thecinderninja - Tumblr blog

[thecinderninja]

i dont headcanon anything i simply know the truth the characters told me

[thecinderninja]

My Cecilia

On Ao3 as The_Cinderninja It’s almost Windblume Kazuha writes a poem And goes to Mondstadt (KazuVen below the cut)

The streets of Liyue Harbor are alive with the sound of merchants hawking their wares and the aroma of street food wafting through the air. The Traveler and Paimon wander through the market, soaking in the atmosphere. It is a rare day off from their usual adventures, and they are keen to enjoy every moment of it.

"Look at all these stalls! So much food! Will we even have time to try all of it?" Paimon exclaims, her eyes wide with excitement.

The Traveler smiles, nodding absently in agreement, finding Paimon’s enthusiasm endearing. They don’t have it in them to feel anything but relaxed. After the latest stretch of their journey, it is a balm to be back in Liyue. There is no crisis to be managed, no gods or monsters to fight. Just a calm evening with a warm breeze. 

And a long list of friends they want to visit while they’re here.

They are about to point out a nearby food stall to Paimon when a familiar figure catches their eye. Another friend, but not one they were expecting to encounter here. (Though really, they are equally unsurprised to see him). His hair is wispy and loosely framing his face, falling out of its lopsided ponytail, and his eyes half lidded as he seemed to wander the harbour almost aimlessly.

"Kazuha!" the Traveler calls out, waving enthusiastically.

Kazuha turns unhurriedly, a warm smile spreading across his face as he waves at his friends. "Traveler, Paimon! It's good to see you both."

They quickly close the distance between them, and Paimon floats up to Kazuha, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What are you doing here, Kazuha? Did you want to come have lunch with us? We were just deciding where to eat!"

"I have no particular plans for today," Kazuha replies, voice soft as ever. "I’d be honoured to join you.”

The three of them can’t help but stop at multiple stalls, amassing a collection of different snacks until both the Traveler and Kazuha’s arms are overflowing, at risk of dropping their meals all over the cobbles before they have a chance to eat any of it.

“Haha… we should probably find somewhere to sit.” The Traveler observes, and only with the warning that they’re going to drop everything soon do they manage to drag Paimon away to find a nice patio to sit at, overlooking the harbour.

They spread their dishes out over the table, splitting everything between themselves.

"It has been a little while, hasn’t it, Kazuha?" the Traveler begins as they pick up their chopsticks, "what have you been up to lately?”

Kazuha makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, looking away over the water as he speaks. "I've been travelling through Inazuma and Liyue, mostly. Observing the changing seasons, it's been... peaceful.”

"Peaceful sounds nice," the Traveler replies, a hint of wistfulness in their voice. "It's been a while since we've had a chance to just sit and relax like this.”

Paimon nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! We've been so busy lately. It's nice to have a break."

The Traveler grimaces. Busy is one way to put it. Burnt out might be another.

"Indeed, peace is a rare treasure,” Kazuha agrees, knowingly. “But it's also given me a lot of time to think. It has definitely been a time of reflection for me. To be perfectly honest, I’ve been feeling a bit… restless.”

The Traveler looks a bit closer. They were so lost in their own thoughts, they failed to notice how distant Kazuha seemed. Of course, it’s normal for him to seem… a bit disconnected, at times. But this isn’t his usual ‘elevated’ self. Rather than introspective, he seems almost lost in his own mind.

"Reflection? Restless?” the Traveler echoes, their interest piqued by whatever has Kazuha so distracted. "About what?"

Kazuha hesitates for a moment, looking almost embarrassed. “Ah... a certain person I met recently. Or rather, met again. This wasn’t my first time crossing their path. In fact, it seems each time we meet, they become harder for me to forget.”

Paimon's eyes widen, absolutely shining as she shrieks; "Ooooh! Kazuha likes someone!? Paimon needs to know everything!”

Kazuha leans back in his chair slightly as the little fairy floats right into his face. He almost expects her to reach out and squeeze his cheeks, but she stops herself just short of that. His expression softens as he fidgets with a leaf, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. “Hm… I seem to keep being drawn to the wild ones.” He muses to himself. “We have almost as many things in common as we do differences, but I think what stands out to me the most is their energy, enthusiasm. A certain shamelessness when it comes to experiencing life to its fullest. There’s an allure to that, for me.”

The Traveler leans in, a glint in their eye, a smirk playing on their face. "Is it me?"

Kazuha looks up, startled, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "Ah- no, it's not you. I'm sorry if I gave the wrong impression."

The Traveler laughs gently, waving off his apology. "Relax, Kazuha, I was only teasing you. But go on, tell us more."

Kazuha takes a deep breath, his expression thoughtful. "I'm not sure what to do about it. My lifestyle as a wandering samurai doesn't really suit relationships. At least, not the kind that requires stability and consistency."

The Traveler nods in understanding, their eyes sympathetic. "It's hard, being a traveler. Forming close bonds can be painful. You either miss out on what could be, or you pursue it and eventually have to face the inevitable pain of a separation when paths diverge."

Kazuha meets their gaze, a look of mutual understanding passing between them. "Ah, so you understand."

The Traveler gives a small, knowing smile. "More than you know."

Kazuha sighs softly, his fingers tracing the rim of his teacup. "I also don't know if there's anything to pursue. This person is well-liked, popular, and charming. When we're together, we get along fine, but I can't tell if it's any different from how they treat their other friends."

The Traveler leans in, their eyes shining with curiosity. "Do we know this person?"

Kazuha hesitates, then nods reluctantly. "Yes, you do. It's someone we're both fairly close to."

Paimon gasps dramatically, her eyes widening in surprise. "Who is it? Tell us, tell us!"

Kazuha takes a deep breath, steeling himself for their reaction. "It's... Venti."

The revelation hangs in the air, and for a moment, there is silence as the Traveler and Paimon process the unexpected admission. The Traveler's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, while Paimon's jaw practically hits the floor.

"Tone-deaf bard!?" Paimon screeches, unable to contain her disbelief. "Paimon can’t believe anybody would be crazy enough to like him! No offence Kazuha. But you might be severely overestimating just how much competition you have."

Kazuha winces slightly at Paimon's assessment.

The Traveler quickly intervenes. "Well, everyone has their own tastes, right? And Venti is certainly... special," they say with a gleam in their eye, covering their face with their hand as they try to stifle a laugh.

Paimon, still reeling from the revelation, shakes her head in disbelief. "Well, good luck with that, Kazuha. You're going to need it."

Despite his embarrassment, Kazuha can’t help but smile at her volatile reaction. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Paimon."

The Traveler, sensing Kazuha's uncertainty, reaches out to place a reassuring hand on his arm. "Hey, don't be embarrassed. You shouldn't let fear hold you back from expressing your feelings. If you like Venti, you should definitely say something."

“Ah, well. That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about these past few weeks.” Kazuha admits. “I know Venti enjoys my company, but I'm not certain whether he thinks of me as anything more than a friend. I don’t want to ruin the relationship we already have by admitting my feelings if they aren’t reciprocated."

The Traveler nods in understanding, their eyes reflecting empathy. "Confessing one’s feelings can be intimidating, especially when you're not sure how the other person feels. But from what I know of Venti, I can tell you that I don’t think something like this would ruin your friendship either way. Even if he doesn't feel the same, he just isn’t the type to make things awkward.”

“You’re right, of course. And yet, for some reason, I’m still hesitant. He is a dear friend to me, and I would not want to lose that. I am content with my current situation. If the opportunity arises in the future, I may take the chance to express my true feelings to him. But for now, I am fine with simply being friends."

"Kazuha," the Traveler begins, their voice gentle, "Are you really alright with this?"

Kazuha's serene expression falters for a moment as he sighs. He takes a deep breath, his gaze distant as he gathers his thoughts. "It can be very difficult to suppress my true feelings when he is so near, I would be lying if I said otherwise. But I try to remind myself of the importance of our friendship and how much it means to me. And in the end, that makes it easier to set aside my desires and accept the situation as it is. It can be hard sometimes, but it is something I have made my peace with."

This isn’t his first friendship where he’s wanted something more but remained silent on the matter. He can live with that, he reassures himself. He has lived with it before.

The Traveler's eyes soften. "I... Kazuha... “ They trail off before reaching across the table to take his hand. “What if you hold onto your true feelings for so long, and he has no idea... and someone else confesses to him first? Would you still be able to maintain your friendship with him, as it is now, if he were to enter a relationship with someone else?"

Kazuha’s breath catches, and he closes his eyes as he ponders his answer. "Ah... this is a difficult question... it would indeed be quite painful to see someone else with Venti. And no matter how much I wish to keep our friendship the way it is, it would likely change. But... Even so, if Venti found happiness with someone else, I would want to support him as best I can, even if it hurts me to see it. So long as he is happy, I can bear the pain."

The Traveler looks at Kazuha with openly long-suffering concern, and huff out a dramatic breath. "That is very... noble of you. But it seems completely unnecessary. You shouldn't hold onto your emotions so tightly."

Kazuha offers a small, wistful smile. "Perhaps you're right. But, for now, I am content to let things be. If fate is kind to me and the right opportunity presents itself, I will confess my true feelings to him. But... if a time should come when that moment has passed or he has found happiness with someone else, I will accept that, too.”

A thoughtful silence falls between them, punctuated only by sounds of them eating and the distant murmur of the market outside. 

Paimon, who has been unusually quiet, suddenly perks up with a spark of an idea. "What about Windblume?"

Kazuha tilts his head slightly, curiosity piqued. "Ah, Windblume... It's actually coming up quite soon, isn't it?"

