Wellcome to the living Hell // A 23 y/o Biotech Licenciate student // professional shitposter // 18+ only // MASTERLIST // ask is open for talk and requests
Summary: You are alone at night, and your worst thoughts take over you. When will your boyfriend come back to you?
Warnings: depressive thoughts, swearing, a little bit of angst if you read between lines
Word count: 1200+
A/N: This is my first ever Dr Stone fic (-人-) I doubt I have done Stanley justice, but I really hope he is not much OOC. I think this might be a kind of approach to writing more for this fandom, as I just enjoyed a lot writing this. It's kinda based on some thoughts that come to me from time to time, and I want to dedicate it to all people with depression that struggle specially during night. Hope you like it and hope to see you soon here with more content!
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You cannot sleep at all.
In the middle of the night, everything looks different.
Sitting in front of the window you watch it rain, and think about the things you should be doing instead of procrastinating. But is it really your fault? When it's also in the middle of the night when you feel the saddest, and when you realise how lonely you are when he's not around.
He.
Stanley Snyder.
The man who stole your heart and for whom you yearn every day.
You prop your feet up on the chair and hug your legs, remembering how easy it all seems when he's home with you.
It's been two months since he had to leave for duty. That's definitely the worst thing about having feelings for him: his job; his job and all the time he had to spend away, and his absence, and the loneliness... Sometimes you imagine that in reality his time is a constant competition between you, and his job, and that you're always losing. And in the middle of the night, you are even more sure that he would choose his job over you.
Sometimes you even think he'd choose Xeno over you, if he had to pick.
Xeno was in his life first, Xeno knows him better…
You sigh and slap your cheeks.
No.
You can't keep thinking like that. That's not who you are.
Stanley has been showing you how he feels about you for years. He's been showing you how he feels about you for a long time, so now you shouldn't think those terrible pessimistic things that are nothing but lies. That’s the thing you do most to yourself when you are alone awake in the middle of the night: lie to yourself. Harm your self-steem. Make sure that you are nothing but a pity soul awake and alive.
But you have to stop. You have to be okay; both for him, and for you too.
It's going to be alright.
You keep saying it over and over again. But in the middle of the night, everything looks different. And you cannot sleep at all.
¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸
Stanley is tired of being away from you. He's tired of the mission he's been given, tired of the rain, and tired of the fact that even though he knows he'll finally be home today, you'll be asleep by the time he gets home.
Two and a half months without you have felt like years without water, like an eternity of torture, and imagining you waiting for him in your shared flat, alone, makes his heart pound.
He still doesn't understand what he's done to deserve you. To deserve all the love you always show him, even though he knows he has to be away due to his job.
He is observant, and he also knows the pain you suffer when he is away. He knows that even though you are the kindest person he knows, your inner demons eat you alive when you are alone. He knows that you are the best at giving advice to the people who are going through hard times, but that same advice never applies to you.
Maybe you get tired of him. Of waiting for him.
Maybe, while he’s away, you found another.
Maybe you change your mind.
Maybe you decide that the depression created by his absence can be cured by rooting out the problem: leaving him for good.
It is your right, isn’t it? It's your choice, and yours only.
But If he had to choose… If he had the opportunity to turn back time and change things… To decide not to start a relationship with you, to grow apart from you, not to hurt both of you… he wouldn’t change shit. He would still choose you over everything.
You.
Bold enough not to shrink from him, to tell him exactly what you thought to his face, and to show yourself in your moments of weakness. You showed that you were more than a pretty face, but also a clever and funny person, someone caring, honest and unique. How could he not fall head over heels for you, huh?
He is tired, really tired.
He takes a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lights it up.
It's three in the morning. It's the witching hour. The only sound that accompanies him as he arrives at the door of your shared home is his own footsteps. He takes out his keys and just as he is about to slide them into the lock, the door bursts open.
You.
In your pyjamas (his, actually), with your hair all messed up and your eyes full of tears and longing. With that pretty face he is incapable of stopping reminiscing in his hardest times.
You.
Stanley doesn't have time to react in surprise when you're already in his arms, face buried in his chest, snot and tears all over his jacket.
“I've missed you too, doll.”
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You cannot sleep at all.
In the middle of the night, everything looks different.
Sitting in front of the window you watch it rain, and think about the things you should be doing instead of procrastinating. But this time, you're not alone.
Stanley approaches you with a steaming cup of tea and a tender smile spread on his lips.
He knows you can't sleep, so he'll at least try to help you relax.
He sets the cup down on the table and puts his arms around you to pull you up and sit on his lap.
“I forgot how it was having you home”
He does not answer but hugs you tighter instead.
Stanley recognises he is not the best with words. He just prefers to show you with actions.
He knows by the dark marks under your eyes that you haven’t been well during his absence. He is aware of your depressive thoughts, of your manners and your self-deprevice way of going on. But he also knows that you are doing your best, working everyday on fighting your demons.
Stanley takes one of your hands and brings it to his lips. His other hand rests on your waist, in a place that seems made for his hand and his hand only.
You lean to his touch, to his love.
Oh, how much you have missed him…
You missed his smell, like smoke and metal. You missed the sound of his voice, rough but sweet. You missed his touch, his kisses and his presence.
You are so bad over Stanley Snyder that you thought to yourself that now that you know him, you weren’t sure how to live without him.
He massages your shoulders, strokes your hair, kisses your temple…
It's his way of showing you how much he loves you, and to make sure that you know that you are not alone.
Making up for lost time, even if it's in the middle of the night.
“Stan,” you call, leaning your head on his shoulder, “it's late. Let's go to bed.”
He smiles.
How could he possibly say no to you?
In the middle of the night, everything looks different. Lying in bed, you let Stanley wrap his arms around your waist and press your back against his chest. You're where you want to be.
You feel loved. You feel complete.
And you can finally sleep peacefully.
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A/N: I'm not sure what to think of this... It's been years since the last time I've writen something, I feel this one kinda personal, to be honest. BUT I have soooo many ideas and projects in mind... I hope you liked it! ( ’ω’ )
It was the calmest it had been for weeks, since the case of Jack the Ripper was solved by the child Earl, less "guests" had entered the doors of the parlour owned by your beloved.
Over the last couple of days, where you had more free time than you wished, you had noticed the state of the parlour. Spider webs, dust on every single surface and you could swear you saw a cockroach speed across the room once.
After a very long scolding to your beloved about the hygiene of the place to which you got a laugh in return.
"Oh my dearie~, you certainly were hilarious with your expression just now!" he had stated, a manicured index finger resting in between your furrowed eyebrows, presing on them signaling you to relax them.
You had scoffed and rolled your eyes, calling him a "bastard.." which you knew he heard by his small snicker and went to gather cleaning supplies.
"If he will do nothing then I will..." not that you expected him to do anything, no man would lift a finger to do such "women assigned jobs" like cleaning.
For the next 3 days, you spent your day cleaning, still finding the energy to throw insults at Undertaker about his lack of care about the place while huffing and puffing due to exhaustion.
You left no place untouched, nothing unturned and you got a pat on your shoulder for each room cleaned, it wasn't you patting yourself in the back, it was your lover.
He'd bother you in the middle of the cleaning, of course he would. To stupid questions :
"Do you think this little guest of ours looks better in red or green, my dear ?"
