In a world where love between mortal and god was never meant to survive, can you hold on to your soul without losing him-or will you burn with the wind he breathes?
A searing, slow-burn dark-romance for fans of angst, broken gods, and desperate devotion.
⚠️ Trigger Warnings: heavy emotional distress, divine trauma, grief, identity loss, war themes, slow-burn intimacy, and power imbalance.
The wind never ceased along the cliffs, bending the vines and rattling the stone walls of the forgotten estate.
Rain fell in relentless sheets, drumming a rhythm that seemed to echo from the past. It was here, amidst tangled gardens and crumbling ruins, that the storms of desire and revenge would collide.
Scaramouche returned not as the boy who had vanished from her life, but as a figure shaped by fire and shadow, impossible to ignore, impossible to resist.
And Lumine, caught between the chaos of the storm and the gentle calm of reason, would soon learn that some passions could not be tamed - and some obsessions would not forgive.
-
Scaramouche x Wuthering Heights
A genshin impact crossover inspired by Emily Brontë's 1847 Wuthering Heights Novel.
The grass is soft beneath your fingers. The sky above you is gray, dawn-light spilling like milk through drifting mist. Somewhere behind the hill, a bird calls. Not a song. Just a sound.
You push yourself upright. Your body aches.
Windrise.
You recognize it immediately. The great oak stands like a sentinel over the valley, ancient and unmoved. Its roots pierce the earth like anchors holding something beneath the surface. Its branches stretch into the sky like arms reaching for freedom.
And yet... it feels like a cage.
The pendant around your throat is warm. Too warm. You unclasp it, but the heat lingers, radiating from your chest. It's not the metal.
It's the bond.
You drag your fingers down your sternum. Nothing is visibly wrong. But the air feels different. Tighter. There's weight in your breath that wasn't there before.
You inhale slowly.
And the wind moves with you.
Not across your skin.
Not through your hair.
It moves inside you.
You curl your fingers in the grass, fighting the swell of nausea.
Everything is wrong. Your body. Your breath. Your name.
You try to stand, but the earth tilts.
When your knees buckle, the wind steadies you.
You don't thank it.
You hate it.
-
The great tree looms above the clearing.
And in its branches, he sits.
Venti.
Cloaked in green. Limbs drawn in close. Lyre resting against his knee like a second spine. He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. From this distance, he could be a carving in the wood itself.
But you can feel him watching you.
You cross the clearing slowly.
The grass brushes your bare feet. The hem of your robe is damp with morning dew, stained dark. Every step feels like a trespass.
He doesn't look down.
Not until you speak.
"I thought you'd be gone."
No answer.
Just silence.
It stretches long enough that you start to turn away.
Then he says, "This tree is older than the city. Older than the archon statues. Older than the rites they tried to use to bind me."
He opens his eyes.
They are too bright. Too pale. Like the sky before a storm.
You force your voice to be steady. "Why here?"
"Because this is where they sang to me first," he says. "And where they stopped."
You don't understand.
He doesn't offer more than you seek.
You stare up at him, swallowed by branches, shadows, and sky.
"Why me?" you ask. "Why this?"
"I didn't choose you."
You flinch.
"But the bond—"
"—was invoked." His voice turns sharp. "Incorrectly. Stupidly. But the rite was true. And the rite calls to me, whether I want it to or not."
He says it with a kind of fury that feels not aimed at you—but at the world. At time. At the fact that he's even here. Existing.
Your throat burns. "So what now? Am I your prisoner?"
"You're my bride," he says, flatly. "The title is yours. Whether you like it or not."
You stare at him.
He doesn't flinch.
You ask, quietly, "And do you?"
His expression cracks.
Just a little.
Like something splits beneath the calm surface.
He closes his eyes again. "No."
-
Silence falls again. Windrise stood still and rustles faintly behind you, though the leaves do not move.
You sink down onto the roots of the tree and pull your knees to your chest. The wind gathers at your back, restless. It wants to press into your skin. To curl into your hair. To stay.
You want to scream. You want to claw it out with your hands. But you can't tell where it ends and where you begin anymore.
"You carry it well," Venti murmurs from the boughs above.
You glance up, an uncertain expression on across your features.
"The wind," he says. "It doesn't fight you."
"Then it's smarter than you," you say bitterly.
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. Then instantly fades.
"I had another bride," he says.
You freeze.
He hasn't looked at you.
He stares into the sky like it still owes him something.
"Her name was Celeste," he says. "Chosen when Mondstadt was still a free city, before the cathedral ever stood."
He speaks slowly. As if the words are fragile.
"She was bright. Stubborn. Always asking questions the clergy hated. She wasn't devout. She didn't kneel when they told her to. I think that's why I answered."
Your pulse stutters.
Venti leans back against the tree, eyes far away, yearning for something that simply can't be. "I didn't mean to fall in love with her."
The wind hushes.
"But I did."
He looks at you.
And the look is not cold.
It is ruined.
"She died screaming," he says. "Because mortals cannot hold divinity. Not forever."
You can't breathe.
"She was strong," he says. "So she lasted longer than most. But the bond eats. It wears. It breaks you open. And when there's nothing left but sky inside you—"
He stops.
The wind lifts a strand of your hair. Your hands are shaking.
You whisper, "So why did the rite work again?"
"I don't know."
He finally climbs down from the tree.
He lands softly, like mist.
"I buried that rite in the deepest part of my domain," he says. "Erased it from Mondstadt's records. Made a deal with Irminsul to let the bloodlines fade."
He steps closer.
You back away.
"I never thought there'd be another compatible soul. I never thought the bond could wake again."
"But it did."
"It did," he echoes.
You press a hand over your chest.
"It burns, here." you whisper, a crack in your voice.
He watches you quietly. "Yes."
"Will it kill me too?"
"I don't know."
That is worse than yes.
-
The wind swirls between you, full of questions neither of you can ask.
You hug your knees tighter.
"I didn't want this," you whisper. "I didn't want to be chosen. I didn't want to belong to anyone." As a tear threatened to fall from your eye.
Venti tilts his head. His expression softens.
"Then we are alike."
You blink.
"I never wanted to be worshipped," he says. "I never wanted to wear this shape. I only wanted to protect the people I loved."
"But you're their god."
"I'm their bard," he corrects. "That's all I ever wanted to be."
A breeze brushes against your cheek. You swat it away.
It returns anyway.
-
Hours pass.
You don't speak again.
Venti sits in the grass nearby, lyre in hand. He doesn't play. Just holds it. Like it's the only thing in the world that still listens to him.
The wind hums.
You begin to hear it.
Faint. A song with no melody. A chorus without words. It coils in your ribs, brushes against your spine.
At first, it's beautiful.
Then it isn't.
Then it won't stop.
By nightfall, you're curled in the grass, covering your ears, heart pounding. The sound won't fade. It pulses in time with your breath. It is your breath.
You cry.
You don't want to. But it comes.
Hot, helpless tears that slip down your cheeks in silence.
Venti says nothing.
But he draws closer, silently as to not startle you.
He doesn't touch you.
He doesn't hold you.
But he sets the lyre in your lap.
"Play," he says gently.
"I don't know how."
"You don't need to."
You hesitate.
Then you pluck a string.
The wind stills.
You pluck another.
It listens.
Not just listens—it responds. The sound echoes in the air, drawn out, reshaped. The chord is carried outward, like smoke curling into stars.
You close your eyes.
And for a moment, you can breathe.
-
That night, he doesn't leave.
