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runningfrom2am · 8 months

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cold nights // part eighteen

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: hiii posting this early bc bestie and i are ab to start a 24 hour readathon! if i'm not active for the next day, that would be why. anyway wish us luck!! also i didn't edit this as thoroughly as i should have so i'm sorry lol

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

You called out of work indefinitely, after that. You didn't want to quit, you wanted to love your job and you honestly couldn't see yourself doing anything else but right now, you just couldn't. Luckily, the girls who worked down at the library were incredibly understanding according to Lennox, who was sent to deliver your letter of leave and apology.

It had been close to a week when you finally ventured out to the back porch to read rather than rotting in bed all day staring at the ceiling. Your mother made you tea, and insisted she come sit with you. You enjoyed the company.

"Would you like to talk about it?" She asks, just as you're turning the page. Under normal circumstances, you'd resort to Romeo and Juliet, but now you feel like you couldn't stomach it. So, Much Ado About Nothing would have to suffice.

"I'm okay, Ma." You say softly, giving a slight shake over your head as your eyes fly over the faded lettering on the page.

"Lennox told us what happened, you know." She adds after a beat of silence.

You look up at her, frowning. "I'm sorry. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"Don't be, dear." She shakes her head quickly, gently resting a hand on your thigh. "I wish you had told us. I wouldn't have invited him in that day, I could have told you he stopped by and we could have made a plan. I shouldn't have sprung that on you."

You sigh, pursing your lips and closing your book. "I didn't want you to dislike him, that's why I didn't tell you. I thought... I wanted to come home with at least something positive to talk about. And I thought that if I gave it enough time, thinking positively about him, I could try to contact him without seeing... that."

She smiles sadly at you. "You really love him, huh?"

"How could I not?" You admit quietly, staring at the cover of the book on your lap. "He was the first person there to show me kindness, to make me feel like I wasn't alone." You explain. "It felt... Like Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers, because of course I didn't think I could really have him. I was living in a dream, in a way."

"And now?" She prompts you to continue, thrilled that you are finally opening up.

"Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps."

She chuckles, gently rubbing your leg. "So that's a yes, then."

"How I wish it was not." You groan, reaching for your cup to drown your predicament in tea.

"Your brother," She sighs, gently removing the book from your lap. "came home that night just... just shaking with anger. And he looked me and your father in the eyes and said he was going to kill Coriolanus. He was set on it." She explains, and you look at her.

"He said that?" You ask, and she nods.

"I could see it in his eyes, he meant it, and we were so confused. Because, after all, it had been Coriolanus and Sejanus who came to the door seeking help for you, and your father told me Coryo looked like a ghost- bless him." She chuckles slightly.

"What I mean is... Your brother is not immune to violence, either. He would hurt someone for you, I know it. Just because you don't wish him to, doesn't mean he doesn't love you so much that he would do anything." You mull over her statement, chewing passively on your lip. "And boys... boys just do things differently than you and I would. Or Lucy Gray would. I bet if you asked her about Billy Taupe, Tam Amber, or little Clerk Carmine, that she'd tell you they've all had their moments. But boys aren't treated fair in this life, so sometimes, they don't fight fair."

"Coriolanus killed someone, Ma."

"Why?" She asks. "Lennox told me you saw it. Why did he kill that boy?"

"Because..." You shake your head. "He was trying to kill him, first."

"Okay, well-"

"But that I can understand, given the circumstances." You quickly explain, guilt settling in your stomach like a weight as you put your mug back down. "It was after. Bobbin had so clearly already passed on, and he hit him again. It was anger, and it was not necessary. A waste of precious time he didn't have but he did it anyway and that... that scared me."

She hums, listening to you intently. "If it helps, dear, and this is my honest feelings... I still think he is a good man, with a good heart." She says. "I know what you've seen is... gosh, it's unfathomable, and I wish I could take that pain from you, but I really do think that if you still feel anything for him you should talk to him."

Your eyes snap up to hers, and you look scared.

"I've only met him once, but gosh, the way he looks at you, and how he spoke about you, he thinks you put the stars in the sky." She grins, trying to relax you by taking your hand. "No problems have ever solved by hiding. And even if you turn out to be correct, that he's never been who you thought he was, you'll get peace by having answers. And even so, he deserves that peace too."

"I... I'll think about it." You nod softly, reaching for your book again.

"Hello? Boys?" Lucy Gray calls out, walking into the small house Coryo and Sejanus have been occupying.

"In here!" Sejanus calls back, and she follows his voice into the small kitchen where he's attempting to make something to eat.

"Ooh, what's for lunch?" She asks, sitting herself down at the dining room table.

"Eggs... I think." Sejanus laughs. Lucy Gray had been coming by to try and keep them company, and she did really like spending time with Sejanus. Coryo didn't have a whole lot to say, though.

"Yum." She giggles, sitting up straight to look into the pan. "Where's Coriolanus?"

"Guess."

"On the back porch staring at the trees?"

"Pretty much."

Lucy Gray sighs, pushing herself up. "Okay, well, The Covey and I are going to the lake tomorrow. It's a hike out, but it's beautiful. You guys should come."

"I'll be there, but I don't know if we can convince blondie." Sejanus nods toward the back door.

"Oh, I'll convince him." She smiles smugly, brushing past him and out the door.

Lucy Gray finds out quickly that apparently she had guessed wrong- he was sitting on the porch, like he had been every day, but today he was reading rather than just staring out at the mountains. "What are ya readin'?" She asks, standing in front of him.

"Nothing that's any of your business." He grumbles, not looking up from the pages of the worn down book.

She leans over him, attempting to read it upside down. "Ah." She grins. "Romeo and Juliet? Good choice."

"What do you need, Lucy Gray?" He asks, closing the book and glaring up at her.

"I've come to extend and invitation to you, we're all going to the lake tomorrow. I think you should come."

"No, thank you."

She rolls her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. "You didn't chop off all those beautiful gold curls just so you could never see Y/N again, did you?"

His eyes visibly brighten at that, only for a moment. "She's going?" This was the chance he was waiting for. He intended to go to your house that following morning, maybe pick up flowers on the way, a book, or some kind of peace offering, but Sejanus and Lucy Gray shut that down very quickly. Even though he cut his hair almost as soon as he got back to this dump they called a house, they said you still needed time.

"Mhm." Lucy Gray nods, smiling at him knowingly. "She hasn't been working, so I was able to book her for the day."

Had Lucy Gray talked to you about this yet? No. But she knew it would do him some good to get away from this house for a day, whether you were there or not, and she knew that deep down you would want to see him again. A group setting was the best way to do this for everyone. She knew he would be easy to convince, but getting you to agree would be the hard part.

"Okay, okay yeah. I'll come." Coryo nods, looking down. He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he feels like he should be doing something to prepare somehow.

"She's still... sensitive. So be nice."

"I have never not been nice to her."

"Never said you have." Lucy Gray raises an eyebrow at him. "I meant be careful. She may not want to talk to you. I won't tell her you're coming so I can at least get her out the door."

"Why not?" Coryo asks, immediately knowing how stupid that sounds when Lucy Gray lets out a laugh. "I mean, I don't want to scare her off, so she should know. Please be honest with her." He pleads.

Lucy Gray's eyes soften at that. "Okay, you're right. But I'm not tellin' you if she says no. You still have to come." She points at him and he sighs.

"Okay, whatever. Sure."

"You're both just rotting and making it worse for yourselves. You need to get out." She says as she walks back inside, leaving him alone to read.

Coryo smiles to himself as he picks the book up again, continuing where he left off even though he's already read it five or six times.

"You're gonna be fine just fine, Y/N/N. I promise." Lucy Gray assures you as you walk down the path toward the forest where the Covey and Sejanus were waiting. With Coryo.

"I won't let him near ya." Lennox adds, kicking a rock aside as he walks in front of you and your friend.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart. If you want space, tell him. I talked to him about this. He knows not to push you." Lucy Gray whispers to you and you nod, teeth digging into the softness of your cheek.

"I know." You say quietly, arm wrapped around hers. You loved going to the lake, and you've been a couple of times since you've been back, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't hesitant to bring him with you. If it goes poorly, you don't know if you could ever go back.

"Yeah, I gave him a stern talkin' to. Put the fear of god in him, he'll be on his best behaviour." She giggles.

"You didn't actually scare him, did you?" You laugh nervously.

"Of course I did." She says, but you know she's just joking.

"Is Billy Taupe coming?" You ask her after a moment.

Your friend wrinkles up her nose and shakes her head. "No, lord, no." She chuckles. "He's off with that Mayfair. Real class act, they are."

You giggle, squeezing her arm. You take it as they're broken up, at least for now. "I'm sorry, Lucy Gray." You add and feel her shrug under your grip.

"I'm done with him this time." She tells you, shaking her head. "I can't trust him no more."

"One foot in sea and one on shore." You comment and she looks at you, a smile pulling on her lips as she gently pulls you closer, leaning her head on your shoulder.

"Y/N!" Maude Ivory greets the two of you first, running up and throwing her arms around your waist. You jump slightly at the sudden contact, making every effort to catch her with nothing more than a slight gasp and a smile. "I've missed you!"

"Hello, dear." You chuckle, running your hands over the length of her blonde hair. "It's only been a couple of weeks, and you do know where to find me."

"Your friend has a gift for you, come on." She grins, letting you go only to grab your hand and pull you up the rest of the hill.

When Coryo sees you, his instinct is to push his hair back out of his face. That can't happen, so he settles for shifting on his feet and gripping the flower he's holding in his hand as you avoid his gaze and he avoids your brothers. Of course you would hide from him- he doesn't fault you for it. You were nervous, he could tell. And of course Lucy Gray neglected to tell him that Lennox was coming, though, he understood why.

He just wished you were angry at him. That would be far preferable to you being afraid.

"Y/N, hi." Sejanus greets you and you smile at him, giving a quiet wave as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. You packed your book and a blanket with some cherries you picked from the tree behind your house to share with everyone. You can see in your peripheral vision that Coryo has gotten a haircut, but you can't bring yourself to look at him just yet. Or comment on it.

"Alright, let's get movin'! The sun is only up for so long." Lucy Gray claps, not forcing you to have to say hi to Coriolanus before she's urging the group on.

Coryo looks at you as everyone else starts walking, and you nod through everyone to go ahead of you. You hate the idea of having people behind you that you can't see.

Then, finally, your eyes land on him. He smiles, hoping you would want to walk with him.

"Go ahead." You say softly, quickly looking up ahead and Lennox has stopped to wait for you.

"Oh, uh, this is for you." Coryo takes a step closer, holding the yellow daisy out to you that he picked on the walk out. Apparently, you didn't want to walk with him- you just didn't want him behind you. That was a thousand times worse.

You look down at it for a moment, reminding yourself quickly to take it instead of just staring. "Thank you." You reply quietly, delicately plucking the flower from his hold.

"Yeah, of course." He grins, not wanting to give up your attention just yet. "I... I'm really glad you agreed to come."

"It'll be nice. The lake is beautiful." You tell him, glancing over at your brother.

"Come on!" He calls out, impatient. "They're gonna leave us in the dust."

You hold back a sigh as you feel Coryo's eyes on you. You guess you will be walking with him, after all. "Coming!" You smile at him.

It's fine- he's fine. He won't hurt me.

You look up at Coryo, and his eyes are still on you. "Shall we?" He grins, gesturing to the path ahead of you.

Okay, he looks normal. His eyes are normal. Blue, sky blue. Gentle.

"Let us go." You grin at him, holding tightly onto the strap of your bag as it rests across your chest. You look back down at your feet as you walk, mindful of the roots and sticks that may trip or scratch you. You spare a glance at his feet as he joins your side on the narrow path.

Lucy Gray knew that even with her warning that Coryo would likely corner you, but she kept a close eye on you even from up ahead while she talked to Sejanus and practically dragged Lennox along with them so he would give you at least a little bit of space.

You walk in silence for a long time. The trees get thicker as you separate from the meadow and the town, isolating you only further, but you didn't feel unsafe. Not really.

Coryo would take what he could get, but he had to try to talk to you eventually. When he planned out this trip in his head the night before they were set to board the train, he had hoped that the days and nights would be spent together. That you'd say you understood, that you were happy and okay and yes! You would love to take him to the lake you frequented, just the two of you, and 'Oh, we should bring a picnic and just spend the whole day there. It will be so much fun!' And he'd get to see your smile without it quickly fading and he could hold your hand and get that second kiss that he never thought he would receive and everything would be perfect.

He never considered himself much of a dreamer, but something about you made that change. After he got to feel his lips on yours, then on the soft skin of your shoulder and his hands on your waist or locked in yours, there was no going back. He was all yours.

"So," He starts talking after only about an hour of walking. You were almost there, so you took a sharp breath in. You could talk for forty minutes. You could do it. And you wanted to, you remind yourself. "This is quite a hike, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes." You nod. "But we aren't far out now. It's worth it, I promise." You say, eyes still locked on the ground just in front of you.

"Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful walk, just... long." He comments. "And lots of bugs."

"Yes..." You chuckle nervously.

"What's it like?" He asks, desperate just to continue to hear your voice,

"The lake?" You ask, risking a look up at him. His lips form into a smile and he nods, urging you on. "Well," You swallow, trying to organize every detail you remember from last summer, before the games. "The water is very blue, and quite clear. There's a dock, we have the most fun jumping off of it."

Coryo watches your expression intently, trying to inhale every word. You pause, and your face lights up with remembered joy. "My Pa put a rope swing up here for us kids when we were young, and a few summers ago I went to take it- I climbed as far back up as I could before jumping. Then, I felt the branch jerk and I grabbed it tighter, it ended up wrapped around my leg on the way down and I got stuck." You recall the injury, but you're almost laughing. "I got this massive red burn all up the inside of my thigh, and then Lennox ripped the thing down." You giggle, and Coryo swallows. "He was joking, just pretending to even though it was my own fault, but the branch broke clean off and me and Lucy Gray tried to jump out of the way and ended up falling straight into the water."

He laughs with you at that, shaking his head. "Well, I hope your leg wasn't serious." He watches you and you're quick to shake your head.

"No, gosh no." You giggle. "Not worth pulling the whole thing down over, but it wouldn't have been kind to the next kid who swung- that's for sure. So it was probably for the best."

"Fair enough." He shrugs, eyes still glued onto you.

"I'd rather get a burn then have that big ol' thing fall on Maude Ivory or CC. They were just little at the time." He nods. That sounds just like you.

"So you've been friends for a long time, I take it?"

"Well, yes. Since they got stuck here, pretty much."

"Stuck here?" Coryo asks, looking up ahead at the group that was still just within sight.

You look up as well, just to make sure they weren't in earshot. "The Covey isn't District." You explain, voice lowered. "They used to travel everywhere to perform, but then when they got here peacekeepers rounded them up. Executed all their parents, and the kids got stuck here." You tactically leave out the part about his father being the commanding officer at the time.

"Oh."

"I think that's why Lucy Gray can't get over Billy Taupe." You add quietly, watching your friend as she laughs with Sejanus up ahead. "He's one of them, they have so much history. They're on and off, but she'll never abandon him. Not when they've been through so much together. They're the oldest- they've had to take care of the rest of them for almost their whole lives."

Coryo doesn't know what to say. "That's... yeah. I can imagine it would be hard to move on when they're so tied to each other."

You hum in agreement. "Anyway, we met when they were begging outside the market. They set their instruments up and were playing for tips just so they could eat, so my parents stopped and invited them for dinner. They've been with us ever since."

"Your parents are really good people." He comments.

You look up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I told you that, didn't I?"

"Well, you told me they weren't rebels. That doesn't mean they're saints." He jokes.

"Feels like anyone less than a saint these days is considered a rebel for one reason or another." You argue, but there's no harshness at all behind your tone.

"Regardless, your parents are safe." He says, hoping that you've forgotten about his father being a peacekeeper general.

"Well, thank you." You laugh slightly, shaking your head. "How is Tigris, by the way? And your Grandmother? Have you spoken to them since you've been away?"

"I've called a few times, yeah. They're doing well." Coryo smiles. "Tigris is taking some time off, she's working on some different projects at home."

"I'm glad to hear that." You smile. "They must be missing you."

"So they say, yeah." He chuckles.

"It's hard to be away from home." You tell him. "I know it all too well."

His smile drops steadily, but he just nods. "Yes. At least I have the guarantee of returning."

You try so hard to steer every conversation you have away from the games, but it never seems to work. People have so many questions, so many comments, and it's a shame that Coryo is no exception. You suppose that was inevitable. He's one of very few people who somewhat know what you went through.

You really wish you had met him some other way.

"I'm sorry." He quickly apologizes, sensing your shifted energy. "That was... I shouldn't have said that."

"No, no. It's okay." You insist. "I just... Everyone wants to talk about it all the time. I can't escape it."

"I should have known better. I'm sorry." He says again, taking in a deep breath. "I wanted to be different. I try so hard to not make you think about it and I should have remembered that before I said anything, I just-"

You shake your head, frowning as you look up at him. "I wouldn't expect you to." You tell him. "If I'm honest, you're the one person I think I am okay with discussing it with."

Coryo has to fight back the smile threatening to pull at his cheeks from the relief. You weren't planning on never talking to him again. This was a great sign. He opens his mouth to speak when he hears shouting from up ahead.

"We made it!" Lucy Gray cheers, and sure enough, he can see the lake appearing through the trees.

"Coryo, you gotta see this!" Sejanus's voice follows.

"We made it." You smile, happy to change the subject. "Come on, the water is going to feel so good."

Then, you're jogging up ahead of him and pulling your bag off to leave on the dock.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl , @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie , @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @scorpiolystoned , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

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fortheloveofpiggy · 2 months

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TW this is a rant about proship and comship! Tags will have more in-depth trigger warnings

Edit: OMG PROSHIPPERS STOP MAKING THIS POST ABOUT DEFENDING IF SHIPPING CHILD X ADULT OR INCEST IS OKAY OR NOT THE POST IS ABOUT THE LABLE I DONT WANT TO ARGUE WITH YALL ABOUT THAT ANYMORE.

This is my one post where all people on all sides of the proship debate can interact. Including proshippers. If that makes you uncomfortable then don’t interact. I hate echo chambers and I want to hear all sides.

Also sorry for cross tagging just want the opinions from all sides

Actual post:

I hate the terms proship, neutral ship, and antiship. They’re all extremes and I hate them. From what I understand the meanings are

Proship: support all ships no matter what even if they’re comships

Neutral ship: doesn’t have an opinion at all

Antiship: is anti any comship which is outrageous

If y’all don’t know comship just means complex ship or they enjoy more morally grey or imperfect ships. This can include things like human X different intelligent species (like aliens, furries, monsters) which most rational people don’t think is bad. But this can also mean kid X adult, family x family, or victim X abuser

I actually don’t identify as pro, neu, or anti because I think some comships are good and healthy. I think morally grey ships are important in media when done correctly. Especially since a lot of relationships are rocky and not always healthy and it’s good to show that in media. My own ocs personally aren’t in a perfectly healthy relationship because of their own issues. But this should be done respectfully and with care. Abuse shouldn’t be romanticized but people can be romantic outside of the abuse going on just like in real life relationships

But in a pedophilic fan fiction or art or an incest fanfic or art there is no such thing as a loving part of it. The relationship in itself is abuse because a minor being with a child is abuse and family members being together is abuse. It’s not healthy for anyone involved to romanticize relationships like that and frankly can effect reality no matter how you spin it because it’s representing something as normal to kids.

Right now a lot of neutrals, antis, and probably a lot of pro shippers are agreeing but that’s where my point really starts

The term “proship” and “anti ship” are too vague. If you say you’re proship you sound like you defend media where children are harmed. I understand the meaning is being proshipping and minding your business but that’s still what you look like and frankly that’s what the term does. If you’re pro everything then that means you’re pro the harmful stuff too

And the term “antiship” suggest that you’re anti shipping in general or anti any complex ship which is also unhealthy for us all because morally grey topics need brought up. Antis also are very very commonly okay with harassment when it comes to proshippers

And neutral ship is basically just saying you don’t have a opinion at all which is harmful because you’re suggesting you’re okay with the harm done on both sides. And I understand some people who are neutral ship agree with me and don’t just not care but I feel like majority is the former not the latter (based on what I’ve seen)

Also disclaimer if you’re neutral because of mental health or because you have better things to deal with that’s valid but identifying as neutral ship does put you in it and i instead suggest staying out of it entirely

So idk maybe we should make a term for the middle. I had a few ideas maybe something like middleship or intentship (intentship meaning enjoying or allowing all ships as long as the intentions are good and are not to romanticize trauma or abuse)

Idk everyone can share their opinions but if I see another proshipper say fiction doesn’t effect reality I’m gonna scream and if I see another anti shipper call all morally grey ships bad as if they done killed their grandma I’ll go insane

#wrathsbraincells #antiship #anti #anti proship #neutral ship #ship neutral #proship neutral #tw proship #tw pedophila mention #tw inc*st #tw abuse #tw child endangerment #tw caps

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cannedpickledpeaches · 5 months

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Insert Your Name (11)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Congratulations! You have successfully made it all about you (positive). This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Sorry that the tags haven't been working for the past couple of posts! I had to go in and edit the html for each individual one T-T please forgive me

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

A strange sense of satisfaction fills you as surprise fills the man’s face, but you don’t show it. You need to see this through. If you’re powerless in the face of his ability, you simply need to borrow his power. So what if he’s akin to a god? All you need to do is bring him to your side. Whoever that author is, whoever took over (Y/N)’s body—maybe they aren’t capable of using such an asset effectively. However, you’re confident you won’t let that advantage go to waste.

The man hums in thought. “I suppose it could be done without much fanfare. I would simply need to shift my attention to your experiences and abandon the current story. However, you would need to have your story recorded somewhere, in whatever form you may wish for it to take.”

You understand what he’s getting at. A story needs a medium, just like that manuscript. There are many options: on film, as a novel, as a collage of pictures. No strict rules exist for expression of self.

