moondance-r

[moondance-r]

despite staff's recent changes, we're... winning??????

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scurvy has got to have one of the biggest disease/treatment coolness gaps of all time. like yeah too much time at sea will afflict you with a curse where your body starts unraveling and old wounds come back to haunt you like vengeful ghosts. unless☝️you eat a lemon

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im going crazy you have GOT to decouple romance/amatonormativity and marriage in your mind. you have GOT to understand that marriage is a legal document that protects you from exploitation especially if you are a woman or a stay-at-home anything. it is not some evil unique to heterosexual people. it is a legal document that says 'this is who i want in my hospital room when i die, this is who i want to have my stuff when i die, THIS PERSON OWES ME RECOMPENSE IF THEY KICK ME OUT OF THE HOUSE I LIVE IN"

You are not immune to being taken advantage of by your partner if you are queer. do not wind up homeless because your garbage live-ins name is on the lease and they decided to drop you like hot coals.

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the insane experience of missing a fictional character . like you can always go back and reread the book , replay the game , rewatch the show or movie , you can always go back & see them , but you can never experience them & their story for the first time again . its absurd to miss them because they'll always be there , but you'll miss when there were still new things for them to say .

for a small time they were real & growing and changing and you hung onto every new word, but now all they can do is repeat the same story forever&ever & they're not real anymore because you know everything they're going to do. & you miss them. its fucked man...

[moondance-r]

evil grandpa takes obi-wan off melida/daan

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Yes there's a typo in the first option but I am not redoing the whole thing

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So like how would our yandere fatui hubbys react to a reader who is also yandere fir them but like good at hiding it and then they find out

Two Can Play A Game

Synopsis: They’ve always believed you were the calm one. The delicate one. The reason they could justify their own obsession. But when the illusion cracks—when they uncover the depth of your own possessive devotion—they don’t recoil. They lean in. Because if you're just like them… then there’s no need to pretend at all anymore. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Pierro, Childe x Secret Yandere Reader

Capitano – Steel Attracts Steel

Capitano always treated you like something fragile. Loved you hard, yes—but carefully. Kept his brutality away from you, like shielding fire from a flame.

Until one night, during an assassination investigation, he finds one of your knives buried in the back of the corpse. Personalised hilt. Fatui-forged.

When confronted, you don’t even deny it. “They touched you,” you say flatly. “I told them not to.”

Capitano is silent for a long time. You brace for reprimand. But instead, he just steps closer. His gauntlet brushes your jaw.

“… You’ve been hiding this from me.”

“Would it have scared you?”

“No,” he says, voice gravel-deep. “It would’ve made me marry you faster.”

From then on, he no longer protects you from his world. You’re part of it now. Equal. Loved not in spite of your darkness—but because you match his.

Dottore – You Know Too Much

He finds your journal by accident—or maybe he planned to.

It’s clinical. Detailed. A list of people you’ve removed or ruined just for getting too close to him. Notes on which of his clones you think are too emotionally independent. A theory on how to extract loyalty through psychological dependence.

He laughs so hard he drops it.

“Darling,” he croons, spinning the journal in his hand like a prized artifact. “You manipulated one of my assistants into quitting?”

“They were getting too close. I don’t share.”

He stares at you like you’re a miracle.

Dottore thrives on brilliance, and the fact that you fooled him? That you were obsessing just as hard but under his radar?

You’ve never seen him more in love.

He lets you help with his experiments now. Not as an assistant. As an equal. As a fellow predator.

He calls you his “perfect mutation.”

Pantalone – The Lover Behind the Curtain

Pantalone always thought he was the one playing chess.

You were docile. Soft-spoken. All smiles and tea cups and passive agreement. Until he caught wind of a smear campaign against one of his economic rivals—one only you could’ve orchestrated, given the exact trade documents you had touched.

He lets you stew for three days before confronting you in his office.

You blink, feigning ignorance. But he only smiles and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“Darling,” he says softly, “you’re better at this than half my board members. Why hide it?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was… unbalanced.”

He laughs. Long. Soft.

“My love, you balance me.”

From then on, he hands you targets with a smirk and says, “For us.” And when he sees you quietly ruin people behind silk gloves and honeyed smiles? He watches like a man seeing a masterpiece in motion.

Pierro – The First and the Last

Pierro is slow to trust. Even slower to hope.

But when he discovers the bloody trail you left in Snezhnaya’s underbelly—former suitors, rival diplomats, jealous subordinates—he doesn’t confront you immediately. No, he watches you for weeks. Watches how effortlessly you slip between docility and ruthlessness.

And then one night, he brings you to his private study and lays a file in front of you.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “just come to me directly.”

You eye the file. “You're… not angry?”

“You want me safe. Kept. Yours.” He steps closer. “What kind of man would I be to punish loyalty that mirrors my own?”

He elevates you. You’re no longer just his partner—you become the blade in his other hand. And if you ever thought he was obsessed before?

Now he lets himself be.

