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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 9 months

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The Agency's Older Brother: or, Ranpo's Character Development

I want to talk about Ranpo and the development he goes through in the series, because for as much as Ranpo is an important member of the Agency, his story is focused on in small chunks that may not always, at first read, seem to be overly significant. In fact, Ranpo’s arc is very consistent and I’m fascinated to know where it’s building to, because he’s done a lot of growing in the series. A lot of the themes of his story are to do with responsibility and faith in others.

The Ranpo we meet at the beginning of the story is not the Ranpo we see now. The biggest change is that he’s a lot more personally involved with the struggles of the Agency members, taking it on himself to be proactive and protective, while previously he had to be pushed and bribed into helping much of the time. When did this change?

Well...

[ID: Two screenshots from a scene in Poe's introductory episode of the Bungou Stray Dogs anime. In the first screenshot, Yosano lies on the carpeted ground, an axe embedded in her chest, blood pooling around her. Ranpo is crouched beside her, supporting her shoulders with one hand and clasping her hand with the other. The second screenshot is a close up of Ranpo's distressed face. End ID.]

The thing is, it's almost easy to overlook the effect this scene had on Ranpo, because Poe’s introductory chapter/episode is such a brief one. Moreover, afterwards, Poe becomes an ally and is a bit of a silly character, so it’s easy to forget sometimes that he was a legitimate threat here - and Yosano nearly died for it. This scene was incredibly significant to Ranpo for a few notable reasons.

It’s the first time someone in the Agency was in serious trouble/died without a backup plan.

It is, unfortunately, kind of on him. (Let me be real clear here: I am not blaming Ranpo. But he probably was blaming himself and that's something to keep in mind.)

To recap: Poe pulls Ranpo into his novel out of revenge, also trapping Yosano, who went with him. Ranpo realizes that they are in a world with no abilities, and importantly, he doesn't have the glasses Fukuzawa gave him.

We know those glasses mean a lot to him. When Ranpo was at his lowest, when he was convinced the world hated him, Fukuzawa gave him those glasses and told him he had a special ability. That he had a gift that no one else did that allowed him to see the truth that no one else could. Untold Origins makes it very clear that if Fukuzawa hadn't reached out to Ranpo when he did, Ranpo may have forever been outcasted. He was a kid kept in a bubble then suddenly and rudely shoved into a world he was unprepared to cope with, where he continued to get rejected and thrown out over and over - and all this on top of the grief he felt from his parents' passing. Ranpo was bitter and terrified of people, and thought everyone was pretending to be oblivious just to hurt him. Fukuzawa saved him the only way he could, in the only way Ranpo would hear him. It's not an exaggeration to say Fukuzawa saved Ranpo's life. And, while cute, it's also telling how quickly those glasses became an intrinsic part of his identity. Only maybe twenty minutes after he first received them, he was already making little doodles of himself wearing them.

Suddenly, the glasses are gone, and Ranpo goes into a funk because he "can't activate his ability without them". Obviously, we know that isn't true, and so does Yosano. Ranpo probably, deep down, knows this too, but to admit that would be to admit the president lied to him, and to uproot the very thing that gave him the means to perceive the world in a brighter light. The reason Fukuzawa had to lie in the first place was because the truth would be to tell Ranpo that his parents lied to him, something he angrily denies could ever be the case. And now, Fukuzawa is very plainly stated to be Ranpo's adoptive father. Ranpo's parents do not lie to him. He does not want to see it - and so he doesn't. This is a recurring thing with Ranpo. For as much as he sees the truth clearly, he also chooses not to see it at times when it would be uncomfortable/go against the intuition of someone he deeply trusts and respects.

And I think it's very easy to just leave it there, and say, "Oh, Ranpo realized at the end of this chapter/episode that he didn't need the glasses, that he doesn't have an ability, and that's a key turning point" but I don't feel that's the full picture or even the focus here, especially since Ranpo still hasn't reached the point where he can properly admit it aloud, even to Yosano.

The thing is, those glasses aren't just of use to Ranpo - they have sentimental value. A heck of a lot of it, for a character who is not very sentimental. The real turning point here is that Ranpo put on Yosano's glasses in order to save her.

[ID: A screenshot of a panel from the Bungou Stray Dogs manga. Ranpo puts on a pair of glasses. His hair is blown out of his face and he wears an intense expression. End ID.]

Shortly before this, we are informed by Yosano that not only was the Agency specifically formed for Ranpo to make use of his talents, but also that it was Ranpo who invited her to join - which we later learn was a pivotal moment for her to start over after she was completely broken by her experiences in the war. And now, he is watching her bleed out because she had to take over. Because he couldn't solve it. And that, to Ranpo, is unacceptable.

But again, there's more to it. Ranpo is fundamentally a self-centered character - this is not a judgement; I actually love that about him. He's the center of the Agency, the (ostensibly) good guys of the series; a narcissistic guy with little in the way of sensitivity who wants to use his skills to help others. Not for some higher ideal, or because it's "right" necessarily, but because he's good at it, and because he's supposed to protect all the "babies" who can't solve things for themselves. I love it because it highlights a major theme of BSD, which is good as something you do rather than something you are, and also because it explains something about Ranpo himself.

See, if everyone in the world is a "baby" who needs Ranpo's assistance, then the people in the Agency are a little different. They're people hand-picked by Fukuzawa to support him, both through praise and through backup. Remember that Ranpo trusts Fukuzawa's judgement more than anything - this means that he expects the Agency members can handle themselves. So, in chapter 10, when Ranpo doesn't really care that Atsushi has been taken, citing that it's a "personal problem" and he should handle it, I really think this was some odd form of "Atsushi will be fine" and "why should I worry or do anything when I know he'll be fine". And in the past, this has been true - the Agency members always pull through. None of them, up until that point, have been in a situation that they couldn't eventually fix. Ranpo has a bubble of safety in the Agency, that basically amounts to a "villain of the week" type beat from his perspective, where troubles gets fixed up pretty quickly. All in a day's work.

But then Yosano dies in Poe's book, someone he actually had some level of responsibility for when he invited her to join his safe little circle in a world that had no place for people like them. And it's a direct result of Ranpo's refusal/inability to act.

In order to fix this, Ranpo uses Yosano's glasses. The lens he's seeing through has changed. The people in the Agency were initially "his" in that they were meant to support Ranpo, the special one "chosen" by Fukuzawa's glasses, the reason for the Agency's existence in the first place. But now the people in the Agency are "his" in that they are his to protect. He's their big brother they all look up to in a way, and as the big brother, he's got to take responsibility for their safety.

