#thanks for sending me a thing!

[gege]

Hiii, how are you? I hope you are doing ok! <3 sending love and hugs. I wanted to ask you... i think i remember something about tgcf having live action adaptation. Was that real or was just a dream i had or something? If it's real do you know if we will have it or what happened to the project? Idk if my mind made that up! sorry and thanks :)

Hiii Anon!

No, it's not some mad collective fever dream we all had, they really did film it (6 months of shooting between July 2021 and January 2022). Native title is 吉星高照 (Ji Xing Gao Zhao) English title is Eternal Faith.

If we ever get to see it is another matter, i probably don't need to say the main reason is because it's a danmei adaptation - it'll have a harder time passing the censors than the average cdrama. Since the popularity of other dangais it seems the censors have become stricter in any case. Job one is always going to be passing the censors.

While checking chinese websites and articles I did find several sources of a rumour that the site security punched a girl who was visiting the set. I can't vouch for the reliability of this but anything that can potentially attract criticism can delay a cdrama release further. Other criticisms include the casting of the male leads, how cheap the set design and costuming look, and a cancelled actress who may have to remain uncredited.

So it will need to satisfy the censors in order to be relased, as well as satisfy the general public and tgcf fans to be worth releasing and I'm not sure if it can do it all. If all goes well and it does ever pass censorship, we won't get a release date in advance. I don't know if you've ever experienced waiting for a cdrama release but you will not get much warning when it airs. It will likey drop with a couple days warning in form of internet rumours, or just completely out of the blue.

HAVING SAID THAT - another rumour is that a full costume bl drama like the untamed will be released internationally in Sept 2024, bypassing a Chinese release. It's just a rumour but it does make this webpage very interesting! But please remember everything above and not get too excited just yet 😂.

I'm gonna share some set photos just because 😍

Zhai Xiaowen as Xie Lian

Zhang Linghe as Hua Cheng/San Lang/Crimson Rain Sought Flower

Chang Huasen as Shi Qingxuan/Wind Master & Tian Xuning as He Xuan/Ming Yi/Earth Master

Vin Zheng as Nan Feng & Li Fancheng as Fu Yao (+ bonus Wind Master)

Liu Lingzi as Xuan Ji

Liu Jinyan as Ling Wen & Wang Yueyi as Female Wind Master

Xiao Kaizhong as Feng Xin/Nan Yang & Cai Yao as Mu Qing/Xuan Zhen

Bian Tianyang as Qi Rong/Prince Xiao Jing/Green Ghost

Lu Yuxiao as Yushi Hung/Rain Master. She played Shangguan Qian in My Journey to You, but as she was fairly unknown at the time of filming jxgz so there are no photos to be found of her as Rain Master 😩.

Anyway, let's all quietly try to will this into existence with physic powers etc.

Thanks for sending me an ask, have a lovely day anon!

(∩^o^)⊃━☆

[pftones3482]

YOU CAN EVIL BOOP?????

[canisalbus]

A friend of mine sent me your latest post and I couldn't stop thinking about how perfectly Vasco would fit into the role of a coat of arms supporter. It got to the point that I just sat down and made a mock-up of the idea; turns out actually, both of them do a great job at it, together. Literally made this account to share the discovery (Extra funny points for them fitting the original colour scheme)

.

[unclewaynemunson]

I definitely think it takes Eddie a while to accept that Steve changed. He remembers what he was like in high school.

When Steve asks him out, for whatever reason, Eddie says yes. But he’s determined not to fall in love, because deep down Harrington’s still a dick. But he’s cute, and Eddie can smile and play pretend.

But then! Steve goes full happy relationship mode, he tells Robin (obv), introduces Eddie to the other adults as his bf, and is just generally being sweet.

MY SWEET ANON I HOPE YOU'LL STILL SEE THIS!!!

I'm so sorry it took me ages to answer this one! But I really loved the idea of this (the good ol' steddie + misunderstanding about what they mean to each other with a dash of terrible communication skills my beloved) so i wanted to give it my proper attention, which i didn't have enough time for over the past few months. Buuut the words have finally found their way to my keyboard so here is the first part of what probably will turn into a 3-part ficlet, I hope it's something like what you had in mind when you sent this ask to me <3

---

Eddie has been acting weird all day. Maybe Steve is too much of a romantic, but he can't help it: he wanted to celebrate this day. Exactly a month ago, he asked Eddie out. And it's been good. They've spent a lot of time together. They've been on lots of dates, spent plenty of nights together... But today, things are different, somehow. Eddie is different. He turned Steve down for a dinner date, he didn't stop by Family Video during lunchtime, and when Steve shows up at the trailer to surprise him with flowers, he merely frowns and pulls back from their kiss before it can even properly get started.

'Everything alright?' Steve asks, trying to catch his boyfriend's gaze – which isn't exactly easy with how Eddie is turning away from him to not-so-gently put the flowers down in a corner of the trailer's living room.

'Yeah, sure,' Eddie mumbles, not really looking at him. 'It's just – I didn't really expect to see you today. We didn't have plans.'

Steve chuckles, trying to get the tension out of his chest. 'Didn't know I was expected to schedule an appointment before coming here.' He tries to play it off as a joke, but the tone of his voice doesn't really want to cooperate.

Eddie finally turns back towards him and Steve catches the end of an eye-roll.

'I'm just not feeling too great today, alright?' It sounds a bit stiff and Steve pauses. He wonders if he did something wrong, if he somehow invaded Eddie's space – even though he has showed up at the trailer on countless evenings in the past month.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Eddie answers, a little bit too fast. 'I told you, I'm not feeling so well.'