Childe – Match Made in Mayhem

Childe catches you in the act—literally. Mid-threat, dagger in your sleeve, eyes hard and mouth flat as you tell a diplomat, “Get away from my fiancé. Or I’ll decorate this floor with your guts.”

You don’t notice him at first. But when you turn and spot him? He’s grinning like a lunatic.

“You love me that much?” he says.

“I always have,” you mutter. “I’m just better at hiding it.”

Childe immediately sweeps you into a kiss. He’s absolutely unhinged from that point forward.

“New rule,” he says. “You’re coming on every mission now. Ride or die, baby.”

He brags about you constantly. Calls you his better half while holding your bloodied dagger in his belt.

When enemies beg to be taken by the Harbinger instead of his partner, that’s when you know he’s truly in love.

[moondance-r]

agent au (based on childe's recent hoyofair getup)

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[moondance-r]

[moondance-r]

I saw a post going around a while ago (including from a non-US moot) about getting comfortable lying to law enforcement

Here's the thing. In the US.

DO NOT TALK TO LAW ENFORCEMENT IN THE FIRST PLACE.

If you are in a situation where you're lying to law enforcement, you are already interacting too much. STOP TALKING.

You can ask if you are free to go. You can keep asking.

Per the National Lawyers Guild, ESPECIALLY do not lie to the FBI. Do not say things to them that could be construed as lying. Those are serious charges. The best way around that is NOT TALKING.

In the words of the National Lawyers Guild: SHUT THE FUCK UP.

[moondance-r]

Wait, so you said that you can learn to trust others by building friendships, but how does one go about doing that? Wouldn't someone I don't know be creeped out or annoyed if I suddenly walked up and started talking to them?

Friendships are built of repeated low-stakes interactions and returned bids for attention with slowly increasing intimacy over time.

It takes a long time to make friends as an adult. People will probably think you're weird if you just walk up and start talking to them as though you are already their friend (people think it's weird when I do this, I try not to do this) but people won't think it's weird if you're someone they've seen a few times who says "hey" and then gradually has more conversations (consisting of more words) with them.

I cheat at forming adult friendships by joining groups where people meet regularly. If you're part of a radio club that meets once a week and you just join up to talk about radios, eventually those will be your radio friends.

If there's a hiking meetup near you and you go regularly, you will eventually have hiking friends.

Deeper friendships are formed with people from those kinds of groups when you do things with them outside of the context of the original interaction; if you go camping with your radio friend, that person is probably more friend than acquaintance. If you go to the movies with a hiking friend who likes the same horror movies as you do, that is deepening the friendship.

In, like 2011 Large Bastard decided he wanted more friends to do stuff with so he started a local radio meetup. These people started as strangers who shared an interest. Now they are people who give each other rides after surgery and help each other move and have started businesses together and have gone on many radio-based camping trips and have worked on each other's cars.

Finding a meetup or starting a meetup is genuinely the cheat-code for making friends.

This is also how making friendships at schools works - you're around a group of people very regularly and eventually you get to know them better and you start figuring out who you get along with and you start spending more time with those people.

If you want to do this in the most fast and dramatic way possible, join a band.

In 2020 I wrote something of a primer on how to turn low-stakes interactions with neighbors and acquaintances into more meaningful relationships; check the notes of this post over the next couple days, I'll dig up the link and share it in a reblog.

[moondance-r]

Ashes of khaenri'ah (p2&3)

Previous part

Wattpad

The golden haze of dawn spilled through the windowpanes, warming the stone floor of the modest second-story home nestled just above the bakery. The smell of rising bread and morning dew crept in through the cracks, but Y/N barely noticed.

She sat perched by the window, knees drawn up to her chest, gaze fixed on the street below — empty, except for the flicker of pigeons and the occasional clatter of hooves in the distance.

Any minute now, the delivery post would arrive.

Her thumb worried the edge of the windowsill. The usual time had already passed. Again.

Behind her, there was a loud creak of wood followed by the unmistakable thump of someone stumbling into a low-hanging beam.

“Ow.”

She turned just in time to see a mop of unruly teal hair shuffle down the stairs in a haze of sleep and disheveled clothes. Venti rubbed his head, grumbling under his breath, and dragged his feet into the kitchen like a man exiled from the realm of dreams far too early.

“…Morning,” she offered.

“Too early,” he croaked, flopping face-first onto a chair. “Has the sun always been this loud?”

Y/N gave a small smile and turned back to the window.

The chair creaked again as Venti slowly sat up and squinted at her through one bleary eye. “You’re waiting for him again, aren’t you?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

“Third time this week.”

“…Fourth,” she corrected.

Venti winced theatrically and slumped. “Still no letter?”

“No.”

A quiet passed between them. Then, softer:

“You miss him.”

“Every day.”

She didn’t even try to hide it.

A Few Months Ago

It had been late well past midnight when Y/N found him.

The wind was brisk that night, curling through the alleys of Mondstadt with the chill of an oncoming storm. She’d just stepped out of Angel’s Share after dropping off a care package for a friend, when she nearly tripped over a pile of green, ragged cloth sprawled near the alley wall.

