#terra.writes!

[terraf1rma]

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒.

Oh aren't they just the kindest? Always greeting you with warm hands and admiring eyes, it's a wonderful feeling knowing that you're the target of it all. They're not as intellectually smart as their seniors nor are they as intense but they're a much fresher breath of air than they are...

[Can be interpreted as romantic interest and you can tell I had no ideas for Razor]

Bennett

He's a sweet thing really, always tripping over his feet and laughing off the seemingly cruel intentions of the big joke that luck had in store for him.

He tries his best to help, hands always grabbing onto whatever you have, a book bag, a lunchbox, maybe even a file or two. Just leave it all to him! He says with a smile. It's almost funny with how alarmingly nice he is. Alarmingly being a key word here.

Sometimes his self deprecation is just too much for you to handle but you can't ever allow yourself to explode on him, not when his mental state seems so much worse than yours. His hands are scarred from how terrible his luck is and sometimes the smiles he has on his face seem just a little too.. uncanny. 'It's not his fault' is a thought that'll run repeatedly in your mind while with him and while Bennett doesn't like taking advantage of it, it comes in handy when his hands aren't scarred unconsciously.

Razor

You're almost confused when you meet Razor, disbelief resting heavily on your tongue as you greet him. You don't mean to be so cruel, really. At least, not intentionally that is. It's just… so hard to believe that someone like him could enter this academy so easily while you had to claw your way up here. It makes you want to throttle someone honestly.

Once again, you're not mean on purpose, just angry at how stupid life is for fucking you over like that.

Despite his less than spectacular ability to talk fluently and his academic progress, Razor's personality makes up for every insignificant loss there is. He takes care of you like you're family, doing his best to make sure that all your bruises are taken care off and that you've eaten enough for the day.

He knows so much about wildlife and how to hunt to the point where he can name all the fauna and flora surrounding the school that you're almost falling over your seat when you find out that he's part of Lisa's family by adoption. Lisa, the lazy librarian's assistant that calls everyone a nickname associated with baking ingredients, the brother to this sweet thing that just happened to growl at someone who tried to talk to you? Really??

Was this boy raised by wolves or something because you were absolutely confused by the amount of contradictions surrounding Razor.

Xingqiu

Feiyun guild. It's a title and name that you're all too familiar with. You've seen it stamped on the corners of pamphlets of businesses and on the plaques of your old school dedicated to bragging about how wonderful their sponsor was.

It's only right if the second son of such a renowned guild would be here.

What isn't right is how absolutely gremlin-like he is. You had been expecting someone prim and proper, not someone who had fucking poetry rap battles in the hallways with Hu Tao and slid jueyun chilli into his best friend's food as a joke. Rap poetry battles. If that wasn't a sign of weird rich kid vibes then you had no idea what it was.

He gives you gifts with a careless smile sometimes, as if giving expensive gifts was something anyone could do on a daily basis and maybe, just maybe, if you cared to flip through the pages of his poetry notebook, you'd find eloquently put together verses about you, some hinting at things just a little too close to home for you and your comfort.

Chongyun

You and Chongyun are the unanimous leaders of the "xingqiu is a threat and needs to be stopped" club. Of course, because you're a good student council president, you obviously can't make it into a real club but Chongyun takes full delight in knowing that if given the chance, you'd absolutely make it a reality.

He's so kind when he's not driven by the influence of his Yang side! Always tripping over his words and so focused on wiping away any bad Feng Shui around you. It's almost a running joke between the two of you but it starts to get very strange when he insists that the people you hang around are surrounded with bad spirits.

He may come from a renowned exorcist family that practiced daoism but are his words really untrustworthy when the people around you really do act up for seemingly no reason at all?

Xiangling

You've known xiangling since high school, from when you'd stumble into the warm atmosphere of her family owned restaurant after a fight with someone you really didn't like (read: hated). Her hands are always so quick when they tend to you and her words are so fond and kindhearted that you doubt that she could ever hold a piece of rudeness in her. Even if her head was more involved with food on some days.