And now that he can see his face properly, Steve notices that Eddie is indeed looking paler than usual.

'Hey, don't worry about it,' he says. 'I can stay to take care of you, if you want to. We don't have to do anything. You can go to bed early and I'll keep you company. I can make you some soup, read to you... You could've just told me you're not feeling good, you know. I would've picked up some fruit on my way over here and stopped by the library for you.'

'You don't have to do any of that, Steve.'

Steve tries to ignore the fact that it's been ages since Eddie has last called him by his official first name. He doesn't like the sound of it.

'But I want to,' he says instead. He takes a step towards Eddie, lifts his arms to wrap them around him – but Eddie swats his arms away before he can properly embrace him.

'Don't.' He sounds cold and detached, so different from how he usually sounds. 'Don't act like this is something it isn't.'

'Like this is something –' Steve echoes, completely caught off-guard by this turn of events. 'Like what?'

'Jesus Christ, you really don't know when to stop, do you?'

'What?' He takes a stumbling step backwards, driven away by the force in Eddie's words.

'We're not – like that,' Eddie stutters out. 'We're just fucking around, aren't we? So you don't need to pretend. You don't need to bring me flowers. You don't need to take care of me when I'm sick. You don't owe me anything, alright? You can go home.'

Steve takes another step backwards, until his back collides with the door of the trailer. He blindly grabs the door handle behind him.

'Alright,' he says, trying desperately not to let his voice tremble audibly. 'I hear you, loud and clear. I'll – I'll leave you alone, then.'

Read pt2 here (Edit: it's actually 5 parts now. You can read the whole thing on ao3 here)

[adobe-outdesign]

so about Pokemon Sleep

[ryllen]

Look what came through the mail today! The letters & ( •̀ω•́ )σ 3 little gremlins from letterstoear.

Just wanna say i adore the flower stickers on the letters too much, they are that much worth mentioning.

[dustykneed]

Picture this; Bones holding Joanna, rocking her to sleep and the part in Beautiful Boy where it’s like “The monster's gone, He's on the run, And your daddy's here” is playing. :,)

Fatherhood gives you certain... skills. Coincidentally, this is also how Jim finds out that Bones sings.

:'))

[wisteriagoesvroom]

mclaren boys and house music. they did this for me

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hi! Your Hollow Knight AU has really cheered me up so I wanted to do a little drawing for it! This got me to get my art tablet out after months of not feeling like it so thank you for the inspiration! I hope the colors look good on any monitor that's not mine sdfsdf

Bugs In the Jingshi wyd?

I am so genuinely awestruck at how well you translated this AU to the hollow knight style! Also obsessed with the height difference.

[starflungwaddledee]

wanted to do a "year" in review, though actually i only joined tumblr in october! so instead i just did twelve pieces i'm proud of, in roughly chronological order!

can't believe it's been three months? feels both longer and shorter at the same time! thank you so much for having me, i'm looking forward to creating more art and interacting more with this wonderful community in the new year!

ps. for fun: if you remember what art piece you found me through, or your favourite of mine, i'd love to know in the comments!!

[theyoungeragrippina]

✨ 15 gentlebeard fic recs ✨

i have spent the last month trawling the pages of ao3 for you, dear reader, to find the best ofmd fics. all the works on this list:

are longer-form (generally 40k+)

have no steddyhands (simply not my thing)

are generally, all around brilliant (well-written, had me kicking my feet and giggling, laughing, or crying)

are complete!

part 2 and part 3

A Heart Unsated by roughwinds

48k, explicit

"Stede Bonnet has just moved into Orange Crescent. There’s a house on the corner, opposite Stede’s own, with a garden full of flowers and a gleaming motorbike on the driveway. He’s forgotten to buy sugar.

Edward Teach has his morning disturbed by his new neighbour. Enamoured at first sight, he invites Stede round for a chat, and then another, and then another.

This is the story of them."

man i normally avoid fics with lots of alma and louis in them because its just not for me, but literally every second of the family bonding in this was so wholesome i was forced to change my entire mind.

all you left me was a pearl by @sightofsea

88k, mature

"1717. The Golden Age of Piracy. Stede Bonnet sets about wooing the love of his life through any means necessary.

Things do not go as planned."

every day i wish for a precise memory erasing potion to be invented so i can read this again for the first time. i would devour like 2000k more words of this if it was offered to me. brilliant.

forgive & forget by @fool-for-luv

44k, mature

"It hits him then, like a wave breaking on sand, loud as thunder when it crashes, then trickling away into little rivulets flowing back home, murmuring one word over and over and over. Ed.

The problem is, Stede doesn’t recall ever having met anyone named Ed."

so sweet and wonderful, and i wish there was more.

#gentlebeard is trending! by regional_catastrophe

41k, teen

"In which Stede accidentally convinces the pirating world that Gentlebeard (or Blackbonnet or Stedward; there's a poll) is canon, reunites his crew, and gets his boyfriend back."

hilarious & silly & great, but also the most compelling notes of any fic i've ever read. a proper learning experience.

if music be the food of love (then darling, you're a feast) by @fool-for-luv

107k, unrated

"“Hey, so, those two, right, they get together in the end?” Ed asks.

“I would protest spoiling it, but I think it's rather obvious, isn't it?” Stede says. His nose wrinkles as he smiles. “The tension is certainly there from the beginning. It just takes them a while to get there.”

“Good. Would have been a shit story otherwise.""

i love sassy stede and i love ed who is a grump and i love that they share one single braincell at any given time.