“I’ll keep a journal. Every day, I’ll write an entry, and I’ll also use it as a planner. This way, my ‘story’ will have the events that occurred in my life, how they affected my ‘character development,’ and also outline how I expect the story to ‘progress.’ Is that good enough?”

You still don’t think of yourself as a fictional character. You’re real, in every aspect, to yourself. But that doesn’t matter right now. Functionally, you’re a character to this man. You’ll use that assumption to put yourself in the most advantageous position.

“Yes, that would be a rather interesting way to tell your story. There are indeed many stories that were written in the form of diary entries, so this is not an issue at all. This would, in fact, make things easier for me. I would not have to go through the paperwork and expend energy to bring someone from another world since you already exist in Twisted Wonderland as an established character. There is just one thing you should know before you make this decision.”

“Tell me.” Of course there are strings attached. There always are. You prepare yourself. Self-sacrifice in small amounts is necessary, of course, but if there’s anything you can negotiate with . . . .

“I will have to take the previous author’s soul out of (Y/N)’s body. (Y/N)’s soul will regain control of her own body, since it was never removed, only dormant. Since the author’s original body cannot function without a soul, she cannot return to her world. It will disappear, never to be recovered, lost to the fabric of what forms this space. Are you still willing to proceed?”

“Is that it?” You expected something else. This has nothing to do with you giving up anything. In fact, it could even be considered a bonus. This woman whose story made your life and relationships exceedingly difficult will disappear down to the traces of her soul. It’s an easy decision. “Of course.”

“How cold-hearted you are.” He chuckles down at his teacup. It never seems to drain empty no matter how he sips it. “That is not an undesirable quality in protagonists, although they often do not have a happy ending in fairytales.”

“Is that supposed to deter me or something?” You stay resolute. “My future was always uncertain no matter if it’s a story or not. I’m in the mafia. I’ve come to terms that horrible things could happen at any moment because of the nature of my job a long, long time ago. It’s my responsibility to plan so that I reduce those chances as much as possible. And you’re going to help me.”

“Yes, I am.” He glances at the fireplace, which has burned down to glowing red embers. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky that you are under my jurisdiction. I am partial to tragic endings, but I also do not mind if an amoral character triumphs in the end. Some of my peers would adamantly ensure it does not happen.”

You furrow your brows. This is not the first time he brought up something being under his “jurisdiction.” However, this is the first time he’s mentioned “peers” instead of “characters.”

“There are others like you?”

“Yes, of course. Twisted Wonderland is filled with too many stories for me to manage on my own. Since you are mainly involved with the Leech Mafia and stories of the Coral Sea, you fall under my jurisdiction.”

It makes sense. This man compared himself to a god, but he isn’t one. He isn’t omnipotent or omniscient.

“Who are they?”

He tilts his head. “You would not know us even if I told you.”

“I’m curious. Tell me anyway.”

“Such a curious character.” He glances at the embers again. “Alright, I see no harm in it. My peers overseeing Twisted Wonderland include Walt Disney, the Brothers Grimm, Hanna Diyab, Victor Hugo, and Lewis Carroll, among others.”

None of these names ring a bell. It is just a list of names, but having more information is never a bad thing.

“And your name? I should know how to address you.”

“Oh, I have not yet introduced myself to you? My apologies, I must be turning forgetful in my old age.” He laughs at himself in a good-natured manner. “My name is Hans Christian Anderson. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduce yourself as well. He extends a hand to you. When your hands connect in a firm handshake, the new deal you’ve made feels solidified.

Anderson looks at the fireplace one more time. The light has died completely, the little room lit only by the moonlight pouring in the window. With a gentle but decisive clap of his hands, he stands from his armchair.

“That was a fruitful discussion, and I thank you for your patience and understanding. I fear time has run out, however, and so I will be sending you back shortly. I’ll place you right back where you came from: at the moment when I brought you here.”

“Hold on!” Too soon, too sudden. You still have so much to say. He holds up a hand, stopping your protests.

“If you’d like to communicate with me, simply write a request for it in your new journal. I wish you best of luck.”

And with that, the world goes white again.

This is the story of a girl whose name is no longer hers. A girl so common that she may as well be a faceless background character in another person’s story. A girl who wishes, more than anything, to be the protagonist of a love story that will sweep her off her feet and solve all her problems.

Her family is normal. Her friends, too. And so is she. It isn’t enough for her. The world inside that game she plays is so magical, so whimsical, so perfect. The characters are handsome, powerful, clever, funny, or rich, or some combination of those qualities. If she enters this world, surely all those wonderful characters would treat her as someone special. They’d love and revere her unconditionally. She pines for a man who would love her and her shortcomings in their entirety, no matter what she does.

The beauty about fictional characters is that because they are fictional, they can be whatever she wants them to be. She can wholeheartedly believe they’ll love her, and there is nothing wrong with that. But she isn’t satisfied with that alone. It needs to be real.

Desperately, she writes a story revolving around a faceless, flawless main character who she desperately wishes she could be. Everyday, the writing consumes her, dragging her into a fantasy of bliss. She begins to resent her reality. Nobody in real life will love her the correct way. Nobody can be as good as the characters she pours her love and headcanons on. She doesn’t consider how love can be gradual, nor does realize someone might have to get to know her before loving her. After all, in her fanfiction, the perfect mafioso loves her main character upon the first meeting and devotes himself with no questions asked. Isn’t that the ideal love?

One day, a miracle occurs. She meets a man who offers to make her story into her reality. Jumping on the chance to live her perfectly crafted life of happiness, she agrees. Finally. Finally, she will be loved the way she wants.

At first, everything went perfectly. Real life follows her fanfiction to the letter. Jade is charming, Floyd is endearing, and a string of coincidences leads her to meet Vil, another handsome bachelor. Love surrounds her at every turn. All she needs in this life are the handsome men who give her special treatment. After all, this body, this life—(Y/N)—was created by her, for her use. All of the previous relationships this body entertained no longer matter. They aren’t hers, anyway.

The polaroids that occupied her nightstand are probably in a landfill somewhere. The aesthetic was cute, befitting the tastes of a character she modelled after herself, but the person in them is irrelevant. Some side character she’s never going to see again. No matter; she’ll eventually replace those polaroids with cute photos of herself and her new love. (Y/N)—no, the placeholder—has served its purpose. It will not miss those useless decorations since it will never again have its own consciousness.

So where did it all go wrong? Perhaps it was wrong from the start. She should have cursed that old man for scamming her. Her happy ending was never a guarantee. How dare a throwaway side character upend her perfect, fairy tale ending? Is that even allowed? They’re all just characters anyway. How can they steal from a real person?

Until the very end, she couldn’t see anyone around her as anything other than characters in a story. Maybe if she did, she might have gotten the love she wanted. Now, she disappears, having never achieved the goal she so desperately grasped at. Like seafoam, her hopes and yearning for love bubbles and disappears.

Hans Christian Anderson places a book into an empty spot on one of his many shelves. He has always been fond of tragedies. As for this new story that’s unfolding . . . who’s to say how it will end? He’s a patient man. With a smile, he settles into an armchair and sips from a cup of tea. He’s looking forward to it. When it eventually ends, like all stories inevitably do, he’ll shelve it and find another story to bring to life.

The world suddenly flashes into focus. The sun’s dying embers flicker on the sea. Sand shifts between your toes. Fingers graze your neck. Before you can activate your Signature Spell, (Y/N) crashes into you and you both topple over into a bed of sand. Bloodlust raises the hairs on the back of your neck. But it isn’t coming from (Y/N). Instead, you instinctively wrap one arm around her and hold the other one out in front of you, shielding her from Jade.

“Wait, wait! Jade, it’s fine. I’m okay.”

He freezes. One of his hands stops a centimeter away from (Y/N)’s hair. She doesn’t react. Slowly, you lay back down, heaving a sigh. You shift her face to the side so that she doesn’t suffocate in your shoulder. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones, complementing the slow rise and fall of her ribs.

“See? She’s asleep.”

Jade furrows his brows. “I fail to understand. Most importantly, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, staring up at the stars that unveil themselves in the darkening sky. “I’m just a little tired.”

You explain everything to him. He seems skeptical, but eventually, he accepts it. He sits in the sand next to you, his hand covering yours. You pretend not to notice, but it offers a soothing calm to your exhausted mind.

“I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at his side profile. “Even if I write that Vil Schoenheit will cure your parents, it might not happen because of continuity issues. Maybe (Y/N) will still be able to convince him.”

“That’s alright.” He catches your gaze. “It would make the story progress more smoothly if we continue with our talks with Walrus.”

He accepted it so quickly. For that matter, so did you. You wonder briefly if there is something at play that makes you accept the reality of your situation as fact—if it’s because you’re a character after all—but that’s all speculation. Not worth your time and energy to figure out.

“Bottom line is, this is my story now. So I’ll make sure the curse on your parents is dispelled.”

“How reliable.” Jade gives you a gentle smile, one that causes an unfamiliar stirring in your chest. “Thank you. What would you like in recompense?”

You weren’t expecting him to offer anything at all. But since he offered, you aren’t one to refuse.

“Money.”

His quiet laughter blends in with the sound of rushing waves.

“No hesitation at all, I see. Of course, I will pay you adequately for your invaluable help.”

“I also want something else.” You fiddle with the strands of (Y/N)’s hair. “I’d like a vacation. Just a week or two after everything settles down so I can go back to my hometown with my mom.”

“Is that what the money is for?”

“Yeah.” Your heart feels a little lighter. “You should visit the Coral Sea after your parents wake up as well. I’m sure you’ll want to spend time with them.”

A pause. You scrutinize Jade’s expression in the low light, but his expression is wholly unfamiliar to you. He almost looks . . . nervous.

“Would you come with us?”

You blink. “Don’t you want to spend time with just your family?”

“Yes, but my parents would be delighted to have you over again. You have not been to our home under the sea in a long time, and I would be more than happy to show you around again.”

“It won’t be a bother?”

“Far from it.” His thumb rubs softly against the back of your hand. “I . . . We are very fond of you.”

You can’t help but think there’s an ulterior motive, but you accept. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve travelled to their home under the sea, and this most likely won’t be the last.

Suddenly, (Y/N) shifts on your chest. A soft noise escapes her lips as though she’s finally awakened from a long nap. Her bleary eyes find yours. Kind, lovely, and gentle eyes. The eyes of the (Y/N) you know and love, the eyes of your friend.

“Huh? Are we on the beach? What happened?”

A relieved laugh bubbles out of your throat and you hug her tightly. Confused but sweet, she reciprocates with reassuring pats to your arm.

“Yeah, we’re on the beach. Let’s get you home.” You sit up and smile as she fusses over the sand in your hair. Normalcy is slowly but surely returning. “I’ll tell you everything on the way there.”

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst x reader #twst jade #twst fanfic #jade leech x reader #mafia au #multi chap fic #slow burn

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midnightsnyx · 10 months

Text

girl at home | mat barzal | part 5

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader summary: you’re eighteen when you find yourself pregnant after Mat leaves for hockey. nearly eight years later, Mat finds out about your daughter and you have to deal with the consequences of not telling him about her.

warnings: swearing, angst, food, fluff, not edited word count: 2.3k authors note: it's my bday tmw and i am going out of town for the weekend so i wanted to get this posted!! also, i have no idea how pr management works so i def got everything wrong so pls don't yell at me lol i feel like this chapter is just like a roller-coaster that went off the tracks and blew up and someones trying to put it back together with tape from the dollar store so im sorry but i hope yall like it anyway and don't hate me pls <3 send your thoughts or come yell at me about this story bc I LOVE hearing from you guys!! It feeds my writing soul. thank u all for the love on this story so far and lmk if you wanna be added to my taglist. also thinking about doing some smau for this fic and wondering if you guys have any ideas or suggestions?

if you asked to be added to the taglist and didn't get tagged it's cause you didn't show up when i searched for you! so shoot me a msg and we can figure it out. also if you want to be added or taken off the taglist please let me know <3

requests are open. masterpost masterlist taglist form ask box

You didn’t think the situation with Mat’s statement could get any worse. You were already being pestered by your mom, your friends and even other parents at the day camps Nora attended. Mostly everyone knew that it was true that Mat was her father at that point so the statement caused questions to rise. Ignoring everybody’s opinions about it was easy but six simple words from Nora were what broke you.

“I thought Mat was my daddy,” she said softly while eating breakfast one morning. She had been quiet since the day before but it continued when she woke up the next morning. You thought maybe she was just moody and tired but it ended up being much more than that.

It took you a minute to answer, trying to figure out where she might have heard or been told that. It wasn’t that surprising that she might have gotten the impression that he was her dad considering how much time Mat had been spending with the two of you or she overheard a conversation. Kids are very perceptive but you couldn’t see how anyone would directly tell her about the public statement and you had been very careful about what you said around Nora and told everyone else to do the same.

Apparently someone didn’t get the memo.

You had two options. You could lie to Nora about what was going on or you could explain it in the best way you could to her. Lying to your daughter was the last thing you wanted to do but figuring out the easiest way to explain it so she would understand was hard. How were you supposed to explain that yes, Mat is her daddy but he was a fucking idiot and told the world that she’s not even though he said he wanted to be in her life. It would have been so simple to take the easy way out but it wouldn’t have been fair to Nora so after she finished her breakfast, you sat her down.

“You’re feeling a little confused, huh?” you asked, watching her fiddle with a loose string on her sweater.

She nodded, still not looking up at you and not offering her thoughts. It was a bit alarming because she was usually a chatterbox, even when she was upset about something. She would let you know exactly what was wrong.

“Who told you Mat was your daddy?”

She finally looked up at you, and the tears threatening to spill from her eyes made you both angry and upset. You were ready to find whoever told her and scream at them but her answer stunned you.

“I heard you talking to Jaxy,” she whispered. “I wasn’t trying to listen but I was coming out to get some water and you said that you were mad at Mat.”

She didn’t elaborate on what else she may have heard which was unnerving because you probably said a lot of things about Mat that night when Jax came over to talk to you about it. You hoped she didn’t stay long enough for your breakdown where you had cried for thirty straight minutes.

She sniffled, wiping a couple tears away. “I don’t understand.”

Your heart broke but you still struggled with how to explain everything to her. Telling her in the beginning was probably a better idea but you were so caught up in your own thoughts and feelings, you ignored the person who should have been your number one priority the entire time.

“Mat is your daddy, baby,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

I’m sorry I kept you a secret.

“How come everyone is saying he’s not?”

Mat should have been the one to answer this question because it was his doing, but you hadn’t spoken to him since the night he was at your apartment and the two of you argued. He had texted you the day after but you ignored it because you didn’t know what you would say when given the chance.

“Well, sometimes people make mistakes and Mat said something he shouldn’t have,” you explained, hoping it was enough and it seemed to be enough at first but then she hugged you tightly.

“I love you mama,” she said and before you could reply, she quietly asked, “Do you think Mat loves me?”

“I’m sure he does,” you told her and it took everything in you not to cry.

. . .

Liana: dinner at our place @ 6. bring nora and don’t be late!!!

You’re tempted to decline the request and just stay home but you’ve been promising Liana and Nadia that you would actually visit instead of dropping Nora off and leaving like you’ve been doing. Avoiding Mat is becoming increasingly difficult. It’s been two weeks since he released the statement and a week since your conversion with Nora. She’s been asking a lot of questions, ones that you didn’t plan on having to answer so soon. You expected her to be angry with you for not telling her but she took your confirmation that Mat’s her dad with ease.

So it didn’t come as a surprise when her first question was whether Mat would be at the Barzal household for this dinner. You hadn’t bothered to ask Liana, mainly because you knew it would definitely impact your decision to agree to go.

“Did you know that Zoe’s mom and dad aren’t together either?” She says during the drive to the Barzal’s.

You do know this but you humor her. “Really?”

“Yup. Zoe said she spends weekends with her dad and stays with her mommy during the week,” she explains and then moves on to a different topic. You’re a little curious why she would talk about her friends’ living arrangements but when you finally pull into the driveway, your question is answered.

“Do I have to stay at Mat’s on the weekend?” She asks and if you hadn’t already parked the car, you would have hit the brakes.

“No,” you say a little too quickly and sharply because she frowns.

“How come?”

You don’t answer her question right away, getting out of the car and walking around to the other side. She’s already unbuckling her seatbelt by the time you open the door and she’s still frowning.

“Just no, Nora.”

“But Zoe does!”

You can’t explain custody agreements to a seven-year-old so you say the first excuse you can think of.

“He doesn’t live here,” you say, taking her hand and begin walking towards the house. She’s dragging her feet, clearly not happy with your response.

“Do I have to call him dad?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Just ‘cause,” you say, stopping at the door and turning to her. Her arms are crossed and she’s giving you the look that says she won’t let up until you give her an answer she wants.

“Do you want to call him dad?”

She pauses, looking down at the ground and frowning. After a moment she shakes her head.

“No, but Miss. Jones says you’re not supposed to call your mommy and daddy by their first names ‘cause it’s disrespectful.”

“It’s not up to Miss. Jones,” you say gently. “This is new, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

After a moment, she mutters a quiet “okay,” and then: “do you think Nadia has ice-cream for dessert?”

“Guess we’ll have to go inside and ask,” you reply and raise your fist to knock on the door but it swings open before you can. Liana is waiting on the other side with a big smile on her face. Nora runs straight to her and giggles when the older girl picks her up and swings her around.

“C’mon in,” Liana says, ushering you inside. So far there’s no sign of Mat so some of the tension leaves your body. After putting both yours and Nora’s shoes aside, you make your way to the kitchen. Nadia is puttering around, juggling a million things but she still smiles softly when she sees you.

“Can I help with anything?”

“You can keep me company,” she says and points to a chair. “Sit down and update me on what you’ve been up to.”

You know that you can’t argue with her so you sit and chat idly with her. She doesn’t bring up anything to do with Mat and you’re not sure what to think about it. You almost slip up and ask if he’s going to be here for dinner but decide not to. You haven’t seen him around since you arrived, so he’s probably out. Maybe with a girl.

Not that you care, obviously.

Mike eventually pokes his head in the kitchen to greet you and ask how you’ve been. He offers to set the table but Nadia shoos him out of the kitchen, rolling her eyes fondly.

“Don’t get married, they’re nothing but trouble,” she jokes but there’s a smile on her face that lingers even after her husband leaves. You always admired their relationship, and were certain that you and Mat would be like it some day but it wasn’t in the cards.

Soon, Nadia calls everyone to dinner. Nora immediately asks why Mat isn’t here and there’s an awkward silence until Liana breaks it.

“He’s busy,” she tells Nora and that must be enough because she just nods and starts eating dinner. Nothing else is said about Mat but just as you’re all finishing dessert, you hear the door open and close and there’s only one person you figure it will be.

Mat walks into the dining room, clearly caught off guard by your presence. Nora hops off her chair and darts over to him, wrapping her arms around his legs and starts chatting excitedly. He’s trying to give her all his attention but his eyes keep flickering to you.

When Nadia and Mike get up to start clearing the table and Liana asks Nora if she wants to go watch a movie, you realize that the three of them planned this. It’s almost like you’re kids again, fighting about something stupid and needing his parents to help fix the problem.

Mat looks at you a little helplessly when the room clears and it’s just the two of you. There’s no way you can yell at him with his family and Nora in the next room and you realize that was also probably planned.

“Can we talk?” he asks and you really don’t want to, but you realize that eventually you’re going to have to talk to him so you nod. You follow him out the back door and the two of you sit on the porch steps in silence until you finally break it.

“Why didn’t you come to me about what PR wanted to do? We could have figured out something together.”

He shrugs, looking at the ground. “I didn’t think to ask you about it. I just wanted to fix everything before it got complicated. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you mutter. “That’s something you’re great at. You don’t think before you do anything.”

You jump when he stands up suddenly and turns to face you. He’s angry but so are you.

“No, fuck that. You can’t just expect me to do everything right, when a month ago, all I had to worry about was hockey. I can’t be number one dad overnight! You didn’t even tell me about her for six years!”

You’re a bit taken off guard by his sudden outburst but you can do anger too.

“That is the exact reason I didn’t tell you about her, Mat. Hockey is always going to come first in your life,” you snap. “And I didn’t ask you to be a number one dad, all I asked was that you be sure you wanted to be in her life before you committed to anything because this is exactly what I was worried about.”

He falters a little, probably not expecting you to return the anger.

“I didn’t want to post what they asked me to,” he says, sounding defeated. “But I didn’t know how to say no. When PR tells you to jump, you jump.”

You’ve no idea how public relations in hockey works, it’s possible that they would have posted the statement without asking Mat but you’re so damn angry. You’re angry but you don’t know who you’re even supposed to be mad at now.

“You should have come to me,” you say again. “That’s how co-parenting works, you know.”

His mouth twitches. “That’s what we were doing?”

You can feel the anger slowly dissipating. Mat’s shoulders aren’t as tense and he plops back down on the steps so you sit next to him, letting your shoulders and knees knock against his.

“Well, you are her dad,” you admit. “And she is very concerned about her future living arrangements.”

He looks at you a little confused but there’s a small smile spreading across his face.

“Does she know?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “She’s smarter than you expect sometimes.”

“She gets that from you,” he says, poking your arm.

You roll your eyes fondly. “Well she had to get her brains from someone.”

He huffs but it sounds more like a laugh. You watch him look at the ground, brows furrowed and deep in thought.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?”

Here’s the thing that a lot of people don’t know about Mat: he doesn’t forgive himself easily. It’s something you learned the hard way when you were younger and dating.

So you know he will beat himself up over this until you forgive him.

“Yeah, but we both did.” You bump your knee against his until he looks up at you. “We can fix it, but we have to do it together.”

He holds out his pinky finger. ”Co-parenting, right?”

You hook your finger around his and nod, letting yourself relax for the first time in weeks. It’s going to take time, hard work, and you’re both going to have to learn how to trust and communicate better again but you're sure you’ll get there.