It groaned.

“���Venti?” she’d blinked, kneeling beside him.

He cracked open an eye. “Oh, hello there, kind spirit. Have you come to carry me to the afterlife? If so, I have a few songs prepared…”

She stared at the half-empty bottle clutched in his hand and sighed.

“…You’re drunk.”

“I’m a bard. This is called creative inspiration.”

“You’re in a puddle.”

“I’m one with nature.”

“You smell like spoiled dandelion wine.”

He hiccuped. “Delicately aged dandelion wine.”

After a brief argument with Diluc (who muttered something about “a walking health hazard scaring the regulars”), she got him upright. Kind of. And half-dragged, half-guided him through the quiet streets.

She hadn’t meant to invite him in.

But then she found out where he’d been living: the massive tree at Windrise. Just tucked into one of the branches like a squirrel with too much poetic angst and no concept of personal safety.

“You’re what?”

“I find the wind clearer up there. No rent, too.”

“You’re homeless?”

“I’m at peace.”

“Okay. You’re sleeping at my place tonight.”

“…Is this what mortals call ‘cohabitation’?”

“Shut up and get on the couch.”

Since then venti had been living in her house in one of the spare rooms.

Venti blinked as the scent of tea wafted from the kettle behind him. “You know, for someone who took in the literal Anemo Archon, you’re awfully sentimental.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

He grinned and leaned over the table. “Still, I’m glad you did. Not many would take in a wandering god with no shoes and a wine tab the size of the cathedral.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You were just sad. I could see it.”

The street outside stirred with movement. She leaned forward slightly — a glimpse of feathers, the telltale flash of the delivery courier in blue and gold.

Her heart jumped. “He’s here.”

The postman gave her a tired smile and handed over the letter, sealed in deep blue wax. Y/N’s eyes lit up the second she saw the emblem — not official, not grand, but unmistakably Misha’s.

She turned so fast Venti nearly choked on his tea.

“He wrote!” she grinned, holding it up like a long-lost treasure.

Venti leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Ah, the reclusive knight lives! Or... broods. Mostly broods.”

She sat down beside him and broke the seal with careful fingers, unfolding the thick parchment. The handwriting was neat, precise — painfully Misha.

Y/N.

I’m alive. Before you start worrying, nothing’s on fire (yet). The snow makes that difficult.

Stop sending knitted scarves. I have five. I have no neck for a sixth.

As for your stray bard: tell the drunkard if he spills anything on the rug again, I will teleport a dozen cat hairs into every pocket he owns. Yes, I know he lives with you. You’re too kind. He’s too broke. Somehow this is not surprising.

Also — tell him not to mistake the guest soap for candy again.

In more relevant news: one of the Fatui Harbingers has arrived in Nod-Krai. No cause for alarm. Varka insisted I behave. I promised not to start a war.

Yet.

—Misha

There was a silence as Y/N reread the lines twice, her smile growing wider with each word.

Venti’s laughter echoed through the room. “He threatened me with cat hairs? This man’s magical and petty — I respect it.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “He really hasn’t changed at all…”

Venti plucked the letter gently from her hand and held it up like a sacred relic. “The legendary Misha — scourge of wine stains and enforcer of personal boundaries. Honestly, I feel honored.”

“He says he’s fine,” Y/N murmured, her voice a little quieter. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

“Mm.” Venti gave the letter back, letting her hold it close. “He’s watching over you. Same way you watch over everyone else.”

Her smile softened, eyes drifting back to the window. The city was fully awake now — the streets bustling, the bell towers chiming, sunlight painting golden streaks on rooftops.

But her thoughts were with snow-covered mountains far away — and a stubborn brother who never really left her side, even from across the world.

A knock echoed against the front door, followed by the soft creak of hinges.

“We’re back~!” Paimon sang as she floated in, her tiny boots kicking faint traces of dust off the welcome mat.

Behind her, Aether stepped through with the quiet grace of someone too tired to speak. His blonde hair was windswept, cloak half-unfastened, and yet he still gave Y/N that familiar warm smile that said we made it back in one piece.

Y/N turned from the window, the letter still in her hands, and beamed. “Perfect timing.”

“For what?” Paimon asked, floating closer.

Y/N held up the slightly crinkled letter.

“Misha wrote.”

Paimon’s eyes lit up. “He finally wrote back?!”

Aether blinked in surprise, setting down his satchel. “That’s your brother, right? The one everyone keeps calling the ‘ghost in the north’?”

“Or the ‘quiet storm’ depending on which Knight you ask,” Y/N said, laughing under her breath. “But yes. That brother.”

“About time!” Paimon zipped over and peered at the paper. “You’ve been waiting forever.”

Y/N handed it over and watched as Paimon scanned the contents with impressive speed. About halfway through, she let out a high-pitched snort.

“Wait—he said what?” She read aloud, “‘Tell the drunkard if he spills wine on the rug again, I will teleport a dozen cat hairs into every pocket he owns.’”