If You Were Mine to Keep by @mysterybees

162k, explicit

"Caught between the gallows and the end of an English sword, Ed accepts the Act of Grace: marry into the aristocracy, leave the English ships alone, and live to sail another day. But who in their right mind would ever agree to marry the mad devil pirate Blackbeard?"

Worth every second of tiredness I felt after pulling an all nighter to finish reading.

It's Only Right by hexuponye

53k, explicit

"A modern AU based on Imagine Me & You, in which Edward is a florist who does the flowers for Stede's wedding."

mary gets to be a little silly sometimes too as a treat.

pliocene by unfortunatelyobsessed

75k, mature

""man, it's just ocean for miles.” Ed motions out to the waves, where there is no sign of any sort of ship, their small dinghy pulled far up on the sand. “I told you when the clouds look like seagulls you take fuckin' cover. Goddamn ocean mutinied me.”"

william golding wishes he did something this brilliant and significant when he wrote Lord of the Flies. the best deserted island story.

quite a career shift by @stedesparasol

157k, explicit

"Stede's been posting book reviews on Youtube for two months now. It's taken him that long to finally get a comment, and the person it comes from is rather unexpected."

rip stede you would've LOVED booktube. furious i can never really watch his content.

Semaphore by komodobits

124k, explicit

"Talking things through as a crew is easier said than done, and honest communication has never really been Stede’s strong suit. When it comes to Ed, he is willing to try."

so good that i was properly and truly laughing and gasping and 'oh no-ing' out loud while i read it.

Such Joie de Vivre by @louciferish

94k, explicit

"Professional thief Edward Teach is tired of hole in the wall apartments, shitty pub food, and skipping town every few months to keep the cops off their tail. He’s well past the age he meant to flee the country and retire, and all he needs is One Last Job to set him up for life. When he hears that some rich bastard outside of town has just the sort of treasure he’d trade his good knee for, Ed sets out in disguise to get the lay of the land."

i (so so foolishly) avoided reading this for a while because i simply didn't think i was one for nanny aus. i was so, terribly wrong. don't make the same mistakes i did. showstopping. incredible stuff.

The Chains of Flowers are Fragile Things by @grandmastattoo

62k, explicit

"Stede can't see the shop he's inherited from his late father as anything other than a burden, another insult added to a life that's going nowhere fast. Then he meets the charismatic man who owns the tattoo studio next door, and Stede finds himself forced to consider the idea of home."

maybe i love tattoo shop owner ed fics, sue me. i love this stede and i love his embarrassing mistake tattoo.

The Love Experiment by karawrites

65k, mature

a married at first sight (aus) au. i didn't know i needed it until i read it.

Water/line by @the-gentleman-mermaid

60k, teen

"During a raid on a smuggler ship, Ed finds a merman named Stede locked in the hold."

So good that I would actually pay the author real person money to do a similar story but where Ed is the mermaid.

Where the Daylight Begins by @xoxoemynn

116k words, explicit

"Modern day AU slow burn featuring a pining Ed, a clueless Stede, found family, roughly a million animals, and a very magical house."

This one sort of gave me House on the Cerulean Sea vibes; it was so much fun and genuinely necessitates a proper use of the word whimsical.

[jeysuso]

he’s a little on the eccentric side. welcome to the club, right?

[originalartblog]

it's a goose picture takeover!!

[unclewaynemunson]

Okay so @willowworkswithwords sent me this fucking perfect prompt about Steve casually mentioning how much of an asshole his dad is is during a movie night at the Munsons and Wayne immediately shifting into Concerned mode, and I almost finished the thing but then tumblr glitched and i lost it to the void forever. I learned my lesson to never save anything to tumblr without backup ever again, buuut here it finally is:

Wayne first met Steve Harrington long before Eddie officially started dating the boy. He figured out that his nephew was head over heels before Eddie himself did. He hadn't been too thrilled about it, at first. In his experience, boys like Steve Harrington, with his big car and neatly ironed polo shirts, could only want two things from boys like his Eddie: drugs and secret encounters in the dark before he'd finally follow the path that was perfectly mapped out for him by his parents. But it didn't take him too long before he admitted that he had misjudged the boy. He noticed it even before Eddie himself did: Steve Harrington had fallen like a brick for his nephew, and he was in it for the long run.

He mostly met the boy in passing, whenever he'd come home from his night shift while Steve was just leaving the trailer park, or when he'd be heading out to get to work at the same time as Steve came by to pick up Eddie for a date or to hang out with that group of freshmen that Eddie would never stop talking about. The boy was always perfectly polite to him, calling him things like Sir and Mister, apologizing for being in his space and thanking him for the most ridiculous little things. Wayne thought it was a bit much, but he supposed that it was just how the boy had been raised, all formal and uptight. There was something behind it, however, a certain guarded look in his eyes, that always gave Wayne this uncomfortable feeling in his gut. He didn't quite understand what that was all about – until the three of them were having a movie night in the trailer on one of Wayne's nights off.

The two boys were all over each other on the couch, their legs entangled and their fingers intertwined, with their heads as close together as if they'd die if they wouldn't be breathing the exact same air. It made Wayne wish he had a camera on him; instead, he tried to imprint the picture into his memory.

He didn't care too much for the movie, which was about some rich teenage girl trying to break free from the restrictive uptown life that was suffocating her by getting herself some no-good boyfriend in a leather jacket – who Steve and Eddie enthusiastically agreed was a “hot piece of ass.” The main bad guy was the girl's dad, a character who checked off all the rich asshole dad stereotypes: suit that made him look bigger than he actually was, wife who let herself be bossed around by him at all times, and that kind of undefinable charisma, which made everyone else feel like all the air had left the room whenever he'd walk in.