And to lingering touches:
"Well we haven't spend too much time together lately~~ " he'd chuckle , "I'm only a man, I need my lover's affections!!"
All of which, were ignored by you ,of course.
Cleaning had revealed spaces in the parlour you never knew existed, that might be the explanation why you found yourself pushing against a wall.
You had noticed a crack, one that seemed perfectly sculptured.
Your curiosity growing, you had been pushing at it, convinced your eccentric lover had a secret room, probably full of dead bodies, you had thought in joke.
As a joke, of course!
Yet when you gave it one final push, the wall moved and you almost fell to your knees.
Entering the dark place, desperately trying to find a lamp to light, you brushed past a coffin , accidentally making it fall over, causing a noise you were sure, your beloved would hear.
Cursing , you reached further to find a lamp and light it. Once the room was in view you squinted your eyes and looked around.
A small gasp left your mouth and somewhat dissapointed you looked at multiple closed coffins , alongside the one you knocked over.
"Well, not so entertaining now, are we?" you chuckled, expecting something more eye catching from your lover.
You strolled around the room, looking over the coffins, they all seemed the same aside from the one you dropped.
That specific one was blue, with black tape around it, which proved useless since it ripped by the fall, you made a note to tell Undertaker later.
While examining the coffins in front of you, you heard noises behind you which you ignored and called out
"I didn't know you'd hide this from me, what else could you be hiding, love ?"
However, when you didn't receive a reply you turned around to find a small child, rising from the coffin, teal hair and a rather rich outfit.
Upon turning around to face you, you could clearly make out the great resemblance he had to the Phantomhive child.
"My Lord-" you were cut off as he lunged at you, ripping a scream out of your chest as you stumbled back, falling on your bum.
Waiting for an attack, only silence engulfed your trembling figure, until it was broken by a familiar snicker.
"Hehehe~, your screams are ever so pleasant to hear, I do find myself glad at your clumsiness, if not for the coffin dropping, you'd be done for!! " and in all of his glory, there stood Undertaker, looking down at you, his hand gripping the Earls head with too much force, you'd deducted.
"You becoming one of my dolls...." he paused to think " I cant say that will please me, I do adore you as you are, even with your temper, dearie"
"What are you-....what is this??" You took a deep breath "What is the Earl doing, is that even him? This is not normal human behaviour??" Your voice rose with each question.
" Ah my dear, this is just a hobby of mine, and this.." he pushed the "Earl" towards you " is the Earl....oh! But not the Earl you know , my dear, I'm sure he's being the same temperamental child he is as we speak." a manic smile in his face. Not that you minded those, they were quite...pleasant to you usually but the situation did not encourage such feelings at the moment.
"Undertaker.....what is this ? Why is he like this and what is he doing here ?" You exhaled shakily, unable to process anything.
"Ahhh, as I said, a little hobby of mine, let me introduce you two" he grinned, dragging the boy by his hair and stuffing him in the coffin and closing it.
" You see, my dear...this is the Earls twin. The one that died years ago, but as you probably are thinking, he doesnt seem quite dead, does he ?" He approached you, in return you moved away. An action so simple, but you needed not see his eyes to know that he was frowning.
He cleared his throat and continued " I simply...experimented on him! I could not bear to loose another Phantomhive" he giggled, crossing his arms.
Making his way towards you, he grabbed your chin and looked at you "I do doubt, however that I would have started this hobby of mine if I had met you earlier" he tilted his head, grabbing you by the arm and hoisting you up.
His arm snaked around your waist as he held you tightly against him, his other hand grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks and turning your head to the other coffins.
" In all of these coffins, there is a dead body that you, my dear have probably seen come in as one of our guests" he stated, "it was quite helpful that most of these people were not cared for enough to have funeral, it made my job easier" he chuckled lightly, his thumb caressing your cheek.
"A man must have hobbies, right ?" He brought your face up as he glanced at you, his emerald eyes piercing through your soul.
"You're sick..." you whispered at him, tears swelling in your eyes.
He was a lie. The idea of him was a lie. Everything you loved about this man was a lie.
How could he ?
"Oh my dearest love, I knew you'd act this way, but fret not, I'm sure you'll come around." He said quietly "you love me too much dont you ? You must accept me the way I am , just as I have accepted you despite your mortality"
Mortality? What sick shit is he thinking ?
"Wha-" your cheeks were squished together harder.
"AH ah! No more questions until your mind opens to my little...hobby! " he exclaimed, giggling at your face.
You did not want this.
You wished this was a dream
No.
A nightmare.
Wake up, you told yourself.
Please...wake up.
If only you didn't let your curiousty win. If you had just cleaned what you could and went on about your day, you would've been content loving a liar.
"Curiosity killed the cat, dearie~" he snickered " and this time, satisfaction did not bring it back~"
You could not think straight, everything you felt for, believed and lived for, shattered by the mere revelation of the activities that happened in the same roof you lived and worked. You did not know the man you shared your home with, the one you shared the last couple of years with yet you knew him enough, you knew the part of him that was calculating , he would have never let the crack on the wall be that visible.
No.
He was too good for that, he intended for you to find this room and he let you find it with a sick grin.
He knew he'd shatter you, and he decided to shatter you despite the smiles you gave him this morning, but fret not, he'll be there to bring those smiles back again, he'll make sure of it.
I have the Petrification Disease. I've had it for a long time. It would have killed me by now, many times over, but I make it work for me. Not as a disease. Not as a monstrous transformation. As a dialogue. As balance. This is my path to immortality.
XX/XX/XX
I don't plan to share my project with the Alchemists of the Isle. Not even with Valentinus Monad, who was always so kind to me, even knowing I would never fit their classic image of strength.
In fact, I don't know that the other Alchemists would believe me if I did show them. When they seek immortality, they want it to look like that classic image of strength. I have always known life to be smaller and scrappier, and to come with more of a burden of pain. My death cure works because I'm not afraid of the true nature of what I'm trying to copy, while the others chase a fairy tale of how they want it to be.
I'm sorry, Valentinus. Perhaps it's that you love your fairy tales too much for me to feel that I have the right to take them away from you. Or maybe I finally decided that the pity in your kindness should come between us, after all. In any case, I wish you all the best in your own search for eternity.
XX/XX/XX
If gold coin fruit is real, I must study its impact on my death cure. I have no doubt that my process as I have it already will keep me young and carry me safely through the passage of time. But it isn't very pleasant to live a life through the medium of an only partly-tamed disease... if a disease is a thing that can even be tamed at all. I wrote earlier that being willing to accept imperfections was the key to seeing the possibilities that were in front of me. But I'm learning I'm just a little bit more selfish and comfort-seeking than I thought I was. Perhaps if I wasn't, I wouldn't be looking for immortality in the first place. I still don't need to become 'strong,' like the others. I'm just curious about whether I can make all of this hurt a little less than it does.
XX/XX/XX
I haven't been able to find gold coin fruit yet, though I did find a book that tells me there was once such a tree within the region. Even within the city limits of Krat. If the tree is still here, I *will* find it.
Meanwhile, I pick up my pen to report a smaller, more realistic success. Working with herbs and materials that do assuredly exist, I've created a solution that helps dissolve the hard growths that accompany the Petrification Disease.