The Traveler’s face brightens in sudden understanding, a smile tugging at their lips. "Yes... and Venti is from Mondstadt. You know, Windblume is a Mondstadt festival where people write poems and give flowers to those they love...."

“Ah, ah… I don’t know if I could be so obvious. Although… Windblume... a time for expressing one's feelings through poetry and flowers." He pauses, considering the possibilities. "It does seem fitting, doesn't it?"

Paimon nods enthusiastically, her excitement palpable. "Yes! It's the perfect opportunity, Kazuha! You could write a poem and give him a flower!"

The Traveler smiles encouragingly. "Windblume is a time for all kinds of love, not just romantic. People give gifts to their friends, family, anyone who is dear to them. So this could be the perfect way for you to express your feelings without having to say everything outright. And knowing Venti, he'd appreciate the poetry. Oh!” Their eyes light up again, an idea coming together. They lean forward conspiratorially. “You’re a poet, he’s a bard. Wordsmiths! Write a poem of your true feelings, but written subtly enough that if he doesn’t reciprocate them, he can choose to read it as a poem of your close friendship. If he does reciprocate, he will be able to read the meaning between the words.”

Kazuha pauses, his expression shifting at the idea. His eyebrows furrow and a small smile tugs at the edges of his lips. “Quite ingenious…” he admits, nodding slowly. “A poem which makes my heart clear to him, but will allow him to preserve my dignity in tact, if needed.” 

“I was heading to Mondstadt soon myself, actually. I wanted to be back in time for Windblume as well. Maybe we can travel together?”

The smile that greets them is wide and genuine. “Ah, really? In that case, I would love nothing more.”

.

The Alcor sails steadily through the azure waves, the wind filling its sails and carrying it smoothly towards Mondstadt. Amidst the organized chaos above deck, Kazuha sits quietly near the bow, a composition book balanced on his knee, his pen moving swiftly across the page. His brow furrows in concentration.

The Traveler steps out onto the deck, scanning the area for their friend. Spotting Beidou instead, they approach her with a friendly wave. "Hey, Captain Beidou! Have you seen Kazuha?"

Beidou grins, jerking her thumb towards the bow of the ship. "He's right over there, scribbling away. I've never seen him so focused on his writing before. The look of intensity on his face isn't like him. Normally, he lets the words come naturally, but he's really hung up on whatever he's writing."

The Traveler chuckles softly. "He's writing a poem for someone special for Windblume."

Beidou's eyebrows rise in surprise before her expression softens with amusement and genuine pleasure. "Ah, I see. It's about time. He's been on his own for far too long."

Nodding, the Traveler makes their way over to where Kazuha sits. As they approach, they can see the gentle tension in his posture, his eyes focused intently on the lines he’s crafting. They settle down beside him quietly, not wanting to break his concentration immediately.

"Kazuha," the Traveler says softly, "how's the poem coming along?"

Kazuha glances up, a small smile curving his lips. "Ah, this? It is certainly… coming along. Though I'm not sure if it's as subtle as I intended it to be. Would you... mind reading it and giving me your thoughts?"

The Traveler leans in, eager to help. "I wouldn't mind at all! What have you written so far?"

Kazuha hesitates for a moment before nodding. "Hm. Well, I have the first few lines..." He recites them, his voice soft and lyrical; Springtime comes, the sky grows blue, And flowers of white Greet the coming breeze. It is in this time of beauty That my thoughts are of you.

Kazuha grimaces as he finishes, clearly unhappy with his work. He waits to voice his concerns though, looking to the Traveler to hear their feedback.

The Traveler takes a moment to consider the lines, their expression thoughtful. "I think that's a very good opening verse. It makes me think of Mondstadt. The clear skies, the cecilias, the gentle breezes... you make it all sound very beautiful.”

A flicker of relief passes over Kazuha's face. "Ah, thank you. I'm glad you think it works.” He pauses, glancing down at the page again. "Even so... it feels as though there are too many words. It feels cluttered and messy. I definitely need to work on it further."

The Traveler looks a bit confused. “Oh… really? But the words are all so beautiful, does it really need to be changed?”

Kazuha looks unsure now, gazing down at the ink on the page. “... If you say too much, the meaning can become lost.” He murmurs.

The Traveler nods as if they understand, but their expression says they are unsure. Even so, they take his word for it. He is the poet, after all, and this is his poem. "Is that all you’ve written so far?"

Kazuha shakes his head, looking slightly more troubled. "No, I've written a bit more... there's a second verse, though I'm not too happy with it either..." The wind shifts slightly, rustling the pages of Kazuha's composition book, and he places a steadying hand on it. Clearing his throat, he recites the unfinished second verse;

On days such as these A smile adorns your face A balm to my soulThe memory...

He trails off, his frustration palpable. "I'm not sure how to finish it when I'm so unhappy with what's already on the page." He admits.

The Traveler smiles reassuringly. "I like it. The first few lines are wonderful. You're saying that you cherish the memory of his smiles, right? And how they make you feel?"

Kazuha nods, his eyes softening. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. They remind me of the joy that Venti brings along with him wherever he goes. His smile is like the sunlight, bringing warmth to those who see it. But still, I'm not sure how to convey that properly. I'm at a loss for adequate words. This verse will take the most revision."

He sighs, his gaze drifting towards the horizon. "We'll be in Mondstadt soon, and I feel the pressure to finish it on time."

The Traveler places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll be arriving a few days before Windblume, and the festival itself lasts a little over a week, so you have plenty of time. You're probably struggling because you're putting so much pressure on yourself. You normally let your poetry come naturally, don't you? So you should stop trying to force it."

Kazuha sighs again, nodding. "You're right. Perhaps I should leave this verse for now and revisit it later when I'm a little more 'inspired.' And as for the last part, I'm... afraid it might be a little too straightforward..."

"Ah... well, it's been subtle so far. That is... your love for him has been obvious in each line, but it hasn't been overtly romantic, I don’t think. Then again, Mondstadt is a very romantic city, so… I’ve seen friends share far more romantic poems than this. The line there is a bit thinner between the two. But let's hear this final verse that you seem worried about."

Kazuha takes a deep breath, his eyes flickering over the page as he rereads what he has written there, turning it over in his mind even as he speaks to the Traveler. "Ah, well... if you insist. This is the verse I am most concerned about..."

He recites the final verse with a soft, uncertain tone;

The soft breeze whispering your nameA soothing remembranceAs the wind carries you awayLeaving only memories behind.

The Traveler considers the words carefully. "Hmm... what exactly was this verse meant to convey?"

Kazuha's gaze drops to the deck. "Ah, well... I suppose it was meant to convey a sense of longing. You see, ever since I first met Venti, I've always felt this profound sense of yearning. It's as if whenever I'm around him, I can hear…” He hesitates, and looks at the Traveler. “The wind carries desires, you know? Prayers, poems, songs, hopes. It is always the strongest around him, though. Almost unbearably so."

He pauses, his voice softening even further. "But this feeling of longing is a bittersweet one, for it is followed by the heartbreaking realization that not all desires can be fulfilled. He is a very cheerful person, but carries with him a certain melancholy. I find I feel the same when I am with him. Being near him makes me happy, but I also know I cannot have him. I don't think anyone can."

The Traveler is taken aback by Kazuha's words and insights. "Why do you say that?”

Kazuha shrugs, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "It's true of all Anemo holders, really. We cannot ever be satisfied, settled or claimed. Always striving. I've loved before, and I had to let that love go. I can't imagine it would be any different with Venti. If I try to hold on too tightly, I'll lose him. I'm a wanderer; I can't stay in Mondstadt for long. And I don't know what Venti strives for, but I assume it's more than the life of a wandering samurai."

The Traveler seems genuinely uncertain. "I... also don't know what really motivates Venti, or what exactly he's striving for. I can't make any promises to you about another person's heart. But... I do believe that something can still exist between two wanderers, even if their paths rarely converge."

Kazuha smiles at that, a light returning to his eyes. "Yes, time and distance make the heart grow fonder, after all, and each meeting feels more precious than the last."

The two of them fall into a contemplative silence, wondering just how this will work out. Thankfully, neither is too overwrought. The Traveler knows that even if Venti’s feelings are too elusive (and they do suspect this might be the case), he would never be anything but kind to Kazuha about it. Likewise, they know that Kazuha is entirely capable of taking a rejection graciously. 

Kazuha seems to understand this as well, since most of his anxieties about ‘ruining their existing friendship’ have faded as the ship grows closer to Mond.

"As such a talented bard and poet himself, I'm certain that Venti will understand the intentions of this poem. I'm equally certain that he will be able to tactfully misinterpret it if your feelings aren't returned." The Traveler finally speaks.

Kazuha nods slowly, a weight seeming to lift from his shoulders. "That is exactly my hope. If Venti happens to not reciprocate my feelings, I hope that he will be able to read this as a poem of friendship rather than one of unrequited love. But... if the opposite should be true... and his feelings match mine... then I hope that this poem will convey the extent of my yearning for him. I hope that he will understand how dearly I want to be with him."

The Traveler offers a warm smile. "I think the poem is perfect."

Kazuha laughs softly, shaking his head. "Far from it. But thank you, my friend.”

The Traveler watches as Kazuha turns his gaze back to his poem, the lines of worry on his face easing slightly as he taps his brush against the corner of the page, leaving messy ink smudges as he contemplates the words written there. After a moment of contemplative silence, the Traveler asks, "Do you know what kind of flower you're going to give him to go with it?"