He sleeps near the tree, cloak tucked under his head. He breathes slowly, like someone remembering how.
You don't sleep.
You lie awake, the lyre still in your lap, the wind curled like a cat around your legs.
You're standing under Windrise, beneath the ancient tree with its massive trunk and lantern-lit branches. The wind is gentle, cradling your face with curious fingers. Leaves swirl at your feet in slow spirals.
In the dream, someone calls your name.
Not sharply. Not in warning.
Soft. Familiar. Like the voice already knows you.
You never answer.
You wake before you do.
This morning, you wake to silence. Your bed is cold. The wind has vanished.
The robes they left you are white and thin, folded neatly at the edge of the bed. Beside them lies a silver pendant: Barbatos' symbol—the four-point star encircled by feathers. You hesitate before clasping it around your neck. It settles against your skin like frost.
The house is empty now. As it has been for years.
You walk out without looking back.
-
Mondstadt has never been so quiet.
You walk through familiar streets with unfamiliar eyes. The morning light is soft and golden, but it does nothing to warm the silence pressing down on the city.
People watch you from windows, behind curtains. Some pretend not to see you at all. Others press their lips together, murmuring prayers—not to protect you, but themselves.
You see the baker who used to give you extra rolls when you were small.
He doesn't wave but rather, scowls at your whole being.
You see the herbalist who once taught you the names of every flower growing outside Springvale.
She turns away.
It isn't hatred.
It's fear.
Like you've become a living omen.
-
At the Cathedral gates, Jean, the Acting Grand Master, waits.
She wears no armor, only her standard uniform and a look that has aged ten years overnight.
"You're early," she says.
You shrug. "I couldn't sleep."
Jean hesitates, then hands you a dark wool cloak. "Wear this inside. The ritual robes are ceremonial—they won't keep you warm."
You drape it over your shoulders. Whispering a "Thank you." towards Jean.
For a moment, it's quiet between the both of you.
You glance at her, eyes fixated on her puzzled face. "You don't approve of this."
"No."
"Then why let them do it?"
"Because if I stop it," she says, her voice like the edge of a blade, "I'll have to admit what he really is. And if I admit that, I have to admit we're powerless to stop him."
The air between you freezes.
You open your mouth, but Jean shakes her head. "Just... remember to breathe. Even if it feels like you can't."
Then she opens the doors and you both step inside the Cathedral.
-
It's colder inside.
Not physically. Not exactly. The air isn't freezing. It just doesn't move.
The Favonius Cathedral is built for grandeur: tall arches, golden light, stained glass windows that sing with color when the sun hits them right. But this morning, it all feels wrong. Dim. Hollow. The banners on the walls hang limp. The colors of the stained glass look dull.
You step forward.
The room is empty of worshippers.
Only the priesthood remains—five or six in ceremonial robes, gathered near the altar. Two scholars from Sumeru, murmuring to each other in clipped tones. The High Priest Emeritus, gaunt and sharp-eyed, rolls out an old scroll onto a stand near the center.
The circle on the floor gleams faintly.
It has been carved directly into the stone: etched with salt, powdered crystal, chalk and blood. The symbols pulse softly with a color that shifts as you look—white to green to a color you don't know a name for.
Jean moves to the side.
As you hesitantly step barefoot into the center of the circle.
The floor is too cold.
The priest begins the rite.
The first part is just litany. Genealogy. Bloodline affirmations. The old language sounds soft at first—rounded syllables that roll like water.
Then he reaches the Invocation.
The wind changes.
It doesn't blow. It presses. Down. Inward.
You gasp, but nothing comes.
You feel the wind in your lungs—coiling, twisting, like your breath belongs to something else.
The air sharpens.
The stone pulses.
A sudden flicker of movement—one of the Sumeru scholars steps forward, face painted in horror.
"She's reacting too early," he says. "The circle's not fully stabilized—"
"She's a match," the High Priest snaps. "The reaction is proof. We must proceed."
You want to scream.
You can't.
Your voice is mute. Your body is frozen. Not from magic. From something else. Something older. Like being watched by the sky itself.
The circle brightens.
White. Then gold.
But then the cathedral doors explode open.
Not physically. Not violently.
But utterly.
A wind like thunder rolls through the room, toppling candle stands and rattling the windows closing its curtains, blocking the outside world. The banners along the ceiling snap as if caught in a storm. The light flickers and dies.
And in the doorway—
He stands.
Slender. Cloaked in green. A feathered hat tilting in the wind.
You've seen him before. Too many times.
Venti, the windborne bard of Mondstadt.
The wine-slicked trickster. The lyre player who sings for coins and disappears for weeks without a trace. Everyone knows him. Everyone laughs at him. Everyone loves him. No one fears him.
But they should.
Because the air follows him like a leash.
He walks forward, calm as ever, even as the wind howls around him like a beast.
He steps over the threshold of the circle—
And it dies.
Instantly.
The light vanishes.
The humming stops.
You finally collapse to your knees.
-
The silence after is deafening.
You look up.
He's standing there.
Not smiling.
Not laughing.
Looking at you like he's already mourning you.
"What a terrible mistake this is," he says.
The High Priest staggers. "You—You weren't meant to appear. This wasn't summoning—it was tethering—"
"It was binding," Venti says. "You used the Rite of Bridesong. Do you know what that means?"
"She meets the qualifications. She's compatible. The bond reacted—"
"The bond should have been forgotten."
He steps closer.
His eyes are bright, too bright. Like the sky just before lightning strikes.
"You," he says, looking down at you.
"You are not supposed to exist."
You feel it again. That curl in your lungs. Not power. Not magic.
Fate.
Venti lifts a hand.
You flinch—but he doesn't touch you. His fingers hover near your chest. His eyes close.
"I should sever this now," he whispers. "Before it binds deeper. Before it consumes you."
But he doesn't.
He steps back.
The wind stills.
-
Jean is beside him now.
"You let them forget," she says, sternly. "You never told them."
"I trusted them to bury it," he says quietly. "I buried it in myself."
"You're too late," she says. "She's already bound."
"I know."
He turns to the priest.
"The bond is sealed," he says, his voice laced with venom. "Irreversible."
The priest opens his mouth.
Venti doesn't wait.
He walks toward the door and stops only once.
"She will dream in windsong now," he says, half to himself. "And she will never be able to unhear it."
Then he's gone.
The wind follows as the doors close behind him.
-
You don't stand for a long time.
No one helps you. Jean, with a sigh, walks towards you, her eyes stern with a slight hint of worry.
Jean approaches slowly and kneels beside you. "Can you breathe?" She asks.
You shake your head.
She touches your shoulder gently. "Try anyway, please."
You inhale.
But, the air tastes like him.
-
That same evening, they all take you to Windrise.
You ask why, but the others never answer.
"The circle sealed the bond," Jean explains. "But he didn't claim you. That leaves you... unanchored."
You don't understand.
But she doesn't explain further, leaving you thinking until your wits end.
-
The hill is deathly quiet.
The giant tree looms above you, its leaves rustling gently. Fireflies drift lazily in the long grass. There's no one else.
Except him.
He sits in the boughs, lyre in hand, plucking strings that do not make songs.
Not birdsong. Not voices. Not machines or distant footsteps or the low hum of a healer's ward.
Only wind.
Sharp, restless, living wind. It presses against your skin before your eyes even open. Cold, biting. Like something waiting for you to move. Like something that's been watching.
You try to sit up. Your limbs scream. Your head throbs.