She always keeps an eye on your intake of food much like Razor but the key difference between them is that she's the one making said food. She's fascinated with what you do but has said more than once that the amount of papers you have to go through makes her dizzy to even think about and starts asking about when you'll quit school and become a cook at her restaurant instead.

You agree with her internally but withold the urge to leave behind all moral obligations and instead externally you knock her on the head.

Honestly, you can always rely on her to make you a bento, even if you've already brought one! After all, her food is world class and you can't possibly be so unkind as to refuse her efforts of making you lunch when she woke up so early for it now, can you?

Hu tao

She brutally reminds you of those strange kids from one class over, always rambling about something you have no knowledge of. She'll drag you away from your duties to hang out with her and with how flamboyant her personality is, you can't help but get swept away by her freeness.

Her rap battles with xingqiu are extremely odd and most of the time you can't help but support her despite how strangely put together her stanzas are. Sometimes she spits out silly haikus talking about ghosts and other times its free form poetry that makes you rethink your life choices.

You have no idea whether she's your friend or not with how she treats you but hey! It's Hu Tao and she does whatever the Tao she wants. Get it?

Sometimes, you get the strangest feeling that she could recite your whole family history if prompted to.

[terraf1rma]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭.

You're a tiny little first year where you first meet them.

You're a tiny little first year student who has a past of delinquency and a resounding hatred for rules and yet you hold all the admiration in your head for the student council and this school. You've built a throne for them in your mind because you know that being here is the only way a mob character like you could ever hope to become someone.

Then you're a second year, well liked and known and friends with people who you had previously thought were out of your reach and for the first time in your life you realise just what it means to finally be above it all when you're chosen to be the new student council president after the last one backed out — 'retired' as he had put it when the two of you nursed a cup of tea in your respective hands.

And yet you don't abuse that privilege.

You savour it yes, but that doesn't mean you'd willingly exploit and give up all the effort you've made.

After all, it's quite nice having people you can depend on, even if their dependency on you is far more than what you bargained for…

Masterlist

Introductions - the first years

[terraf1rma]

𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 || in sorrow, there is pride

Synopsis!

An au from @twstedforyou where our beloved NRC boys are instead beloved familiars who'd kick a whole ass country into the air for you-

Flower in the mirror, moon on the water - the subtle and profound beauty of simply living strikes you hardest when you meet a seemingly lost cat in the middle of your family's estate.

Ch.2

Rising tides of flame

[last chapter]

The scent of incense fills the room, clogging your nose and making your mind hazy, a smell that's familiar to you but at the same time isn't. You strike a match, watching the flames eat away at the thin stick before you light the wick of the candle on your desk, the papers clogging up the space illuminating briefly before fading out again. The sleeves on your shirt fall back as you wave a hand around to disperse the smoke.

The candle is misshaped now, more of a pathetic lump of wax rather than an actual candle. But you use it anyway because there's no more left. The cat that you had taken in sits beside you on a cushion, the collar on its neck still askew. You didn't know why but you felt as though it wasn't in your place to do anything to it. At least, not yet. 

You rub its head lightly, watching the fur on its head shift around with every circle that you trace lightly, purrs resonating against the walls. You're not sure why but you had this sense of familiarity with this cat, a sense that you had met before and would meet again, the sense that you had to protect this cat in the way it protects you as strange as it was. 

The scratching of pen against paper resumes, lines of ink becoming an outline of a country, seemingly unsightly splotches of black assuming the forms of ships and traps, a tapestry of war that takes its shape in black ink and dry paper that has given you more paper cuts that comfort. 

Too many people still doubt you. Too many distrust you, look away from you in favour of others. The flame on your desk grows with the wind that passes through your window and the smell of smoke hits your nose again, a familiar but unwelcome thing. The screaming whines of horses echo as you settle your pen down, placing the cat onto the table as you lean outside, eyebrows bunching together at the absolution that is fire. 

While you had expected an ambush from the enemy, you hadn't expected something as bold as this. The fires that have started from the stacks of hay transferred to the stables, burning horses into nothing more than charred flesh and burnt bodies.