Why did this not stand out in the moment? Well, we learn something about Ranpo from Untold Origins: he's very good at pretending he's doing okay and things aren't bothering him as much as they are. He's able to hold it together up until it all comes spilling out of him during the play. Also, I do think Ranpo cares about people a good deal more than he'd have you believe. A common fanon thing about Ranpo (from what I've seen) is that he tends to forget people, which, I can see how one would come to that conclusion, but I actually think it's completely wrong. I don't think Ranpo's forgotten a single person he's accused. I don't think he's forgotten a single person he's helped.

He lied about not remembering Poe, in fact, he remembered him pretty fondly as a real challenge. He remembers the information on a person from the Special Division he was asked to look into and gave the info to Mushitarou to allow him an in. He recognizes an officer he'd helped, and it's implied he recognizes every single officer who had been present while he was working on cases in the past. Does this mean he cares about all of them? ...eh. Probably not. But it does mean that Ranpo keeps a lot of his cards close to his chest. He's disarming with his intentional childishness. And so it can be difficult for the characters and readers both to notice that events like Yosano's almost-death... actually bothered him a lot more than he let on.

Because it was his fault. Because she was his responsibility. Because he's supposed to be invincible.

And unfortunately, the story from here on out does not get any kinder to Ranpo as his safe bubble that is the Agency is repeatedly targeted in ways that are increasingly hard to repair.

Fukuzawa falls ill and nearly dies in Cannibalism arc.

A girl gets blown up and Kunikida ends up in jail because Fyodor managed to manipulate Ranpo's intel.

Mushitarou is believed to have been shot and killed trying to warn Ranpo about the Decay of Angels plan.

Taneda bleeds out from a stab wound and falls into a coma. Ranpo can do nothing but listen and cannot get him help.

The amount of times Ranpo has seen people nearly die in front of him... bro it's almost as bad as Kunikida.

Much like Kunikida having extreme faith in his lofty ideals which make him fall just that much harder when he fails to uphold them, Ranpo has practically zero self-doubt and complete and utter confidence in his abilities... so when problems arise, Ranpo is very harsh on himself. He takes the blame because he's supposed to be better than that. Because he is the one with the powerful "ability" that should never fail.

In this sense, Ranpo's position in the Agency reminds me a lot of a certain person in the Port Mafia, someone who also has a powerful skill he puts towards protecting his own, someone who also received life changing words from the boss which earned him his loyalty, and someone who would do anything to defend the only place in the world he feels secure.

I think there's definitely a reason Cannibalism arc had Ranpo and Chuuya face off, I'm just saying. Both of them ostracized and thrown out as young teens by people who should've been looking out for them. Both the instigators of that arc, proactive and desperate to protect the person they are most loyal to who changed their perspectives. They've even got the same power stance, look. :P

[ID: Two panels from the Bungou Stray Dogs manga. The first is a panel of Ranpo with the silhouette of Fyodor behind him. He is standing with his hands in his pockets, facing front with his head tilted back and to the left a little, a fierce expression on his face and his cloak billowing outwards. The second is a panel of Chuuya standing in a similar manner, arms crossed, facing front with a fierce expression as his coat billows out around him. End ID.]

Of course, there's more interesting comparisons and contrasts to be drawn between them, but I'm focusing on Ranpo in this analysis, so I think I've made my point. Chuuya is the Port Mafia's best martial artist. Ranpo is the Agency's strongest man. And that places a burden of responsibility on them that they both believe they must uphold. They're both ready and willing to do whatever it takes.

The thing is though, is that Ranpo doesn't actually have an ability. When up against someone like Chuuya, he is at a distinct disadvantage, and he knows it. "Regular people can't defeat ability users". But he's still going to come up with a way to do it anyways, and why?

[ID: A screencap from the Bungou Stray Dogs anime. The members of the Agency all stand around Ranpo, who is seated at his desk with a smile, one hand holding his cap, the other held up in a casual gesture. The image is filtered in a soft light. End ID.]

Because his friends think he's invincible.

If Ranpo wants to maintain his safe place in a world of fear, then he has to step up to defend it, and he has to get creative about it. And that's exactly what he does. Ranpo becomes steadily more active throughout the story, which is a huge change from the start, where he had to be practically bribed to help at all. I see a lot of people point out his channeling of Fyodor's tactics to secure Kunikida's release, which is definitely a dark turn for his character, but it's not the only change.

Ranpo is now choosing to place his faith in others, the first obvious instance of this being his use of Poe's novels - which was how he defeated Chuuya. Ranpo knows that he is not going to succeed against people who drastically overpower him all alone, even if he does still take things on as personal burdens. He's also far more obvious about his protectiveness, going on the rescue himself to save the Agency members, driving a car (whereas before he needed someone to take transit with him - another indication of his increased proactivity since he's now literally driving instead of being driven), and bodily shoving Atsushi out of harm's way.

It all culminates in one of my favourite Ranpo scenes where he speaks at the conference to the police, who've worked with him before, where he asks if they will think for themselves - and tells everyone gathered there that anyone can be a detective if they think for themselves and look with their own eyes (!!!). He manages to get half the police force on his side, just through his words and his logic alone! Minoura assumes he somehow knew it would all work out, because, well, it's Ranpo. Ranpo knows everything.

But...

[ID: An image from the Bungou Stray Dogs manga. Ranpo sits in the passenger seat of a car with an honest, helpless smile. End ID.]

He reveals he didn't know if his ploy would work at all. He had to trust that it would with no solid proof. He had to trust these people would use their heads and look beyond the obvious. He respects these people enough that he thinks at least some of them will make the right call.

Fourteen year old Ranpo, bitter and estranged from other people, would never. For him to have come such a long way is testament to the security that the Agency provided him with. In a way, Fukuzawa forming the Agency allowed Ranpo to "complete" his childhood in relative safety, so that when the world became hostile once again and his family destabilized, Ranpo had matured enough to meet it and defend himself and those he has a responsibility towards head on. The Agency is his family, and Ranpo cares for them enough that he puts his faith, not just in them, but in the people they put their faith in too.

[ID: A panel from the Bungou Stray Dogs manga. Ranpo is kneeling in front of Fukuchi, who is sitting backwards on his chair to face him. End ID.]

...aaaaand then Fukuchi went and ruined it. Thanks, Fukuchi.

Ranpo again chooses to put his trust in someone without proof because Fukuzawa trusts him, only for that to have gotten thrown back into his face in the worst way possible. And it's in this regard, the trust aspect, that I think we'll see Ranpo develop as the story goes on.

Will he continue to show this tentative faith in people? Or will he begin to hyper-analyze, unwilling to trust again without proof?