Kazuha pauses, then looks up, his expression thoughtful. "I was thinking of giving him white lilies - or, in Mondstadt, white cecilias. I have heard that they symbolize 'the true feelings of the prodigal son'... I can think of nothing more fitting for the poem I have written."

The Traveler's face brightens with recognition. "Oh, I think those are his favourite flowers!"

Kazuha's eyes widen slightly in surprise, though his expression immediately shifts to intense interest as he starts making a note in the margin of his notebook. "That's even better, then! I admit, I am... incredibly nervous... to give this to him. I've never had to express my feelings before. Not like this. This poem and this lily will be an important and meaningful gift for him no matter what the outcome is. But... I can't help but hope that he might actually return my feelings..."

The Traveler places a reassuring hand on Kazuha's shoulder. "I hope so as well. Honestly, you deserve this. I hope it all works out just right. But even if it doesn't, I'm sure he'll still appreciate the poem."

Kazuha sighs, his expression softening with gratitude. "Ah... thank you. With so much riding on this, it is comforting to know that you have faith in me. I shall do my best to convey my feelings to him. And no matter the outcome, I will not regret my decision."

"Good luck, Kazuha. I hope it goes well... and I'm glad you'll have no regrets, either way."

Kazuha nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small but genuine smile. "I think I can see Mondstadt in the distance now. It looks like we'll be arriving soon."

The Traveler turns to look out over the horizon, and indeed, the spires and windmills of Mondstadt come into view, green fields bathed in golden light.. "Ahh, you're right! We should arrive at Dornman Port in no time at all.”

As the Alcor approaches the port, dockworkers and sailors move about with practiced efficiency, and the scent of saltwater mingles with the faint aroma of blooming flowers carried on the wind. Kazuha and the Traveler gather their belongings from below deck and make their way to the gangplank.

When the Traveler reappears with their belongings, Paimon has also emerged from wherever it is she disappears to. Her and the Traveler are chatting animatedly as they make their way back up the stairs to join Kazuha where he waits to disembark.

Before they part ways, the Traveler gives Kazuha one last encouraging smile. 

“Paimon thinks you could do better.” Paimon announces, confidently. With a stern look from the Traveler, she quickly adds; “But um, good luck Kazuha!” She gives him two thumbs ups, not making any attempt to hide her dubious expression.

Kazuha bows slightly, his expression sincere. "Thank you. Your support means a lot to me. Until we meet again, my friends."

The Traveler and their companion watch as Kazuha strides confidently towards the path leading to the city, the sunlight casting a warm glow on his form.

“... Do you really think this is going to work out for him?” Paimon asks.

The Traveler laughs, warm and bright, and shrugs. “With Venti, I honestly have no idea.” They admit. “But getting these feelings off his chest will be good for Kazuha, either way. And Venti’s not going to hurt him, so… it should be fine.”

.

As Kazuha steps through Mondstadt's gates, the city welcomes him with open arms. He has been here a few times before, but never during Windblume. He's surprised to see just how thoroughly decorated it is. The festival doesn’t officially begin for a few more days, but the entire city is completely covered in flowers. Coloured paper streamers and paper flowers adorn the city alongside the real ones. The air is fragrant, and with the loose petals carried on the wind, it feels like stepping into a dream.

Kazuha takes in the atmosphere around him, drinking in the scene with his senses. The city of Mondstadt truly is the epitome of beauty during Windblume. The sound of music fills the air, mingling with the scent of flowers and sweet treats. He cannot help but smile at the sight of the city in full bloom.

Feeling the gentle caress of the wind on his hair, Kazuha experiences a soothing sensation. The wind makes his heart race and his steps lighter. The wind has always been different in Mondstadt—warmer, gentler, protective. He understands why the people have so much faith in the presence of their Archon, despite his apparent absence. Anyone with basic senses can feel just how kind and watchful the wind of Mondstadt is. Kazuha feels his body relax and his mind unwind, as if all tension and worry have evaporated.

Mondstadt is very, very different from Inazuma. It is the city of freedom, and everyone seems so happy.

.

As he wanders, he finds himself drawn to the statue of Barbatos in the centre of town, where he finds Venti sitting on the base of the statue, playing the lyre and singing with his eyes closed. A small crowd is standing around, listening to him play.

Oh... oh my goodness...

Kazuha freezes like a deer in the headlights, his heart skipping a beat, as he sees Venti here in the centre of Mondstadt playing and singing his little heart out. The melody he is performing is whimsical, fingers darting over lyrestrings to pluck out the rapid and uplifting tune. The gentle breeze carries his enchanting voice to Kazuha's ears. It is a moment of pure, unadulterated beauty. Kazuha can feel his heart fluttering in his chest, and he can do nothing but watch the bard, utterly smitten.

Kazuha can't seem to keep track of his thoughts while the bard plays. Whatever Venti is playing, it has a deeply calming effect. The listeners seem almost entranced, eyes closed and smiling softly.

If stepping into Mondstadt felt like a dream, then he isn't sure what words to use for this. He wonders if the rest of the crowd feels it, feels the magic of this moment. Kazuha feels himself becoming more entranced the longer he listens. He can't seem to take his eyes off the bard, who is the pure essence of innocent joy at the moment. The smile on his face, the breeze playing with his hair, the petals of flowers drifting through the air, the laughter in his voice as he sings.

The song ends, and the spell passes. With a little laugh, Venti switches songs into something a little more playful. A lighthearted something you could hear any bard playing. Charming. The spell of Venti's song is broken. It was the type of thing that cannot exist in reality, and Kazuha is waking up from a dream. The melody that Venti just played was pure poetry. Kazuha feels his heart warm.

Venti notices Kazuha in the crowd as he pushes closer to listen, and his face lights up with a smile of recognition. He stops playing for long enough to give a little wave - though he doesn't stop singing - before placing his hands back on his lyre.

Oh dear...

Kazuha's heart leaps into his throat as Venti notices him. His heart flutters as he waves back, smiling brightly. The urge to push even closer toward the bard intensifies, and it is all he can do to hold himself back from doing so. The song he is weaving with his lyre and his voice is a sweet one, but Kazuha can't bear to take his eyes off of him...

Once the song ends, Venti puts his lyre away, apparently finished performing, much to the disappointment of the crowd. He takes a cheerful little bow, and accepts his tips - be they Mora, food, or alcohol- before the crowd disperses. A few linger, but most of the folks wander off.

Once most of the attention has left him and his performance, he turns to Kazuha with a smile. “Kazuha! Hello! I wasn't expecting to see you in Mondstadt! Did you come all the way here just for Windblume?”

Kazuha can't help but blush at Venti's cheerful greeting. The bard's energy is infectious and his mere presence is like a bright ray of sunshine. “Ah.... yes, I did indeed come for Windblume. I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity for me to express my feelings.”

“Express your feelings? Oh~ You make it sound like you have someone special in Mondstadt you came all this way just to see?” The bard tips forward, curiosity burning in his eyes. He is a bard, after all. Always hungry for gossip, especially that of the romantic variety.

“... Well... yes. I would be lying if I said otherwise. I suppose you could say I have a very special someone here, one for whom I've travelled quite a way to meet.”

Venti seems excited by the idea, excited for Kazuha, and totally enthusiastic about it.

“How romantic!” He sighs dramatically, clutching his hands to his chest. “Ah- unless it isn't romantic? But still, even if you came all this way just to see a friend, they must be very dear to you indeed!”

Kazuha smiles a secretive smile to himself, amused by the direction their conversation has taken. “Ah, yes. They are certainly very dear to me. Though, I’m not sure if they realize this.” He adds, amusement growing.

“Ahhh, so they really have no idea how you feel? Surely they must have some clue?” Venti urges, truly having no idea just how clueless he is at the moment.

“They haven't a clue, I can assure you.” Kazuha makes level eye contact with the bard, struggling to remain serious at the sheer, clueless authenticity in Venti’s expression. “I've been hiding my feelings from them for quite some time now. And, well, to be quite honest, I don't know if they'd return my feelings, so I'm quite nervous…”

“Oho, so it is romantic!” Venti guesses, throwing an arm around Kazuha's shoulders and grinning at him reassuringly. “Don't be nervous! You're so sweet, Kazuha, I can't imagine this person not feeling the same! But even if your feelings aren't returned, you said they were a dear friend, right? Surely that won't change. Even if they don't feel the same, I doubt they'll stop caring for you altogether. And I'll be here for you, too!”

Oh, Venti, you sweet fool...

Kazuha cannot help but laugh at the bard's encouragement, finding his earnestness to be utterly endearing.

“... Thank you, Venti. You really are a great friend. I'm quite grateful for you.”

“Awww.” Venti blushes slightly, apparently totally endeared at the moniker of 'great friend'. “So.... will you tell me who it is? Or will I just have to wait and find out with everyone else, hehe…”

Kazuha pauses, his face turning a little red. As funny and endearing as this is, he isn’t entirely prepared to just jump in like this. Windblume hasn’t even begun yet, and he still hasn’t finished his poem, or found a suitable cecilia!

“... I'm sorry but I- ah, you see, I…” The wanderer trails off a bit awkwardly as he tries to find the right words to answer Venti's question. He seems hesitant to speak the truth.

Venti only laughs again, smile never wavering as he slaps his hand against Kazuha’s back. “I see, no spoilers for your favourite bard, no matter how sweetly I ask? Ehe.”

“That’s right.” Kazuha nods quickly. “I haven’t even finished my poem yet.”

“Oh~ a poem?” Venti’s eyes gleam. “You really are embracing the Windblume spirit! Maybe I could help?”

