pit of flames. Yet, these flames never extinguished or brought harm to you. 

“You’re lost in thought again,” Murata comments, poking your shoulder with his pointer finger. “You alright there? I don’t need you tripping over a rock or something.”

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over at him. “O-Oh it was nothing. I’m okay.” You offer a not so convincing smile, scratching the nape of your neck in embarrassment. Knowing you for a while, the god offers a nod and looks forward, his hands behind his back, steps in sync with yours.

You let your hand drop, clearing your throat as you hum, filling the silence with some noise. Your eyes wander around the area before gazing up at the tall man beside you. You take notice how the ends of his ponytail sway side to side with every step he takes.  

The apple of your cheeks heat up when you can see his back muscles flex as he straightens his posture. The shirt he wore let your imagination run wild; there was no doubt that Murta was built.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Murata says out of nowhere, barely glancing over at you. “If you want, I can just stand in front of you so you can actually look at me face to face.”

“Oh be quiet,” you mutter, stepping forward and grabbing hold of his hand—his much larger, covering yours entirely. Upon contact, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing softly.

“You know I love messing with you,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, which you respond back to him with a quiet “I know.”

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. It’s a bit chilly in the land of Natlan. One of the many summer days that turn out to be filled with crisp air and cloudy skies. Storytellers always said if it were cloudy during the season of summer, karma and misfortune was on the way—yet no one believed such lies like that. 

His hand is so warm, you think, glancing down at your conjoined hands. Ever since that day by the giant stone statue of the god where you almost kissed him, his behavior towards you changed drastically. He’s been a bit more touchy (not that it bothered you; in fact, you loved it), holding your hand and somewhat more affectionate. At the end of your day when you would say goodbye, he would pull you close and plant a gentle kiss to your cheek or sometimes even close to your lips.

Just thinking about those actions makes you flustered, looking away from him and out to the open. 

“What do you think it means to be in love?”

Hearing those words from the man beside you causes you to choke on your saliva, hitting your chest to calm your ongoing coughs. When you’re finally composed, you gasp for air and stare at him in shock. “W-What do I think about that?”

“Mhm.” He nods, inhaling deeply, his other hand reaching up into the air as if he was stretching before lowering it. “What do you think it means to be in love? I’m curious as to what you humans think it might be.”

“I-” You gulp, eyes semi wide as you try to wrack your brain for anything. That was not a question you were expecting, especially right now. “W-Why do you want to know? Isn’t love, love?”

“Well, aren't there different ones? Can’t people be in love with parts of someone? Lets say, only being in love with someone for their status in the nation. Or just their looks but not for them. 

“Well… I think being in love with someone means you don’t care about their status or who they look or who they are.”

“Even if they’re a god?”

“Even if they’re a god.” you say confidently, before realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Even if they’re a god,” he repeats, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. His cheeks are painted with soft pink, red eyes averting from you. 

Murata’s heart is racing, far faster than it ever has in his life. HIs lips are dry, his mouth is parched. His shoulders heave with every deep breath he takes. Does the sweat of his hands bother you? God, he feels like a young boy about to confess his love to a girl he’s been pining over—although he's not completely wrong.

“Murata, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, tilting yourself a bit to look up into his eyes as his head is lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you so intoxicating?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-You’re all I can think of,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t get you out of my mind, even though I shouldn’t get close to those I love and care for. In the end, I’ll be here and be forced to live with this overweighting guilt that rests upon my shoulders as time continues to flow knowing that you’ll be dead.”

A hiccup gets caught in the back of his throat, his thoughts becoming foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t like this feeling. I absolutely despise it.  Many times after we hung out, I thought about disappearing again like I have before I got too close to anyone again. But I can’t let you go, nor will these memories ever go away.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispers, hand shaking as his grip becomes tighter. “I can’t lose you… you’re too special to me already. I know there will be a day where we part ways forever but I want to be a part of your journey until then.”

His confession throws you for a loop. His words continue playing over and over in your head like a song you learned the night prior. You have this unexplainable feeling in your chest, yet it warms up as the seconds pass. Your whole body feels tingly, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

Your quietness is too much for him to handle right now—a bit silly if you were to ask the Archon himself. “Say something,” he mutters, shaking your hand lightly. The redhead can already feel the rejection pooling in the depths of his stomach, eating away at him.

“You... Do you love me?” you whisper, looking up at him with doe like eyes. Murata can’t seem to answer for himself, one hand cupping your cheek. He moves closer, his breath fanning your face. The flames in his eyes gaze into yours, losing himself in the color before he averts down to your lips. A quiet way of asking for consent.

You lean forward, lips barely brushing against his. It’s shy between the two of you. After having such strong feelings for each other, neither of you know how to proceed. No one moves, it feels time has stopped.

You feel him pull away slightly before going back in, his lips fully pressed against yours. His other hand drops yours, instead wrapping his arm around your lower back. Your chest pressed up against his, your finger runs up his side, to the top of his shoulder and around, cradling the back of his neck.