If this arc gets resolved decently well, I think Ranpo will have no issue brushing this off as a one-time thing. However, if what I fear might happen does and Fukuzawa doesn't make it out of this arc... Ranpo will be destabilized.

I don't know that Ranpo would go "bad" per se. He likes the other Agency members. He cares about them - that's genuine. But if Fukuzawa dies, then Ranpo may begin to take darker actions in order to keep them safe, almost overprotective and harshly logical, with little room for blind trust or risks in the name of justice or honour. It may put him at odds with Kunikida, in that Ranpo may start to develop a strong "do what's necessary" mentality, even if that may be immoral. He may regress a little into his old trust issues.

However, I really don't think Ranpo will go too far down the path of darkness, even if the worst should happen. He's a lot tougher than he seems, and he has a good support system in the Agency. I guess it remains to be seen where Ranpo's story takes him next.

Until then...

[ID: A screencap from the Bungo Stray Dogs anime. Ranpo sits in his chair in a cuter art style, having taken a bite from the pastry he has in his left hand. End ID.]

I love one good boy. :)

#ranpo's such a good character man. there's so much i couldn't cover here but he's so so good.#but anyways. ahahahahaaaa i finished it! yesssss #sorry for the. VERY. long delay on this #i'm back baby #bsd #bsd ranpo #bsd meta #call me ace detective the way i am ace. and also a detective.#storyrambles #hope i got everything. whee.

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possumsquat · 1 year

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TIM STOKER TUESDAY

#i'm back baby #tim stoker #art #the magnus archives #tma

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donaldtheduckdad · 1 year

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Put your bra on, my dear fellow. The game is afoot!

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#dgs #tgaa #dai gyakuten saiban #the great ace attorney #ace attorney #herlock sholmes #text post #text post meme #meme #ddd memes #my memes #take your bra back off mikotoba we just solved a murder #I'm back baby #when did this hit 1k help #ddd hits 1k

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lilbeanz · 1 year

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The stage is set...the story continues...

Coming soon to an ao3 browser near you.

#i'm back baby #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #lilbeanz #harry potter fanart #hp #jodt #the Journal of Dreadful Things #shameless self promo #im so full of it i know🤪#hehehe <3 #drarry fanart #drarry fic #INCOMING

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henwilsonmd · 1 year

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post 6x18: some out-of-order vignettes | ao3

4251 words

“Buck,” said Eddie, trying to school his face into something less fond and amused. “That’s my couch.”

Buck turned from where he’d been happily showing off the new piece of furniture he’d gotten with Natalia the day prior. “What?”

“The couch,” Eddie repeated, with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You bought my exact couch.”

“No,” Buck replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s definitely different.”

read on ao3

Eddie looked at it—a three-seater in dark blue, velvet-y fabric with square corners and deep seats to accommodate his long legs. They’d picked out some nice white decorative pillows for it, and it’s certainly brand-new looking, but—

“It’s totally the same.” Eddie gave up on hiding his smile.

Buck looked back to the couch, tilting his head to scrutinize it. After a moment, he sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Ah, fuck. It’s totally the same.”

Eddie groaned, letting his head thump back onto the edge of the cot behind him. “The pain meds are definitely kicking in.”

“Well, good,” snarked Buck from a chair next to him, attention half-focused on his phone in his hands. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

Eddie sighed, long-suffering. “You too?”

“Yes, Eddie, me too.” Buck replied, thumbs flying as he tapped out something on the screen in his hands. Probably to Maddie. Probably about Chim. Who was probably okay. “Your ribs are fucking broken.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. “And I know what they feel like. I’m fine, there was—other stuff going on.” He thought about that paramedic from the 133 shining a penlight into Hen’s eyes, frowning like he didn’t like the results and going back in to do it again. He thought about the constant jitter of Buck’s leg next to him, the constant worry for Bobby and Chimney who’d taken the other two ambulances before the three of them had managed to squeeze into another cab. “Besides,” Eddie pulled himself back on track. “Did you even get checked out?” He leveled Buck with a look that he hoped had more energy behind it than he had left.

Buck shrugged, powering off his phone with a click. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over your face,” Eddie pointed out.

“Hen cleaned most of it up already.”

“There was more?”

“That’s—Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said, turning towards him. “I scraped up my cheek and bit my tongue when I fell, and, sure, I’ll be a little bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Eddie pointed out, and he swallowed around a dry throat.

“How… how did you know that?” Buck stuttered in reply.

Eddie gave his own shrug, picking at the edge of the right kneepad on his turnout pants. “I didn’t pass out. I radioed right after I’d gotten my bearings, but no one answered. Then, like, thirty seconds later you must have woken up.”

Buck, for a moment, held Eddie’s gaze with something so unbelievably devastated, and guilty—like the thought of not being able to answer Eddie’s call was the worst possible thing that had happened that day. Then he flicked his eyes down to the floor. “Okay, s-so, like, thirty seconds. I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

Eddie frowned, thinking about those thirty seconds—an unbearable weight on his back, a growing pain in his chest, and the clawing panic as he listened to the silence stretching out on the other side of the radio and fought the mounting urge to plead, I’m still alive, please, I’m still alive down here.

And then how he’d breathed a hugely painful sigh of relief when Buck finally asked for a headcount, how he’d fumbled into his pocket for his St. Christopher medal and prayed—something he hadn’t done since that awful week of the coma. Prayed that he’d come home safe to his son, but also that Buck would be careful—that he wouldn’t do something stupid and destructive and reckless to save any of them.

That heady rush of gratitude when Buck had sawed the doors open, taking off his safety goggles and assessing Eddie’s situation with a calculating, heavy gaze.

Next to him, Buck cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. “Anyway, you broke three ribs, man. Let the meds do their job.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “Trust me, they are.”

Eddie sipped his Diet Coke, beer off-limits because he was still taking the Tylenol threes. “So, you finally got a new couch.”

“I had a couch before,” Buck pointed out, a matching soda in his hand for solidarity. “Kameron just—y’know, gave birth all over it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, snorting a soft laugh. “That must have been wild.”

Buck chuckled. “The baby didn’t want to wait, I guess.”

“Impatient little guy,” Eddie said. “Must be those Buckley genes.”

“Hey,” Buck protested, pointing a finger. “I can be plenty patient.”

“Sure,” Eddie agreed placatingly, but be noticed how there seemed to be something more behind the mirth in Buck’s eyes—the plastic pieces at the edges of his smile. He fought the urge to say I told you so—mostly because it would have been childish, but also because Buck hadn’t asked for his opinion at any step of the way, and Eddie hadn’t offered.