Venti, who had just shuffled back from changing his clothes yawned. “How generous. Last time it was snakes.”

Paimon floated back in disbelief. “He’s so scary and so casual about it! Why does he talk like you two know each other for ages?!”

Y/N laughed, covering her mouth.

Venti rubbing his eyes, “he and I go way back.”

Aether glanced between them, curious. “Really? You know him?”

Venti’s smile turned lopsided, a little too relaxed. “Old friends. We’ve crossed paths more times than I can count. He has… strong opinions about the Fatui, and even stronger ones about me.”

“Probably because you snore,” Paimon said, hands on her hips.

Venti ignored that. “He’s not so scary once you know how to read between the sarcasm. Or dodge his hexes.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers tracing the letter’s edge again.

“He also said not to worry,” she added softly, “Apparently one of the Harbingers arrived in Nod-Krai. But he promised Varka he wouldn’t start a war.”

Paimon frowned. “That sounds like something you say when you're definitely thinking about starting one.”

“Knowing Misha?” Venti said, stretching, “He’ll grumble, make five passive-aggressive remarks, then save everyone anyway. It’s his thing.”

Y/N looked down at the letter again, her smile soft and distant. “Yeah… It really is.”

Y/N folded the letter carefully and slipped it into the inside pocket of her coat. “Anyway,” she said, brushing her hands off on her skirt, “I already made breakfast. Come on, before everything goes cold.”

Paimon’s eyes lit up instantly. “You angel! What did you make?!”

“Just eggs, fresh bread from Sara, and a bit of fruit,” Y/N said as she walked toward the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder with a knowing smile. “And yes, I set some honey out just for you.”

“Best. Morning. Ever!” Paimon whooshed past her in a blur, already halfway to the table.

Aether followed with a chuckle, unfastening his cloak and hanging it by the door. “You spoil us.”

“Someone has to,” Y/N said lightly. “And besides, it’s the least I can do with how often you two drag yourselves home half-dead.”

Venti trailed behind them, stretching with a sleepy groan. “Mmm, the scent of warm bread and passive concern. Truly, your hospitality knows no bounds.”

“You want cat hair in your tea next?” Y/N shot back.

Venti grinned. “No thank you, I’m already well-caffeinated by fear.”

They gathered around the kitchen table. Morning light spilled through the windows, catching in the steam rising from the tea and the golden crust of the bread. For a while, there was only the soft clinking of cutlery and the quiet hum of waking up—like a house that had finally taken a deep breath.

“You think he’ll write again soon?” Aether asked after a few minutes, his voice gentle.

Y/N nodded, watching the sunlight dance across her tea. “He always does. Just… in his own time.”

Paimon, mid-bite, muffled, “Well, tell him next time to include dessert.”

Venti smirked. “If he does, it’ll be poisoned.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and clear. “Then I’ll make sure to test it on you first.”

“Deal,” Venti grinned, raising his cup in a mock toast. “To family, and surviving another day without a magical curse.”

“To breakfast,” Paimon added, mouth still full.

Y/N looked around the table, her heart a little lighter than it had been moments ago.

“To letters that always come,” she said quietly. “Even if they take their time.”

And for a while, that was enough.

Later that morning, after Aether and Paimon had retreated to their room for some much-needed rest — Paimon dramatically declaring she might not wake until “next century” — Y/N slipped on her coat and stepped outside with Venti trailing just behind her.

Mondstadt’s breeze was gentle today, cool but not biting, carrying the faint scent of wine and apples from the distant vineyards. The city’s usual bustle filled the air: merchants opening stalls, the clatter of armor from patrolling knights, and children laughing in the streets.

Venti walked beside her, half-skipping, his hands folded behind his head. “So,” he began, drawing out the word, “I’ve been working on a new song.”

“Oh?” Y/N glanced at him with a smile. “Does this one have actual lyrics, or are you just humming dramatically in the tavern again?”

Venti gasped in mock offense. “I'll have you know it's both poetic and dramatic this time.”

“I’m terrified already,” she teased.

“It’s a ballad,” he said more earnestly, kicking a pebble down the cobbled path. “About stars that burn out too young… and the people who carry their light.”

Y/N slowed for a moment, touched despite herself. “You always manage to sound like you’re joking and grieving at the same time.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, one too old and too knowing for the playful tone. “Maybe that’s the only way I know how.”

Before she could reply, a voice called out from ahead.

“Miss Y/N!”

A knight in standard uniform jogged up, saluting quickly. His armor was still scuffed with the dust of early patrols.

“Acting Grandmaster Jean requests your presence at headquarters. She said it was urgent.”

Y/N blinked. “Did she say what it was about?”

The knight shook his head. “Only that it was important. I was told to find you personally.”

Venti tilted his head slightly, the wind toying with his hair. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Y/N sighed, brushing her hands down the front of her coat. “Alright. Tell Jean I’m on my way.”

The knight gave a crisp nod and took off again.