Let me explain. From my studies of the disease, hard growths actually play an important role in the mechanisms that drive immortality. I think part of it has to do with freezing time and storing it. Another part of it seems to be about having a place to put waste materials, from that process and other processes that need to take place and can't be done without. In other words, I could try to come up with a form of the disease that didn't have the hard growths, but that form of the disease would not be capable of offering me immortality.
My compromise (since the hard growths cause organ failure) was to develop my relationship with the disease so that it would only develop hard growths on my skin. I didn't want them on my face, so then I learned how to work with it further, so the growths would only develop on my back. Even with such a significant improvement, I can't allow the growths to accumulate forever. So I've been scraping off the old ones with a whetstone. So far, I can use that method to keep the patch of them in check.
It works, but it's tedious.
That's why I've been working on a chemical solution that will partly dissolve the material the growths are made of. And today, my solution proved to be a success, for the most part. I may be able to make even more improvements, but I'm so happy with what I have that I'll leave that work for another day.
I wonder what life will look like 100 years from now. I wonder how many of these daily aches and maintenance routines will persist, and how many I will invent whole or partial solutions for.
I wonder if I will ever find that damned gold coin fruit. And I wonder if it can help me.
XX/XX/XX
Simon Manus heard me talking to another Alchemist about gold coin fruit. Then he said something alarming. He joked about forcing Valentinus's wife or daughter to make us all a new tree. Out of a person. He wondered out loud where he'd find a volunteer, and then he looked at me and told me I looked easy to catch. He said all of it like he wasn't really serious, and people laughed, but I don't think I believe that it was entirely a joke. Or rather, I think in that moment he only said what he did to make fun of me. But I think he'd really hurt the Monad girl if he wanted something from her. And I don't need to speculate about whether he'd really hurt me.
As Alchemists, we sometimes get our hands dirty. I'm not proud of everything I've done at Arche Abbey. Simon, though, he takes cruelty to a new level. Like he enjoys it, or like he just doesn't care.
I don't mean to sound paranoid, but wonder if Simon is planning something. This probably sounds even more paranoid, but I think he knows my secret somehow. My immortality project, and how I do it. I know I don't like the way he looks at me. Like I'm competing with him somehow, just by being here. Like Valentinus's choice to tolerate me takes something away from him. I know it's not paranoia in the slightest to suppose that if Simon ever does manage to take the place of Valentinus, he will think nothing of killing me if he ever wants to claim an idea of mine for himself. Or just because he wants to.
I don't want to leave Krat before I have more answers about the gold coin fruit, but I need to be realistic about keeping myself safe. I just packed an emergency bag. Now I'll have something ready to go if I need to leave in a hurry.
XX/XX/XX
I'm sorry, Valentinus.
You took a chance on me. You even let me imagine I had a place to belong, for a time. Remember when I crafted a magnificent circular sword for you as a gift? I told you that it was the only meaningful thing I would ever be able to do for you. I hope you meant it when you took that in stride and told me it was more than enough, and you needed nothing from me.
Because I meant what I said. I can't stop Arche Abbey from crumbling into a directionless hive of fanatics and beasts, which Simon only thinks that he controls. I can't save your daughter, who was only ever as kind to me as you were. I indulged in your hospitality, I took your teachings for myself, and I'm taking the first train out of Krat in the morning.
XX/XX/XX
The trains aren't running. If Simon's people find me, I'm done for. There are a lot of people heading for refuge at St. Frangelico Cathedral, so I'm trying my luck there. They say there's a puppet frenzy. It's probably true. It sounds dangerous. The timing of all of this is very bad. The Alchemists have always had a good relationship with Archbishop Andreus at the Cathedral. I think that will work in my favor. He is a kind man, and I don't think he will choose to deal with a person like Simon just because he's replacing Valentinus. If I present myself as one of the old guard, still loyal to Valentinus, I think he'll listen to me. I think he'll protect me until I'm able to leave Krat. Maybe I'll even find the gold coin fruit while I'm still here. With all of these people gathered together, someone must know something. I never thought to ask the Archbishop. He surely knows a lot about the city.
XX/XX/XX
The people of ancient Krat knew how to bottle a wish upon a star.
I read about the legend at Arche Abbey.
I can't stop thinking about it.
If only I had that power to call on.
The real thing, and not just a meteorite relic that I stole from the Abbey.
Everyone here is turning into monsters.
Krat's puppets have gone frenzied, like they say.
The trains aren't running.
There are no safe places anymore.
Just now, I made a wish upon a star.
Well, as I have explained, I am selfish, so I made two.
I wished for my safety, and I wished to find the gold coin fruit at last.
It feels nonsensical to turn to a legend.
(and it has to be a legend; if there's a god, I'm sure that a person like me isn't welcome to turn to a prayer)
That's just how desperate I am. Me, a man of (mostly) science, wishing upon a star.
I have nothing at all to rely on to protect me anymore. So I wish upon a star. And that won't protect me either, so I wait here for the end.
OMGOMGOMGOMG I came running here when I saw this post on reddit.
"The loading screens are Paracelsus' report on Krat
Also makes sense that the loading screens were updating to new visuals as you progressed - Paracelsus was making his notes on you as you went through the story"
Therefore, the discrepancies between what we know and the loading screens.
Therefore, the Lies of P. :D
Oh HELLO????? 👀 That's actually... such an excellent theory? And I feel like it really makes sense, it's all collections of observations-- not to mention the picture of Alidoro? Is... upstairs where we never see him? Y'know. Angled more so from the direction where our dear "Giangio" is chilling, close to the Gold Coin Fruit Tree?
Saying that now actually made me gasp like holy shit that's RIGHT the image IS from that direction-- I ALWAYS thought it was WEIRD!
This is wild, oh my gosh, I think I'm sold on this! Lies of P-- More like The Misinformation of Philippus Paracelsus LMAO
Lets start out with this, Giangio is from the Wizard of Oz book series, after the end credits, my friend who has been reading the books and I started talking (Because they love Dorthey) Giangio of COURSE gave us a fake name, and in the end credit scene we find out his real name- we looked high and low, and stumbled upon his real Identity.
In the Wizard of Oz he was a child named "Button Bright" who acted dumb and didn't know anything, even when Dorothy asked him what his name was he said "I dont know" But his family calls him Button Bright. Now how did Button Bright go home? He wasn't a resident of Oz, he was a child who ended up here like Dorothy. Well. How they end him home is that they get Santa Claus to send him home, because he knows the names of every child. He whispered it into a bubble persons ear, and they took little Button Bright home. That is not the instance we learn his real name.
Here is a link
Once upon a time, a little boy lived in Philadelphia under the name of Saladin Paracelsus de Lambertine Evagne von Smith. His father claimed
Anyways where am I going with all this?
I'm just saying-
I cannot wait for Santa Claus to come along and take Button Bright Away-
Or a Santa Claus Boss Fight, that would be fun too-
Possible request where its is Morpheus x F!Reader and while Dream is away fufilling his duties, Reader is alone with her's and Morpheus's child trying to get them to sleep but it is lighting and thundering outside which scared the child. (Why is it thundering and lighting outside? No idea) and Reader tells her child that the thundering and lighting is from sheep in the clouds jumping and having zoomies so their hooves are causing the thunder and lighting as they hit the clouds before jumping again (Like how someone will count sheep jumping when trying to fall asleep) which makes the child become less scared plus they fall asleep all while Dream over hears this which leads to Morpheus changing the clouds in the dreaming to look like sheep jumping when its storms and thunders.