Obstruct the Calvary and you'll achieve a temporary victory that could extend to a real one. 

Had you not belonged to the opposite side, you would've applauded this slightly flawed plan. The cat rises in the background, ears pressing back as it hisses in alarm. 

You attached your swords to your hip with an unsettling calm, fingers snapping over the leather material and gliding over the buckles before you pick up the cat and hesitate for a second before stuffing him into your shirt, drawing out a katana when the first man bursts into your room, wood ripping and bamboo sheets tearing. Your desk becomes nothing more than a broken pile of wood in a matter of minutes as more opponents come trickling in. 

They don't overwhelm you. They've never have. With every arc that you carve and every strike and every plunge, their bodies are reduced to nothing more than useless meat sacs containing blood, facing to the floor as you slowly make your way out of your room, the armour on your body barely enough to properly protect you. But for some reason, you feel safe. As if someone was by your side and protecting you, willing you to escape successfully.

So you fight, swinging wildly with no plan in mind, intent on only surviving and focusing on the feelings that you could feel, anchoring yourself to the world lest you become no more than a spirit.

You can't see the rest of your men nor can you see Rokuro anywhere. Specks of ash flutter into the sky and disappear the next and the line between the opposition and your side becomes blurred, people falling and succumbing to their wounds being the only thing you could be bothered to see.

The sky is strangely clear tonight, devoid of stars and bearing only one half filled moon, the smoke from the fire obscuring the sky.  and blocking out the light.You pressed the cat against your chest, not bothering to stop by the stables where the screaming horses still remained. There was no worth in saving animals that were going to die anyways. The cat wriggled out of your arms, jumping down and rushing out of sight, into a building that wasn't yet touched by the fire. It must've been alarmed by the fire.

You kicked back a man who tried to attack you during your distraction, twisting around and slicing through tendons and muscles. His head slides off easily, skin ripping and giving way to your blade. You brought it away, slashing at the next opponent and the next, one man after the other. It's suffocating now, there's ash on your tongue and burns on your skin and the fog in the air hangs heavier when it mixes with the headache inducing smoke. You can’t see Rokuro anywhere, nor could you see the cat. 

If your section of the army was being attacked, then what of the rest? The other two should be fine since one of them was under your father's command and the other one was under Ryo's and was out at sea. 

You shout commands over your shoulder, counting the remaining men that hadn't succumbed to their wounds or the fire yet, clinging to life by the will of their own souls and others. Only half of them had weapons and armour on them because they had been on night watch while the rest were in questionable but understandable pieces of armour, a dō here and a sode there, helmet on their head and others with only their swords. You weren't much better than them unfortunately.

With every strike that breaks through the material of your undershirt and the metals that cut into your skin, you grow weary and tired, forcing yourself on for the sake of a word called survival. 

You should've better prepared them for an ambush. You should've been a better leader. 

Rain trickles down from the clouds above, the dark, dewy drops drenching your skin and wetting your hair. The fire doesn't quench though, if anything it just gets bigger. Fucking Greek fire. 

"FALL BACK! GO INTO THE FOREST AND REGROUP THERE!" You weren't foolish enough to disclose where exactly you and your men would be meeting up in front of the enemy. While going into the forest was dangerous since they had fucking Greek fire of all things in their hand, it was the most appealing option you had right now. 

You rush past your retreating men, whispering the location of the meeting point, making sure that the enemy didn't follow your men. You cut them down one by one, keeping an eye and ear out for the men who were retreating into the thicket of the forest. You couldn't afford to lose anymore people. Not now anyways. 

Muscles aching and wounds opening and closing with every swing, you're tired now, you think. There's still too many faceless opponents to fight off, too many dead bodies that you trip over and stumble on. Your wounds were going to be infected at this point. Rokuro's location was still unknown but you had a suspicion that he had gone to the only remaining town nearby to deliver the letters that were to be sent this month. Maybe they would make it. Maybe they wouldn't. Still, it was a hope that most people held that they would make it. Those tiny white papers with jumbled words and clumsily spelt letters for people who could be dead or alive. 