You were supposed to be asleep. Still dreaming.
You remember falling.
You remember her—Celeste, her voice a ribbon around your throat, a lullaby made of thunder. You remember her eyes before they closed.
And then nothing.
Fourteen years. Gone.
They tell you you haven't aged a day.
They tell you it's a miracle.
They don't tell you why the wind has followed you since.
They don't tell you why your name is missing from every prayer, every hymn, every statue.
The wind does not leave you alone.
You walk through Mondstadt like a ghost. The cobblestones remember you, but the people don't. They smile too kindly, too carefully. Like you're something fragile. Like they're afraid they'll shatter you if they speak too loud.
Even Jean looks at you like she's speaking to a memory.
You ask for the year. You regret it.
Everything hurts.
Everything has changed.
And the world keeps moving like it doesn't even notice you've come back.
But the wind notices.
Always.
It moves when you move. It stills when you cry. Sometimes it whispers in your ears when you're alone—not words, but a sound so familiar you ache.
It knows something you don't.
And it wants you to remember.
-
You meet him on the third day.
He doesn't introduce himself.
He doesn't have to.
The lyre gives him away first, followed by the green. His eyes. His hood. The strange, lazy smile.
The songs.
He sings in the plaza like he doesn't care who listens. He hums like the world isn't falling apart under your feet.
You hate him instantly.
But the wind curls around him like it knows him.
And when he sings your name into the air, no one hears it but you.
You freeze.
He winks.
The wind keens behind him like a secret you've tried too hard to forget.
-
He starts to follow you.
Or maybe it's the other way around.
You don't notice it at first—the way he's there when the storms come. When the crowds get too loud. When the silence gets worse than the noise.
He never asks questions.
He never makes you talk.
He just plays.
Sometimes, when you're shaking, he sits beside you and hums until your bones stop aching.
And when you ask him why he won't just leave you alone, he only says:
"Because the wind chose you."
You don't understand.
You don't want to.
But a part of you remembers.
The sound.
The storm.
The promise made in a place the gods have long since buried.
-
The nights grow colder.
The stars seem brighter.
The dreams come harder.
You see her again—Celeste, her white veil soaked in blood, reaching for you from a cliff made of sky.
You hear her voice, but not the words.
You wake with the wind screaming in your lungs.
He's there every time.
He never asks what you saw.
You never tell him.
You don't have to.
He already knows.
-
It starts with a melody.
Low.
Lonely.
Ancient.
It curls beneath your skin like a memory you never asked for. The moment he plays it, something burns in your chest. Not pain—recognition.
You ask him what it is.
He smiles. "A lullaby for those the sky forgot."
And then he calls you by name.
Not your given name.
The one you buried.
The one no one remembers.
The one she gave you.
The one the wind stole the day you fell.
You flinch.
He keeps playing.
And the air wraps around you like arms.
Like wings.
Like warning.
-
You try to leave Mondstadt.
You don't get far.
The moment you cross the bridge, the wind knocks you to your knees.
You think it's grief.
You think it's guilt.
But when he finds you on the dirt path hours later, he kneels beside you and whispers:
"It won't let you go."
You stare at him.
He looks tired.
Sad.
Older than he ever lets himself appear.
You whisper, "What am I?"
And for the first time, his voice cracks:
"Mine."
-
The bond begins in silence.
No spell. No ritual.
Just two names, spoken in the same breath, under a sky that cannot forget.
Yours.
And his.
Barbatos.
The god of freedom.
The god of wind.
The god who chose you—not to save the world, but to save himself.
And when he seals the vow, your ribs burst with sound.
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 his female best friend tries to help him win your love, but knowing her, it all goes wrong
feat. lyney, neuvillette, ayato ( separate )
note. gn reader, features : lynette, furina, ayaka. hello i am officially back and also officially 21 !! :]
LYNEY.
“Oh, woe is me! Please assist, my dearest sister!” The magician sat sprawled atop the couch quite dramatically, backhand over his forehead feigning feverish feelings. “Whatever shall I do when the God of Romance is plotting against a hopeless romantic, such as I?”
“What’s wrong this time?” By contrast, his sister’s voice proved no fluctuations, tone lacking the honeyed sound he needed for sympathy. Instead of catering to his sorrows, she instead sipped lightly at her tea, for it was far more relaxing than her brother’s ‘woes.’
Still, Lyney sighed. “The love of my life—my soulmate!” he cried out. “How should I win the affections of my other half, when I can’t even grasp the scale of romantic favor?”
“Desserts.”
Lyney sat up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Give desserts,” Lynette shrugged. “Everyone likes desserts.” This reasoning totally made the most sense to her.
She watched as Lyney started at her blankly for just a moment, and then he inhaled sharply. “So I should… use desserts as my gift…” With each passing word, Lynette watched as a staggering excitement in his voice grew tenfold. “And then, if I keep giving their favorite treats”—Lyney gasped—“they’ll start to associate the sweetness with me! Oh, Lynette, you’re a genius!”
Lynette blinked at him. That strategy explanation was not what she said at all, but whatever. Not her problem.
But when Lyney dragged her by the hand to go purchase desserts, and then forced her to sit down at the cafe just to watch him gift treats to you, then maybe it was her problem.
“A very special dessert!” he presented, and Lynette sat with disinterest as she watched your eyes light up at his cheap old appearance trick. “For a very special person.” And now came her own eye roll—caused by the way Lyney giggled to himself at the end of his own sentence.
Maybe it was charming ( but personally Lynette didn’t see the appeal ), because there was a sparkle that appeared in your eyes in admiration of him. And suddenly, Lynette didn’t understand why he was trying to win your love at all, because it’s clear to her that he’s already won it.
“This is for me?” she heard you say. “This is actually my favorite! Oh, Lyney, you shouldn’t have!”
“Don’t even worry,” she watched Lyney wave off. “It was given to me for free at the shop”—Huh?—“and I have no space for it”—What was he…?—“so I thought you might like it!”
Lynette blinked to herself. Then she blinked to herself again. And then one more time, and now Lyney was back to her spot with you no longer in sight. “How did I do?” Lyney excitedly questioned her. “A good start, right? Step one of your idea to get my crush to become obsessed with me is complete!”
Okay first of all, that was literally not her idea, but maybe she should’ve communicated it better. And second, “Why did you lie? That dessert wasn’t free—You specifically bought it to give to them.”
Lyney immediately raised a finger with that confident smirk of his. “Because, my dear sister,” he began, “it’s called playing hard to get.”
If she could sigh, she would. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am! And I’m taking this game very seriously, too. Do you know how hard it is to keep my cool when I’m around the love of my life?!”
“Playing hard to get just makes it harder to get someone, Lyney. They might lose interest and move on.” But still, Lyney insisted. And still, Lynette just silently rolled her eyes.
The next time this happened was literally only a day later. So much for playing “hard to get,” she supposes. Perhaps Lyney didn’t quite fully understand the scope of how suspicious it was to offer you another “free dessert” only a day later. Or, he was just so lovestruck he absolutely could not wait to talk to you again.
Lynette decided the answer to be the latter option.
And once again, he claimed not to buy this dessert on his own, and Lynette did not miss the obvious eyebrow raise you gave her brother this time. You were still grateful since it was your favorite, of course, but it was rather clear you were beginning to question this. Lynette sighed to herself.
“Lynette!” Lyney called excitedly once he left you. “Oh, dear sister, did you see it this time? She stayed with me a bit longer—grabbing the plate much more slowly. She must have been at the start of falling in love with—!” Lyney stopped when he saw the empty seat. “Uh, Lynette?”