“Together,” you agree.

tag list: @literatureluster @dasiysthings @barzyblogbabe @diary-of-jj @heatherawoowoo @fallinallincurls @topguncultleader @shadowsndaisies @lovinbarzal @whatthepuckisgoingon @alilstressyandlotdepressy @teapartydreams @keiva1000

#hockey imagines #allies writing #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fanfiction #mathew barzal imagine #mathew barzal x reader

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the-whispers-of-death · 3 months

Note

hi, Ive been writing and want to post fics in the future and I saw your post about tagging fics correctly. I’m not super knowledgeable on that could you give some examples on how to correctly tag fics? and then especially with dark fics, smut, fluff etc. as well?? sorry if you’ve already posted something about it I couldn’t find it ☺️

I haven't really made a post on how to properly tag posts (I say posts instead of fics because I'm talking strictly about Tumblr writings and not Ao3 works) but I'll do it now!

(NOTE: This post became so long that I'm too lazy to go through fully and edit it. So beware of any typos.)

How to Properly Tag Your Posts:

So I'm assuming that you already know how to tag posts in general. There's a section at the bottom of the post where it says "add tags to help people find your post" and you can just add up to 30 tags.

It's recommended that you at least have five tags, as the first five (I believe it's five, I'm going based off of memory of me seeing that somewhere) are specifically used to push your post out into the Tumblr world for everyone to see. That's not to say you can't use more than five, it's just that five is like the minimum you should use if you want people to see your posts.

Onto how to properly tag your posts.

How To Properly Tag "x reader" Posts:

First, I will be talking about how to properly tag your posts using the example x reader posts (because this issue was the start of this entire thing).

If you're writing with a female reader in mind (ie you use she/her pronouns to refer to the Reader or you use feminine terms ((good girl, wife, girlfriend, waitress, queen))), you should tag your post as female reader. Now there's many different ways you can tag it as female reader:

fem!reader

fem reader

female!reader

female reader

f!reader

f reader

x fem!reader

x female reader

x f!reader

There's also tagging it as "(Character) x female reader" (any of the female reader variations listed above). "(Character)" is just used in place for the character in which the reader is romancing/in a romance with. Just input whatever character is being romanced and voilà!

For example, if you wrote a Simon "Ghost" Riley fic with a female reader, you can tag it: "simon ghost riley x female reader" or "simon ghost riley x fem!reader".

(NOTE: I believe the use of capitalization ((or lack thereof )) is key to posts being tagged correctly and showing up in that specific tag, simply because after posting, any tag that I've had something capitalized is lowercase when posted. I don't know if this truly makes a difference, but I try my best to just do lowercase when tagging anyways.)

Now for any other reader (male reader and gender neutral reader), the same thing applies but with those variation of male reader tags and gender neutral reader tags: male reader, mreader, m!reader, gender neutral reader, gnreader, gn!reader.

How to Properly Tag Dark Fic Posts:

Now tagging for dark fics! Here are the most common tags I see when seeing properly tagged dark fics. (Before I scroll.)

dark fic

darkfic

dead dove

dead dove do not eat

tw: (input whatever trigger here)

cw: (input whatever content warning here)

Not a lot, but again, I don't read a lot of dark fics. I'll expand on trigger warning (tw) and content warning (cw) tags because I know how I worded that might be confusing.

So for example, say you're writing something with stalking. You'd tag it as "tw: stalking" or "cw: stalking". So basically anything you feel like you need to warn readers ahead of time before they go further into the post, you tag it using trigger warning or content warning followed by that thing.

Also, I believe it's good to add content/trigger warnings onto the post itself as well as tagging it with the content/trigger warnings. Just so that those who like dark fics can see what is in the post instead of looking in the tags (if the post is very long and doesn't have a "read more" thing, then a reader will have to scroll all the way down just to see the tags).

How to Properly Tag Smut and Fluff:

And lastly, we'll be talking about to properly tag smut and fluff. (Because there's also a problem in the COD fandom where smut isn't properly tagged.)

When tagging a smutty fic, it's important to not only tag it as smut, but also to tag what you may see in the post. (Similar to dark fics, but you don't have to put tw/cw in the tag.)

Examples of this would be:

tw: smut (I know I said you don't have to put tw/cw, but I do this tag simply just to cover my bases)

smut

bottom reader

bottom male reader

top male reader

sub reader

sub male reader

dom reader

dom male reader

x bottom reader

x bottom male reader

x top reader

x top male reader

x sub reader

x sub male reader

x dom reader

x dom male reader

(input whatever is being done in the post ((ie: oral)))

I'm going to stop there, because if I continue, the list will be very long and I've covered the gist of it. (Hopefully).

Now, again, I recommend also labeling in the post what's going on in the post, just because I know from personal experience that I don't really check the tags (until I've hit something where I'm like "is this tagged correctly, because this post should fall under my tagging filter) and it's just so nice to know what type of reader (bottom/top or sub/bottom) the post is written for.

Now for fluff, it's easier because you can just tag it as "fluff" or "sfw". Not much needs to be done for tagging fluff. You can just tag it as fluff.

Some More Things of Note:

I have two more things to talk about. The first being the "read more" feature.

The "read more" feature can be put on your post when you start a new paragraph/start writing your post, as a whole set of options appear when you make a new paragraph/click on the "type here" when staring writing. (At least on web you can do that. On mobile, the read more feature is down at the bottom, right below where you can enter the tags.)

The "read more" symbol looks like this (and it's the same symbol on both mobile and web):

(Forgive my terrible screenshot abilities.)

Just click that symbol and it'll have a squiggly line with the words "keep reading" in between (and after posting it'll just appear as the words). The reason to use this post is when you have a very long post, as it will help others when they stumble upon your post while searching in a particular tag.

The last thing I wanted to talk about was the content label of post.

You find content label at the bottom right next to post (when you're on the web) or at the top right next to post when you click the meatball menu (when you're on mobile). The default is set to "For Everyone" but you can change it to mature (and select why it's mature, either for sexual themes, violence, or drug and alcohol addiction). Changing the content label of your post to mature can help give an extra security measure in addition to tagging your post.

So say you're writing a dark fic or smut, you can choose to change it to mature for violence (for a dark fic) or change it to mature for sexual themes (for smut). Just toggle on whichever you feel best fits the post and if the reader has that specific content hidden, it'll hide the post.

Anyways, that's all I can think of right now. I hope this post helped you!

(EDIT: I can't believe I wrote this post and forgot to talk about angst! Anyways, I hope whoever asked this is still reading this post, so they can know this answer.

So for angst, I'd follow the same steps for tagging dark fics with the tags being: tw: angst (again just to cover my bases), angst, and then input whatever tw/cw you want.

Again, I'd also label it on post that it has angst and then the content warnings for said angst.)

#tyler's asks #tyler's inbox #tyler answers asks #answering asks #asks #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon riley x reader #cod discourse #tumblr tagging #important psa #i added the cod tags just to boost this post #and because i used a cod tag as an example #and cause i'm petty & want the female reader writers who don't properly tag to see this #:)

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mttcafe · 2 months

Note

I’m back!!!!!! do you have any UT or DR merch you wanna show off? :3

YES!!! sooo much. i'll attach everything and then yap under the cut about them. long post incoming! sorry!!!

okay so starting out! i have my plushie collection. i have sans, papyrus, flowey, lancer, and two chapter two ralseis that my bf got me the second he released. one of them is wearing the butler outfit. i got one for free because my first one had stains on arrival. so now i have a second to wear the costume! i also have bootleg sans and papyrus and bootleg asriel.

i have all of the nendoroids sans spamton. the undertale cast is displayed on one shelf and ralsei on another. undyne broke into toriel's house and took the pie that's why she's not on her mountain.

i have the fangamer undertale vinyl boxset! i have the first run boxart with gaster on it [picture included]. he is not in any prints you can get now. i own the fangamer deltarune chapter one and two vinyls as well.

for one of my holy grail pieces of merch, i own the iam8bit undertale vinyls! they stopped making them a long time ago. you can find them average between the 100-200+ range. but the real holy grail is the 7" vinyl. it's in the first picture and then there's a picture of the vinyl attached. it has dogsong on it. it was a preorder bonus for the original vinyl and there were NOT many made because the vinyl went up for preorder in 2015 or 16 iirc. i have only seen like four listings for the dogsong vinyl ever and most sit in the several hundred dollar range. i bought a bundle of the original soundtrack AND the dogsong vinyl for one hundred and fourty dollars. AN INSANE COP. i won. I WON!!!! i had been looking for a good listing for YEARS.

i have quite a few pins although i would like more. i have the flowey fanclub pin, the lancer bike pin. the fanmade ones i own are both mettaton + a ralsei button that i made. on this backpack i also have the mewmew keychain. they stopped selling her a while ago so i had to find her second hand. it was also EXTREMELY difficult to find a listing for her!! but i found one for 15. only two over retail. yay!

i have the cyber city desk mat. i love it very much. i have the nubert beanie that my friend bought me. thanks casper. i have the undertale collectors edition for the switch, and the undertale art book. i have an eshop card that was never active i'm not gonna lie to y'all i just swiped that thing one day. no harm done it's just a piece of cardboard. i own the game on pc, switch, and my xbox. if i owned a ps4 you best believe i'd own it there too. i plan on getting one someday and 60% of the reason is for the ps4 dynamic theme and so i can play all versions of undertale. also i have a lot of undertale stickers and tags, mostly the bonuses from fangamer and such. plus a few art cards from there. oh! and my bf made me that cup + coaster. i love it. when the cup is set down it squishes ralsei.

now for the clothes that i have! i own two sans jackets from fangamer [not pictured i forgor]. i got one in a size too big so had to get a second. i have the shirt showtime, disruption, your best nightmare [it has a little flowey on the back!], the fifth anniversary shirt [it has a bunch of quotes from the game on the back. i love it.], the deltarune hoodie, and the flowey scarf.

as for unofficial clothing, i have two hoodies from etsy. one of them is a chara hoodie, and the other one is a lancer inspired hoodie with a spade that comes down over your face! it's so cool despite the fact i can't see out of it.

i also have a few kandi bracelets that i made and a golden flower headband i made for a cosplay. and with that.. i think that may be it..! i have a few pieces of merch that i really want but that could go into a seperate post. thank you so much for asking! i could talk about this forever haha. if i forgot anything i'll mention it. i'm very forgetful.

shoutout to all the people that have helped me cultivate this collection. a lot of these are gifts or things i've made myself broke buying.

#undertale #ask #utdr #undertale merch #deltarune merch #merch tour #deltarune #autism win!

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lacefuneral · 1 year

Text

hi reddit. here are some tips.

i will be putting these below a "readmore" - which is the first lesson. on desktop there is a button for this. on mobile you type :readmore: followed by a linebreak. it is considered common ettique to shorten your long posts in this way.

by the way, are you reblogging a long post that isn't under a readmore? tag that as #long post so users can blacklist it and not have to scroll for five years.

(weird gaps in bullet points due to character limits lmao)

Title. Icon. Banner. blog description. (look around if you need an idea for what to put in your blog description.) Blogs without this information (ESPECIALLY the no icon + no title combo) gets you blocked immediately. This is because tumblr has always had a severe bot problem. Just grab a meme from your camera roll or a picture of a character you like from google.

also, because most users have their pronouns in their bio, it is expected that you will look there to check before addressing them, out of courtesy. don't just default to "they" - only do that if a person's pronoun's are unclear or if the pronouns listed ARE "they."

Disable public likes. the like button is for personal bookmarking. very often, people will like posts they have not read yet, so that they can read them later. a person's likes is not always reflective of their stances, and if your likes are public, people may use them against you in an argument. think of your likes as your browser history. tumblr users value privacy in this instance.

unrelated to the above point: likes are also used to show compassion for a user going through a tough time, or to say "hey, i thought this joke you made was funny." this use of likes is more for friend-to-friend communication.

Disable anything in your settings that is algorithmic including seeing posts based on other people's likes (one, because algorithms exist to make you mad and two, as part of respecting privacy)

set "following" to appear before "for you" (and overall avoid "for you")

Snooze Tumblr Live (sorry. you have to do this once a week bc tumblr sucks.)

Open your askbox so people can communicate with you. Decide if you want to allow anonymous asks and/or public DMs.

Enable the desktop version of your blog. This makes it so that when you use a computer and go to [yourusername].tumblr.com you can have a website with HTML and CSS. tumblr has tried very hard to kill blog personalization but you can find many helpful users posting in the tags, as well as pre-made themes you can install. tumblr users are the ones making the bulk of neocities websites, and in general tend to be friendly in redirecting you to resources.

enabling your desktop blog also allows you to insert links and do very basic editing (like inserting line breaks) in your blog description (we call "bio") which translates to the mobile version of your theme. you have to do this in the editor for the desktop on a computer. also, editing your theme on mobile (like changing color, font) will undo your HTML. your best bet is to edit your mobile theme first and THEN do the HTML/link stuff on a computer. i know it sounds a bit convoluted but you'll figure it out. (this website is made of duct tape)

also while you are on desktop: download xkit rewritten. it won't work on mobile but it gives you a lot of helpful features. also consider installing ublock origin if you haven't already, because tumblr will sometimes add annoying widgets to their website and that tool will allow you to block them. i also use "palettes for tumblr" to customize my dashboard color. tumblr DOES have built-in dashboard themes but i do not like them personally.

pinned posts. you can pin any post you make or reblog. some people use this to pin a funny meme, and other people use the pinned post as an extended bio (or otherwise an alternative to it). a tumblr post made on desktop can hold up to 30 images (the limit is 10 on mobile.) you can also embed links, a video, and even audio. you can change text color, have bullet points, and increase font size. as such, you can express yourself much more in a pinned post than in your mobile blog description. a typical pinned post may include information about the user, a link to an external website (like a carrd, neocities, or linktree), and sometimes an image or two. tumblr allows you to disable reblogs for a post, so most pinned posts are set this way so it just stays on a user's blog.

DNIs (also called "BYF"). not everyone uses them, and they can be divisive. it stands for "Do Not Interact" - and is a boundary set to keep people away. this may include age (example: "minors DNI"), political opinions (example: "prolifers DNI"), and sometimes deeply niche online discourse. DNIs are also sometimes a joke (example: "DNI if you like tuna salad"). there is actually a meme where someone will write a post with a very long, unreasonable DNI and users will count how many apply to them.

If you would upvote a post on reddit, you would reblog it here. If you see something and you think it is cool, you think it is funny, or you think it is helpful, reblog it. Some users have sideblogs (you can have infinite sideblogs attached to your main account) to organize all of the posts they reblog. Others simply use a tagging system for organizational purposes (and so users can blacklist ("filter") those tags in their settings if they don't want to see the post). For example, if I followed a user for Star Trek, but they also posted a lot of Star Wars, I might add "#star wars" to my list of filters. This way, I am only seeing the Star Trek posts. Tumblr's default way of handling this is to display a box that says "this post contains #Star Wars" and you can choose whether or not to open it. on desktop with xkit rewritten, you can have it hide those boxes entirely. please use filters. your sanity will thank you.

In a reblog, Organizational Tags are for /you./ I see a lot of confusion about this from new users. If you reblog someone else's post and add 500 tags..... it's not going to get picked up in tumblr search. You're not going to get any sort of exposure. Because it is not your post. Those tags are only for /you/ - if you want to find the post again.

tags are also used for commentary. most tumblr users do /not/ talk in post replies or in the comments of a reblog. most of them talk in tags. tags have a character limit so these messages are broken up in fragments. tumblr uses a comma (,) to make a new tag, so users often use either no punctuation or a period (.) or a hyphen (-) to break up thoughts. two apostrophes ('') are used instead of quotation marks (because they dont work in tags). this is also where "tumblr writing style" comes from. we all began to write in lowercase and use punctuation in. a weird way. like. for emphasis. there is also the Tumblr Comma, a special unicode character that resembles a comma and works in tags when copy+pasted or put there with a keyboard shortcut. but this is often not used. here it is: ‚

also here's an example of tags. you will notice that commentary goes before organizational: #GOD DHSHSKDDJDL #i cannot BELIEVE i forgot about this. what the fuck #star trek #spock

when leaving tags, most users talk to themselves. but please remember that tags can be seen by anyone, including the original poster. in general, it is discouraged to traumadump or be rude.

"prev tags" (which tumblr staff is trying their damnest to erase sadly) is when a user reblogs a post from another user and tags it simply ''prev'' or ''prev tags" (meaning "i agree with the previous user's tags"). sometimes it's because a thoughtful observation was made, but usually it's a way of saying "hey! that was a funny joke!" without putting the user on blast by screenshotting the tags. it's most common between friends and mutuals (users following each other). i would say it is equivalent to users whispering to each other and giggling rather than getting up on a table and shouting. "prev tag chain" is when users reblog "prev tags" "prev prev tags" - and so on. however, sadly, tumblr has removed the feature of moving backwards in a reblog chain on desktop. i have not updated my app and refuse to, so i so not know if it is gone on mobile as well, but it probably is. EDIT: the browser extension Xkit Rewritten has an option now, in "tweaks" called "restore links to individual posts in post header." it should be the first option. prev tags, on desktop at least, is saved!

screenshotting someone elses tags and adding the image in a reblog is known as "passing peer review." it is, however, considered to be Greatly Annoying to accompany those tags with unnecessary commentary (ex: "these tags pass peer review!" "WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE THIS IN THE TAGS" "LMAAOO THIS IS SO FUNNYYY"). the tags can stand on their own. the only instance in which this is different is during a serious discussion, when you want to build off of another user's perspective. in which case, you address them as normal. some people credit taggers, some people don't. crediting tends to occur in discussions.

when making an original post, do not use irrelevant tags for Exposure. this is Greatly Hated by the userbase and is also against the TOS. you will get blocked at best, reported or yelled at at worst. only add relevant tags, and do not go overboard.

reposting other people's artwork is highly discouraged and is considered the Highest Offense. if you do any sort of reposting, you should credit and link to a creator directly. however, tumblr loves reposted videos, especially ones from tiktok. there are entire accounts dedicated to posting those.

sideblogs! it is possible to have multiple blogs under one email address. tumblr treats these blogs as proxies of your main blog. this means that sending someone an ask/commenting in the replies of a post will always appear with the name of your main blog, your likes will appear with the name of your main blog, and that if you follow someone you will appear on their followers list as your main blog (so you may be mutuals with someone and not even know it because their sideblog interacts with you, but isn't on your follower's list... because their main blog is listed there instead.) however, DMs DO appear as the sideblog name. you cannot swap your main blog with your sideblog. and right now, there is a bug where deleting a sideblog will delete your entire tumblr account so. don't do that lol. anyway, the amount of sideblogs you can make is literally infinite and i think there's just a Daily Limit of creating 10 of them or something. some users make a sideblog for each interest they have. others have no sideblogs and reblog everything to main. and then you have people like me that do both. somehow. some users will make sideblogs to hoard URLs. also sorry i'm just introducing this now, but that is what our usernames are called. because when tumblr was more desktop-oriented, every blog was literally a Personal Website. so ya. we call them "URLs." anyway, if someone wants to hang onto a URL for later, they might save it on an empty blog. this usually pisses people off. a "canon URL" is when someone has a URL that is like One Word or a Company Name or a Fictional character. hypothetical examples: "ketchup" "burgerking" "lukeskywalker." these are highly rare, coveted, and you look cool as hell if you have one.

tumblr's /\/SFW policy (/\/ is an N. i've censored it.) is best described as ???. posts that are safe for work get marked as /\/SFW and hardcore p0rn somehow persists. in general, be very wary of posting even artistic nvdity (even though it is supposedly permitted.) never deliberately mark your own posts as Mature. this is essentially like walking directly into a bear trap and waving a big sign at tumblr staff saying "hey! make it so people can't find my blog and i'm far more likely to get banned!" also do not tag posts with "/\/SFW." too many of those will get your entire blog marked as mature (which makes your posts pretty much invisible to other users.) tumblr users used /\/SFT (/\/ot safe for tumblr) for a long time, but staff caught on. there is now no consensus and people use their own personal tags for it. just pick something and people will catch on and blacklist it if need be. (btw you CAN type whatever you want on this website. i am only censoring in the hopes that this will allow my post to appear in the tags. this isn't tiktok lol)

while it is possible to disable reblogs on a post, this is a very RECENT addition and most users forget it exists. as such, please use common sense. if someone has written a post about, say, how sad they are feeling because they got in a fight with their family... that's not a good post to reblog. a like would be better here, like a pat on the back.

we LOVE polls. we love them. they are like sports to us. most of them are popularity polls - who is the better character? but people also use polls for, say, making bug emojis "race" each other. or "lets build a cake." other people use polls to write poetry, or learn about regional differences, or even to draw a pen!s. if you tag a poll as "poll" it will most likely be seen and voted in, because users look in the tag to find buttons to click.

there is unfortunately a T3RF (this one censored specifically to protect my notifs lmao. 3 is E) presence here. report, block, ignore, move on. common courtesy for users to inform each other if one is accidentally reblogged from. it also helps to blacklist tags related to them to avoid them. use shinigam! eyes browser extension on desktop.

there is NO equivalent to reddit awards on this website. as the userbase hates the staff, it is considered blasphemous to spend your money on checkmarks, etc. - buying them as a gift for another user is seen as a hostile act. it's like receiving a "kick-me" sign. once owned, badges cannot be deleted. thankfully, tumblr now allows you to disable checkmarks and other badges from appearing publically. that said, some users also give checkmarks unironically to show appreciation??? and others buy checks for themselves???? so yeah. tumblr doesnt actually have a verification system - these exist to mock twitter and to make a quick buck.

tumblr blaze. essentially, tumblr has a system in place to showcase user posts instead of advertisements sometimes. this is done by the user paying money. the higher the amount, the more impressions. tumblr users can now also blaze OTHER PEOPLE'S POSTS. MAKE SURE YOU HAVE BLAZE DISABLED!!! blazing another person's post (without asking first) is seen as a hostile act. why? because most blazed posts result in rude comments from strangers who are annoyed to see the post on their dashboard. unless it's like, a cute picture of a cat. or something genuinely helpful. boosting your soundcloud or a selfie or a rant about fandom does not typically garner positive responses. you can blaze just like. watch out. and also always ask the OP if you want to blaze someone else's post. (there is a reason this feature is called "blaze pvp")

tumblr merch is also frowned upon, as tumblr staff steals ideas from the userbase and profits off of them without financially compensating or crediting the users. there was a meme on here, "vanilla extract", that tumblr turned into water bottles while the person who made the meme was having to fundraise to survive :(

BLOCK. LIBERALLY.

umm i think thats it for now. but like if you have questions feel free to launch them into The Void with some tags and users are pretty quick to help out! hopefully i covered some stuff that other ppl haven't

#reddit #196 #reddit migration

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hanniiesuckle17 · 3 months

Text

Chapt. 03

A/n: I’m so sorry guys that this series has been all over the emplacements with posting times. But my life is slowly coming back together and I’m enjoying writing more and trying to get back to it so!! I also apologize for any misspellings or grammar mistakes I didn’t have time to edit this! Here we gooooo!!! Tag List is Open <3

Tag List: @ashisparanoid @mini-meanhoe @leggomylino @doolsetnet @desertofdessert-blog @hoes4hoseok @mrsunshine999 @jisungsjheekies @hannie-squirrel00 @cotccotc @yangs-jeongin @binniebutter @orangegyu @little-precious-baby @raethethey @sofie296 @bluejayboys @bunnyjaycheoluwu @mingiholic @doom-fics @justhere4kpop @honeyhotteoks @star-hrts

C. L. Tag List: @realrintaro

Pairing: Jisung x Reader x Seungmin

Genre: SMAU, Series, College AU,Love Triangle, Comedy, Fluff, Drama, Smut, Best Friend AU, Slice of Life AU, YouTuber AU

Schedule: Not Scheduled ATM

Warnings: Cursing, Partying, Substance Consumption Including Alcohol and Cannabis, SMUT (Choking, praise, teasing, dirty talk, safe sex, blowjob)

Synopsis: Timing is everything. Sometimes it’s the right person and the wrong time and sometimes it’s the right time but nothing is going your way. Life revolves around this college friend group as everyone is intertwined in fate. Time will only reveal the ending.