His finger tightens around the material of your coat you wore for the day, using it as leverage to keep you standing. His kisses are soft yet fierce. The softness of his lips and his scent up close are enough to drive you insane, enough to make your knees buckle and make you want more. You want more of him, Murata.

A small grunts leaves his mouth when you tug on his hair. In return, he nibbles on your lower lip, chuckling at the small noise you produce from his motion. It’s becoming harder to breathe as you stay in this position with him. If air wasn’t a necessity, you wouldn’t go for it. 

You pull away from him, panting softly as you gaze up into his eyes. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration as he peers down at you. The corners of his lips curve upward as he leans in, barely presses against yours again before pulling away. He sneaks in a few quick pecks, listening to your quiet laughter.

“Of course I love you.” He makes you look up at him, your face cradled in his hands as if he was holding something delicate, something that could be wrecked and destroyed any second. “That’s why I asked you what you thought about it.”

“And I love you too,” you reply softly. “I thought.. After everything you wouldn’t want to have feelings like this, let alone a human.”

“Sometimes boundaries are meant to be broken if it means true happiness.”

-

“Tensions have arisen in the land of Natlan. Nearby gods have caused quite the stir, causing Murata to put it to a halt at once. Upon ascending to his seat in Celestia, there have been prophecies saying a great misfortune is underway and can arrive in an instant. Since then, he’s been worked up. He cares much about his nation and will let no harm come its way.” 

The bard strums the string before growing silent, letting his head hang forward, his pigtails falling in his face. “It’s a true shame that such a horrid thing came to be… If only he was strong enough as he said he was.”

Murmurs arise from the drunken peers, hiccups joining the air as they beg him to continue the song. Even if some wouldn’t remember this night in the morning, this was still enough entertainment. 

“W-What happened next, bard?! Finish it!” an adventurer gasps, holding his cup of alcohol close to his chest, his cheeks heated and a light pink.

“You wish to know?” the bard asks, peeking through his lashes, his two toned eyes staring into the soul of the bartender. “Why of course!” he laughs cheerfully then clears his throat, batting his eyelashes as he brings his hand to his chest.

“Although, I’m quite parched and would love to have another cup of Dandelion Wine! What do you say, Master Diluc?”

“My answer is no. Do not ask me for something when you will not pay in the end.”

“Agh what a shame,” the bard sighs, letting his head hang back but never breaking eye contact with the redhead. “Don’t you wish to know about the ending?”

“I could care less.” Diluc speaks through gritted teeth, arms crossed over his chest, the infamous pose he does every hour of the day. “I just want you out of here.”

“I’ll pay for him!” one of the nearby men yell, fumbling with his wallet to grab the gold circles of currency to give to the bartender—and all the bard can do is smile cheekily, opening his hand. 

“Well, looks like the drink is paid for. Can I have it now, Master Diluc?”

The red head, already annoyed with the behavior of the young man in front of him, reluctantly takes the coins from the drunk. Without speaking, he serves the singer his desired drink, noticing the small smirk he wears. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asks, eyeing him up and down.

“Because I’m getting to my favorite part.” He takes a sip of his drink and places the cup back down. After a pleasant sigh is heard from him as he takes hold on his lyre, stroking the white petals of the Cecilia flowers. “And you’re gonna love it.”

- Melodies of the lyre were played even during the darkest of times. The soft notes were enough to make anyone who felt down happy again, or at least content, even yourself. The colors of the strings being played was enough to put you at ease. Sometimes when you’re out in the town, many children would ask you to play their favorite song or at least a simplified version if you weren’t familiar with it. 

But as of now, all of Teyvat was in ruin. Murata had told you the truth; he hated keeping you in the dark when you deserved to know. As much as he disliked saying this, your life indeed was on the line, more than his. In fact, the whole nation was at risk, along with the other six neighboring ones. 

From other Archons, Murata heard that a water monster, Osial, had arisen and was ready to ruin and kill innocents for the sake of a seat in Celestia. Morax, who was the overseer of Liyue at the time, was trying his best to seal the beast with his spears.

In this case, Murata hopes a threat like this doesn't happen to Natlan. Especially when he’s not there to protect his people, to protect you.

Murata hears a gush of wind from behind him and the earth beneath him starts shaking. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, small puffs of air slipping out of his mouth. He reaches above and tugs on the black hood of his cape. 

His archon outfit consists of silk white pants and black sleeveless shirt that resembled a vest with a slit down the middle of his torso. And to top it, a black cape flows behind, the hood covering his face from all to see. In his right hand, his fingers curl around the handle of his claymore.

A heavy burden rests upon his shoulders as he stares forward, seeing the world erupt into flames and utmost chaos. In the distance, he can hear the screams and cries of the families asking for mercy. He wonders what you would think about him if you were to see him right now. 