'He kinda reminds me of my dad,' said Steve while leaning forward to get himself a handful of popcorn. It was just an innocent, offhand remark, and sounded perfectly nonchalant – but as he said it, the camera zoomed in on the girl's face to convey one single emotion: fear.

Steve leaned back into the couch and stuffed his mouth full of popcorn, getting crumbs all over his shirt and seemingly not noticing how both Wayne and Eddie had frozen by his remark.

Wayne met his nephew's wide-eyed gaze over the top of Steve's big hair. Wayne wasn't exactly a talkative person, and over the years in which Eddie had been living with him, they had perfected the art of silent communication, not needing more than some looks and gestures to have complete conversations with each other.

Wayne raised an eyebrow at Eddie, which meant something along the lines of Did you know about this?

Eddie responded with a barely-visible nod.

Wayne made a sideways movement with his head. Why didn't you tell me?

Eddie shrugged. It wasn't my place to tell, that meant.

Wayne nodded at him and turned his gaze back to the screen, but he was too preoccupied with other thoughts to properly shift his attention back to the plot.

'You wanna stay over?' Eddie asked Steve when the movie was finished.

Steve's eyes immediately flashed to Wayne's corner, that familiar guarded look in them. 'Um... Would you – would it be okay if I stayed the night, sir?'

'You can stay whenever you like, son,' said Wayne. 'And stop calling me sir, alright?'

'Alright, yeah, okay, sorry sir,' Steve stammered, which made Eddie burst into loud laughter. Wayne merely shook his head and got up from his chair.

He never sat Steve down for some official talk about his asshole dad – that wasn't his style anyway. He preferred conveying the message by little gestures: calling him “son” whenever he had the chance, refusing to be called “sir” ever again, giving him a key to the trailer, inviting him over to watch basketball together, taking him fishing when they both had a day off work... After a while, that guarded look finally disappeared from the boy's face. But it returned a couple months later, when Steve accidentally called Wayne “dad” in a distracted moment. Wayne didn't say anything about it; he merely gave the boy a pat on his shoulder to let him know it was okay. He didn't mind getting called “dad” by Steve Harrington for one bit.

[pinkeoni]

anon: Gif request of the Byers brothers if you’re feeling it 🫶🏻

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part seven: in which the obscenely wealthy resident makes himself a permanent fixture to your list of problems, even after you find comfort in the normality of Snezhnaya's city (and its firewater)

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: cuz i set fire to the rain but rain won't fucking catch fire fuck's sake (slowburn), gn neutral sarcastic legend sick of ppl's bs reader, slightly suggestive

series masterlist

author's notes: *throws this chapter at u like its crumbs and ur pigeons on the pavement*

reblog the crumbs my pigeons <3

word count: 5134 words

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

Snezhnaya was so cold. Bitingly, piercingly, mercilessly cold. But the city was warmer, more welcoming. Despite the icy wasteland surrounding it, the rows of shops and frosted-over streetlights boasted an almost friendly atmosphere, tinny music trickling through the cracks of some of the doors and stalls advertising ‘the greatest hot chocolate ever sold!’. Childe took hold of your hand under the guise of not wanting to lose you when you passed through a particularly busy street, but neglected to let go even after the crowd dispersed. You let him, and dragged him into a cosy bookstore piled high with well-loved stories. He insisted on carrying every book you chose while you browsed, following you through the shelves with hardcovers piled high in his arms, leading the owner of the shop to shoot the two of you a knowing glance you didn’t particularly like. A clothes shop nestled into a corner also caught your eye, and after a pleasant half hour of perusing the finest selection of furs and suits and dresses you’d ever seen you left with a brand new cloak to replace your lost one, black with silver clasps and a fur trim that would have been expensive enough to haunt you for a week or so, if Childe hadn’t sneakily paid for it the moment you picked it up. He led you to the city’s landmarks; the frozen fountains and an ice rink you refused to step onto, and you even let him drag you into a tavern.

“Eleven, please. I’m far from a good drinking partner.” Your protest sounded weak even to your own ears; you were quite curious to try the infamous Snezhnayan firewater, and the tavern was wonderfully warm.

“Don’t shoot it ‘til you’ve tried it,” he cheerfully replied, pulling you through the door by your joined hands and steering you towards a table near the window. The place was rowdier than you’d expected; a bard sang and danced on a tabletop, strumming a ukulele while the clattering of coins hitting the surface melded with the people’s laughter and clapping hands. You were reminded of the irresponsible, green-clad bard from Mondstadt who’d avoided you at every turn yet shone onstage. Before you knew it, you were laughing and knocking back a drink yourself, leaning back in your seat and letting your voice join the cheers and chatter. Childe marvelled at how much more relaxed you were outside of the palace, the tenseness in your shoulders gone and the sceptical furrow between your brows softened, one arm hooked around the back of your chair while you swirled your drink with the other hand.

“Say, Eleven,” you half-yelled to be heard over the ruckus. “What possessed you to join this Archons-forsaken association?”

“Quickest way to become a better fighter.”

You laughed under your breath, downing the rest of your drink. No more for you tonight, that was certain; pleasantly tipsy was one thing but you were far from keen on being flat-out drunk.

“Is that so?” You quipped back, appraising him thoughtfully. “You know, Eleven, I’ve heard some gut-churning things about you,” you mused, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table. “That you’re a bloodthirsty maniac. A murderous villain. That your only home is the battlefield.”