And maybe you wanted to survive too. Just like those papers. Was it so selfish of you to want that much? To the point where you were comparing yourself to non-sentient items without shame? 

"MASTER!" An arc of blue fire curves by your side, burning the man who had been about to deal a killing blow to your neck. Blue fire. There shouldn't be blue fire. The heat singes the hair on your arms and you pull away from it, blade hitting the ground as you stumble back from it, watching the man be consumed by it, watching the skin on his face become nothing more than charred meat and melting white. 

A hand reaches out to grab your arm, pulling you behind him, a person just a few inches taller than you, the two tails on his lower back curling around you protectively as he shouts curses at the people surrounding you. The blue flames rise with every curse he spat out, a gruesome sight to watch as terrified screams fill the air. The fires on their tails don't burn you, only warming you with a tickling warmth that reminds you of summer and fireworks. 

You watch the scene, feeling more detached from the world than ever, staring at the swinging blue rope on his neck that rings with every sway, your grip on the handle of your katana loosening with every painfully stretched out moment that passes.

Their head turns and the blue flames in their cat ears flicker, turning into a gentle warmth that tickles you instead of burning you. A wide grin crosses his face, canines poking out and biting on the pinkish flesh of his tongue.

"Sorry for the wait, Master! Those bozos wouldn't let me through without a little convincing!"

[terraf1rma]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 || in sorrow, there is pride

Synopsis!

An au from @twstedforyou where our beloved NRC boys are instead beloved familiars who'd kick a whole ass country into the air for you-

Flower in the mirror, moon on the water - the subtle and profound beauty of simply living strikes you hardest when you meet a seemingly lost cat in the middle of your family's estate.

Ch.1

The setting of scenes

•••

A plan builds itself quietly. It does not reveal itself until it is time. It lingers and mutters hints, both sweet and bitter until it creates what could either be classified as a monstrosity or a beautiful thing. 

For you though, your plans are loud and vulgar, crashing through at speeds nobody could comprehend, not even yourself, who had created those very plans that come out of your mouth like spitfire. 

You move the pieces around the map, the thin paper sliding on the glossy table with every move and shift that the coloured plastic makes. The shadows of others in the room are casted onto the wall, a strange, dark pantomime of everything that was happening in the room. 

You settle a legion of ships onto the side, tapping your index finger as you contemplate your next move, your right hand man already moving a piece forward. A green soldier, you acknowledge. Probably taken from some child's toy set. 

A man with dark hair moves forward, seizing a handful of plastic soldiers before placing them on a rocky terrain on the map. "We should move the soldiers forward. The land here is rocky and provides good cover-" 

"Absolutely not." You cut him off, taking a plastic soldier from his hand and moving it to the front of a charcoal drawn depiction of a mountain range instead. "That terrain is prone to avalanches and the chances of the opposition using it to their advantage to take out our men is too high to risk it."

Your fingertips press themselves to a blank space in the map, a desert plain. "There's multiple tunnels left over from a mine expedition a few years ago, so it should be safe to pass through here. The exact entrance is unknown but the villagers nearby should know. They're tight-lipped but if we bribed them with something they need, we should be able to get the information we need." 

Rokuro bows his head, apologising softly before looking at the legion of ships. "Then what will we do with the ships? The waters should be calm in this season and if we can release the ships, they will provide us with extra manpower." 

You hummed thoughtfully, rolling a ship piece between your fingers before placing them a small distance away. "Rokuro, get permission to station the ships outside the borders. When we're invading, the enemies' attention will be directed towards the main force. Meanwhile, the ships will come in and take over the ports. We'll be able to pressure them in that way because their source of income comes from their trades via the port. By doing so, we'll be able to trap the fishes that keep escaping our net."

"After a month or two, we'll be able to break in and topple their defenses."