Farther away, you suddenly yelped in surprise, almost dropping the plated dessert in your hands.
“Sorry,” Lynette mumbled. Oops, she didn’t mean to scare you. But… maybe appearing in your field of sighs so suddenly once you turned a corner and coming from a darkened alleyway was not the most subtle.
“It’s alright,” you brushed of. “Oh, you must be Lynette, right? Lyney’s sister!”
“Correct.” Ah, how would she bring this up? She was never really the best with words… And definitely not when she had to use a lot of them. “Um, my brother,” she started. “Don’t mind him being weird.”
At the mention of her brother being weird ( perhaps she should defend him, but whatever, he was being weird. ), you seemed to relax. “Yeah…” you trailed off. “He’s been giving me these desserts lately—didn’t seem too coincidental that he keeps getting them for ‘free’… Especially since they’re, um, not even having a promotion right now.”
Again, if Lynette could wack her brother on the head right now, she would.
“He likes you.”
The sudden shock on your face tells Lynette that maybe she shouldn’t have said that so bluntly. Or that she shouldn’t have said that. At all.
“You’re a very dear friend to him,” she correct. Oh, wait, but she didn’t want to completely shut off the idea of romance. Correct it again, quick. “Or, very dear person… Yeah.”
You stayed quiet for a moment, probably trying to process the amount of confessions and corrections she just shot at you. Archons, you probably thought her and her brother were so weird. Unfortunately, she couldn’t blame you.
“Thanks, Lynette,” you said, and she noticed your feet shift to walk away. “Actually, I think I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
Well, Lyney certainly hoped you would. She just silently watched as you walked off. But she wasn’t worried, no. As long as you spoke of this “next time,” Lynette was sure her brother would eventually succeed with you, even if he was being weird at this game.
NEUVILLETTE.
The thing that gets Furina the most excited—absolutely elated, much shown in the way she kicks her feet and patters her fingers—is the fact that her dear Iudex has no idea he’s so in love with you.
To not only her, but also the rest of Fontaine, word is quick to spread with the simple way his feet always end up turned in your direction, or how lips curve a slight upwards motion when he speaks to you. Or, the way his feelings of admiration brings out the colors in his eyes, and the shyer tone in which he laughs along with you.
And Furina, being the bestest of friends she certainly is, only wants what’s best for the Chief Justice, truly! It’s such a downer seeing him be a quiet, unsociable, hard-to-get-along-with loner all the time. And so, the moment she catches wind of his feelings, she is more than quick to come up with a way to loop the two of you together.
She pats herself in the back. She’s confident that he’ll totally thank her for all her efforts later.
This confidence still yet remains even when she has you standing up nervously on trial, wide eyes a bit scared to be accused of a crime by the Hydro Archon herself. And Neuvillette atop his seat looks exasperated, much so in a way the audience is always eyeing him with fluttering eyes and chattering whispers—because the Iudex is looking at you with such a public display of concern that he has never been known to show another on trial.
Oh, she could already see the Steambird’s morning headlines! Chief Justice Neuvillette casts eyefuls of worry towards the accused?! Or, The Iudex’s rumored lover: Accused by Lady Furina?! —Oh, oh! She was so excited!
Amidst her internal giggles was when Neuvillette’s cane came hammered down on the wooden floor of his balcony seat, silencing every voice in the Opera Epiclese. “Furina,” his voice scatters as firm as ever, though the Archon could some people gasp to themselves—Ah, she could always trust her people to spot even the slightest difference in his voice; He was clearly angrier today! “I believe you have some explaining to do.”
“Is it not obvious, my dear Iudex?” she loudly proclaimed as if acting in a performance. Her voice was playful and teasing as always, and she could tell Neuvillette was much more annoyed by it than usual today. “I am pressing charges against a darling citizen, yet a criminal over here…!”
And that was when she threw the back of her hand over her forehead for dramatic effect, making you only more nervous upon your stand. Such an increase in your fear was clearly noticeable to the Iudex, of course, as he immediately spoke to silence the Archon accusing you.
“And what would those charges entail, Furina?”
There was a sudden glare in his eyes, almost threatening. But oh well, nothing he could do—She knew he would stick by the law and allow her to make her claim anyways. This was so easy, she could almost laugh to herself!
“For…”
Oh, celebration was already at the back of her mind!
“Murder!”
…Holy shit. Oh Archons. She was supposed to say theft. “Theft,” for stealing Neuvillette’s heart. But instead she slipped up and said murder.
Oh, she can’t take that back now. But… But no worries! She was the beloved Archon that had absolutely no issues performing for her people—ergo, she could totally come up with a new plan! Certainly, a single-word slip-up will surely not mess up her entire pickup line here.
“Yes, you heard me,” she played along, hands balling to fists and dramatically sitting at her hips. “Murder!”
“Furina!” Neuvillette silenced from his place below on the podium. Never before has she seen his facial expression this angered. There was a furrow between his brows that betrayed his usually calm and emotionless look—and aw, she thought it was so romantic for him to show these emotions so outwardly just for you! The audience must love his display of passion right now—all to defend your honor! “What is the meaning of this?” his voice boomed.
Furina cleared her throat. “Murder…” she began to make her case against you. You, who looked up at her so fearfully. She almost felt bad. “For… For breathing…!” Wait, that’s not what she meant. “No, no, like murder… of breath— of my breath— no, of Neuvillette’s breath, I mean—” Okay, at this point, she just needed to spit something out. And that was when she raised a finger, pointing it accusingly down at you and making her claim: “You killed Neuvillette!”
The next instance was filled with a silence so deafeningly powerful that she felt her own stomach churn and her knees grow shaky. Well, this was definitely an embarrassment she hopes to never feel again.
Surely, this silence wasn’t awkward enough for her land the finishing blow…?
“Like, you stole his breath away…” she tried. “So you technically killed him.”
Okay maybe it was time for her to shut up.
Neuvillette’s face; oh, he looked absolutely furious. This was not the picture-perfect sight of cherry tomato blushing she was hoping for here. And you: a horror-stricken disbelief. Your mind looked like it was racing to comprehend both being charged with such a serious crime, and having the Chief Justice just randomly outed in public for… having a crush on you…?
Meanwhile Furina stood still in her usual place, just about ready to curl up and die from her failed attempt at a love confession. But before that, perhaps Celestia heard her prayers.
The audience pretty much erupted in girlish screams and whispers—all those watchful citizens of Fontaine who treated your relationship with Neuvillette like the hottest topic of the century, like the storybook romance they were reading obsessively. And now, Furina watched—watched as your expression contorted to slow realization that maybe your Archon wasn’t exactly lying about Neuvillette’s feelings, and that maybe almost the entire nation was already romanticizing you two.
And then, there: that was when Furina watched as your face blew up an expression of pure embarrassment, all the fear being completely wiped away. Then Furina could almost die when she turned her gaze to Neuvillette—who was still watching you very intently—and how the ends of his ears turned a blushing red.
Oh, this view was priceless. Once again, perfect Focalors saves the day!
KAMISATO AYATO.
Thoma clicked his tongue. “Tall and awkward.” He squinted his eyes. “Practically unrecognizable in Inazuma despite your status.” Then, he tilted his head. “Absolutely terrible at small talk.”
Finally, Thoma nodded his head. “Yep, you don’t have a chance, my Lord.”