Kazuha pauses, considering his words, before allowing a slow smile to overtake his face. “Ah… not a bad idea. But let me finish my first draft, at least, before sharing it.”

.

As Windblume draws to a close, Mondstadt remains a whirlwind colour. Kazuha has spent much of the festival with Venti, but he has also taken time to explore Mondstadt and spend moments with the Traveler. Everyone seems somehow busier than usual and yet also overflowing with free time. Perhaps it is that everyone has so much free time that they must spend every inch of it with their friends.

It's a beautiful time.

With evening rapidly approaching on the final day of Windblume, Kazuha decides there's no time like the present. He isn't going to let fear command him. He's faced worse opponents than a charming bard and came out victorious. 

He tells Venti that he's finally finished his poem.

Venti's eyes light up with delight and he takes the scroll from Kazuha, looking up at his friend with an inquisitive smile before looking back down to read it. He nods along, smiling broadly as he looks at the words on the page. By the end, his smile has softened. His hands shake slightly as he finishes, handing the poem back to Kazuha.

"Ooohh... That's beautiful." His expression is genuine delight. "Whoever you wrote this for is a very lucky person, indeed!"

Kazuha nods, not taking the poem back. He leaves Venti’s hand awkwardly outstretched. “Ahh,” Kazuha chuckles nervously. "I'm glad you like it... I suppose it means that you think the object of this poem will be very happy to receive it then?"

"They would be a fool not to be... It's very obvious how much you love this person. You really poured your heart into this, didn't you?"

Kazuha blushes deeply, realizing the truth of Venti's words. He did indeed put his heart into this poem. "Yes, I certainly tried to.”

Venti's smile this time is not as overt or rambunctious as his usual smiles. It is a soft and wistful thing, but no less genuine. "I hope that the recipient of this poetry cherishes you as much as you cherish them. You deserve nothing less."

A warm feeling rushes through Kazuha at Venti's words, his heart overflowing. The bard's expression and his words make it quite clear that he truly has no idea just how fondly Kazuha feels for him. Yet the bard still speaks so lovingly, which almost makes Kazuha's feelings grow even stronger than before.

"Thank you, Venti. Those kind words mean more to me than you know."

Venti is clearly a bit wistful by the idea of Kazuha confessing his love to some other person, but even so, he doesn't say a word of anything but support and encouragement. He is still holding the scroll out to Kazuha, growing slightly confused as to why he hasn't taken it back yet.

Kazuha decides it's finally time to take pity on the poor, oblivious bard. He reaches out, not to take the poem back, but to lay his hand over top of Venti’s, pushing it back down to his side. "No, Venti. I don't need it back."

"Eh? But then how are you supposed to deliver it?"

That innocent head tilt.

Kazuha is more than a little embarrassed as he explains himself. "Ah, you see... this poem... it's not intended for someone else. It has already found its way to its recipient."

Venti stares at Kazuha blankly for a moment, as the gears in his head turn, trying to process that bit of information. "F-for... me?"

"Yes, for you." Kazuha pauses for a moment, the moment. His original plan thrown out the window in one impulsive heartbeat as he decides to say the words out loud; "I seem to have fallen for you, bard."

"Eh.... I... ah—" Venti, at a complete loss for words, unrolls the poem and begins reading it again, eyes darting over the page, taking in their meanings anew with the realization that these words were penned for him.

Kazuha watches as Venti reads the poem a second time, a third time, eyes darting up and down the page. His expression shifting and twisting. Confusion, delight.

Venti's eyes dart back up from the poem to land on Kazuha again. 

They stare at each other in silence.

The bard throws himself at Kazuha, dragging the poet into a tight hug that knocks them both to the ground.

Kazuha is initially taken by surprise by Venti's sudden reaction, but a moment later, his arms wrap around the bard as he warmly embraces him in return.

"And I—I said it was so romantic!" Venti laughs brightly into Kazuha's shoulder, still having a hard time believing Kazuha meant all of those words about him.

Kazuha nods, lips quirking in amusement as he pats the bard on the back. "Very romantic, yes..."

"O-oh..." Venti lets out a giddy giggle in a single sharp burst. "And I said anyone would be a fool not to return your affections." He realizes, giggling helplessly.

"You did say that, yes." He smirks affectionately as he sits up slowly, arms still wrapped around the giggling bard. He leans forward, tucking his cecilia into Venti's hair.

Venti’s eyes open wide, shining, reaching up to touch it. His grin is splitting his face, even as he doubles over in laughter again.

Despite his reaction, it somehow goes without saying that he isn’t laughing at Kazuha.

He’s simply giddy. He isn’t processing what’s happening. He’s wiping tears from his eyes - tears of laughter. “This is happening?” He asks, before pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. His cheeks are dusted pink. "I could kiss you right now…"

Kazuha can see the moment Venti realizes what he said, his eyes widening even further as Kazuha laughs out a soft exhale. "You could..."

Venti's eyes widen with excitement, and before Kazuha can brace himself, the bard throws himself at him with such force that they tumble to the ground in a heap again. They land in the soft grass, petals scattering around them as Venti tries to regain his composure, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

He attempts to kneel above Kazuha, bracing his hands in the grass on either side of his head. He leans in slowly, but his balance betrays him. He wobbles precariously before falling forward, landing directly on top of Kazuha with an oof.

"Oh—" Venti giggles, his cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment. "Sorry, sorry!"

Kazuha can't help but laugh as well, the sound bubbling up from his chest. "It's fine, it's fine!" After Venti’s failed kiss, he tries to sit up and give one of his own; but the bard is laughing too hard to reciprocate properly, their noses bumping awkwardly.

Venti tries to steady himself again, his face hovering close to Kazuha's, but another burst of laughter from both of them breaks the moment. Instead, Venti settles for planting a dramatic, exaggerated kiss on Kazuha's cheek. "Mwah! There! That's for you," he declares triumphantly, eyes twinkling.

Kazuha shakes his head, his chest still shaking with laughter. "You are impossible," he manages to say through the laughter, his heart light and happy.

"Impossibly charming, you mean," Venti retorts, smirking.

They sit there, out of breath from laughing, hair and clothing tousled, probably looking like they got up to far more than they actually did. Kazuha doesn’t find himself feeling particularly embarrassed by that thought. He sighs contentedly, looking up at the sky. 

Somehow, the world felt even more vibrant than usual. The sky was painted in vivid colours, the air smelled of flowers, cider, apple blossoms, the merriment of an entire nation, and the wind was singing.

"We should probably get back," he murmurs softly. "The closing ceremony is soon. I've never seen it before. The Traveler told me a bit about it on the way over."

Venti's eyes light up. "Ah, they told you about that, then? The Windblume Star… It's quite the spectacle," he sighs, finally managing to push himself up and offer a hand to Kazuha. "You definitely don't want to miss it."

Kazuha takes Venti's hand, and the bard pulls him up with surprising strength. They start walking back towards the city, the festival still in full swing around them. Just as Mondstadt seemed to already be celebrating days before the festival officially began, he strongly suspects they will still be partying for some time after it officially comes to a close. The atmosphere is one of pure, unfiltered joy.

He’s never seen anything quite like it.

It’s a far cry from the serenity of Lantern Rite, and an even further cry from the tentative, wary peace of the Irodori Festival.

No one parties quite like Mond.

As they approach the bridge leading back into Mondstadt, "I wonder who the 'Windblume Star' will be this year," he muses aloud.

Venti's grin widens. “Oho, well, I can safely say you’re my Windblume Star this year.” He tuts, taking the cecilia out of his hair in order to twirl it in his fingers, smiling down at it.

Kazuha laughs softly, shaking his head. "You certainly know just what to say, don't you?"

Venti winks. "It's a gift," he replies, looping an arm through Kazuha's as they continue their walk. .

My Cecilia White flowers in the springtime Remind me of you On days such as these A smile adorns your face I cherish the sight Fleeting memories Your name whispered in the wind As the seasons change

[thecinderninja]

Rereading the Lord of the Rings series recently, and it's so fascinating to me how much the series is a denial of the typical juvenile power-fantasy that is associated with the fantasy genre.

Like, the power-fantasy is the temptation the Ring uses against people It tempts Boromir with becoming the "one true king" that could save his people with fantastic power. It tempts Sam with being the savior of Middle Earth and turning the ruin that is Mordor into a great garden. It tempts Gandalf and Galadriel with being the messianic figure of legend who brings salvation to Middle Earth and great glory to herself.

The things the Ring tempts people with are becoming the typical protagonists of fantasy stories that we expect to see. and over and over we see that accepting that role, that fantasy of being the benevolent all-powerful hero, is a bad thing. LotR is about how power, even power wielded with benevolent intent, is corrupting.

And its so fascinating how so much of modern fantasy buys into the very fantasy LotR denies. Most modern fantasy is about being that Heroic power-fantasy. About good amassing power to rival evil. But LotR dares not to. It dares to be honest that there is no world where anyone amasses that power and remains good.

I guess that's one of the reasons its so compelling.

[thecinderninja]

Theme and Variations

He is a very young child when he first speaks to the wind, but he was already listening long before that.

He could always hear the voices, even before then. Sometimes dozens, sometimes thousands, sometimes only one. They seem to like him.

He has no Vision, he has no control over the wind, nor would he ever try to control it. It simply comes to him. It warns him of oncoming storms, it whispers of danger and opportunity equally. It guides his steps; a friend, a confidant, a protector and a caretaker. 

It cares for him more than his parents, it’s there for him more than his peers. It listens to him more than his teachers, and it speaks to him more than the friends he does not have.

