#how do you cope with the knowledge that (to you) all your good bits are from a killer. how do you reconcile your goodness with his

[dashedwithromance]

not to start whacking the hornet’s nest but i think the most tragic part of ahsoka and anakin’s story together is that from the very first moment, it’s all based on a lie.

ahsoka meets anakin after aotc - he’s already committed an unjustifiable atrocity. he’s already slaughtered the tusken people, and as far as we know, ahsoka never finds out about that. and you know, that would completely and wildly screw up ahsoka’s perceptions of anakin

and i would go so far as to say it would screw with her image of anakin more than the vader reveal. because the vader reveal is like. oh shit your older brother/ best friend has turned into a monster and has committed genocide and is currently trying to kill you

but the tusken massacre reveal is like. oh shit your older brother who tucks you in bed when you’re sick and who makes you laugh so hard your ribs hurt has, for the entire time he’s loved you and you loved in return, been a murderer, and has actively been hiding a horrible, unjustifiable secret

the vader reveal is tragic because the anakin that ahsoka knows and remembers is, to her knowledge, gone forever. the tusken massacre reveal is tragic because the anakin that ahsoka knows and loves is based on a lie

#anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #not that the anakin ahsoka adores isn’t there. he is. but he’s also the same man as the desert killer. the same man as the jedi killer #one and the same. he loves her and he’s killed and he’ll love her until he kills her #I JUST THINK it would mess her up more than the vader reveal. i don’t know how she’d cope #how do you cope with the knowledge that (to you) all your good bits are from a killer. how do you reconcile your goodness with his #ahsoka is the best parts of anakin. its what sustains her during the fulcrum years. he lives on in her #how do you cope with that? #yooo if anyone is curious i HAVE posted the fic about this (:

[yandere-daydreams]

file #5: the lactation fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!sukuna x reader (jjk).

length: 1.8k.

warnings: afab!reader, heian era sukuna, vaguely dubious consent, lactation (not the way you’d expect though), fem!dom, verbal degradation (m. receiving), breast milk, and mentions of death/cannibalism.

If you could say you’d learned anything about Sukuna, it would have to be that he was not the kind of man you could expect predictability from.

That was, if you could even call him a man at all. It would be more accurate to say that he was not the kind of monster you could expect predictability from, which made sense – monsters were rarely known for having a rational motivation for their senselessness. With Sukuna, though, it was less that you were forced to guess how violent he’d be and more whether he’d be violent with you at all. It was as common for him to demand that you spend the afternoon laying on a shady riverbank, feeding him honey and grapes, as it was for him to threaten to gut you like cattle should you make one more snide comment about the bloodstains his constantly wandering hands tend to leave on your clothes. His other servant, the inexpressive butcher who spoke to you rarely and reeked constantly of blood, claimed to be able to find a pattern to the chaos, but whatever knowledge they might’ve gleaned over their time with him, they’d never seen fit to share with you. You found your own ways of coping, though.

Like right now, for instance – as you hung limply over Sukuna’s shoulder, kept in place only by the hand pressing into the small of your back. Despite the way his arm bit into your stomach, a slight scowl that’d been playing on his lips when he snatched you away from what you’d been doing, you did your best to keep your mind empty, your thoughts limited to a blank ambiance. If there was as good of a chance that he was going to kill you and feast on your decaying flesh as there was that he simply needed someone to fix yet another tear in his favored yukata, you didn’t want to make it worse for yourself by panicking prematurely.

Still, you were vaguely aware of the passing scenery as he hauled you through grand, vacant halls and into the master’s chambers. Sukuna would find a place to dwell wherever he roamed, whether that meant sleeping in a damp cave or on a bed of woven cloud and quail feathers, but a part of you was undeniably (and guiltily) glad that he had a clear preference for the latter. Currently, you were biding your time until Sukuna’s next feeding spree in a palace that used to belong to a wealthy merchant; a merchant whose organs were, if memory served, currently being divided into portions and dried on a rack of—

You were pulled out of your thoughts as Sukuna dropped you onto a bed of down-stuffed pillows and silk sheets. Wordlessly, he fell beside you and, using his lower set of arms, hauled you onto his chest, forcing you to straddle his abdomen. With only a slight huff, a roll of your eyes, you settled into place – bracing your hands on his midriff. “My lord, I have other obligations to—”

“I am the only obligation you should be paying any mind to.” His tone was clipped, his voice gruff. Clearly, he was in one of his poorer moods, today. “Get on with it” he barked, making with a vague gesture to his upper chest. “I don’t have all day, brat.”

You spared a half-second to scan over him. He treated you like a tailor, among other things, but at the moment, his chest was bare, and this wasn’t exactly comparable to the countless times he’d dropped the tattered shreds of a kimono or yukata into your lap and told you to make something more or less wearable. “I… I’m afraid I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be doing, sir.”

He rolled his eyes, and you bit back the urge to return his irritation. “Y’know, just…” Another gesture to his chest, this one shortly followed by a disappointed, breathy noise. “Empty them out. It’s starting to get uncomfortable, again.”

Empty them…?

Again, you glanced down, your attention landing on the swell of his chest. He was always sickeningly bulky, prone to wearing his strength on the layers of muscle blanketing his biceps and thighs, but his chest did seem more swollen that it normally was, now that you thought to look, the usually hardened flesh visibly more plush, more tender. You shifted your weight, your fingertips digging into the swell of his right pec, and you felt something warm and wet trickle over the back of your hand and onto the velveteen cushions below you.

Sukuna let out an airy groan, and your mind went entirely blank.

Reflexively, you tried to pull away, but Sukuna had always been faster than you. His hand was wrapped around your wrist before you could so much as break contact, keeping your palm pressed into his pec (breast?). “Don’t act like such a baby. It’s a task even an idiot could manage.” With his hand draped over your own, he ground the heel of your palm into the plush of his pec, and this time, you weren’t lucky enough to look away in time – your eyes falling to his chest as a thin stream of a surprisingly white, surprisingly thick fluid dribbled out of his nipple in short, stilted bursts. Milk, your mind filled in, against your will. Except, it couldn’t be. Sukuna wasn’t human. Sukuna wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

More out of curiosity than anything, you pressed your palm down again with just a little more force, a little less trepidation. The jet was stronger, this time, and Sukuna’s eyes closed, his lips soon drawn into a thin line only occasionally parting to let out a deep breath or raspy groan. His hand dropped away entirely as you fell into a steady kneading pattern – both of his upper arms soon crossed above his head, as he often did when he was lounging in a particularly entrancing patch of sunlight, while their lower counterparts remained on your waist. “Use both hands,” he grunted, and not bothering to suppress your scowl, you did. Soon enough, milk (because, as unsettling as it was, you just didn’t know what else to call it) frothed steadily, painting both sides of his chest with unorganized streaks of splotchy white – delicate ribbons spread over a canvas of ink and scars.

Despite yourself, you found yourself focusing on that. The word, almost jarringly quaint, repeated in the back of your mind; milk, milk, milk. Almost in a trance, you found yourself bowing your head, lowering yourself until your chest was slotted against his. After making sure his eyes were still closed, his attention still on the steady movement of your hands, you ran the flat of your tongue over his left nipple and—

Oh.

It was sweet.

His hand was on the back of your head in an instant, but you were already latched on – your lips sealed around his nipple, sucking harshly. There wasn’t a point trying to be gentle with Sukuna, not when you’d seen him take spears to heart without so much as a wayward flinch, but any passing temptation to veer towards delicacy was quickly forgotten as thick fingers knotted themselves in your hair, a reverberating moan tearing past his lips as you lapped and suckled, letting whatever you couldn’t swallow down flood out of the corner of your mouth. He could’ve pried you away, if he’d wanted to, could’ve torn off your head with little more than a flick of his wrist, but all he offered was a weak – pathetic – tug, a few garbled curses spat under his breath. “Brat,” he hissed, as you drank greedily. “Just— Just do your damn job and—”

“You’re so fucking loud,” you muttered, pulling back just far enough to be audible. “For once in your life, would it kill you to be quiet?”

You couldn’t see him, but you’d seen him baring his teeth often enough to recognize his tone. “Know your place, huma—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. Before you could think better of it, you braced yourself and bit down, burying your teeth into the tender meat of his chest. You tasted blood, heard Sukuna moan, and felt his body jolt underneath you, hips jutting against yours as something long and thick twitched against your ass. You pulled away as quickly as you could, already grinning. “Are you…?

“Be quiet.”

He was. You could feel his cock against your ass - already hard, already pulsing. Or, his cocks, rather, both standing stiff against his lower stomach despite the loose fabric of his robes. Carefully, you shifted back, straddling his thighs, as you slowly removed the thin sash sitting low on his waist, as you dragged the silken fabric aside in favor of wrapping your fist around the thicker of his paired cocks; your fingers barely grazing each other where they were supposed to overlap. “No wonder you’re always so temperamental,” you went on, speaking slowly, giving him every chance to cut you off, to throw you to the side, to tear you limb from limp. He only scowled, though, only pouted, clenching his eyes shut as thick beads of arousal blotted and dripped over the back of your hand. “To think the King of Curses would get this hard from some powerless human sucking on his leaking tits… You must be so pent up, you just don’t care who touches you, huh?”

His hold on your hips tightened, threatening to bruise. You barely noticed, already distracted by the slight tremble in his bottom lip, the pitchy whine that escaped his grit teeth as you shifted your weight onto your knees and aligned the blunt, flushed tip of his cock with your entrance. You took measured seconds to lower yourself onto him, ignoring the burning stretch in favor of focusing on the heat of it, the immediate and overwhelming fullness. You’d barely gotten the head of his cock inside of you when you stopped, going completely still. A second passed before Sukuna seemed to notice, another before one of his many eyes flickered open – immediately landing on you.

It was barely a whisper, a breath. He was mumbling, as much as you knew Sukuna would loathe you for accusing him of something so meek aloud. “Do your—” A bubbling groan, a hitched gasp as your pussy clenched around him. “Do your damn job, brat.”

Your attempts to bite back your wide, beaming smile were only half-successful. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

You rolled your hips as you lowered yourself back to his height, trapping his unsheathed cock between your body and his as your mouth found its way back to his nipple. It was barely another minute before he was swearing, groaning, bucking into you from below in short, stilted thrusts – like he was afraid of so much as coming close to slipping out. It was all you could do to stay concentrated on the task at-hand, to stop your mind from wandering from the taste on him on your tongue, the feeling of his cock throbbing inside your pussy. Still, you found the time to allow yourself a single, self-indulgent thought – one so ridiculous and so simpering that you couldn’t help but laugh against his skin.

Maybe, just maybe, there were sides of Sukuna that weren’t so difficult to predict, after all.  

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #yandere sukuna #sukuna x reader

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Jazz Fenton, after years of fixing her brother’s injuries, becomes a Doctor with an inclination towards behavioral health and psychology- In order to make the difference she wants to see in the world she joins Dr. Leslie Thompkin’s practice. 

Jazz Fenton, M.D. has spent years of her life doing research, doing the hard work and the emotional labor, and finally, finally, she’s joining a practice she can feel 100% confident in. She’s goddamn good doctor and she wants to make the biggest impact that she can. 

Dr. Thompkins (who insists that she call her Leslie as they’re colleagues now), is a kind woman, sharp as a tack and keeps her practice open at odd hours to help the most unfortunate. It took some time for them to bond and trust to be built, but now Jazz is being allotted a few night shifts here and there. 

It’s incredible. Jazz gets to spend time with the kids who come in and really talk to them (in addition to getting them antibiotics, heating pads and pokemon themed bandaids) to help equip them with a few coping skills. Her passion for psychology never disappeared after all, but the expansive knowledge of how to heal the human body has made her find a sense of fulfillment like no other.

Having proven herself and worn Leslie down, Jazz now takes up about 1/3 of all the night shifts in the month. She’s hoping to get to 50/50 by the end of the year but she’s content with what she has. Danny keeps odd hours anyway so calling him after work on her walk home can happen any time of day and he will always answer enthusiastically. 

It’s a particularly busy night before he comes in. The Red Hood. 

He was known for being an ally to Leslie, despite being on contentious terms with the Bats, but Jazz had never asked directly. Never one to turn away a patient with bullet hole wounds, she hops into action to get his wounds cleaned, sewed up and gauze wrapped. She’s handing him a sheet (an Infographic! Dani made it with her! Graphic design is her passion!) on how to care for his wounds when he first seems to recognize that she’s not Leslie. 

“No, Of course not. I’m Dr. Fenton. I can’t blame you for not remembering but I did introduce myself as you bled in the entry way. You’re Red Hood, right?” 

“Hm. Didn’t realize the practice was expanding. Where can I find-” He grumbles before pushing her hand aside from where she had still been supporting his shoulder.

“Hold on there, mister. You’re going home, you’re following this infographic and you’re going to get some sleep.” 

“Lady you don’t know-” His voice modulated ton came across antagonistically. As if he was trying to intimidate her. Ha, Jazz rolls her eyes at the inclination.

“Who I’m talking to? Who I’m dealing with? You’re hilarious. I can eat you vigilante’s hero complexes for breakfast. Tell me who I’m calling to pick you up and then you can say thank you.” Jazz snaps at him. It really had been a long night but his whole dialogue thus far is making her a bit batty. 

“Oh really Doc? You know Leslie’s tough shit, and from what I can tell you’ve got nothing on her-” 

“Trying to make me feel insufficient when I just saved your life? That’s cute. I’m sure a lifetime of abandonment by both of your parental figures gave you that. I’m also sure that you inherited this desire to prove you’re not going to be dependent on anyone who wants to help from whoever got you dressing up in tights to fight crime in the first place. Again, I’d love to talk at length about how predictable you-” 

“Bwah- wait- I’m Predictable? You’re probably some nepobaby who had parents who told her she could have the world-” But Jazz cuts him off with hysterical laughter- he couldn’t be further from the truth. Her parents loved her, but nepotism? With what, the ghosts? If anything she got that from Danny, but he doesn’t need to know about her ghostly titles. 

“You’re just some guy who came back from the dead and made his trauma everyone else’s issue. So shut it. And tell me how I’m getting you home from this clinic.” She seethes though her voice stays devastatingly level with each word. 

Speechless for a moment, he eventually relents to Jazz that he’s already called for help on the comms but it will be hours before they can come for a pick up. The sun had already come up and the night had been over for most of them before Hood had walked into trouble. She groans and the realizes the time for herself and the empty clinic around them.

“Fine. My shift just ended anyway. I’ll get you home in one piece and I swear to all the ancients that you’d better follow the directions on the infographic.” 

And that’s how Jazz ended up calling her brother while supporting the weight of a grown ass man (who no longer wanted to talk to her) on her walk home. 

The next time Red Hood appears in her clinic, he’s brought a dozen roses in addition to the cut on his neck that definitely needs to be pressurized like ASAP. Did he stop for the flowers on his way to the clinic? He’s going to pass out from blood loss! She doesn’t even like roses!

#ehehehe #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dc crossover #dp crossover #anger management #jazz fenton #jason todd #she still loves psychology but its a back pocket tool to her knowledge as an emergency medicine provider #jazz is ready to throw hands because becoming a princess during med school sucked ass #she did not have the time #but she loves and supports anything danny is doing sooo... #danny is currently attending gotham u for engineering but lives across town so they just call everyday #he sees her on her off days and always brings her tons of fast food #jason is immediately smitten with the woman put him in his place #the pit maddness was barking up a storm this entire convo but she got him home and he was like holy fuck im in love #jason todd said she saw right through me and that shit was hot #yes he totally stopped to grab (steal) flowers on his way to the clinic #dick picks him up this time. sees the flowers and is like oh cool its my turn to wingman for my lil bro #jazz is worn down by sweet gestures and the fact that hes legit so nice now when he comes into the clinic #he quotes poetry at her sometimes and she's like omg did you just make that up? she's never read poetry a day in her life #only medical textbooks and psychology papers #long post

[kysuguru]

fitting in — stsg x fem!reader

synopsis : gojo satoru is overbearing, no matter. you’ll learn to endure

includes / cw : gojo is kind of mean

all mine masterlist

a / n : chapter twoooooo!!!!! nothing much else to say other than i’m not rlly satisfied w my writing… i’ll cope.

You were introduced to your dorm. Yaga informed you that you'd be able to take a day or two off to get to know the place before you started classes. You didn't bring much with you, honestly. Other than any outfit you could fit into your suitcase and some necessities. Everything else was left behind at home in your moments of panic.

It did not bother you much with your families lack of financial stability. You are not allowed much of the little things. But you hoped you could at least try and attempt to make this the room of your dreams.

So for now, a small picture of you after losing a tooth — seven years old — with you in your smiling mother's arms, would be the only decor.

But now that you were settled, you were kind of stuck. You were unsure whether or not to escape your room and mingle or sit here in silence. As tempting as the thought of making friends out of the three other classmates you had was, you remembered how students at your previous school treated you and got cold feet.

You were always socially inept due to the constant distance from others that people and your mother forced upon you.

It's not others fault that they didn't like you, you thought. Maybe it was because you didn't offer to help with their studies, or maybe it's because you always got so scared to try and connect with others that they got the wrong idea.

No matter.

Here, hopefully, you could start anew.

For now, you need to do research. Still, to this day, your mother's words ring through your head.

"Teaching you is such a hassle," she brushed it off as a joke as she kissed your head, but you knew better. Because you could still spot the frustration in her expression. She must've been in a good mood that day, for she didn't blow a fuse.

But you didn't want to make anyone else feel the way you made your mother feel. You didn't want them carrying your weight. So to prevent that, you'll make sure that by the time you start classes, you'd be more than knowledgeable with jujutsu sorcery. And classes were tomorrow so you wanted to start as soon as possible.

A library...

You'd have to leave the room to find that. You became nervous all over again. The possibility of running into someone was unknown, you still didn't want to risk it. To soothe yourself you tapped your knuckle against your mother's face in the photograph. Thinking of her calmed you. If you thought of it as becoming a better person to help her, you could conquer the world if you wanted to.

You wiped the imaginary dust off her glassed face with your thumb before you turned towards the door, a new determination in your veins.

You slid your door open quietly as to not make any noise and alert anyone else. Your mother hated when you got loud. as you were ready to tiptoe around the school, a familiar girl blocked your path as she stood in front of you.

You yelped in surprise, jumping back. You didn't expect her appearance.

"Ogawa [Name], correct?" It was the girl, the model girl. One of your classmates, the only other girl. Even her voice was gorgeous.

"Yes..." You whispered, a finger hovering over your parted lips as you stared.

"I'm Ieiri, Shoko Ieiri. call me Shoko."

Your voice practically shook with awe, "Shoko. I'm Ogawa [Name]..." Before you could fix your slip-up, Shoko looked at you, subtly bewildered, before her lips stretched into a small smile.

"I know." She motioned her head to the side, "Follow me."

It didn't take you much to heed her command. instead of having to go to them, one of them came to you. The idea of her wanting to be your friend made you eager, but you didn't want to get too ahead of yourself. Maybe she was just being courteous.

You walked besides her, falling a bit behind. Even though you knew there weren't many people at Jujutsu Tech, you didn't like the idea of someone catching you walking besides her. People never took to you walking side by side with them, afraid of the accusations of being acquainted with you. as if it was a bad thing. And maybe Shoko would think the same.

You don't think you'd mind. You were always used to being the shadow anyways. So it was okay with you. you were surprised she approached you. That was enough for you. Even if it was simply to be nice it didn't matter, it made you happy either way.

Shoko was such a nice girl.

Shoko turned her head slightly towards you, noticing how you lagged behind. She raised a brow, questioning, yet turned around and continued walking. But you noticed her pace was a bit slower.

The walk was silent, and you weren't sure how she'd take to you sparking a conversation. So you stayed silent and continued to follow her until you both stopped at a vending machine. She inserted coins before looking at you.

"What's your pick? It's on me." You don't think you'd ever get over her smile — as small as it was. You could tell by the stretch of her lips that she probably didn't smile that often. You think she should. She looks beautiful when she does.

"Are you sure? You don't need to do that! I can pay!" You couldn't, but you'd make another excuse. You were good at that (you weren't).

Shoko was already nice enough to accompany you, walk with you, and even talk with you. You couldn't let her buy you a drink, you just couldn't!

Her eyes crinkled and her smile turned somber, as if she understood you a little bit, "I insist."

Your face contorted, your lips downturned as your eyebrows knitted. You hesitated, and then you spoke.