Venti watched him go, then looked at her. “Want me to come with you?”

She thought for a second. “No. If it’s really official business, they’ll want fewer jokes and more... focus.”

He placed a hand over his heart, wounded. “You wound me, dearest hostess.”

“Then consider it revenge for the wine stain you still haven’t cleaned.”

“Unbelievable,” Venti mumbled, shaking his head. “You give a man a roof, and suddenly he owes you his dignity too.”

Y/N smirked and gave him a small wave before turning toward headquarters, her steps quickening slightly. Her mind already wandered to the possibilities — what could Jean want that was urgent, but not shared through a letter or message?

Behind her, Venti watched until she disappeared past the corner.

He hummed, quietly, under his breath.

That song would need another verse soon.

__

The polished oak door to the Acting Grandmaster’s office stood tall as always — a little too formal, a little too imposing. Y/N knocked gently.

“Come in,” Jean’s voice called — calm, clipped, and unmistakably tired.

Y/N pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Jean looked up from the stack of papers in front of her, and the moment her eyes met Y/N’s, her expression softened.

“Y/N,” she said, rising briefly from her seat. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Y/N said, stepping forward. But the moment she took in the dark shadows under Jean’s eyes, her smile dimmed. “Have you rested at all?”

Jean gave her a tired but genuine smile — the kind that admitted more than her words ever would. “There’s too much to do for rest. But I’m managing.”

“You always say that,” Y/N murmured, folding her arms. “At this point, I’m going to start bringing tea laced with sleeproot.”

Jean actually huffed a soft laugh, then motioned for her to sit. “Noted. But before you drug the Acting Grandmaster, tell me — did the letter come?”

Y/N blinked. Then, a light returned to her face as she reached into her coat and pulled out the slightly creased letter.

“He wrote,” she said, voice soft. “Finally.”

Jean’s tired eyes brightened a little. “That’s good. You’ve been waiting.”

Y/N nodded. “He’s fine — grumpy as ever. He sent his usual threats to Venti for existing. And…” she hesitated for a breath. “He mentioned that one of the Harbingers arrived in Nod-Krai.”

Jean’s brow furrowed, her hands stilling.

“He said not to worry,” Y/N added quickly, “that he already promised Varka not to start a war.”

A pause.

“Of course he did,” Jean said dryly. “And that’s supposed to be comforting.”

Y/N gave a tired smile. “It is. For him.”

Jean exhaled slowly, eyes flicking down to the open reports scattered across her desk — maps, dispatches, half-read communications. “We received similar word this morning. Capitano, from what the channels say. The others don’t know yet. I thought it best to speak to you first.”

Y/N leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “Do we know why he’s there?”

Jean shook her head. “Not officially. And Misha hasn’t sent anything outside of routine contact.”

Y/N could tell that worried her more than she was letting on.

After a quiet beat, Jean said, “He’ll handle it. He always does.”

Y/N nodded slowly, clutching the letter just a little tighter. “He always does.”

Jean glanced briefly at the sealed reports on her desk, then back at Y/N. Her expression sobered.

“But I didn’t call you here just to talk about letters.”

Y/N leaned in slightly, brow furrowing. “What’s going on?”

Jean reached for a parchment and slid it across the desk. A simple map of the surrounding regions—Windrise, Stormbearer Mountains, and farther west—marked with several red sigils clustered in erratic patterns.

“There’s been a spike in ley line activity. Sudden, aggressive shifts. Enough to cause physical anomalies in some areas,” Jean said. “The knights are stretched thin responding to a recent Abyss incursion in the north. I need someone I trust to look into this personally.”

Y/N studied the markings, her expression tightening. “Has the Guild confirmed it?”

Jean nodded. “Adeline said the readings were… unstable. Like something’s pushing the ley lines to fracture unnaturally. Not like before with the corruption under Wolvendom. This feels targeted.”

“Targeted?” Y/N echoed, straightening slightly. “By who?”

“We don’t know. But I’d rather find out before someone else does. Or worse—before it spreads.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Alright. When do I leave?”

Jean offered her a rare, grateful smile. “First light tomorrow. I’ll have the route and supply details sent to your home. And I’ll assign a pair of scouts to meet you at the outer ridge.”

Y/N stood. “I’ll take care of it.”

Before she could leave, Jean added, quieter this time, “And Y/N… be careful. If Misha mentioned a Harbinger, and these events are connected, I don’t want to underestimate whatever’s moving in the background.”

Y/N nodded once, her hand tightening slightly around the letter at her side. “I won’t.”

She turned and left the office.

The morning mist hadn’t yet lifted from the cobblestones of Mondstadt.

The streets were quiet—save for the soft tap of Y/N’s boots as she moved quickly through the city gates, her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders against the crisp dawn air. The first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds over Windrise in slivers of gold, casting long shadows across the fields.

She’d been up before the sun. Again.

The leyline anomalies reported east of Springvale couldn’t wait. And truth be told, she didn’t feel much like sleeping.

Not after the letter. Not after what Jean said.