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : 03. a little more atmosphere

Y/n’s Pov

No matter how many times you had been to the frat sectors of your campus you could never get over how normal the houses looked. Other than the size of the houses it looked more like a regular neighborhood. White, gray, and blue houses lined the streets with inviting lights along the sidewalks. Further down you could see a good sized group of people lounging and gathering in the front yard of a house.

There was a cool wet breeze in the air. The kind that felt gentle on your skin. Your little group made its way down the street. The three of you: Nadia, yourself, and Felix, had taken a shuttle to this side of campus with the knowledge that none of us would be able to drive home. To be honest Hyunjin, who was already at the party, may have already pressed the company to do a pre game round before coming that left a fluttery nice cloud over your thoughts.

There was no doubt where Sigma Chi’s pledge event was happening. The music could be heard two doors down. It was highly likely it would cause no issue considering that the neighbors were also probably attending the party.

As you entered the house you were swallowed by rhythmic music, bodies, and colorful dancing lights bouncing around the room. This was definitely not your first frat party not that you would tell your parents. Your eyes surveyed the scene and easily found Jisung slightly elevated with his mix set up. There were a few guys chilling with him behind his set up, clearly enjoying the party.

It sometimes slipped your mind that your best friend was almost a local celebrity. Then again it also rarely crossed your mind that someone might think the same about you. It still felt weird that Jisung was always asked to DJ the parties on campus because of his radio show’s popularity.

His eyes met yours and quickly were overtaken with a smile- a bright grin that reached every part of his face. He waved before holding his hand up as if asking you to stay still. Felix and Hyunjin were still trying to get the group situated so you saw no problem and waited. Jisung dipped his head and adjusted some of his equipment.

It was as if his vision tunneled and channeled on you as he watched you expression change. The almost instantaneous joy on your face never failed to make him feel proud of himself as he switched to your favorite anthem. It was something he did only for you and no one else.

Your body jumped up and down to the beat- hands in the hair. Jisung started jumping along with you and the small crowd in the house immediately started getting hyped like it was foreign club.

Someone tapped your shoulder. You turned finding Seungmin’s friendly face. His hair was a little messy from the party atmosphere put everything else about him was clearly meant to flatter. The black button down he wore lay perfectly on him accenting his frame.

His hand smoothly slid from your shoulder to your hand. Gently he lifted it and encouraged you to twirl to the music for him. It was hard not to admit the action made you feel a little warmth on your cheeks. It was either that or the shots were kicking in.

As you finished your turn he pulled you into his chest and leaned down so you could hear him over the music. “You look really good, Y/n.” His long fingers hesitantly adjusted your top layer of clothing.

Seungmin greeted the rest of the group and you all headed out back onto the patio. As you stepped outside your shoulder brushed a giggling blonde haired boy. “Oh sorry-“ you said turning back to look at him. The boy had a half finished blunt in his mouth, lazy smile on his face. He had a funny pair of sunglasses falling low on his nose and his attention trained on the girl who was holding his hand behind him. The boy’s other hand was holding an entire bottle of jack.

Seungmin laughed and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Woah there bro,” He looked between you and apparently his fraternity mate. “Jeongin this is, Y/n.”

His eyes widened and a massive smirk grew on his face. His fingers adjusted the bottle of alcohol so he had two free fingers to reach and pull the joint from his lips. “Oh yeah- dude, she’s Jisung’s friend right?” Seungmin looked a little annoyed that’s how you were being introduced as. “Hey, boo. Yo- you ever want something hit me up I’ll give you the Jisung’s friend discount.”

The boy didn’t even wait for your hesitant smile response and he turned away dragging away the girl in tow behind him. “So-that our newest recruit, Jeongin.”

“What a colorful gentleman,” you mused with a laugh as Nadia handed you a drink.

The evening rolled on in a happy blur. The music was good and always the perfect vibe, though you would expect nothing less from your best friend. You enjoyed the time with your friends, everyone drinking and having fun. Occasionally a game would come up to play but eventually everyone would fall back to your lounge spot and just talk for hours.

You were lounged on a patio couch outside, Seungmin’s leg resting over yours as he took up the rest of the couch. A nice rosy glow painted his cheeks. Felix couldn’t keep a giggle from bursting out which made you burst out laughing for a reason you could not even remember.

Feeling the need for another drink you tapped on your friend’s leg, which he immediately lifted. You stretched and offered refills before heading into the house towards the kitchen.

The party had taken a turn as the hours had grown late. Instead of the thundering base the house was now filled with a sound that made you feel suspended in pleasure. The colorful lights flowed in tune with the music and the rooms were collecting clouds of smoke hanging in the air like chandeliers.

Making your way past several people in the kitchen you found the island counter which was covered completely in bottles of liquor and mixers, coolers, and ice. A plethora of bad choices. How lovely!

Your hand instinctively went for the rum and you began pouring a drink to your liking. The air shifted and you felt a familiar presence enter behind you. An echo of laughter followed him in the room. His eyes immediately met yours before grabbing a random cup from the counter and drinking from it.

“Are you enjoying the party?” He leaned on the counter next to you, head tilted with his little impish grin.

You rolled your eyes with slight smile that did not go unnoticed by Jisung. “I just wish it had a little more atmosphere, you know.” Hearing the sarcasm drip from your lips had the boy pushing himself off the counter and puffing his chest and stepping up close to her.

“Oh yeah- you wanna fight bro-“ He stopped when he heard you collapse in a fit of giggles and his arms instantly came to rest on your elbows making sure you hadn’t lost your balance. “Nah that’s not me, honey. I’d atmosphere the shit outta this place.” Jisung filled the rest of your cup, knowing just how you like your drinks. “Changbin’s giving me a break.”

You nodded, sipping on the bubbly concoction. “Makes sense,” you replied, leaning against the counter shoulder to shoulder. “No wonder everyone is basically fucking.” The two of you looked around and laughed before tapping cups and taking a giggly shot.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Jisung turned and nudged your shoulder. “Hey- you wanna get some air?”

“I’ve got some in my lungs already but I could always use some more.”

“Ass.” Jisung said with a laugh, his hand resting on your lower back as he guided you to the front of the house.

Twinkling stars and fluffy clouds emerged as you exited the frat party and followed the sidewalk in the front yard. There was a step in the path and Jisung comfortably plopped himself down there as if it was the comfiest seat on the block. The ground a was a little wet as it had just begun to rain- more like a mist, gently kissing your warm cheeks.

Cans and party favors littered the grass around us. The air smelled fresh and new, something you always loved about rain. The part still roared on inside the house, Changbin’s music seeping through the walls and onto the street. Occasionally colored lights would flash through the windows and catch in the tiny droplets of rain like crystals.

There was a small group of college students chilling out with drinks on the porch. Whispers of their conversation floated to your little spot but neither of you really cared to listen.

After taking a drink, you pulled your phone out to see the night had already come to almost three in the morning. “Ooooo the witching hour,” Jisung joked shaking your shoulders. After he let go he set his drink down in the grass before pulling something out of his pocket. “Do you mind?” Jisung asked placing a joint between his lips.

You shook your head and took a sip from your drink and watched as he lit and took a deep draw expertly inhaling before gentle pools of smoke floated out of his nose with a sigh. His eyes lazy opened and met your gaze before he offered you a hit.

Shaking your head you said, “I’ve already had a bit to drink.” He nodded and leaned back on his elbows before tilting his head back and taking another deep hit. You could almost see the point where a nice little daze came over his eyes. A beautiful funnel of smoke came from his lips straight up into the air.

“I forget- do you smoke, babe?”

He giggled as you shrugged. “Nah, I mean…One time- Felix and I, we made these like pretty sick edibles.” It was impossible not to remember how fun that night was. Jisung let out groan, hands covering his face, before he shot up and came only inches away from your face.

Your eyes widened as you looked and him and the grip on your cup got a little tighter. He had a lazy smile on his lips as he whispered, “Fuck- make me edibles, Y/n.” Something about the way he said your name had your hazy mind tripping over itself.

“Uhm-…”

“Dude- that would be the best high ever! You’re food and- fuuck, Y/n.” Jisung grabbed your cheeks and squished your face. He looked at you for a second, clearly feeling the effects of the smoking blunt in his other hand. “So do you wanna try?”

You giggled as his arm slid behind your back and he leaned into you. This side of Jisung was all too familiar. “How does it always end up like this?” You ask pushing him away a little.

“Like what?”

“You teaching me to do all kinds of shit like; you taught me how to kiss, and you taught me how to sneak out and all that other stuff.”

He laughed and flicked your forehead. “Your fault for hanging around a bad influence.”

“Somehow my parents think you hung the moon.” Jisung held your gaze before looking to the joint and back to you. “You kinda wanna teach me don’t you?”

He grinned, pushing his slowly dampening hair from his face. “Kinda a lot.” You nodded and took the blunt from his grasp. He watched you eagerly as you brought it to your lips. “So you’re going to want to suck and then inhale. But think of it more like a helium balloon than a straw.”

You felt a sweet smell float into your nostrils that somehow felt like pepper. The back of your throat burned a little as you breathed it in. After a second you couldn’t help but cough.” He laugh at how cute he found you. The watering in your eyes and scorched remnants of your throat spoke volumes that you were quite the opposite as you continued to cough.

Gently Jisung patted your back before ruffling your hair. “That sucked balls.”

“How do you know what balls taste like, bitch?”

Rolling your eyes, your fingers brushed your friend’s hand as you passed back the joint. “Not for me, I’ll stick to edibles.”

“Which you will be making me soon by the way," his words were ever so slightly slower letting you Jisung was definitely feeling good right now. You nodded and let him lean his head against yours. Suddenly the mist gently floating onto your skin became heavy droplets and both you and Jisung sat up at the feeling.

With squinted eyes your friend turned to you and said, “My car’s right over there- you wanna?”

“Yes, please!” You shouted as the rain began to pick up just enough to be uncomfortable.

Jisung pulled you up and tucked you and his still lit joint under the shield that was his arm. Quickly the two of you shuffled through the shower to the gray sedan that he had been driving since high school. The lights flashed through the weather as the backseat door was flung open and your best friend ushered you inside.

Once you were safely enclosed in the vehicle, you watched his slender form jog around to the other side of the car before climbing in with you. “Did it go out?” Jisung asked, clearly referring to the joint he had handed to you at some point.

Lifting it, he smiled seeing the tiny golden embers still burning. “Niiice.” Jisung then reached between the front seats and turned on the car before cracking the back windows ever so slightly so the smell of the rain would float in and the future heavy smoke filled air would flow out.

While he was adjusting things, you were busy getting comfortable having brought your slightly rain filled drink with you. Jisung handed you his phone, a habit of his whenever you were in his car. It was the only time he would ever let you play your own music. “Yeahhh I’m gonna ruin your buzz with death metal music.”

“Y/n no- that is so not the vibe pleasssse,”

“You handed the phone and with it the power. Kisseth my ass.”

“Bend over.” Jisung had a lazy smirk on his face and you were happy that the car was dark except for the colors coming from the dashboard a small world away. Suddenly the backseat felt much smaller than it did before.

Obviously he was joking, but that did nothing to stop your already pink cheeks to flush even more. “Fine, I’ll pick good music.” From the way your voice got softer Jisung could tell you were blushing. He leaned back into the corner of the door and the seat and took another draw before blowing it gently out the window, savoring the feeling of the smoke leaving his body.

He watched you scroll on his phone, letting his unfiltered thoughts float freely as rain pelted the roof above. Maybe it was just he hadn’t seen you in a week, or maybe all of the smells around him seemed fresher, but something magnetic was drawing all his senses towards you.

When music softly starting coming from the surrounding speakers, you looked up to find Jisung already looking at you- a loopy smile on his face as his fingers rolled the blunt back and forth between his grip. “What?”

“I’ve missed you,” He said, brushing his nose and pulling your legs into his lap.

There was no helping the goofy giggle that came out as you were now feeling the effects of all the shots that were taken earlier in the night. “You just saw me the other day!” The handsome boy shrugged and you felt him absently rub his palm up and down your calf. You were almost certain he was not even aware of his actions. For just a second your head dropped back on the seat and you let yourself get lost in this perfect atmosphere.

“Yeah- but I mean I wanted to hang out with you at the party tonight,”

“Yes, the party you were working?”

He laughed once again drawing patterns along with the music on your leg. “Hey if I’m drinking I’m not working. Why didn’t you come up to the booth and chill?”

There wasn’t really an answer. Not one that Jisung would like anyway. Jisung didn’t have anything against Seungmin, but the two always ended up butting heads on something. “Well, Seungmin was the one who invited me and it is- in a way- his party,” The boy rolled his eyes before turning to look at you with a smile. “I’m chilling with you now though!”

“Who's more fun, me or the kappa boy?”

“You were just playing their pledge party. How do you not know the name of the fraternity?” You could feel yourself struggle to string together so many sentences that long in a row. “It’s Sigma Chi.”

Jisung’s lids hung low over his eyes as he laughed. “Whatever, admit that I’m more fun already!” He whined. Without another word, you told him exactly what he needed to hear, if only to shut him up. There was nothing that made you happier than being with Jisung even when he was being an ass. In fact when he was being an ass you found him the most loveable. It was one of the hardest things about having a crush on him.

Clearly the effect had set in on Jisung, but it didn’t take him long to notice every so now and then you would sneak a glance at him messing with the joint. “Do you want to try again?” He asked with such patience you didn’t expect that it made your heart skip a beat. Remembering the awful burning sensation you vigorously shook your head no. The tiny bit of fear in your face made Jisung laugh. He was always going to be the stoner out of you two. He also had no doubt that you were probably getting at least a small contact high from the lingering smoke. That was what gave him the idea.

Jisung normally had zero filter and thought about nothing before he said it. So, of course this instance was no different. “Do you want to shotgun?”

“Like get in the front seat? Why?”

Your best friend burst out laughing, slapping the side of your leg in his lap. “Bro- no,” Jisung’s laugh was contagious and between him and the slow feeling of inebriation, it didn’t take long for you to laugh along with him. “Hold up- let me show you,” Jisung turned so he was now facing you and he gave your ankles a tug, silently asking you to come closer.

Scooching across the backseat of his car, you came face to face with your friend. You had been this close before many times but it always made your heart race. “You like Harry Potter right?” Jisung questioned in a funny accent that made you giggle. “Okay, so- hey! Eyes on me!” He jokingly scolded you for getting slightly distracted by a group of people running outside behind him. “So, you’re gonna pretend like you’re a dementor sucking out my soul.”

“What soul?”

He rolled his eyes with a smile and brought the joint up to his lips and you tried your hardest not to let your gaze linger there. With gentle hands he brought your face even closer to his own. Once he had a mouth full of smoke, Jisung tapped your cheek with his finger and you parted your lips slightly. Suddenly you were very aware of your surroundings and even with the rain and the music it felt very quiet. You watched in fascination as the smoke gently billowed from his lips towards your own. Not exactly sure what you were doing, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

You could feel the smoke as it scratched the back of your throat leaving a tingling sensation behind. There was still a burn in your nose but it almost felt like someone had just sprinkled too much pepper on their food. When you opened your eyes, you found Jisung still holding your face, his eyes trained on your lips.

A tension hung in the air as rain pelted against the car windows. Your friend looked at you with heavy eyes, dozily fixating on his finger as it moved to brush and trace over your lips. You felt your skin come alive as you simply held as still as you possibly could while he gently traced over your features. “Jisung?” His eyes brought themselves back into focus but he made no effort to move any amount of distance away from you. “You good?”

“Oh-I’m fantastic.” You could feel his hand ghost over your shoulder before it dropped into your lap. “This is the best high I’ve had in a while.” His other arm reached up and laid itself across the top of the backseat. His head flopped onto his arm as he looked over at you with his brown doe eyes.

“I’m feeling pretty nice too,” You giggled, resting your head on the seat and enjoying the floaty feeling engulfing you.

A goofy smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “You wanna feel even better?” Before you could ask how or why Jisung’s lips were on yours. Oh this was a terrible, awful, stupid, irresponsible idea. That thought went out the window when you felt Jisung pull you closer to him by the back of your neck. He grinned as you returned the kiss with an equal passion. College was for bad decisions right? This was definitely a mistake that would feel so...fucking…good. You pulled away to set your drink in the door’s cup holder and Jisung chased after your lips. “No, where are you going?” He almost whined. “Come back to me.”

You gasped as his grip got a little tighter around your throat. By what some might call a happy accident you had turned into his hand, his thumb moving to the other side of your neck. He smirked, giving the soft skin in his hands a gentle little squeeze as he turned your attention back to himself. “That was really fucking cute.” You stayed frozen in his grip completely enamored with the way he was looking at you.

Jisung had a curious grin on his face, almost as if you were a peculiar new toy for him to play with and explore. “Well- who taught you that…”Instead of pulling you back up into his lap your body was twisted and pushed down into the car seat. You were very aware of his knee brushing up between your thighs as Jisung looked at you from above.

Mesmerized, your eyes tracked the swing of his silver chain. A gentle tug of your chin brought the focus back onto him. You were completely enamored with the way he looked at you with his pretty face. It was a struggle for your brain to function as you tried to find a better word to describe how happy looking at his face made you feel in that moment other than…pretty.

His smile dripped away into a sly smirk as he said, “Mmm, now I’m curious what other things you do.” You giggled as his lips tickled their way down your neck and playing with your shirt. “Hey- that a cool sweater why don’t we,” Jisung joked before pulling your top over your head. The second the fabric revealed your face he captured you in a giggly kiss that made your noses bump together.

You felt a cool touch against your very hot skin and for a moment you didn’t even care where it came from that it felt so good. Had you opened your eyes the sight would only have made your legs squeeze tighter than they already were. Jisung was latched onto your neck and chest while his other hand sneakily has made its way past the barrier of your pants.

And then, all of a sudden, you felt a weight on top of you that cause you to groan and then laugh. “Oh my god- Ji- what was that!”

“Sorry my wrist gave out,” He giggled making no effort to relieve his weight from your chest.

You slapped his shoulder “Here, get off of me.” With little contest, Jisung pushed himself up and reclined in the backseat. With lazy, happy eyes he watched as you crawled into his lap and the between his legs on the floor. His pretty brown eyes tracked the way your hands moved up and down his thighs. “Better.”

In the backseat it was hard to see but you watched his eyes darken as you smiled at him. He watched with a raised brow as your bottom lip was pulled by your teeth. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you what else I do,” You reached up and smiled as you started undoing his pants. For a moment he let you feel him, the cloth underwear providing you a hint of what you had only guiltily dreamed about.

“Hey- wait gimme a sec…” Jisung said nervously laughing and pulling your hands into his own.

Your brows furrowed and the silence between changing songs seemed to last a little longer than you had noticed before. “What’s wrong?” He seemed to notice you begin to second guess yourself.

“Dude- I don’t let anyone see me half soft.”

“Jisung we’ve taken baths together!” You said between giggles as you rested your arms on his thighs.

“Yeah, but we were five! Just shush- trust me I don’t need long.”

Sighing, you rested your head on his thigh and looked up at him. His senses zeroed in on the gentle touch and tap of your fingers on his leg and you were so close that he could feel the soft brush of your breath against him. He watched the way your lips absentmindly whispered the words of the song playing in his car. When you noticed him staring you gave him a little smile, leaning your head deeper into him.

“Yep-that’ll do it. Come here. Now.” He leaned down and pulled you to meet him for one last steamy kiss. Eager to prove yourself, you parted and gently pushed him back in his seat. His eyes widened and a weighted sigh left his lips as he felt your tongue wrap around him.

It was easy to take him simply because the sight of him enjoying your mouth made it water immensely. It was as if every little sound and move from his beautiful face made you want to live only to experience this. His hand very quickly found purchase at the back of your head, twisting your hair between his fingers. “Fucking hell…” he breathed, hand covering his eyes.