"A strawberry soda is just fine." You fidget with your fingers.

She hums and clicks the corresponding button. You both watch as it tumbles down to the bottom. She bends to grab it before holding it out for you.

"Might wanna wait a bit, could explode on you."

"I promise to pay you back," you whisper, content.

You take it, savoring the coldness of it against your palms. Your mother was strict with what you ate in the house, especially since you guys weren't all that well off. So sodas were a luxury in your home. You couldn't help but let your eyes glitterm your face softening as you gaze happily at the soft drink.

Shoko notices, watching your face change as she sips on her drink. You're extremely odd. She thought that when you first entered the classroom and she still thinks that now.

You're quiet, eager, yet also cautious. You act as if you're stepping on eggshells in the presence of anyone. It irritates her a little, and she thinks she knows why.

She brushes away the seed of pity in her stomach at the way you gaze so happily at a cheap drink before she's calling your name. "Come sit."

Shoko walks to the bench beside the machine, patting the empty spot next to her.

You're perplexed once more. Now she was inviting you to sit by her. You didn't know what to think at this point. You were prepared for her to brush you away with a brief comment of paying her back.

But, not wanting to protest such a kind offer — or demand — you plop down besides her, making sure to put some distance. She sees, yet makes no comment.

You fidget with your soda as you stare down at your lap. The silence isn't uncomfortable by any means, but you're anticipating a conversation. With the invitation you expected her to say something first. but maybe that was asking for too much. You should say something first...

"So.." she turns to you as you look up, making immediate eye contact. You instantly avert your eyes, even more nervous than before. "Are you the only ones who attend this school?"

"Nah. There's the first year and Utahime in the third."

You wonder who utahime is, that must be another girl. You hope you can get along with her. You pop the cap of your drink, bringing it to your lips.

"That doesn't seem to be a lot," you're looking at her now, but she faces forward, sipping her drink.

"Of course it's not. You don't usually attend a school with only seven students. But there's the Kyoto branch as well. They probably have more students, I wouldn't know. I don't care to keep count."

"The Kyoto branch.."

"You honestly should've gone there, it's so much closer to your home. But Yaga is the one who found you so... lucky us." She turns to you with that already familiar soft smile, and you think her words are genuine.

Before you can reply, two pairs of footsteps approach your direction. You can hear their chatter and their voices are familiar.

You look up to meet the gazes of your two other classmates. The black haired boy's expression is more laid-back. He has a small smile on his face — you can see his slight dimples. He waves at you.

Whereas the white haired boy's face is blank, he's staring, but you can't tell what he's thinking. Those black glasses obscure any hint you can get as to what's on his mind. Seeing them eye you so openly makes you nervous. You use one hand to play with the hem of your skirt, your eyes dropping to your nails.

Shoko sighs at Gojo's lack of politeness.

"Of course you come to bother me and my new friend before the day starts," she rolls her eyes and you think she's being sarcastic. But you don't care to find out as you mull over her words, staring at her side profile. My new friend. Did she mean that? You really hoped she did, because you didn't know what else to do with the immense joy in your chest.

She meets your eyes, smiling.

"I'm gonna go for a smoke, alright? Watch them for me," she requests, as if they're babies that need to be sat. You panic at the idea of being with them alone and you think she can tell.

She tries to assure you, "I'll be back before you know it."

She's walking off with a wave, leaving you alone in an awkward silence with the other two. Or you think it's awkward — well it is for you anyways. Maybe you should've asked to go along with her. Even though you hated the smell of cigarettes you would manage if it meant not being stuck here..

Well technically, you're not stuck. But you're also too afraid to leave. They'd probably see that as rude. You merely sip at your drink, trying to appear nonchalant.

You look up at the sound of shoes clicking against the tiles, meeting the eyes of the guy with the soft eyes and odd bangs. He looks kind, he smiles at you and your tense shoulders relax a bit. It seems that's what his goal was, for his smile gets a little wider.

His friend inserts money into the vending machine, ignoring the both of you as the kind boy sits beside you.

"I'm Geto Suguru." His voice is soft yet deep, it resonates with you. You think you can fall asleep to the sound of him.

"Ogawa [Name]..." You try your best to maintain eye contact. It's hard.

"I know. You introduced yourself yesterday," he's smiling.

You don't know whether or not to be embarrassed of your second slip up of the day. So you settle for drinking more of your soda, staring at your shoes, finding a small comfort in the familiar marks that you've become accustomed to over the last couple years.

"When do you start class? I didn't see you today."

"Uhm, tomorrow I think. I'm just getting used to the layout today... or that's what I was told." It's so apparent that you're anxious, with the way that you fidget with your clothes and shuffle your feet. It's so embarrassing you might tear up, but it's all you can do. You really can't stay still.

Geto opens his mouth most likely to try and comfort you and get you comfortable with his presence. But before he can, Shoko calls out to him.

"Geto! I need a light!"

Your eyes trail up from your shoes to his face and you can see him sigh in exasperation. He opens his eyes, meets your gaze, and smiles sheepishly.

"I'll be right back."

As he gets up you realize who exactly you're being left with. Well, you don't really know. But what you do know is that his presence is unsettling, it's suffocating. You don't even have to be alone with him to feel that way.

You almost reach out and ask for Geto to stay, you're not exactly used to him, but he seems much kinder than his counterpart.

But it's silent once more and your eyes are right back to looking at your shoes. You finish off your drink and quietly as you can, drop it into the trash can next to you.

You're sweating, you're sure you are. But you don't make a move to wipe your forehead. You're not sure what to do. you're not used to conversing and mingling with other people. As little as three people is, it's still overwhelming for you.

But how can you excel in this school if you don't interact with others?

That question still doesn't push you, but you reminisce. You think of your sleeping mother, going back home, and you finally open your mouth.

"What's your name?"

Gojo blinks.

"You don't know who I am?" He asks, tone nowhere near condescending, it's genuinely curious, surprised. But you can't tell and feel a little humiliated.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, am I supposed to?" You're sweating once again, shuffling your feet as you speak up in a squeaky voice.

Every jujutsu sorcerer is aware of the existence of Gojo Satoru, the boy who altered the balance of the world on the day of his birth. But it wasn't like this didn't happen sometimes, so he brushed it off.

"Well," he opens his mouth but closes it, "No, it's whatever. I'm Gojo Satoru." He's looking into your eyes now, but due to the obstruction of his glasses, you can't tell. So you don't notice that he's eyeing you expectantly, waiting for realization to dawn on you.

It doesn't.

"What a pretty name. It fits you," you speak with kindness, trying your best to smile softly. You fail. It looks like a grimace. Gojo is close to laughing.

"So you really don't know who I am?"

Gojo was convinced that telling you his name, you'd know. People's jaws would usually drop, as they realized just who they were talking to. But you just sat there, clueless, as you moved your feet around with an empty confused look on your face.

"I'm sorry for repeating myself. But am I supposed to know? I'm new to this jujutsu stuff, honestly. So if you're a renowned sorcerer, I unfortunately wasn't aware until now." Seeing no reaction from him, your head drops a bit. "Sorry," you mutter under your breath, afraid.

You were so used to the reaction your mother gave you when you weren't all knowing. Angry, loud, and condescending. And with your only mother being the most present in your life, was it safe to assume Gojo would react the same way? If so, you were prepared, and maybe you deserved it. You weren't smart when it came to jujutsu after all.

"That makes sense," he says.

It's silent as you wait for him to add on. Which he doesn't. so he just sips on his extremely sweet drink as you stare at him, blinking.

He meets your gaze full force, seeing it as competition, neither of you looking away.

"I-is that it?" You tilt your head confusedly.

He blinks alongside you.

"Was there meant to be more?"

Now you're really confused. But you don't want to be painted as weird, so you try and let it go.

"No, nevermind."

It's silent again, for the third time. But it's not as uncomfortable as it was before. You get the idea that Gojo doesn't take to you. That' okay, Shoko being your acquaintance is enough to get you through this year. Plus, Geto seemed polite enough. Maybe not enough for you two to be close, but enough for you not to be so awkward around him.

Shoko's familiar voice bleeds into your senses and you look up to see her and Geto walking side by side.

"So, Ogawa. What do you want to do today? Since it's your free day." She sits beside you once more, with her here you can feel more relaxed. You didn't realize how tense your body was.

"Oh, I was just hoping to go to the library."

"Who does that in their free time?" Gojo snickers, crushing the can of his drink into a tiny ball. You're in awe at the raw power.

Shoko shushes him, "Cool. What for?"

"Nothing much. Just studying, really. Since I'm new to jujutsu and all."

"Yeah, that makes sense. You don't know your technique either, right?" Geto's voice pipes up, his finger is rubbing his chin as he questions you.

You shake your head 'no' in response.

"I can take you there if you'd like. If you don't know the way, that is." Geto smiles, putting his hands in his pockets.

You look at Shoko for some type of approval, she merely shrugs. It's not like you needed permission to go, you were just unsure.

But you look up at geto and answer quietly, "That'd be nice."

"You know I haven't made a trip there in awhile, maybe I'll find a new book-"

Before Gojo can speak any further, Shoko pulls him down by his blazer to sit. "You barely read, hotshot. Keep me company."

Shoko didn't really want to be alone with him, but she was aware you weren't exactly comfortable in his presence. That topped with Geto would surely make you anxious.

You turn to meet Shoko's eyes and she waves at you. You raise your hand a bit, waving back, before you turn forward and trek off with Geto.

Gojo crosses his arms, huffing as he watches you both disappear around the corner.

"Don't be intimidated by him," Geto speaks up once you're both out of earshot. You tilt your head to look at him. "He's not all that scary once you get to know him."

You're silent, not sure what to say. You tap your lip with your index finger, thinking of Gojo. You remember the knit of his brows when the fact that you didn't know him left your lips.

"I think he's upset with me."

Geto looks at you. "Why do you think that?"

"I didn't know who he was. I mean, I still don't know. But I think he was upset? I couldn't really tell. I guess I just kind of assumed," you say, sheepish.

Geto chuckles, and you're enamored. He seems so bright, you've only known him for a little while, but he's always smiling. You wonder what other faces he can make.

"That's new. He's from the acclaimed Gojo clan, so he's usually drowned in praise. He was probably surprised that you were clueless." Geto finishes with a mutter of how he wished he could've seen it go down.

"The Gojo clan?"

Geto eyes you up and down, as if surveying you. "You really don't know much do you?"

You shrink in on yourself. His voice didn't sound insulting, but you still felt a bit targeted.

He backtracks, "I didn't mean it like that, I promise. I'm just shocked. I've never met someone with the desire to be a jujutsu sorcerer so in the dark."

"But anyways," he speaks up once more, "There's three big families, Gojo being one of them if not the most prominent. They're known for their cursed techniques. Gojo being the limitless and six eyes."

You're still confused, but you think you somewhat understand. "What're the other two families?"

"Zenin and Kamo's. Oh, we're here," he says. You both arrive at the library, it's nothing much but it'll be perfect to study in. The size of it isn't all that big, more than a few chairs to sit in — those look pretty cozy. There's also ambient lit lamps sitting on each of the tables, it casts a warm glow in the room that could make anyone feel comfortable.

"There's no librarian. since not too many people know about jujutsu. So just take whatever, whenever."

You nod, your eyes surveying the shelves.

"Where should I start?"

"Well I suggest you go to that section, so you can learn what cursed energy is, cursed techniques, and how they work."

You nod, "Thank you for bringing me here, Geto."

He smiles at you, eyes crinkling as the hollow of his dimples show on his cheeks. This smile is genuine — all of them are — but there's a gentler, happier feel to this one. You stare for a little while before he finally bids you goodbye.

"Good luck, please let me know if you need help." You say yes, even though you most likely won't go to him. You'd be wasting his time, you're sure.

You planned on being there as long as possible. Of course, you were gonna get in enough sleep. But you need to learn as much as possible before tomorrow mornings class. Plus, not only would you study, you could also think of what to gift Geto and Shoko to repay their kindness.

You beamed thinking about it. You wondered how Shoko would react. If she would adorn that small smile. If Geto's eyes would crinkle again like they did today as his dimples came to light.

You hoped so, their happy expressions were their prettiest. You haven't seen much else from them but you're positive they look better when they're smiling.

You grab a couple of books and make your way to a table. As you open a book about the Gojo clan you think of Gojo. Should you get him anything? Even though he wasn't as kind as Shoko or Geto, you'd feel bad if you left him out.

But you think of his blank expression. How he stared at you as if he was peeling your entire being apart layer by layer and get shifty all over again. You weren't sure so you decide to push that subject to the back of your mind for later.

taglist : @okayiamkassandra

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #stsg.am #🫐.jjk #geto suguru #suguru getou x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #getou x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader

[lastwave]

Harry Du Bois, the skills + DID/OSDD coding

a compilation of most of my thoughts on harry as a system (note: i am system im not just like. pulling stuff out my ass)

1. Structural Dissociation Theory crash course

so for this point i'm going to give you a crash course structural dissociation theory (do not use me as a source for ur knowledge on it this is very like. base level and just to establish context)

structural dissociation states that we all start as multiple different facets, and that as we grow up, these facets all fuse into a cohesive personality. however, in DID/OSDD, ongoing trauma proves it safer to NOT fuse these facets and instead develop dissociative and amnestic barriers between them to varying degrees. these facets cope by developing into individual personalities, and if traumatic events persist, the brain may split more personalities to try and cope with this. this gives us two bits of information that i'm going to use throughout this

1. there is no "original", just alters that host for long periods of time and/or identify with the body the most

2. amnestic & dissociative barriers are fluid. in times of rest, these barriers may start to come down between some alters, but not necessarily all.

**NOTE: these are not hard and fast rules and vary from system to system. it's also vastly different if you have Polyfrag DID or Complex DID. since I don't hc Harry as polyfrag or complex tho, i'm not gonna get into that

2. Harry (the system)

so it's pretty easy to establish that harry has a good handful of childhood trauma. being born in a military hospital + town and growing up there means he probably saw and/or heard a lot of death and sickness. we also know his father left based on the logic passive in the measurehead conversation

we also know from the reaction speed passive when you find out your name that harry was born in a time all these were concerns. most likely, hunger, considering how through the game hunger + eating is an undertone w/ harry

we also have the klaasje half-light passive implying that harry's been raped (might not have occurred during childhood, but still a contributing factor to trauma)

my point being bro has enough childhood trauma and then some to create a system.

we also see a LOT of amnestic barriers between harry and the rest of the skills. besides the obvious not remembering anything, we see the skills remembering things that harry doesn't.

for example, EChem remembers that harry took speed some point recently, while harry himself doesn't

we also see that the skills have distinct personalities and opinions separate from each other. shit we've got a communist (rhetoric) and a fascist (endurance) living in the same fucking body. half light is immediately suspicious of everyone and everything while empathy tries to understand everyone even to their own detriment. and volition and echem need a whole post of their own. thats some pretty strong dissociative barriers

3. Harry (the alter)

to be quite honest with you i think harry as we, the audience, know him is a brand new split, an introject* of an old host that has either fused with another alter or gone dormant. he's trying to fill a different harry du bois's shoes- someone he is fundamentally similar to, but is, at his core, not

*Definition from did-research.org: Introjects are alters that are based off of an outside person or figure. Introjects may or may not see themselves as the individual that they represent.

knowing nothing about yourself, even what you look like, is a common feeling for new splits (in our experience). with the high amnestic barriers separating harry from the rest of the system, it makes sense that the first time he is conscious he is totally lost about his own identity, where he lives, or what his occupation even is.

losing facts about basic reality is probably a dissociative response. things the brain knows (see encyclopedia filling in gaps once given a prompt about something like Fillipe the Conquerer) but doesn't want the new host to know for fear of not being able to function.

4. Certain Alters with Functions

some of the skills fall into alter "archetypes" (not all alters will, even in like. real life systems) and im just gonna list them out here:

ones with subtextual backing:

Volition: Caretaker + Apparent Normal Part

Half-Light: trauma holder

Electro-Chemistry: symptom + trauma holder

Authority: protector

Logic: apparent normal part

ones that are just my headcanons:

Interfacing: little

Endurance: ex-persecutor

Inland Empire: ex-caretaker

here ends my post of articulate thoughts, if u have any like. follow up questions feel free to shoot me an ask. might take me a minute tho

#hugh txt #disco elysium #harry du bois #did osdd

[a-certain-romance]

i made the house wife ei and miko thing tbh if u want more i can write u some fr (gonna turn it into a whole ass story for u) tbh skmetimes i imagine shenhe and her house wife to imagine how possessive she could get over her house wife being jealous at every moment

then we have ningguang who adores her house wife who dhe convinced to live a life of luxioury in her jade chamber tbh your not swayed at first untill you know you can worry over her while she works and sew her stuff shes always so pleased so she rubs her hand on your thigh staring at you knowing whats to come she already planned ahead ofc

then hu tao and her house wife (coping with the fact im an og and never got her c1) anyways shes so giggly most of the time watching you cook and giving you soft kisses every time she finishes a meal. your too cute to resist honestly!! so she decided to leave you her outfit who knows what she’ll do next <3

im mot gay iswear-

AHHH ANON U ARE THE BEST!!! (Feel free to share if you have more!!)

Warnings: Smut written by a minor, possessive sex/tendencies (Shenhe), face sitting (Ningguang), Overstimulation (Ningguang), mastrubation (Hu tao), fingering (Hu tao)

Link to pt 1 , Pt3, & Pt4

- She’d get so jealous thinking about all the people you might be around. Shenhe hates crowds so knowing that she’s not at the best of her abilities in the harbor leaves her on edge

- Shenhe who gets so possessive that she singlehandedly builds a house in the mountains away from all those people who might interfere with the two of you. It’s a good midpoint between the Wangshu Inn and Qingce Village, and plenty far away from the crowded harbor

- As she spends her time in meditation and training you spend your time with household duties and tending to your garden of Qixing and other flowers. You spend the days trying to familiarize yourself with new recipes that fit to your and Shenhe’s tastes and even experimenting with a few dishes. On the few times you do travel back to the harbor with Shenhe you always stop at Wanmin restaurant to exchange knowledge and recipes with Xiangling

- These trips can be very fun, though many of them end in a rough fucking against the wall of some alleyway after someone looks at you in a way that Shenhe doesn’t like

- She’s content to carry you for a while since it means you get to be all the more closer to her

- It’s the fact that you aren’t interested in her for her wealth that makes her fall for you

- Being Ningguang’s housewife means you don’t need to lift a finger while you’re in the Jade Chamber

- Yet she still melts when you take it upon yourself to help the maids by cleaning Ningguang’s study on your own or cooking her favorite meals when she’s had a packed schedule

- She’ll order the finest silks or brocades or fabrics; anything you ask for will be in your hands at a moment’s notice

- When she’s especially pleased with your hard work she’ll guide you towards your shared room and reveal her most expensive lingerie & lipstick combo

- She’ll let you suck and nip at her breasts for a bit before locking her legs around your waist. She can’t have all the fun, this night is meant for you. Deep make-out sessions lead to her urging your legs to sit on either side of her head

- Ningguang will lick and suck on your clit until your brain goes dumb from the pleasure, and even after you finish she’ll keep going and overstimulating you further

- Hu Tao who serenades you with poetry as appreciation for all the cooking you do

- She also handpicks the prettiest flowers from her walks around Liyue and places them in a neat vase every few weeks just for you

- She leaves her outfit in plain sight on the bed. It all started with wanting to try on her hat, leading to you wonder what the rest of her outfit would feel like

- You bask in the sweet aroma of red plum blossoms. It’s like she’s with you right now! Sometimes you wear it when she’s not around. Hu Tao catches wind of this quickly and always leaves a spare article of clothing at your place

- One of these days she surprises you by coming early and finds you pleasuring yourself while wearing one of her jackets. Aiya, it was her who got you into this, might as well take responsibility and finish what you started she thinks as her finger teases your wet folds

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #shenhe x reader #shenhe x you #shenhe smut #shenhe x y/n #ningguang x reader #ningguang x you #ningguang smut #ningguang x y/n #ningguang fluff #hu tao x you #hu tao x reader #hu tao x y/n #hu tao smut #💋 #🫀 #hu tao fluff

[gingerrtarot]

◌ ｡ PAC: “I’ll do it later…” - why do you procrastinate and how you can stop it?

hello everyone! welcome to my new reading~

as the heading suggest, today we will look at the reasons behind your “laziness” and you will get some advices on how you can change that.

keep in mind that this is a general reading, so it may or may not resonate with you.

now, let’s pick a pile!