It smiles upon him. Loves him, even.

What came first? His love of the wind, or his love of stories? It is hard to say when they are so intertwined. One inevitably leads to the other, when the wind is such a profound gossip, a poet, a storyteller, a bard, and a sharer of secret histories. The wind shares everything it knows with Kazuha, it teaches him the way memory is woven through every word and song, it teaches him the profundity of a quiet moment. 

The wind becomes his parent, his peer, his teacher, his friend. 

Many days find him sitting in the quiet of early dawn by the shallow pool of a waterfall, listening to the songs on the wind with his hands outstretched before him. Eyes closed, head back, at peace. He isn’t sure what he expects to find there, but he’s always surprised when he opens his eyes and his hands are empty.

.

He is just a boy when he starts telling stories of his own.

A poet, he calls himself, in the back of his mind. He doesn’t say so out loud - but the word settles comfortably in his heart. He writes tales and rhymes and the secret stories of the most mundane things - because when the world is as beautiful as it is, nothing is mundane.

He sees beauty everywhere, beyond comprehension.

The sunrise never grows old. He sees it five thousand times, and never the same one twice. His five thousandth sunset brings him to tears just as surely as his first, and his hundredth. He grows up near the sea and spends days standing on the shore, staring out at the horizon. The horizon. It’s endless. It’s moving. It matters, in a way no one else can see.

It matters so much. 

An entire day he spends hiking only to stand at a mountain peak and look down at the world stretching out beneath him.

It is all his home. He reaches out and imagines holding the whole world in the palms of his hands.

He dreams of it.

He wanders, but never too far from home. He has ties, titles, obligations, and each weighs heavily on him. 

Until he doesn’t.

.

He is barely on the cusp of adulthood when he loses his inheritance. His father, his home, and what respect was left on his family name. Debt collectors come, and he is left with nothing.

Nothing but his freedom.

He walks away and he does not look back.

When he wakes, one morning, with a weight in his hands, it feels familiar. More familiar than anything he’s known, more right. A warmth, a weight, a blue light that has always been there, even when it wasn’t. It feels like coming home. 

It is an Anemo Vision, and he doesn’t question it.

Nothing changes.

He still does not seek to command the wind.

He holds the wind in his hands, like he always has, and close to his heart, where it’s always been.

.

He is a young man when the Sakoku Decree is announced. Then the Vision Hunt Decree.

And then the Storm Walls descend around Inazuma.

His mind is screaming at him, and he runs. He is afraid like he’s never been before, and he is angry like he has never been before.

He could run for freedom, flee like so many other Vision holders in those first tumultuous days, when the future is uncertain and dangerous.

He doesn’t. 

He runs straight into the arms of the resistance - it is the only place he could have possibly gone. It was never in question. 

This time, when he steps in front of the killing blow, meant for his friends - the Musou no Hitotachi falling upon him, he survives.

This time, he stands to watch the Storm Walls fall.

This time, he leaves Inazuma and does not look back, and he holds the world in the palm of his hands.

[thecinderninja]

[thecinderninja]

Familiar Strangers (p2/3)

On Ao3 as The_Cinderninja

Alfons' first clue came during breakfast one morning. Ed was staring at his food rather then eating it, so Al knew he was in one of 'those' moods. It would be one of his quiet brooding days where he sat in the study and read and drew circles and wouldn't talk to anybody.

But then he had haltingly announced "I'm... not your brother." He said it as if he was unsure of his wording. Like he wasn't exactly sure whether he was trying to sound sure of himself, or guilty, or nervous. He said it as if it was something that he'd thought should have been so obvious that no one would need to say it out loud, but it was so important that he still needed to ask, just to make sure, even if it made him look silly.

Alfons stared at him for a few moments, waiting for him to look up, but he never did. So he sighed instead. "I'm sorry." He replied, and the apology seemed to confuse Ed. Then he stood up and cleared his plate. "Is that all?"

Ed's eyes flashed as something in their conversation seemed familiar to him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. He sat there staring at the table in silence. Alfons waited. After a long silence, he continued. "I have no idea what happened to you, Ed, but I hope that someday you'll decide to tell me." And he left the room.

Right as he was passing Ed, he barely managed to pick up "I will" but said nothing of it. He recognized that resolve, and knew that eventually, he would learn what had left his brother so defeated and unsure of himself.

A few days later, Ed tried again.

"I must look an awful lot like him."

Al looked up, but didn't say anything. Ed was brooding again.

"I mean, you do- that is. I remind you of your brother, okay. And you remind me of mine. But I'm not him. And you've been letting me stay here, and you've been putting up with me, but it's all under a pretense, and it isn't true. So you should know that."

And he sat with a stiff back, and rigid shoulders, and he was making eye contact though it was obvious he wanted to be looking anywhere but Al's eyes. And Alfons had no idea what to make of Ed's statement. So he reached over and rested his right hand on top of Ed's own, which made Ed flinch, and he leaned in to Ed's stare, and he said "I don't care what's happened. You're still Edward."

And Ed said, "I'm not who you think I am."

And Al said, "You're my brother."

And Ed got angry and pulled his hand away, and walked off to brood in the other room.

And Al sat at the table for a little while longer and wondered what he must have done wrong, and what must have happened to Ed to make him feel that way.

.

Ed tried to make Alfons understand. He really did. Because after the conversation they'd had the other day, he realized he really was taking advantage of this boy. He'd been drawn to him because he wore Al's face, but Ed knew they weren't the same person, and it was wrong, wrong, so wrong, so stay here and let him think he was his brother. He knew he must look like Alfons' brother – it made sense, with all of the doppelgangers he'd seen, that he himself would have one – but he wasn't that person.

He didn't know who Alfons' real brother was or what he was like or where he may be. But it was wrong to go on letting Al think that they were the same person. Would he be willing to share his home and his food and his books with Ed if he knew who he really was? And what if the real Edward Heiderich ever showed up?

So he had to try again. This time he spent more time thinking about it. He couldn't just go around denying to be the person that he very obviously was.

The next conversation went something like this.

"Alfons... I'm not whoever you think I am. I can't be."

And Alfons thought This again... but he didn't say anything out loud because as strange as these talks with Ed were, he felt like he was slowly but surely getting to the heart of things, and the truth behind what was wrong with Ed, so he didn't want to dissuade him from talking.

"Tell me why."

"I'm not even from this world."

Ed explained everything. He left nothing out. And in the story that followed, Al finally began to see the truth of things. He understood that perhaps Ed really had been in some sort of terrible accident, and he hadn't walked away as unscathed as it had at first appeared. Not all damage had to be physical, after all.

And that was when Alfons first started to feel the coldness somewhere inside him that came with the thought that maybe he really had lost his brother after all. But he pushed that thought somewhere deep, deep down, where it wouldn't bother him.

Because Ed was still in there. That much was obvious.

In the stories he started to tell about Edward and Alphonse Elric, and of a magic called alchemy, and a whole world that was the same but different, Alfons could still hear it. Underneath his shame and insistence that he wasn't Alfons' brother, and fantastic stories that he swore were the truth, was someone who was still very much Edward.

A boy who had a constant thirst for knowledge, and a stubborn streak, and determination that made it impossible to keep him from reaching his goals. And who loved his younger brother more than anything. These were all things that Alfons was familiar with.

A boy who did alchemy, and tried to bring back his dead mother, and who trapped his brother in a suit of armor. These were things that troubled Alfons, because he didn't understand how Ed could speak so freely of them, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

At first Alfons wondered if maybe his brother was being intentionally difficult, if this were perhaps some sort of prank or a scheme of his. But he dismissed that thought. Ed would not have let it go on for as long as it had. And where did that leave Alfons? With a brother who barely knew him.

It was just like how some things Ed did filled Alfons with such a sense of familiarity that it hurt, and yet some things were so utterly alien to him that it made him pause and think maybe this really was some other person. Some of the things about Al were just so Alphonse that it was almost unbearable. Ed didn't even know if his younger brother was still alive. He didn't know if he was still in armor, or if he'd gotten his body back. And not knowing killed Ed. But to see Al reflected so plainly in Alfons was worse. And then to be reminded that it wasn't the same person.

Alfons' lack of imagination and whimsy. His loyalty to Ed even when Ed insisted he should have none. His eyes were too blue and his hair was too blond. His intelligence was still there. He took things too seriously. He had the same laugh. He refused to accept alchemy as a possibility. But he was still a scientist. And that shy smile that reached his eyes and made them sparkle - it was exactly the same.

Ed's odd accent that didn't sound like it came from London. He always had his nose in a book. His eyes were gold instead of hazel. A familiar fire still burned within them. His obsession with alchemy. He was still brilliant underneath it all. He spoke of different people and different places and a different life. His unwavering devotion to his little brother. And his grin. He had a huge toothy grin that was just so Ed, that no one else could ever imitate, and though he rarely showed it, that grin was his all the same.

They were achingly familiar, yet still so different.

And both boys felt the same way about the other, and it hurt them to live like this.

Familiar Faces Familiar Strangers (p1/3) Familiar Strangers (p3/3)

[thecinderninja]

one of my favorite writing decisions in danny phantom is when they didn’t have anything for sam and tucker to do in d-stabilized so when the action began to rise they just left and got fast food

[thecinderninja]

Day 2 in the Middle School Time Loop: you remember that last time, everyone ignored you at recess because they were talking about a TV show that you hadn’t watched. This time, you lie and say you’ve seen it. They ask you who your favorite character is, and you don’t know any of the characters, and so you’re tongue-tied. They think you’re weirder than ever, or maybe a liar, which is worse (and true).