Thoma yelped as a paper fan hit his shoulder, and that was when Ayaka slid at the seat next to him. He made a quick apology to her, but when Ayaka looked across the table, she saw how her older brother didn’t seem quite phased at Thoma’s mean evaluation at all.
Instead, he seemed to be really considering what was told to him.
“Oh, brother,” Ayaka caught his attention. “Don’t listen to Thoma, he was only being mean. Personally, I think you have a good chance at winning this date!”
“No, no, Thoma might be right,” Ayato pondered. Aw, Ayaka didnt like it when he doubted himself. “All of those traits may make this date go horribly wrong—I might end up appearing as undesirable…”
Ayaka frowned. She may not have a love life of her own, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t watching her brother’s love life like an Inazuman drama act or like a romantic storybook. And the fact that Ayato has downright fallen tremendously hard for you—who Ayaka also loved dearly, and who she admired so much—makes her pray to the Archons every night for your relationship to set sail.
So Ayato scoring this first date with you was already a big deal on its own. Only… He wasn’t quite sure what date plan would make him the most appealing man to be courting you.
Of course, who else could he turn to, other than his darling best friend and sister? Ayaka certainly had no expertise in this, but if there was one thing…
“Brother, please take this!” Across the table, she shoved a stack of just a few papers, slightly faded and lightly wrinkled, into his hands. He blinked in surprise at them for a moment before squinting at the rushed handwriting that clearly did not belong to his sister. “The Traveler gave this to me; It’s a recipe for a pizza dish from Mondstadt!
And that was how she ended up here, watching with Thoma from the sidelines of the estate as Ayato gives you the friendliest smile can force upon himself as he offers to make the both of you food. Now, the last time Ayaka tried this, she blew up the oven with the Traveler in earshot. But surely, she knew her brother had much better survival skills than she did, and there was no way he would ruin a perfectly easy pizza recipe.
But then Thoma almost burst out laughing from their secluded hiding spot, and that was when she noticed her brother bringing out not one, but instead two platters of pizza. A rather odd aroma in the air. Oh.
“I thought we’d spice things up!” they heard Ayato say to you, clasping his gloved hands together and regaining his weird, excited smile and that equally weird, excited tone in his voice. Oh brother… “One pizza is normal, and the other pizza has random toppings I threw on it—as a taste test!”
And when he set the two down, it was… quite interesting. One was a normal mushroom pizza, cooked based on Traveler’s recipe: Ayato certainly made it much better than Ayaka could’ve attempted. But the second pizza was topped with a rather colorful palette: lavender melons, sea grass, and what looked like Sea Ganoderma. Ayaka and Thoma already found themselves gagging at the smell.
When Ayaka glanced at her blonde companion, he was furiously shaking his head at her, running a thumb straight across his throat as if saying “It’s over for him.” And honestly, Ayaka might have to agree this time. Maybe she should’ve never given him that pizza recipe or that cooking idea.
“A ‘taste test’…” you echoed. The two eavesdroppers heard shifts from your side do the table, meaning you reached forward to grab a slice—they quite obviously guessed you picked the regular mushroom pizza. “The host should go first, don’t you think?”
Oh? Did that mean you were interested in this game of two after all? Ayaka’s eyes practically lit up—She was so excited for her brother!
“I’ll take up that offer of yours,” Ayato chuckled lowly. And with no gag or hesitance at all, he takes a large bite with a whole unsavory mixture of the ingredients entering the cave of his mouth. “Mm, not bad at all.”
You were visibly surprised by his calmness, now reaching out to grab a slice of your own and biting it just as he did.
But almost immediately, that bite was spat right back out onto a napkin at the mere taste of this weird concoction. “Bleh, Lord Commissioner! How did you manage to eat a whole slice?!”
The first thing Ayaka and Thoma noticed: The way you said this was amidst laughter. You were laughing, and it even sounded like you were smiling. Because whenever Ayato tried this sort of gross mixing method with Thoma or Ayaka, they would also say the same line of disgust, but in an unfavorable way. But, no—You sounded genuinely lighthearted?
The second thing Ayaka and Thoma noticed ( from even the slightest of peeks ): The big, bona fide grin on Ayato’s face at your reaction. Oh, he was absolutely eating this up, as no one ever showed a positive reaction to his weird little hobby before. And of course, being partnered with the fact he was ( not-so ) secretly in love with you, only made it so much better for him.
“It was alright, I’d say!” he spoke excitedly, a hint of an uncontrollable laughter and uncontrollable smile laced in his voice. “It had the most memorable texture, and the taste felt like I was in touch with mother nature.”
You only scoffed at him in a joking manner, “None of those ‘compliments’ of yours weren’t inherently positive, Commissioner.”
To that, he gave you another big grin before silently reaching to eat yet another slice of this suspicious pizza. Well, Ayaka supposed her brother’s weirdness landing a perfect date with you, after all. And then she pat herself on the back—because maybe, giving him that recipe was the best mistake she could make.
// not proofread ;; THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FUNNIER THAN INTENDED. BUT IM BAD AT BEING FUNNY :(
THAWED (MASTERLIST) — the lyney childhood-enemies-to-frenemies-to-lovers-kinda series that no one asked for, ft. fluff, a whole lot of bickering, flirting, and everything in between
STATUS. complete.
OTHER INFO.
DISCLAIMER. will contain spoilers. this series will be as dark as genshin lore can be, and this won’t strictly follow genshin’s actual lore—i’ll be making up a lot of stuff for the sake of the fic so there will be inaccuracies, NOT CANON COMPLIANT!! the timeline of events will be vastly different. each chapter will have their own warnings as well, so keep an eye out for that!
NOTES. hello, everyone !!!!!!! welcome to my lyney series inspired by taylor’s reputation album. how it works is each chapter will be titled after each song off of the album as u can see below,,, hope u enjoy reading as excited i am for rep tv!! :D
tysm to naosaki and kruinka for helping me brainstorm w this fic (and also helping me when i was visibly all over the place because of this series)
CHAPTERS.
i — are you ready for it?
The House of the Hearth was perfect. This was where you thrived—where no one else could take this feeling away. But then Lynette became a part of the ‘family’, and with it, she dragged along Lyney.
ii — i don’t wanna hurt you (i just wanna be)
You look more like a soldier than an orphan, Lyney thinks. It’s beautiful in all the wrong ways.
iii — you gotta leave before you get left
Desperately, Lyney melts them away, but your footsteps have already gone out of earshot. It’s an answer in itself: Don’t bother. Take the hint, Lyney; you already messed it up.
iv — for you i would fall from grace
“What now? What do you want me to do? Strut back into their lives and demand all their Fatui secrets as if I never left?”
Aether nestles into his seat. “Prove to me that I can trust them just as much as you do. Who knows, you might get something out of this, too.”
v — you must like me for me
Lyney laughs. It sounds like music that has haunted you for years—and with a new one playing, it’ll torment you for years more. He loosens his grip but keeps you caged in, still. You’re twirled around to face him, and something about his expression has you swallowing thickly.
“You’re even more stunning than I remember, ma chérie.”
vi — look what you made me do
You frown at him, your face upside down in his view. “That was unfair.”
“I have to be if I want to beat you.”
vii — all eyes on you, my magician
He doesn’t take his eyes off you, even once when his fingers reached out to fish out a champagne flute. Lyney still has that stupid smile on his face, the rim of his glass against his lips. You’re hit with the startling realization that you want to kiss him.