(Hopefuly this made sense)
Hi :)
This is actually really cute, i’ll give my best to write it the way you imagined!
I actually love writing based on requests, so don’t be shy and spam my inbox, I will never be annoyed 🪻☁️🐑
The Night the Sheep Played in the Sky ੈ✩‧₊˚
The nursery smelled faintly of lavender from the sachet you’d tucked in the drawer earlier that week and the rain whispered against the windowpane, accompanied by howling wind creeping in through the cracks of the wooden frame. Outside, the storm was building, clouds churning, lightning flashing far away, followed by a low rumble.
You sat in the rocking chair with your daughter curled against your chest, her cuddles were a comfort you didn’t realize you’d been craving until you had her. Her small fingers clutched the fabric of your nightgown tightly, like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. She was fighting sleep, as children often do, but this time it wasn’t stubbornness.
Another flash split the sky, and she jerked in your arms.
“Mommy… it’s too loud,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
You smoothed your palm over her dark hair, like her father’s and hummed softly, rocking back and forth.
“It’s alright, my love. It’s just the clouds playing.”
She looked up at you with watery eyes, unconvinced.
“They’re mad?”
You smiled, shaking your head. “No, no. They’re not mad. They’re… having fun.”
Her brows furrowed in confusion. That’s when the idea bloomed. Playful, whimsical, exactly the kind of thing Morpheus would appreciate if he were here.
“You know how people count sheep when they’re trying to sleep?” you asked. She nodded. “Well, sometimes the sheep get too excited. Instead of just jumping slowly over fences, they start doing zoomies in the clouds.”
That earned you a giggle. Soft, hesitant, but a giggle nonetheless.
“Zoomies?”
“Oh yes. Big, excited zoomies. They leap from cloud to cloud so fast that their little hooves stomp on the clouds. That’s what makes the thunder”
“And the light?”
“That’s when they jump so high, they brush against the stars and the stars send sparks of happiness back down to them. Those sparks make the lightning. See? They’re not scary. Just happy sheep playing a noisy game before bed.”
Your daughter tucked her face into your neck, murmuring, “I like that better.”
The storm rolled on outside, but with each clap of thunder, she began to relax, as if she were imagining the sheep with every sound, Tiny legs hurrying, ears flopping, clouds puffing beneath their hooves. You began to hum a lullaby, one you remembered from your childhood, your voice blending with the rhythm of the rain.
She fell asleep before the next flash of lightning.
You stayed there for a while, savoring the weight of her in your arms, before gently tucking her into bed. When you turned, you nearly jumped. He was there, leaning against the doorway, the darkness of his coat blending into the shadows.
“Morpheus” you whisper yelled, kind of like scolding him.
His expression was hard to read, as usually, but his eyes, stars caught in the void, were softened in a way you rarely saw. His mouth curling into a very soft smile. “It seems I returned to find my wife soothing our child with stories of clouds and sheep.” His voice carried that strange mixture of awe and melancholy he often wore when speaking of you and your daughter.
“You heard all that?” you asked, with a soft chuckle
“I did.” He stepped forward, his presence filling the room like a tide. “It is… a beautiful tale. One I would see made real.”
You tilted your head. “Made real?”
He touched your cheek, cold as always but achingly gentle. “In the Dreaming, when storms come, the clouds shall act the way you said. And the sheep will leap, and their hooves will beat out the thunder, and their joy will spark the lightning.”
You smiled, imagining it. “She’ll love that.”
It was just after dusk in the Dreaming when the first low rumble rolled over the hills. You were at the window with your daughter, the two of you watching the horizon darken. The sky was heavy with storm clouds, deep shades of violet and silver.
Your daughter pressed her palms to the glass. “Is it going to be loud again?”
You brushed a hand over her hair. “It might be… but remember, they’re only playing.”
She hesitated, searching the clouds. Then…
A puff of white broke through the grey, and another, and another. Shapes began to emerge, woolly and round. The first one leapt high, a bound so weightless it seemed to defy the world itself, landing with a deep, echoing boom.
Her eyes widened. “The sheep…” she almost pressed her face against the window.
You felt your chest swell, seeing it too. The sheep racing each other through the clouds, their little legs moving at a fast pace, leaving little bursts of light behind. The lightning wasn’t jagged and harsh now; it was bright, playful, a shower of sparks falling around the leaping forms.
“They’re real!” she squealed excitedly, voice filled with wonder.
A soft voice came from behind you both. “All dreams are real, little one. Some are simply waiting to be seen.” he stepped closer to the window.
And so the three of you stood there, you, your child and Morpheus, watching the sheep gallop through the clouds, their joyful thunder echoing through the Dreaming. The storm no longer felt like something to endure. It felt like a show meant just for her.
I hope you liked this short story 🐑☁️
I was actually super tired while writing this, but I thought the idea was so cute, I just didn’t wanna wait. 🪻
You're playing with Idia's hair. Letting the flames flit between your fingers and dance in your hand as you decide whether he should get a braid or a bun or something else entirely.
He's on his phone, and his tablet, playing a game on one and scrolling socials on the other while trying not to think about what you're doing to his head. It feels nice, if a bit ticklish and very unfamiliar, to have someone so close.
You pretend not to notice when Idia steals peeks at your reflection in the dark screen edges. He does it out of anxiety more than anything. You begin tying things in place where you want them. A ponytail or two could suit him well, you think. He's in his own little otaku world and surely won't mind.
Except, they just announced the new Herculean Heroes game figure is limited to 50 sales. It can only be obtained via lottery, one entry per person. When Idia read that, his hair erupted into a violent flaming red mess.
It was just for a second. Just when he leaned forward and gasped and felt desperation run through his veins at potentially missing out on such a pristine piece of merch.
It was just enough to snap the elastics you managed to finagle around his hair. Now you're left with a blank canvas, a messy cascade of blue flames in an unending tangle. You grab a big handful and bunch it up in retaliation. He sheepishly glances at you again in the reflection of his tablet. A wisp of pink trails between your fingers.
Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister-in-Law!:
➳ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20✭♥︎ → Ao3 version (Edited more) (UNDER EDITING THAT MAY CHANGE THE FLOW AND MOOD OF THE STORY) (CHAPTERS 16, 17, 18, 19, AND 20 ARE UNEDITED, TAKING A SMALL BREAK FROM IT)
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL POSSIBLE CANON): Drabble✭♥︎
➳Running into Cassis concept (HIRATFLSIL POSSIBLE CANON: 1 2✭
➳Sleepy Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL POSSIBLE CANON): Drabble✭♡
➳ Yan! Dion (POSSIBLE HIRATFLSIL CANON): Roxana annoying Dion thing and other stuff idk concept thing ✭♡❥
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL POSSIBLE CANON): Wet dream✭♥︎ (possible ♢)
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL POSSIBLE CANON): the duality of him drabble ✭'♡'
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL POSSIBLE CANON): Reader unable to use the internet(✭?)♢
➳ Yan! Dion (FOR FUN, MOST NOT HIRATFLSIL CANON): cliche tropes✭♢, (slight ✻)
➳ Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON): cuddling♡
➳ Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON): Reader giving affection✭❥
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON + SPOILERS): Reader has a crush on someone else before engagement✭❥
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON + SPOILERS): How much he knows about the Reader✭
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON): Would Ash have a crush on the Reader?✭
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON): taking a bath with him + fan art (✭?)♡
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON): Why Dion doesn't kill Ash (✭??)