Day 3 in the Middle School Time Loop: you tell your parents that you feel ill. They let you stay home while they’re at work. You spend the whole day watching past episodes of the TV Show.

Day 4 in the Middle School Time Loop: Recess again. The same person asks you who your favorite character is. This time, you're ready. You eagerly tell them, and supplement your reasons for liking them with solid evidence from all 4 seasons of the show. But! Tough luck: you’re now too invested. The atmosphere turns uncomfortable. They go back to ignoring you like they did on the Day 1 that you didn’t know was Day 1.

Day 5 in the Middle School Time Loop:

You decide to try a different approach and update your style. You've noticed that Ashleigh, who’s blonde and constantly surrounded by friends, always wears pink stripey sneakers. You try wearing a pink dress. Someone says it’s cute, but you know from how they say it that it isn’t the good cute.

“I thought that pink was cool,” you protest, more to the uncaring universe than to anyone in particular.

Your interlocutor shrugs. “Maybe on someone else.”

Day 6 in the Middle School Time Loop: You keep your head down, but still surprise the teachers by somehow knowing the correct answers to every spontaneous question they throw out to the class. You study the outfits of your classmates more closely. You realize that it wasn’t the color, so much as the brand that made the difference. It proves the shoes were expensive. You note down Ashleigh's sneaker brand in smudgy ink on the back of your hand, and then after school you take half a year's saved-up allowance and buy a matching pair at the mall. Your mom raises her eyebrows but doesn’t stop you.

Day 7 in the Middle School Time Loop: Today you make it to lunch before anything major goes wrong. You think that the sneakers have protected you, and stare down at them lovingly, watching the Barbie-pink plastic stripes reflect the tube lights on the ceiling as you turn your feet this way and that. But then at lunch, Ashleigh comes up, arm and arm with a friend. Her eyes are a little pink, but only a little.

“Ashleigh wanted me to tell you that she’s really hurt that you copied her sneakers,” the friend informs you, nobly, as if it would be too unpleasant for Ashleigh to have to say this herself. Her mouth is solemn but her eyes are gleeful.

“I didn’t…” You start to deny it automatically, even though it’s true. And yet, something won’t let you apologize. Doesn’t she see your imitation for what it is: the most sincere compliment you know how to bestow? This is your Hail Mary.

As you meet her eyes, you realize she does know, but this only makes her despise you more.

“I think a lot of people have these sneakers,” you stammer, in the end, and they just sniff and turn away. You go back to eating your lunch alone.

Day 8 of the Middle School Time Loop: even though you do well in every class, you must be so much more stupid than your classmates, to be missing whatever detail it is that they seem to have caught. How do they do it so quickly? Before recess, before the end of homeroom, even, they all just know. You’ve had endless chances to do this day over and yet you never seem to be able to catch up with them. Running to stand still, you’ve heard your mother say, when she’s busy at work. That’s you. Running to stand still.

Day 9 of the Middle School Time Loop: you pretend to be sick again, and you realize that if you want to, you can pretend to be sick every day. It's easy to convince your parents: you look tired and unhappy, your eyes small within their dark circles, like some underground creature. You stop watching that TV Show that you never really wanted to watch in the first place, and instead dream your way through all your favourite childhood movies. Disney, Pixar, Studio Ghibli. You retreat into jewel-colored landscapes, where everyone is magical or beautiful or at least funny, and the heroes always win in the end.

Day 10 of the Middle School Time Loop: You notice that most of the Pixar heroes, the Disney princesses look more like Ashleigh than you. Long hair. Pale eyes. Button noses. And all of them, so thin.

Day 11 of the Middle School Time Loop: you go to school, but you don’t talk to anyone. You don’t even answer your name at roll call. Your teacher asks you if anything is wrong at school, or at home perhaps. You shake your head, but that evening you hear your father taking a call. You shrug off his worry: it’ll be forgotten tomorrow anyway.

Day 12 of the Middle School Time Loop: an unexpected development: your apathy almost seems to make your classmates like you more. When you say, truthfully, that you don’t care much for the TV Show that eternally dominates the recess chatter, some people look impressed. They ask you what you think is better. But you’re wise and don’t admit to liking anything. "Mysterious," someone says appreciatively.

At the end of recess, the girl who told you off for copying Ashleigh nudges you. “Hey. Look, Robert has an Up shirt. Kind of cute, that he’s still into that stuff, right?”

You know that it’s not the good cute.

You stare at her coldly. “The shirt just has a dog on it. It doesn't say he's from Up. So you must have liked the movie enough to remember him.”

She flushes scarlet, and hurries to catch up with Ashleigh, throwing you a dirty look. Robert glances at you gratefully but you don’t return his smile. He won’t remember that you did this for him. Anyway, you didn't, really. Do it for him, that is.

Day 13 of the Middle School Time Loop: You tell your parents you’re sick again. Today, you watch the second tier of Studio Ghibli movies, the ones that your parents always say, self-consciously, that you’ll find dull. Only Yesterday, Princess Kaguya, When Marnie Was There. You’re only a few minutes into Marnie when there’s a line that pulls you up short:

“In this world, there’s an invisible magic circle. There’s inside and outside. These people are inside. And I’m outside.”

The relief that washes over you is so profound that you almost cry, and then, when the movie's over, you do cry. Ugly sobs that make you sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum at the mall, that make your head pound with a dehydration headache. But behind the tears, there's relief. There it is, the truth that you were searching for, through all these do-overs. There’s an invisible magic circle. Of course there is.

But here’s the thing about circles: the inside is small. The outside is scary, and lonely, but it’s huge: huger than you could ever have imagined before you turned around and looked.

When your dad gets home, he asks if you’re feeling better. “Much,” you say, and it’s true.

Day ?? of the Middle School Time Loop: Sometimes you go to school, but ditch class and go to the library or the playground and do your own thing even if teachers yell at you. Sometimes you wander around the neighborhood. Sometimes you ask your parents crazy things, like to take you to work with them, or to the beach, or to DisneyWorld. Sometimes they say no. A surprising amount of times, they say yes. You wonder if maybe they’re trapped in a time loop too.

Sometimes you sit quietly in other classrooms than the one you’re meant to be in, until they shoo you out or even send you to the principal. (He finds you baffling. You feel a deep, slightly mournful affection for him, like you would for an very old and tired dog). It’s surprising, the amount of different things that are getting taught in one school in one day. It takes you a long time to work your way through them all.

You watch a frog getting dissected a few times before you start to feel bad and don’t go back to that classroom again. Your favorite class to crash is art, because the teacher always clocks that you’re not meant to be there but smiles and lets you stay anyway. When you meet her eyes, it feels like you’re sharing a secret.

Day One-Hundred And Something of the Middle School ...Wait.

At some point, time started moving again, and you didn’t even realize it.

For so long, the reprimands you received about your future seemed so empty, so laughable. There was no future. Only a more- or less-bearable present. But now, your classmates remember the unhinged things that you do; now, your teachers’ and parents’ worries about the future have the full juggernaut weight of reality behind them.

You thought that you’d be more terrified. For so long, you’ve dreaded this forward momentum. No loading screen, no mini-games, just one single, awful, pulsating life. But things are different now. Time’s moving again, and here you are, so far outside the invisible magic circle that you’re not even sure that you'd be able to see it any more. You can still feel its power, but faintly, like the pull between two magnets when they're an arm's length apart. Easy to ignore.

“Are you ready?” Robert says, catching your eye over the kitchen table. He comes here first thing so you can get the bus together. At some point, during the time loop, you started to seek him out. He was outside the circle, too, you realized. But even more importantly, not once, on any of those grimly looping days, did you see him try and push someone else out to make a space for himself. In this crab bucket, that’s something that counts for a lot.

“Our final day of middle school,” he sighs, half to himself. “Never thought I’d see it.”

"Me either," you reply, getting up to put on your talismanic pink sneakers. They’re scuffed and dirty after years of wear, and certainly Ashley would never be caught dead in them these days. Maybe that’s what you should have told her, all those loops ago: that no imitation, let alone one as unskilled as yours, can ever be perfect, and that indeed the very imperfection renders it an original work in its own right. Time and thought and human care transforms even the most diligent copy into something else entirely.

But you’ve been through enough time loops to know that that sort of explanation wouldn’t go over very well.

[thecinderninja]

why do i hurt myself like this,,,,,

i really hope i finish this one

[thecinderninja]

Familiar Strangers (p1/3)

On Ao3 as The_Cinderninja

Perhaps one of the reasons Alfons was most surprised when he first met Ed was because he was supposed to be dead. So when the face of his very much dead brother found his in a crowd, and the older boy froze on the spot, Alfons followed suit. But then he shook his head and continued on. Because he knew that his brother was dead, and it wouldn't do to go around seeing his face places it didn't belong. Like Munich.

Even if his brother had somehow – miraculously – survived, he definitely wouldn't be walking around Munich, of all places, fit and healthy and fine. Alfons put the strange event out of his mind for the rest of the day and by that night he had gone so far as to have completely forgotten it.

Until a knock came on his door while he was eating and studying his books. He paused and frowned, because he wasn't expecting company. And he never got knocks on his door. He paused and waited, as if to see if he was imagining things. When the knock came again, he placed his book on the table, stood, and answered the door. The same boy from earlier stood on the other side, and stared at him.

Alfons closed the door. And stood there. He didn't walk away or sit back down. There was another knock on the door. Alfons opened it again. He was still there.