“Murata,” you whine, trailing the last syllable of his name as his lips peck against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come on, you know that tickles.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll continue to do it,” he muses, nipping at your skin before blowing warm air onto your neck which causes you to squirm from him, pressing your hands against his chest. He listens to your soft laughs, loving the way your body moves under his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close as you hum, inhaling the scent you’ve grown to love. 

“Mmm… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Murata whispers to no one, blinking rapidly when he realizes he was lost in thought and was not in fact with you, but only remembering a moment from a few days ago. In reality, here he stands in the middle of a deserted land that must be destroyed. Blood is on his hands, splattered on his face. 

“I didn’t even want to do this,” he mutters, grinding his teeth together as he proceeds to walk forward, watching red explosions burst from the ground, red blocks protruding from either ends of the nation. In the sky, the color purple takes over as lightning strikes down from the heavens and is brought forth onto the land. 

From his position, the ground had been cracked and was on the edge of being split apart if another Archon had used their powers against the nation. 

He lifts his claymore in the air, staring up at the red sky with anguish. His lips part as he whispers something to himself, reassuring that what he is about to do is alright and isn’t his fault. A sudden strike of his weapon pierces the land, flames bursting into the air and cracking the earth. 

Murata breathes heavily, leaning on the rounded edge of his weapon. Sweat trickles down his face, the hood falling off of his head. Two strands of hair fall forward, framing his face, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail. 

The flames continue to run down the cracks which branch to smaller ones that cause the piece of rock beneath the surface to crumble and fall, leaving the terrain to become uneven. 

“Wow! Even from afar I can spot you,” a semi high pitched says from behind him. The Pyro Archon stiffens, internally groaning as he stares over his shoulder, meeting two green eyes. “Someone doesn’t look happy as he used to be.”

“Barbatos,” Murata grumbles, looking forward as he straightens his posture. With one hand, he picks his hood over his head once more and the other pulls his claymore from the ground, resting it on his shoulder. “What do you want from me now?”

“Just letting you know Morax has finished in the south region of Khaenri'ah,” Barabtos states, a frown growing on his lips as he looks away, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground as his wings keep him afloat. “You're not the only one who didn’t want this. We had no choice.”

“No choice huh…” He trails off, his claymore suddenly evaporating into thin air and gold dust left in its wake. “How are we loving, protecting gods if we just obliterated this nation with no god? What does that make us? We’re no better than those who do us wrong against our own homeland. We’re just like Decarabian. Nothing but tyrants.”

“Don’t bring up that name again.”

“Why? Because deep down you know it's true.”

“Because that was his own choice to keep us entrapped. We had no choice but to bring ruin. They felt-” Barbatos hesitates, licking his lower lip before continuing, “-they felt threatened. A nation with no god is a false one to Celestia. Everything must be in order. Khaenri’ah was not the case. We had to, or we’re next. The divine is not ready for a land with no god.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Murata. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Natlan.” A deeper voice from behind him is heard, the sound of footsteps becoming louder before they stop beside him. “You and your people would have been in grave danger.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to keep making contracts.”

Morax chuckles lightly, shaking his head, his ponytail swaying with the movement. “And how does that look on you, God of War?”

Murata shakes his head, refusing to look at the Anemo Archon and the Geo Archon. “War or not, this is not just. The victors burn bright and the losers turn to ash. This-” he motions to the now deserted land of dust and blood. The sky is a deep red, the sun or moon nowhere to be seen. The earth is uneven, mountains caving into the ground as streaks of dark colors emit from the ground. 

The spot the three archons stand upon is nothing but cracked ground, an empty space separating them and the rest of the debris. 

“This is not war.”

Even when he’s not in his right mind, the only thing that can put him to ease comes up, suddenly soothing his woes away. He closes his eyes, envisioning he’s somewhere else

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper in the god’s ear, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a smile. “No wonder you’re a god. How could they not take you?”

“Please. You flatter me too much.” He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face, planting a kiss to it. “On the contrary, it should be you in my position. No, an angel is what you are.”

“An angel? Please, enlighten me.”

Murata shifts on his side to stare down at you, brushing the baby hairs from your face. A blanket covers your bodies from your previous intimate sessions, yet he remembers every curve, every flaw that’s perfection to his mind. “I mean, look at you. You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“Am I now?”

He nods, dipping his head slightly. The tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are. You’re amazing. You’re everything in this world. You’re desirable but most importantly... you’re divine.”

“Wow, now I’m flattered.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing as he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. It lasts for a few seconds but it feels as if it goes on for years. When he pulls away, you cup his cheek. “And you are ethereal.”

The god shakes his head lightly with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. You’re all he can think about. Even when he is busy taking away innocent lives and watching them get turned into monsters, the sweet image of your face continues to pop into his mind. You’re the light in the dark. 

He hates the feeling of being away from you, especially when he’s on close watch from Celestia. There’s something unsettling in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite put his finger on it. Murata watches Morax and Barbatos exchange a few words before he gasps, lifting his head up fast. “Natlan. It’s in danger.”