Y/N paused at the edge of the path, pulling a folded map from her satchel and checking the markers she’d made the night before. Jean’s reports matched hers—subtle shifts in leyline flow, strange flickers of elemental energy where none should be. It wasn’t violent, not yet. But it felt… wrong. As if something just under the skin of the world had started to stir.

The rustle of leaves caught her ear.

“Morning!”

Paimon floated up out of the trees like an overly chipper star. Aether wasn’t far behind, his hair mussed by the breeze, the edge of his sword glinting faintly in the low sun. He looked more alert than he had any right to at this hour.

“We said we’d help,” Aether said with a faint smile, pulling his gloves tighter. “Splitting up covers more ground.”

Y/N gave them both a grateful look, even if her brow furrowed in concern. “You sure you’re both up for this? You didn’t rest much last night.”

“We’ll be fine!” Paimon said, puffing her chest proudly. “Besides, you were practically vibrating with nervous energy all morning—if we didn’t come, you’d be five kilometers deep by now.”

Y/N couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Fair.”

She passed Aether a second marked map and a small crystal tuning device—Misha’s design, modified for quick field readings. She’d spent weeks fine-tuning it before he’d gone dark. It still worked like a charm.

“Start near the Whispering Woods,” she said, voice slipping into its fieldwork rhythm. “Look for light distortions, elemental interference, anything that feels like a heartbeat in the ground.”

“Got it,” Aether said, tucking the tools away.

“We’ll meet back at the Windrise tree by midday,” she added. “And no fighting hilichurls unless they fight you first.”

“Paimon makes no promises!” the floating companion chimed, and then zipped off toward the treeline.

Y/N watched them go, smiling to herself. The moment of peace settled over her for a breath or two—until the pulse returned.

Low. Distant. Barely audible beneath the breeze.

But there.

The ley lines were shifting again.

She turned toward the hills, wind catching her cloak, and began the climb. The earth here was old—older than Mondstadt, older than the ruins near Stormterror’s Lair. And beneath its roots, something was stirring.

Not yet violent. Not yet visible.

But close.

She pressed a gloved hand to the soil, closed her eyes, and listened.

Far away, across the edge of the world, another heartbeat echoed beneath snow and stone.

Y/N’s hand pressed firmly to the ground. The leyline tremors grew stronger—unsteady pulses of energy thumping against her skin like the echo of a second heartbeat.

Then… something else.

A flicker.

Not elemental. Not leyline.

People.

She opened her eyes.

There were presences nearby—clustered, heavy, armored. And they weren’t Knights of Favonius. Her brow furrowed. Silently, she stood, dusting off her gloves and moving through the brush toward the source, her steps quiet and deliberate.

She barely crested the hill when the ambush sprang.

A sharp whir of steel cut the air—too fast to shout a warning.

Three shadows lunged at her from behind jagged rocks, masked and uniformed in black and crimson.

Fatui.

Jean had been right.

Y/N ducked instinctively, her blade manifesting with a flash of violet as she spun to deflect the first strike. Her electro vision pulsed to life, surging down her arms as lightning crackled in answer to the threat.

The first agent dropped with a sharp cry, her blade slicing across his pauldron. The second tried to rush her from behind—she turned, hand raised, and a burst of crackling energy launched him back with a heavy thud.

The third hesitated.

Mistake.

Y/N moved fast, closing the distance before he could recover. Her sword danced with arcs of lightning, sharp and efficient. Moments later, all three were on the ground—groaning, dazed, and very much disarmed.

She stood over them, chest rising and falling evenly, crackles of static still humming at her fingertips. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me what you’re doing near the ley lines before I—”

Thunk.

An arrow embedded itself in the dirt beside her foot, just off target.

Her eyes snapped up.

A tall figure stood just beyond the trees, lowering a bow with casual confidence. His scarf fluttered slightly in the breeze—long and finely made, crimson, the unmistakable mark of higher Fatui rank. His face was far too calm for someone walking into a failed ambush.

His ginger hair caught the light.

And his eyes—an unnatural blue, empty of glow or warmth—locked on to hers with a grin that was far too relaxed.

“Well,” he said cheerfully, lowering his bow. “That was quick. And here I thought I might get a bit of exercise.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, sword still raised. “You’re with them.”

“Technically,” he said, gesturing to the groaning soldiers. “Though I don’t think they were briefed on who they were up against. Shame.”

He took a step closer. His voice was smooth, almost playful.

“You’re fast. Electro user. And clearly no amateur. I’m impressed.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Oh, I know. But you looked lonely on that hill, and I’ve always had a soft spot for stormy types.”

Her grip on the sword tightened. “What are the Fatui doing near the ley lines?”

He tilted his head like a wolf appraising a particularly snappy hare. “Field trip. You know how it is—Snezhnaya sends us to poke around in places we shouldn’t be. Just doing my part.”

There was something off about his ease—too self-assured. Not the usual Fatui agent. But she couldn’t place his rank. Not yet.