Eddie decided to wait him out—usually the best course of action when it came to Buck. Eddie understood intimately how much time it could take to parse through a mess of feelings in your brain and formulate them into words that would make sense to another person. Usually, Eddie would sit quietly and sip his beer while watching Buck’s feelings play out on his unguarded face, and after a minute or two Buck would haltingly begin to explain what had been going on with him.

Eddie had tried to explain that to Maddie when they’d both been nearly sick with worry over Buck’s post-coma mental state. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Eddie had said over the phone. “You can’t force him to talk about it.”

“Eddie, you don’t know him like I do,” Maddie had protested. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And Eddie had opened his mouth to say no, actually, I know him better than you, I know him better than anyone, but—that’s not true, is it? Why would Eddie know Buck better than his own sister, who’s spent the entire thirty years of his life caring for him, when Eddie’s only had him for—what, five years? Then subtract all the things they didn’t talk to each other about and all the issues they’ve had, and—yeah, who is Eddie to say what’s best for Buck?

And then Buck had knocked on his door and passed out on his couch and Eddie had felt righteously vindicated in a way that he almost wanted to rub in Maddie’s face, which was kind of bitchy of him to think.

So, Buck sipped his soda next to Eddie on his new couch, a storm of emotions clear on his face, and Eddie waited him out because that’s what he does.

Buck let out a sigh, and Eddie thought, here it is, he’ll let me in, and then— “Want to watch the Dodgers game?”

Eddie blinked. “Um, sure.”

And Buck turned on the TV.

Doubt roiled in Eddie’s gut.

“What about Hen?” Eddie asked, Buck’s hand tight on his arm as he helped him into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“Karen already took her home, she’s fine,” Buck replied easily, before he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

He’d left when Eddie had been taken back for x-rays, taking an Uber back to the station to pick up his car so he could come back to get Eddie and drive them both home. Eddie absently wondered when he would get a chance to get his truck from the station parking lot.

Buck hopped into the driver’s seat, fitting his keys in the ignition but pausing before turning the engine. He fixed Eddie with a gentle, reassuring look. “Seriously, man, everyone’s fine. Athena’s with Bobby, Maddie’s with Chim, let’s go home.”

Eddie swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about just how close literally every single one of them except Ravi had come to something far more serious than some hospital bills and time off work.

His gaze slid to Buck, who flashed him that small, soft, close-mouthed smile that Eddie rarely saw—the one that made his chest feel warm and gooey.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

The Dodgers were losing, and Buck wasn’t talking about it. Eddie tried not to either of those things get to him.

During a commercial break, Buck got up to throw their empty pizza boxes away, waving Eddie off as he moved to help.

When he came back into the living room, he paused under the overhang of the loft, just staring at Eddie.

“What?” he asked, a bit self-conscious.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bought your couch.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s flattering. You think I have good taste.”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s it. Half the furniture in your house is from Target.”

Eddie sputtered. “I—what’s wrong with Target furniture?”

Buck, lowering himself back onto the cushions next to Eddie, raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing, man. I just—I don’t know if I would call it good taste.”

Having no comeback, Eddie just whacked him in the shoulder.

Buck laughed, playfully pushing his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, don’t start shit when I can’t retaliate.”

Eddie smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you know you can’t take me?”

“No,” Buck denied. “’Cause your ribs are still fucking broken.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Well.” Buck crossed his arms, turning back to the TV as the next inning started. “Forgive me for wanting to be careful.”

For a moment, Eddie considered saying hey, maybe we should talk about how I could’ve almost died again? But Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about the big things, and Eddie didn’t really want to think about that yet either, so he settled for bumping their shoulders together.

Buck leaned right back into him, and neither of them moved apart—the comforting warmth of the contact buzzing in Eddie’s brain like the alcohol he wasn’t drinking.

Eddie smiled down at his hands. “You like my couch,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck groused, slouching into the cushions as they watched a batter swing and miss yet again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Are you sure you’re both alright?” Carla asked, a worried hand hovering over his elbow. “I caught some of the collapse on the news.”

Eddie flashed her a smile before turning to pour two glasses of water—one for him and one for Buck, who was off in Christopher’s room. “We’re okay,” he said. “A little banged up, but the doctors said I should be back to work in six weeks or less.”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “You better take that full six weeks.”

Eddie set the Brita down and met her gaze. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I just—I worry about you, Eddie. Okay? I know you’d rather I didn’t, but I can’t help it.”

Eddie ducked his head and smiled, a bit, filled with that familiar half-disbelief that people really do care about him. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but—I was lucky today. That nothing worse happened, that—that Buck was there to pull me out.”

Carla scoffed. “Of course he was. I don’t think luck had anything to do with that one.”

Eddie tried to fight the blush off his cheeks—he didn’t know what to do with that. Carla’s surety that Buck would save him come hell or high water. His own surety that Buck would be ripping open the doors of that camper van any second now.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Carla cleared her throat. “I should go. You up for a hug?”

“From you?” Eddie responded easily. “Always.”

Carla pulled him into a gentle-but-still-desperate embrace. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.” With a frown, she brought a hand up to ruffle the wilting mess on Eddie’s head. “Your dusty-ass hair. Take a shower, alright?”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“It’s a little early for a welcome back party, don’t you think?” Eddie said as Athena hugged him in greeting, Christopher heading off in search of the other kids.

“You and Bobby are headed back tomorrow,” Athena pointed out.

“Yeah, and Chimney’s not back for another two weeks.”

“And you best believe I’ll throw another party for him.”

Eddie laughed, before venturing further into the house to greet everyone else. His ribs had healed perfectly, barely a twinge when he’d thrown himself onto the couch in triumph yesterday. Which—speaking of, Eddie’s phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he was doing a very good job of ignoring that.

Or, he was, until a lull in conversation found him standing alone in the kitchen and pulling it out of his jeans. No texts. Which—of course, they’d agreed to go for coffee after his shift on Friday, why would she text him before that—but, still. Eddie was nervous. Sue him.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment while he debates if it’s too much of a desperate move to text Marisol before they even go on a date. Christopher would know.

“Who are you texting?” asked a voice, and Eddie fumbled to turn off his phone and shove it in his pocket before someone could see… what?

He looked up to see Buck smiling at his antics, a beer in hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the counter.

Buck sidled over to join him, staring out the windows at the backyard where the party was in full swing. “Just me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie replied, for some reason hoping desperately that Buck wouldn’t ask him about—

“So,” Buck nudged an elbow into his arm. “Who were you texting?”

—fuck. Eddie wasn’t sure why this felt like something he didn’t want to tell Buck, to whom he tells everything, but… they don’t really talk about their girlfriends? It was always, always awkward, and it always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

But, Eddie’s excited about this. Marisol probably won’t be the one, or whatever, but—still. Eddie was excited that his brain was finally in a place where he could think about opening up his life to someone and it wouldn’t send him into a panic attack that landed him in the ER.