His breath caught in his throat. Here you were, tearing out any last semblances of goodness he still thought he had and laying them before him, tattered and bleeding. And you did it all with that small, thoughtful smile. The ambience of the tavern flickered like a faulty speaker, his ears filling with anxious static.

“I think you’re more than half-decent, though.” Alcohol certainly loosened tongues. The cacophony of the bar came rushing back.

You stacked a few coins on the table to pay for your drink, heedless of the relief coursing through his veins like the most potent drug. You knew. He didn’t know how, but you knew about the savagery lurking so near to the surface of the charm that had once come so naturally to him but now took an effort to maintain, and you didn’t hate him for it. More than half-decent. You might as well have called him a prince. He felt giddy, drunk on your praise.

 Breaking out of his trance, he firmly pushed your mora back in your direction and paid for the drinks himself despite your objections. You bickered over the matter the entire trek back to the palace, settling into the easy familiarity of squabbling back and forth with him. He accompanied you to the dining hall, too, claiming he had nothing to do at all even though Pierro was getting impatient at the lack of progress he’d made on tracking the Geo Gnosis; after all, what significance did godhood hold compared to you and the divine splendour of your laughter?

You found Arlie idling just outside. Preposterous, that she’d be reduced to dawdling around in hopes to see you, but there she was nonetheless, with the last plate of your favourite dessert that she’d snagged before a poor recruit could get his hands on it to boot. All damning evidence of her budding affection. Pleasantly surprised to see her, you made to introduce her to Childe.

“Oh, Arlie! I didn’t expect to see you today.”

She and Childe’s gazes met over the top of your head, the latter stupefied at seeing one of the most high-ranking Harbingers being referred to so casually, and by you, upholder of titles, no less, while the former shot him a formidable glare that warned him to hold his tongue lest she rip it out for him. She nodded shortly at your introduction.

“Childe and I are familiar.”

You hummed and pursed your lips. Surely this was ample confirmation that she was a Harbinger.

“Lovely, we’re all friends here then,” you said with just a touch of sardonic humour. “Why don’t we take lunch together?” You suggested, mostly as a way to further observe their dynamic and gather more evidence to support your theory. Arlie handed you the plate without ceremony.

“I’ve already had lunch, but I’d be happy to accompany you.” Even if she found Childe exuberantly foolish.

“I could eat,” Childe seconded, slinging an arm around your shoulders, not missing the way you beamed at her little gift.

Thus you found yourself seated under a gazebo in the palace gardens, pointedly ignoring the strained tension between your two companions while you admired the snow you’d once lamented and contentedly ate the berries from your pavlova. What a funny situation. You weren’t quite sure how you’d ended up befriending two higher-ups from a supposedly dangerous organisation and willingly spending time in their company over a plate of such exquisite dessert, but you supposed life had a way of being funny like that.                                                                                                                     

“Do enlighten me as to how the two of you know each other,” you said, waving your spoon vaguely. They let an ear-splitting silence fall, tense and rigid. You pointedly ignored the on-edge atmosphere, taking another bite of your pavlova.

“Well?” You prompted.

Childe clenched his teeth momentarily. “We were assigned on the same mission this reconnaissance cycle.” Arlie offered a non-committal hum of agreement.

“Interesting. And why is it that you seem on the verge of lunging at each other with the intent of causing as much bodily harm as possible?” You asked in a deceptively innocent tone. Childe wished you weren’t so clever sometimes, while Arlie turned her head away to hide her smile.

“Enough about us,” she interjected, leaning forward slightly to adjust the insignia you had pinned to the shoulder of your new cloak. “Tell me how you liked the city.”

“Snezhnayan firewater certainly lives up to its reputation for being extremely potent,” you replied with a shrug, setting aside your empty plate. “And Lord Eleven has similarly scandalous reputation outside the palace,” you added slyly, just to push his buttons. A bit of payback for not telling the truth about how he knew Arlie.

He choked on air. “What?”

Arlie raised an eyebrow. “What, indeed. Care to explain, Childe?”

“Not really,” he responded airily, tugging at his collar and clearing his throat. One advantage of Arlecchino being disguised like this was that he could somewhat safely dodge her authority under the guise of protecting her alibi.

Childe was saved from describing the reason for his less-than-ideal reputation when a young recruit, barely eighteen from the looks of it, came marching hurriedly towards you. Apparently the Director of the Harbingers himself was requesting Childe’s presence, and he left with more than a little reluctance and a wave goodbye. Arlie watched him rush off and allowed herself a moment’s satisfaction at the timely intervention. You touched her shoulder to catch her attention again, a small leather box in hand.

“I bought you something from the city,” you said, offering it to her. She stared at it in silence for so long you feared you might have offended her, when really her mind was spinning with the implications of you buying her a gift.

You swallowed nervously. She still hadn’t accepted the gift from your outstretched hand, staring blankly at the little box.

“Do you not want it?”

“I do,” she all but snapped, finally taking it. “I was… surprised, is all.”

 A four-leafed brooch lay inside, gleaming black metal inlaid with red gemstones that glittered as they caught the light.

Her silence left you a little nervous, and you found yourself rambling uncharacteristically to fill it. “The merchant was adamant that it’s crafted entirely from the finest silver, but I didn’t test it in the lab yet. But I can confirm that the jewels have a purity of at least seventy five percent, and it’ll fetch a handsome bit of mora if you choose to sell it”-

“Thank you. It’s…” Stunning? Lovely? Beautiful? Arlecchino was truly at a loss for words, and fought not to stare at you. What a warming thought, that you’d spotted a little trinket and your mind had conjured her as a recipient for a gift. How lovely, to think that she occupied your thoughts enough to become a regular visitor. “It’s exceptionally well-made.”