- The nation of Natlan, located in the southwestern region of Teyvat and home to the Pyro Archon, was under attack. There was no point in trying to save them, they were already too far gone. No god in sight yet the trails of monsters were left behind. Did the Archon truly love them like they said he did? Or was it all a lie to get people’s love?

The once beautiful land is ruined—looking like the one he destroyed not long ago. His statues that aided his people on their journeys far and wide were now broken and cracked. Chunks of stone litter the ground and crush nearby civilians. Whoever was standing beside those statues had been brought down along with them, no way to return. 

The god feels weak in the knees as he staggers over the dirt path that has noticeable traces of dried blood. No doubt from his people. Where are the bodies? He has no clue.

Houses have been torn apart, the roofs blown off and thrown into the field of flowers on the other side. He feels torn at heart. He wants to give up walking, already knowing the outcome but refuses to stop. He hopes that a few people, even just twenty people, can still be alive and he can move them somewhere else.

The night is cold and fresh as it was years ago. Only this time, the sounds of the animals in the creek aren’t heard and the wildlife is quiet. He looks towards the forest, hoping a deer or a boar will rush through the trees. But his hopes die when he notices that's not happening, and the habitat is burnt to ashes. 

“Somebody,” he croaks out, averting his eyes upward and freezes. Up ahead, in the center lies the biggest statue of them all, where flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. 

The most beautiful statue in all of Natlan has been crushed. The head of the statue is gone from the area (he can only assume it had been tossed across the nation or into the river). The candles are no longer intact,  the pieces scattered and buried into the burnt grass.

“No,” he whispers lowly before crying out, running towards it. His heart races as he steps closer and closer. All his worries and fears; he doesn’t want them to be real. He doesn’t want any of this to be real. He wants to be at home.

You.

You. 

Where are you?

He gasps for air and drops to his knees. Red eyes frantically search along the stone pieces. He plants his hands on the ground and hisses upon contact, retracting back. A rock share pierced his skin. Murata bites his lower lip as he shakes his hand, watching the piece fly off before he can continue looking.

Are you safe at home? You were, right? Surely you wouldn't come out when everything is being attacked, right? Yeah, that’s it. You’re safe at home waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to be in your arms so you can cry about your fears of losing your life and him.

And by the end he’ll calm you down, say soothing words into your ear as he holds you close, saying he’ll never leave like that again and stay with you forever. God or not, immortal or not, he plans to stay by your side. 

And then your lyre will be played for you and only you. He knows your favorite melodies. Oh so beautiful, he loves hearing you play them but this time, he’ll play for you until the end of time. 

Your lyre-

He freezes.

His hand hits something underneath the stone. Something smooth like wood and the prick of an object with a pointed tip—an all too familiar feeling.

With a grunt, he grabs ahold and heaves back, pulling it out from under the rubble. A surge of fear flows through his veins when he falls back, holding an object in his hands. 

It’s a cracked lyre, with pieces broken off where an emerald stone originally would have laid. The gold trinkets are ripped right off, the empty space now feeling dull. He notices the seven strings have now turned to three and aren’t holding their original color that glows. 

The only thing that’s untouched, however, are the Cecilia flowers. Not a hint of blood stains the white petals. 

His eyes grow wide when he gazes somewhere else, spotting a hand peeking out from the same spot he pulled the lyre from. A choked cry gets stuck in the back of his throat when it all clicks together.

You weren’t home like he thought you would have been. You weren’t waiting for him to return from his wages of war, to be in his arms. Instead, you did what you always did.

Worshipped Murata, under the ceremonial statue.

The one that caused your death. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs the lyre close to his chest, mouth parting as a sob slips out. He rocks himself back and forth, shaking his head at this false reality but he knows this is all real. 

Murata babbles to himself, muttering things underneath his breath as he hyperventilates. He can’t catch his breath. His throat is closing in on him, the air too thick to even breathe right now. 

The tears blur his vision. He can’t see nor think straight anymore. The god of War was unable to save his people from the hardships of an incoming war. What kind of god was he? Was he even one? Or was he now a false one?

What seems to be years later, though it only is an hour or so, Murata finds himself standing on the edge of a cliff, dried up tears evident on his face. The whites of his eyes are red, the tip of his nose matching the same color. 

He sniffles, nose stuffed from the moments earlier. His breathing hasn’t changed a bit. His shoulders still shake with every inhale. The atmosphere around him is tense, maybe even too quiet for his liking. 

Behind him, he refuses to look back on the destruction he let happen. Even from a far enough distance, he can still clearly hear the crackling of fire and the sounds of a nation dying. 

He lowers his hand from his chest, spreading his fingers open. In a matter of seconds, the handle of his weapon appears slowly, the rest of the claymore following suit in gold dust. 

He peers down slightly, watching the red and black glow before dimming out. The slant from the edge of the weapon, one he has used to kill off his enemies without a thought. In the current state, he can see the traces of blood left behind. 