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

°｡ Pile 1. ◌

Hello, guys!! so right off the bat I don’t actually see you guys as some slackers. People from this group, on the contrary, may be involved in many different activities at once, or at least they always have many plans in mind. maybe you judge yourself too harshly. another thing i pick up on here is that you were this super talented kids at school and now your family, teachers, colleagues may be expecting too much from you. so you end up always feeling like you are not doing enough.also, it seems like you are doing what others want and do not do things that will satisfy your desires. you may be oppressed by others. I see that some of you may want to work in a political field or maybe something related to judging. or you just want to be somewhere where you will be heard in your opinions will matter your words will have power. so why do you procrastinate? there are several options here. first, you may, actually, take a lot of tasks at once, and then you end up doing a little bit of this a little bit of that, and it doesn’t produce any result. Second, you may come up with many ideas and, but you always put off their implementation until later. In the first case, you are advised to learn to prioritize the right things; make a to-do lists, highlight the most important ones and do them first. In the second case, you need to start bring your ideas to execution as soon as you have them. Don’t put anything off for later, take at least a small action that will help you bring your ideas to life. don’t forget about it, don’t shelve them, it won’t make you any good.

one more thing. some people in this group may have problems with their family. They force you to do something that you don’t want, or even if they don’t force you, they gently persuade you or raise hopes for you that you cannot justify, you don’t want it, but you do it for their sake. And here the cards advise, if possible, to move. You will immediately become more motivated, more active and energetic. All the things that previously seemed difficult to you will be given to you with ease. if this is your problem, moving here will be extremely useful.

°｡ Pile 2. ◌

hi there pile 2! Here I see people who have recently experienced some kind of transformation. It could have moved, changed your study place or a job, perhaps you have suffered a loss or something similar. It may also be that you had to grow up early, when your inner self was not yet ready for it. Now you may be in a state of apathy; you do not have the strength and energy to do anything.

And even if you do want to do something, you just don’t know how. It feels like you are in the fog. Where to go and what to do, how to do it - you lack knowledge and skills. I see here a desire to return to your comfort zone, maybe go back to your childhood, to your family. somewhere you didn’t have to decide and do so much yourself. you want and need some help. and some stability and security. You shouldn't judge or blame yourself if you experience this, it's okay. Change can be difficult to cope with, give yourself time to collect yourself both mentally and physically. But if you have been in this state for a long time, you should think about it and pull yourself together. Otherwise it may drag on for years. The advice to you here is to find people with whom you can grow and develop together. You lack experience and knowledge in some areas right now. And help of people now will be very useful to you. Communicate with those who are more experienced than you, with those who can teach you something. Invite acquaintances at your place of study or work, if possible. Or try to find people with similar goals through social networks, with whom you can somehow collaborate. Yes, I know it's not that easy. But even if you can’t do this, try to find at least some celebrities, bloggers and influencers who would work, for example, in the same field in which you want to work. Find those who you will look up to, those who will inspire you and will be able to provide you with some helpful information and this will already be great.

°｡ Pile 3. ◌

hey, pile 3!! There's a lot of youthful energy here. You guys are most likely extroverts, you are active, like to go for walks, relax, have fun, and do some kind of creative work. And yes, we all love it, but you especially. Like the second group, you lack life experience that can help you achieve what you want. And what else is important, many here may not have any goals or desires at all.

Perhaps you prefer to live in the present and you’re not thinking about the future too much. Yes, it may be good, but here it’s a real problem. some people here simply don’t have enough willpower, you indulge your momentary weaknesses and whims. for some, it’s just a trait of your character that you need to work with and change it, if you want to be more productive. But for others, the lack of motivation and any ambition comes from disappointment in the past. You may have been brought up in strictness; your desire and way of self-expression was not accepted, your dreams and goals were devaluated and you got used to considering yourself a loser. Or maybe, having failed, you have lost faith in yourself. Maybe you had a small failure or maybe a big one, in the end it led you to the fact that you decided not to try at all. It may also be that you are one of those who get disappointed and quit the job they started after it didn’t work out right away. Like, you wanted to draw a masterpiece but it turned out to be doodles, and you start to think that drawing is not for you and give up on it. But it’s wrong. You may be born a genius, but without training and practice you will achieve nothing. Therefore, it is important to study and work and not give up after the first failure, no matter what.

Self-discipline is what you need. Of course there is no miracle advice or potion that will help you deal with this. It will take time but in the end it will be worth it. So create a routine for yourself that will help you be more productive and stick to it. If it’s difficult for you to control yourself, ask others for help, there’s nothing wrong with that. Over time you will succeed, be patient. good luck!

#pick a card #pac #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a photo #tarot cards #tarot reading #tarot #manifesation #free readings

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

Everyone is doing that "things demons find weird about humans" stuff right now and to keep up with trends (lies I'll probably post this weeks after everyone is over it) I'm doing my own.

Enjoy (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Transphobia/homophobia

Starting off strong, but it has been bugging me. Let us start with the trans issues we have in the human world. Demons and angels alike are shapeshifters to my knowledge. The dame event also shows that the boys are completely comfortable with crossdressing. I'm pretty this topic is not even a thing in the Devildom. I will not go into the history of transphobia, but it is completely human in my opinion. Imagine your MC is trans or nonbinary (like mine) and they havs a conversation with one of the demons about the internalized views they have on gender and the boys just going "???? Why would your family/friend(s) say that to you?" I like to imagine they know about transphobia, but do not completely understand why humans made it an issues.

"If you're uncomfortable with your current form, you can just change it..." "I'm not a demon, Asmo."

To add on to this topic in the homophobia department (though I'm talking sexualities that aren't heterosexual), Asmodeus has flirted with Solomon multiple times in-game; and the characters all (except Luke) romance you if you so wish. MC is gender neutral to make the game inclusive. Shoot, Thirteen was added to the game though she is not dateable yet. I feel homophobia/biphobia/etc is another one of those human issues they know about but do not understand. Like kiss who you wanna kiss, and date who you wanna date. Why are the humans making it complicated? I've seen no things in-game/manga/anime that even hint towards toxic mentalities like these. It just does not exist. If anything, they are mad because someone else is getting MC's attention instead of them, not because of gender being the same or different. It is a bit far out there for some, but I stand by this theory.

"And you're telling me that your (relation) thinks that it's a psychological issue that has to do with trauma that makes you attracted to (gender)?" "Yeah it's rough." "The logic just isn't there. I-"

Memory/time

These supernatural beings remember specific details from thousands of years ago like it was yesterday. Their sense of time and memory is so weird. Solomon, a human, has trouble remembering things from the past; yet somehow (and this happens often enough in-game) these non-humans can recall a random torture session or trend that was farther back than when my grandmother's grandmother was a thought. The Great Celestial War happenings can be told in detail from multiple characters. I really do not believe they have memory repression the way humans do to cope with traumatic events. They just kind of live with the knowledge in their brain forever. Now, this is not to say their memory is perfect. But, it is pretty darn good if they are paying attention or it is important to them.

"That hit the spot better than that one specialty hell's meal from a few centuries back." "Imagine remembering centuries ago when I can't even remember my trauma..." "I thought you said your traumas haunted you-" sigh "Nevermind."

Sensory differences

These beings probably have really enhanced five senses, but they also probably lack feelings that wouldn't be necessary in their respective realms. I once saw a headcanon that demons can't smell rain like humans can, and it goes along that line. I imagine the brother's sense of touch changed after taking on demon form as well as other senses. I actually have this theory that empathy is a sense like one of the five senses for angels and they can like train it. How does each species pick up emotions is a really fascinating thing. While sadness and depression seem to have universally the same effects, anger and glee are depicted differently. Also, demons definitely have a better sense of smell, but how much better? And do your senses strength vary according to which sin you are or simply from what your hyperfixation subjects of interest are? Beel has strong senses of taste and smell. Levi has sharp eyes and good reflexes. Asmo has a vivid way of describing the more sensual things. Belphegor's sense of touch seems to be the most sensitive as he is picky with his bedding. (Barbatos is just built different.) Et cetera.

"Your skin feels stressed, MC. Have you been sleeping well?" "Yeah, school's been- MY SKIN FEELS ?!"

Magic sensory is completely different through. Depending on how long and how hard you train in magic, it has different feelings. There were instances in the game where MC would feel something different from the magic than Solomon or the brothers would feel something similar but not quite the same. It depends on the nature of magic, but I feel it's also a species difference. Angelic magic would probably be irritating to a demon where demonic magic would probably be uncomfortable to an angel.

"Bless you." "Thanks, the rage Satan had is really irritating my nose." "I thought strong magic prickled the skin-"

Random quirks

I think humans, demons, and angels all have little habits that they have that doesn't make sense from an outside POV but is normal in their society. Like how humans say "ouch" when they're not hurt or demons are more comfortable in the demon form or how angels will randomly quote rules or bits of text while talking. I can just imagine MC grimacing in the hallway and the closest being trying to figure out why and they continue walking as if they didn't just make a face that resembled sharp pain. Or, MC is having tea with Simeon and he does this habit angels do at groups with friends and leaves MC thinking there is in fact someone invisible on either side of Simeon. MC falls asleep in a cuddle pile and wakes up to everyone in their demon form snoring and has a mini heart attack.

"Why do humans use theatrics so often?" "What do you mean?" "You keep shaking your head every few minutes and motion so much with your hands when talking even thought you're not giving a speech." "Satan and Lucifer are always doing the same hand thingy whenever they talk." "...that's different."

(okay that's all gonna go jump back into my void now)

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me headcanons #obey me nightbringer #mirr writes

[thepinkscope]

PICK A CARD - A love letter from yourself.

PILE 1 //

Dear me,

I want to talk to you right now. I have things I want to say to you. Please don't rush things; look at every opportunity with fresh eyes, and I’m bound to send my favour and luck to you. I want you to feel good when you live your life.

I don’t want you to always feel like you're making mistakes or that you can't trust yourself. You’re a star—a shooting star. You glow with all the wisdom inside of you. You’re graceful, and I love that about you, but your anxiety about the flaws that don't even matter makes you feel far away from others (a bit distant).

Let's work on that. Let's regulate our emotions when we make decisions, prioritise happiness, and work on being more vulnerable. You know who you are.

From me 

PILE 2 //

Dear me,

I know you're hiding things from yourself or others, but I want you to know that I know what's going on in your mind.

Take some peace in the fact that you don't have to feel any guilt for being a bit more secretive. Don't worry about impressing people, and definitely stop thinking that your life is a mess! You're so real, and you connect to things easily.

You're so tuned into the world around you. You're a bit of a fighter, and I admire that. As long as it's not harming yourself or others, I know that you're doing the right thing to cope with how things are now. I know you're not playing it safe. Other people will understand in the near future when we win with all the knowledge we have.

From me

PILE 3 //

Dear me, 

You're so fiery. You know that you can have anything and anyone that you want. Irreplaceable indeed.

I love the confidence we're building every single day. I love that we're not taking s— from other people anymore. If they want to leave, they can leave. If they cross our boundaries, then they can leave! You're on fire. Your love is stunning; your love is gold. You're starting to value it and recognise who deserves to experience it.

Also, you already know a lot of things that you can't explain; you're always receiving messages from the divine, so please use them in your life.

From me

#love letter #self love #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a picture #free intuitive readings #free tarot readings #tarot reading #self healing #self help #self improvement #pac #pac reading

[contentloadingandstuff]

Parenting Headcanons - Cloud Retainer

A/N: Unless specified otherwise, everything refers to her human form.

Most mortals think that Adepti are some sort of divine, immaterial beings without their own lives. That's as far from the truth as it could be. Adepti have bodies, they need to eat, they need to rest. They laugh, cry, hate and love. They meet others and start families just like any other sapient denizens of Teyvat. They just happen to have a very long lifespan and strength incomparable with that of humans. 

Cloud Retainer is no different. For all her lengthy (to put it lightly) lifespan she dreamed of settling down. She sought the warmth of another, the kind that her friends, no matter how close, just couldn't provide. She wanted a family, a husband and a few children to give her purpose and fulfillment through love and care. 

The war left her mind weakened and scarred. Although she is an Adeptus, she feels the whole range of human emotions and is susceptible to sights of violence, bloodshed, death and suffering. The death of her friends, the humans she vowed to protect, the opponents she faced… all of them left permanent imprints on her mind, leaving her unable to cope with what happened and return to her daily life. All of her grief and trauma was well hidden behind her bitter expression and red glasses. 

Cloud Retainer, once fairly social, started isolating herself in her Abode. She still attended the occasional meet up and talked to Ganyu, but her social ring tightened and tightened with every passing decade. She became increasingly eccentric and unapproachable, and rarely ever took on her human form, sticking to her animal appearance instead. 

But even despite this, she managed to fall in love again, with you - a fellow immortal from more distant lands. Years turned into decades and her scarred heart healed, rekindling her dreams of family. 

Shenhe was the first bit of fulfillment she got. Caring for her with you by her side was an incredible experience… But it was not the same as having her own heirs. So one day, she just told you she wanted to bring new life into the world. You agreed of course. How could you not? 

Cloud Retainer is an experienced mother at this point, but she regrets a lot of her decisions. She could have been more patient, more understanding. She could have said things differently with young Ganyu and Shenhe. This time, no mistakes will be made. Or at least less of them. 

With your assistance, she's going to improve for sure. 

With not much to do in terms of jobs or duties, Cloud Retainer has a lot of time and energy to devote to her children. Her lifelong desire of having a big family makes her very willing and mentally prepared for a trio of little ones. 

She has a lot of experience with girls, but boys? She knows they are loud and rowdy, but if you ask her she'll say that One is up for the challenge. But variety would be good, so she would love to have two boys and a girl. 

Health during and after pregnancy is a non-issue. She's an expert at healing techniques, so no danger will be there. You can rest peacefully. 

Cloud Retainer can be strict quite often, but she won't be very pushy. She understands that she has all the time in the world to teach the kids all the necessary knowledge. 

Your wife will hog all the time with them, no doubt. Showing them all the contraptions she made, explaining them despite knowing that her offspring doesn't understand a word of it, soaring the skies with her whole family in your crane forms… that's the life she always craved for herself. 

Pictures, pictures, pictures, pictures and pictures. Tons of the stuff. Back when Ganyu was just a little goat the wonderful invention that is the human Kamera did not exist yet. But now? Oh, now things are so much different. Every day she will document the growth and life of her children - and your handsomeness as well - with tens of photographs, placing them all in the cinder block that is her photo album. It's a little better since she met you, but Cloud Retainer still has no shame when it comes to recounting just how cute her kids were as babies, to anyone that is nearby for longer than 30 seconds. 

Ganyu will get second-hand embarrassment from that for sure. Speaking of her, the Qiling will do her best to stand in for her adoptive mother when necessary, or handle any trouble they might have in the human world. She's so happy she's an auntie! Ganyu knows that their ability to speak is far in the future, but she always was patient. For now, cuddling and holding the babies is enough to encourage her to go up mount Aocang, even if the risk is hearing her own baby stories…

Shenhe will be happy for her master, but, as emotionless as she is, the woman won't be close with the kids. It's going to be like her relationship with Chongyun for the most part. She will aid in training and protection when asked, but not much warmth besides that. 

Xiao will remain cold and distant, but will devote most of his time to watching over his superior's children from the shadows. He will be ready to rip and tear anything that even remotely threatens them. He sees it as his duty. 

Zhongli will be so, so happy for his old friend. Maybe she will be normal again, he thinks. He will offer the children all the stories he can tell, and aid their education and training should the need arise. 

All of Cloud Retainer's experience, patience, support of others and the simple goal to be as good of a mother as she can will make her nothing short of 10/10 on the motherhood rating scale. She, you and your three children have a long and joyous life ahead of you.

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #cloud retainer #cloud retainer x reader #cloud retainer x male reader #cloud retainer x you #cloud retainer x y/n #cloud retainer fluff

[nottapossum]

Itty Bitty Sinners Chapter 1.1: The Test!

Summary: Classification tests aren't typically taken by sinners, they're usually taken by the hellborn. But still Charlie decides it might benefit the hotel if everyone took the test so they can better understand them.....Chaos ensues

Notes: Hazbin hotel be like: You’ve been waiting for years and now you have this super dark yet meaningful story about mythology, the complexity of human nature as well as other worldy beings, redemtion, abuse, abusive relationships, substance use, toxicity, redemtion, corrupt systems and overall the fight between good and evil and how it's more complex than we're lead to belive.

Me be like: Aw! Babies! 😍

⚠️ READ ME! ⚠️This work is an Age regression/Classification fic. So there will be things such as Diapers and their usage, pacifiers, cribs, bottles, exc.But there will also be cursing and talking about sex, abuse, drugs, alcohol and lots of adult things when characters are out of headspace, and it also mentions some trauma. (Any future trigger warnings will be added to chapter notes if needed. Be careful.)

❤️Age regression is not sexual, it’s a safe coping mechanism.If this ain't your thing. Just don't read it.💜

“Okay everyone! Today I have a bit of an experiment for you all.” Charlie announces. “You are all going to be taking the infamous Classification test!” 

“The what now?” Angel asks.

“This test will determine what kind of person you are! And it will help us better understand your needs to better help you. The types in question are: Littles, Caregivers, Babysitters, Pet regressors, Handlers, Guardians, and neutrals.” She explains. “Hellborns take this test when they turn fifteen to find out their best possible place in our society to live their best lives!” 

“Wait, so all hellborns take this test?” Angel asks.

“Yeah, is that new information for you?” Vaggie asks. “It's pretty common knowledge.”

“I have never heard of that!” Angel says.

“You know, you should go outside every now and then, maybe you'll learn something.” Vaggie says.

“Do you have any idea what happens when I go outside?” Angel asks her. “Not a lot of learning happening.” 

“Don't worry, I have all the definitions riiight here. I'll read them out for you.” Charlie says. She clears her throat and reads through the classifications: “First we have: Littles or regressors, these people will often regress to a younger state of mind to help them cope with day to day life. They're usually traumatized individuals who either had to grow up too fast or those who had a bad childhood, regressing allows them to heal their inner child. They also need to be properly taken care of by Caregivers.” 

Angel raises an eyebrow, but Charlie continues: 

“Caregivers are the ones assigned to take care of littles, these people usually have natural instincts

Much little Littles, Caregivers are thought to have a traumatic past but they cope by helping others.” Charlie explains. 

“Guardians or ‘protectors’ I think is pretty self explanatory. These people are very strong, fearless leaders who are very protective of their loved ones.” She reads, smiling at Vaggie at that part.  

“Pets or pet regressors are a lot like Littles, except instead of regressing to a child's mindset, they regress to an animal mindset.” 

“And Handlers are a lot like Caregivers except for pets. Usually Caregivers and Handlers go hand in hand, so it's rare for someone to get this classification.” Charlie explains.

“And what's the purpose of these tests? Like what happens to you afterwards?” Angel asks.

“Well, anyone who gets at least fifty percent little on the test will be assigned a caregiver, either a parent could adopt them, or a partner,” Charlie holds Vaggie's hand. “Or they'll be taken to an adoption center to meet their adoptive caregiver or assigned caregiver. A caregiver assigned by the people who run the program. Usually this is a last resort though.”

“Caregivers are very similar, having to have a little, and if they don't have one, they'll be assigned one.” Vaggie adds. “They usually can't get away without having one. Unless they're royal or have kids that is.” 

Angel's mouth hangs open. “...And this is just something you do? You assign people to other people and force them to live their life based solely on a random test they took when they were fifteen?!” Angel asks.

“Yup, pretty much.” Vaggie says. 

“And you're all just fine with this?!” Angel asks.

“It's a flawed system, I will admit. But it has helped a lot of people too.” Charlie says. 

“In what way?” Angel asks. 

“Well, Littles have someone to take care of them, and Caregivers have someone to take care of.” Charlie explains.

“That's stupid.” Angel says. “I am not taking that test.” 

“Oh, come on, Angel. We just want to help you.” Charlie says. “Everyone is going to be taking to, so you won't be alone.” 

“Who says I'm taking that test?” Husk asks as Vaggie tries to hand him one. 

“Everyone is taking it.” Charlie says again. “It'll be fun!”

“Wait a minute, if all the hellborn take this test, does that mean…you've taken the test?” Angel asks Charlie.

“Oh yeah, of course!” Charlie says.

“If you're going to be knowing our results, isn't it only fair that we know yours?” He asks.