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON): awkwardly sharing a bed with him (✭?) (Slight ✻)
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON): Would he let Reader go to her room?(✭♡?)
➳Yan! Dion (HIRATFLSIL CANON): Hiding his sword♡
Yan! Dion: Isn't Reader exposed to poison? (No warnings)
╰──────༺♡༻──────╯
╭──────༺♡༻──────╮
Drabble things:
➳Yan! Dion: arranged marriage where Dion slowly starts to realize he's gone soft for the reader ✭♥︎
➳Dion gets transported into our world concept pt.2 ♡❥ (possible ♢)
➳Dion gets amnesia (COULD be interpreted as part of HIRATFLSIL)♢ (possible ✭ depending on how you see it)
➥(comment section for the above is ✭♢)
➳Ex boyfriend! Dion ♢♥︎
➳ Dry humping❥♥︎
➳Dion with a Reader from a small town (implied ✭)
➳You have twins♡
➳Soul Mate Au: you feel their pain (no warnings)
╰──────༺♡༻──────╯
╭──────༺♡༻──────╮
Concepts (Not x Reader)
➳baby faced Dion (No warnings)
➳ Yan! Dion (irl dream I had): Sex/brothel worker! 'Me'✭❥
Knight! Target character! Xiao x reincarnated! Maid! Fem! Reader.
Only romance is between Xiao and the Reader. It will bloom. Promise.
Part one (h e l p)
WARNINGS: Past illness (Reader), death (Reader), blood, bullying (Reader is the victim), physical violence (slapping, kicking), very slightly implied dissociation, low key enemies to friends to lovers (Maybe??). Please tell me if I missed any.
Okay. I suck at writing one-shots, apparently. How do I write them? Said I wasn't going to do another series yet here I fucking am. It won't be long, though. Hopefully. But hey, hopefully I'm feeding you guys (Hopefully x2)
No tag list.
MINORS/BLANK BLOGS (NO POSTS), ETC. DO NOT INTERACT
Story summary: Your death was… unavoidable. Regardless, you didn't think you would wake up again, and especially not in a dating sim you only played once. And you're the NPC maid who the main character tries to set up with Xiao the Knight in his route while she's confused about her feelings. A stupid plot, a stupid game, and now you're trying your best to avoid the anti-social knight. Ah, but Xiao's eyes are starting to wander away from the main character, unlike how he was in the game…
= = = =
Your death was unavoidable.
Or at least that’s what the doctors told you, scribbling something on their clipboards. That the treatment wasn’t doing its job. A failure.
They said you only had a few months left. And oh boy, how right they were. Your illness was painful and the pain medication they gave you only did so much. Every day it felt like your bones were cracking, coughing fits that almost broke your ribcage. When sleep was your only salvation, but even then, your nightmares were worse than reality.
You forgot how old you were when you died. However, now you’re starting to wonder if you’re actually in a coma, your family surrounding your unconscious body dressed in a hospital gown.
Why else were you "alive"?
In a secluded area, body collapsed on cold stone, you were alone. There was no heating, and your body felt weak, limbs heavy before inhaling sharply. You could hear, but couldn’t see. Touch and feel, but the sensations were different - no stiff hospital bed.
Lit candles on the wall illuminate the dark corridor, making everything more dream-like, eerier, like you were caught in a nightmare. Your heartbeat runs for miles, the drumming deafening. It’s almost painful to feel and listen to.
Your fingers twitched, and your toes wiggled in your shoes. What might have been minutes felt like hours. Your nails scraped against bricks as your heavy eyes finally opened with your vision slightly blurred. Needles were stabbing into your skin, a sensation you were used to, heavy limbs protesting against getting up - the most you could do was sit up and crawl over to a wall, leaning your head against it as you remained on the floor.
You inhale, the air cold and crispy - but unlike with the hospital, it was natural. The smell was different.
That’s when you noticed it - while it was still painful to breathe due to your condition, it's different, less from an illness and more from physical violence.
…wait… where the fuck am I?
You look ahead - not that you could do much - and stare at the stone wall. There are no windows, and even when you strain your ears, you can’t hear a single sound outside of your pumping blood. You shiver, cold air hugging your weakened form.
Your head hurts. Your body feels heavy. Breathing isn’t as difficult, but you still have to strain your lungs to intake air. Your eyes shut on their own, a droplet of sweat drips down your temple. You feel damp and cold.
You can hear the echo of your throbbing head, groaning as the taste of metal seeps onto your tongue. You didn't notice it earlier, but your nose was bleeding - the smell of blood finally reached your sense of smell. Your blurry vision makes your headache worse, but even closing your heavy eyes don't work. Every one of your sounds sends vibrations through your ears, each one painful.
You take a shaky breath. The cold, crispy air stabs at your lungs.
“...hah… what a shitty dream…” a humorless chuckle that echoes within the corridor. The candle light glows, and for the second time in your life, you let yourself drift off into the darkness of the abyss.
Perhaps you'll wake up in that cold, stifling room.
The last sensation you remember feeling was sturdy arms picking you up gently. Ah, but maybe that was just your desperate self making up a happy ending, not once noticing the splatters of blood deeper into the dark corridor, your bloody nose blocking you from smelling the rest of the room.
- - -
That was several months ago. Or was it over half a year? Honestly, you don’t remember - you only remember waking up in a small bed, bandages wrapped around your head and a doctor at your side. You recognized him by his green hair half tied up into a bun, his golden eyes scanning your bedridden form. A white snake made itself his scarf, hissing in surprise when your eyes opened.
The realization hits you like a sledgehammer.
Baizhu.
Fucking Baizhu???? From “I May Be a Knight, but Even I Have Girly Interests!”!?
Ah, yes. You didn’t willingly leave the room, thinking you were in a coma of sorts. It wasn’t until a certain blond knight made her appearance known were you finally dragged out…
“- about to come soon.” A soothing voice breaks you out of memory lane, lifting your head to look at the young woman - golden short hair, a white flower behind her ear and amber eyes with fair skin, Lumine was truly a sight for sore eyes. The main character of the blasted game smiles playfully, nudging you with her elbow.
Her touch still feels foreign.
You don’t smile. “Sorry, I was zoning out… what’s about to come soon?” Your appearance had taken over the NPC maid’s and no-one noticed. What they did notice, however, was the change in personality. She was meek and shy, a stuttering mess, especially in front of one of the target characters.
A classic trait used for girls with crushes in modern day media.
But you? You were the opposite - clinical, humorless, straight to the point. However, considering you were found with your head nearly busted, they wrote it off as memory loss. Trauma that rewired your entire brain chemistry, an entirely new person. Of course, some refused to accept it.
They said you were possessed by the devil. A demon who took over this maid’s body, planning something nefarious, using the sweet little maid who can’t even look one of the target characters in the eye. Always a flustered mess, neither popular nor hated, the sweet little maid who tripped over her own two feet.
A personality they miss, a victim to bullying behind the scenes. A fact you were completely unaware of - it was never shown in the game. It made you feel sorry for her, at first. Until you became their victim. Pity was quickly forgotten as annoyance settled in.