Fuck, what?
viii — you’ve ruined my life, by not being mine
“You’re so warm,” you murmur to his skin.
Goosebumps blossom all over his body. Your face brushes against the side of his neck. “Do you hate it?”
“I like it. My hands are cold. Every part of you is warm.”
ix — us traitors never win
Lyney knew that this would happen. He knew well enough to predict what ‘Father’ would make them do, but still—
“We understand,” Lynette says, her eyes darting down to Lyney’s clenched fists.
The Knave stares at Lyney, and the strength of her stare has Lyney lowering his eyes to the floor. “Do you?” she asks. They wisely stay silent: Lynette’s hesitance and Lyney’s frustration. “Then I trust this won’t happen any longer.”
x — king of my heart, body and soul
You bit back the bite of ice and wondered how ironic it was that every time your Vision acted out, it was, more often than not, tied to Lyney.
“What, so you expect me to believe you’d just go against your ‘Father’ like that?”
xi — baby can we dance, through an avalanche?
Lyney supposes he can’t hate Aether that much for that. And selfishly, Lyney supposes he can’t truly hate Aether because he brought you back to him. In a vague sense of camaraderie, Lyney understands.
xii — there is an indentation in the shape of you
And so you two stand face to face with your old home, the House of the Hearth. It still had the same grand doors you remember, the same living room, and the same fireplace, but the emptiness was unfamiliar. It was unsettling, like a bad dream.
This used to be your home.
xiii — he built a fire just to keep me warm
“I think it’s special. We’re twins, Lyney and I, but I think if I were in his body for even a day, I wouldn’t be able to recreate what you two have. He treasures you deeply, more than you know.”
xiv — hold on to the memories, and i will hold onto you
fin.
END NOTE.
thawed related tags you might want to check out:
#thawed fanart <3
#thawed memes i want to hang in a museum
of course, if you want to check out akagi's series of mind boggling fanart:
#akagi0021 carrying the entirety of thawed
FANART COMPILATION
our favorite akagi0021 has been blessing me with THAWED fanart (!!!) and i decided that i need to compile all of them for me and to make YOU see the art as well... BECAUSE THEY'RE ALL SO GOOD (with permission of course)
CH 1 | reader's new outfit reveal
CH 2 | lyney doesn’t know how he looks at reader
lyney and MC height difference before/after IM ON MY KNEES theyre so cute
CH 4 | aether and paimon confronting reader
bonus fanart of lyney and reader after training :(( so cute
CH 5 | lyney seeing reader!!!!!! aahhh his eyes
lyney as a kid and then lyney now (grown up) THIS ONE IS INSANE. little lyney is so adorable but then look at the lyney now
CH 6 | LOOK AT THIS ONE!! scene of lyney saying “she’s hiding something” except akagi made him unnecessarily sexy wtf
CH 7 | drunk reader driving lyney crazy... (i went crazy)
CH 8 | "lyney's not my boyfriend" ; the ending scene with childe, aether, and reader!! they all look so good T__T
CH 10 | lyney's "i would. i would for you" OUGH YESS
++ ADDITIONAL!!!
and look at this so so so adorable collection of doodles of chapter six by sunny @emanami !!! her artstyle is to live for its SO cute (look at the siblings!!!)
more of sunny's cute drawings: thawed!mc biting lyney's cheek like what i want to do
look at @lacrimae-lotos's version of mc!!!! SO CUTE look at her piercings and her eyes aahhhh
akagi's art dump from different chapters | theyre all so cutue im sobbing i love akagis mc and lyney so much T__T (LYNEY BRAIDING MC'S HAIR)
lyney doing the stretch tactic ohh he is so slick
modern au with akagi's thawed!mc and lyney at the beach i fainted
++ LOOK AT AKAGI'S VERSION OF MC! shes so lovely
design headcanons (theyre all so precious)
akagi's reader as a genshin char !!
reader's outfit for chapter seven SO PRETTY
thawed!mc's eyepatch lore... aether is so silly
akagi's au where mc never left the house and they're enemies to lovers yes yes yes yesyse
SEASON ONE: We only see each other at weddings and funerals
ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟﾟ ⋆
New York, 2019.
"So, I figured we could have a sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown." Luther started, standing up straight to gather everyone's attention. "Say a few words to Dad and Mika, just at Dad's favourite spot."
"Wait, why are you including Mika in the memorial service? She's not even dead." Vanya asked Luther her eyes narrowing coldy, upset that he was pronouncing her sister dead when they all have no information on her status.
"Dad had a favourite spot?" Allison asked brushing off the topic of their sister, and faked a surprised look that their stone cold father took a liking to something. "You know, under the oak tree." The big man replied.
"We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever did that?" He asked, genuinely curious that perhaps none of his other siblings spent time with dear old Reggie.
"Will there be refreshments?" Klaus drunkenly walked to the couches, each hand was carrying some sort of alcohol that he found in the cupboards of the bar he was in a few minutes ago. "Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner." He finished, taking the attention off of Luther, smoking a cigar as he was about to sit beside Vanya.
As the siblings continue to bicker around whether or not they stole each other's stuff, stop smoking because their father never allowed it, alcohol splashing due to Klaus' unstable hands, Luther sighed and spoke up.
"Listen up. Still some important things that we need to discuss, all right?"
"Like what?" Diego asked, uninterested and focused on the shine of his knives instead.
"Like the way he died." Luther finished, Diego took a deep breath, looked down, and whispered, "And here we go."
The siblings continued to discuss the possible ways their father died, throwing questions here and there, if the cause was a heart attack or murder.
Luther finally turned to Klaus, "Look, I know you don't like to do it, but I need you to talk to Dad." Klaus' eyes widened at his request, pointing to himself, silently asking if he was the one that Luther was talking to.
"I can't just call Dad in the afterlife and be like, 'Dad, could you just... stop playing tennis with Hitler for a moment and take a quick call?'" He teased his brother, Luther, fed up with Klaus' shenanigans asked him, "Since when? That's your thing."
"I'm not in the right... frame of mind." Klaus, holding a glass of alcohol replied to Luther.
"You're high?" Allison cut him off, breathing the silence she was sitting in since the whole conversation started.
Laughing at his sister's retort, he cheered, "Yeah! Yeah!" Gesturing his hand around to all his siblings, "I mean, How are you not, listening to all this nonsense?"
"Well, sober up, this is important." Luther comanded, authority lingering in his tone.
At that point in the conversation, the monocle was brought up once again, Diego and Luther going head-to-head in their argument about the tiny piece glass, debating if it was important or not. Something snapped in Diego, realizing what Luther was hinting at.
"Where are you going with this?" Klaus asked, so done with the all the talking Luther was doing.
"Oh, isn't it obvious, Klaus? He thinks one of us killed Dad." Diego stated, looking up at his taller brother in the eyes, Luther swallowing the lump that was in his throat due to Diego's blunt announcement.
The other siblings in the room looked at Luther, dissapointment was clear in their eyes. "How could you think that?" Vanya finally spoke.
"Great job, Luther. Way to lead." Diego taunted.
Luther's siblings were fed up with all of his accusations, feeling betrayed by her own brother, Vanya stood up to leave the common room and Diego followed suit.
With a sigh, Klaus stood up, alcohol in his right hand and the cigarette in his left, he didn't even glance at Luther to have the last word. "You're crazy, man. You're crazy."
"Okay, well, sorry, I'm just gonna go murder Mom. Be right back." Klaus' voice echoed as he exited the room.