Jisung pushed it back into his hair only to meet your eyes as your lips quite literally popped off his dick. Your stomach twisted and your thighs begged to squeeze together as you attempted to hold eye contact with him. It was hard but somehow the hazy fog in your brain gave you the confidence. “You mind if I get more comfortable,”

He shook his head and smiled as you came face to face with him again. With a curious grin, he watched you slide your pants free from your legs and toss them in the floor. The consequences of this would be great, so now was the time to make it worthwhile. Your knees came to rest on either side of his waist, pressing into the backseat. A cool breeze from somewhere in the car ghosted over your lower back as you slipped your hand past your underwear and felt a smooth wet sensation coat the tips of your fingers.

Jisung let out a low moan as the same hand gently wrapped around him coating his length with the soft feeling. His own hands tried to pull you closer to his lap. “Why so far away?” Jisung smirked, his lips coming dangerously close to yours.

“You got a condom, then?”

“Back pocket.”

“Really, Ji, that’s kinda gross,” you giggled, as he lifted the two of you a little so you could reach.

He nuzzled into your neck leaving open mouthed kisses in his wake. “It’s only for emergencies just such as this.” He captured your lips in a kiss that made your body melt as you pulled the wrapper out of his wallet. “This definitely qualifies as an emergency.”

You listened to the soft music and rain pelting against the window as Jisung slipped on the condom and pushed the fabric of your panties to the side. Slowly, you began dropping your hips down onto him and let your eyes flutter closed.

Eagerly, Jisung tried thrusting up into you before he had even fully bottomed out. It made you smile and sink down onto his lap. A low groan came from beneath you and his hand wrapped around you almost in a hug. Your heart was beating thousands of miles a minute wrapped in his embrace feeling everything you had to offer each other.

A shiver crawled down your spine as Jisung’s hand trailed down your back and twisted your underwear in his hand- tugging it away from your soft skin. It was so easy to completely fall into the steady rhythm the man below you was setting. Your fingers rooted and twisted in his hair as a soft moan left your lips.

“Do it again.” Jisung smirked and started putting more intention behind his movements. Stuck in a happy cloud, you complied and let every sweet sound fall loose and into the air hanging heavy around you. “Fuck- I’ve never heard a sound like you…” he groaned, letting his head fall back.

Seizing this opportunity of the weakness, your lips attacked the beautiful skin of his neck. With hooded eyes you watched each little twitch of his face as you kissed and bit down his chest. Jisung wasn’t as vocal as you had imagined, but hearing his baited breath and raspy groans had you breathlessly grinding against his own thrusts.

His long fingers pushed your focus back to his brown eyes before capturing you once again in a kiss. Remembering the oh so sweet little trick from earlier they then gently wrapped around your neck, squeezing the sides. A shaky whimper was cut off in your throat.

You opened your eyes to see Jisung staring at you with that goofy, mischievous smile that made every inch of your body feel happy. His other hand was pressed firmly on your lower back before you felt it move up and start to undo your bra.

Whether Jisung’s body count was higher than yours or not, you knew it would take more of his focus to remove that article of clothing than it would be to stop you from doing whatever your wanted. You let your hips move and bounce a little and almost instantly you could feel his body react under you.

He had only managed to undo one of the hooks, and now was simply trying to pull the straps down your arms. Jisung could do little to keep his arms from going limp, fully succumbing to how amazing you felt around him. His eyes closed and his head dropped onto the seat behind him.

The streetlight cast shadows through the drops of rain still falling on Jisung’s rear window. The shadows rested on his cheek and lips making you want to do nothing but touch them. Leaning down, pushing his hair away from his forehead, you kissed him. Though his body was relaxed, Jisung returned the kiss fervently.

“Keep going,” he rasped against your mouth.

The idea of you basically fucking yourself on his dick in the backseat of Jisung’s car would have made the everyday ‘you’ red up to the ears. Yet here you were, desperate to listen to the quiet sounds he made as you used him.

Regaining his composure Jisung tried to move your underwear that had shifted back and was rubbing against the two of you. Each attempt had him frustrated in both the best and most aggravating way. After giving up with it, you felt a sharp but lazy smack to your ass.

“Jisung-“ you moaned against him.

“Mhmm if you keep going like this I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

You could see the windows quickly building up with steam as your bodies moved in sync. Coming down just in the perfect way, you gasped and let loose a starved moan. Every very small amount of sense was shook loose from your brain. A kind of euphoric feeling was coming over you.

You hardly gave a fuck about getting off. It was going into this, the furthest thing on your mind. The universe had glitched and this wasn’t supposed to happen but here you were pulling on your best friend’s hair as he was desperately trying not to cum so soon. His muscles were tensing and his breath became short and quiet. His face beautifully twisted in pleasure. Jisung’s arms wrapped around your waist and back in tight hug that begged for you to keep going.

“Fuck, yes- Y/n, just like that, honey…” he groaned. You could feel that familiar knot forming at the pit of your stomach. That wonderful warm tension. “Oh- fuck,” his voice trailed off in glorious moan that had you clenching around him.

Quickly his hand reached down and held you against him, pushing him deeper than you expected to go. Then that tiny little ball tightly twisting in your stomach floated apart in the wind and left you in shaky feeling of ecstasy. All you could do was melt into his arms with a whine.

Jisung’s chest heaved as he stared up at you. You had no time to be embarrassed about exactly how of much your own wetness you both were in. He held your gaze as his hand rubbed up and down your back before tangling in your hair, bringing you down for a breathless kiss.

⇄ ◃◃ II ▹▹ ↻

C. L. M.List

Masterlist

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honeybewrites · 2 months

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OC Questionnaire Tag

Thank you @the-golden-comet for the tag, @wyked-ao3 for the tag @the-letterbox-archives for the tag and @ominous-feychild for the tag!! And they you guys for being patient! I know a couple of you tagged me in this a while ago, so sorry for the wait!!

Once again, long post!

Fres

How many people have you killed?

Far more than you would expect, or maybe not if you know me. I can’t actually give you a number. I lost track a long time ago and if we’re counting indirect killings, like building collapses and fires, that number goes up really quickly. Thankfully I don’t do much killing nowadays, and the ones I do kill, well, let’s just say they deserve it.

Favorite type of drink?

Coffee. Hands down. Throw in some flavors and creamer and I can drink five of those puppies in a day easily. It’s a small problem admittedly l…

Do you smoke?

No. I have before, when I was in the Mors and a certain undercover assignment required it, but I don’t do it if my own free will. I don’t like the smell or the taste of it in the slightest.

Asset 703

Life stranded on an island or life as a prisoner?

Island. Easily. I would be completely alone. No Mors, no war. Just me and the ocean. It would be… peaceful. I used to dream about that. Moving to an unknown island in the middle of nowhere… obviously I grew out of that. Just a childish fantasy.

Would you wear a dress?

I have, on many occasions. Certain missions require it. I don’t particularly mind. Though I hate having to wear all the glamours to hide my scars.

What is your most traumatic memory?

I… don’t think that’s relevant information. I can’t risk that information getting into the wrong hands. I was scarred from it. Physically I mean. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone…

Rage Airvix

What's your relationship with your family like?

It’s alright. I haven’t seen them in quite a few years and we don’t agree on a lot of things. Me and my older sister Cadi were always close. I haven’t been able to see her in person for three years now, but we still talk a couple times a month. I miss her.

Do you have any hobbies? If so, what ones?

I like reading! I have quite the collection on my estate. Lots of rare editions, signed copies. It’s pretty valuable. I also dabble in alchemy and I like anything that has to do with being outside like hiking or gardening.

Do you dream often? What about?

It kind of goes in waves I guess? I’ll have a longer stretch of dreams and nightmares for a couple months, and then it kind of goes away. Most of the time it’s memories or complete utter nonsense. Half the time I don’t even remember them. Except the nightmares. I generally remember those.

Fres

What was the worst day of your life?

As weird as it sounds, the day I left the Mors. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to be free but… I thought [redacted] was coming with me. In the end she chose the Mors and we went our separate ways. I wouldn’t hesitate to fight her now.

What's your worst nightmare?

The Mors capturing me. I know exactly what they would do and I wouldn’t be able to escape them a second time. It terrifies me to think about.

If a monster asked you your worst nightmare, what would you tell it and why?

Honestly, I’d probably lie. Who knows what its intentions are? But if I had to tell the truth, I wouldn’t even say anything; I would just show it all the damage the Mors have caused.

Leaving this one as an open tag!! Mostly because I’m on mobile and can’t easily see who I’ve tagged before lol

Your Questions:

Sun or moon?

Would you rather drown or be buried alive?

Pumpkin spice or apple cider?

#echoes of war chronicles #eowc #writers tag game #writerscommunity #writeblr #writers on tumblr #my ocs #asset 703 #Fres #rage Airvix

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where-theres-smoak-2 · 2 years

Text

Ok I am in rant mode again, sorry, this blog just happens to be a place where I dump all my thoughts negative and positive both, unfortunately for all who follow me. But I have seen some bad and incorrect takes from anti darkling/darklinas. So here’s just a few things I want to say.

Firstly LB has never stated that she based the darkling on her ab*sive ex. This is misinformation that was spread by antis. The only thing she has ever said about an ab*sive relationship was that she wrote the first book, Shadow and Bone, at a dark time in her life right after she had got out of a bad relationship. She has said in the past that the darkling was inspired by every bad boy she’s had a crush on in fiction including david bowie’s the goblin king.

So it seems from these comments like the character was supposed to emulate those types of characters that woman find attractive, the ones you would fall for.

I’ve also seen the argument that LB clearly wrote the darkling as a villain, well LB might disagree with you there as she herself has said on multiple occasions that she doesn’t write villains:

LB says that the darkling believes he is doing the right thing and that ‘you can make a case for most of the choices he makes, even the despicable ones.’ So if LB says that she doesn’t write villains and that you can make a case for his actions you can’t really blame darkling fans for doing the same.

The truth is LB promoted the heck out of both the darkling and darklina (or as it was known back then Darlina and Alarkling) when she was writing the og trilogy, even admitting to ‘fanning the flames’ when talking about people shipping m*lina and darklina and was clearly encouraging the shipping of both ships:

She also put out teases for the darkling and darklina:

And promoted darklina fan edits even using the ship tags:

It was only post the release of book three that she changed her tune, likely because of all the backlash she got about the ending of the books. So no LB wasn’t always against fans shipping darklina or liking the darkling. All of this information is easily found with a simple google search, I wasn’t even in the fandom back then being a show watcher first and yet I was still able to learn all of this with minimal difficulty.

Which brings me to the whole darklina being an allegory for a older man manipulating a younger girl and how the darklina fans ‘missed this’. Well if they did miss it then it was for a very good reason, but the truth is darklina’s didn’t miss it, we just didn’t think it made sense within the narrative, the darklina fandom have talked about it, myself included, in fact I’ve already posted a whole pretty much essay on the topic. But let me explain why some people may have ‘missed it’ and why it doesn’t work in the story or with darklina as the allegory. The first is because LB chose to use an immortal/immortal couple for this allegory. The thing with immortality in fiction, especially as love interests, is it makes age pretty much meaningless. The whole point of immortals is that they are ageless. Immortal ships have always been accepted within fiction and this whole age gap issue has never come up before. Nobody was going omg but the age gap yuck with Bella and Edward when twilight came out, or when Magnus and Alec got together in Shadowhunters or with any of the ships in Vampire Diaries. Yet now anti’s are trying to use the argument that the darkling is 100s of years older than Alina and that’s creepy all of a sudden. Sorry but not in my book, an immortal is always going to be significantly older than anyone else what’s the alternative they spend eternity alone, never knowing love? At least with darklina they are both immortal. Another reason why it doesn’t work is because of how the darkling is described in the book, he is said to not look much older than Alina, so in the books he looks like a teenager. So of course people weren’t going to pick up on the older guy/younger girl allegory because the darkling isn’t presented in the books as an older guy. He’s described the same way every other immortal being in every YA book at that time was. It’s also worth noting that I am not sure if LB ever actually said that darklina were supposed to represent a older guy with a younger girl or whether that was something the fandom came up with. I’m not saying she didn’t just that I myself have never seen a direct quote from her that I recall and I wasn’t able to find one. I think the first time I heard of it was when someone sent me an ask about the topic. I know that she has said it was meant to serve as a warning of attractive and charismatic men being able to manipulate young girls but I don’t know that she herself has ever talked about an age gap or specifically mentioned older men?

Another thing that I have been seeing alot of are comments like darkling/darklina fans only like him because he is hot. What bothers me about this is firstly even if that were true and the only reason people liked him was because he is hot, so what? There’s nothing wrong with that, its fiction and fiction is used to escape for a bit, its for enjoyment and entertainment, so if that enjoyment and entertainment comes in the form of staring at the hot guy irregardless of whether they are the hero or villain, let them be. Why are you criticising the way someone enjoys fiction? Sometimes a gal just wants to look at the hot guy. Secondly its just a really irrelevant argument because the darkling is not the only hot, charismatic character in the books or show. M*l is also described as being attractive and charismatic with no shortage of friends and girls, Nikolai is another character that fits that description, so by this argument the only reason M*l fans like him is because he is hot, and the only reason Nikolai fans like him is because he is hot. Thirdly its just plainly not true, whilst I am sure there may be some fans who only like him because he is hot, again nothing wrong with that, most fans like him for a variety of different reasons because he is an interesting and complicated character. As someone who spends a fair bit of time in the darkling/darklina tags the most common reason I have seen for fans liking him is because of his dedication to the grisha, his willingness to fight for the grisha something that he has dedicated 100′s of years of his life too. Personally I like Aleksander/the darkling because he has a sympathetic backstory, because he is fighting for the grisha and when seeing that they had no place to go where they could be free from fear he vowed to make them a safe place, a sanctuary, of course I am going to root for that goal too. I like him because he is complicated and complex and despite being an immortal being who has become deeply effected by past traumas there is still something beautifully human about him, particularly in the show. I also like the connection he has with Alina, the whole yin/yang of it and them being each others balance. I love the complexity and angst of them having this deep connection and pull to each other but also having this anger and sense of betrayal, how they have to try and navigate around having different points of view and seeing the world in a different ways, it makes for a very compelling story and their chemistry in the show is electric. The fact that he is hot is merely a bonus, but even if he wasn’t a conventionally attractive person I would still like his character because of those complexities, because of that connection he has with Alina. But one thing this rant has done is make me curious as to what my other fellow darkling/darklina fans like about the darkling? What drew you to the character? Anyway that’s enough ranting for one day, again my apologies, I am going to go and rewatch season 1 of shadow and bone in preparation for season 2′s release tomorrow...sheepishly shuffles off my soapbox, waving awkwardly.

#darklina #the darkling #anti leigh bardugo

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scramblescrew · 5 months

Note

Hey I saw your post and I'm a cookie run and can't help but notice ya didn't have any requests yet.

Wanted to give you a request and a tip!

Tip: as an example for future posts or edit posts to have this in it....try adding 'cookie run x reader' in your cookie run x reader stuff as one of your tags. That way, if someone looks up 'cookie run x reader' your stuff will pop up with the other 'cookie run x reader' instead of only showing up when someone looks up 'yandere cookie run' like I did!

Request: I'd like some...oh gosh your yandere stuff is so good but I also wanna see what your fluff is like! *flips coin in background.*

....ok fluff it is then! I'd love some butter roll x reader fluff please! Like maybe reader is snuggled up to him and he wants reader to wake up buuut reader is just refusing to get up because they are too cozy against him? Thought it would be adorable!

((New cookie has been added to my favorites list! Thank you so much!))

!BUTTER ROLL COOKIE X SLEEPY READER!

BRC being the CoD captive & cookie-creation researcher he is, he often finds himself not sleeping for a days on end, despite your efforts and begging. Thankfully he does care for other aspects of his health, like hygiene and nutrition, as well as his relationship with his love,Y/N Cookie. But sleep just isn’t his strong suit at this point.

But this wasn’t going to stand with Y/N.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a more unusual stormy day, Y/N Cookie could tell this by the amount of thunder and pelting water droplets hitting the roof of the laboratory. Y/N would usually beg BRC to come cuddle but that usually ended in disappointment and lonely naps on the couple’s shared sleeping quarters. The cookie knew this and had a plan, they would wait until BRC was temporarily dizzy from exhaustion then dragging him to bed so they could cuddle. Then the plan went into effect!

BRC was working with the other scientists on another experiment with cookie dough when a part of the lab set off a small explosion, temporarily halting progress until it can be fixed, the director (BRC) sighed but kept smiling, calling off the experiment and went off to document the progress. When walking past the resting quarters he shared with Y/N Cookie, he found that they weren’t there, but before he could be the slightest bit worried, BRC was suddenly hit with a spell of dizziness and drowsiness. He leaned against the door frame and closed his eyes for a moment when a cookie’s arms took off this lab coat, wrapped those same arms around his waist, and started dragging him towards the bed, forcing him onto it and under the covers. When BRC’s vision came back into focus, he saw his beloved Y/N Cookie getting into bed with him and cuddling up to him, “Y/N….were you the one that dragged me to bed..?” Y/N Cookie looked up at Butter Roll Cookie with a mix of Concern and sternness on their face, “I’m sorry I had to man-handle you during one of those spells of yours but it was the only way I could finally get you to rest .” Y/N mumbled and went back to roughly cuddling their love. BRC sighed, smiled, and relaxed as sleep finally took him down. The last thing the scientist could see was Y/N and a faint glow from a candle behind them, something that he could’ve sworn was Y/N cookie’s halo.

Butter Roll Cookie woke up to a pitch black room, the candle had burned out awhile ago, and Y/N had gone from sleeping at his side to laying on top of him, not that he minded at all, but BRC knew he had to get up.

BRC gently rolled Y/N beside him on the bed and got up, going to the washroom for a shower. After 5 minutes, the researcher was clean, dressed, and ready to get back to work. But as he went to leave, he heard footsteps approaching him and a body wrapping themself around his neck and waist. “Y/N Cookie, i love you but I need to get back to work, There is so much that needs to be done..!” BCR smiled only to be met with a soft “nooooo” from his love. He thought for a second and smiled, he then walked into the main lab and put some safety equipment on Y/N and allowed them to stay clung onto him. He was just doing prep work for right now, so what would be the harm. Plus, ‘maybe Y/N would participate in the tests today’ Butter Roll Cookie thought as he fixed everything up.

((Hello every cookie! Sorry this took so long, I’ve been busy with other things as well as my progress on this story got deleted! I promise to answer your requests as soon as I can! Thank you for your patience and understanding!))

#cr kingdom #crk x reader #butter roll cookie #fluff #request

21 notes · View notes

mikelogan · 2 months

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hi, this edit is cool, would you please tell me how do you make the circle shape and text like that in the second gif?

https://mikelogan.tumblr.com/post/727834848573669376/forgiveness-is-warm-like-a-tear-on-a-cheek-think

hi!! i'm so sorry this took me so long to answer, but i've hardly been on my desktop for the last couple months and haven't been giffing. finally getting around to this and thank you for the kind words!

in this tutorial, i'll show you what i did as well as another way to achieve the same effect:

once you've made your gif and colored it the way you want, you can get the circle effect one of two ways. i'll show you how i did it first and then a more "normal" way lol

i actually had this circle texture laying around and for whatever reason, i decided to use that. so i popped that onto the canvas and used ctrl+T to center it both vertically and horizontally

then i used a glitter texture over the top of the circle layer and applied a clipping mask so that the glitter only shows up on the circle and not the entire gif. to do this, make sure your glitter (or whatever texture you decide to use) layer is ABOVE the circle and then right-click on the glitter layer and select "create clipping mask." you should see this lil arrow on the layer now:

as a quick note about textures/overlays: chances are that if you just google "glitter texture png" or something similar, you'll find tons, but the png portion is important because pngs have transparent backgrounds. this wouldn't work if the circle texture was a jpeg because its background is not transparent and the overlaying of the glitter texture would appear on every pixel, basically just taking the shape of the entire jpeg rather than just the circle.

i have a resources (basically anything downloadable, from overlays to actions to psds) tag on my gifmaking sideblog as well as one specifically for textures and overlays. i also utilize the websites freepik, pngegg, and pngwing for pngs (especially freepik).

to make the glitter layer the same pink/purple color i used, i ended up using a hue/saturation layer above it and also applied a clipping mask to that layer so it only affected the glitter layer. this step is totally optional depending on the coloring you're going for. you might be happy with the glitter texture exactly as it is. you could also skip the hue/saturation layer and instead apply a color overlay to the glitter layer, select the color you want, and set it to screen or another similar blending mode. to do this, double-click on the glitter layer, select color overlay from the menu, choose whatever color you want, make sure the opacity is set to 100%, and adjust the blend mode to whatever you think looks best.

the "normal" way to do the circle would just be to use the ellipse tool (right-click on the rectangle tool and choose ellipse) and input your desired dimensions. to get a perfect circle, the width and height have to be the same as one another. then you'd continue on with the rest of the process.

for the text, create your main text layer. these were my settings for a 540px canvas:

i also added a drop shadow to the layers with these settings (double-click the text layer to bring up this menu):

then i duplicated the text layer 6 times. select the first duplicated layer (the second line), use ctrl+T and your arrow keys (i only used the down arrow) to move the text down the desired amount of space. i made sure i moved each line down exactly 25 pixels, which is equal to 25 presses of the down arrow. i just think it looks nice when they're equally spaced. with each subsequent layer, i just dropped the opacity.

starting with the original text layer, i used: 100% -> 80% -> 60% -> 40% -> 20% -> 10% -> 5%, but this was just my personal preference.

anyway, that's pretty much it! but if you have any additional questions on this tutorial or any other set, just send me a message and i'll do my best to get to it much quicker than this one 💙

#answered #Anonymous #gif tutorial #gifmakerresource #typography tutorial #overlay tutorial

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lorelune · 1 year

Text

part iv

|| diluc ragnvindr x f! reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, fluff, post-trauma || wc: 13.3k || ao3 || masterlist || ← PREVIOUS + NEXT → ||

As much as you allow yourself to, you 'settle' in.