Of course, even though you switched places with the poor girl, even you can’t escape the well hidden bullying. A slap to one of their ugly mugs had them kicking your stomach in return, coughing up and choking on your own salvia, air hard to inhale and -
“The Moon Festival! It only comes once a month,” Lumine explains, gently shaking you in excitement, her brown eyes glimmering with hope you’re going to crush without remorse. You don’t remember Lumine and this NPC being close, not like this - you were aware that in a knight’s route, she tries to set them up, thinking they would make a cute couple, and, of course their relationship changed throughout that story plot, and the maid was silently shoved off to the side, forgotten and ignored by the fan base.
But the fact she was bullied…
If she was going through this, then why didn't tell anyone? Unless…
You unconsciously grit your teeth.
No-one listened.
“I see. How interesting.” You weren’t rude in your last life - but here, in this historical fantasy setting, being rude was sometimes the only way to get your point across. Perhaps it was because the NPC you replaced was shy and didn’t - no, couldn’t say “no” - that these fictional characters were taken aback.
She didn’t have any close friends, so what does it matter if you ruined her reputation a bit? …but what if we switched places -
“Hm,” she hums, leaning back when you don’t offer an excited response. The knight was probably still stuck in the past, reminiscing about the NPC who was her friend. However, even from spoilers, Lumine's relationship with the NPC was never explored, much less shown clearly.
Apparently they were close enough for Lumine to bother her.
To bother you.
However, even you have to admit that this entire situation - aside from being… dangerous, for you - was sad; after all, the main character had clearly lost someone dear to her. Regardless, when you look at her, you only feel annoyance now.
She looks at you, her gaze calculating - going through the options in her head. After all, in everyone’s eyes, including hers, you ‘lost your memories.’ And she was one of the few who just couldn’t accept that. Not fully, anyway. She accepted that you ‘don’t’ have your memories - but she can’t accept that you regard her with little importance.
Like she was nothing more than a buzzing fly.
She moves in to lean her head against your shoulder but stops at that last moment - fixing her posture, she smiles. “I was wondering… if we could go together.” She says it hopefully, cheerfully, and her eyes shine bright - however, there's already a look of dejection blooming as she witness no change in your facial expression.
Just a dull look as you mend clothes.
If you recall the events of the game correctly, it starts a month before the festival. It’s the first important event, each route having their unique twist to it. However, from the one you played and from what you’ve seen with the other routes, Lumine only ever went with one of the target characters. Never a maid. Especially this one.
I wonder if she even asked the NPC in the original game… clearly, she's fond of her. Ah, I wonder how much longer until she decides I'm not worth the trouble. Despite your thoughts, you don't feel any sort of sadness about them.
Much less attachment.
“Not possible. I’ll most likely be busy with preparing everything for everyone else… helping set up the rooms for important guests who’ll surely show up, being dragged back and forth between different duties, washing the curtains and clothes, helping the stable boy and peeling potatoes as the chief prepares a big feast.” The NPC’s responsibilities became yours.
Which, of course, had you interacting with another important character. One that unsettles you, yet one you were drawn to in your past life. Not anymore, though…
Never meet your heroes, as they say.
Lumine stays quiet. Tilts her head. But her brown gaze flickers from you to the side, something - someone catching her eye. It’s obvious she’s plotting something while she hums a tune. Your stomach turns when you follow her direction of sight.
She's doing the same thing she did with the NPC before you replaced her.
You quickly return to mending the clothes in your hands. Fixing what the knight ripped is more important than the person approaching you. No. approaching Lumine.
Clank
His armor makes a heavy sound with his footsteps. He’s either on his way out or just returning. But still. The fact he’s even stepping into your vicinity upsets you. You suppose you can understand his… behavior towards you - this NPC was constantly begging for his attention if Lumine wasn’t trying to set them up - until she was written off - it’s not like you’ve made a move on him.
Then again. Just because ‘she’ has changed doesn’t mean her past actions are now suddenly forgotten and forgiven. But really, did he have to glare golden daggers at you every time he sees you?
You do your best to ignore him at every corner. He knows that.
“Oh!” Lumine forces a tone of surprise, “Xiao! Did you just return?” The male’s name almost makes you gag - in your past life, you weren’t exactly… his biggest fan. He started off as rude and blunt, carrying an air of self-importance. Fans said his attitude changed, became better throughout his route.
But you never did get to see it.
…it's funny that you took on some of his negative traits.
“Yes.” He says it firmly and his glare burns you. A moment later you can feel his eyes leave you - most likely looking at his friend. “What are you doing here? Isn’t today your day off?” He sounds a bit softer, but not by much. He doesn’t become fully soft until you’re halfway through his route, if you remember correctly.
Her golden hair shines in the sunlight, her kind yet playful honey brown eyes looking through him. “It’s exactly because it’s my day off that I’m with (Name) - it’s been a while since we’ve had quality time together.” You almost scoff.
That’s not even this NPC's name. Can’t believe I took everything from her - not even her name is remembered. I admit, it’s a bit… sad.
And irritating.
“Right.” It’s said with doubt. “But still, you should be resting. Not…” wasting time is on the tip of his tongue, it always is, but he never follows through on what he really wants to say. A quick glance at him and Xiao narrows his eyes. They remind you of a cat's.
You look back at the cloth in your hand. Your needle work has improved over the past few months. Or maybe several.
“... overexerting yourself. You’re still recovering.” You halt. Recovering? From what?
Oh well. Not my problem. You continue to sew, but slower. “Why don’t you return to your room?”
You can practically hear the pout in her voice. “But I’ve been resting… besides, (Name) agreed to step outside with me.” You never agreed. She took your silence as ‘yes.’ “Besides…,” her next sentence is a whisper carried by the gentle breeze. “She barely goes outside as is - if I don’t force her then she’ll just stay inside.”
You stay inside because you hate the smell of sweat. You hate the odd looks people give you. You hate being reminded of the fact you’re stuck in a game, abandoned by a God you once worshiped.
While you keep your appearance, your personality… everyone still saw you as the NPC maid who never had a name. She was gone. But you weren’t exactly in their view. You were nothing more than a vessel for a ghost lost to time.
Xiao doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his stare return to you. He sighs, deeply from the chest. Despite his rude behavior, he always had a soft spot for Lumine. “Right. Regardless, you should return to your room soon - I’m sure… she’s also busy.”
Xiao never says your name. And you doubt he ever will. Good. I hate this guy.
Your grip on the needle tightens. He never said the NPC’s name either. And for some reason, in spite of yourself… it angers you.
- - - -
“Why, hello there! Slipped on the stairs again?” Childe was another target character. Orange hair, lifeless blue eyes, tall and well built - alongside Xiao, the castle’s chief was also popular among players. And he’s another one of the main characters that can’t seem to leave you alone.
You just don't understand why - when you played through his route, the NPC didn't interact with him. Not even spoilers that mentioned her ever once stated they had a strong connection - just that she was in the background, still infatuated with Xiao. The throbbing of your right cheek brings you back to the present.
Your right cheek is bandaged up, dark bags under your eyes - another ruthless night. A slap there, an accidental bruise here, a kick in retaliation, a gash on your cheek - the bullying never stops.
You should tell someone. But you can't - you can barely breathe whenever you try to bring it up. At first you wanted to write it off as a panic attack from the NPC's reflexes - but, what was, you assumed, natural for her wasn't natural for you. Your lack of skill in certain areas was pointed out, apparently things she's done with ease.