The two boys stood and stared at each other for a while, taking in every little detail of the others' face, and hair, and clothes – and in one case, height. Again, neither spoke. They just looked. When they were done looking, Alfons shut the door again.

The knock was longer in coming this time, but come it did.

Alfons opened it. "Did you follow me home?" He asked.

The other boy beamed when he spoke. "Al." He announced. His tone of voice didn't suit his face. He seemed happy about something or other, but at the same time troubled. He sounded glad to be here, but at the same time, disappointed in being glad. Like he thought he oughtn't be so happy.

It was a very odd tone, and therefor it was was very difficult to describe.

"Ed." Alfons admitted, and shut the door again. Because he was having a very hard time figuring out what Edward was doing on the other side of his door. But there was absolutely no denying that it was him. His eyes seemed strange, and his hair was much longer then Alfons ever remembered seeing it, but it was still certainly his older brother. His recently deceased older brother.

He opened the door first this time, before Ed had another chance to knock.

"How did you get here?"

"I walked."

Alfons narrowed his eyes, annoyed. He didn't remember Edward being that cheeky. London must have been a terrible influence on him.

"No, I mean, how did you get to Munich? You're supposed to be studying in London." He decided not to add 'you're supposed to be dead', as he supposed that wasn't the most polite thing to say to one's older brother. Also, it might seem like he was being ungrateful.

Ed frowned in confusion before a sort of understanding dawned in his eyes. "London..." He muttered under his breath, so quietly Alfons almost didn't hear it. It sounded like he was hearing the word for the first time, and committing it to memory.

"London." He repeated a bit louder. "Right... where is that?"

Alfons stared at him. "...Are you alright?" Perhaps not the best question to ask someone who minutes previous you were certain was dead.

There was a pregnant pause, filled with two brothers staring at each other awkwardly.

"... Are you going to let me in?"

Alfons had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

Alfons didn't want to be the one to bring it up. It appeared Ed didn't either, as he never did explain how he'd gotten from a blimp crash in London to following Al home and asking into his house. He also didn't seem to intend to leave the house.

Al had made no formal invitation for Ed to stay, but it seemed like Ed had made that decision regardless. He made no mention of his studies in London, nor did he seem to have any intentions of returning to them. Some days Al wondered if maybe Ed had gotten into some serious trouble in London and had in fact faked his death in order to escape, but always wrote it off as too fantastic. That was the sort of thing that only happened to characters in novels, he was sure.

So, neither of them spoke of London. The day when Ed showed up on the doorstep was the last time the word was exchanged between the two. Alfons quickly realized that Ed had come to him with nothing more then the clothes on his back. He had no money, and even his papers he'd lost, it seemed.

Once, he mentioned that he'd been travelling with his father. He'd stopped speaking when he saw the look Alfons had given him. Al had been perplexed and slightly annoyed by the statement, and Ed had bowed his head and finished the rest of his meal in silence, before going off to read. Alfons hadn't wanted to upset him like that, but it wasn't the first time that Ed had said strange things.

Alfons was noticing many things different about his brother recently. For one, he only called him 'Alfons'. As children, they had always called each other by Ed, and Al. But when he questioned him about it, Ed had only stared at the floor for a moment before responding that it 'felt too strange'.

He also knew that his brother had been right handed for all of his life. But now he hardly used his right hand for anything. And when he did, his movements always seemed slow, and awkward, and clumsy.

Every day, Al would look at his brother and try to ask about London, and what had happened to him from then to now. How had he gotten here, really? And what had happened that he couldn't go back? That he would abandon his studies so suddenly? Ed was a rash and impulsive person, but even he was not so irresponsible as to walk away from all of that without a reason.

And why, why had Alfons been told that his brother had died, if he was fine all this time? Why couldn't he properly look Al in the eye, and why did he seem so subdued – almost ashamed? What could possibly have happened? And when did he reach a point where he felt he couldn't tell his brother about it? There were all things that Alfons wondered, and all things that he wanted to know the answers to.

But every time he opened his mouth to ask, he'd see the look on Ed's face and the words would never make it out. Because something had broken his brother in the time they'd been apart, and he no longer felt it was his place to pry. Not if Ed's constant but subtle avoidance of him was anything to go by. Ed was more then just uncomfortable around him, and Al hadn't the slightest clue what he might have done wrong.

But this was all just part of the growing enigma that was Edward Heiderich.

Familiar Faces Familiar Strangers (p2/3) Familiar Strangers (p3/3)

[thecinderninja]

[thecinderninja]

happy birthday venti 🥺

[thecinderninja]

Ursula K. Le Guin, from The Left Hand of Darkness

[thecinderninja]

C'mon, Dvalin… It's Venti's birthday 🍎 Do it for him…

[Original Sound]

[thecinderninja]

Human Hands

wrote this for Venti Day :3 On Ao3 as The_Cinderninja

.

Venti signed up for utterly none of this.

It was a single wisp among thousands.

It was not meant to be noticed.

Neither seen nor heard, nor befriending humans, nor overthrowing gods.

It was most certainly not meant to see Celestia, nor be seen by them.

There was no timeline in which it was ever meant to be given divine authority.

It was a wisp. A single wisp among thousands. It had the strength of a warm breeze, and it was not meant to witness the power of the gods, it was not meant to hold it.

It felt a power even greater than the thousand winds tearing it apart. It was nothing. Soon, it would be less than nothing. 

It couldn’t do this.

You can

It doesn’t want to do this. This power is torment. Hasn’t it endured enough already? More than any wisp should.

You’re already more than a wisp.

But it doesn’t want to be.

The gnosis is too much for a wisp to handle. One wind containing thousands? It can’t be done.

You must become something stronger. Pass or fail this test, the outcome doesn’t matter to us.

Pass and become the first Anemo Archon, fail and cease to exist.

It doesn’t want to die.

(It didn’t know what that meant, before. It does now).

It was afraid, it was hurting, and it was filled with more power than it could comprehend - tearing it apart from the inside. It closes its eyes and becomes something stronger. It doesn’t think, just frantically grasps at ideals.

.

It wakes in an alien form in an alien world with a destructive ache in its chest. It hurts. It's laying in ruins, staring up at a tower. The dirt beneath it is frozen and icy, and the sky is falling.

Snow.

It knows this place, but it has never seen it so covered in white, before.

It grips its chest with human hands. The pain won’t fade. It feels like it’s dying. Hasn’t he already died?   It closes its human eyes against the storm and wallows in this new form of misery.

Too many terrible things have happened recently for one wisp to endure.

But it's become something more than a wisp, and where the storm would normally whisk it away, it remains solid, limp, pressed on the ground. Core burning with power, body weak and new, but also stronger than he's ever been before.

It’s mind is breaking. It must be. It has too many memories, too many feelings , too much life inside of it. 

It can’t stay here forever.

Eventually, eventually , it rises on shaking legs. Trembling like a newborn fawn. It’s never had human legs before, but somehow, he knows how to use them. He stumbles, awkward and aching. It has never felt cold before, but seeing his exposed skin, he knows he should . He knows the cold should be dangerous. But it doesn’t hurt. It feels warm, alive . It feels the heat of human blood circulating beneath its human skin. 

The world is larger and smaller and overwhelming.

Mondstadt is gone. 

The city isn’t gone. It’s still here, surrounding him like a hollowed out ribcage. The empty skeleton of what he remembers. The people are gone, and he’s terrified. It stumbles forward and falls over. It’s heavy, clumsy, tall, trapped in an earthly body it doesn’t feel fully connected to.

It takes him a long time to learn to stand, learn to walk, and drag itself from the city. Yelling and calling for his friends, for anyone.

It only wanted to help.

Now everyone is gone.

Everything ended… horribly. Is it his fault? Would everyone have been safe if they’d stayed within Decarabian’s storm walls? If he hadn’t fought back? 

It’s alone, and everyone is gone.

It stumbles through the woods, wishing it could return to a wisp and float away, but there’s a weight in its chest tethering it to so many places at once, thrumming like a heartbeat it's heard but never had before.

Thrumming like the heartbeat that stopped.

It stumbles barefoot through the snow. No destination, the beat in its chest pulling it forward. The sky is still falling, the wind whips around it. A part of, but separate from. They are no longer the same . He is something less than he was now, and something more.

It collapses at the edge of a frozen river, needing to breathe.

Does it need to breathe? It has never needed to before. It was the air filling lungs, not the lungs needing air.

It tips forward and sees, for the first time, its reflection.

It does not realize at first, and reaches out. 

It reaches out and its reflection does the same. It sees his face. It touches his hair with his hands, and its reflection does the same. 

Its reflection is crying.

.

It is curled up by the river when they find it. Just a scouting party, searching for food. Not prepared for this.

A little god in a human body. The boy who led a rebellion and died for the sake of freedom, ascended to godhood. Looking entirely the same, save for the absolute, undeniable divinity wafting off of him. The way his braids glow and shift in a gentle breeze despite the blizzard. The way he sleeps by the river, divine tears on his face, in bare feet, bare arms, bordering on bare everything . The way his skin is littered in tattoos that glow with divine light.

The feathered wings that stretch out behind him.

He always had been fascinated by birds.

They all saw him die. 

They stand in silence, freezing in the storm, as they stare, wondering what to do with this new god. Their new god, if they’re to jump to obvious conclusions.

The cold settles in their bones and makes their decision for them - they can’t stand around much longer. They’re searching for food , not a god, and they need to get back to the encampment.

One of the braver souls approaches, gets to his knees, and shakes the boy by his shoulders. Gently.

���B-Barbatos…?” He speaks, voice an uncertain whisper.