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

minors & ageless blogs dni

a/n: a!!! chunk!!! AHHHH!!! i'm so excited to finally share more of this piece :'^) thank you endlessly to mao (@itoshisoup) and collab-partner cielo (@firein-thesky) for beta-reading and riffing throughout this piece. their input and edits have been vital to polishing this story and getting it all the way here!! to posting!!! thank you both!!!!! check out the masterlist above to read cielo's piece for this collab <3 leave them and kaeya some love 💓 please enjoy this next chapter, with all its sharp-teeth and softness (and some oral 😎😎!!!!) ENJOY loves!!! <333

...

tags: smoking, vague descriptions of dissociation, references to reader's past, almost-wife (an unnamed oc), some smut (as a treat), soggy soggy soggggy!!!

PART iv: the thaw

Adelinde comes to your door the next day and takes your measurements. Circling you with a sewer’s tape here and there, she records numbers on a little notepad.

“The Wind’s Breath dance is in a few days.” She tells you. Days have been blurring together. “Master Diluc has requested that an outfit be fetched for you for it.”

You should be upset, it seems like an overstep. It is. But, for ‘staying for Windblume’, you haven’t been back to Mond proper since you’ve settled down in the Winery. The Wind’s Breath dance, or rather night of fucking debauchery does have somewhat of a dress code. There’s a traditional style of Mondstadan clothing that most wear, aside from perhaps knights and some merchants. The colors align with Windblume’s yellow, soft teal and creamy ivory.

Certainly clothing you don’t have now, and a night of drinking and dancing sounds absolutely lovely. You remember enjoying the ceremony of it, in your youth.

“... Did you hear Diluc and I last night?” You ask Adelinde when she has the tape around your bust.

Adelinde chooses her words carefully, more interested in the measurements than your question, “I heard shouting by the hearth, but nothing after. Should I have heard more after?”

You flush at her insinuation, “Adelinde—”

“Sorry, sorry,” She laughs without a bite, going to your inseam. “It’s a little too easy to tease you, dear. Forgive me.”

You narrow your eyes at her in jest, rolling them a moment later and let her prod you for the length of your wingspan.

“I did shout at him though.” You admit. “I could’ve chewed him out more. He deserved more, maybe. I don’t know. It feels confusing.”

“Why confusing?”

“Because—” You rub a hand over your face and your balance wobbles. “It’s Diluc. There’s just so much there, good and bad. I don’t know how or if I should broach it.”

Adelinde thinks for a moment, gives a thoughtful hum, and rises, “That’s entirely up to you, whether you choose to examine or confront your history with Diluc, and I’d say the winery, as well. I know that he has caused you a great deal of suffering and grief.”

You laugh, “It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“But,” She smiles. Smooths your collar down. “You also loved him, didn’t you?”

You stew for a moment.

Of course you loved him. Love, still. You’ve buried it so deep in you, but it won’t suffocate. You haven’t fed it in years, starved it from light and air, but it still knows yearning and want better than any other part of you.

You lie, “Once. Maybe.”

“And he loved you too, yes?”

(Oh, he did. He told you so, showed you so, over and over again. In the little gestures of childhood, to firsts that you shared, to the way his eyes shone so brightly for no one other than you. He had always been such a caring boy, and you were the subject of his greatest attentions.)

(Such knowledge has tormented you. To be loved in such a way, and have it ripped away in the way he did—)

“You know this already, Adelinde.” You side-step her question and go the vanity. Fidget with a bottle of perfume left by a previous guest. The glass bottle is small and amber, half-full. It smells floral with a hint of musk; you can tell even before you uncork it.

Adelinde watches you as you do. You can feel her gaze on you. When you dare to look— she keeps a soft expression. Wizened, and perhaps a bit sad. It aches to see her that way. She was there. She had taken care of Kaeya, Diluc and you in your youth. She’d been a fixture. Seen the lot of you through it all.

You wonder how she has beared it.

“Such care does not go away easily.” She says gently. “Even if we would like it to. Even if living would be easier if they did. I think both you and the master of the house know this well.”

You pop the cork on the perfume. It’s oily, and sticks to the tips of your fingers. You grimace. “It is... difficult to imagine Diluc caring about me, even residually, after his departure.”

“I imagine so.” Adelinde says so kindly. “But, I know the Master well enough to say he wouldn’t have invited you back to the manor so openly if he didn’t care for you. He’s not the type of man to do things he doesn’t want to do.”

(She’s right.)

(You remember Diluc dragging his feet and bemoaning having to wash up after days on the riverbank, covered in sand and dirt. How his hair would snarl and get so knotted— he hated brushing it, his scalp too tender and Crepus was, respectfully, a bit clueless on how to manage Diluc’s hair. You wonder—)

You rub your forehead, then your cheeks. “Even still. It’s hard—”

(Because you simply cannot fathom Diluc loving you still. Such a reality cannot exist. If it did— if that’s true—)

Adelinde must see your panic and redirects. “I think it would serve you well to try and remember where you are. Stay grounded in the good things you can find in the present, here, rather than a past that hasn’t been kind to you.”

“... I don’t have to forgive him, do I?”

“No. Not unless you want to.” Adelinde grabs your shoulders and squeezes. “Enjoy the fields. Visit your friends. Catch up with Elzer, if you can too. Maybe Kaeya—”

“Not Kaeya.” You don’t mean to snap, but you do.

“No Kaeya, then.” Adelinde seems unaffected. She smooths your collar and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Lisa, then. I’m sure there are folks who will continue to need your healing, too. Not to mention I do think Diluc will give you as much wine as you’d like.”

“Please, I’d rather he didn’t think of me as a drunk.” You paw at your cheeks as Adelinde pulls your ear with a cheeky smile.

“Does that mean we can’t share a bottle by the hearth? That’s a shame.”

“Oh, I never said that. We’ll just have to wait until Diluc goes to bed.”

“That’s not necessary.” Your statement gives Adelinde pause. You catch it, how Adelinde schools her expression and straightens herself. “I’ll be sure the master doesn’t give us any grief.”

You could pry. There’s something there. You know how to smell out a secret— half of being a physician traveling from citadels to isolated villages is picking out people’s hidden aches and pains. Ones they come accustomed to hiding or have become used to. It’s a learned skill, one you did not have in your naivete and youth, but you’ve honed it now. You see Adelinde falter.

Diluc has always been dawn— the insinuation of Diluc and the night causes her to stumble.

You do not pry. You school yourself. Because you are here for Windblume. And to find this damn healer. And if Diluc hadn’t invited you to his (not your) home, you’d be happily sleeping in your tent just outside of Mondstadt proper.

You do not need to entangle yourself more than necessary.

(You’ve already stepped too close to a chasm that you’ve avoided for far too long. You do not realize how steep its edges are or how fragile its cliffs.)

You laugh to yourself, “As if I’d let him.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Adelinde softens once more. You can see the wrinkles around her eyes and in the center of her forehead. Thick patches of freckles on her nose. “ You, though. Take your time. Rest. Be good to yourself. I’m always here to talk, if you would need or like... and if I may?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve given the Master similar advice. He’s more affected than he lets on.” Adelinde reveals and presses her lips to your forehead. “You are both dear to me, and I don’t wish to watch either of you suffer in the ways you have. Though, I won’t mettle more than this.”

You sit with the knowledge she’s presented.

“Thank you, Adelinde.” And you hug her hard like you’re trying to suck the wisdom from her body into your own. “May I ask you one other thing?”

“Of course, dear.”

(You feel unsteady. You don’t want to think about this. But, perhaps, it’ll provide you some stability. Assuredness.)

“Did you ever end up telling Diluc about what happened while he was gone?” You can’t look at her. Even if you were, your gaze would be elsewhere. Even acknowledging ‘it’ (forget, forget, forget) has you feeling untethered.

Adelinde grabs your hands in hers and intertwines your fingers. They’re worn, calloused from washing and carrying burdens she shouldn’t have to.

“No, I didn’t,” Adelinde says, softly. “Both Elzer and I have kept true to what we promised you when you left for Snezhnaya. Though Diluc has... asked, we’ve been vague about it over the years.”

You’re grateful. Endlessly.

(It means that something is still sealed, well-bottled and shoved away, and hidden. It was the only request you made of them upon your departure.)

“Thank you.” You hug her, but Adelinde is already moving to pull you close. She strokes the back of your head like a mother would.

“Always, dear.” Adelinde assures you. You scrunch the fabric of her dress in your fists and bite your tongue.

(Lest you reveal too much, or break something that should stay fractured but whole.)

...

The Winery gets pleasantly warm during the spring afternoons. The sun slants just right, and the light that spills in heats the manor better than any of its many hearths could. You leave your window open, soaking in the bird songs and petrichor from the morning drizzles. You’re half-tempted to wander in the vining fields, but abstain.

You’ve spent the afternoon mulling over Adelinde’s advice. You trust her and her sagely wisdom. Without her guidance, you surely would’ve crumbled during your tenure as the winery’s unofficial master. You had no reason to doubt her, or think that she was leading you astray with her words—

And yet.

(How could Diluc care about you? How, how, how—)

You fist into your own skull, as if you could quiet your thoughts with nothing more than brute force.

The day lazily slinks by, and you meander to the kitchens for a meal as the sun goes gold with the evening.

You’re surprised to find Diluc there.

The kitchen is an organized mess, notably. Bowls and latched boxes of dry ingredients lay out on the countertops, and the center prep station is dusted in flour with several round balls of dough at the ready. You see a bottle of milk and bright yellow dust in a jar.

Diluc’s jacket has been discarded, hung on a hook near the back door entry to shield it from any potential mess. He’s left in his trousers and waistcoat, any of the more ornamental gold bits have had their sheen dulled by baking dust. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He kneads a ball of dough with a motion that looks far too practiced for someone who was once a knight, and now a businessman. Strong, worn hands, ducking into the dough, then out, smearing it on the butcherblock. His forearms bulge. It’s obscene.

He must notice you, but he doesn’t stop. You side-step him to the icebox, fish out a handful of berries and a wedge of cheese. You perch on one of the counters and fold your legs under you, stretching to grab a knife from a block.

“... Are you going to spectate?” Diluc asks, pausing, only to look at you for a brief moment before continuing his kneading.

You hum, combining a bite of berry and cheese and speaking through it, “I suppose. What are you making?”

“Sweetbread.”

“When did you learn to make bread?” You ask, a bit baffled. He’d always been a rather poor cook, and an even worse baker.

“Sometime back. I was forced to, while I was away.”

“... Oh?”

Diluc doesn’t look at you, “A comrade’s wife taught me how to. She said it was an important life skill.”

“That sounds about right.” You’d never mastered sweetbreads, but you feel quite adept at making flatbreads on round stones.

“These were supposed to be a bit of a surprise,” He grumbles under his breath. Almost pouting. “A gift... And perhaps, an apology— for you. For yesterday.”

“... Oh?”

“... ‘Oh’?”

You trip over your words, shoving a berry into your mouth to try and disguise your stumbling, “I didn’t expect you to apologize.”

“I’m not yet, the bread isn’t done.” Diluc sets the finished ball into another bowl, greased with oil and butter.

“I see.” You raise an eyebrow and take another bite. The berries stain your fingertips wine red. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I overstepped,” Diluc says simply, adjusting his sleeves and going to work the next dough ball.

“No— I. That’s not—” You groan, and throw your face in your hands. It feels warm. “It’s fine, Diluc.”

“Denying it won’t stop me from apologizing.” He shoots back. “You have every reason to be angry with me. Besides, this bread will go to waste otherwise.”

You shoot him a half-baked smile. A distraction, for both you and him. Hopefully, it’s enough to disguise the way your shoulders go rigid and the way you white-knuckle the lip of the corner of the counter. His words bounce around in your skull, like a mocking echo that just won’t shut up—

(How long had you waited for that admission from Diluc? How many star-filled nights have you toiled, once, craving that validation from him? You wanted him to balm the wound that he left, even if you knew it was impossible.)

(At some point you asphyxiated the want. Crushed it down into something that could be swallowed but never digested. Hope can’t be killed, but archons, did you try.)

Diluc’s words unearth the dormant thing. You don't think Diluc understands the gravity of what he’s said to you, and you hope he doesn’t put it together.

(It feels raw. He’s cut you and bared your insides without regard.)

“… Fine.” You concede to him (hopefully he doesn’t prod you further. Bear your neck to him and perhaps the action will be enough to keep him interested and tempted but not to bite down.)

You refuse to look at him. You smash the last bits of a raspberry between your forefinger and thumb and watch the juices drip down your skin. It’s a pretty red that you suck off when it reaches the knuckle.

Diluc sighs, and perhaps scoffs, before the sound and motion of dough kneading resumes in your periphery.

“I’m sorry too,” you say, breaking the fragile reverie.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Diluc speaks quickly. He’s not wrong, but you feel inclined to anyway.

(Your rage is more than justified. The thing bubbling under your skin— guilt, regret, topped with dread— is as well.)

You hop off the counter and teeter to bear your weight on your good foot. A hiss of pain gets caught behind your teeth and you chew the inside of your teeth. Diluc regards you, expectantly, hair spilling over his shoulders, half-hunched over his last ball of dough.

“I should give you the benefit of the doubt, at least a little.” You sigh. “I jumped for your throat, and that perhaps, wasn’t fair. You had a point, it was a long time ago—“

“Stop diminishing yourself. It’s painful.” Diluc interrupts you for once. “I deserve your ire. My reaction to your anger wasn’t justified or appropriate.”

“You stop being self-deprecating.” Guilt-ridden bastard. “Regardless of what you deserve, which I won’t be debating with you, I still care about you.”

(Love, probably. Most certainly.)

It’s an admission you don’t mean to give him. You instantly feel too vulnerable with the feelings; you wish you had kept it close to your chest and hidden. You watch your words cut him, and Diluc freezes. He’s so plain with his reaction that it’s almost comical. His eyes go wide and he goes stiff as a board. You don’t fare any better. You feel as though you’ve revealed a card in your hand that you shouldn’t have.

(You trade blows. One for one, flayed flesh for a split spine.)

You chew the inside of your cheek. You taste blood. Diluc clears his throat and collects himself. You leer away, laughing under your breath.

(A younger Diluc would’ve jumped at your words. Shown so brightly he could rival any hearth, become a human sun, if only for a moment. He would’ve gleamed. It’s difficult to admit that he’s darkened.)

He doesn’t return the sentiment— not directly. Not the same way.

Diluc finishes his dough and leaves it to rest before exiting the room without a word. You don’t get a chance to protest, he’s back so quickly, with a —staff— cane in his hand. A metal-caste owl sits at the top while the wood is stained a rich burgundy.

Diluc hands it to you.

“I don’t know if it’s sized correctly. I based it on the measurements Adelinde provided me.”

“… Thank you.”

You swallow and accept the gift. It is sized correctly, perfectly even, and it takes some adjusting to re-remember how to bear your weight on it. The ache in your foot lessens almost instantly, quelled.

“It surprised me, when you didn’t have a cane with a limp that severe,” Diluc says, watching you take a few test steps.

“I did have one— several. Previously.” You examine the metal owl with a frown. “Where did you get this?”

“My father’s study.”

“Diluc.” You freeze. “I can’t possibly accept a Ragnvindr family heirloom.”

“Nonsense.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s been collecting dust for decades. Make good use of it.”

“Diluc—”

“Take it. Don’t be so stubborn. You can hardly walk.” Diluc huffs, though the blush on his cheeks hasn’t waned. “What happened to your previous canes?

“Uhhh—” You drawl, clicking your tongue and examining the floor. “One was surely stolen. At least two broke? I definitely lost one at a pub— in Fontaine? I never got a chance to go back for it.” There was a village victim to a particularly bad flood that needed tending to. Canes can be replaced.

It takes you a moment to place the look on his face. His brows pinch. Mouth set in a line. Creases under his eyes—

Disapproving?

It snaps to something more neutral, a moment later. Unreadable and guarded, entirely expected and perhaps welcome. He returns to his baking, tidying up the kitchen with his back to you. You open your mouth, then close it a moment later.

(Later, there’s a knock on your door accompanied by a tray of steaming sweetbread, the rounds decorated with edible flowers and dusted with sweet flower pollen. Diluc apologizes, barely able to meet your eye. It should be insulting, but it’s cute, in a boyish way. You let it be cute. It doesn’t silence the pangs and pains in your chest, but it makes them easier to bear.)

(The sweetbread is delicious, and you half-wonder about the star map that led him to learn a skill so foreign to a lord like him.)

…

You aren’t sleeping well. Maybe it’s penance, for how well you slept your first days at the winery. Your body is, overall, less fatigued than before. The sleep debt you’d run up was somewhat satiated, which apparently meant not fucking sleeping—

(You could fall asleep, mind you. You just couldn’t stay that way. Dreams woke you each night, of memories and flashes, rib-breaking sensations, and the crunching of bone. Rain-soaked silk clinging to your arms and legs. A bloody nose. A hangover so bad you vomit red and black. A garnet red stone, set in black leather, round as low-set sun.)

(Fragments, really. Twisted and mangled together.)

You shoot up in bed, again, sweat dripping down your sternum, sticky on your forehead. The throb in your chest hardly wanes as you struggle to catch your breath. You clutch at the fabric over your collarbones, breathing through your mouth in light pants.

Your thoughts spin and tumble. It takes you a moment to distinguish moment from moment. Where you are. What you are. When you are.

Shifting for a sip of water, a shot of pain tangles around your foot and ankle. The muscle is drawn too tight with your fear, panic tugging the tendons wrong. You muffle your own pained wince, keeping it just a wince, and bite down on your lip.

You try to settle, after a while, praying that a few deep breaths release enough tension for a proper sleep. The electric zing that eats at your ankle keeps you awake, uncomfortable to the point of being unbearable. Your heart won’t stop racing with it.

You give up trying to sleep, instead wandering from your room with your new cane, and situate yourself in front of the great room’s dim hearth. You fuss with it, tossing another log and a bit of Pyro starter on the spitting embers. It catches, lights the room soft amber and you collapse on the lounge closest to it. You face your right foot toward the heat of the fire, hoping the heat loosens some of the bound-up muscle.

You splay out. Veg. Keep your eyes half-lidded and watch the fire lazily. Fixate on the licking flames and let the heat burn away your dream and hope it chases the physical pains too.

There’s a slam, when you’re beginning to nod off. Wood on wood— a door near the back of the manor. There are a few more bumps and thuds, ones you can’t place or recognize. You straighten up and listen to the heavy steps that follow. No one would be stupid enough to just break into Dawn Winery, not when Diluc’s fighting prowess is somewhat legendary in Mondstadt.

You don’t see Diluc enter, only hear him. His stride is wrong.

“You smell like blood.” You say with the tempo of the crackling flame. “Is it yours?”

Diluc freezes, just behind the lounge. Caught.

“Why are you awake?” He asks, unmoving.

You crane your neck and assess his condition as quickly as you can, “Couldn’t sleep. Are you injured?”

He sighs, “Not severely, it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Oh no, nuh-uh, let me see.” You reach for him around the lounge. “You can’t board a physician and then expect them to ignore you when you come back in the early hours of the morning blood-soaked. Besides, I’d be breaking oath.”

Diluc grumbles something under his breath but regardless comes around to you.

He’s not really bloodsoaked. Not entirely. He’s missing a glove and there’s a slice through the sleeve of his jacket, burnt at the edges. Dried blood coats his palm. You ask him to move his jacket, and you see a red stain blooming over his abdomen.

“Can you take off your jacket?”

“That’s not necessary.” He straightens his lapels and takes a step back. “My injuries are minor. Don’t strain yourself.”

“Diluc.” You narrow your eyes. “Let. Me. Help. This is literally my job.”

“You’re sleep-deprived.”

“Healing a flesh wound takes as much effort for me as it would take you to lift your sword.” You scoot forward on the couch, resisting tugging him closer. “It’s really no trouble. Please, Diluc.”

It must be your begging, maybe. You’re too engrossed in Diluc’s condition to notice how his cheeks pink. He shrugs off his overcoat, and you cajole him into peeling off his waistcoat as well. It sticks to his undershirt and you wince.

It’s easy to slip into your role as a healer. It’s a clinical way of thought, you’re presented with a problem and the way to fix it is apparent and well within your abilities. Seeing Diluc as a patient rather than… Diluc is a cheap trick, and perhaps if you were well-rested and less dissociative, you’d feel guilty.

“Were you burned?”

“Only singed.”

You hum thoughtfully, “I need to touch you to heal you. Is that alright?”

He nods, slowly, deliberately, “That’s fine.”

He’s not fully bare, so you need to do some exploratory touching. You’re not sure which is more vulnerable— for Diluc to be shirtless in front of you in the firelight or the way you lay your hands gently over his sides (ticklish, you recall. You watch him suppress a jump.) Your fingertips skim over his ribs, flares of Dendro wiggling into his skin. It bounces around, then back to you.

Three bruised ribs on his left side. Four-inch laceration on his right side.

“This will only take a moment.” You send a strong thread of Dendro through him. Liquid and lengthy, and carefully stitch the wound closed. The skin knits back together easily, clean and free of infection.

You move on to his next wound and Diluc moves a step closer.

“Your hand, please?” You ask, soft. The heat of the room has lulled you.

(The contact is weakening you.)

Diluc offers it to you, and you take it, as gently as you can. This wound has more burning, but nothing too severe.

Second-degree burns affecting seven inches of cumulative skin.

“Who the hell were you fighting?” You ask, brows furrowing as you cleansed and balmed the wound. You wince as your Dendro eats away the burn. “ What were you fighting?”

“Unimportant.”

“I hardly think so.”

“Drop it.”

“ Diluc—”

“Something that deserved it.”