You beamed. “I’m glad to hear that. You seem to prefer black and white clothing, I think the red will serve as a striking contrast.”

“Indeed,” she agreed mechanically, offering you the barest hint of a smile. You could tell her the sun rose in the west and paper was inflammable and she’d probably agree at that moment. A part of her despised how much power that gave you. You took out your pocket watch.

“Ah, perhaps we should go back inside,” you suggested, rising from the bench and brushing away the layer of snow on your shoulders. “According to my observations, the temperature drops quite rapidly at around this time, and I have a few letters to write.”

Arlie quickly excused herself once inside the palace (to ruminate alone over her gift), leaving you to take a pile of your best parchment and a pot of your smoothest, most pigmented ink to the Regrator’s library. It took a moment of fumbling with your stationery to kneel and get the door open, but the sight within was as rewarding as it had been the last time you stumbled upon the place; bathed in the late afternoon’s pale golden light, the fire crackling merrily and glinting off the silver etched into the bookshelves, chairs comfortable and inviting. You gladly dropped into one of them, sighing contentedly as the plush leather enveloped you, and began penning addresses onto envelopes with magnificent blue and purple quill you’d received from your friends as a graduation gift. You still didn’t know where such a large, vibrantly coloured feather could have come from.

Sumeru – Sumeru City – The Akademiya – Scribe Alhaitham

Mondstadt – Mondstadt City – Mona Megistus

Inazuma – Watatsumi Island – Sangonomiya Kokomi

Liyue – Wangsheng Funeral Parlour – Director Hu Tao

Fontaine – Opera Epiclese – Duellist Clorinde

With some reluctance, you also marked an envelope Inazuma, Narukami Shrine for Yae Miko. The contract you’d signed all those years ago to provide her publishing house with what she called ‘light novels’ would never end.

How far-flung your friends seemed, scattered throughout Teyvat with seemingly no rhyme or reason. Maybe you’d take to travelling again once your diploma was finished, a vacation of sorts to see everyone … You filed that thought away for later contemplation.

For a while, the only sounds in the library were the scratching of your quill on parchment, the slight rattling of the stained glass windows as the late afternoon breeze whooshed by and… faint talking? You frowned slightly, glancing up from your writing. Two voices, vaguely familiar and gradually rising in volume; an argument, then. How irritating. You ignored it for as long as you could, until the shouting was clearly decipherable and loud enough to make your quill pause every few sentences to rearrange your thoughts (you and Lisa’s correspondence was mainly in the form of original poetry, and the distraction was making it even more difficult to find a rhyme for ‘Harbinger’.) The noise grew unbearable, and with an aggravated huff you left your things laying on the armchair to ascertain the source and perhaps ask them to quiet down.

Honestly. People’s utter disregard for a library’s rules is intolerable.

After spending  some time weaving through the towering bookshelves and past iced-over windows, angry voices growing louder and louder, you finally located the culprits.

It seemed you wouldn’t be asking anyone to quiet down, considering the argument was between Signora and the Regrator. Just your luck, really. Resigned to sealing the envelopes and finalising the calculations of your lab report back at the dorm, you turned to leave only for them to fall silent.

“(Name?)”

You cursed under your breath and pivoted on your heel to face the mortifying situation you’d found yourself in.

“My lord, my lady,” you managed after a strained moment of trying to collect yourself. “I heard shouting”- Signora and the Regrator shot each other a heated glare- “and thought it might be wise to investigate.” You conveniently left out the part where you’d gotten so riled up that you were quite prepared to admonish whoever it was. They didn’t need to know that.

“Nothing to worry about,” the Regrator assured smoothly, brushing invisible dust off his shoulders. He wore velvet today, supple and sophisticated, while Signora sported a lavish fur collar that she angrily swept back around her neck. You had to admit her elegance indisputably came naturally to her; even with her face twisted into a frown and no one to impress, she still radiated an effortless air of refinement and superiority.

The Regrator was different. Those endless eyes, that deliberate half-smile, his tasteful-bordering on-excessive attire, the guarded disposition… all of it hinted at a man who’d started low and clawed his way to the top. You were willing to bet he still had the blood under his fingernails to prove it, and wondered if it haunted him at all. There wasn’t any hint of remorse in his polished smile or fathomless eyes. An apprehensive shiver ran up your spine, and you averted your gaze.

“If you’ll excuse me”-

“No, no. Sit down, little one, we could use a mediator,” Signora cut in, gesturing towards an empty chair with a tilt of her head, never once breaking the intense glare she pointed at the Regrator. You sighed, thinking of your yet-to-be-delivered letters and the lab report that still needed writing.

“As much as I’d love to act as the referee for your dispute”- the Regrator had to suppress a genuine laugh at your carefully derisive wording, while Signora let an imperceptible, fond smile take over her face- “I’m afraid I have some rather urgent matters to attend to.”

“Surely not so urgent that you’d risk upsetting us?”

How he managed to sound so innocent yet sly was beyond you. The mischievous slant of his lips betrayed the true intention behind his deceptively benign tone; to embarrass its recipient for his own entertainment. Not to mention how breaching etiquette felt akin to throwing yourself to the sharks when it came to him. Something about the Regrator exuded propriety and demanded a similar demeanour to be maintained, unlike the rest of the Harbingers around whom a certain degree of sarcasm could safely be upheld; Childe could even be described as friendly, and despite the Doctor’s terrible reputation and a justifiable ego thanks to his unparalleled intellect your mutual inclination towards scientific progress made him more approachable, while Signora had yet to berate you for any lapse in politeness, instead regarding you with a sharp smile and an air of superiority that made it quite clear to you that she found you funny. Demeaning, really.