This was still your body, but healed from your illness, clearly.
Despite the cheerful tone, even you could notice the emptiness in his eyes. They’re as dull as the bottom of the ocean - look too deep and you’ll drown. His gaze never fails to unsettle you - looking through you, knowing that something isn’t right.
None of the target characters were stupid, by any means but… Childe was always… different.
You never got to finish his route and avoided most spoilers. Now you’re regretting that. “Yes,” you answer, taking the basket of carrots and a knife, taking a seat in the corner - a small bin is next to it. You don’t further the awkward and useless attempt of conversation, picking up a knife and starting to peel the carrots.
They remind you of Childe’s hair.
“You sure do fall a lot.”
“Mmh.”
But Childe was never one to keep quiet. Especially with you, you came to quickly realize, the man always having an excuse on his tongue whenever he seeks you out. It makes you question his relationship with the NPC - but again, the maid was barely present in his route. Then again, you didn't get to finish it, so maybe she showed up towards the end…?
“I know it’s been several months since… the incident, but it’s surprising you’re still as clumsy as you were back then. I guess the body remembers what the mind doesn’t.” He laughs, and the smell of cooked meat almost makes your stomach rumble. “But still, it’s nice to see you healthy.”
You also learn things about NPC from him. But sometimes, it felt… deliberate. Did he also miss her behavior and personality you have overwritten? Did he want you to 'regain' your memories so you'll act like her?
Confusion and caution are the two things you feel around this man. And honestly? It worries you - never once, in any official media, was he showcased interacting with this NPC. That's also disregarding the fact that the game was relatively new before your death…
Why is he so concerned with me? Xiao being upset at the mere sight of me makes sense - but what connection does Childe have to this NPC?
Childe never shuts up, much to your dismay. “I heard that Lumine asked you to go to the festival with her.” The subject he brought up happened a week ago. His friendly tone never dwindles. “I remember that last year, you couldn’t make it… not that you remember, of course.”
It’s slight, barely noticeable, but you hear it regardless - suspicion. Something he hid during your beginning days of waking up, but became slightly more apparent as the months passed. Your (e/c) optics leave the carrots and meet his own instead - an odd look replaced with a closed-eyed smile.
Sometimes it feels like the skilled chief wants you to notice. “Or would you rather go with Sir Xiao?” He brings up the name that makes you scowl. He laughs again, placing down the butcher knife, turning to face you.
The empty look in his eyes makes your skin crawl. It's so different from the friendly smile he gives you. Unable to hold his unfeeling gaze, you look at the carrot in your hands, and resume peeling.
“Come now, you don’t need to make that expression.”
"What expression?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. You don’t bother to look up, but you can hear him enter the kitchen, wooden doors shutting behind him. The knight chooses to change the subject before anyone could offer him an answer. The teal-haired man informs the chief of the information firmly.
“Putting that aside, we're having a guest - the King wants you to prepare a feast. For around fourteen people. He said he’ll have the supplies and ingredients delivered to you. Get it ready by ten o’clock, tonight. Eleven the latest, since it’s last minute.”
Childe groans and you can feel the painful throb of your fingers already. Apparently this NPC often helped the carrot top in the kitchen - according to him, anyway. No-one backup his statement nor did you see anything about it in the game. But still, it's not like you can go against him - Childe finds you in every hiding spot with a boyish grin, and talks your ears off until you're helping him, which usually has him going silent, emerged with his work.
Usually.
“Seriously…? Fourteen people? And what type of feast? Should there be a lot of meat? Is anyone allergic to anything? How big should the portion sizes be?
Can I give the leftovers to the servants? What about desert?” Childe bombards Xiao with questions in rapid succession. Understandable, really, but he’s asking the wrong guy. What does he expect to hear from the same guy who fought him to kick him out at certain points throughout the game?
Something, something, he was suspicious… which you agree with. However, no-one else seems to share your opinion. Or maybe it was just ignored.
Finally lifting your head, the blank look on Xiao’s face is almost comical. His dark hair falls into his eyes as he shakes his head, replying, “figure that out for yourself. I’m just the messenger for the basics.” He doesn’t leave immediately.
He looks at you directly. You hold his stare. It’s not romantic, it’s a contest. Confirmation to see if the NPC really had lost her memories and wasn’t faking it - to make sure you’re not a flustered mess. She was never able to keep eye contact.
But you? You always do, if you find it necessary. Ah, but is this really necessary? But you still found it useless and annoying - it's been months, and he still hasn't dropped this habit. Was he expecting you to react like her at some point?
Xiao walks past the annoying chief and stops right in front of you. He still doesn’t like you nor has he opened up to you. However…
“Lumine asked for you yesterday. Did you purposely ignore her?” He’s the sweet main character’s dog.
You scoff, done with him. “I was busy - I’m sure you’re fully aware of my responsibilities. And I’m fully aware of hers. We won’t always have matching schedules.” It comes out ruder than intended. But you feel no guilt, finally breaking eye contact when you feel a sting on one of your fingers - a small line of blood from a shallow cut. You frown.
“If it’s important, then she can come find me. Or just show up at my doorstep, half asleep at night. No need for you to take it upon yourself to deliver something I already know.” Childe only stares at your interaction.
Xiao's head cocks to the side, scanning your form - his golden gaze is something you're used to by now. Always suspicious. Always judgemental. And as always, you'll do your best to ignore it, to ignore him.
You don't see how he opens his mouth, only to quickly close it. He glances off to the side, barely seeing Childe.
From the corner of his eye, Xiao sees the other male’s fingers tap against the handle of a butcher knife. On the verge of griping it. Curious on why the atmosphere feels heavier, you glance up, only to see the same sight - your stomach twists. Your (e/c) gaze travels back to the man in front of you by reflex when he makes a strange noise.
Golden eyes return to you, deciding to end the conversation. Your eyes meet. He stands there for several moments before saying anything. “Fine.” With that final word, he turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen.
However, Childe’s hand never moves away from the knife. It’s a sight that makes you nervous, and you pray he doesn’t know that you know. You resume peeling the carrots until he calls you over to tend to the small cut on your finger.
His touch was cold, eyes observant.
- - - -
Xiao, in terms of physical appearances, was popular among the women and envied by the men. He was shorter than most, slimmer, but his physical strength…
CLANK
“U-ugh! W-wait a - ack!”
“The battlefield waits for no-one.”
His strength is close to none, almost, if not inhuman. He was stronger than what he looks, dancing on the training grounds, movements fluid and practiced, perfected with multiple weapons - however, he was the most natural when it came to long range.
His form is elegant compared to the other knight who’s been here for longer. His steps are fast, thrusting the pole arm, purposely missing his opponent’s neck. Had he wanted to, the man would be dead.
You can’t help but stare.
Knights were historical in your previous life, so seeing them in the flesh was still memorizing. Or at the very least, how they move, so unrealistic for you, it’s still hard to accept. It still feels like you’re in a coma. And you should wake up.
“Another win for Xiao…”
“Does he ever lose?”
“The answer is no, idiot.”
A crowd stood outside the borders that separate the training ground from the rest of the castle. And you were part of it, a pail of water in your hands, on your way back from the water well. Murmurs that prevented you from hearing what the older knight says to his younger opponent. The crowd doesn’t scatter even after the winner is declared.