And Buck asked.

And Eddie’s not in the habit of saying no to him.

“Um,” he started. “Do you remember Marisol? From the—”

“—yeah, yeah!” Buck cut him off. “So, you were texting her?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his gaze.

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, uh… we’re going on a date?” he said quietly, a pit of dread or something similar opening in his gut.

Buck was quiet for a moment, and Eddie risked a glance at his face. He just caught the edge of something shocked and maybe fearful in his expression before it cleared and was replaced by one of those huge, sunny smiles.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaimed. “That’s great! Oh my god, man, this is awesome,” he enthused, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him close.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, still unsure why part of him felt sick with guilt.

“Hey, ever notice how we always start dating at the same time?”

“No, do we?” Eddie lied, thinking about how he’d agonized over making the call and kept telling himself Buck’s with Natalia now, you should do this.

Buck laughed again, before he jolted with surprise and turned to Eddie, excitedly slapping him on the arm. “Dude! We can go on double dates now!”

Eddie frowned. “We didn’t last time.”

Buck shrugged. “Well, you didn’t like Taylor, so I figured—”

“I liked Taylor,” Eddie protested.

Buck snorted. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”

Eddie tilted his head in a you-got-me face. “I kind of didn’t. I thought you didn’t notice.”

Buck dropped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again, making Eddie huff out a breath. “Oh, Edmundo, I always notice.”

No you don’t, Eddie thought, and then he ignored that.

“But,” Buck continued, a hesitation in his voice. “You—you like Natalia, right?”

Eddie didn’t really know her at all, except for how excited she’d been about Buck’s death-that-didn’t-stick and how angry that had made him. “Yeah,” Eddie lied again. “She’s good for you. And she has good taste in couches.”

Buck laughed, relieved. “Good. So—we’ll do a double date, yeah? Me, you, Natalia, Marisol.”

Fuck, no. Eddie thought. That sounds awful.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said instead. “That sounds great.”

Eddie was in the kitchen, pre-heating the oven to heat up some frozen chicken tenders because he didn’t have the energy to cook anything else when he felt little arms wrap gently around his midsection. It hurt his ribs, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to dislodge his son—not when these hugs were becoming rarer and rarer each day.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie said, turning in the hold and dropping a hand onto Christopher’s head. “What’s up?”

Eddie had already seen him, when he popped his head into Christopher’s room to find him sitting with Buck, a careful hand brushing the wounds on the man’s cheek. The sight had made something massive and unknowable bloom inside Eddie’s broken chest, threatening to choke him. He’d tamped it down and hugged Chris hello before heading off to shower, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Chris looked up, propping his chin on Eddie’s sternum. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, a tightness in his voice betraying him.

Eddie smiled. “Me too.” Even though it sparked the ache in his side into a bona-fide pain, Eddie leaned over to drop a kiss onto Christopher’s head—something he barely tolerates anymore. “Hey, the doctors said I’d be good as new in six weeks. Think you can deal with having me around all the time for that long?”

Chris laughed, bright and happy, and Eddie’s heart sang. “I’ll try,” he joked, and then something clouded passed over his face. “Buck’s okay, too, right? His face is bloody.”

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie sighed. Usually, he would kneel down to meet Christopher’s gaze, but he settled for easing himself into a chair and ignoring the concerned look Chris was giving him. “Buck’s totally fine, he just got scraped up a little bit. And today was pretty—pretty scary. For both of us.” He swallowed down the urge to berate himself for telling his kid he was scared, and it seemed to be the right move, because Chris nodded along with wide, careful eyes.

Eddie sighed again, settling his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But—tell you what. Buck’s gonna stay with us tonight, and he’s pretty bad at taking care of himself, right?” Chris giggled at that, and Eddie smiled in response. “So you and I are gonna have to be sneaky about taking care of him tonight, okay?”

Eddie expected Chris to give another sweet smile, and maybe to offer some comfort so earnest and childlike in its innocence that it made everything in the world feel right again, so he wasn’t quite sure to do when Chris burst out into loud, raucous laughter.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he said, playing at being annoyed.

“It’s just,” Chris managed through his massive smile. “That’s exactly what Buck said. About you!”

Eddie just blinked in response, and Chris fell into peals of laughter again. “Okay,” Eddie said with mock-offense. “Okay, I see how it is. Gang up on the injured guy, why don’t you.”

“Da-ad,” Chris whined, fixing him with a very grown-up look. “We just care about you.”

Eddie pursed his lips, that unknown emotion threatening to drown him again. “Yeah,” he said, more choked-up than he would like. “I know.”

A small hand covered his, and Eddie flipped his own over to give it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go put on the next episode of María, okay? We’ll translate for Buck.”

Chris smirked. “You mean you’ll translate for Buck.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Eddie offered as Chris disappeared into the living room.

And later, when they were all piled on the couch, Christopher giggling at Eddie’s half-assed translations and Buck protesting that he understands more Spanish than you think, guys, the newest dose of pain meds forced upon him by Buck making his head more than a bit fuzzy, Eddie thought to himself: I wish it could be like this forever.

Buck shouted in exaggerated outrage to make Chris laugh, gesturing at some ridiculous plot point playing out on the screen, and Eddie let that huge wave of feeling bowl him over—that world-ending, all-consuming love.

Just this. Forever.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Hen said, a hand raised to keep Eddie quiet. “He has this whole thing about his girlfriends being couches, and the couch he finally bought is your couch?��

Feeling somehow embarrassed, Eddie just nodded. Hen shared a smirk with Chimney, sitting on the lawn chair that Maddie hadn’t let him move from for the entire party.

“That’s like—almost romantic,” Chimney snorted.

“What?” Eddie said.

“He’s been looking for the perfect couch, but it was yours all along!” Chim crowed, and Hen dissolved into giggles. She was definitely more than a little drunk.

“It’s so sweet, Eddie, come on,” she needled.

“Well, sure, but—” Eddie sputtered. “—romantic? Come on, guys.”

“No, you—you come on.” Hen said around a hiccup. “You guys are—Buck and Eddie! Eddie and Buck!”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied with a frown. “And you guys are Hen and Chim.”

“Nah, no, no, no,” Chim said with a wagging finger. “It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Eddie threw his hands in the air, one hampered by the half-full bottle in his hand. “You guys are partners, just like us.”

“Yeah, but,” Hen said. “You guys are partners,” she explained, trying for some hand gesture that must have gotten lost in the all the alcohol and rush of the party because she just ended up clasping her hands together awkwardly.