Still, your current problem was how to escape the cage of social obligation Regrator had managed to weave.

“I’m afraid so, Lord Regrator,” you confirmed drily, offering him and Signora a shallow bow. “Here’s to hoping your dispute comes to a swift and satisfying end.”

You moved to leave, gladdened by your evidently inoffensive departure. He couldn’t have that, of course; you’d caught his interest and he’d decided to indulge in his curiosity.

“Allow me to join you,” he proposed, falling into step next to you. Signora let out a very audible tsk. You couldn’t help but agree with her.

“I really don’t think that’ll be necessary”-

“Many of the best things in life aren’t,” he responded, guiding you towards the door with a hand on your back. Annoyed by him trying to steer you, you sped up and went to collect the letters; the Regrator, undeterred by how you’d shrugged away his touch, took the stack of envelopes from you. Wary of accepting any help from a Harbinger, you attempted to retrieve them with an array of pleasantries such as ‘there’s really no need, I can carry them myself’ and ‘you’re really too kind’.

To no avail; in the end, he even managed to nick your satchel right off your shoulder and carry it the entire way back to your dorm, much to your embarrassment. You supposed it was only polite to invite him inside, not that you’d expected him to graciously accept your invitation and make himself comfortable in the armchair across the fireplace. You didn’t miss the way his fingers traced the patches of embroidery you’d painstakingly made along the seams, rows of tiny colourful flowers stitched for the purpose of improving your dexterity before a particularly finicky experiment and maybe even to leave a mark of your stay here; the fact he’d noticed them at all indicated an impressive attention to detail that made you wonder what else might stand out to him about your living space. Perhaps he found your accommodations excessively modest. The thought amused you no end; a rich boy out of his depth would never not be funny, after all. He seemed utterly at ease, though, content to watch you shed your new cloak and pick out leaves and cups for tea without any conversation, those dark eyes following your every move.

“You’re staring quite intently, my lord,” you remarked, handing him a cup of tea and wrapping your gloved fingers around your own.

“Beauty should be appreciated, no?”

You laughed under your breath, hoping you weren’t blushing at such a clichéd line. “I suppose I walked into that one,” you conceded, resting your weight against the edge of your desk and wondering how best to broach the topic of why he accepted your invitation to come inside. He smiled and lifted the teacup to his lips, as if aware of your internal dilemma. You cursed every aspect of his polished personality for making you feel like you had to be especially polite.

“Is the tea to your liking?”

“Delectable,” he assured. That vexing half-smile on his face was starting to get on your nerves; it was as though he was contemplating something awfully hilarious about your countenance that you weren’t aware of.

You offered him a nod of acknowledgement, turning to sort through the pages upon pages of calculations you’d made for your next experiment. It pertained to the various elemental crystals that apparently gave Vision holders extra power; a relatively recent discovery you’d made in your last year at the Akademiya and one you were quite proud of. It still needed further testing before you could guarantee the benefits of using them and how to do so, but the theoretical efficiency you’d calculated was very high at a whopping ninety-four point seven per cent. You really were quite proud of this potential breakthrough, and were excited to share it with the Doctor, someone who’d appreciate the complexities of an experiment even before it came to fruition. Maybe you’d gift Childe a gemstone of the Varunada Lazurite variety after the testing stage was concluded, since he was so incessantly obsessed with improving his combat prowess. You doubted Arlie’s illusionary magic would benefit from such a crystal, though. It didn’t quite shock you as much as it should’ve that you were so casually thinking of gifting a Harbinger something, as though you were friends. Perhaps you did consider them friends. Your brows furrowed infinitesimally. How bizarre.

The Regrator interrupted your musings with a slight laugh.

“I must know what’s on your mind to have such a puzzled expression cross your face.”

Embarrassed by his scrutiny, you cleared your throat and neatly stacked your paperwork into the wooden case to avoid looking at those eyes.

“Nothing at all,” you insisted. “Just my research.”

It was becoming a familiar lie.

“Well then, do enlighten me,” he said, peering up at you over his glasses. You paused in the act of rewriting a horribly complex chemical equation with the correct stoichiometric ratios. You couldn’t believeyou’d made such a foolish mistake, and you grimaced at the thought of the ridicule you would’ve no doubt received from the Doctor if you ended up submitting it.

“I doubt it’ll be of much interest to you, my lord.”

“I suspect I may surprise you yet,” he replied, gazing up at you expectantly.

You drummed your fingers against the wooden surface of your desk, deep in thought. From your perspective, common sense dictated that you should not under any circumstances share the details of your research lest someone apply for a patent of the invention before you, and thus take all the credit for the discovery. You suppressed a shudder of revulsion at the thought. No, the Regrator was not to be trusted with the minutiae of your research.

Celestia’s sake, he’s a banker. He’s not to be trusted, period!

You turned to face him, the beginnings of an idea just barely discernible in the quirk of your brows, the smile on your lips that was a little too devious to be written off as merely polite.

“Why not enlighten me with details about your work instead?”

You sly little trickster.

He surveyed you with a half-smile not unlike the one on your own face, impressed by your deflection.

“Hm. Seems we’ve hit an impasse,” he remarked, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in the armchair, the picture of immovable and infuriatingly self-assured calm. A side effect of being rich, you supposed, watching him get comfortable with mental sigh. You’d hoped he’d be on his way soon; evidently that would not be the case. “We’re both unwilling to part with the secrets of our trade.”