In his other hand is the damaged lyre. His fingers keep it close to his chest, his heart. One of the last things he had of you. The tip of his pointer fingers strums a string and he winces from the uneasy sound it produces. This instrument no longer plays the melodies he adored, and worse yet, the person he adores can no longer hear it. 

Murata was the Pyro Archon. Amongst the other gods, he was ruthless yet kind and merciful. When a threat was sent his way, he did not hesitate to take care of it. He took care of Natlan. 

Or, that’s what should have happened. 

He closes his eyes, goosebumps forming on his arms from the gust of wind that breezes by him, knocking his hood off. His hair that was let down swayed in the breeze, the loose ends flowing behind him. His bangs move slightly and then stop, falling in their original place. 

The rest of his cape follows in the wind, the ends flowing behind him like the draft was made just for him right now. 

“I let you down,” he says, clearing his throat. He stares at the colors of oranges, pinks and blues, meshed together to create the sunrise that he grew to love but now, he suddenly resents it. 

A single tear cascades down his face and lands on his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A rare whimper slips past his lips. With a shake of his head, Murata brings the lyre to his face, pressing his lips against the cracked wood. 

A goodbye kiss should always be special, shouldn’t it?

He pulls away, stroking the place where the gem would have been at. “I’m so sorry my love.” He averts his gaze and lowers himself, dropping the lyre on the ground underneath his feet. 

“Even I could not save you from the end of your journey. And as your god, I failed to protect you.”

When he stands up straight, his fingers tighten around his claymore. He stares down at the instrument, longing for time to change and to go back. To go back to how things were before. 

He can still hear the sound of your life and your smile popping into his mind. At the thought, his lips curl upward faintly in a small smile. 

Oh how he misses you already. He still remembers when he first saw you on that day under the statue as you played for him. You were aggressive, that was for sure. No doubt about it when you swung at him with your lyre and accused him of being a disgusting pig.

He can only blame himself. Deep down, he knew a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

But maybe now, as he called you his angel or an angel of Celestia, you can now ascend to where you truly belong. 

This isn’t goodbye, but a farewell, he thinks, clearing his throat as he gets closer to the edge. He peers downward at the ground miles beneath him.

As he failed here, he still has a job to do, no matter what. 

So then he jumps. He brings his claymore around and over his shoulder and swings it down. Flames engulf him in whole on his way down until he hits the ground with a thud, his weapon taking up all the impact. 

-

“And thus, the Pyro Archon aided in other nations against the treacherous demons that corrupted their land. After such heroic deeds, he was never to be seen. Many questioned: where did the god of War go? Who will remain victorious?”

“Many say he disappeared to join his love in the next life. Others say he stepped down as god to live amongst the mortals as he always wanted.” The bard hums and lays his lyre across his lap. 

“It’s a shame really, how beauty can go to waste.” His fingers run over an emerald gem that lies in the middle of the wood. His lyre was beautiful. 

The edges curved in different directions with a piece of wood piercing the top with a rounded end and pointed tip. Seven strings glowed recently as he placed the object to rest. 

“But it’s not as if it was her fault.” His slender fingers run over the white petals with a faux sigh of despair. “She would have been popular amongst the folks here, if she was immortal, of course. If only he kept his word to her saying he would protect her no matter what.”

The bartender drowns out the rest of Venti’s words, his eyes trained on the wood beneath his feet. 

Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery and Angel’s Share. Information is at his fingertips wherever he goes. In Mondstadt, he is a nobleman of high status. Everyone knows about him. 

His crimson eyes hold tears as he lets out a shaky breath, bringing a gloved hand to wipe away at the water that threatens to spill. 

He tries to keep his mind off of it but he can’t suppress it.

In front of him was Lord Barbatos himself—one he knew too well from millennia ago. Having fought with him in the Archon War, and the Destruction of Khaenri’ah, Diluc knew there was no way to get rid of him. 

It shocked him the most that the bard even remembers the story from back then. Even if other storytellers told this tale, Venti was the one that pierced his heart the most. 

“Master Diluc!” At the sound of his name, the red head hesitantly lifts up his head. Venti’s annoying smile greets him, pressing his finger against his cheek in a thinking motion. 

“Did you like it? I hope you did! I try to incorporate any stories of the divine. It seems that today was a hit. Don’t you think so?”

“Why are you bringing it up?” he whispers, not caring that tears trail down his face. “Why do you need to remind me of my failure?”

The other peers don’t seem to notice the usual calm and collective man in tears. They’re all too far gone in the hole of alcohol. 

Venti’s eyebrows crease, cocking his head to the side. “Failures? What do you mean? I’m just doing my job and singing like I always do. You’re doing great things in the Wine Industry. What failure could you possibly mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Diluc snaps, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him, causing the bard to jump in his seat. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oh dear oh dear,” Venti sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his lyre, placing his lips against the wood. 

“So pretty huh?” he asks once he pulls away, a small smirk on his lips as he shows Diluc. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you got to play this?”