“Okay. Well, I'm a classified caregiver and little.” She says, moving some hair back awkwardly when mentioning the little part. 

“You can be both?” Angel asks.

“Yup, 50/50. She says.

“Well, just because you're okay with it, doesn't mean I am.” Angel says. 

“What's wrong, Angel? Scared?” Husk asks.

“No.” Angel says. “I just-” Angel didn't know how to say it. “Fuck you!”

“Come on, Angel. Get on board.” Charlie encourages, handing him the test. 

Angel takes it and looks through it skeptically. 

Suddenly Charlie gets a phone call. She checks her phone but her eyes widen. “Oh.” She looks at everyone and presses the phone close to her chest. “Uhh… I'll be right back, you guys just answer these questions as honestly as you can.” Charlie instructs before walking out.

Vaggie looks at Charlie with concern and wordlessly follows her into the other room. 

~~~Charlie and Vaggie:~~~

Charlie got off the phone quickly, the phone conversation only lasted a few minutes, and even then she exclusively answered with small answers:  ‘mhm’ ‘sure’ ‘uh..okay.’ and finally ‘Yeah, bye.’

“Everything okay, Charlie?” Vaggie asks. 

“Everything is super!” She says, smiling brightly and adding extra enthusiasm to her voice to make sure Vaggie wasn't suspicious. 

“Oh good. So, who was on the phone?” Vaggie asks.

“Just- my dad. Don't worry about it. It's nothing.” Charlie says. 

Charlie was about to leave, but Vaggie grabbed her hand. “Hey, you know you can tell me anything….right?” 

“Of course I know that, silly.” Charlie laughs. “Everything is fine, I promise.” She says. 

“Okay…I trust you.” Vaggie shrugs, keeping a smile on her face. 

What else could she do? If something is wrong but Charlie doesn't want to talk about it, it would be wrong to pressure her. 

Charlie grabs Vaggie’s hand and smiles kindly. “Let's go back to the others. Also, you need to take the test too. I wanna see your results.” 

Vaggie rolls her eyes. “As if you don’t know what I am already? You're the one taking care of me all the time.”

“I'm just curious.” Charlie says. “And of course I will always take care of you, we take care of each other. It's kind of our job.” She chuckles. 

Vaggie smirks. “Well, yeah. But, you're not as young as I am.” She says. 

“Or as absolutely adorable!” Charlie baby talks.

“No way, you're way cuter, little or not.” 

“You keep thinking that.” Charlie says, booping her beloved girlfriend's nose. “But we both know you're the cutest little ever.” ~

~~~Husk~~~

“Come on, Angel. Get on board.” Angel mocks once Charlie left the room.

“That bitch is hiding something.” Husk says. “I can tell.” 

“Who cares? I have work to do.” Angel says, getting up and leaving the test behind. 

“It's the weekend.” Husk says. 

“Yeah, but Val has a party tonight and he wants me to help…entertain the guests. If you know what I mean.” He smirks. 

Husk rolls his eyes as Angel smiles at himself. He always looks so proud to get under his skin or make him feel uncomfortable. 

“You sure you don't want to take this with you?” Husk asks. “The princess won't be too happy when she finds out you're walking out on yet another activity.” Husk smirks in an attempt to tease him back. “...You might get in trouble.”

Angel gasps. “Oh please, I'm so scared.” He says sarcastically. “She won't do anything. The worst thing she could do is tell me she's very disappointed in me or some shit.” He scoffs, continuing to walk away. 

“Angel?” Husk asks him.

“What?” Angel asks. 

“Just…be careful. Okay?” He asks.

Angel frowns for a moment, then smiles. “Yeah…I will. Thanks.”

Alastor looks over at the cat, and smiles at Husk wordlessly. 

“Mind your own fucking business!” Husk snaps at him. 

Alastor laughs. “Well, if you didn't make everything so obvious, perhaps I would.” 

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Husk says. 

Alastor chuckles. “Of course you don't.”

Husk looks away from Al, turning his attention on anyone else-

It's what he always does… he observes. 

Sir Pentious and Niffty were already working on their tests, Niffty rather fast and violent and Pentious very slow and hesitant.

“This test is impossible!” Sir Pentious complains. “How can they expect me to answer these hard questions? What am I supposed to put for gender?”

Husk looks at the test, the questions varies from mildly personal, complicated, to way too personal: “How do you deal with your failure?” He reads out loud. Wondering how the fuck that could tell them their place in…

As Charlie put it: ‘Society,’

“I put down: kill tiny things and drink their blood.” Niffty says. 

“Blow stuff up!” Sir Pentious says. “Or perhaps I'd try try again? Oo! Both!” 

“You are all such a pleasure to have around.” Alastor says. Very quickly finishing his test with no issues. 

Husk was honestly surprised he was going along with this. He probably found the idea hilarious. 

Husk sighs, normally he wouldn't engage with something like this either, but he knew Charlie wouldn't stop bothering him if he didn't. It was a lot easier to just do it and then get the rest of his day over with. 

~~~Charlie:~~~

Charlie enthusiastically returns to the main room. “So, how's everyone doing?” She asks. “Where's Angel?” She asks before anyone could answer her first question.

“He left.” Husk says. 

“Oh.” Charlie says. “That's…fine. He can just take it when he gets back!” She says.

Vaggie sighs. “When is he finally going to take anything we do seriously?”

“I don't think Angel knows what serious is.” Husk says. 

They continue their tests, and Vaggie starts hers.

~~~~A few minutes later:~~~

“Finished!” Niffty says, handing her test back to Charlie. 

“Perfect, thank you Niffty.” Charlie says. 

“This test is impossible!” Pentious says. “How am I supposed to know all these personal questions?”

“Don't over think it.” Charlie says. “Just write the first thing that comes to mind.” 

Husk leaves his test on the table, and Alastor leaves his on the floor, then both of them go back to their business. 