Still grinning, he added, “You haven’t introduced yourself. Or am I supposed to guess?”

Y/N didn’t respond. Not yet. She was still trying to decide if he was a threat worth striking down—or just another smug operative.

But something in his eyes told her he wasn’t ordinary. This one was dangerous.

And he was watching her far too closely.

The breeze shifted.

Y/N didn’t lower her blade.

The stranger—still grinning, still far too at ease—took a single step forward. His fingers flexed, crackling faintly with moisture. A shimmering glint formed at his hands—two elegant curved blades of condensed Hydro forming in each palm like liquid steel.

Not ordinary at all.

“So you’re strong,” he said, voice dropping into something more grounded, more dangerous. “I wasn’t planning to get involved. I’m just here to look at the ley lines, scout the terrain... the usual dull stuff.”

He rolled his neck, the cocky smile never leaving.

“But then I saw what you did to my team.”

He raised one of the Hydro blades and pointed it at her like a challenge.

“Now I’m curious.”

Without warning, he moved.

Fast.

He closed the distance in a blink, blades arcing in smooth, deadly crescents. Y/N’s eyes widened—then narrowed—just in time to raise her sword and catch the first strike. A shock of impact pulsed through her arm.

He twisted, following through with a second blade aimed at her ribs. She ducked, pivoting away with sharp footwork, sparks of electro energy trailing behind her as she launched a short-range burst to push him back.

He landed smoothly, barely phased.

“Ohoho~! You’ve got reflexes!” he said, practically laughing. “This is gonna be fun.”

“I’m not here to play games,” Y/N snapped, her vision flaring brighter as electricity rippled across her sword’s edge.

“Neither am I,” he grinned. “This is how I say hello.”

Another rush—this time from the side. His form flickered with water, faint traces of afterimages trailing his movement. Y/N turned just in time to parry again, their blades ringing out with the sharp metallic echo of clashing elements.

His attacks were wild but controlled, relentless yet elegant. This wasn’t the chaos of a thug—it was the precision of someone who’d trained for war.

Y/N gritted her teeth, her stance holding. She redirected his next strike, spun low, and swept lightning through the grass, forcing him to leap back with a laugh.

He landed, exhaling sharply, his chest rising. “You're better than I thought. That sword style… that control. Not bad.”

“Why are you really here?” she asked, steady, watching every twitch of his fingers.

“Like I said—ley line business.” He rolled his shoulder, blades still at the ready. “But this? This is just a bonus.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Her stance shifted. Lightning arced up her spine, settling behind her eyes.

If he wanted a fight…

He’d get one.

[moondance-r]

hey guys check it out I can do a frontside 180 with my stomach haha

[moondance-r]

Twitter: cryoheart_

[moondance-r]

I luv ur writing it makes me throw up violently so therefore I request ajax angst because I HATE him :D

hi anon! thank you so much haha here you go <3

➷ pairing(s) : childe x gn!reader

➷ warning(s) : death, mentions of blood, this is angst no comfort

➷ author's notes : i was giggling when i was writing this

➷ word count : 1143

You had promised him you’d be here when he got back, the same way you always were—without fail, without question, no matter how late the hour or how blood-soaked his coat, no matter how many hours he’d spent buried in violence and war—you always waited, eyes soft, hands open, heart brave enough to love a man the world called monster.

You had always been his home.

And that was the first thing that struck Childe as wrong.

There was no warmth coming from inside the house—not even the faintest flicker of candlelight through the windowpanes, not the comforting glow that usually spilled across the curtains when you knew he was near, not the scent of your cooking or the low hum of your voice singing to fill the silence until he arrived, not the sound of bare feet hurrying toward the door just before it swung open—there was nothing.

Only quiet. Only cold.

And something distant, sharp, and metallic in the air that had his blood running colder with every step.

He paused at the threshold, gloved hand resting on the doorknob, a strange sort of stillness pressing down on his chest—like the house itself was holding its breath, like the walls knew what he didn’t.

“Darling?” he called, softly at first, almost teasing, his voice betraying nothing of the unease now beginning to spread through his gut like ink in water.

He pushed the door open, and it creaked—just barely—and the smell hit him.

Iron.

Heavy. Familiar. Wrong.

Childe froze in place. His eyes scanned the dim entryway, the kitchen beyond, the hallway that led toward the living room—everything looked… off. Not ruined. Not yet. But not right.

The second time he called your name, it was louder. More urgent.

Still no answer.

His feet moved before his mind did, boots slow but certain as he crossed the blood-warm silence of the room, tracking faint smears of red that had begun near the carpet and dragged inward—each step drawing him closer to something his heart already seemed to understand, even if his brain hadn’t caught up.

And then—

He turned the corner.

And saw you.

You were lying there on the floor, your body twisted at a strange angle that made something inside him scream even before his voice caught in his throat. There was so much blood—so much—it soaked the carpet, clung to your clothes, pooled beneath you and stained everything it touched. Your limbs were still, your chest unmoving, your eyes closed in a way that did not look like sleep but something far, far worse.