You thought for a few moments more, rubbing your wrist. "Any questions?" At the silence that follows your words, you give a small smile, bowing politely and stepping back. "Very well then, if General Mamoru will approve of this unsightly child's plan-" 

A heavy sigh interrupts your words, your father being the source of it. He huffs quietly, a tired but faintly amused smile making its way onto his face like a small water snake. "For the last time, you are not unsightly in the slightest."

"Insufferable then." Rokuro suggests, lips quirked up into a sly smile before dropping. You don't remember him ever being this cheeky. Then again, you didn't know much about him despite being his friend since diapers.

you agree with him though, nodding to yourself as the other generals in the room chortle. "Ah yes. This insufferable-"

"No." 

You give a small sigh, dipping your head and pouring yourself a cup of tea. "Haah, well, General Mamoru? Will you entertain your poor son's ideas?" 

"I changed my mind. You really are insufferable." 

Impressively enough, you suddenly found yourself with the will to punch in the wall, despite those words being your very own. "I'll allow this plan with little modifications. Hajime, prepare the troops and get them to move to the next encampment. Ryo, inform the other armies of the plan. We have three months. I expect everyone to not waste them and prepare accordingly." 

"Yes sir!"

•••

"Good job on convincing them to go through with your plan." 

Your footsteps are quiet in the courtyard as you walk across the stones inlaid into the ground. "I gave them a plan, they took it. That's all there is to it." 

He scoffs, dragging his feet along the stones. You don't bother to turn around. He'll follow you soon anyways. "Quit being so humble. It doesn't look good on you." 

"Whatever do you mean, Rokuro? I've always been humble." You said innocently. 

Spoiler alert: you've never been humble in your whole short twenty year old life. 

He laughs, shakes his head as he mutters a sentence in his mother tongue under his breath, the pond water before him rippling as he throws a piece of bread to the lingering ducks. "Go dunk your head in some salt water and come back and try to tell me that you've always been humble."  

"Why must you deny the truth?" You crouched down, stroking the head of a nearby duck. It gave a surprised quack, tail wagging as it paddled away from you.

Rokuro only laughed. 

"Ha, even the ducks know that you're not humble at all. Any responses to that?"

"..."

"Pfft-" you promptly whacked the back of his knees, making him bend down and crash into the pond. You wipe away the water on your face with a handkerchief, dapping gently at your forehead as you watch Rokuro sputter, face bewildered before his forehead develops thin lines. 

"Frown any more and you'll become an old man in no time." You toss him the handkerchief, standing up and walking to the entrance. "I don't need an old man who wobbles on his two left feet by my side." 

"...." 

"I don't have two left feet…" 

You wave your hand dismissively, muttering an inaudible 'of course not' as you leave the scene, the quietly withdrawn eyes of Rokuro watching you as you walk away.

•••

You strike a match, bending down to light the incense at your mother's grave before blowing it out, the thin trail of smoke swirling into a dark sky that's lit only by the occasional explosions from the opposition over the mountain range and the burning bonfires of your own troop's. 

It's strangely quiet here. Like the area around you is unaffected by the happenings of war. The smokey remains of your village sits around you, a bitter memorial of those who onced lived here. Your father sits beside you, drunk on what you think might be a higher concentration of sake. 

You take an experimental sip of it, retching at the strange taste but continuing to drink from it either way. 

"Two years, six months, seventeen days and twelve hours. Minutes unknown."

The stars in the sky seem dimmer now, clouded by the smoke of gunfire. 

"That's how long you've been dead." 

You fix back the thin bouquet of flowers, red poppies that you had done your best to find on the trampled ground. They had been your mother's favourite when she was still alive. In your opinion, spider lilies were better suited for her. 

'...are you happy?" You look down at your father, taking off his helmet and resting it beside his large figure. "I think I'm going to die this year." Strange how quickly one light comment can lead to a darker one.

That's what you've always said before. That's what you said with every new year that passed. And yet you hadn't died. Not yet. 

"This old man that you married is getting married next year. Can't believe he's already got someone new. It's stupid." You keep your hands busy by reorganizing the small shrine that sits on the doorstep of your old, humble home. "She's a nice woman, sure. But... she's not you." 