The strings continue to shine, dimming and going bright again. An instrument perfect for anyone and in this case, for Barbatos. 

It pains Diluc to see him with your lyre. As much as you told him you despised other people holding it, he feels much more stronger about it. He wants nothing more than to snatch it from Venti’s hands and tell him to get out. 

“Others say that he wanders in the world right about now. No one knows what he looks like though. It’s a shame if anyone were to find him and blame him.” 

Venti’s fingers run over the strings. A melody is heard in the air, louder than any of the drunk men in the room. 

Diluc feels a sob beginning to form in the back of his throat. He wants nothing of this. He wants to truly go back home to Natlan with you. He could have made you a god and you could have been here with him today. 

As much as Diluc wants to look away, he’s mesmerized by the way the singer’s fingers move gracefully against the strings. For a split second, he could have swore he saw you sitting in his place, singing softly for his ears only. 

Like the angel you were. 

“But it seems that the god is afraid of confrontation. And yet, he seems to be mourning over his lover even after her death. If anyone were to be at fault, it would be his—” 

Venti stops, peering up at Diluc through his lashes. A sinister look was evident in his eyes. He paused for dramatic effect, a smirk growing on his lips. He hums and strums the last note.

“Isn’t that right, Murata?” Venti muses, asking a question in the form of a song. But in reality, he aimed it towards the redhead god standing in front of him. 

Diluc stares dumbfounded, mouth parted and eyes red from his silent crying. His hands are balled beside him. The peers cheer for the bard and offer drinks to compensate for his amazing singing—to which he laughs it off but takes the offers regardless. 

And all Murata can do is live with his own guilt, for the rest of his immortal life. Forever.

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[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter 6

Winds Change

Read on Ao3

-

Five days.

They had five days left together.

Billy tried not to think about it, but it was kinda hard to ignore.

Stalls were already being taken down, fair games being packed up into large shipping trucks to take across the country.

One of Max’s beloved funnel cake stalls had already met the way of the shipping container. She was pissed.

And yet, Billy and Steve did their best to pretend like the rodeo wasn’t coming down around them.

A perfect symbolism for their fling, or whatever, crashing down everywhere they look.

Billy spent days in Steve’s sweaty little airstream, brushing his fingers over that muscular body, calling him a hick and a horse girl and every other fake insult he could think of.

And Steve spent all that time lacing his fingers with Billy’s, winking at him from his place on top of one of his three gorgeous mares as he did victory lap after victory lap, roping calves in under ten seconds, slamming Billy against the walls of the airstream, adrenaline from the stunt still pumping through him.

The field saw them exercising Steve’s horses, taking a ratty blanket out there in the middle of the night to watch the stars.

And it was stupid, Billy pretending that this was more than just. A convenience.

Steve was on his knees, and Billy threaded his hands into that thick hair, tugging it this way and that, the way he’s learned Steve likes after some weeks of mewling whines.

Billy was backed up against the gate of the makeshift paddock, shielded by the prying eyes of the other rodeo workers by the long-set sun and the sounds of the day’s crowds filtering out of the grounds.

Steve pushed down, taking Billy’s cock all the way in his throat, breathing heavily through his nose, the nose currently pressed flat against Billy’s pelvis.

Steve was a champion at a few things: calf roping, horse riding, and dick sucking.

He pulled off Billy’s dick with a slurp, rolling his tongue along the head, humming slightly as he did. His eyes were dark, staring up at Billy, something like a smirk sparking in them as Billy fell apart.

He took a breath, ready to move back in and finish Billy off when there were footsteps.

“Steve! I gotta check Loretta’s hock.”

They both froze, Steve’s eyes going wide with shock, his lips still stretched around the cock in his mouth.

Billy had yet to meet Jim Hopper, the horse specialist that watched out for Steve’s three mares.

He guesses he was about to meet the man right about now.

Steve yanked his face off Billy’s cock with an unmistakable slurping sound that made Billy’s face go bright fuckin’ red. Billy fumbled with the fly on his shorts, and Steve took charge, roughly pulling the button closed and the zip up. It was a miracle he didn’t catch any skin with the quick action.

Steve was on his feet as Jim rounded the edge of the fencing, eyeing the two of them standing far too close, Billy’s face red and full of guilt. Jim raised a hand, his eyes closing as he breathed heavily out his nose.

“I don’t wanna know. Just let me take a look at your girl.”

Steve shrugged, acting like this whole ordeal was just another day at the rodeo.

Maybe it is, Billy’s brain supplied.

They were so fucking. Obvious. Billy could just drop dead right there on the grass.

Jim was a big dude. Beefy and broad, his face was clearly weather-beaten. Well, what of his face wasn’t covered with a graying beard and mustache. His left cheek pudged out slightly with what Billy realized was chewing tobacco when he spit casually at his feet.

“This is Billy. I told you about him,” Steve said with a smirk.

And Billy just about had a heart attack when Steve made a big show of wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, smirkin’ like the devil.