Vaggie picked them up so as not to lose them. 

~~~Charlie and Vaggie, Later:~~~

All Charlie had to do was scan the tests on their computer and the test results would print themselves. They had gotten access to the program the test centers use. Perks to being the princess of hell. 

Her and Vaggie both awaited the answers for everyone. 

“This will be so great! Getting to know everyone better so we can help them." Charlie says. "I can't wait to find out what the results are!"

“Just- be careful. Okay? I don't want you to blow this out of proportion.” Vaggie says. 

“Psh, Vaggie! When have I ever done that?” 

“When you found out I was a little, you bought me the whole little store!” Vaggie says. 

“I gave it back after you told me to.” Charlie says. “I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.” 

“I know.” Vaggie says. “I just want to make sure you don't get yourself hurt...or scare anyone away. You know?"

“Ooo! Your results are in!” Charlie squeals, grabbing the paper from the printer. 

Vaggie rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. She can't help it, Charlie is too cute. “What does it say?” 

“Fifty percent little, fifty percent guardian!” Charlie says. “As I expected.” She says, in some sort of accent to make her sound smarter. 

“Sounds right.” She says. 

The next results get printed. “Husker!” Charlie  sings.

Vaggie grabs the paper and reads it. “Seventy-five guardian, twenty five Neutral.” 

“Niffty: Fifty percent Handler and…” Charlie tilts her head. “And unclassifyable nonsense.” She reads. 

Vaggie nods. “Also sounds right.” 

“Ooo, Sir Pentious is sixty percent little and fourty percent neutral.” Charlie says. “Little snake!” Charlie squeals. 

“Okay, calm down there.” Vaggie laughs, taking the paper from Charlie. “Just grab the last one so we can get started planning the actual activities.” 

Charlie grabs the final test result. “Uhhh.” 

“What does it say?” Vaggie asks taking the paper from her. 

Charlie couldn't even answer, she just stayed quietly shocked as Vaggy looked over the results. 

Vaggie's eyes widen. “There's no. Fucking. Way.”

Alastor: 

100% Little. 

Taglist: @todayimfour

#helluva boss age regression #Itty bitty sinners #age regression fanfic #hazbin hotel agere #Little!Alastor #Niffty #charlie magne #Little!Charlie magne #Little!Charlie #Little!SirPentious #Hazbin hotel age regression #Ittybittysinners #Hazbin hotel fanfic #Little!Vaggie #Vaggie

[artbyblastweave]

A while ago, I heard some piece of Apocrypha that Fallout 3 was originally set only 20 or so years after the Bombs dropped, and was later moved up in the timeline in order to accommodate familiar and marketable setting elements like the BOS, the Super Mutants, and so on. I forget where I heard this, and I don’t necessarily think it’s true. But I think it’s a really interesting lens to view a lot of the stories and characters through. You assume 20 years and suddenly it makes sense that someone like Moira is just now getting around to trying to codify survival advice; your choice to take the project seriously or half-ass it for personal gain then becomes a statement about the future of the world. You assume 20 years and suddenly it makes sense that they’d build Megaton in a crater, even if it had a live bomb in it, and haven’t yet had opportunity to move somewhere without a bomb. You assume 20 years and suddenly the Andale cannibals make a lot more sense; they aren’t LARPing pre-war life with eerie accuracy, they’re desperately play-acting at the lifestyle they thought they were going to have when they were kids or young adults, and the old guy they’ve got with them is the actual adult from that period who has the context to understand what they’re aping and how fucked it is. Tenpenny, Moriarity, and Dukov all make more sense now; their immigration doesn’t post date the war, they immigrated *before,* to escape the resource wars. Tenpenny Tower as a power bloc is an affluent settlement that *held out* rather than something that just happened to spring up centuries afterward. Agatha doesn’t have a tenuous connection to a famous musician who got sealed up in vault 92, she herself was a famous musician who got out before it all went to shit, and reuniting her with the violin is a decision to help something purely good from the old world last a little while longer. The Gary uprising was recent. The Lone Wanderer is as old as the new world. Lucas Simm’s sheriff getup, Three-Dogs anachronistic radio DJ routine, the whole thing with the Vampires, the Mechanist and the Antagonizer- it’s not passed-down half-remembered cultural knowledge, they’re doing bits as a coping mechanism, or because its still actively recognizable to a plurality. Little Lamplight and Big Town I think make a little more sense under this paradigm. Vault 112 is aping a world that recently died. I haven’t even touched how much more sense the main plot makes if people have only been dealing with the bad water for half a generation instead of 200 years. Going full Charlie Kelly this fine evening

#fallout 3 #falloutposting #fallout #thoughts #meta #I just saw an hour long video essay on this general theory and I’m going to see how many of my points get brought up #but so much of this game works better if these people are dealing with something that happened to them personally

[lorelune]

part o - part iii

|| diluc ragnvindr x f! reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, fluff, post-trauma || wc: 16.2k  || ao3 || masterlist || NEXT →

You return to Mondstadt after many years away, sick, with an feeling that's all-too familiar and unwelcome.

❁ my heart, your song - @firein-thesky ❁

minors & ageless blogs dni

a/n: AH!! here it is :'^) the diluc fic!!!! thank you so much to @itoshisoup for beta reading (along with my non-tumblr pals han & ennis as well!!) this section contains four chapters, separated by partitions. if you'd prefer to read this fic with the chapters/parts separated, it will be posted as such on ao3!

this fic is a collab with the lovely cielo (@firein-thesky)!! our fics share a mostly canon compliant universe :3c give it a read!! it's linked above!!!

...

tags: alcohol use, descriptions of vomiting, reader with chronic injury, reader is referred to as 'little sister' by kaeya (not related), unreliable narrator/reader, soggy soggy SOGGY diluc, protective diluc, diluc and reader were childhood friends to lovers, reader is a healer

PART o: kismet

Once, on one of your several trips to Sumeru, you visited the Akademiya. You only went to poke at dusty books and sit in on a few lectures as a wanderer who liked a good story and a bit of learning. There, you met a scholar whose name didn’t stick with you, from the Rtawahist darshan.

They had the far-off look in their eye of someone who had seen a bit too much, for who they were. You knew that some scholars went mad in their pursuit of knowledge. Saw things that they couldn’t cope with even if they tried. Your new friend looked to be close to such a threshold.

Perhaps, in an act of pity, you took this scholar out for a drink. Or two. Or seven. The exact number of cups and goblets escapes you now. But what you do remember, as you sat together on a terrace high above Yazaha pool, legs swinging, was their ramblings. 

“There’s a map of everything, up there.” They gestured wildly to the sky, twinkling and bright, with the moon as company. “Deciphering it... Well. That’s another thing. But it’s there. And if we figure it out, fate will be in our hands to know.”

They continued, stretching their hands to the cosmos above them, as if their fingertips could decipher the orchestration of the Gods with nothing but passion, wine, and will. It was admirable, in your drunken state. Perhaps foolish to your sober mind. 

Nonetheless, such an idea stuck with you. Even after you departed from your bygone friend, and continue your wanderings, you think about it. You laid on your bedroll more than once, staring upward, and wondering—

Why did the gods mosaic the sky? 

You are just a mortal, how are you to know? You tried not to dwell on that specific thought. The one you find yourself coming back to, in your worst nights—

(If I could read the stars, and foresee a tragedy, is there any way for a calamity to be stopped? If you knew fate’s charted course, the crest of its fortune and the wake of its tragedies— could you circumvent them?)

(Could you have stopped your calamity?)

It was a self-deprecating thought, and it dragged you back to a place and time that was both unpleasant and unnecessary to recall. 

There’s no way to change the past, you reminded yourself. You could only move forward. Never back. You only balked at the stars in your weakest moments and pondered such ideas like fate and destiny. You could live in the illusion of carving your own destiny as you traversed Teyvat. One where you wrapped gauze around wounds after the disaster had passed. Heal sullied ground. You could do everything you could to help people. That was enough, you decided early on in your travels. 

You’d help people (and avoid the nation Mondstadt). Simple enough.

One foot in front of the other.

PART i: there’s a puzzle we crafted

You’re tired. 

So tired. 

It’s a merciless type of exhaustion that you rarely, if ever, let yourself slip into. To wander Liyue’s peak and narrow paths in such a condition is dangerous, even if the Millelith and Guild did a decent job keeping settlements of Hilichurls suppressed. In general, you can take down slimes on your own— except when you find yourself this deliriously tired. 

Normally, you don’t even bother traveling in this state. You would drag yourself to the nearest village, throw some mora at a layperson and set up shop wherever they had space. Be that an inn, back room, or stable— you aren’t picky. As long as you could rest for a few days, perhaps help out the village in your spare time. 

Your most recent wanderings, however, took you far onto the Yaoguang Shoals for several days, and by the time you returned to solid, proper earth, you were desperately low on essentials. Your nearest respite was an old village crawling with Hilichurls. Your next best option would be a miniature expedition onto the shores of Dragonspine and hope the cold wouldn’t kill you before you could find shelter and stoke a fire.

So, you keep going.  

All the way past Stonegate and the quarries beyond it. You’re only half-lucid as you wander into Mondstadt for the first time in years. 

You roost in an abandoned cottage some ways down the road. Finally resting for the first time in days. Never mind your still-damp bedroll or the structural unsoundness of the ruin. You practically fall to your knees and pass out, given your state.

(Running has made you tired, hasn’t it?)

When you awaken, you ache. (Familiar). You nibble on the last of your rations and it hits you—

You’re back in Mond, aren’t you?

Archons.

You should leave, really. It’s your first thought when you realize where you are. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not even near the city proper, but a panic unfurls in your chest like you’ve been struck. You immediately begin to pack up your things—

Two things hit you then:

One: You’re far lower on supplies than you had thought. 

This isn’t a new development, however. It’s just far worse than you thought. You paw at the contents of your bag, realizing that the dried zaytun peaches and jerky you had for breakfast were the last of your rations. The weather had been poor across Liyue in the past weeks, and many of the normal markets you would’ve run into were shuttered because of it. Regardless, you didn’t think you were on your last fucking morsels. 

Deep in your bag, all you have is a torn, unusable tarp and a pitiful handful of the crystalline shards you used to purify water. 

You don’t even need to look at your medicine kit to know the paltry state it’s in. Far too many empties. 

Two:  A burning sensation that splits you wide open and threatens to eat you alive. 

You barely twist your foot the wrong way. Hardly at all. Regardless, something like liquid electro shoots from the twisted (broken, mutilated—) parts of your right foot, up your thigh, and shakes you down to your bones. 

You stumble, using the wall for support and keeping your weight off the injury. It shouldn’t be aggravated this early in the day. You shake it off from your ankle, lowering yourself to the dirt floor to massage out any of the tension and subsequent pain that you can. You’ll be able to walk, surely, but it’s getting harder and harder to deny that the old injury isn’t worsening over time. 

You remember, vaguely, hearing tell that there was a skilled healer in Mond once again. Younger, a Vision-bearer in the Church, maybe? 

You know enough about the Church of Favonius that they would at least look at your injury, if this half-remembered healer really does exist and is affiliated with them. 

You hate that Mondstadt seemed like the best option. 

(Later, you’ll realize it’s all a bit like fate, pushing you toward that stupid city.)

You find yourself at a loss, shake your head, and sigh, “... I guess it wouldn’t... really be so bad to visit.”

You’ll just stay for a day or two.

...

Mondstadt’s front gate is so familiar it nearly hurts. The guards have different faces than the ones you remember from your youth. Their demeanor is the same— kind, open, like how people from Mond tend to be. They don’t hound you too much as you pass, and you enter the city without issue. 

Midday sun lights Mondstadt proper when you arrive (your journey from the quarries took a bit longer than necessary, considering your route went wide around a particular plot of land that you refused to go near.)

The city bustles with noise and activity. Merchants line the streets, carts and stalls overflowing. Seafoam banners and floral wreaths hang along the stone arches and walls, while garlands of fresh flowers stretch from building to building. The scent of fresh flowers, baking bread, and sweet wine envelopes you.

Windblume, you remember. It is spring, after all.

You hope the crowds of the festival will help you blend in as you meander through the city. You keep your head down, counting cobblestones and being quick with your purchases. Better to get in and out, probably. If you can snag a new tarp and bedroll, you could set up across the bridge for the night, and be gone by morning if you could track down that healer within the afternoon too. 

As you walk up the main run of Mond proper, toward the fountain and the smell of warm spiced meat, someone, archons, gasps from behind you and says your name.

(Later, you’ll recall this moment. Perhaps kismet turned on its axis for you to still and—)

You freeze, going stiff. You’d know that voice anywhere. Sweet and teasing, curling down your spine in a way that feels both ambiently flirtatious and horribly familiar. 

Part of you screams to ignore her. Let her think she has the wrong person and continue your journey in Mond unimpeded by an old specter. You could be out the gates in a number of hours, if not minutes if you really need to (run, run, run).

But, there’s a temptation. It breathes itself alive, from the back of your mind to the front, entirely unavoidable. 

(How long has it been since you’ve seen a familiar face? One that you know instead of just recognizing?)

You turn slowly. “... Hi, Lisa.”

...

And, somehow, you end up in the Knight’s of Favonius headquarters, with a perfectly warm cup of tea in your hands, nestled in a library you hadn’t been inside for nearly a decade. It smells of old parchment and leather. Steam rises from your cup, fragrant with Sumeru rose and Guili cinnamon stick with black tea leaves. You recall the scholars of the Spantamad darshan favored this blend; you shared more than a cup or two during your visits to the Akademiya. 

Lisa settles in the seat across from you, with a small box of pastries that look sticky and sweet. Your mouth waters. 

“How have you been, dear?” Lisa gives you a soft look. “It’s been so long.”

So long, you add to yourself. Sitting across from Lisa is giving you a gut-twisting sense of deja vu that has your palms sweating.

“I’ve been well,” you say, gently. “Travelling, still.”

“Oh, how exciting.” Lisa smiles and lays her cheek on her palm. “What was your most recent destination?”

You hummed. “I recently went to Natlan’s capital, just for a few months. I ended up staying with a smith who gave me odd jobs in exchange for housing.”

“Oh, wow,” Lisa preens for you. “And before that? I apologize, dear, I’m not caught up with your journeys.”

Ah, the lack of letters.

“I apologize.” You rub your forehead. “I haven’t been writing lately. It’s been... hard to keep track of things, though it’s not an excuse.”

“I would disagree.” She flashes you a sympathetic smile. “You’ve been crisscrossing Teyvat; it makes perfect sense why you would struggle to keep in touch with folks. I’m sure you’ve met plenty of friends on your travels, too. I imagine you have lots to juggle.”

Lisa is partially correct, you suppose.

“You continue to give me so much amnesty— too kind,” you laugh, and lean back in your chair. 

Lisa looks a bit wistful as she puts down her cup in exchange for one of the pastries. You recognize the expression on her. You’ve only seen her wear it once before.

“How long are you staying in Mond?” Lisa asks, nodding down to the box. You leave the treats untouched.

“Not long.” You refuse to look at her as you answer, “Just for the day. I needed some supplies and Mondstadt was the most convenient.”

It’s a clinical answer. One you say intentionally, perfectly, so she can’t poke holes in your logic. You hope, pray, she doesn’t push back on your short visit. Any longer, and you might accidentally run into more faces you don’t wish to see. Lisa was tangentially related to... everything, but she was the least obtrusive person you could have run into. Still, you’re in the lion’s den, in the Ordo’s HQ, for a cup of tea, praying that you can slip in and out undetected outside of Lisa.

(It’s easier like this, you tell yourself. You can’t get twisted up in this place again.)

Lisa examines you, tracing you up and down with her gaze in a way that’s horribly disarming. If it was from anyone else, you’d think they were checking you out, especially with the sweet, upward quirk of her lips. But, this is Lisa, and you had forgotten how astute she is.

“Only a day? That’s a shame.” She sighs, sitting back and stirring the tiny spoon perched in her teacup. “It's Windblume. You should stay.”

“I could,” you muse and give her a sympathetic smile. “But, I don’t think it would be wise. It would be better if I got on my way quickly.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How far back would a few days in Mondstadt put you on your travel plans?” 

‘Plans’. 

You nearly bark out a laugh, but you keep it lodged in your throat. 

“Not terribly far, but I... I don’t want to stay, Lisa.” You reach across the table and squeeze her free hand. “It isn’t good for me to linger here.”

The look she gives you breaks your heart. Her brows wilt, her eyes get a little sadder, and she grips your hand unyieldingly. “... Are you sure, sweetheart? I’m sure the Knights could put together some lodging for you—”

She presses, and you hate the feeling of it. You know her kindness is not misplaced, but it makes you roll around in your skin regardless. Archons. You interrupt her with a tight smile, “Truly, Lisa, I am grateful for the offer, but I will be on my way come tomorrow morning. Perhaps another year.”

“Perhaps.”

You sip your tea in silence for a moment. You stew, barely, not at her specifically but circumstance. It boils just underneath your skin, just as it has been since you entered Mond’s border. Speaking to Lisa has only made the feeling grow and burn. 

You can’t meet her gaze— you can’t. You can feel it on you regardless. You know you’ll see more pity and maybe that familiar bite of anger she wields so well. 

“Why don’t you tell me when and how you got that Vision then?” She nods low, down to your waist. Your dendro Vision hums there, tied to you with a fraying, braided string that desperately needs replacing. 

There isn’t a problem with indulging a bit of... this, is there? You’re only sitting to chat. Drinking some tea. You can hunt for that healer and duck out of Mond’s walls by sundown. Easy. You pluck one of the buttery-looking pastries from the box and plop it on your plate. 

“Sure, but only if I can get a refill on this tea.” You smile and raise your cup.

...

You lose track of time, talking to Lisa. 

You do tell her how you obtained your Vision, and of your subsequent journey through Snezhnaya to its port following your graduation. She tells you some of the new gossip of Ordo Favonius, and that she’s been thinking about picking out a ring to give to Jean (though, she has a hunch the other already has one in mind. Lisa thinks it'll be fun to meddle with whatever precise plan the Acting Grand Master (nice) has in place.)

She continues to pour you tea and push more baked goods onto your plate. You enjoy them, and her company. It’s a rare treat to sit down for so long with nothing more than chatting on your mind. 

“How was studying in Snezhnaya?” Lisa asked, eyeing your various bags. “Cold, I imagine?”

“Very.” You grimace, fishing around in your satchel. “But, worth it.” 

You pull forth a palm-sized metal insignia. You keep it tucked away, most of the time, only flashing the thing when necessary. You only need legitimacy every so often.

“Oh, wow.” Lisa gawks a bit. “May I see?”

You hand it to her. “Be my guest.”

She studies the metal, running her fingertips along the edges where the different colors meet. Vibrant blues meet greens and whites, with pink and purple flowers cast around the bottom edge. The shape resembles something between a shield and wheel, with each one of its seven portions having some meaning for the institution. They escape you now. 

“I’ve heard that the Tselostnyy School is quite the place,” Lisa says. “No one at the Akademiya seemed fond of them, but I imagine it was out of some sort of insecurity.”

You snort. “Probably. Folks at Tselostnyy actually teach healing— not just study the human body for the sake of some academic pursuit. The two schools have opposing goals.”

It was one of the main reasons you declined to apply to the Akademiya at all. 

“I’m glad you found a place to study— I know it was hard, after Teacher passed away.” Lisa reaches out as she speaks, going for your hand. 

You withdrew your own from the tabletop, hiding it in your lap. “It was. But I managed.”

‘Managed.’

Lisa gives you a look that drips pity. She looks as though she’s going to reply, just as the door to enter the library clicks open. 

Your gut drops to the floor and your shoulders stiffen. 

“Lisa? Could you proofread this draft for me? I’m afraid I sound too formal again—” It’s Jean, it’s Jean.

It’s her voice, the distantly familiar click of her hard heels against the wood flooring. You bunch the fabric of your trousers in your fist, forcibly reminding yourself to breathe. Jean walks from behind you, rounds the table, stops at Lisa’s side and looks at you. 

Jean’s eyes widen.

“Oh, sorry sweetheart— I’m a bit busy with a friend right now,” Lisa says easily, oblivious (seemingly, probably not.) She gestures to you and winks. “I can take a look after lunch, if you can take a break with me.” 

Jean says your name— gasping it more or less, tightening her grip on the document in her hands. 

“... Hi, Jean.” You give her a little wave. “How have you been?”

It’s bittersweet, the feeling that curls and grows in your chest as she brightens and pulls up a chair next to Lisa. It’s familiar and rotten, all the same.

...

The commotion in the library brings other visitors.

Lisa wears a smitten smile as other knights make their way into the library. Aramia and Flyn— they look older, long grown out of their adolescence and more into their skin. Hertha has crinkles around her eyes that grow tight when she recognizes who you are. 

The Spark Knight barrels in the room being lazily chased by—

Kaeya.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck— 

He scoops up the little knight and turns to the tea table, now surrounded by familiar faces, and you can see he has his lips pursed for some sort of teasing quip. Probably at the expense of the Ordo’s acting Grand Master and Librarian.

Then, Kaeya sees you. 

You watch his jaw snap shut. Whatever clever thing he had to say dies on his tongue and you watch it. It’s a little satisfying after all this time. You’ll cherish this moment, you think. The split second of confusion, the realization, the shock and— the guilt.

He wipes the expression off his face easily, as if it were never there to begin with. But you’ll revel in his discomfort. Your own little revenge, several years too late.

“Oh, wow—” Kaeya whistles, clicking closer and settling Klee on his hip with a bounce. He says your name almost breathlessly. “Little sister, it’s been quite some time. We’ve missed you.”

“Did you?” You tilt your head. “That’s surprising.”

You hold your tongue. You dig your teeth into the sides of it, forcing yourself quiet. The feeling that’s boiling in your chest won’t be extinguished by verbally thrashing Kaeya in the middle of the Knight’s HQ— but, Archons—

It’s tempting.

“‘Sister’?” The little knight’s nose scrunches. “Mister Kaeya, you said you only had Diluc, who’s only kinda your brother. No sisters!”

“He’s teasing me,” you placate her, voice sweetening. The little knight looks at you with wide eyes, a little awed. “‘Mister Kaeya’ is an old friend of mine, we played together lots when we were little like you.”

An oversimplification, of course. Little Klee doesn’t need to know what happened after the sun-swept days of sword fighting and house ended at the winery. Kaeya’s air quickly fades as Klee squirms down and asks kindly for a hug. You don’t think she can remember you— you only held her once, when she was so small— but you know her kind age and remember so differently from your own.

“Why are you in town?” Kaeya asks. “I thought I’d never seen you within city limits again. Color me surprised.”

You lock your jaw, as Klee bounds away from you and wrestles her way onto Jean’s lap, “Passing through, is all. I’ll be gone by morning.”

“... So, you’re not staying for Windblume?” Kaeya sits, pouring himself a cup of tea. You think you might hate him. “That’s a shame.” 

“I’m not,” you clarify and roll your eyes. “Though everyone is insisting that I do.”

“You really should.” Lisa takes the opening and insists, “It would be lovely to have you.”

Of the group that has congested in the library, you only hear agreement. Jean has a bright look in her eye that makes you shy away. 

“I... I really shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” Kaeya grins, foxlike. You think he just likes making you squirm.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Jean inquires, setting her chin on her fist.

“Well, no—” There’s always somewhere for you to be. You can’t stay. You shouldn’t even be here now. 

“Then, stay.” Eula leans against the doorframe, entered at some point. 

You’re being thoroughly peer-pressured, it seems. 

“...I’m being bullied into staying for Windblume, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps.” Jean gives you a sheepish grin. “You’re missed, Windblume is just an excuse.”

You ache. 

“Stay in the city, enjoy some wine,” Lisa insists. “Catch up with folks. I’d love to see more of you while you’re here. I’m sure you have stories to share of your travels.”’

You barter, “... If I do stay, I need to find a healer. I heard that there’s a skilled one, living in Mond. A Vision holder.”

Jean opens her mouth, but Kaeya speaks first. “Done.”

You consider. 

You’re fully aware that your arm is being horribly twisted into staying for Windblume. You know this is unwise. But—

(There’s something to it. Something you can’t admit it to, not aloud, not yet— but being in a room full of people who do not see you as a stranger, but rather an old friend. They know your name, and you know theirs. There’s something to knowing the streets you will walk if you stay. Familiarity is a wretched comfort.)