You huff. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

We all have them.

The wound has healed, but you find it... hard let go of Diluc’s hand. It hits you how close he is. You sit with your legs spread and splayed, and he stands between them. He’s inches away, and you’re level to his navel.

You look up at him, swallowing the heat in your cheeks.

Diluc has always been pretty. Since he was little, just a cherubian boy running about the prairie grasses. He grew into it well, though he has gotten a bit more rugged over the time you were apart. You recognized scars littering his forearms, and felt scar tissue buried in new flesh. His hair has grown obscenely long, tied back with a ribbon into a bow. It's only half-up, now, spilling over his shoulder as he looks down at you.

Your breath catches in your throat. He swallows and you fixate on the bob of his throat.

(You haven’t been close to him like this in so long. Since you were young, having so many firsts together in his too-big bed. His hands look bigger, warmer. How many times did you crave him, the comfort and heat of him? How many times did you wish the stars were twisted and angled just a little differently, so that you never lost him in such a way?)

(To be so close— it’s an unavoidable thought.)

You squeeze his hand, “Do you want to be farther away?”

“No.” He squeezes yours back— harder. Longer. Like he’s afraid. It makes a fragile thing buried in your shake and fracture. “Do you?”

“No.” You swallow, but it’s late. And you’re weak. All crushed bones and scar tissue. “This might even be nice.”

‘This’ is loaded. Bigger than the word, bigger than the distance your traveled while crisscrossing Teyvat. Maybe bigger than the distance between the stars you scorn.

Diluc rubs a thumb over the back of your hand. It shakes. The heat of the fire and Diluc are making something warm and tender rise up from the base of your spine to the back of your skull. You shake with it.

“It is,” Diluc admits, voice thick and sticky. “Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s my job.”

“Not just that.” Diluc squeezes your hand again. Harder. Searing. “For allowing me this. You shouldn’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.” You frown. “You’re being silly. And self-loathing. Lord Ragnvindr, I wouldn’t ever expect such a thing from you.”

Diluc sputters a half-laugh, and for a moment, he sounds like the knight you first held hands with when you were young.

“I only mean to say that you have every reason to be upset and keep me at arm's length. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did.”

“It’s not like I’m not upset with you.” You worry the fraying skin around his cuticle. “I’m indulging myself too, you know.”

(You dance around what this means so well. When did you both learn the steps, as aptly as you twirl now?)

“That’s comforting.” Diluc pulls his hand from yours and it flexes into a fist. He surprises you then— kneels, lowering onto his knees between your legs. You’re at eye level. You feel pleasantly faint. “You must tell me if I misstep.”

“Oh, you know I will.” You give a warbling laugh and your stomach flips.

So much of Diluc is unfamiliar, but proximity with him isn’t. The heat he radiates is the same as you remember, even if he’s a bit rougher and far more wilted. He hovers close, tentative, but not in the boyish, inexperienced way you once knew. He’s not expectant, he’s not taking and tugging and searching— he lingers but only comes so close, giving you the ability to make the first move.

He sets up the pieces but doesn’t force your hand to play. It’s wretched. It’s thoughtful, or it’s cowardice— either way, it's to your benefit.

Diluc licks his lips, throat bobbing. You can’t meet his eyes for too long— there, you see searching. He’s lost his way with words, and you can see the way he grapples for the right ones now.

“I missed you.”

(‘Right ones’. Subjective. The ones he gives you are objectively the wrong ones. Only because they force another fissure into you.)

(You’ve spent so long swallowing your own desires and convincing yourself that there was no possible way for Diluc to feel that way about you. You created any number of mental theses as to why Diluc discarded you. Anything to make it bearable.)

(Anything to make the past palatable and controllable.)

(Forget, forget, forget—)

You tense with the thought. Your wound pulls wrong and you yip. Shooting away from Diluc, you double over to your right side. You wrap your hand around your foot (wishing praying cursing that your Vision doesn’t allow you to touch your own wounds) and slap a hand over your mouth. The pain brings nausea and the last thing you want to do is vomit on Diluc.

Diluc immediately fusses, hands hovering over your shoulders and neck, but never touching. His Vision must be alight— you swear you can feel the lick of imaginary flames off his skin.

“You’re unwell.” Diluc kneels lower, hands apparently alright to touch, and he tries to shoo yours away from your ankle.

You hold fast, “It’s just a temperamental wound.” Your voice wavers and you rest your forehead on your knee. “I’m sorry for ruining the moment.”

“Hush, nothing’s ruined.” He idles his hand over your own. Your vision blurs and you really think you might throw up. “Let me see.”

“No.”

He says your name, like a cut.

“It’s already healed, Diluc. Just wrong. This happens. There’s no use poking at it.”

“Satiate my curiosity, then.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m asking honestly.”

You hesitate. Think if this is going to unearth something that you’d rather have stayed buried. Perhaps it was the distance, the heat from the hearth and Diluc in tandem making you melt into the couch—

“Fine. Only because of those sweetbreads the other day.”

You attempt to peel off your stocking, trembling, but Diluc stops you. His palm (so, so warm. Like the kindest flame) wrap around your wrist and places it back on your lap.

“Let me.”

Your mouth dries, tongue going heavy and useless. Tentatively, you scoot back on the couch and adjust so your right leg is fully extended. Your belly feels exposed, the softest parts of you bared in a way that feels foreign and uncomfortable.

Diluc waits until you situate yourself, resting patiently on folded knees. Palms on his thighs.

(He looks like he’s praying, like you’re the altar. This is both an indulgence and a rite.)

One of his wide hands hooks under your knees and lifts your injured foot from the ground. Diluc pushes your night clothes aside, finding the top edge of your stocking and slips his fingertips just below its edge. You jolt with the contact (what’s beyond touch starvation?) and hiss under your breath.

He pauses, flame licking in the reflection of his eyes, “Is this alright?”

You nod, his touch sears you.

He peels your stocking away. His touch drifts to the arch of your foot, wrapping his fingers around with enough force to be comfortable, secure. It almost burns— but in the good way. Open flame on nearly-frost-bitten fingers. The hot springs in Inazuma or the hot stone massages they favor in Natlan. It seeps into you.

The heat goes cold when Diluc stills, eyes widening and shoulders drawing up. You watch his jaw lock and you nearly rip your foot from his grip. Gruesome—

“How did this happen?” There are visible ridges of shattered bone, prominent enough to catch the shadows the fire throws. Two toes with mutilated nails, still. A scar or two.

“I fell.”

“Don’t lie.” snaps Diluc. “This is not the kind of injury you obtain from a ‘fall’.”

You start to sigh his name, but he cuts you off—

“How.”

“I. Fell.” You grit out. Your chest hurts again.

Diluc traces the worst of it— a diagonal scar on the bottom of your foot, from the ball of it to your big toe. (You don’t remember the moment, only the sensations. The feeling of the knife slicing, hitting things it shouldn’t—)

You jolt, squirm, protest under your breath but Diluc tightens his grip, firm and unyielding.

“P-Please—” Your voice breaks and you lurch and grab his shoulders without thinking. Steadying yourself, grounding yourself on the bulk of him. “Please, don’t pry on this one, Diluc. Not tonight.”

(Perhaps you’ll muddle through the memory of it to give to Diluc. One day. Not now, when you feel like the gooey center of you shifts a little too close to seeping out of the spaces between your ribs. If you fall apart, will you ever collect yourself back up again?)

Diluc stills and stares at you. Into you. A little wrinkle appears between his brows, a half-scowl formed in the curve of his pretty lips. It makes your heart pound. You nearly backpedal, tell him the whole truth, the one you’ve shoved down your throat like chrysanthemum petals. The garden you’d throw up—

He relents. Allows you respite. You take it greedily.

Diluc coaxes you to lie back down on the couch, touch hovering most of the time. His contact ginger, “You don’t have to give me anything you don’t want to.”

The assurance hits you in the chest. Like a crack that bludgeons your sternum in three.

“‘Kay. Thanks.” You say. Two words is all you can get out around the threads that bind you upright and together.

Diluc sits back on his haunches, going back to your foot. The pads of his thumbs massage at your ankle, slow and light at first as he gauges your reaction. You swallow thick, watching him with darkening pupils. His touch moves higher, up your calf, shifting your bed clothes aside.

He’s more worn. Calluses make the skin of his thumbs just a bit rougher than you expect. The vision on his waist thrums and throws light as he touches you. Pressing his heat into you. His touch makes you goopy. You slouch into the couch.

He never ventures higher than your knee, but it’s enough. Maybe it’s too much. The lack of sleep and the fucking heat put you in a state just above sleep. He’s horribly gentle with you, pausing and noting every twitch and jolt you shake out. Asks low and quiet if a certain touch is too much. It’s all overwhelming— decadent. You glut yourself on it, just a bit. The pain of the injury dissolves and all that you’re left with is Diluc. Dutifully petting you and soaking you in something rich and spiced.

You only feel warm. It spreads up your body— cows the shaking little thing between your ribs. Diluc relaxes you into a slump that has you sleepily blinking, perhaps keening once or twice— you can’t recall. Perhaps Diluc slides back on your stocking and helps you up. Perhaps he guides you up the stairs and back to your guest room.

(You think about inviting him in. You think about dragging him down and in to bring him closer to that thing in your chest that festers, balm it.)

(You think better of it.)

(You’re too tired to notice the way he lingers on you. His hands, holding you a moment too long. The squeezes to your sides and arms as he walks with you up the stairs. Even when your own breath stutters, you’re unaware. Blissfully ignorant to the effect you have on Diluc.)

You dream of it, maybe. Warmth and heat and familiarity that isn’t wretched. You dream of favorable stars and a warm bed.

...

Something shifts between the two of you after that. Even if the moment of vulnerability was brief, it's like a rift has opened up in your chest. Split. Cleaved. Archons.

You feel the inexplicable urge to be near Diluc, despite all of the unsettled anger that burns in your belly. The memory of the heat of him is an intoxicant in and of itself. The way Diluc touched you like you were something fragile— cherished.

(Archons, you’re fucked, aren’t you?)

You avoid Diluc, somewhat. You take to watching him instead. Perching in your bay window, you watch him work in the fields during the mornings and evenings, and listen to him thump around in his office during the midday when the sun is high. He receives a guest or two, maybe, there’s always activity in the main foyer of the winery. You suppose, given that the manor functions as both a home and a business, and it’s the busiest season for Dawn Winery, it makes sense.

Elzer, actually, is the one who gives you a bit of grief for it.

“He doesn’t bite, you know,” Elzer tells you when you perch on his desk, early one morning while Diluc is out. “You may even enjoy talking to him.”

“We have talked.” You clear your throat, pounding your chest. “Just. It’s complicated.”

“I’m aware.”

Elzer was around, during your tenure as ‘master’ of Dawn Winery. Though Adelinde grew closer to you, Elzer was still a reliable and kind confidant. More-versed in the business end of things than either of you were, and from him you learned a great deal. He, in turn, learned a great deal about you. Adelinde too. Gods, how many nights did you sit at this same desk, organizing mislabeled paperwork over goblets of wine and teacakes?

“Does your wrist still bother you?” you ask.

“You’re deflecting,” deadpans Elzer.

“You’re not answering my question, either.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes. It does. I take a tincture for it sometimes.”

“... Can I see it— your wrist? Let me have a look.”

He holds out his arm and you shift around the desk to prop yourself up on the same side he sits on. Your cane lays idle against the matching mahogany. There’s a reluctant pull at his brow, but he still scoots forward on his seat, rolling up his sleeve.

Taking his arm in a gentle, practiced grip, you send sparks of Dendro through him. Elzer’s brow scrunches with the feeling— you’ve been told it can be jarring if you’ve never experienced Vision healing before. You tighten your grip.

You smooth a finger over the meat of his thumb. “Tendonitis, still?”

“You always said that’s what it was, but never gave me anything conclusive back then.”

“Well, it certainly is,” you huff. Inflammation crawls around the tendons of his hand and wrist, stretching into his shoulder.

You sink a balm of Dendro into him, rather than sparks, more like a sheet. Elzer visibly relaxes, hand going a bit more slack and loose in your grip. Sagging forward, like a ragdoll with half-cut string. Your other hand rises to steady him, firm and solid against his shoulder.

“Does Diluc work you too hard?” You send another wave of it through. “I’ll chew him out, if you want. I have nothing to lose.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Oh, so it’s just the bad posture?”

Elzer snorts and you can’t help but laugh with him. It’s easy to rib him, like a little brother. He was practically your same age, but he always kept the aura of someone your junior. As adept as he was at everything he did, there’s a boyish charm to him that hasn’t faded with time.

You barely see him out of the corner of your eye— Diluc. Rounding a corner with an armful of papers. His grip goes tight and his steps stutter as he enters the little atrium. Elzer tenses behind you. The Dendro lingering in him bounces back to you.

Diluc clears his throat, fist over his mouth. He looks at Elzer, then you, and clears his throat again—

“Ah, I suppose I’m interrupting working hours. Apologies.” You shrug and hop off the desk. Wobbling past Diluc, you disappear into the shadows of the house.

It’s intentional, really. You don’t want to give Diluc any more of an opening than he already had and fuck— you saw him, didn’t you? The way he drew up, the fire that ignited in his eyes at the closeness—

Archons, Diluc, jealous?

The thought is too sticky to cope with. You retire for a nap early in the afternoon.

...

Nightmares come for you again, and you busy yourself wandering the halls of Dawn Winery. It’s a moonless night, and far too dark to be wandering without a lantern or candle, but you do so anyway. Adelinde and Elzer are surely asleep, as with the rest of the staff. You assume that Diluc is out, as he tends to be late at night. The tap of your cane against the wooden floors echoes against the silence of the rest of the winery.

Your latest nightmare felt repetitive. The same images, the same feeling of being untethered against an unstoppable swell. Drowning but without water. Asphyxiating on something that crawls up from your lungs.

(Red, rotten memories. Rotten.)

(Forget, Forget, Forget.)

You pause in front of a particular door in the south wing. Ambient light from the manor bounces off its brass handle, polished by clearly tarnished with time. Its design is different from the crystal doorknobs Diluc has replaced around the rest of Dawn Winery. Its original, untouched— a relic.

You pause in front of a particular door in the south wing. You know this door. The wood, unlike most of the rest of the manor, hasn’t been re-stained or replaced. It’s the same dark tone you remember from your youth, and the knob shines the same brassy gold. It appears unchanged.

You wonder if you’re still dreaming.

Clearly, you aren’t, as you enter the room. Your nose burns as you do. A layer of dust covers everything— the table that cuts the room in two, the stacks of discarded books, and old, dry quill. An untouched pile of blankets and pillows in the corner appears to be lightened, sun-bleached.

You kick the pile and laugh, something low and a little defeated.

The Small Study hasn’t been touched. Never redone, not even cleaned. It’s entirely preserved and more painful to see because of it.

(So much tied up in a simple room. You had avoided it at first, didn’t you? You knew everything that happened here. A love that bloomed, a betrayal, your own decay.)

All that’s left is the skeleton of the room. Flesh eaten by time and memory, consumed to this point where there’s nothing further to rot. Just a vague shape to mourn.

Based on the absolute state of neglect and disuse, you assume that Diluc hasn’t poked around this room much, or at all, in the time since he returned. You’re grateful that— you hid a secret or two here that now feel too dangerous to have in the open.

(Despite the fact that it’s clear this place is too painful for Diluc to touch, too. He’d never find the bits of you that you buried here.)

You tug down a leather-bound book from a shelf, eye-level (still), and rub dust off the spine. Over the cover is embossed some type of Fontainisian design, swirls of gold concentric circles and feathering blots of blue and purple over the leather. It was a gift, back then. Something artisanal that a craftsperson brought to Mond’s market— One of the many gifts Crepus gave to you in the months before his passing.

You curse under your breath, pressing your fingertips in the cover. There’s a ring of teeth marks on one corner— your teeth. Had you really bitten the cover in a fit of frustration?

(Probably. Your memory feels fuzzy and fragmented. Broken glass— you can’t pick them up without risking slicing your hand wide and bloody.)

A door shuts, a heavy one, somewhere else in the manor. Diluc has returned. Part of you itches to seek him out, survey him for injuries and help where you can. It takes you nothing to stitch and sew him up. Healing a wound for Diluc feels like a twisted debt paid, maybe. He isn’t aware of it.

Being in the Small Study makes you horribly aware of it.

The pages of your old journal feel brittle and dry against your fingers. Some stick together, even now, with dried ink that you spilled over the pages. Some of the script is illegible, your pen having muddled into something beyond understanding. What you are able to read, you try not to absorb. It’s only morbid curiosity that has you peeking at it, at all.

(You should probably burn the thing. It has far too many secrets written in it.)

Diluc calls your name from the door, and you freeze. The journal is easily tucked back in place.

“Yes?” You don’t look at him, but twirl on your heel to the middle of the room. As if you should be there.

(Maybe you should be, for him. All you are is a relic to him, maybe. Something from the past that should stay that way. Aren’t you just a skeletal remain?)

(The thought persists.)

“What are you doing in here?” Diluc asks, lacking any edge. He rests his hip on the long table.

You consider the question, mull over it and roll your answer around on your tongue.

“Reminiscing, I guess,” you say, it’s too late to be dishonest. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“That seems to be a pattern.”

“Reminiscing?”

“I meant your inability to sleep through the night.” Diluc sees through your diversion. You let him, cow your barely there instinct to fight him.

You sigh and laugh, weak, “I suppose.”

Diluc’s gaze is on you— you can feel it. You kick at the floorboards, counting the swirls and irregular notches. It’s easy to imagine the look he must be wearing. Pity, maybe. You feel like a stray cat, cornered and hungry, but ever-wary.

“May I ask why?”

You click your tongue, “Guess, and if you’re right, I’ll tell you.”

“Isn’t it a bit late for a game like this?”

“Call me a night owl.” You clamor on top of the table and sit semi-cross-legged, with your injured ankle extended.

“... Your injury?” Diluc asks.

You shake your head.

“... You always ran cooler. Are you cold?”

“Maybe a bit, but not really.”

Diluc stalls, and you can see him sort out the correct answer. He’s known it since the beginning of this conversation, but you’re both so fluent in denial, you might as well dance together in it for a while.

“Dreams?”

You nod.

Diluc opens his pretty, petal lips to speak, then thinks better of it. Instead, he removes his jacket and lays it over his arm. You expect him to prod you.

“Would you like some tea?” Diluc asks. “It may settle you, allow you a proper rest.”

Tea sounds nice, you think. Something warm and someone warm. You know better than to walk so close to him when you’re so shredded at the ribs and tummy. Vulnerable. You know better.

(Then why is the idea of closeness with him so intoxicating? You don’t care about the potential consequences, not really. Your tangle of emotions feels superseded by desire, and you’re barely holding onto self-control.)

(Archons, you want to let go, just a little.)

The threads loosen, just a fraction.

“I’ll take tea,” you admit. “I think there’s some of the sweet bread rounds left too.”

When you look up, Diluc has a simple smile painting the edges of his lips. It’s small, nearly uncatchable, but you recognize it immediately. You resist the urge to go to him and press into the dimple that carves his right cheek.

It’s awful, the way your heart seizes in your chest, nearly breaking you down your center. You twin him with your own smile, a small one— lest you burst in the middle of the Small Study.

(Where everything began to fall apart.)

(Forget, forget, forget.)

...

You both sip cups of tea and pass a packed, cherrywood pipe back and forth on Diluc’s balcony. It’s sizable, enough room for you to curl up against the railing, far enough from Diluc to not feel crowded, but still accept the pipe each time he passes it to you. The tobacco smoke feels thick and rich in your mouth, and you resist the urge to draw it too far back into your throat. You instead distract yourself with the smoke that lazily curls from your lips with each exhale.

(You catch Diluc entranced by it as well, the way your lips fall open.)

The sky feels starless; heavy clouds cover the cosmos low. You imagine it’ll rain again in the next few days, especially with the ache in your injury. The air bears down on you, just like the clouds do. You crave a moon or single star to fixate on, rather than proximity or the inevitability of an interaction.

You’ve become truly versed in avoidance.

Diluc looks... perplexed. Perhaps lighter than he did in the study. His shoulders sag more than they did before, and he almost looks to be melting into the chair he sits in. His heavy coat had been left behind in his room as you passed through, leaving him more bare. You can see blood seep up from flesh wounds, staining the white of his shirt, but he’d already brushed off your concern that evening. You didn’t have it in you to fight him on it— you vow to patch him up in the morning if you can catch him before he starts his daily business.

You must, really.

The quirk between his brows bothers you. The draw of his lips and the way he’s purely staring at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You frown. Prodding seems like a bad idea, given your exhaustion and the maw that’s cracked open between your ribs.

Diluc seems to stare harder. If that is possible. He sits before, elbows on his knees, and folds his hands. Covers his mouth with them. They’re thick and worn, unfamiliar to you. You can’t stop looking at them. You recall him having beautiful pianist’s hands, slender and sure-fingered. It’s easier to fixate on some trivial, physical difference rather than his expression. It’s verging on vulnerable. He withdraws to take a drag.

“I don’t know how to put you together,” Diluc admits. He snaps his teeth around the smoke.

You tilt your head quizzically.

Diluc chews on his words, looks at you, and then away. He takes another draw from the pipe and sighs. “You confuse me. You never used to confuse me.”

There’s a pressure behind your eyes that wasn’t there before. “How do I confuse you now?”

Diluc exhales. He smells like fresh smoke, ash, and the heat from a flame. And he looks at you and his gaze is soft. The pull of his lip and brow, the shine to his eyes— he looks hopelessly fond and sad. Heartbroken, even. There’s a smear of soot under his eye and you resist the buried impulse to wipe it away as something in your cracks. Threads snap.

“I’m not sure I know you anymore.”

(It hurts, it hurts, it hurts to hear— no one knew you better than Diluc. You’ve made yourself a stranger, and you must now reap what you’ve sewn. You’re just a vagrant in his home, fit for healing and burden and nothing more—)

Your eyes burn and you tear your gaze to the fields, “What a surprise. It’s not as if I’ve been around for your to be familiar with.”