“Yeah, kid, I’m just here for Letty.”

The horses had been allocated to the horsebox for the night, as it was much warmer in there for them. Not that it was cold in San Diego at night, but still. Steve worried. Billy thought it was cute.

Steve led Jim off towards the box, clapping him once on the shoulder as he passed, making Jim groan and spit a dollop of yellow-brown saliva after Steve.

Billy felt like he was about to turn into some thick hot liquid shame when Jim gave him a bit of a once-over, raising one thick eyebrow at him. Jim’s mustache twitched, and he spit to the side before turning on his heel, following Steve to the horses.

Billy has never been more mortified in his life.

Steve’s mentioned Jim a lot. He always calls him Hop. Said Steve himself gave him that nickname. Billy has kinda sussed out that Jim is something like a pseudo-dad to Steve. The one to teach him how to really care for the horses. The one to teach him to properly tie a calf.

All the shit that Steve was made of, Jim taught him.

Billy had put together that Jim’s daughter was the one Max was scampering about the grounds with. Steve said he had adopted Elle when she was about seven.

His face gave something away when he said that. Making a look that said there was a story there, but Billy didn’t wanna ask.

It’s not his story to know.

Billy followed after them, keeping a wide enough berth from the pair that it was weird. He knew it was weird. But it was either this type of weird, or the weird of inserting himself into their conversation when Jim obviously knew what they had been doing seconds before he found them. Steve was about as subtle as a gun with those grass stains on his knees, wiping at his face like he needed to prove a point.

Billy lingered outside the horsebox.

Loretta had been lagging lately, and she startled whenever Steve laid a hand on her left leg.

Steve had just about sobbed when he told Billy he thinks she’s hurt herself.

Billy wished he had a cigarette right about now.

“Yeah, I think the poor girl’s just havin’ some inflammation. Probably tweaked her leg just right on the arena dirt.”

“Is she gonna be okay? What does she need?” Steve sounded more serious than Billy’s ever heard him. There was a weight to his voice that only reared up when Steve mentioned his father, a slight quiver in his words that made his anxiety palpable.

“She’s a tough one, Letty. Let her rest for about two weeks, only mild walking, and some ice at the end of the day wouldn’t hurt, either. We’ll talk after that and see if she needs anything more.”

There was something of a pause in the horsebox, and Billy held his breath, ignoring the fact that he was clearly eavesdropping now.

“You being careful with that boy?”

“‘Course I am.”

“Because I meant what I said last time. I’m not posing as your dad to get you an appointment at the clinic again-”

“ Jesus, Hop. I thought we agreed never to talk about that again, huh? And besides, I’m grown. I can make appointments for my own STD tests now. Plus, it was all fine.”

Billy nearly choked.

It’s not that he’s never had a scare before, and he and Steve were safe, but still.

“Good to hear, then. But you being careful ?” There was another silence from the box. One of the horses whinnied.

When Jim continued, it was with a much softer voice than before.

“I ain’t never seen you so attached before.”

The horse whinnied again, and Billy pictured Steve wrapping his arms around June’s neck and hugging her close.

“He’s under my skin now.” A scuff that sounded like Steve’s boot brushing against the hay-covered floor of the box. “First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.”

Those words crashed into Billy’s gut, knocking all the wind out of him.

He suffocated on them, drowned in Steve’s melancholy voice as he said them.

First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.

It stung at the same time it made Billy’s heart soar.

It hurt and it healed and it made Billy wanna throw up and lock Steve in his basement so he could never leave him.

Or maybe something less totally wacked-out and creepy.

“You know I love you like my own, but you gotta manage yourself. I ain’t judgin’, I just don’t wanna see you all hurt again.”

“Jeez, that was some real sappy shit there.” The mood shifted with Steve’s deflection, and Billy could hear footsteps leaving the horsebox.

He scrambled over to Steve’s little airstream, pretending he hadn’t been listening and freaking out over what he was hearing.

There was just. There was a whole lot to take in there.

Jim said he didn’t want to see Steve all hurt again, but also said he’s never seen Steve so attached before.

When had he been all hurt before if this was, in Steve’s words, the first time he wasn’t ready for a fling to be over?

And Billy didn’t want to hurt Steve, but it kinda, in a real shitty way, made him feel a little bit better that he wasn’t the only one ignoring the oncoming end out of sadness and a need to prolong whatever they had left.

That, and the added little bonus that Jim had once pretended to be Steve’s father to get him an STD test from a clinic.

Billy feels like he’s been punched in the face over and over again by that short conversation he heard. And he would know. He’s been decked in the kisser too many times to think about.

He leaned against the cold metal wall of the airstream as Steve came into view, Jim heading in the opposite direction towards the fairgrounds and the rodeo being shut down for the night.

Steve smiled at Billy, this soft, calm little thing that made the warm summer air even sweeter in Billy’s lungs and the words keep ringing through his head.