“If you need lodging, the knights could easily put you up in the dormitories,” Jean offers.

“No, I—” You sigh, scrubbing a hand down your cheeks. “I appreciate the gesture, but if I do stay I’ll camp outside the city.”

“So you’re staying?” Klee’s eyes shine. 

“I—”

“In that case, come out for drinks tonight,” Kaeya insists with a sly smile that makes you want to eat glass. “I’ll buy a round.”

“Wait—”

“Angel’s Share does bring out its Windblume vintage tonight—” Lisa says enticingly. 

“Absolutely not.” You smack your hand on the table, far louder than you intend. 

Kaeya cocks his head, amused. Lisa and Jean share a look, and the rest of the knights look a bit bewildered. You hate to raise your voice, but Archons, this crowd can be pushy.

“I’ll stay. But I’m not going to Angel’s Share.” Never ever again.

Lisa does seem to notice her error in suggesting it and gives you an apologetic smile. She reaches for your hand and squeezes. You feel a bit lighter.

“Diluc won’t be there,” Kaeya states. On the nose. “He doesn’t bartend on weeknights, even during Windblume.”

“... Really?”

“He doesn’t,” Eula corroborates. “I have knowledge as well that he is in the middle of merchant deals with a group from Natlan. There is no reason to think he’d be at Angel’s Share this evening, if that’s your concern.”

You pick at the skin around your nails. 

“I’ll think about it.”

(You agree, by the time you leave Ordo HQ. After many other promises of free wine and dancing, you find it hard to refuse. It doesn’t hurt that you confirm with multiple others that Diluc doesn’t bartend on weeknights. That he’s been caught up in business, and hasn’t been in the city much at all.)

...

You had enough mora for a few nights of lodging. You figured that Goth may have even given you a discount, as an old friend of his. Archons know how many times you worked odd jobs for him and his sons, patching up walls and the occasion twisted ankle or jammed finger. 

After some searching, you find Goth in one of the many gardens of Mond proper. As happy as he is to see you, he regretfully informs you that he has no free lodging. 

“Windblume has booked out all of my short-term properties,” Goth sighs. “Unless you’re looking for a minimum six-month lease, I don’t have any rooms available.”

(Goth explains to you that the goddamn Fatui has rented out the entirety of his hotel... indefinitely? Upfront? Hence the lack of a room.)

You tell him it’s no trouble, wave off his concern. You don’t mind a few more nights of camping. The only allure of an inn or hotel was the possibility of consistently bathing and a soft mattress. 

You pick a spot outside of Mondstadt proper to set up your camp. There are many tents already set up— travelers, like yourself, here for the festival. You recognize colors and fabrics from all over Teyvat. It warms something in you, that you aren’t alone in being an outsider here.

(Such a thought feels wrong, because it is, isn’t it? You aren’t an outsider at all. This is your home. The only place you’re not an outsider.) 

You struggle to set up your tent, and decide to leave it for later. Wandering around Mond for the afternoon aggravated your injury, and you instead take the time to poke around in your medicine kit for a quick tincture. Something to settle the—

(Burning, screeching pain that tracks up your leg. You’re grateful the other travelers aren’t watching how you collapse against a pile of discarded crates, barely holding back a hiss of pain.)

(It’s getting worse, isn’t it?)

Teacher always said that nothing was harder on sickness and wounds than stress. It was a wisdom you remembered but barely heeded.

You use the dropper and place the tincture under your tongue. It tastes bitter and coats your throat as you swallow. 

...

The sun rains gold on Mond as you meander toward the Angel’s Share. Liquid amber that coats the buildings and cobblestones. It’s nostalgic in too many ways, and it makes something behind your ribs ache.

(You’re hit with the distinct urge to run. To turn tail and leave Mondstadt forever, again.)

You shove it down, swallow it whole, and bear it. Bear it. Not forever, just for a few days. You can catch up with some old friends, leave any old scores unsettled and untouched (undisturbed, unthought about—), and depart. Maybe even fix up your foot in the process.

You hesitate outside of Angel’s share.

It looks different than you remember. The door and its frame have been replaced, the door and its frame hardly ached. There’s a message board outside that you can’t recall being there previously. A wreath hangs on the door, woven with blue and white flowers for Windblume.

You want it to be different. You do. Because if things are different, walking into Angel’s Share wouldn’t feel so daunting. You could pretend that this horribly familiar tavern was someplace else entirely. Maybe even delude yourself into thinking that this little building was its own, unique, carved-out square during one of your travels. A fantasy where you’ve never been here before.

(The warmth under your disgust wouldn’t feel so misplaced then.)

You enter.

It’s lively, bustling with patrons of all types with the festival beginning so soon. You recognize clothes and people from all corners of Teyvat, and it comforts you once more. You blend in easily, lingering near the door, and peek at the bar.

Diluc is nowhere to be seen. Another barkeep mans the kegs, barrels, and bottles. You don’t recognize him— which brings you some relief. 

It would be easy. To be delusional about this whole thing. That Angel’s Share could be just a tavern in the middle of nowhere and the faces that are around you have no chance of being familiar. You’re in a sea of folks who are travelers, just like, or mostly unfamiliar. You could, couldn’t you? Tell yourself that this isn’t a place where—

(You had your first drink. Learned how to mix cocktails with Crepus. Play fought Diluc and Kaeya in the rafters on the third floor. Where you last saw Diluc—)

You clutch a hand to your chest. Who knew that emotional pain could be so violently physical? 

Jean calls your name from across the room, pulling you from your stupor. You meet her eyes, and the smile you force to meet your eyes feels a little more genuine.

With the call of your name, several other patrons look up and gawk for a moment. You get a few more ‘oh hello!’s and ‘I didn’t know you were in town!’ thrown your way and you give them all sheepish smiles. Faces you can’t place very well. Features and familiar expressions mutilated by time and a botched memory. It makes you feel sick to your stomach— archons, and you haven’t even sampled this year’s selection of thousand-wind’s wine, have you? 

Jean flashes you a sympathetic look when you finally make it to their table. The table is flushed full— intimidatingly so. The knights have come out tonight. Lisa and Jean cozy up on the same bench seat, while Kaeya (die) and Albedo sit across from the two. You offer the alchemist a timid wave, which he returns in kind. Some of the other knights have spilled out to the tables around you, chattering away with wine-stained lips.

And the night’s still young.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show,” Kaeya practically purrs (choke) and leans closer to you on an elbow. “Were you able to find some lodging for the festival?”

“Yeah, I found something that will work.” It’s not technically a lie. Besides, they don’t need to know where you’re sleeping.

Kaeya raises an eyebrow and Albedo elbows him politely in the ribs. You make a note to buy him a drink later.

“I’ll get this round,” Lisa says, standing and grabbing you by the arm. “My treat. A welcome home present.”

You let her tug you through the crowd.

You end up seated properly at a barstool while Lisa orders. She wove her way through the crowd and up to the bar so easily, like liquid. You hardly have to wait at all before a drink is passed to you across the bar top.

You gulp half the glass down, greedily.

You, notably, have chosen not to cessate from dandelion wine in your absence. It was a rare treat to come across outside of Mond and Liyue, so when you could get your hands on glass, you let yourself partake. Whatever melancholy it brought with it could be tempered with more of it anyways.

It goes down easy— it always does. Thicker than other wines, sweet but bodied, with some type of nutty and berry note to it. You never understood the process of winemaking, despite so many years spent at the winery. When Crepus or Diluc or one of the staff attempted to explain, it all easily went over your head. 

The tannins sour your cheeks. You swallow down another mouthful, greedy, and slam down your empty goblet. Lisa looks at you wide-eyed.

“I don’t recall that you were ever much of a drinker,” Lisa remarks as she flags down another glass for you. She sips her own, mischief in her eyes. 

You shrug, nodding to the barkeep who fills your cup. “I indulge, occasionally. Forgive me for needing a drink in this environment.”

You gesture to the carousing around you. A lyre and fiddle play in the corner, and you distinctly hear two different bard songs. One is significantly better than the other, and you may have even enjoyed it if you could hear it fully. 

Being near the bar forces you to see changes. They’re hard to not notice. The signage behind the bar has changed. An old menu and drink list have been changed out for something sleeker. Paintings and their frames replaced. The glass you’re drinking out must be new, along with the tankards that the barkeep washes whenever he has a free moment.

There are still ghosts in the corners.

“Gods, you look like a wet towel.” Kaeya’s shouts, nearly in your goddamn ear, as he slips into the empty seat next to you. He drapes an arm over your shoulders like you’re old friends and not the byproducts of a dissolved relationship. You think about shrugging his arm off, but decide against it. 

You throw back the rest of whatever is in your glass and shout for another.

Kaeya catches your eye for a moment with a nearly unreadable expression. You recognize it (and concur that you need to be far more drunk than you currently are in order to survive the evening.) His brow lays smooth, lips in a not-quite smile, and his posture is a bit too rigid. You know he’s picking you apart, albeit quietly.

The expression disappears a moment later, and he has a new bottle of wine in his hands (“For you, little sister.”) Your cup fills yet again, and you drink.

The world begins to feel fuzzier, easier, and the pain in your foot and leg dulls. God, you try not to indulge in drinking too often (it’s simply a recipe for reliance, given your condition. Regardless, you're a physician who knows better than to turn to the bottle rather than medicine), but you feel the temptation of it occasionally. 

It’s an easy friend to indulge in under these circumstances.

One of the bards, the one with loose braids, strikes up a conversation with Kaeya, looping you in with an exchange of introduction. Your cheeks warm when you notice the slur of your words, sipping your cup to disguise any embarrassment. The bard must be drunk, with how much sweet wine he drinks, but he hardly acts it. Poised.

Lisa pats you on your back after your fourth glass, seemingly pitying you in your stupor. 

The good bard, at some point, leaves Kaeya’s side. Kaeya’s back to leaning into yours, the furs of his outfit prickling your nose. If you were sober, you’d be spewing curses at him. But in your drunken mind... it was fine. Fine. Maybe the warmth of him against your side wasn’t entirely unwelcome either.

You loosen up, whether you want to or not. 

Lisa drags you out of your stool after your fifth drink, to take pulls off a pipe a traveler offers and to dance with her in the main room of the tavern. The bards play a duet now, in tune, though the good bard from earlier carries the performance.

You laugh as she twirls you, dipping you near the floor. Some of the patrons cheer and whistle at the move, and you let loose a giggle that never would’ve left you in your right mind. Her face swims before you. Your insides are warm. Things are okay, maybe. For now.

So, you dance.

You dance with Jean and Kaeya, even dragging Hertha in for a round. Eula refuses, though apologetically. She’s a bit too drunk herself, and Amber insists on staying by her side to nurse her with water and pyro-warmed pets to the back of her neck.

(Do you envy them? Maybe. The skinship of it seems nice. They’re so familiar with each other, even from a distance. So lax and tender with each other even within such a setting. You cannot imagine receiving such treatment.)

Kaeya spins you back to the bar and buys you another glass.

“You dance better than you used to,” he croons in your ear. “even with that dreadful limp of yours.”

You bark out a laugh and punch him in the arm with hardly any force (you’ll regret not making it hurt more, later). “Wow, and here I thought wine curbed your silver tongue.”

“Unlike some, I can hold my liquor just fine.” He shrugs and sips.

You, on the other hand, turn the corner from ‘tipsy’ to ‘blasted’ as you hit the bottom of your goblet. Your stomach churns, spelling a hangover that will rot your stomach and the space between your eyes come the morning. The room doesn’t spin, not quite yet. 

You lay your forehead on the bartop. 

“Aw, had a bit too much?” Kaeya tsks. “How unfortunate of you, to not know your limits, even after all this time.”

You grumble something unintelligible. 

He sets a cold hand on the nape of your neck and your ground yourself on it.

(You can regret it in the morning.)

You have absolutely no idea what time it is, though the tavern is still rowdy. You imagine late, at least near the high moon if not into the early morning. Windblume was a celebration of drinking after all. Angel’s Share stays lively, despite the hour, though the drone of voices and folk songs becomes lost on you as your eyes slip shut.

Amongst the din, there’s a firm thud— the sound of wood on wood. Another sounds just after, though much closer and more shallow. You only make out the sound because of its old familiarity. The sound of the counter flap falling and straining its hinges. It must be one of the only pieces of original hardware from the old Angel’s share— the sound is identical to the one in your memory (maybe, you’re drunk, you may just be nostalgic—)

The barkeep (Charles, he told you his name though you didn’t give him yours) shuffles away, maybe, based on the thump of feet amongst the roar of the tavern. A shift change.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show.” Kaeya’s hand leaves you. You can hear the grin in his voice.

There’s a huff from behind the bar. The clink of a glass. A squeak as it’s dried and shined with a rag.

“Do you think I’m unreliable?” 

Your eyes stretch open, wide, in a flash. Horrible, wretched familiarity (with the way a voice can bring you so much anguish and warmth in tandem.) You don’t look up. You stare down at the floorboards, count the grains and notches in the wood. Steady your breathing. 

You know that voice.

You look up, slowly, against all better judgment. If you were sober (Archons, if you were fucking sober—) you would’ve turned, held your eyes shut and ran out of the bar without looking back. You would’ve never dared to peak and pull the thread that dangled in front of you.

He’s blurry, but he’s there. A trim waist that leads up to broad shoulders, arms that bulge more than you remember, scarlet hair that falls in waves from a high-tied ribbon. Scarlet eyes, cut and polished like rubies. 

It’s Diluc, who meets your gaze for the first time in almost a decade. Just as shocked and wide-eyed as you are. 

The glass slips from his hands and shatters.

PART iii: the World (born)

You met Diluc Ragnvindr when you were just children, doing what children do best— playing while the adults talked.

Your parents— traveling merchants— and Crepus Ragnvindr sat down for wine and sweet rum after a lavish supper. Your parents shooed you off. They didn’t need you clinging to their legs while trying to discuss the intricacies of a potential (and lucrative) contract with Dawn Winery and its splendid dandelion wine.

Crepus takes you under his wing a bit, showing your parents to a fine vintage and you to his two boys.

“They like to play in the vineyard this time of day,” Crepus says, a bit wistful. He leads you by the hand. “The crystalflies soar lower when the sun dips beyond the hills, and the fireflies come out.”

You like fireflies.

He shows you out to the courtyard, and you catch sight of two boys scampering around amongst the greenery. Crepus calls them and they both dutifully bound over, the way young boys do, enthusiastic and fast. The one with the pretty blue hair follows the one with the pretty red hair.

Crepus introduces you. Kaeya. Diluc.

Diluc has round cheeks and a soft jaw. He carries baby fat still, pudgy in his arms and legs and round in his belly. His cheeks are flushed with the late summer’s heat and a day of play. He has a brush of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His hair is shorter than it will become, but long enough that you think your mother would envy him.

His eyes widen when he sees you. You’ll never be sure why.

(Kismet turned for him earlier, maybe. All it took was you.)

You spend the evening with your side wedged into Diluc's, watching the lazy flight of anemo crystalflies by the water. You tell the boys about the constellations you know, and make up a few that you don’t. You trace them in the sky with the tip of your pointer finger. You ask to braid Diluc’s hair and he lets you. 

Crepus finds you all, just after dusk, dozing as the fireflies begin to dance.

...

Your family visits the winery several times each year. You enjoy the visits immensely. You’ve grown quite close to the Ragnvindr’s, and Kaeya too. You always barrel off your family’s wagon, running ahead of them to greet the boys, who are always waiting for you too.

You play swords with them, though you aren’t any good at it. You always bring them trinkets from wherever you and your family have been. You like to gift Crepus a book or two as well, though you don’t know what they’re about. You choose them based on the covers.

Diluc lights up when you hand him a little shell from Liyue’s shore. You tell him about the cliffs where you found it, and how you’ll go there together some day. You’ll show him the geometric columns of stone that seem to climb all the way to Celestia. You will show him where the sand bars become one with the sea, and how to dig for crabs and shells with your bare hands. 

Diluc likes you, you think. He always lets you slip into his room after the manor has fallen asleep. You sit across from one another on the velvet window bench. You hug a pillow while he tells you about how he’ll start training as a knight soon. He holds a vision now— he pats it with pride. 

(He tells you how he obtained his vision in your absence. The first time he picked up a sword against an adversary, it appeared to him. It’s a grand thing, brave. He was protecting one of his favorite stray winery kittens from a boar near the edge of the property. He raised his rubber training sword and he was granted Celestia’s blessing.)

You think he’s lovely.

...

The boys start training with Ordo Favonius. They practice with the Gunnhildr girl, the older one, who wears a ribbon in her hair and has eyes like midday sky. She’s a few years older than you, and intimidates you with her maturity, but she’s kind. 

The older knights let you watch their training when your family visits. You post up during their drills, watch their forms, their blunders, and their successes. A knight named Varka always takes Diluc aside to teach him how to best wield his vision with his weapon of choice. 

(A greatsword. A claymore. It’s almost your size, probably. The one Diluc uses during training is Favonius issued, smithed with their crest near the base of the blade. You know the one he’ll really use. A family relic that Crepus brought up from storage for him— a rectangular blade, metal cast in black and red, with an elaborate furl stretching from the hilt. Crepus asks Diluc to wield it when he’s ready.)

Kaeya offers you his sword, one day, at the end of training. The junior knights soak in their own sweat as you take the blade from Kaeya. The knights make it look so effortless to wield such weaponry. They carry it at the hip like it's an accessory and not carved metal. When you wrap your hand around it, the weight shocks you. You barely heft it up, struggling with the balance of it. The trainees rib you a bit for it, and it makes you blush hot and hard.

Diluc scolds Kaeya, taking the blade from you when it's clear that brandishing it one-handed as intended is close to impossible for you. You feel some relief when Kaeya takes it back and shrugs. 

“You won’t have to worry about wielding a weapon like that— ever.” Diluc says on your way home (home, home, home, it’s becoming your home—) that day. “Especially a sword.”

“Why?” You ask.

“I’ll make sure you never have to.”

“Hm... what if I want to?” You try to be cheeky with him.

He gives you a playful shove and you bump into Kaeya. The latter groans and makes a choking sound.

“You don’t,” Diluc replies, flashing you a smile. “If you did, you would’ve played swords with Kaeya and I more when we were little. You always liked to watch.”

“It’s more fun that way!” You hip check him. “It’s interesting to see all of it, rather than participate.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kaeya chimes in. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how weak your arms are.” 

He squeezes your bicep and you shriek at him, chasing him ahead down the path. You squabble all the way home (home, home, home), rolling down the hills back into the Winery’s valley. You belly laugh together, tears in your eyes. It’s good. 

You only go silent when you notice your family’s wagon, packed and ready for departure, idling in front of the winery. 

...

You don’t travel well, you never have. 

Your parents had informed Crepus of this during your first visit (“Never well, even when my wife my pregnant— the little thing gave her the hardest time on the road.”) Despite this, you had always meandered with your family on their circuit from Liyue to Mond. 

One of your visits to the winery, just around the turn of your childhood to adolescence, you fall ill.

Your parents brush off your complaints upon arrival. Chills, aches, and a cough— “It’s from the rain. Your clothes are still damp.”. Your usually lively arrival was dulled. You barely touched the dinner Crepus provided before retiring to your favored room.

You hate being sick. You hate how your gut churns and you feel so cold, despite the fire one of the maid’s stoked in the big fireplace. You sniffle and snot over the back of your hand, fighting tears. You fall ill so frequently, but it doesn’t make it easier. Even your softest clothes feel scratchy against your tender skin— you feel horribly breakable. 

There’s a gentle knock on your door before it opens. Diluc joins you by your bedside, kneeling, watching you with wide ruby eyes.

“My father told me you’re sick,” he says gently. “You don’t look well.”

You give him a wilted look. “It happens.”

“... It shouldn’t,” Diluc says with a conviction that your fever forces you to miss. “He says that you get sick often.”

“I don’t travel well.” You parrot what you heard your parents say a thousand times, to innkeepers and merchant-folk alike. “It’s alright, Diluc. I’ll be well in a few days.”

Your teeth chatter. You bury yourself deeper in the covers.

Diluc looks unconvinced. He disrobes as much as is proper, and asks quietly if he can join you. He’s warm, from his pyro vision, he tells you. He can see how cold you feel.

Whether he had such a vision or not, you would’ve said yes.

You pull away the duvet, inviting Diluc closer. It’s innocent, a sharing of heat. You press your forehead to his chest and he lets his arms fall naturally to your waist. It cages you. It feels safe and warm, and you don’t think you’ve felt that before.

You give him the smallest ‘thank you’, voice burnt and charred with fever. Diluc chases off the chill and embers alike, replaces them with the hearth that he will become to you, and you think that kismet might’ve shifted for you then, too. 

...

You leave, a few days later, still sick. 

You return, several months later, still sick.

Whatever cold you had during your last visit had metastasized— or so your parents say. They seem moderately unconcerned as they sort through the inventory they’ll be taking for their run.

Crepus doesn’t look convinced. 

Diluc helps you inside. You barely hold yourself on two feet, and need to stop and catch your breath several times. Kaeya loops his arm over your neck and Diluc hoists you by the waist, and the two nearly drag you to your room. 

A doctor is called, a healer from Mond that knows the Ragnvindr’s well. Diluc and Kaeya stay by your side as the healer draws up tincture and grinds down herbs and oils into a soft balm to slather on your chest. 

Diluc lays with you in bed again that night, over the covers, not daring to touch you. You seem so fragile, only half-there in the room with him. He resents your parents horribly for allowing you to carelessly decline in such a state. It shows in the way his expression twists into a scowl whenever they’re within his vicinity.

...

Crepus offers his home to you— no, rather he insists.

You’re still ill, lungs gunky and fever hardly waned, by the time your family deigns it time to leave. They plan to cart you along, never mind your condition. Diluc, if he had less restraint, would’ve cursed them out in the winery’s foyer. 

(The wet sound of your breathing. The little whimpers when your fever spiked, signaling that it was time for more of the tincture the healer left behind. The way you balled your fist in his nightshirt during the worst of it.)

Crepus says it’ll be no trouble to house you, for however long you need. You’ve always taken to the winery easily, and clearly need a stable place to recover from your illness. He enjoys taking in a stray or two. One more, especially one he thinks so fondly of and that he knows his boys adore, is simply a blessing, not a burden.

...

Diluc ascends to cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius just around the time that you make a full recovery. 

It takes months— for both of you. Diluc patrols and trains with the knights when he’s not by your side. He’s incredibly well-regarded by Mond, beloved by his fellow knights and the townsfolk as well. He has ample support from all around, and his father glows with pride. 

(Diluc bears the weight of his father’s expectations well. You don’t even notice Diluc squirm under the pressure of it. It all seems to come naturally to him— being a hero.)

You see your healer every few days, drink your teas and diligently rest while you recover. The illness sticks in your lungs and you take to reading up on medicinal plants and potential treatments. It gives you some understanding of the remedies that your healer makes for you. Your healer finds you promising, despite your sickly state, and offers you an apprenticeship, if you choose to pursue such a profession.

It’s success after success, a time bathed in thick gold sun that feels as warm as it tastes.

You and Diluc dance at his ascension celebration. He holds you by the waist, clumsy like the young man he is, but you don’t mind. You loop your arms over his shoulders, memorizing the blush that paints his cheeks, and the dimples that carve them. You twirl him under your arm and laugh up to the sun and moon alike. You pull the ribbon from his hair so it unfurls over his shoulder. You run your hands through it without a care.

(Diluc looks at you, when you’re not looking at him, with such a reverence. You can’t see it yet, but it’s a burgeoning thing. Love and devotion caramelized by innocence, by want and need intertwined. He doesn’t know how to say how he feels, not yet; the feelings are still loose and undefined. But smoldering kindling he is.)