“Yes, quite,” you agreed with a laugh you couldn’t suppress. It was amusing to think that the Regrator, a man who obviously dealt in meticulously worded phrases with a penchant for hiding his true intentions behind walls of elegance, was being forced to get straight to the point with no purposeful stalling whatsoever. Because of you, no less. Oddly enough, he found himself not quite as incensed as he would’ve expected at being the subject of your hilarity. Perhaps that had something to do with how agreeable mirth looked on you, softening the ever-present suspicion even if only for a moment.

What an interesting little thing you were turning out to be.

He watched as your eyes began to wander in the silence that followed, first to your window and the glowing flowers sprouting from the cracks around it, then to the fire in the hearth where it lingered for a little longer, along the walls, tracing the silver lines engraved on them, before finally resting on his hand. He wondered which of his many rings you were so fixated on.

“Perhaps we should both retire for the night, my lord,” you suggested, tearing your gaze away from the diamond ring you were still quite interested in testing. He raised his eyebrows, his smile turning devious.

“What, together? I didn’t think you were so forward, (Name.)”

You almost wished his insinuation was lost on you. It wasn’t, tragically, and you had to contend with the mortifying ordeal of flushing crimson and briefly debating on whether to say the first thing that came to mind, if nothing else to rile him up as much as he did you (‘Well, I wouldn’t oppose to the idea unless you did.’)

Damned banker and his damned dirty mind…

His fingers were still running over your little garden of embroidered flowers, eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners from the wideness of his smile. Abandoning any semblance of courtesy, you opened the door and gestured pointedly at him to leave. Your fear of the Harbingers seemed inconsequential compared to the sheer magnitude of the frustration they caused you. You could only maintain a façade of perfect grace for so long, after all.

“With all due respect, my lord”- (how wonderful you sounded without anything to filter your opinion of him in that moment. Even if said opinion was decidedly negative) – “I’d like you to leave. You’re disturbing me. And there’s a cursed redox apparatus I need to wake up at an ungodly hour to check on.” You muttered the last part testily under your breath, dragging a hand down your face and lamenting the fact you hadn’t waited until later to set it up.

“Come, now. Surely you won’t just kick me out like this?” Regrator implored, sounding more relaxed than upset. “The night is young. Let us at least have a proper conversation.”

How you longed to understand why he insisted on pestering you. Surely he had better things to do. Although, you mused to yourself as you openly sized him up, maybe he’ll leave if I talk to him. Just for a while.

“What would you have us speak of?” You asked wryly, folding your legs to perch cross-legged on your desk chair. “It doesn’t seem likely that we’ll find a shared topic of interest.”

“Why ever not?” He returned, raising his eyebrows. “Do you have such a negative impression of me that you think I can’t keep up with you in conversation?”

“Of course not. I never implied that, my lord.”

He laughed at your swift denial. Clearly you were still apprehensive of his status as a Harbinger, not that he blamed you.

“I hear you’ve received an invitation to the annual gala.”

Your face contorted at the reminder, brows drawing inwards and a frown tugging your lips further away from a smile as your jaw tensed.

“Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten about that. Lady Eight was so kind as to invite me.” Your real meaning was clear despite the unwavering civility of your words: Lady Eight could very well eat her left shoe. Beautiful women can really get away with anything, you mused to yourself.

“Yet you seem less than overjoyed by the situation,” he remarked, sliding one of his rings up and down his finger as he watched you.

With a sigh, you rested your elbows on your knees and your chin in your hands, proper posture be damned to the lowest ring of hell. “It’s just not my scene, I suppose.”

“Uncomfortable with large crowds of people?”

You scowled at the floor in response to his mocking tone. “Displeased by the public’s general idiocy, more like,” you muttered under your breath, hating the Regrator just a little more for coaxing you into revealing your weakness then taunting you for it.

The Regrator was beginning to think that he enjoyed your scorn even more than your artificial flattery. He’d be hard-pressed to think of a more artful way ridicule his opponent in a verbal altercation without being too direct and ruining the element of subtlety he so valued.

“But you’ll still be attending, no?”

“Unless divine intervention occurs for the first time in this century, yes, I will.”

“Good, good,” he all but purred, relaxing even further back in the armchair. You glowered at the floor. Your armchair. That he was sitting in. He effectively snapped you out of your trance of gradually building wrath with his next question.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance, when the gala does roll around?”

It took a moment of unconvinced staring for you to realise that he was, in fact, being serious.

“If you insist, my lord.” You were confident in your ability to sneak off and prevent such a thing from ever happening, in the unlikely scenario that he even remembered. He smiled entirely too cunningly for your liking, as though he knew exactly what you were planning. You shook off the feeling, rising to your feet when he did the same and throwing a mental celebration when he made his way to the door.

“Let’s not make this our last conversation,” were his parting words before he left. You consoled yourself with the fact that speaking to the Regrator was intellectually stimulating if nothing else, what with having to constantly dodge his questions and avoid offending him too much while making sure your own pride didn’t end up bruised. A raven warbled outside your window, and you cracked the window open despite the sigh of frigid air that sneaked its way into the room to feed it.

“Hello there, pretty,” you murmured, scattering an array of seeds and nuts across the windowsill and watching as the raven, one of the flock you’d so tenuously befriended, hopped across the stone and pecked at your offerings. You hadn’t expected them to be so open to human interaction, but the ravens were quite comfortable with waking you at dawn with their incessant squawking and arriving at your window in a flurry of black feathers to demand more food. You liked them, with all their melancholy glory and sharp little eyes and the symbolism of death they were so often associated with. There were worse visitors clad in ebony to have, you decided, an image of the Regrator appearing in your mind’s eye.

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