“I understand why you left Mondstadt,” Diluc tells you, hushed like he is speaking to a frightened cat. Maybe that’s what you are. “I know it must’ve been very lonely.”

You almost snap at him. You almost scream—

(“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you for knowing me and knowing how I felt and being gone and leaving me here to ache all alone. I hate that you know me so well and forgot.”)

You don’t.

“I had Elzer and Adelinde,” you say. “Dawn Winery was hardly empty. I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.” Diluc doesn’t sound offended. “Never pity.”

“Sure.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not entirely.” You wish the stars were out. You’d have something tangible to direct your ire toward. “What else would it be?”

Diluc sighs, not resigned, but you can hear the exhaustion in it. He’s wounded, he needs rest. You both do.

(You both need so much rest.)

Your nose burns and you sniffle.

“I still care for you, even if you are unfamiliar to me.” He says quietly, low, sweet, and gentle because it's only meant for the two of you to hear.

You meet his gaze violently. Your neck nearly snaps turning to him, and you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying. You feel fragile, so close to crumbling.

“Don’t toy with me.” Your voice wobbles, your conviction does not.

“I’m not.” He assures you. “I wouldn’t.”

“You’re a wretched man.” You tell him. There’s no bite to your words.

“For you, I’d be better.”

“No— that’s—” You rub your eyes. “ Stop it.”

“Stop what? I’m not sure I can.”

(You don’t say: “Please stop being so kind. If you keep being kind to me, I’ll never leave. I’ll take every scrap you feed me and pretend it makes me a king. I’ll open myself up for heartbreak to be by your side. If you keep being kind to me—”)

(You don’t say: “I’ll think that you love me still.”)

Diluc cups your jaw and says your name, soft and slow and easy.

You’re sedated, because Diluc looks just as frightened as you feel, and speaks as earnestly as he did when he was young. When you used to lay over his chest and count the summer freckles he was blessed with. When he used to hold your cheeks, pressing your lips together, overzealous and honest, like how young lovers do. Like the young lovers you were.

Would this be easier, if you really were two strangers, sharing a pipe and tea? If there really was an ocean and deep sea more than changes of appearance or the way you hold yourself. You know it’s you— that you’ve changed since Diluc saw you. Last saw you— the day of his eighteenth birthday—

The feeling in your chest is violent. Shreds you. Tears you open. You ball the fabric of your sleep clothes in your fist, over your heart, and almost wince.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing you think to say. You don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

“Don’t apologize, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He rubs a thumb over your cheek, and his touch and voice tremble.

“What if I have?” you half-admit, flashing him a withered smile.

(Forget, forget, forget.)

(A red stone like the garnet they tug out of the Chasm’s walls. Rounded. Pulsing. In the left palm of a man who could’ve been your father.)

“Then, I’ll help you fix it if you like.” He can’t. Diluc lets go of you, only to stand and fix a hold on your wrist.

“It’s not that simple.” You’re already saying too much. Forget, forget, forget. Shove it down into your chest, to the back of your mind.

You remain sitting on the cold ground of the balcony. Your leg remains splayed on the cobblestones, splinted and aching. You can’t bear to look up at him. You want to cry. Maybe, in the daylight, past dawn— you’d be better at facing this. You want tea. You want to sleep. You want to weep—

(into Diluc’s lap. To beg him for things that feel unfair to ask.)

“Why did you ask me to have tea with you?” you ask. “If it was to share smoke and try to have this conversation or two when we’re both clearly”— you gesture to yourself, balled up, and Diluc, bloodied— “not our best, I will retire to my room. I don’t want to... I can’t broach this.”

(“Yet.”)

(It’s inevitable, isn’t it? One you feel in the stars, rushing toward you.)

“It was never my intention to push you.” Diluc rushes to assure you. You look out the pitch-black vineyard, and Diluc kneels in front of you. “I didn’t—”

You snap, voice wobbling, “What do you want—?”

“I want to know you again,” Diluc tells you, confesses, breathlessly. He sounds like a (your) lover again. “I want nothing more. Just let me, please.”

(You haven’t heard Diluc beg in so long. You remember how he’d beg you for the extra candies that Teacher would give you after lessons. Diluc would beg you to trace shapes on his arm and the nape of his neck when you’d stay up whispering to each other during Mond’s cruelest winter nights. He’d plead for you to ride on his horse, with him, rather than your own.)

You squirm under your skin and refuse to look at him. If you do, you’ll shatter. You have to hold it together, just a little longer— until the end of Windblume, then you’ll leave, you’ll fucking run—

And Diluc says your name, begs you, “Look at me, please.”

“If I do, I’ll cry.” Your voice wobbles far more than you thought it would.

“That’s okay.”

“It’s not—” You laugh, and barely look at him out of the corner of your eyes. “I can’t start crying, Diluc. I’ll never stop.”

“That’s alright.” Diluc sounds like he might cry. “I’ll take you, however you are.”

He sounds romantic.

You look at him.

He looks soggy— wilted, like the way two-day-old cut flowers do. Still beautiful, because Diluc Ragnvindr is nothing if not attractive. Hair spilling down his shoulders, a fresh scrape over his cheek, eyes that crinkle in between because he looks as gutted as you feel.

And you laugh, something weak and small and feeble. A barely there noise you only let out to distract from the tears that wet your bottom lashes.

“... What do you want to know?” you ask him. Forcing yourself to settle, bear it, and look at him.

Diluc’s eyes go wide. The barest hints of joy squeeze the skin around his eyes and you see a boyish smile on his lips you’d forgotten he knew how to wear. You want to kiss it, him, because the feeling in your chest is bursting. The craving, need— to kiss him stupid and share it with him is overwhelming.

“Everything.”

You’re damned, surely.

“I don’t think I can give you that yet,” you tell him, honestly. “I’m still mad at you.”

“That’s alright,” he placates you. “I want to know about that, too. Anything you’ll give me.”

It’s an awful admission, really. That he cares to know you.

(Some part of you, festered for so long. Convinced yourself of untrue things because it was easier than facing an uncertain reality. The mere idea of Diluc caring for you breaks a small delusion that you wouldn’t be welcomed. That the boy you’d love and linked pinkies with was dead and gone far from you.)

(He’s here, right in front of you.)

You shift forward without thinking. Onto your knees, with your injured side limp, and you press your forehead into Diluc’s shoulder. It’s stiff, with your arms still tucked to your center, protecting your most soft and vulnerable bits. It’s all you can give him.

Diluc turns tense, then slack, so slack, like he’s been doused in warm water and left to dry in midday sun. You feel the muscle against your cheek go limp and you press your eyes into the smokey fabric. It dampens beneath you and you’re too tired to care.

(You’re being chipped down— It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Returning to Mond meant this. Part of you always knew that.)

His hand cups the back of your skull and you shiver with it. Warm and big, just like he has become with the years. He presses his thumb and ring finger into your scalp, scratching, and something between a sob and a wince gets caught in your throat.

“Is this alright?” Diluc asks.

“More than.” You keep yourself from weeping on him, barely. Instead, you grip the loose fabric against his chest and smother yourself in him.

...

There’s a part of you that you can’t quiet— the fragment that whispers and thrashes “this is an awful idea” and “stop it, before you get sucked so deep into him that you can’t climb out.” It’s the part of you that keeps your arms wrapped around your middle and only lets you drag your lips over Diluc’s throat without rhyme or reason. It’s mindless, never a kiss, because that would cross an invisible gulf you dare not to breach.

Diluc leads you inside, hand in hand. You wonder if he can feel how you’re shaking, beginning to fracture from the inside out. You already have been. You’re pouring out from your seams.

“I’m going to fetch more tea, I’ll be back in a moment.” Diluc steps toward the door and a bolt of panic shoots through you. It hurts, physical, dread-filled pain that has you stumble up, toward him, reaching out desperately for him.

(“Please don’t go, please don’t go, please don’t go. Not again.”)

You grab his sleeve and ball your fist in the fabric.

Diluc attempts to placate you. “Rest, it’s alright. I’m just going to the kitchens.”

You say nothing and tug him tighter. Closer.

(Part of you wants to kick Diluc away and lock the door behind him. There’s another that wants you to fall to your knees, and beg him to stay close. He’s given you a morsel and you should know better than to roll over for scraps but—)

(You’re so scared. So scared you’ll lose his heat all over again.

You listen to the latter part as you drop to your knees in front of Diluc, just steps into his bedroom.

You’re not sure what possesses you—

(You do. You’re distracting Diluc from whatever sticky, honeyed thoughts he is having by replacing them with something more carnal. Physicality is just that— physical. Tangible and touchable and far easier to fixate on the immaterial.)

(... Right?)

Diluc breathes your name, wide-eyed as you brace your palms on his thighs. You can feel how tense he is. The thick rug against the floor cushions your knees.

“What are you doing?” His voice is small.

“I want to make you feel good.” You ask, running your hands up to his waistband and begin to untuck his dirtied shirt, “May I?”

Diluc gives you a look. It’s all apprehension and worry, creasing the lines of his pretty face. He works his jaw as you toy with the leather of his belt.

(You understand it, really.)

(You don’t like the look he gives you, but you don’t know which one you’d rather see him wear. Hatred would perhaps be better. Desire would be the worst.)

(Diluc had always been the sure-footed one. Confident, but never cocky or boisterous. Even in the ways you’ve seen him now, he’s been firm and familiarly stubborn. But, at the sight of you below him, offering, he’s creased over in apprehension.)

Diluc gives you an almost imperceptible nod and tucks his bottom lip between his teeth. You smother your smile into the fabric of his trousers before palming him. He’s soft, though hardening under the layers of fabric. Your hands tremble as you undo his belt— maybe they’re going numb at your fingertips. It’s hard to tell.

It’s easier to pull Diluc’s cock free and stroke idly. You flash him a smile, you don’t know how real it looks.

(You love him.)

He is pretty. It’s not the first time you’ve seen his cock— hardly, but it’s been so long and his body is in so many ways unrecognizable. Even from the sliver of skin visible at his waistline, he has scars. Thick and thin, burns— he’s decorated in them.

(You wonder how many you could’ve prevented.)

The thought rots something in you and your hands tremble.

His cock though— his dick, that’s what you’re focused on. You fixate on the head of him, half-hard, pitching forward to press a kiss to him. Diluc makes an unholy, high noise, and you latch on to the sound of it. You lap at his slit and savor any pearls of precum that you taste.

Pulling away, you spit into your hand, and stroke the length of him. Your ears are ringing.

You look up at him, neck aching, and push the bottom of his shirt up. “You should hold this between your teeth, hm?”

Diluc’s almost trembling, shaking as he nods and puts the hem of the shirt between his teeth. It’s compromising, surely. He’s suddenly so bare, and you’re on his floor, clothed. Mostly. Your robe is slipping, revealing bare shoulders and an unblemished collar. You’re sure it’s doing something to him. It has to, you hope it does.

You stall as he bares his chest to you.

(So many wounds, healed and sealed. Most of these are new. Even with his battle prowess— what has he been doing to himself? To be so battered must mean that he put himself in harm’s way, above his abilities. Or face a foe he hadn’t expected.)

You tremble.

You purse your lips and flatten your tongue. The taste of him is distracting, pleasantly. It’s more musk than smoke, all him in a way that makes you swallow him down more. One of his hands hesitantly rests against the side of your head. He doesn’t push or shove you. The contact is so light, it almost feels like he’s hovering rather than making contact.

(Is he in pain? Does he have old wounds, like yours, that he’s just better at hiding? He was always the type to suffer in silence. Diluc wouldn’t tell you if he was hurting, would he? You’d only been able to goad him into letting you heal him when he was clearly returning home from a brawl, blood-stained, or both.)

You hum around his length and dig your fingertips into his thighs. Corded muscle covered by a layer of fat. Your mouth waters at the thought of taking a bite of him.

(You know he bruises easily.)

It’s hard to breathe— you hadn’t realized Diluc’s size when you endeavored to suck his cock, but you’re feeling it now. You bully him further down, forcing yourself to relax until the head of his cock nudges the back of your throat.

Diluc says your name so breathlessly, pinched around the edges. Your eyes stay shut and you anchor yourself on sensation. The heat of Diluc, radiating into you from the inside, the desperate way he breathes through his teeth and the shirt tucked between them. You hum around him and relish the choked sound that he can’t hold back.

(Like this, whatever is simmering under your skin and behind your eyes feels duller. You can chase sensation, grip it so hard it hurts, and bring pleasure at the same time. Isn’t this—)

You begin to bob your head, shallow, once, twice, and then a third time— And with a broken-sounding groan, Diluc comes down your throat.

It’s fast. It’s unexpected. The only warning you had was the way Diluc’s hand tightened around your skull, not pushing, but firm. Your eyes stretch wide as you try to swallow his release. It’s— a lot, more than you expect, and it spills from the corners of your mouth. Diluc jerks his hips, clearly involuntary, and you properly choke on him.

And then he pulls out of your mouth, dripping and sticky and softening, and you hang your head, swallowing thickly and coughing. The ringing in your ears is worse, and the world feels far away. Even Diluc’s heat feels lukewarm. It’s not peace, nor unsettling, something in the middle that is more unpleasant than pleasant. It’s hard to focus.

It’s easier, when Diluc goes to his knees next to you. He’s hastily tucked his cock away, belt still unbuckled. There’s dirt and singed fabric on his knees— you still haven’t checked his injuries. Foolish.

You reach out a hand (are you really shaking that hard?), Dendro curling around your fingers. Diluc catches your wrist and holds it steady.

The ringing in your ears clears enough to hear him say your name. It’s hard to register. You send the Dendro through his wrist instead— how many fractures has he had on that bone? The scar tissue—

Diluc says your name once more, more sharply, more worried— and he cups your jaw and tilts your face up to his.

“Oh,” you reply softly. Your voice is wrecked. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Diluc’s brow is creased, relief bleeding in his voice. “Are you—”

“I’m fine.” You pat his hand that’s on your jaw. “Peachy. You taste good.”

It’s fun to watch Diluc flush even more— he always has always blushed easily. It spreads down his neck and up to his ears. You mindlessly lay the back of your free hand over the cheek to feel how warm he is. Burning. You swear he’ll scorch you alive.

“I don’t—” Diluc shakes his head, rubbing at your cheeks. It’s intimate. If your ears weren’t ringing, you’d be on the other side of the room by now. Maybe Mond. Maybe Teyvat.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him. You feel breakable beneath your haze. “Is something wrong?”

Diluc looks at you. Really looks at you. Though you look back at him, the world is too fuzzy to take account of details.

(If you could, you’d see concern. Wretched, awful concern and care that he has kept tucked so far away from you since you’ve returned. You closed the distance so swiftly between the two of you, violently, and Diluc is split wide with it.)

“You’re—” Diluc presses a finger down to your pulse point. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”

“Uh-huh.” You nod. “I couldn’t breathe for a moment there.”

“That’s not it.” Diluc counters you, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he strokes over your cheeks, conflicted.

You reach out without thinking and tug the black ribbon from his hair. It spills over his shoulders— the waves are a mess. You see snarls and soot. Maybe even chunks burned together.

“Can I brush your hair?” You ask, running a hand through it and grimacing as your fingers get caught. “No, I should wash it first.”

“No,” Diluc says sharply. It startles you enough that you jump. It makes him wilt even more. “You won’t.”

“But I can—?”

“That doesn’t mean you should,” Diluc says softly, squeezing your shoulder.

Diluc has been so incredibly tentative, almost unsure, about any sort of physical contact with you prior. But, in this moment, he’s so sure.

He presses his lips to your forehead, firm and unyielding. It’s so warm— like a hearth that’s always been lit and rolling. High enough to cook a pot over but not enough to burn you down. You’d forgotten this part of his heat.

(How could you?)

“Indulge me?” he asks, lips soft against your skin.

“... In what way?”

“Sleep in my bed,” he says softly. “With me.”

You frown. “You don’t need to return the gesture.”

“That’s not why I’m asking.” Diluc pulls away and presses his lips to your wrist instead. He must be able to feel your pulse.

You consider.

(You’re not within yourself. You’re floating; it’s not his fault. Circumstance and sleeplessness and the horror of intimacy do such things, you know. It’s a tempting offer when Diluc’s heat is so comforting.)

(When he is so comforting.)

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Diluc nods. “More than.”

(Is it really greed, if he invites you?)

“Okay.”

Diluc makes you tea. Scenes seem to skip before your eyes. One moment, Diluc is gone, then in the en suite bathroom, then beside you with a warm cup. The order of these events changes the longer you think about it.

The tea grows colder in your hands and Diluc coaxes you to drink it.

He’s thrown on some soft linen sleep clothes. You get distracted by the obscenely deep-v of the cut, and it takes Diluc repeating your name a few more times to bring you back, closer to the present moment.

Exhaustion catches you quickly once you’re horizontal. It’s easier to fall into and accept when you’re surrounded by the smell of Diluc and his heat. Him. It’s too daunting to touch him fully like this, but you face him when you lie down. You both grab the other’s hand, and squeeze in tandem.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod, burying your nose in the sheets. “Yeah. Was earlier bad?”

“No,” Diluc says quickly. It’s too dark with the candles blown out, but you imagine him blushing. “Strange, maybe, but not bad. I didn’t expect it. I would prefer some notice, if you’re going to proposition me again.”

There’s something left unsaid after, but you can’t make yourself pry.

You’re so whittled down, really. You’re just bones and cracking flesh and tears burgeoning before falling. The idea of sharing a big, warm bed with Diluc, despite everything unresolved and open and festering, breaks something in you.

(You’ve been so hungry. Starved. Emaciated and just fucking dealing with it. And now you’re offered a feast on a platter and you’re horribly loyal, at your core.)

“I don’t share beds often.” A memory bubbles up to the surface.

Diluc plays with your hair, scratching at your scalp, motions nearly scalding and circular. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve kept much company on your travels.”

“Only a few times.” A melancholy smile twists your lips. A memory drags you down from floating. “I was engaged, once, you know.”

Maybe it’s cruel to say, and part of you revels in the way Diluc squeezes your hand so tightly it almost hurts. “... You were?”

“Yes.”

“Betrothed?”

“Yeah.” You smother a laugh into the buttery sheets. “She was a healer in Fontaine. We met when I stayed in her village to tend to victims of a fungal plague. She asked me to marry her after I’d stayed with her for a while.”

“But, you didn’t go through with it?” Diluc's voice sounds tight. Or, you’re imagining it.

“No.” You bring your legs up, curling around yourself. “I couldn’t. I called things off a few weeks before the wedding.”

“Why?”

You think, think— because it’s been a long time, and the memory has become scattered. The face of the woman who was almost your wife is nearly gone in your memory. You remember the sound of her laugh, the color of her hair, and the way her home smelled when she burned her favorite candles. But— but—

“I couldn’t do it.” You feel withered. “She treated me so well. I could have lived well. The village cared for me and it would’ve been a kind life.”

You choke on the sound of your own laughter. Morose. You wrap your arms around Diluc’s one, burying your face in his bicep like it’ll take the burning away from your chest.

“... Why couldn’t you?” he asks.

(Because it wasn’t here. It wasn’t him.)

“You know, at the Akademiya, there’s a whole Darshan dedicated to studying stars and the alignment of the cosmos.” You tangle a leg with Diluc’s. You’ll give him this much, another admission. “They say that fate’s written up there— for all of us.”

Diluc pulls you closer, under your thighs, slotting you together. It’s like you were made to be that way.

“I guess Celestia didn’t deign for me to stay in that village forever and get married.” You ache, all over.

(But the stars did bring you back here. To Mond. To him.)

Diluc’s breath catches. He holds you tighter.

“They took you away too, though.” You curl the fabric of his shirt in your chest, over his heart. Like you could rip it out— (just like how he ripped out yours.) “ You left. Chasing something, right?”

And you throw your head back and laugh. You turn away from Diluc, something rotten bringing you back into yourself. Not memories, but dread and panic (forget, forget, forget.) You hate the feeling. You shove your face into the sheets and savor the feeling of it. The smell and the heat that you’re sure will be ripped away from you. It’s Diluc’s scent. Cecilia and oat soap and stale cologne. You indulge.

“You said you hate me.” Diluc’s voice is close. You lay on your stomach, twisted at the hips, and Diluc looms over you. His hands bunch in the sheets on either side of your shoulders.

“I do, at least a little,” you admit, awful, wretched— “Maybe a lot.”

(As much as you love him.)

“You have every reason to.”

“So you keep reminding me.”

“I don’t regret it.”

It burns to hear. “I wouldn’t expect you to. A chance to play knight— hero?”

“Did you expect me to not do anything?”

“I expected you to at least say goodbye—!” You turn, sharp, and spit the words in his face even as your voice breaks. He’s closer than you thought, hovering so that you’re nose to nose.

A few tears slip, dripping down to your hairline. It takes every last shred and thread holding you together to keep from shattering. Diluc looks like he’s been slapped, shiny ruby eyes polished. Candlelight flickers in them, flame on flame.

You bite your tongue until you taste blood. Because, Archons, if you say anything else, you’ll regret it.

“I’m sor—”

“Tell me in the morning,” you cut him off with a smile, one that makes him frown. “Please?”

And Diluc is nothing, if not weak for you.

It’s an easy shift, for him to drag you to the center of the bed, close to his chest, and pull the duvet over the two of you.

When Diluc presses you, front to front, with your head wedged under his chin, he says soft and breaking, “You worry me.”

You nearly laugh again. “Don’t.”

He just squeezes you, hard enough that you might break.

(You feel like you’re going to shatter. You don’t know if you’re ready.)

#lore writes #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x you #diluc reader insert #genshin impact x reader #enjoy enjoy ENJOY!!!!!#AH it's so exciting to get to post more!! and a lil nerve-wracking but asdflkj #please enjoy <3 and feel free to leave predictions or feedback if you'd like too!!

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