Allison was the last to stand up, walks past Luther and completely ignored his calls to any of his siblings.
-
17 years ago.
Somewhere, 2002.
Outside of a national bank, to what seems like a crime scene, a news reporter stood tall, mic in hand, relaying the news to a live camera.
"This is Jim Hellerman, reporting live for Channel 2 News outside of the Capital West bank at Main and Sixth. A group of heavily armed men stormed the bank not three hours ago and took an unknown number of hostages."
The bank was a scene of chaos. Alarms blared, hostages cowered in fear, and armed robbers barked orders. The Umbrella Academy siblings, clad in their distinctive uniforms, burst through the main doors, ready to take action.
Luther, the powerhouse of the group, led the charge. He immediately engaged the nearest robbers, using his immense strength to hurl them across the room. They crashed into walls and furniture, their weapons scattering.
Allison entered the scene with her poised demeanor, stepped forward. She locked eyes with one of the gunmen. "I heard a rumor," she said with a chilling calmness, "that you shot your friend in the foot." The gunman's expression glazed over, and he turned, firing his weapon at his accomplice. The other hostages gasped in shock as the scene unfolded.
Meanwhile, Diego continued to dispatch enemies with his knives, relishing the chaos. "Guns are for sissies," he shouted over the din. "Real men throw knives!"
In the main lobby, Five picked up a stapler from a nearby desk. He examined it for a moment before smirking, blinking to replace the gun that the robber was holding with the stapler. "Hey, that's one badass stapler." He quipped, as he teleported in front of the robber and using the stapler to knock him out, giving Mika, who was standing next to the counter, a high five.
Five and Mika moved together like a well-oiled machine. Five blinked in and out of existence, teleporting short distances to disarm and confuse the robbers. Mika, with a mischievous smile, followed closely behind. She caught the eye of a particularly nervous gunman.
"Hey cutie," she cooed, her voice carrying a melodic, enchanting quality. "Want to hear a song?" The gunman hesitated, lowering his weapon, entranced by her voice. Five seized the opportunity, appearing beside the distracted man and knocking him out with a swift punch.
The Umbrella Academy kids all gathered up in front of an office, Ben, a bit hesitant to do what he had to, asked his siblings, "Do we really have to do this?"
Before he entered the office, he sighed and held the door knob, "I didn't sign up for this."
Ben finally enters the bank's office area, summoned his monstrous tentacles. The spectral limbs lashed out, grabbing robbers and slamming them into walls. Papers and office supplies flew everywhere as the robbers struggled in vain against the powerful appendages.
After the blood curling screams died down, the door was slightly pushed opened to reveal a little bloodied Ben, he quietly asked his siblings who were waiting patiently outside, "Can we go home now?"
The reporter from earlier was still live, "People are coming out now, It's not the armed robbers. These are young schoolchildren in uniforms with masks on. This is Jim Hellerman, Channel 2 News."
The seven kids were posing outside of the bank, and as reporters surrounded them, Mika got a bit frightened with the amount of camera flashes directed at them.
Five, who was between Mika and Ben, shifted in front of Mika slightly to cover her from the flashing lights. He turned his head a bit to look at her and called out, "Hey, its okay. I got you."
Mika greatly appreciated the gesture as the reporters continue to call out to them, "How did you get in the bank?" or "What happened inside?"
On the roof of a building stood Sir Reginald Hargreeves with this scope, watching his other children from afar. Vanya, who stood beside her father asked, "Why can't I go play with the others?"
"We've been through this before, Number Seven." Her father replied to her, slowly lowering the scope that he was looking into. "I'm afraid there's just nothing special about you."
"Oh." Was all Vanya could ever say.
Sir Reginald went down from the rooftop he was staying at to make his way through all the reporters, standing proudly in front of the Umbrella Academy.
"Our world is changing. Has changed." He started his announcement as cameras aggressively flashed, taking millions of photos of the eccentric billionaire. Five, worried about the girl behind him, extended his hand towards her, hoping that the little gesture would calm her nerves.
"There are some among us gifted with abilities far beyond the ordinary. I have adopted seven such children." He paused, building up the suspension in the air.
"I give you the inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy."
SEASON ONE: We only see each other at weddings and funerals
ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟﾟ ⋆
New York, 2019.
Vanya paced the common room of their mansion, glancing at the old posters and magazines of her siblings. Something caught her eye, hidden within a bookshelf was her book titled; EXTRA ORDINARY: My Life as Number Seven. Written by Vanya Hargreeves.
She took the book from the shelf, turning the book to read the description printed on the back. Opening the book to a note she had written for her father.
'Dad,
I figured, why not?
- V.'
Pogo, coming from the lobby, turned his head to find Vanya. "Welcome home, Ms. Vanya."
In a quick motion, Vanya turned to Pogo and addressed him with familiarity. "Pogo." Walking over to him to give a warm hug. "Hmm." Pogo patted her back as a sign of comfort.
"So good to see you." He said as they both pulled away from the hug. He saw the book in her hand. "Ah, yes, your autobiography."
"Do you know, um..." Vanya started hesitantly, looking down at the book that was in her hand. "Did he ever read it?"
"Not that I'm aware of." Pogo shook his head.
She shook her head and looked off to the side, her eyes finally landing on the portrait above the fireplace, the portrait of Number Five.
"How long has it been since Five disappeared?" She asked Pogo as her body fully turned to face the fireplace. The sound of burning wood crackling, easing the silence that surrounded them.
"Its been 16 years, 4 months, and 14 days."
"What about Mika? Is she still here?" She asked, a bit hopeful to hopefully hear that she is still, atleast, breathing.
"Yes, Ms. Vanya. She's still somewhere inside of this house. As for Number Five, your father insisted that I keep track." Pogo replied.
"You wanna know something stupid? Mika and I used to always leave the lights open for him, and on the days that I would forget, she would do it herself.
Mika was so afraid that he would come back, it would be late, and the house would be dark, and he wouldnt be able to find us, so he'd leave again. So, she insisted that I come along with her.
Every night, we'd make a little snack and make sure all the lights were on, and it stopped as Mika..." Vanya reminisced, looking back at all the times where she and her sister sat and waited for Five to come back, hours into the night.
"Oh, I remember your snacks. I'm pretty sure I stepped in half those peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches." Pogo and Vanya shared a small laugh about it.
He glanced slightly at the painting and turned to Vanya. "Your father always believed that Number Five was still out there somewhere. He never lost hope."
"And look where that got him." She replied, a frown settling in her face.
-
Somewhere in the academy, Allison slides open a door to what seems like an old office, papers scattered across the desks, ink spilled on the floor, and files were everywhere.
She walked in and a common memory that all the siblings shared, flashed.
'Sir Reginald Hargreeves was working on his desk, scribbling away in a notebook, his pen making noises as he wrote down notes fast.
There was a knock on the door and without looking up, he sensed that someone walked in the room.
"The children are ready for bed, sir. They wanted to say goodnight." Grace, their beautiful mechanic mother announced, turning around to fetch the children, our dear old Reggie, still scribbling away in his notebook.
Sliding the door open, Grace motions to the children, their smiling faces brought a light into the academy, a light that soon, will never come back.
Once they saw that their father was still busy, the smiles on their lovely faces disappeared one by one. Grace sighed as she saw their father shake his head, still engrossed in what he was writing.
"Okay! Time for bed now, kids. Come along now." She cheerfully said, gesturing for the kids to leave. "Come along now."