You stand back, scratching your neck with fingers that have dust and dried blood under their fingernails, a wobbly smile on your face as you look away. 

"Last year of war. Wish us luck 'ma."

•••

You don't know why you're having a staring contest with a black cat in your new courtyard. 

It's strange. You don't even remember when you started with this. Actually, you don't even know where this cat slipped in from. The estate that you're staying in should be guarded from every inch by the soldiers. So how did a small cat get in? You would have to reprimand your soldiers again later…

Rokuro stands beside you, fingers twitching with what you assume is the urge to pet the cat. 

"My lord, if you would be so kind to permit me to pet the cat-" 

"...are you seriously sucking up to me because you want to pet a cat?" 

"..."

"...my my, how the great Rokuro has fallen-" 

"Oh shut up."

You laughed and looked back at the cat, crouching down to look at the rope tied messily on its neck. It looked lopsided and wrong, as if the owner of the collar planned to tie it on later. It's fur was surprisingly clean considering the fact that the army was stationed near the front lines.

It butted its head against your palm, purring loudly as it avoided Rokuro's hopeful open palm with surprising ease. You snorted, coughing into your free hand as you avoided his disappointed eyes. Was this guy seriously the feared general out on the field? The man who every soldier avoided because he was known for cutting off a man's dick and breaking two eggs in one day?? And with a blunt knife too???

Sad emo kid on that Christian's god's d̶e̶a̶t̶h̶ birthday would be a far better title for him. 

You lifted up the cat, wiggling it experimentally in the air as you ignored the small hisses it let out. "...how do I hold a cat again?" It was unusually fat now that you thought about it. 

...was it pregnant?? Actually was it a female cat-

"Pretty sure that's the right way to do it, my lord." 

"Okay then. Now, how do you check the gender of a cat?" Rokuro stilled, blinking in confusion before nodding. Strangely enough, the cat in your hands also stilled, watching you with wide blue eyes that were similar to the gem on its collar. 

"Just check the, ahem, anus." A strange cross between a yowl and a screech escaped the cat's throat as it attempted to wiggle free. You only tightened your grip on it in response. "It should be rounder for a male and a vertical slit for females."

"En." You stared at it, noting the way it seemed to be shaking its head desperately. Was it just you or was its fur damper than it was before? "Whatever, I'm going to guess that this one's a girl." 

Meow-!

"Why's that sir?" 

You poked her stomach lightly, standing up again as you cradled her lightly. 

"It's obviously pregnant."

"..."

"...."

"Sir, I can't believe you're fat shaming a cat-" 

You glared at Rokuro, raising an eyebrow at him. "Y'know what, just let me do it. I'll bear the shame of checking a cat's anus." He held out his hands, also ignoring the way the cat seemed to recoil away from beckoning hands.

"Absolutely not-" 

"C'mon just one check, it's probably a boy and just really fat-"

MEOW-

•••

[Next chapter]

[terraf1rma]

In sorrow, there is pride || twst wonderland youkai!au

Synopsis!

An au from @twstedforyou where our beloved NRC boys are instead beloved familiars who'd kick a whole ass country into the air for you-

Flower in the mirror, moon on the water - the subtle and profound beauty of simply living strikes you hardest when you meet a seemingly lost cat in the middle of your family's estate.

Status: a child [semi affectionate]

Please take note that this is not my own idea and the original concepts belong to the glorious @twstedforyou my god their blog is the stuff of dreams and aspirations-

Masterlist

Second sundays [chapter one]

Raging fires [chapter two]

[terraf1rma]

April's end || Diluc Ragvindir

Synopsis - there's too much for him to do after the end of the another person, too much for only one month to pass

It's strange to think of a time where he was happy.

It's even harder to remember what he looked like with a smile. Or when he was running in the roaring fields to a place no one knew, to a direction that he couldn't see. To a future he couldn't touch or hold.

He knows what he looks like, sees himself in the mirror everyday, in the reflections of the windows that he passes whenever he visits Mondstadt. Just like his father. That's what they all say, what they all see.