“No,” he said, but it wasn’t really a word. More of a breath. More of a pained cry.

He stumbled forward, knees hitting the floor with a thud, the pain not even registering as he gathered you into his arms, his hands shaking as they cupped your face—your cold, too-cold face—and brushed hair from your forehead like it would help, like it would undo what had already been done.

“Please,” he whispered, voice breaking, cracking, shattering into a thousand pieces. “Please, open your eyes. Say something—anything. Tell me I’m late again. Tell me I tracked blood in. Tell me this is just one of your cruel jokes—just wake up—wake up—wake up—”

But you didn’t.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t breathe.

You just lay there, heavy in his arms, silent and gone.

His tears fell before he could stop them, hot and fast, slipping down his cheeks and landing on yours, as if he could give you back some of the warmth you’d lost—if he just cried enough, maybe you’d feel it and come back.

The room blurred.

Everything slowed.

He held you tighter, as if holding you hard enough could undo the reality in front of him, as if pressing you against his chest might jumpstart your heart again, make it beat in time with his, the way it always had.

But the blood was already dry around the edges. Your skin had already gone cold. It had happened long before he got here.

And then he saw it.

A note—folded neatly—tucked between your fingers like a cruel gift, as if whoever had done this wanted him to find it, to read it while holding your broken body in his arms.

He reached for it with hands that didn’t feel like his anymore, fingers numb and stiff as he unfolded the paper.

The words were short. Simple.

“She was holding you back.”

A sentence that ripped through him worse than any blade ever could.

Beneath the note, lying beside your body, was something else—a gleam of silver catching the dim light.

A Fatui insignia. His insignia.

Not his specifically, no—but one of theirs. One of his own.

Someone he trained with. Fought with. Bled beside. Someone who knew him—who knew you. Someone who had to understand exactly what they were doing when they made the decision to come here, to enter this house, to raise their blade, and leave you like this.

Your death wasn’t a mistake. It was a message.

The paper trembled in his hands, and for a long moment, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

“She was holding you back.”

As if they had done him a favor.

As if you weren’t the only reason he still had anything worth fighting for, the only reason he still believed in something beyond blood and death and duty. You, who gave him softness when the world demanded cruelty. You, who taught him how to laugh again. You, who waited every time. Who never turned away.

His chest heaved. His mouth opened.

And the scream that tore from his throat was raw and feral and endless, shaking the house down to its bones. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t even pain. It was something more. Something ancient. Something breaking. Like the last fragile thread of humanity inside him had just snapped.

He collapsed over your body, pressing his forehead to yours, his tears soaking your skin, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“You were everything.”

He sat there for hours. Days. Time didn’t move.

The sun fell and rose again, and he didn’t blink.

Eventually, with hands like stone, he placed the note into his coat pocket. He picked up the insignia and stared at it for a long, long time. Then he stood.

He didn’t look back.

There was no one left to come home to.

But there was someone out there who had taken you from him—and when he found them, they would beg for mercy. He wouldn’t give them that. He would laugh in their face, cold, emotionless.

And then he would make them pay.

With everything they had.

With everything he had left.

────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────

@dewberrydusk 2025 | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[moondance-r]

Broken Contracts, Healing Hearts. Part 2.

Pairings: Past!Zhongli x Ex-Goddess!MC

Part 1, Part 2 (Here)

...Somehow, someway, MC survives the fall.

With what was left of her rapidly dwindling lifeforce, her divinity at its core, she makes a Hydro bubble around her dying form, hoping, praying that it would slowly heal her... even when she had nothing to live for anymore...

Her people, her land, all gone, and the ones who took it all was the one that she loved most of all...

"...Morax..."

A single tear drips down her cheek as her eyes slowly fluttered closed, her consciousness fading as her bubble drifts down into the dark sea...

For how long she floated at the bottom of Liyue's seas, she doesn't know, having slept through the rest of the Archon war, through Guizhong's death, to Morax and the Adepti finding out the truth about MC, about how she or her people never betrayed them.

She never bears witness to Morax ascending as Geo Archon.

Never sees how he went back to her land, now nothing but a wasteland. The once bustling land filled with kind fishermen and songstresses, all gone. All gone by his hand. All those innocent people...

And most of all, she never sees him go back to that same cliff, the one where he stabbed his weapon through his dear, fragile mate and threw her into the sea to die all alone.

She never sees him collapsed to his knees, crying, screaming her name, begging for her to come back, that's he's so, so, very sorry-

"Gemheart, my love, p-please! I-I'm so, so very sorry... Please, forgive me..."

But she never answers back. As she never hears him. As she was gone in the sea, forever lost...

...But in truth, she wasn't lost forever. No, it would be nearly 2000 years later before he'll happen upon a very familiar face in Liyue Harbour during a Lantern Rite...

But for now, a sleeping MC slowly drifts along the currents of the ocean. Slowly but surely floating towards the waters of Fontaine...

Tagging: @crowleysthings, @bloodytea