“You guys are crazy,” Eddie said with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“And you’re crazy about Buck,” Hen said in an it’s-so-obvious whisper.

Eddie drew back. “What?”

“Hen—” Chimney started, a hand on her arm.

She shook him off. “No, I gotta—Eddie, you and Buck are like, perfect for each other. You love him, right?” Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said automatically.

Hen gestured emphatically, whacking Chim on the shoulder like this proved her point.

“Hen,” Eddie said gently. “Did you forget that I’m straight?”

Hen scowled, like she did not want to be reminded of this fact. “Okay, but like—if Buck was a girl, you would have asked him out by now. You’d be like—fucking married by now.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but found his mind stuck on Hen’s words. If Buck was a girl. Him and Buck, married. Eddie felt far drunker than he should be off just one and a half beers.

“Eddie, ignore her,” Chim cut in.

Hen frowned. “I’m going to find Karen,” she declared.

Eddie watched her retreating form, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “He’s my best friend,” he said belatedly.

“Eddie.” Chimney kicked his leg. “Ignore her, okay? She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie started.

“Look,” Chim sighed. “We joke about you and Buck sometimes, okay?”

“You do?” Eddie asked.

“Little stuff,” Chimney assured. “Just, like, you’re each other’s favorite person and you’re missing what’s right in front of you, or whatever.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, to refute—what?—but Chim continued.

“But they’re just jokes, okay? We know you’re both straight. I mean, it’d be great if you weren’t, or whatever, but that’s not the world we live in.”

Eddie’s jaw closed with a click. He sipped his beer.

“He’s your best friend.” Eddie looked back to Chimney. “And that’s—” He seemed to search Eddie’s face for a moment. “That’s enough, right?”

Eddie swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Exactly,” Chim agreed with an easy smile. “So, don’t worry about it, okay? She’s just drunk and forgot that we don’t make those jokes in front of you guys.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Besides, Buck has a girlfriend, and—I have a date on Friday, so…”

“You have a date on Friday?” Chimney exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice flat.

Chimney clapped him on the forearm, unable to reach his shoulder from his sitting position. “Look, man, you’ll find that perfect girl-version of Buck out there, okay? I believe.”

Eddie chuckled. “Sure.”

He looked out to the party—his eyes immediately found Buck, head thrown back in laughter at something Athena had said. The string lights of the backyard made his styled curls shine with a honey-colored fire, his fingers curled carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle made Eddie’s mouth feel suddenly dry.

Just this. Just you, Eddie thought.

“You’re right,” he said to Chimney with a hollow smile. “I’ll find someone.”

#I'M BACK BABY #ofc i HAD to write a coda for this one come on #if this gets interaction i'll probably post on ao3 bc it's pretty long so i'll come back and edit this post if that's the case #anyway i have a LOT of wips that i'm planning on finishing and i want to be more active on here/make some friends #so drop a follow if you want to see any of that lol #anyway this was just a fun little thing that i hope y'all enjoy!#911 #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 6x18 #911 6x18 coda #writing #drabbles #even though it's not really a drabble i want it with the rest of my codas #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #buddie

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wickedcriminal · 3 months

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in your half brothers au, what does Camicazi think of Elder and astrid and vice versa?

Camicazi LOVES Elder and Astrid and the dragon riders because she finds it REALLY FUN to mess with them <3 Astrid found her annoying at first but after a while she just became impressed by her kleptomaniac tendencies.

Astrid and Camicazi are especially good friends during Race to the Edge, where Camicazi proves to be an invaluable asset to taking on Viggo and the dragon hunters.

Meanwhile Elder is amicable toward her most days— but finds her to be a really bad influence on Younger ☠️☠️

Just you wait, Elder. It's going to get so much worse 😔👊

#half brothers au #my art #I'M BACK BABY #httyd #httyd au #Astrid and Camicazi!! the iconic blonde girls with dragons named stormfly #they don't have much of a personal relationship outside of battle strategy but they consider each other worthy company #they're like the phineas and ferb friend group vs candace and stacey #how to train your dragon #camicazi #astrid hofferson #ask

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pioneer-over-c · 2 months

Text

#I'M BACK BABY #turns out when you draw in a way that's comfy to you you can actually finish stuff lol #arvis #arvis fire emblem #fire emblem 4 #fe4 #genealogy of the holy war #fire emblem

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gt-pina · 7 months

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This idiot loves his tiny wife

#i'm back baby #sorry for being so absent i was busy :(#i really wanted to draw gt sooo #ALSO THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOLLOWING ME 😭😭😔✨❤️❤️#gt oc #gt community #gt art #gt fluff #oc:clementine #oc:shendo

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granadaholmesdaily · 10 months

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2.06 — The Final Problem — (29/09/1985) 🔎 The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

#letters from watson #sherlockholmesedit #granada holmes #tvedit #sherlock holmes #jeremy brett #1985 #the final problem #FINA #the adventures of sherlock holmes #mine #my gif #watson #i'm back baby

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waynes-multiverse · 1 month

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Don't Call It A Comeback...

...I been here for years 😎

Hi peeps!

I'm officially back from my maternity leave! Well, sorta... consider me a part-time writing mama now, but I'm at least back in some capacity and will be posting stories again. Have you missed me? (I know some of you have, judging by all the asks, comments, and messages. Thank you so much for that 😂❤️)

First and foremost, I'm sorry I left so abruptly. Life got insanely crazy towards the end of last year, but I'm happy to report things are slowly settling down and I'm finding my groove again.

Now to the things that really interest you – STORIES!

Rehab will resume, oop wait... to-fucking-morrow! Yes, you've read that right. Definitely catch up 'cause it's been almost a goddamn year since the last chapter, even I can barely remember... It will then continue to post every Friday till the end of March 💚

Plastic Hearts will hopefully resume after Rehab has finished. I'm working on the last few chapters as we speak. I shortened it down to the original 25 parts that I intended because I felt that ending just fit better. Don't worry, though, there's still tons of messed up stuff happening, so catch up with the 20 parts already posted! 🌟

Otherwise I plan on finally, finally, finally posting the last chapters of To Be Human and Season 3 of Don't Blame Me. It's been a long few years, guys... 😅

So glad to be back! I missed you guys greatly! Don't hesitate to drop by my inbox and tell me about all the stuff I missed out on 🤓

Love, Wayne 🤍

#i'm back baby #mama's gonna knock you out

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just-a-new-gi-writer · 7 months

Note

"Creator Reforged" is (chef's kiss) concise and yet Exactly What It Says On The Tin lmao, big brain! Poor Sucrose in Ch7 tho: she must be traumatised too, for lack of better description.