...

Crepus offers his home to you, permanently. You have taken to it so well, and his boys— his boys adore you. The staff does. You have so much growing for you in Mond, it seems silly to pack up your belongings small and tight so you can ride out on merchants circuit once more. Only to return sick once more.

You accept, hesitant at first. It’s a scary thing to give up the life you’ve known, even if the one Crepus extends to you is far more comfortable. Your parents have no qualms. You think they enjoyed your absence too much. They seem content to leave you at Dawn Winery, promising to continue their circuit, so you’d see them a few times a year.

It makes something in your ache and cry, but there’s many things to balm it in the manor. A warm fire and Adelinde’s recipes, along with whatever new tarts and sweets Crepus brings home from Mondstadt proper— they all make it easier. Good company too. Kaeya always has new ideas for schemes and little adventures. Crepus brings you gifts and makes sure you’re settling in well to your new space. Diluc is ever-dutifully at your side, whatever the circumstance, and you at his. 

You still sneak into Diluc’s room in the late night. You nestle up, side by side, on his plush window bench. You link pinkies and talk about everything.

...

“I thought this one was a bit boring.” You look up to Diluc, backwards, craning your neck. “The love interest was a bit shallow for me.”

“I agree,” Diluc answers from above you. He shuts the book deftly with one hand. “This author’s pieces usually have a bit more depth to them. This one was a bit flat.”

You tend to come to the same conclusion on the stories you share.

The Small Study (ow, ow, ow, ow) is a room most near Crepus’ wing of the manor. It’s exactly as it sounds— a small study. Something Diluc’s mother made sure was constructed for him, prior to her leaving. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line the walls, with a long table slicing the room in two. When you were young, very young, you, Diluc, and Kaeya would sit at the table and write your own stories. Color with paints that Crepus bought for you from Snezhnaya on recycled receipts and old ledgers. 

These days, the table is mostly bare and a bit dusty. You use it more than Diluc, though most of your studying with your teacher happens at their cottage, in Mond proper. Diluc and Kaeya have a training room a few doors down, one that Crepus constructed, with mats and straw targets, and more armaments than Ordo Favonius probably knows about. 

Most of your time in the Small Study is spent in the corner, tucked close to each other. You have amassed an impressive number of spare sheets, pillows, and blankets, and have constructed what could only be called a nest. You and Diluc take to lounging on it in the mornings and evenings, when you both have the time. You read together. Sometimes you aloud to him, and sometimes him aloud to you.  

Diluc’s voice has taken to breaking lately. You find it adorable and can’t help teasing him about it.

“I’ll have to hunt for a new novel at the markets today.” You sigh. The sun is rising above the cliffs, bathing the shelves and columns of dust ichor gold. You throw your hand up, watching the beam soak your skin warm.

Diluc catches your wrist and brings the back of your hand to his lips. 

Little things, skinship, he likes. He never says anything much about it, only asks quietly if it's alright that he keeps such proximity to you. You eat it up, his heat, his presence— you want all of it. You’re gluttonous in your youth (you have yet to know starvation.)

“Be careful on patrol today, okay? I’m helping Adelinde make that sweet bread you like before I visit Teacher.” You huff, maneuvering to you’re at his eye level. You tug his cheek, still soft with baby fat. “You better not have any extra bruises when I pick you up today.”

“I’ll try.” He rolls his eyes. “Even if I do, you’ll patch me up, won’t you?” 

“I could have Teacher do it,” you huff. “I know you don’t like how rough they can get with you.”

Diluc scoffs, “They don’t like me—”

“They like you plenty—” 

You squabble, soft in your chests, because it's all easy and slow. The romance novel gets tucked away into an overflowing shelf, bulging with others that you’ve already finished. 

Kaeya is shining his blade in the armory, and you collect him before heading to Mondstadt proper. It’s a routine, each day, one that you enjoy and cling to. You enjoy your training and you feel only pride seeing your boys bud and grow in their strength. You fight, like young ones of your age do, but it's all in jest. Simple. Your squabbles get settled with wrestling by the river or when Crepus intervenes and fathers the three of you.

It’s good and you never want it to end.

...

Diluc grows into himself. He’s gangly in his teen years— long arms and bulging shoulder blades he’s yet to grow into. The pudge he’d had around his belly has disappeared, sucked away by a growth spurt or two. He grows a bit more into his frame, each year closer to adulthood that he gets. Muscle building on muscle. 

Teacher says you’re doing well with your studies. You pour over books on medicinal herbs and medical techniques during the day, and watch Teacher heal when patients are around. You become adept enough to see patients on your own, for small injuries. 

You fix up Diluc whenever he comes home to you. Cuts. Bruises. The odd fracture or two. He’s the person you ever stitch a wound together for. He doesn’t flinch. So trusting.

...

Crepus gets odd, at some point. You’re almost old enough to be considered an adult. He starts asking you questions you know the answer to, but it seems like he’s seeking something other than the truth. Sentiments that he wants to squeeze out of you, to satiate something in him that you can clearly see, but don’t know how to name.

(He’s a businessman— is it in his nature to be greedy—?)

(Forget. Forget. Forget.)

...

You wish it had stayed so kind and good for longer. You wish you appreciated it more, but you didn’t fully understand the goodness laid before you until it was so brutally ripped away from you. 

The night Diluc turns eighteen, your world shatters. Burns. Immolates while you lay drunkenly dozing in a friend's warm bed. You don’t greet the wreckage until you awaken. Alone, drowning and with a new pang in your stomach.

PART iii: the stitch the wound the burning

You instantly slam your hands on the bartop. You whip your head around to Kaeya. He wears a wide, awful grin. So fucking smitten with himself.

You hate him. 

“Fuck you,”  you snap. 

You push up, knocking the bar stool over with a bang. You turn on a heel and run from the tavern. Wordless.

(You run. You should’ve run. You should’ve never come back. Ever.)

You know the display caused enough of a ruckus that Angel’s Share fell nearly silent as you left. You know that your vision shuddered out of your control, sending dendro to liven the flowers around the tavern. It felt sick. To know that the blooms would be wider and more beautiful while you ran. Running, running, running. 

Lisa and Jean, maybe, shout your name as you sprint away. You ignore them— you have to. The temptation to turn back and face them drowns in the wine that churns in your stomach. Your breath feels too hot and heavy in your lungs, like lead and steam. You feel like you might die.

(Diluc in the same room as you. Diluc in front of you.  Not a ghost, a breathing body. Flesh. He would’ve been a bit too warm, to the touch. You know him to be. He’d grown so much— how much had you missed? Archons, you miss him—)

You barely get out of Mondstadt proper before you bracing yourself on one its outer walls, forcing your finger down your throat, and heaving your guts out onto the high grass. All of the splendid wine you sampled color the ground blood red, surely staining your lips. Tears drip from your lash line. You feel sticky as you draw your fingers from your throat, spit and dribble sliding down your wrist. 

You curse and shake. 

You wipe your hands down on your trousers and scrub at your lips with the edge of your sleeve. You spit pretty scarlet and nearly hurl again.

The sun has set, and the dark is a comfort. It cloaks you, allowing you to duck easily between shadows and firelight that other travelers warm themselves by. No one looks at you twice. You’re sure you seem like a drunkard, not— Not whatever you are. You drag yourself back to your campsite.

You fall to the ground, drawing up your good leg by the knee and press your forehead to it.

Fuck.

Fuck the healer. Fuck Windblume. Fuck seeing any friends or familiar faces. You discard the plans, crushing them down until you decide they’re not worth it. None of this was worth it. If you’d only ducked in and out of Mondstadt’s market, you wouldn’t have met Lisa. Gotten twisted up with Kaeya. Dared to enter Angel’s Share. Seen Diluc.

You knew the mere sight of him would send you. You knew. You feel foolish. Stupid. If you were a fraction more sober, you would’ve dragged yourself out of self pity and set up camp for the night. Instead you stew. You swallow back dread and bile and clutch your shoulders.

(You always knew this was a risk, coming back here, didn’t you? That’s why you never dared to even get near Mondstadt’s borders. Now you’ve done it.)

You certainly have.

You rub your eyes again, grimacing at the taste in your mouth. Forcing yourself up is a task, especially trying to keep weight off of your (now very) bad foot. You struggle to balance, propping yourself up on a pile of discarded crates and get to work setting up your campsite for the night. You resolve to sleep until dawn, pack up, and be on your way. You’ll head back to Liyue and catch a boat out of the harbor. You’ll go anywhere. Do anything. 

(To be far away from here.)

You struggle with your tent and tarp. It’s infinitely harder to set up your sleeping arrangements when you’re hobbling around on one leg. Emptying your stomach of its content has made you lightheaded (or, it's the panic that is thick and porous in your blood. Burrowing into your flesh. Will you even be able to sleep tonight?) You fight to keep your breath steady as you struggle to stake the tarp into the dirt.

Someone says your name from behind you. Breathes it like it's lighter than air, weighted like a gospel.

You turn, for the second time, against better judgment.

Diluc stands above you, wearing the same shocked expression he had in Angel’s Share. 

Your lips twist, your brow falls. You feel yourself sink. It’s the same feeling you get in your stomach when you’re put toe-to-toe with an adversary out in the wilderness. It’s the feeling you get when you get a patient a little too late and can’t be sure if you’ll be able to drag them back from the brink.

You breathe his name right back.

“... You’re here,” he says. His voice has evened out. Deeper than you remember, and rougher, but barely.

“I am,” you answer as neutrally as you can. You school your expression and turn back to your tarp. “Please leave.”

Diluc doesn’t answer. He’s frozen above you, so close that you swear you can feel the heat coming off of him. 

“Don’t ask me to do that,” Diluc says, like a demand and not a request.

You bristle.

“I’m setting up my camp for the night,” you state plainly. “Then I will be sleeping. I will be gone by dawn tomorrow. I apologize for any disruption I caused at... at Angel’s Share.”

You press your hands over the top of a nail. The iron digs into your palms. You shove at it anyway, until it’s snug against the earth.

“I don’t care about that,” Diluc replies with an edge to his voice that’s unfamiliar. “That’s not of consequence.”

“... Then why are you here?” You crawl across the ground, brace yourself on a crate, and stand. Your weak foot hovers just off the ground. “Why follow me, Diluc? I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You say his name like it's a curse and face him.

(And it’s like coming home.)

(If you had any less of yourself, you would’ve sank into the earth and wept.)

“I don’t,” he says. Arms crossed. Shoulders square. You see him struggle with his words, chewing on the inside of his cheek, just like he used to. “You left so quickly, and Kaeya—”

“Bastard,” you spit. 

Diluc muffles a laugh (a full sound so lovely— you used to do anything to hear it). “He didn’t tell you I would be bartending, I’m assuming?”

“He told me, expressly, that you would not be bartending.” 

“... It is my tavern. Windblume is the busiest time of the year.” He looks a bit wounded. You can’t tell if you’re imagining it. “Kaeya sent word that Ordo would be at Angel’s Share in full force this evening. My presence was called.”

You scowl, “I realize that now.”

Diluc sighs, deep and hard and full, “You left so quickly, and Kaeya told me you were most likely staying outside of the city. I was... worried.”

You let out a breath through your teeth, maybe a laugh, some unholy thing and you shake your head. You can’t bear to look at him for too long, “Well, I’m fine. Promise. I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Clearly.”

“And you weren’t expecting to see me?”

“No.” Diluc sighs. “I... No. I wasn’t.”

You don’t know what else to say to him. 

“Go.” You shoo him off. “I need to finish setting up and get some sleep. Sorry again for causing any trouble.”

You turn away, going to reach for your tent—

Diluc grabs your upper arm. He keeps you steady and upright.

“You didn’t.”

The contact burns. Sears through you like you’re just gossamer and old silk. You tense with it. When did his heat become unfamiliar?

You open your mouth, part your lips just barely, but nothing comes out. Your mind empties.

“Come back to the winery.”

His words cut you from any of your reverie. Your grief forces itself up in plumes, from the base of your spine to the corners of your damp eyes.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You tear away from him. 

He lets you go. (You suffocate the part of you that mourns the loss.) 

“It’s not safe outside the walls.” He takes a step back. Breathing room. “There’s no lodging available in the city, I’m sure you found.”

“I did, and I’m fine out here, Diluc. I can protect myself just fine.” You pat the dendro Vision on your hip. Your weapon remains unsummoned and out of sight.

“It’s going to rain.” Diluc frowns. “And, your tent is torn.”

He gestures behind you, and sure enough, a massive tear runs through an entire side of your tent. You hadn’t noticed. 

(If you will not go where you are supposed to be, perhaps fate will push you there? Align the stars and cosmos just right—)

“I recall that you never enjoyed camping,” Diluc says and it's like a knife to the chest. The idea that he remembers anything about you. “You’ll have a bed for as long as you’d like.”

“Diluc—” You’re near to cursing him out, let the Archons, Celestia and the damn Stars hear it—

“I’m sure Adelinde would love you to see you too.”

Oh.

Oh— Adelinde. When was the last time you sent her a letter? Or read one of hers? You have a stack of them, sealed with purple wax and bound in twine, shoved in your bag. Among your most prized possessions. You’ve hardly let the ink smudge, despite time and condition.

“... She still works for you?”

“Of course.” Diluc’s voice sounds strained. 

“Elzer too?” You ask.

“Yes, he’s been at my side since—”

“Since you came back to Mondstadt,” you answer for him. “Since you returned to the winery.”

Elzer had been at your side too, when you were running the winery in Diluc’s absence. Same with Adelinde.

Archons, you miss them. 

“I’ll stay at the winery,” you say after a beat. “So I can see them.”

Diluc lets out a sigh, shaky and short. He flexes his hands, open and closed. Relieved. The moment of vulnerability passes.

“Will you be able to walk there with—” He gestures to your foot.

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” You put weight on it, swallowing down any pain. You can bear it. 

Diluc offers his arm, and you refuse it, striding past him. 

You walk side by side back to Dawn Winery.

...

It does begin to drizzle, eventually. Nothing close to proper rain, but a thick mist that dampens your hair and clothes. The chill of it sinks into you, unpleasant but not unbearable. You cling to the discomfort of it. You and Diluc do not speak to each on the way back, other than the time or two you announce you need a short rest for your foot.

Fatigue hits you as you stumble down the valley paths leading into the winery’s main grounds. 

You blame the wine. 

The front door looks almost the same, perhaps the wood refinished. Diluc pulls forth a shining brass key (different, than the one that you had during your tenure as ‘master’ of Dawn Winery. That key was thick, old iron. Rusting at its corners. It always felt cold and heavy. An entire year it was tied to you. Tethered to your waist on the very same belt that now holds your vision.)

The lock was replaced.

The interior of the winery is different too, you find. It makes stepping inside less jarring— the floors, once dark, long-planked hardwood, has been redone to intricate patterns of lighter, warm-toned wood. Less candles, more electro-powered fixtures set into the walls and ceiling. The couches look different, brighter and fluffier with fresh cushions. Even the grand carpet that covers the main room, bearing the Ragnvindr crest, appears to have been freshened. Maybe even re-tuffed. It’s generally brighter.

“You’ve... updated things.” Your voice trails off as you shrug off your cloak and hang it on your arm. 

Diluc follows your line of sight to a new tapestry on the east-wall. Not of the family crest, but the vineyard. It’s far more ornate than any you remember; you can see the metallic gold weavings shine, even in the lowlight. The tapestry is ringed by paintings, portraits and some landscapes. You recall Crepus commissioning many of them, or creating them himself. There’s a number of new photographs as well.

“I have over the years,” Diluc replies. “It was necessary.”

You hum, pausing. “... I like it. It’s nice.”

It’s nice because it doesn’t feel quite as much like you’re walking into a still-breathing cadaver. You expected to be greeted with an interior you had seared in your memory. Corners you’d still see ghosts in, picture frames that were askew that you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to fix. You know which floorboards were creaky and which windows had the worst draft. 

This version of Dawn Winery from your memory doesn’t exist anymore, in any way or facet. What’s left certainly isn’t blank or void, but it’s more unfamiliar than you expected. It smells like rose oil and beeswax rather than cedar and tobacco. 

“Master Diluc? You’re back earlier than expected.”

Adelinde breaks you from your stupor. 

She looks much the same— the same uniform, though perhaps her hair’s a bit shorter? There’s new wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, sun spots around her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are still kind. They go wide when she sees you, and the mug she’s holding nearly slips from her grip.

Your chest tightens.

She says your name and it’s like you’ve been cut through. Flesh parting around a sharp blade. 

“Hi.” Your voice sounds soft and so much more broken than you can accept it is. 

“Welcome home.” She smiles, all the way up to her eyes.

If you were a little more weak, perhaps a few months more weathered— you would’ve broken then. You would’ve fallen apart in the foyer of Dawn Winery, drowning and hungry and soaked to the bone in something colder than rain water. You hold yourself together, barely, thin threads wound around you to the point of constricting keep you upright. Sure-footed. Almost-whole.

But, Adelinde knows... doesn’t she? She must. She has an uncanny ability for these things. It’s because she watched you grow, watched your toils and supported you. Mothered you when needed. You counseled and consoled each other, during the worst of it.

It makes you feel less guilty, less ashamed, when you nearly throw yourself at her. You wrap your arms around her shoulders and smother your face in her shoulder.

Adelinde hugs you in kind. She still smells like pine-cleaner and that jasmine perfume she imports. She wraps you, in herself, squeezing so hard you’re afraid she’ll undo the strings binding your heart together. 

“H-How have you been?” you ask. Tears sting your eyes.

She strokes the back of your head, through your hair. “I’ve been well. And you?”

You smush your face into her shoulder. You don’t know what to say to her. Instinctual honesty climbs up in your throat— you suppress it. 

“I’ve been better,” you say, softly. You hope only she can hear. “Excited to sleep in a real bed. Take a bath.”

Adelinde goes still, slack— then she almost crushes you. You feel her heartbeat and your lip wobbles.

“I’m glad you’re home, then. Let me fetch you a cup of tea. I’ll make sweet bread in the morning.”

“T-That sounds nice. Thank you.”

Diluc, who has been silent and watchful, clears his throat. “They can take whichever room they like.”

“I’ll prepare the west wing guest room.” (Far from your old bedroom.) She whispers to you. “There was a Fontainisian merchant we were hosting— she left all of her luxury skincare and bath supplies here.”

You pull away, narrowing your eyes, “Are you implying something?”

“Not at all.” She gives you a good-natured smile. “They’re yours. Let’s get you settled.”

You nod and she guides you with a hand on your lower back, up the stairs, to the west wing. Diluc has made himself scarce, seemingly disappearing into thin air to the northern wing of the manor. You only half notice.

Archons, you’re tired.

Adelinde helps you settle in. She sets your bag on a vanity stool, shows you a newly renovated bathroom with a tub that could easily fit you and a Rishboland tiger in it. The rest of the details of the room fade. Something stickier and older than fatigue works its way up through your bone marrow, leaving your body as a yawn.

Adelinde gives you a sympathetic smile when she brings you a cup of lavender and chamomile tea. 

The world is blurry when you crash into the pillows. They smell like the herbal detergent you suckered Crepus into buying during your teen years. Diluc liked it. Whatever potential revulsion you could have has wilted with your exhaustion. Instead, something warm brews in you. You shove your nose into the silken case. The feeling is good. You don’t mind it. 

(Fuck, maybe you even need it.)  

...

You sleep for three days. 

You don’t mean to, and it’s not continuous. You rise for your promised sweet bread, tea, and a much-need, thorough bath. You’ve spent the past few months using communal bath houses or washing in rivers and lakes, quick and rarely relaxing. You indulge in the massive, stone tub for a private soak that leaves you pruney and smelling like rose oil and Natlani bright grass. 

The position of the sun feels arbitrary. You just sleep. Like the fucking dead. No dreams, thank the gods. Thick curtains keep your room dark and you relish every moment. You hadn’t realized how deeply fatigue had woven itself into you. You’d become so acclimated to exhaustion, it only hit you when you finally had a (safe and) quiet place to sleep with no end date. 

Adelinde brings an armful of clothes at some point. (“We put these in storage, when you left. I’m sure some still fit.”) Some do, thankfully, and you’re grateful to have more than four garments, especially when they go together. It’s nostalgic to slip into skirts and trousers you haven’t worn in so long, and you decide they’ll suffice. Unideal, but comfortable. 

The tiredness is an odd blessing. You feel too blurry and foggy to really pick apart your feelings. All of them. You’re aware of the knot that’s formed somewhere between your ribs and gut (or rather, revealed itself), and you ignore it for as long as you are able to. No one comes to you except Adelinde, who never presses you. 

(You don’t know what you would do if she did. Adelinde knows discretion, she knows wounds and scrapes and bruises, and knew yours once. Well and thoroughly. You think she can see all of your ills now too.)

(You’re glad she doesn't pry at you. In your moments between wakefulness and sleep, you tend to dream more loosely. You imagine what you might say to Diluc, had you... the opportunity without damage. What would you say to him? The you that’s mostly a dream screams at him sometimes. Enraged. Sometimes you cry, asking questions that neither your sleeping or waking mind has answers for. They’re not... unfamiliar dreams, but they’re unwelcome. They’re more vivid now that you’re staying in the Winery.)

They feel more real. Diluc is only rooms away at any given time.

(He’s not a specter.)

On the third day, you awake midday to a frantic knock on your door. Adelinde, you assume. Stumbling from bed, and pull on a dressing gown and nothing more, and pull open the heavy oak door—

It’s Diluc. Of course it is. In working trousers and a loose, white top. Dirt stains his knees and the tips of his fingers. Pretty red hair spills from its loose tie, bouncy with a fresh wash. He tenses, when he sees you. Fists balling at his sides and shoulders going rigid.

Your jaw locks and the air in your lungs suddenly feels heavy and too hot. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you gather up the satin of your robe before it has a chance to slip down to the crook of your elbow. 

(Just seeing him sends you. Into a rage. Into a fit of grief. The visage of him forces you to reckon with something more awful and sticky and molten than you know what to do with.)

(You wish it was more avoidable.)

You freeze.

Your several days of rest afforded you the time to... ignore Diluc. Hide from him, and the knot that you desperately don’t want to unravel. Despite sleeping in one of his beds and eating his food, you need distance. It feels like you’ll explode if you don’t have it.

“The child of one of the vineyard workers is injured,” Diluc says, maybe a little out of breath. “Can you take a look?”

“Of course,” you reply without hesitation. A hurt child takes precedence over most things.

The child and his mother sit in Diluc’s foyer, you can hear them as you approach. The girl sniffles and clings to her mothers sleeve with one hand, the other limp in her lap. One of her legs splays the wrong way, equally limp. 

You approach easily, introducing yourself. The air has an edge of crisis to it, but you wade through it easily. If anything, it’s comfortingly familiar. To be calm and confident in the face of serious injury or illness is often medicine in and of itself. 

You set your large, leather-bound caboodle beside you and take to the floor. Your Tselostnyy insignia is pinned to the outside. The mother’s eyes dart to it as she pets over her daughter’s hair, and she relaxes at the sight of it. A qualified stranger, you are.

The mother is younger, someone before your time as the Winery’s temporary master which is a relief. Diluc lingers behind you, watching you work, probably.  You attempt not to care.

You scooch forward, on your knees, knitting your fingers together and hover them over your patient. You focus on the spiral of dendro through muscle and bone, reading the injury:

Two clean breaks. Closed fracture of the left ulna. Closed fracture of the left femur.

It’s a miracle that the child isn’t shrieking in her mother’s lap. 

“How did you get hurt?” you ask the child directly. 

She sniffles. “I f-fell outta’ the big tree by the water. I was trying to climb it.”

Her mother almost scolds her, but you beat her to speaking. “That’s a hard tree to climb. The oaks by the stables are much easier.”

It’s just a slip of the tongue, to be so familiar.

You turn to the child and school a smile on your lips. “I’ll be able to heal your injuries with my Vision. You’ll get some medicine as well, and it needs to be stirred into juice. Do you have a favorite kind?”

The child looks unsure, and her mother answers for her: “She likes apple best.”

“Apple, master of the house.” You wave a hand behind you. “Can you fetch some?”

“Of course,” Diluc answers without missing a beat and you hasten him away.