But the boys eyes flutter at the name, hazy and disoriented, before snapping open. He sits up ramrod straight, nearly knocking the other man over, and turns his head left, right, wild-eyed, before stillness settles back into him, his face falls, and his eyes slowly rise to meet the mans.

His eyes are brighter than is natural, more green than blue, and shine with a frightening intensity. It is abundantly clear that whatever this thing in front of him is, it isn’t human. Or… it isn’t human any longer.

Eyebrows furrow, eyes widen, recognition crosses its features.

“L… Leon?” The boy’s voice is the same. It’s the voice that has always belonged to Barbatos, and he recognizes Leon, and Leon sags in relief. However much they may distrust the gods, they do trust the boy. Fear bleeds from his body as his grip on the boy’s shoulders strengthens, and he helps him sit up.

He seems awkward in his body, movements stiff and jerky.

“Barbatos…” Leon breathes out slowly. “You’re alive.”

The boy is silent, face twisting through every shade of alarm, disbelief, confusion and grief that a human can experience. “What…. No… I’m not-...” 

The rest of the scouts are shivering badly by now. Leon’s hands are shaking. “Come on… you may not be cold-” (he hopes this is true. If the little god can feel the cold, then he must be completely miserable, as exposed as he is. But he isn’t showing any kind of discomfort) “- but we do. We’ve been out far longer than we expected. We need to get back to the encampment.”

“Encampment?” The boy asks, stumbling over the word. His voice is the same, but he speaks with a strange accent - not so much an accent as… his mouth struggles to find the correct shapes for the sounds he's trying to make.

“Yes, of course. It’s too cold for us to remain here. We’ve been travelling down the mountain, looking for some way out of this storm… it has to be warmer somewhere…” His voice trails off, unsure. But then he smiles, grips Venti’s elbow, and hauls him to his feet. His smile is genuine, he looks so relieved to see him. 

The others behind him seem less sure. They are nervous and murmuring between themselves. Venti can hear every word. They are suspicious of him, confused, but hopeful. 

They think he is Barbatos.

This isn’t what he meant to happen. 

The world is suddenly so very large, and so very small. 

Everything has changed, and he hasn’t been able to make sense of it.

His last sensible moments, the last time the world made sense to him; looking at his friend’s face, knowing they’d won. The clash of steel and smell of blood, the screaming of wind as the storm walls fell only to let the blizzard in.

The pain in his chest - but was that before or after the fall?

Everything becomes unclear after that.

They’re staring at his wings, at his clothing, at his glowing eyes, hair, tattoos. They’re whispering “god” amongst themselves.

One of them whispers; “Was this his plan all along? Overthrow God to take his place?”

Venti can’t take more of this. His face feels hot. A very human noise rips from his chest, and he crumples around himself in Leon’s arms. 

No, this isn’t what I wanted. I just wanted to help. I just wanted everyone to be okay.

I didn’t ask for this.

I don’t understand what’s happening to me.

.

The sight of the boy crying in Leon’s arms is enough to convince them. He may be a god, but he is also still Barbatos. They know this boy, he knows them, and they don’t know what happened in the past few days to turn him from a martyr, a corpse, to a god, but apparently it has not been kind to him.

He is grieving too.

They know his friends will want to see him - and that the only right thing is to bring him back. What is their other choice, to leave him crying here alone in the snow? It’s unthinkable.

To Leon’s surprise, the hardest part of carrying the teenager is figuring out what to do with his… massive, shimmering wings. Despite his size, he weighs nearly nothing.

To say their return causes a commotion would be a dramatic understatement.

Is that-?

I thought he was-

A god? How could he do this to us?

At least he’s okay…

He can hear everything . They love him, they hate him, they don’t even know him.

It doesn’t take long for Gunnhildr to find them, rushing out of the command tent with wide eyes, mouth open in a small ‘o’ as she takes in the situation. She doesn’t hesitate to reach out, pulling him from Leon’s arms into her own.

“What happened?” She demands.

“It would seem our bard has Ascended.”

That is not an adequate answer.

“Truly, we don’t know. We found him… like this . By the frozen stream. It looked like he was trying to leave Mond and collapsed where he stood. He… he knew us. For what its worth, we really do think it’s him.”

“We’ll see.” She says grimly, carrying him away from the blatant gazes and staring eyes. Into the command tent, she sits him on a bare cot.

He hunches over, hands trembling at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His eyes are the opposite of hollow - they’re too full. Darting around, taking in everything at once. 

“You’re alive.” He murmurs, almost sobbing on his own words, swallowing convulsively. His face twists and he chokes. “You’re alive. Who else- is everyone-”

She sits beside him, takes his hand. It feels right, but wrong. She tells him everything. Who lived, who died, who’s taken the lead in the sudden power vacuum, who has left.

“We weren’t expecting you to come back.” She says. We thought you were dead. You were dead. We watched you die.

“We weren’t expecting another god.” She says. We don’t want one .

“I didn’t want to be a god.” He answers. “They took me, they changed me. I don’t know what they did. It hurt.”

She exhales slowly. “What do you want?”

“I want them to be free.” The answer comes easy. “I want them to live. We need to find… a new home. Somewhere safe, warm. I need to find a way to stop the storm.”

He must have said something right, 

Or something terribly wrong,

Because she too believes he’s Barbatos.

.

They accept him as their god. 

He insists that he does not want this! He doesn’t want to be the god of anyone, or anything. Mondstadt does not need a god. And it should not be him!

And the people smile, and say yes, that’s our Barbatos.

(He knows that he isn’t, but when he tries to tell them, he loses his voice).

So he settles for; “You don’t need a new god.”

And they answer with; “But we want one.”

They hadn't. The last thing they had wanted was a new god. Until it was him. And then, suddenly, it made sense to them.

Their bard. Their orphan Barbatos. They say it takes a village, and there was a boy who belonged to all of Mond. Friend to all, raised by the city, and returned the favour by buying their freedom with his life.

When it was him , it made sense.

He was Mondstadt's child.

They want him. There’s a reason he was chosen, after all. He fought for their freedom. He fought for all of them. He died for them. He doesn’t want this power, and that’s why he deserves it.

Decarabian was a tyrant - the one thing Barbatos could never be.

He could never abuse them. He loves them so much that he came back for them.

I didn’t… he didn’t…

He is a god, whether he wants to be or not.

He has a power in his chest, he might as well use it. He meets the Wolf of the North, and puts an end to the storm.

He creates an island and founds a city. Not so very long ago, he was nothing more substantial that a warm breeze. 

Now he cuts mountains in half.

They build him a statue, and he breaks when he sees it.

He sits in the open palms of the familiar hands. He holds his own in front of his face, staring, wondering what he is.

He has human blood in his veins. His hands are pale but warm. His bones are hollow. He weighs less than a human and more than the wind. 

He is more and less than he was before.

He cries hot human tears as he looks up at his own face.

It’s Gunnhilder who finds him, kneeling in the open hands reaching towards the stone face. 

She watches him sitting in the statue’s palms, wiping tears from his eyes, and understands what he’s been trying to say all along.

He isn’t Barbatos.

He is helping in every way he can. He throws himself with gusto into whatever job needs to be done - building houses, bridges, sowing fields, foraging for food. Their settlement grows into a village grows into a city. Someday, it will grow into a nation.

She finds him at the base of the statue, hands fluttering, searching for something to do.

She stands beside him and hands him a lyre. She watches as his grip trembles, grasping at it strangely, and his eyes meet hers.

“Why?”

“Yours was broken. Your hands have been restless since you were brought back.” She watches him for a moment, silent. “Can you play it?”

“... I don’t know.” He admits. His hands adjust themselves. They want to play. He’s never touched one - he’s never had hands like these before. But the shape is familiar, and his hands move like they were made for this. A tune takes shape beneath his fingers - one he’s heard, but never played. 

One he’s played a hundred times, the first one he wrote. He would never forget it.

She watches, an odd look in her eyes. 

She’s one of the only ones left who ever knew his name; who ever heard what the bard called him.

“Venti.”

It’s the first time he’s heard that name since the bard died.

He looks up and their eyes meet.

She sees him.

… But that’s still not right.

He looks at the lyre in his hands. He thinks about how much he’s changed lately, how much feels strange, and how much feels familiar. 

He thinks he understands now.

He isn't Barbatos. But he's not wholly Venti anymore either…

Less than their selves and greater than the sum of their parts.

They're something entirely new, now, aren't they?

[thecinderninja]

NEW GENSHIN FIC: Venti Can Do What He Wants

HAPPY VENTI DAY! This fic has been in the works for awhile but I kept procrastinating until I realized today that its VENTI DAY and decided to rush it out and publish today. Fic is aptly titled: Venti Can Do What He Wants💚💙

As Weinlesefest draws near, Mondstadt is alight in a shroud of festive cheer. Kaeya notices a strange new mystery in the city of wind — Jean and Diluc have been acting strange in Venti's presence since the Stormterror Incident.

Mischievously determined to get to the bottom of this new development, Kaeya soon makes a discovery that threatens to upend everything he thought he knew about the gods of Tevyat. In the process, he must come to terms with what it means to be Khaenri'an, and to simultaneously love a city that belongs to a god. 💚 Gen 💙 1 out of 3 chapters 💚 Fluff and humor; Venti being a good archon 💙Kaeya struggling with his Khaenri'ahn identity versus his love of Mondstadt

LINK TO AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56695480/

[thecinderninja]

Ao3 version that lets you open the 'director's cut' where I, the author, explain every detail in excruciating detail to you and what it is in reference to.