Oh oh! May I send an ask for the Follower Special? How would the acolytes react to a creator who crochets/knits/sews them various clothes and accessories? I feel like Childe would appreciate (and definitely smugly show off) any scarves or coats you make him lmao??? Liyue has nobles and society stuff, so maybe when Ningguang or the other Qixing wear trinkets/shawls that the Creator made, there'd be similar clothes in fashion? Inazuma and Sumeru seem pretty big on textiles (Silk, Cotton, maybe Wool/Fur?) so would they be smug at their textiles being featured in some of the creator's works??

Also, just a last thing: your writing style ABSOLUTELY gives off shounen light novel vibes. It's honestly perfect for Genshin, imo.

Yeah, no one in that situation is really in their best mind at that point. Albedo, Sucrose, and the reader are all likely not thinking straight. (Hopefully going to get back to work on it soon...)

And thank you for the compliment! I'm honestly not all that familiar with shounen light novels, but I hope that the eldritch/weird moments that undergird party of my writing don't distract too hard.

A/N: Getting back on the wagon. ...And I let myself stray to an adjacent yet (in my opinion) equally interesting version of the Creator. Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 2.7k

CW: None?

Masterpost

taglist @iyohme

The night in Liyue was young. Though the furthest edge of the sky still wore the faintest remnant of the day’s glory, the rest of the sky glammered with pearlescent stars, crowned with a nearly full moon, and bounded in the north where an azure comet tugged at the sky as it fell.

Far below these celestial sights, the opulent city of Liyue slumbered, nestled between its towering mountains and perched beside the tranquil sea. Uncountable lanterns burned quiet and low, illuminating the streets just enough so the guards could patrol yet low enough to allow the citizens to rest.

Though the thousand hands of the industrious city lay low, not all of the city was asleep. In the city’s main hall, where the highest matters of state and commerce were conducted by words and contracts, through coins and goods, by bribes and threats, different kinds of activity were taking place. Heads of states, merchants, nobles, and the like from nearby Sumeru, Inazuma, Fontaine, and a few from even further afield, met and socialized with each other. They forged and renewed acquaintanceships, sought new avenues of commerce and trade, discussed and reviewed new discoveries and theories.

The event there was in full swing. Chandeliers with ornate carvings in Cor Lapis diffused amber light across the whole room. People clustered around the room, conversations flowing as freely as the drinks. The front of the hall was dominated by a stained glass relief of the Creator, The Forge of Days. Though no light filtered in through the myriad colors, the veiled image of Her figure seemed to glow with its own glorious light.

Gathered at the front of the room were piles of gifts and offerings. In years past, they would have been iron and copper, silver and gold, crystals with shimmering hues and gems with an unfathomably deep color.

But recently, their Creator had undergone a change of hobbies. The hands of The Forge rarely sat idle, but the items She created would change with her interests. For months, Her hammer and tongs sat idle, Her billows quiet, and Her fires cold. She’d found a new craft to occupy Her hands for a while, and the people followed Her whims.

A different bounty had been gathered tonight at her feet: bolts of cloth in all kinds of dyes and textures, spools of thread in every color imaginable, skeins of yarn that seemed to glimmer with gold spun into their material. These, the people hoped, would gather Her attention and affection enough to be worthy of receiving a gift from Her in turn. Though She chafed at formalities and ceremonies, these She would bear to see Her creations given.

Tonight, there was no shortage of people gathered to show off the artifacts that She had personally forged, crafted, or spun and then given so generously. It was hard to miss the heads of state and important nobles- Ningguang was garbed with plenty of jewelry of gold and amber and topaz. Keqing kept at her side, displayed prominently, a sword forged of impossibly sharp steel and inlaid with awe-inspiring arrangements of Inazuman amethyst.

Few were arrayed so brilliantly as them, but one person stood taller and prouder than both. In the middle of a group of weary and exasperated onlookers, a peculiar Snezhnyy man bragged about and paraded off his new gift. Tartaglia was not much loved by the people of Liyue- connections to the Fatui tended to do that- but showing off the new turquoise scarf generously pooled around his shoulders, studded with constellations of pearl stars, strained the patience of most.

“Oh, what’s the matter, Afong?” Tartaglia chided a merchant who finally had enough of him and tried to leave, “Can’t stand the sight of someone who has one of Her new styles? What do you have, just a tarnished, old bracelet? I think She’d be embarrassed to see that old thing in public! It’s probably for the best that She tosses that dull thing back into the furnace and starts over from scratch.”

A small, timid voice came up behind him, “Tartaglia, isn’t that enough?” He spun on his heel to see who spoke up, the half-adeptus Ganyu. She was carrying a tray of food in her arms which clearly had a wide selection. “You’re going too far with what you’re saying.”

“Listen, Цилинь,” Childe plucked one of the morsels from her tray, something skewered on a wooden pick, “talk to me when Her Grace decides to visit you with something noteworthy. I can tell,” he gestured down to the arm he could see, “that She gave you some pity. I remember hearing about that meager ring She made, Her last product before turning her sights to Her new craft.” He eyed the ring set with an aquamarine gem, then slid his gaze to what sat on her wrist. “But I didn’t hear about that.”

A dainty, delicate work of lace lay barely hidden under her sleeve, like a fine layer of ice had been worked around her wrist. While many would merely overlook it, it contained many curious details the likes of which would only be seen with Her handiwork- notably, the centerpiece of it was a recreation of Ganyu’s vision- frame, cryo symbol, even the subtle cracks and chips were represented through Her handiwork.

“The Forge of Days generously gifted it to me.”

“An early work of hers, probably. Most likely, she made it to familiarize herself with the craft, getting the early failures out of her system.”

“Did Her Diligence make a single weapon for you?”

There was a momentary flash of anger on his face- the first anyone had seen that night. It was quickly gone, but Ganyu had turned and left before she could notice. She heard another conversation haltingly spin up as she walked away, before fading into the noises of the party.

Ganyu left the party, following a familiar path of hallways as the sounds behind her began to become muddled and indistinct under the weight of their echoes. She turned a few corners, passing various shrines placed to honor and venerate the Adepti, mostly, but also the other benevolent beings who shared the region with the city and who helped guide its people in the past. Designed to impress and show off Liyue’s splendor like the main hall, there was little expense spared for these collections as well.

She slowed, then came to a stop. She was nearly on the other side of the building from the main hall, and her surroundings looked like it. This space was dominated by a large door formed of wood and metal, something that looked more at home in the industrial sections of the city, not here among the shrines. The walls and floor here were dirty- darkened soot seemed to almost grow on any available surface and the air was thick with the smell of earth and fire.