Knitting your fingers together once more, you begin to work on her injuries. The child is holding up quite well, despite the immense pain she must be in. You work quickly regardless, but keep in mind you do have the luxury of time. There’s no one more broken or more sick just beyond her who needs to be treated as well.

Dendro sews together her bones. Encourages new flesh and muscle to grow where it is needed. 

When Diluc returns, you instruct him further, gaze never straying from the knitting bones, “Take the third vial from the right on the top row of oils, will you? Stir half a dropper into the juice and stir for a minute. If you see oil on the top, keep going.”

“What’s the medicine for?” The girl asks. 

“Relaxation and sleep,” You reply softly. “This type of healing is very effective, but it takes a lot of energy out of the person who is being healed. You’ll be tired once I’m all done, but you may have trouble resting since your body is still reacting to the shock of your injuries.”

The mother lets out a sigh of relief. Perhaps too wordy of an explanation for a child, but her mother seems grateful for it. 

When the child’s healed into proper pieces again, you unknit your fingers and fall back on your heels. Diluc wordlessly passes the goblet of well-mixed apple juice to the child, who shakily gulps it town. The medicine doesn’t have much of a taste, more of an oily texture to it that requires it to be drunk quickly after being mixed. The juice must be from one of Diluc’s best stashes because the child beams after chugging it.

“... That’s it?” She asks. 

You nod and crack your knuckles, now stiff. “That’s it.”

“... Nothing else?” 

“Nope.” You crack your neck. “Other than the fatigue, but a few extra hours of sleep should remedy that. She’ll be back to normal after a nap.”

“Thank you,” The mother says and your chest feels sticky and warm. “I know that Barbara from the Church has similar skills with her Vision, but I’ve never seen healing like yours. Mondstadt could use a physician like you, you know.”

The feeling goes cold, but you keep your smile. Bear it.

“I’m sure they do.” Teacher’s shoes hadn’t been filled, apparently. And you’d departed to the Tselostnyy School and never returned. 

The mother and her child give more thanks before leaving and you keep your facade up until they’re out the door. The girl’s no doubt ruffled still, even with the light sedative. The mother frazzled. The last thing you’d want to do is burden them with your own misplaced ire. They can’t know. They wouldn’t know.

Diluc, however—

He’s been the silent spectator to this whole affair. He idles by the couches and the hearth, arms crossed, still-dirtied from whatever vineyard work he’d been doing prior to fetching you. You’re sure he was working in the fields, heard the child shriek, and rushed to their aid. Typical.

Diluc stares at you like he could immolate you alive.

“You’re incredible.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like the sentence doesn’t implode something in you. 

Your fists shake at your sides. “Hardly. It’s just my profession.”

Diluc works his jaw and considers his words. You note the way he looks stumped and lost. It’s not intentional, if you’re being honest— so there’s no harm in enjoying the way he stumbles to speak around you, is there?

(It’s only fair. Diluc had always been so sure-footed and sturdy with his words. To see him flounder now reminds you that he’s changed too. Something in him has paled and been mutilated, just like you. Two wounded. His suffering isn’t what you revel in, but the knowledge that he’s affected. Neither of you came out unscathed and you’ve spent the last years refusing to imagine how Diluc might’ve coped.)

“Will you have tea with me?” Diluc asks, the words ringing off the glass chandelier in minor key. “You don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“I will.” 

...

Adelinde kindly brings you both tea, by the hearth and its embers. It’s served with a few small cakes and rounds of steaming sweet bread. Diluc takes his tea just as he did when he was young— a heavy dash of cream and a spoon and a half of sugar (“the half is very important” he had always said). Adeline leaves you a carafe of coffee and shoots you a gentle smile before leaving the two of you be.

You rest on one of the couches, leg pulled up beneath you and blow over the rim of your mug.

Diluc sits adjacent from you, in a resplendent mid-morning sun beam. The chair is high-backed, upholstered with the red and gold pattern of the Ragnvindr clan. He looks regal, like a king from the stories you used to read together. Sunlight halos the frizz in his hair and the dust that shifts around him.

He sits with one heel propped up on the opposite knee, cupping the tea cup from the bottom, unbothered by its heat.

(He’s pretty, just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe more so.)

It makes something in you feel rotten. You pick at your nails and curl over your core. 

He glances at you and you look away into the hearth, into the small flames that eat at the last of a birch log. 

Having Diluc in front of you is uncomfortable. Maybe worse than uncomfortable, as discomfort is bearable and the sensation crawling up from the back of your throat isn’t. It makes your skin itch and feel too tight. Your palms sweat. Maybe you want to puke.

(It’s dread, or something like it. Like just seeing him put you on a precipice you had convinced yourself didn’t exist.)

“When did you start drinking coffee?” Diluc asks, breaking you from your spiral. “If I recall correctly, you hated it. Too bitter for your palate, or something like that.”

Ah—

“In your absence. In the year I stayed here, when you left.” It’s the truth. “ Lots of paperwork. I got used to the flavor after a while.”

(You used to prefer tea, favoring some black variety that Crepus painstakingly imported from Natlan’s volcanic cliffs. The first time you tried to drink it following his passing, you retched it back into your cup.)

You both shift uncomfortably. 

“I see.” 

You pretend not to notice the way Diluc’s grip goes white-knuckled for a moment. Your chest feels tight, too tight, and you squirm under your skin. 

“I don’t know how to face you,” you blurt out. 

(You never thought you would have to.) 

Diluc looks away from you, into the fire. “If you don’t wish to ‘face me’, then you don’t have to.”

“Are you suggesting I simply ignore you?”

“If that’s what you would wish to do.”

“That’s not what I asked.” You frown, something burning between your ribs. 

Diluc chews on his words for a moment. “Allow me to clarify. I have no expectations of you while you’re staying within the Winery.”

“So, if I simply ate your food and slept in one of your beds, ignoring you, you’d be alright with that?”

“If that’s what you wish, then yes.”

(The answer hurts to hear. You refuse to think about why.)

“Alright.” You take a long sip of your coffee. You’re not sure when your stomach began to ache.

“You’re unsatisfied with that answer,” Diluc guesses.

“Entirely,” you reply. “You’re basing your wants off of mine. It’s bothersome.”

“It’s the truth. As I said—“

“You ‘have no expectations of me’,” you parrot. “Would you truly be satisfied if I didn’t speak to you at all while I’m here?”

Diluc chews the inside of his cheek (a new habit you don’t recognize). “My satisfaction isn’t of consequence.”

“Idiot,” You snap— you don’t mean to. “Of course it is. I don’t want to make this any more unbearable than it already is.”

“Do you think this is unbearable for me?” 

“… Yes?” You feel yourself shaking. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

(It’s worse than unbearable. The feeling in your chest is blooming, radiating out into your arms and legs, down to your hands. There’s a buzzing in the base of your skull.)

“I understand that it’s difficult for you to be here,” Diluc grits out. “I do not want to make that any worse by some expectation or assumption you think that I carry. If you wish to enjoy the festival and ignore me, that’s more than fine. If it would be easier for you to stay here and think of me as only some type of… concierge, I wouldn’t resent you for it.”

(You hate it. You hate him. You hate Diluc Ragnvindr endlessly, perhaps. You want to burn Dawn Winery to the ground.)

“Do you really think I could ever think of you as anything other than yourself?” You spit, intending to. “It’s insulting— a fucking affront to think that I could view you in such a way.”

“I don’t know how you view me.” Diluc’s voice wavers with what you can only assume to be anger. “I’m trying to make this easier for you.”

“In what way?!” You stand. “Do you think ignoring you would be easier for me?”

“I am making a well-intended inference based on the fact that you haven’t returned to Mondstadt for years.” Diluc stares at you like he wants to— “I am assuming you’d like to continue to ignore me, given that you’ve never given any indication otherwise.”

“… You’re the one who left first.” You spit the words, like how a sword cuts through air. “You’re the one who left and gave no ‘ indication’ of returning.”

Diluc swallows, thick and hard with a bob of his throat and he rises to his feet. You instinctively take a step back. He opens his mouth, then closes it with a snap of his teeth. The fire cracks and a log loses its structure, tumbling in the hearth with a flurry of embers.

He looks lost for words. You let loose a laugh, something awful and torn that you wish you could stuff back down your throat.

“Nothing to say?”

“It was a long time ago—“

“Ah, it’s irrelevant to you. I see.” Archons, you don’t want this. You should’ve never come back. It can’t be worth it, can it? It feels like your ribs are being broken, one by one. 

(How wretched it is, for him to have such a power over you.)

“Don’t twist my words.” Diluc rises, taking a step toward you. “I only meant to say—“

“I am well-aware of what you meant to say.” You want to vomit, maybe. “It was so long ago, so it’s easier, right? If I view you as nothing more than a doorman with a familiar face, and if you view me as a guest to be treated with pleasantries.”

(Let’s forget all the history. Etch a lie onto a slate that’s already been shattered beyond repair.)

Diluc’s expression twists. Your hands shake and you cross them over yourself, wrapping your arms over your own shoulders and squeezing. He looks… hurt. Gutted. 

“Do you think me cruel enough to ever think of you in such a way?”

“Yes, actually.” You laugh with a shake of your head. “Not even a letter, Diluc? Couldn’t even spare me a thought, could you?”

(Meanwhile, you clung to the hope that he’d arrive home through the front door of the Winery for months. How many did you sit in front of this very same hearth, wrapped in his old blankets and left-behind clothes and pray to any God who’d listen that Diluc would return?)

The admission guts Diluc. You can see it in his face, the way his expression tears open and he balls his fist and he almost seems to shake with it.

(Despite everything, it hurts to see him hurt.)

You step away, almost toppling into the couch. Diluc catches you by the arm with a lurch and keeps you upright. The contact burns like you’re too close to a roaring fire. You feel singed. 

“I can’t forget, Diluc.” You laugh, shudder in his grip and you feel the bits of you fray even further. “I— I don’t know. I’m sorry. I resent you. I hate you. I look at you and I’m struck by the feeling that I’m looking at a ghost.”

You watch Diluc’s jaw lock. “Pot, kettle.”

“Pardon?”

“You left Mond as well, dear.” Diluc says the pet name and then flushes. An old habit, unearthed by sparring. You maybe would swoon if you weren’t feeling light-headed. “You’re a ghost to me as well. Maybe something worse.”

“... Am I? ” you spit, writhing in your skin. 

His expression tightens and you see the hurt. A crack. His lip twitches and he stands. He has to look down at you and you feel the height. 

“Do you think I haven’t been haunted by you?”

Oh, it’s like being punched in the gut. You’re being flayed, surely, on his great room floor. If you’re not careful, your entrails will spill and you’ll die here. You’re sure. 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“You’re impossible,” Diluc says, grip almost bruising. “Do you truly think I’m lying?”

(You don’t.)

You swallow and step away from him. The moment you pull against him, Diluc lets you go, and you stumble back. 

(You’re too frayed for this. Burnt. Cinders at a masquerade.)

“I need some time,” you say, fire in your voice is gone. You burn down so easily. “I’m sorry.”

Diluc stays silent for a moment. You can’t be sure what he’s thinking.

“Take all the time you need,” he says, before striding past you to his office. You hear the door nearly slam. 

#lore writes #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc reader insert #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnvindr x you

[junosmindpalace]

Hello!!! Can I request how would Senku, Tsukasa, Ryusui and Xeno (if you're familiar with him) (separately, slightly angst??) react to finding out their s/o has self-harm scars/is self-harming? If you're not comfortable writing that, it’s totally okay!! I just thought that because I've never seen anyone do this I'd maybe try to request it before the asks close.

Don't know if you heard this but I really like your writing!! 💕

hello there!! thank you for your request! i hope that you are safe and well, and i hope i did this request justice. feedback is absolutely welcome.

warnings: implied self harm but nothing descriptive

Senku: alternatives. Senku could handle the emotional shtick pretty well, even if it wasn't his forté, but with a matter so sensitive, he opted to go for what he did best; using his knowledge of science to help you in whatever ways he can.

Senku has always been a man of action, and so that’s the way to go for him. His care and concern is expressed through his means of trying to help you cope or recover, but you can also see it in his eyes when he catches glimpses of the scars.

He has a good eye and good intuition- besides, he cares about you enough to know what makes you tick. He tries to prevent your harmful thoughts or redirect your attention away from them before they can manifest further. This usually means making some witty comment that you can resonate with, or having Senku whisk you away to aid him in a science experiment, finding ways to keep your hands and mind busy on something fun and creative that can help you relieve stress. 

His medical knowledge comes in handy when he suggests harm minimization strategies, and he knows sometimes they can feel silly or not do enough justice, but if he can do anything at all to ease the pain in your mind and keep you away from harm, he’ll absolutely be doing it, whether its physical means of relieving yourself in slightly safer and less damaging ways, such as trying to reduce how often you harm and what means you use. He teaches you about all these other methods as well, from something more mellow to drawing on skin to something a bit reminiscent of the pain, such as physical activity. 

Whatever it may be, Senku will absolutely be using it in an attempt to help you, but makes sure not to push too hard with them, and simply suggest or show you methods and let you dictate for yourself whether they were helpful or not. Whatever it is you choose, he'll always make an active effort to help support you in whatever ways he can with his knowledge of science.

Tsukasa: listens judgment free. He understands feeling isolated, and from experience, he knows how simply hearing a person out can go a long way. He understands that the subject is difficult to talk about, and so he’ll never pressure you into opening up about details you’re uncomfortable with. He lets you take your time, always making sure to be there for you in other ways to reinforce in your mind that he’s someone you could trust. 

Whether you pour out your feelings or only reveal bits and pieces in the way you’re most comfortable, he won’t once interrupt until he’s sure you’re finished talking. All his attention is fixed on you, and he doesn’t overwhelm you with questions or his own opinions either. Telling a person to stop is much easier said than done, and so he doesn’t, instead doing his best to communicate that he’s here for you if he can do anything at all to help.

Though not too familiar with alternatives himself, he remembers soothers that helped calm his sister when she was a baby, and he offers to try them on you when the urge arises. Though maybe childish, if they could distract you even for a little while, Tsukasa was glad. And even though he’ll always gently direct you to people and resources that could be of better help, if all you need sometimes is a listening ear to vent, he’ll always be right there with absolutely no exceptions. 

Ryusui: pampers. The man is treating you like royalty. But not before he gives you some sort of inspiring or emotional speech. No matter if it comes out harsh or corny sometimes, it always leaves you feeling the slightest bit lighter.

He’s distressed by this habit of yours of course, and it’s evident in his face that he’s biting back on a comment when it’s addressed. He doesn’t mean any harm or to be overbearing, and he never is. He’s not one to pressure or guilt you, he knows better than that.

He tends to intervene sometimes however, occasionally overstepping with good intention. He’d much rather have you safe and angry at him over anything else if he does tend to overstep. In general however, he just wants to look out for you and help you cope safely. 

Cue all the pampering that comes in. Cue all the projects he immerses you in to keep you busy, hands and mind preoccupied with his endless amount of enthusiasm and constant new interests because he knows from experience that working away on something has always made him feel good. Besides, it occupies his mind for weeks. He’s always thinking of you and ways to uplift you- it’s how he’s always been with you. 

He knows he can hire the best of the best medical staff to assist in helping break this habit, but he mostly has that group of staff train him to help assist you, because he knows going to other people can be stressful and difficult and he hopes he can be someone you lean on during those vulnerable moments to carefully take care of you and your wounds. 

Say the word, and he’ll buy you the world to help lessen the pain in your heart. 

Xeno: encourages medical help. He’s a scientist and an astronaut after all. He’s undergone medical training himself, and he knows quite a bit about psychology. He uses both in an attempt to try to help ease your mind and your pain. 

The very first thing he’ll suggest is seeking medical assistance. He’s a man of science, of course, and science can help you recover. But going for help isn’t easy, especially if you don’t have the means to do it. So he always makes sure to remind you that his services are open any time you need them.

He’s treating your wounds the moment they appear, and encourages you to at least see him regarding the issue. He never gets upset if you don’t, because he knows these kind of things are sensitive and hard to deal with, but he’ll always do his best to remind you in subtle and non-invasive ways that he was a person you could trust, and that he wasn’t going to shame you or let anyone else shame you.

He’ll check up on you from time to time, but won’t press for any details or emotional chats. Like Senku, Xeno is a man mainly of action, and he has good observational skills. He also does his best to try and minimize the damage before it can grow into something dangerous.

His means of looking out for you are more traditional and upfront, but they aren't any less well-intentioned, only wanting to make sure you're safe and healthy.

#juno answers! #been a while since i got to a request... #everyone say thank you aaron #dr stone x reader #drst x reader #dr stone headcanons #dr stone imagines #dr stone oneshots #dr stone oneshot #senku ishigami x reader #senku ishigami headcanons #senku ishigami oneshot #senku ishigami fluff #shishio tsukasa x reader #shishio tsukasa headcanons #shishio tsukasa oneshot #ryusui nanami x reader #ryusui nanami headcanon #ryusui nanami oneshots #nanami ryusui headcanon #xeno wingfield x reader #xeno wingfield oneshot

[paragonrobits]

Sokka: Scientifically speaking, there's no way to be sure reincarnation exists or that the spirits are actually real Aang: Okay, I've been meaning for a while to talk to you about this but... they are ABSOLUTELY real. You have empirical evidence that the spirits exist. Aang: One of them kidnapped you out of retribution. Katara: You made Wan Shi Tong so angry he took his library out of the physical world. Which, now I think about it, probably could have been a source of missing information on our culture that was lost with most of our oral traditions. Zuko: Your first girlfriend had to take the place of the Moon Spirit. Or so I hear. Toph: You told ME you were in the Northern Water Tribe city when all that happened! How do you not know?? Zuko: I'm not good at paying attention when its not about me. Aang: Anyway the point is, after your lack of veneration probably put some kind of karmic curse on the Black Sun invasion plan to begin with, and that a lot of the knowledge I provide is either FROM the spirits or what my past reincarnations tell me, how on the world can you say that spirits don't exist with a straight face. Sokka: Okay guys, I'm going to level with you, this is all a big bit I'm doing because the fact that the spirits exist and you can't fight them or really understand them because of how alien they are SCARES ME A WHOLE LOT. Sokka: Please just let me cope as sarcastically as possible. Katara: Given that letting you cope is actively enraging the beings that form the balance of the world and therefore returning harmony to the world means we have to make peace with them... no. Letting you cope like that is a REALLY bad idea. Katara: Also I have no idea where you picked any of this up. About the only culture in the world I can think of that actively disdains the idea of spirits is the Fire Nation. Why are you imitating them? Sokka: I have no idea. Honestly I think it might be a really extreme fear response. Koh the Face Stealer, apparently taking to following Sokka around out of boredom: That sounds incredibly counter productive.

#atla #queued #sokka #aang #atla spirits

[in1-nutshell]

Bot Buddy being Swerve’s older sibling

SFW, familial, platonic, Cybertroninan/ Bot reader, slight angst but has a happy ending

MTMTE

Part 1 of 2

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

For this writing, Swerve’s older sibling is going to be BIG. We are talking Fortress Maximus Big.

How does Buddy have a sibling like Swerve with their height? No one knows and quite frankly, Buddy doesn’t care. They are very close to Swerve.

Buddy doesn’t mind their younger brother talking their audial off about the most random things. They have gotten used to it by now.

“Hey Buddy. Do you think that if minibots ever became a combiner it would just turn out to be a normal sized bot?”—Swerve

“I honestly don’t know how to answer to that question.”

“No, no, but see if the size of one minibot—“—Swerve

“There goes my sleep…”—Buddy

Swerve is insecure, that’s nothing new. But it increases a bit when he is with Buddy in public. He doesn’t like it when bots or himself start comparing them with him. He really wants them to be proud of him and all of his accomplishments. Would 110% support anything Buddy… but he also has his limits.

“Hey Buddy, what are you doing?”--Swerve

“I’m trying to hone in my hiding skills.”--Buddy

“Under a table?”--Swerve

“Yep, and it surprisingly comfortable down here in this crouching position.”--Buddy

“Your stuck aren’t you.”--Swerve

“… maybe? Yes? Help?”--Buddy

“I’ll get the screwdrivers.”--Swerve

“Thanks Swerve!”--Buddy

“This has been the third time I’ve had to disassemble that table…This is getting ridiculous…”—Swerve

Swerve has taught Buddy a thing or two about what he knows about being a metalourgist. As well as teaching them bit of knowledge he knows from doing weird jobs here and there.

“Swerve what do we do when the light turns red?”--Buddy

“Oh! That’s a good question. That usually just means to-- HIT THE DECK!”—Swerve

Buddy is extremely protective of Swerve. They can sometimes get to a ridiculous level of overprotectiveness for Swerve. For example, breathe wrong in his direction, you will feel pain.

“Swerve hold my drink. I’m going to go teach a mech about keeping one’s servos to themselves.”--Buddy

“They just brushed by on accident! There is no need for violence!”--Swerve

It was no surprise that around the time the war rolled by, Buddy was approached and recruited into the Elite Guard. Swerve despite his worries fully supported Buddy.

“Don’t worry about it Buddy! I’m sure your going to have the best stories to tell me when you come back from your missions!”--Swerve

“You really think so Swerve?”--Buddy

“I am positively sure of it Buddy! You know what, this calls for a celebration! Lets go find some engex.”--Swerve

Whenever Buddy was on long trips, they made sure to try and send a message through their personal channel. Swerve tries to make his messages short, but that was nearly impossible for him to do.

“Hey its Swerve! I have so much to tell you, Buddy! First there’s this bot named Blurr and I got his number and now there is a big plan when the wars over. So the plan is that…”--Swerve

Now for some hurt.

Swerve gets notified from some officers from Buddy’s team that there was a good chance that they were killed in action in the last mission. Swerve was in denial at first, but it soon turned into a depression that would follow him for many years even after the war was over. To try and cope with the loss he would still try and send out deep space messages telling them about his day and how much he misses them.

“Hey Buddy, its Swerve again. It’s been a slow week at the bar today. Whirl’s has been on a cocktail binge and nearly attack a poor bot when he asked for the time… And Tailgate, did I talk about Tailgate, well Tailgate is… and then he exploded, I swear Buddy, he exploded!”—Swerve

Timeskip after the events of Swearth

Swerve was getting better. Sure, progress was slow but he was getting to a better place mentally, with the help of his friends and therapy. The only person who he had ever talked about Buddy was Rung. Buddy was a subject that Swerve was not comfortable speaking about too much about. Now Swerve only knows that Rung knows about Buddy ever existing but there were two another bots on board who knew about Buddy. It was Rewind and Whirl

Why? Why those two bots?

Rewind knew after accidentally stumbling on some footage of Swerve and Buddy. After seeing enough footage, Rewind could tell that Buddy at least meant something important to Swerve. He doesn’t bring it up to Swerve. He wants to but he knows if Swerve wants to eventually talk about something then he will talk.

Whirl knows Buddy as his ‘Buddy’ when he was working with the Wreckers. Buddy had joined as a collaboration between the Elite Guard and the Wreckers. Buddy ended up saving Whirl from certain doom and from then Whirl made sure that he was now Buddy’s problem.

“Hey Buddy, what do you think about breaking into a Decepticon clinic and crushing Killmasters brain module?”--Whirl

“How about we don’t do that.”--Buddy

“Your no fun, you know that.”--Whirl

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go get with the others. I think they are debriefing now.”--Buddy

Absolutely loved working with Buddy. He did find out the Buddy’s designation was on the KIA lists after he heard of their mission going off the rails. He had long accepted that Buddy was dead, or missing. Now being on the Lost Light, Whirl has some hope that Buddy might still be out there. If Swerve could create a giant holographic planet for months and not die or Rewind coming back, in a way, then anything was possible.

Now present time

Buddy was very much alive.

#transformers x reader #transformers #idw mtmte #more than meets the eye #mtmte x reader #mtmte swerve #mtmte whirl #mtmte rewind #bot buddy #maccadam