First time I wasn’t ready for a fling to be over.

He could see something in Steve, now that he knew what to look for.

How carefree and easy he seemed anytime he was around Billy, but those devastating moments when he seemed to bite his tongue against saying something more meaningful, or shied away from a briefly intimate touch.

Billy could finally see his own anxiety in Steve at their dwindling time together, and it broke his fucking heart.

Robin had warned Billy not to get attached. She told him Steve slept around and played the field and left before anyone could get in too deep.

But he wonders if Robin had warned Steve against the same thing. If she had told him that Billy was going to fuck and run. That leaving someone behind can sometimes hurt just as much as being left behind.

He hopes that if she hasn’t, she’ll be there for Steve. That she’ll pick him up and won’t let him break his own precious heart anymore.

“So, how’s Loretta?”

“She’ll be okay. Poor lady just needs some rest and some ice, and she’ll be feeling her best in a few weeks.”

Steve matched Billy’s stance, leaning against the trailer and tilting his face to the starry sky.

It was quiet out in the sea of trailers. Now that the spectators had all gone home for the night, the cheering crowds and amplified commentators weren’t reverberating through the open grass.

Instead, they could hear the rodeo animals that had been put in their nighttime areas. The many whineys and brays from different horses spread through the place.

The rodeo seemed so fucking magic to Billy.

Something like Heaven.

“I’m going soon.”

Billy doesn’t know why Steve said it.

They both knew that fact.

He thought they were both aggressively ignoring that fact.

“Yeah. You are.”

Billy didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He really didn’t want to have this conversation. Ever.

Because talking about it makes it real.

And God fucking forbid Steve breaks it off now and not in the allotted five days they still have to laugh and fuck and be free .

He pulled out his slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes, lighting one deftly.

Steve didn’t smoke. Said his grandpa died really horribly of lung cancer.

Billy knew this was going to be a serious talk when Steve didn’t make one of his usual snide remarks about Billy smoking.

“I just wanted. To be sure,” Steve trailed off, still looking at the spangled night sky. “We need to be on the same page.”

That we’re probably, most definitely, in love with one another but too stupid and too poorly timed and too tragic to say anything about it.

“I think we are.”

“Okay. Okay. Good. Because, I mean, I really don’t want to hurt you, and, like, our arrangement’s been the same since the beginning.”

Arrangement.

That word.

Arrangement.

It was a fucking ugly word for whatever beautiful thing they had between them.

Arrangement.

It made Billy feel cheap, and used, and so fucking stupid.

And feeling like that only meant one thing for Billy.

He got fucking mad.

“So, that’s it then. You’re done with me. Onto the next poor sucker in the next shitty town that’ll fuck you through the mattress and hold your hand until you decide you’re sick of ‘em. Great. It was so nice being your fucking whore. Thanks for the. Opportunity.”

He wished he chewed tobacco like Jim. He would spit a glob at Steve’s foot. Probably make it land right on those stupid fucking red cowboy boots.

Steve finally looked at Billy, his face scrunched up and those beautiful eyes of his looking somewhere between lost and hurt and angry and confused.

“Billy, that’s not what I-”

“No. No, Harrington, I fucking get it. You go town to town, and feed these fuckers a sob story about how hard it is for you to connect with people, and that you’re lonely and your dad sucks, and all this other bullshit. When really, you’re just an insecure asshole with intimacy problems who’s too fucking stupid to get a fucking GED.”

Fuck.

The second the words were out of his mouth, Billy knew he had gone way too fucking far.

Steve’s eyes flashed, and his face seemed to morph right in front of Billy’s eyes. He was closing himself off right where they stood. Getting ready to chuck Billy away and never see him again.

And Billy fucking deserved it.

“You’re calling me an insecure asshole with intimacy problems? The only friends you’ve got are coworkers that only pity you because they can see how fucking pathetic you are. You beg for scraps like a fucking dog and the second things get tough you ignore it, or get angry at it, like a stupid goddamn child . You think you’re so tough. That you’re the only one with problems . You’ve got your head so far up your own ass that you don’t realize that shit sucks all over, and that everyone is just as miserable as you are, we’re just able to fucking make something out of ourselves instead of wallowing in self-pity.”

Steve’s little speech left Billy feeling dumbfounded.

He was seething with a rage he had never felt in his life before. Anger at himself, and anger at Steve for being so fucking right. For letting all of Billy’s flaws and insecurities tumble out of his mouth like they were nothing.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, leaning forward to put it out against the door of the airstream, leaving a tiny circular ash print on the painted cow. It looked like a bullet wound on the poor thing.

It’s how Billy felt.

“I hope your horse fucking dies.”

It was childish.

It was so dumb, and childish, and Billy really doesn’t hope any horse anywhere dies, especially Steve’s three wonderful mares, but he’s feeling something he thinks he could call jilted, and he’s hurt and upset and genuinely at a loss.

He didn’t let Steve get another word in. Just turned on his heel, and left the little cowboy behind.