To a place built to celebrate the divine and the supernatural beasts that crowned this corner of the earth, this seemed wildly out of place. But Ganyu, among other important people in Liyue’s governing bodies, knew the truth of this location.

Ganyu balanced her tray on one hand and reached out to one of the enormous door handles. It took a bit of force, but the doors began gliding open, ethereally and unearthly quiet. She passed through the doors and began descending the stairs below, each one decorated with a different pattern of golden crystals that glowed in a circle around anyone walking down them. To Ganyu, it looked like the steps were being cast from the darkness just steps ahead of her as she descended. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she heard the doors behind her gently close by themselves, a soft but unmistakable noise through the space she just entered.

And what a space it was.

Lit by larger clusters embedded in the walls, not too dissimilar to those on the stairs, the room was a crafter’s dream. Uncountable machines of industry filled the space, of every type and make, most repaired by hand after their user damaged them from overuse or overapplication of force. They were distributed about the room by trade- over there sat the forge, its bellows quiet and the stockpiles of coal, iron, silver, gold, and countless other metals full and ready; there rested every tool one needed to hew art and purpose from any stock of lumber one chose; there rested

And through the middle of it all, and under the low dais in the center, ran a stream, to quench and cool the products of the forge, to supply the (currently disengaged) mechanisms with power.

And sitting there on that dais, bathed in light from a ring of crystals suspended over Her head, surrounded by an impressive array of tools and stock of materials all at Her fingertips, the Creator moved with impressive speed. Her hands flew from one movement to the next, a blindingly fast dance between Her fingers, the tools, and the dress that She was weaving on the mannequin in front of Her.

Ganyu set the tray down on a nearby table that wasn’t totally overrun with supplies and materials, pushing a few bolts of cloth out of the way. She carefully stepped through a field of bobbins, careful not to upset or step on any. As she approached the Creator, she wondered if She had actually noticed her. “Pardon?” She tried to get Her attention, stretching a hand out to Her shoulder. “Burning Forge–?”

The Forge of Days suddenly snapped out of the way, Her head whirling around to glare at Ganyu, Her eyes burning a brilliant yellow-white from the focus on Her activity. Her glare was uncomforting on the best of days, but when She wielded it like this, Ganyu could almost feel the heat of the forge pouring on, through, and around her. She could feel some of her hair begin to singe.

Ganyu took a step back, covering her face. “M-My apologies! Ningguang only wanted me to check on You!” The heat began to bleed away from her, quickly dropping to a simmering heat. When Ganyu risked a glance, she found Her back at Her craft, continuing to weave like She hadn’t been interrupted. “I wanted to check in on you as well. I know it’s quiet down here, and I know you don’t like crowds–”

Her Industriousness made a noise of frustration as she pulled the last of the yarn taut. She spun in place, planting the hook in the dress, then grabbed a plain knife and walking (at a speed that should have been called running) over to a spinning wheel. She began gathering up Her hair in large handfuls, then cutting them off with quick, clean cuts of the knife.

As quickly as She had turned away from Ganyu, the heat had faded away; only the memory of the warmth remained. Ganyu winced to see Her shear so much of Her hair off so carelessly, but she knew there was a method behind Her actions. As She stopped in front of the spinning wheel, She set the knife aside and began turning the spinning wheel, arcs of magical light started being cast from it as it spun faster and faster. When the arcs began to connect into circles, She fed Her hairs into it one at a time, and began winding the resulting golden thread around an empty bobbin.

Ganyu took the moment to look the dress over now that the Weaver of Fates was away from it. The beautiful garment looked like it was painstakingly constructed- the various materials made it look like it was spun from the condensed light that shimmered over Liyue harbor every morning, the angles and sections of construction chosen to mesh with each other so seamlessly. With how She had woven it all together, it felt like the dress was creating itself, like it was destined to simply be.

Thinking back to the excruciating minutiae of measurements that She had made of her body (after she found the demand from her Creator carved on a slab of iron which was unceremoniously deposited on her working desk…), part of her hoped that it would turn out this beautiful.

As she looked back at the spinning wheel, she caught The Forge feeding the last of her liberated hairs into the wheel and loading the last of the thread onto an overloaded bobbin. She snapped it up in one hand and turned back to the mannequin to continue her work.

It was now or never. Her Industriousness hated being interrupted.

“Your Grace?” Ganyu started speaking before She could set down the bobbin. “I was just thinking about you. I know you don’t like social events, and they’d prepared so much for the party- I thought you’d appreciate me bringing you a sample of what they had.” Ganyu began talking faster as she started threading the needle. “I-I made sure to grab some of your favorites as well, and I wanted to…”

She eventually stopped herself. If Her Unending Warmth wasn’t interested in something, it was basically guaranteed to be a futile struggle to get Her to cooperate. None in all Teyvat could match Her strength and endurance, let alone Her abject stubbornness.

Ganyu turned to leave. “I… I should go. I should see if they need me upstairs again. I’ll–” She barely took a few steps before suddenly being stopped. Turning around, she saw that the Creator had lunged towards her to grab on to her, Her incredibly strong and calloused grip, able to crush stone and deform iron, gently but firmly wrapped around her arm.

She looked up and saw The Forge’s face, one that was so used to its grim and steadfast glare that its current one, creased with worry, almost looked unfamiliar. The light in Her eyes was still bright, but had cooled to an orange glow.

“…Stay.”

The single word croaked from Her throat, gravely and unclear from disuse. It was incredibly rare for Her to speak- it was said that lifetimes could come and go without her making so much as a single utterance.

“–! …Alright, I’ll stay here with you.”

Her Grace let go of her breath and the room seemed to warm. She released Her grip on Ganyu, who slipped off to find two chairs that could easily be decluttered and dragged over to the table.

“…For all the work Your Industriousness does, I’m surprised You don’t do more to keep things tidy down here.” She moved an armful of cloth up onto a table, where it likely would be a hazard later on. “But I’m sure no one complains because they just like it when You make things on time.” She struggled to maneuver herself and the chairs around all the other clutter, but Her Grace managed to move through it with surprising, well, grace.

“There.” Ganyu set the two chairs down and it wasn’t long after She sat that She popped the lid off the tray and grabbed two different treats, offering the smaller one to her. She gave Her a light punch on the shoulder (that likely only hurt herself) then accepted it. After She started biting into the delicacy, Ganyu saw the light in Her eyes had dimmed further into a reddish glow, the natural steel gray beginning to show through near Her pupils.

The Forge labored many long hours to hone Her craft and produce all kinds of goods. Ganyu figured it was best to let Her rest for a while.

#sagau #self aware genshin #genshin cult au #ask response #I'm back baby #hopefully #Forge!Creator don't mess around

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