He's not his father.

Sometimes he thinks about what his father would think of him. What he would think of his estranged feelings towards the person he once called his brother. What he would think of him running in the streets in the dark, extracting justice and swinging mindlessly, swept away by the flames of his passion.

Would he be proud? Was he disappointed? Was he wrong, even though he did everything he could to make his rights? Was it still not enough, despite him doing his best?

The still green leaves crunch under his feet, a bouquet of white lilies held in one arm, a bottle of dandelion wine in the other. It's a strange practice now, but it's one he can't seem to shake. To walk all the way to the graveyard, to count the lambs that sit beside too small graves of children who would be older than him if they had lived, to drag his eyes over the engraved wing skulls and the open books, to stare at the clasped hands before looking away.

It's custom now to ignore his brother who stands at the foot of the grave silently too, though he almost always leaves behind some bread and butter. Sometimes.

He ignores the compulsory happy birthday given to him too, knowing that it's only partly sincere and out of place in a cemetery. It doesn't stop Kaeya though. Nothing much has ever been able to.

It's almost always windy whenever he steps foot here. Like the Anemo Archon above was determined to send his and Kaeya's bouquet of lilies into the air and to wherever his father's soul was residing in.

Maybe it was foolish of him to believe in the concept of souls, in believing that there would be something remaining after death. To him and so many others, the end of everything was death, the final obstacle and the last one anyone would ever be able to cross. The concept of there being something left after death was strange, an idea forced into people as they grew by others who believed in it because someone said they could.

But if Gods and visions could exist in this small universe, then maybe it was possible that his father's soul was lounging above the two boys who were once his sons, who were still his sons. And maybe he was laughing up there, maybe he was trying to push them back together and fix their estranged relationship. Maybe he was gone and maybe he was there.

And maybe he was scolding Diluc for being unable to push away his past, of his old mistakes and his anger and frustration towards his estranged brother. If he was alive, he surely would've tried locking the two of them in a room together, with food of course in case they weren't able to settle their discourse before dinner.

April ends too quickly, just like it did before. Just like how it always has. Time moves too fast for him to be happy, too fast for him to realise anything.

There's never enough time.

But either way, in the end, all Diluc had was just his memories, fading and old.

And maybe, just maybe, that was for the best.

[terraf1rma]

We will never be here again || Decarabian

Synopsis! - Immortalised by the hatred and anger of people, the tyrant of storms weeps rain from empty eyes

He is a God who knows nothing of love.

He is the God of storms, a God who had taken a land and turned it into his own, loving his people in his own, twisted way by sheltering them under a torrent of wind as their nest. In his eyes, this was the greatest protection a god like him could offer.

Knows it in the eyes of the people when he passes by, sees it in the flinches his mortal lover gives whenever he rests a hand on her shoulders.

But he knows it's not enough.

But he tries.

He gives his life to his people because they couldn't see what a god could see, shielding them away from a world colder than the one that he shapes for them.

He tries and gives his life to them and knows that it will never be enough.

Because he is a god and they are humans.

Two different entities, one birthed from sorrow and joy and love and the other from the will of the universe.

Two different entities who could never understand each other, no matter how much they tried.

When a mortal sees an immortal, what do they think of, if not wondering how it would be to live a life of loneliness, knowing that whoever they love would die? To know of the power that sits at their fingertips, moving only when the owner decides to move?

But when an immortal meets a mortal, there is only pity that sits in their eyes. Pity for mortals whose lives burn too quickly to truly be appreciated, pity for mortals who scorch themselves willingly from passion and dedication and adoration, knowing that one day, they'll leave. Just like the others before them.

In Decarabian's eyes, they are things to be pitied.

Even when they end his long life with uncaring hands and angry eyes, he knows only love for them.

Because that's how an immortal loves.

Unending even to the end. Unending even if they forgot their faces and names and the warm familiar touches.

Because that's how he loved.

Decarabian, the god of storms, knows only of love and sorrow and pity.

And he would not change that, even if it did allow him to escape death.