You'd think that all of the kids left but no, Mika was still standing in the doorway. "Come along now, Mika, your father's busy. Five? Please, take Mika with you."
"He's always busy." Mika whispered silently, as she let Five pull her away from the office door. Once again, leaving Sir Reginald Hargreeves, writing in peace.'
Allison shook her head, shaking away the memory that flashed as she walks deeper into their father's old office. Slowly pushing forward as she hears rumbling from under the desk.
"Where's the cash, Dad?" There was whispering happening under the desk. Allison creeped up closer, suspicion was written all over her face. "Where's the cash?"
"Klaus? What are you doing in here?" Oh, would you look at that, Number Four, Klaus Hargreeves, was caught.
"Oh! Allison! Wow, is that you?" Klaus greeted his sister, standing up from under the desk. "Hey, come here." He was pulling Allison into a hug.
"Long time. Too long. Hey, I was hoping to see you, actually, because I wanted to get your autograph. Add it to my collection!" He put his hands under his chin, acting so sweet.
Allison saw the medical bracelet on his hand. "Just out of rehab?" Klaus denied and kept repeating it. "No. I'm done with all that."
"I just came down here to prove to myself that the old man was really gone." He started to fake his tears, Allison was still standing him with an amused face.
"And he is! He's dead. Yeah!" Klaus clapped his hands.
Their bickering continued until it was stopped by none other than Luther, who was standing in another door that leads into the office. "Get out of his chair."
As Klaus and Luther began to talk, Allison looked at Luther, there was something in her eyes that one couldn't really tell. Klaus got up to leave, his bigger brother asking him to drop something before he completely rushes out of the room.
Luther and Allison were left in the office to talk.
-
Hours later, the common room was occupied by a few of the siblings, Diego in a single couch, Allison was sat by herself in front of the coffee table sipping on a bourbon, Luther was leaning against one of the decorative tables, Vanya was nervously tapping her fingers on her leg, and Klaus was in the bar, drinking the last drops of alcohol that were left.
SEASON ONE: We only see each other at weddings and funerals
ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟﾟ ⋆
New York, 2019.
Located in the depths of the mansion, deep within the gated halls of the east wing, in a panic room where no such powers can be used, lie a sleeping beauty, or should I say, the Umbrella Academy's Siren, Mikayla Hargreeves.
Darkness was all she saw, it was all she could feel.
"Please... let me out of here." She begged desperately as if it was all she could ever do, it was the only thing she could do.
'You should have never went on that mission, little one. You were warned.'
It was an eerie voice lingering in her dark world, the same voice that told her not to go on that mission that costed Mika her life. The very mission that killed someone important to her.
-
New York. November 11, 2005.
Exactly three years after
Number Five disappears.
It was another normal day for the Hargreeves children, them having fun out in the courtyard, Luther sitting under his favourite tree, looking out for his siblings, Vanya in her room, beautifully playing the violin, Diego somewhere in the kitchen waiting for his mother to finish up their snacks.
"Ben!" Klaus excitedly called out, "Look at this, I can float!" Demonstrating that he can somewhat hover over the grass, a mere 10 centimeter height.
"That's amazing, Klaus." Allison clapped proudly about to sit next to Luther under the tree.
Now, my dear readers, you might be wondering where the little siren is. Little Mika was stood in front of the fireplace, her eyes fixed on the portrait that hung above her head.
"Its been exactly three years since you've gone." She whispered as tears were about to fall, "Give me a sign, Five. Please, give me a sign that you're still out there."
Mika wiped the tears that have now fallen on her blazer sleeve and kneeled in front of the fireplace, "I miss you so much, there was never a day I wouldn't think about you."
"How could you leave me just like that?" She now cried which alerted Diego, who was now making his way towards the girl.
Just as Diego was going to comfort her, an alarm rang throughout the mansion, signalling the kids that there was about to be a mission.
"Gather up, there is an important mission I'd like to announce." Sir Reginald Hargreeves voice boomed from the top of the staircase as the remaining six children stood, waiting for their father's command.
Vanya who quietly stood in the corner whispered, "Why do I feel like something bad is about to happen?"
-
Florida. November 11, 2005.
Exactly three years after
Number Five disappears.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the Florida beach. The mood was somber, but there was no time for reflection. From the ocean's depths, a swarm of menacing water creatures emerged, their grotesque forms glistening in the fading light.
Luther, with his superhuman strength, charged forward, swinging a piece of driftwood like a club. Each swing sent one of the creatures reeling back into the water.
Diego, with his knives shining due to the sunset, moved with lethal precision, each blade he owned was finding its mark in the soft underbellies of their enemies.
Klaus, though initially hesitant, summoned the spirits of sailors who died at sea to aid in battle, spectral figures pulling the water creatures away from the shore.
"Everyone, stay focused!" Allison called out, her voice cutting through the chaos. "I heard a rumor, that you can't breathe!" As her power twisted the realities of the creatures, they convulsed and collapsed as they gasped for air.
Somewhere on the beach was Ben, his monstrous tentacles unleashed from his chest, fought valiantly beside his siblings. The horror of his powers was a stark contrast to his very sweet and gentle demeanor, but today, Ben was using his powers with deathly efficiency.
On the edge of all this chaos stood Mika Hargreeves, sinking her feet into the wet sand. As a siren, her powers were tied to the water, yet she had not unlocked her full potential as all the enemies she fought before were on land.
Today, however, she had no choice but to jump into the sea. She slowly lowered herself into the depths, feeling the cold water swirl around her ankles, then her knees, and finally her waist.
Seeing the siren, Luther called out to her, "Mika, are you sure about this?"
"I have to, Luther. We have no other choice."
As the water enveloped her, Mika felt a strange energy coursing through her veins. Her senses sharpened, and an uncontrollable force surged within her. Her vision blurred, and she fell into an unconscious state, her body contorting as her powers took over. Her once human form began to morph, scales appearing on her skin, her eyes glowing a haunting blue.
'Beneath the waves, where shadows play,
A song of sorrow calls today.
Come closer now, drawn by the tide,
In the depths, where secrets hide.'
An eerie melody began to emanate from Mika, an ancient song that reverberated through the water and air.
'Silver moon, light our path,
Guide the lost through ocean's wrath.
Waves will cradle, voices blend,
In the deep, where dreams descend.'
The creatures, drawn to the sound, became entranced, their aggression turned into confusion, while her siblings were struggling to battle out the song. But the power was too much for Mika to handle, and it lashed out uncontrollably.
With the sudden burst of energy, the beach fell silent, and the ancient song was left unfinished. When the remaining members of the Umbrella Academy gathered their bearings, they found Ben lying still on the sand, his face pale and barely breathing. Allison on the other end screamed, rushing towards her other siblings. The remaining sea creatures, who were still disoriented by Mika's song, retreated back into the ocean, their threat momentarily neutralized.
Luther and Diego rushed to Mika's side, pulling her out of the water. She lay next to Ben unconscious, her transformation slowly reversing. Klaus ran and knelt by Ben, tears streaming down his face as he glanced at both his siblings.
"No, no, no, this can't be happening." He whispered.
As the siblings were grappled with grief and confusion, a familiar figure appeared at the edge of the beach—Sir Reginald Hargreeves. His face was impassive as he was surveying the scene.
"We cannot afford to have this distraction." Reginald said coldly. "Allison, you know what you must do."
Allison's eyes widened in horror. "No, I can't—"
"You will." Reginald interrupted, his tone stern and would not accept any argument.