A small breeze ruffles your hair, the sunlight bringing out the green hue of Xiao’s dark hair, his eyes golden, the sweat glistening on his skin. He’s barely out of breath, muscles flexing under his clothes. A droplet of sweat slides down his temple and to his jaw, where the young man wipes it off with the collar of his shirt.
As though he felt your eyes on him, Xiao's eyes slowly travel over to you. They don't narrow this time, but he looks at you strangely yet blankly. He turns his head once his opponent calls out to him.
You blink. Without another thought, another glance, you turn on your heel.
Later on, you're sent out on another errand by the carrot top.
- - -
Carrying a sack of potatoes in your arms, distant chatter fills the air. A light breeze runs through your hair and ruffles your clothes - the sun is high in the sky. The sun rays warm you physically yet chills run down your spine when you turn the corner and see a very familiar and hated face -
NPC number three.
Another maid. The same black dress with a white apron. Dark gray hair tied into a bun, long lashes that give her an innocent look - brown eyes that blink once she sees you. She smiles. You stop yourself from reeling back in both disgust and a bit of fear.
Self-hatred at feeling fear rots you from the inside out - you shouldn't be afraid. But instinctively, due to her abuse, you are. You hate yourself for it.
"Oh? I'm surprised to see you outside, (Name)… hm? Are you heading to the kitchen?" She gestures to the potatoes in your arms, a glint in her eyes. It's anything but playful, warm.
It's sharper than a dagger.
Your expression stays blank, but your injured cheek throbs. "Yes. Why? Do you wish to switch places?" Mockery said in a flat tone - her smile disappears, eyes narrowing into sharp slits. Her jaw locks but she quickly relaxes it.
She breathes in. "I wouldn't mind helping - but I'm guessing the chief asked for your help again? I swear, sometimes it feels like he favors you over the rest of us." The maid starts to walk towards you, and stops right in front of you. She cocks her head to the side.
You tap your foot, impatient. You try to move to the side, past her, but the witch blocks your path again. You sigh through your nose, shaking your head. "It's not that he favors me - it's because I get work done. Unlike you lot."
Her stupid face becomes red, offended, in disbelief that you would dare to say such a thing. Especially out in the open. Then again, NPC number three is the annoyance that bothers you the least compared to the other two. She's still unaware of how far you go against the other two.
The woman puffs her chest out, thinking of a come back. When she finds one, it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes.
"Hah. Or maybe you're selling yourself to him."
"Would you really want a man who gives in so easily to lust? …or are you just jealous you never received his attention once?"
You hear the sound before you feel the impact. Your other cheek throbs harshly, burning, the now sensitive flesh crying in pain. Head facing the side, you only move your eyes to look at the pathetic excuse of a human being. You don't smile nor smirk, lips relaxed. You blink.
"Ah," you say nonchalantly, "seems I hit a sensitive spot."
She slaps you again.
- - - -
"Um… what happened to your face?" Childe asks as soon as he looks at you. He puts his knife down, frowning. "It's all swollen. You look like a hamster… maybe I should start calling you puffy cheeks."
You only scoff before dumping the potato sack next to his feet. He foots back in time before they slam down on them - your attempt at hurting him has failed. How unfortunate.
"It's nothing," you say as you walk past him and back your chair. Picking up the basket of carrots, you take your seat. You didn't get to finish before the irritating chief sent you out to fetch one of the ingredients.
Childe hums, but it sounds… empty. Hollow.
"Puffy cheeks, why are you always getting injured?"
"I'm clumsy is all."
Your throat constricts, tempted to say the truth. But once again, you're forced to stay quiet, chest starting to burn and twist.
- - - -
"(Name), my love, my dearest friend, the glittering stars in my dark night sky -"
"Lumine, if you got into a fight with Paimon, that's your problem, not mine."
"Hey! Wait, no, that's not what I was about to say!" The female knight huffs out, crossing her arms. The kitchen is hot from Childe's cooking, the fire burning hotly. Due to the heat, small strands of hair sticks to your face while Lumine's face is slightly red from it.
Both of your skin is damp, sweaty.
You look at the vegetables you're currently washing in a bucket of water - your fingers are wrinkled. A bit sore as well. "Then what do you want? I'm a bit busy here." Tapping your foot, you wait for her answer.
"You. Me. Xiao. Tomorrow night - we should eat together at least once. Breakfast, lunch, dinner - it doesn't matter. Oh, I guess you're invited too, Childe. If you can make it."
"Hah! You're acting as though I won't be able to."
"Well, you'll be the one cooking."
"Says who?"
"Me."
Their banter doesn't end, not even when it becomes night. No, it ends when Xiao comes searching for Lumine, informing her that the important guests should be arriving anytime soon - that they need to get ready to greet them, wearing their heavy armor.
- - - -
You don't know which route is going on - Lumine's choices so far have been neutral concerning the male knight and the chief. So far, it doesn't look like she's favoring one over the other - treating both as good friends. And from your point of view, so far, it doesn't look like they've fallen for her - yet.
Then again, it's not like the main events of the game has started - not until now.
Draped in luxury cloth befitting for a duke, vibrant long red hair tied into a low ponytail and an unfeeling expression, the third love interest has finally shown himself -
Diluc Ragnvindr.
His ruby eyes are focused on the King and the King alone. Following your fellow servants lead, you bow your head as the King greets the noble. His deep voice echoes as he greets the redhead. "Duke Ragnvindr. Welcome, welcome."
It's hollow, the way he says it.
Diluc bows deeply, his eyes fluttering close. Peeking through your lashes, you admire his graceful movements. However, when he speaks back to the king, you're reminded of the type of person the Duke of the North is.
"Greetings, Your Majesty." It's just as hollow. No emotion hinted at.
He was emptier than a void.
Too lost in thought, you don't notice an amber gaze landing on you.
tags: established relationship. you guys are beefing ngl. masturbation (brief reference, m receiving). leon loves his wife a lot. title from eve 6 anytime.
Your therapist takes in the way you both sit on her couch over the rims of her glasses. Your legs and arms are crossed and you don’t dare look in his direction, lest he thinks he’s not in the doghouse. The first fifteen minutes of this session have been an awkward, stilted silence.
Leon’s legs are spread, his arms folded as he sneaks glances at you from the corners of his eyes. His mouth is downturned at the corners, contrasting the thin line yours is pressed into.
Not to stereotype or anything, but she can definitely see which one dragged the other to marriage therapy. She’s just surprised it’s the man wanting to fix something.
Okay. Since neither of you want to speak, she’ll go first. “Would either of you like to tell me why we’re here this week?” She asks, writing the date in the top left corner of the legal pad’s page.
11 - 18 - 17
She watches you scoff and shift where you sit, balancing your temple on two fingers. “You’re a marriage counselor, aren’t you?” You don’t even look at her as you speak, words ground out from your teeth. “Why else does a couple come to you?”
Alright, not a good start. She watches Leon reach over before he stops himself, a hand returning to his lap. Instead, he says your name softly, begging you to look over at him with those big blue eyes.
You don’t look over.
He changes tactics, head lifting. “Be nice.” He says softly, body shifting to face you as he looks over, drinking you in.
You don’t respond, staring angrily into a space over the therapist’s shoulder.
Leon sucks in a breath through his teeth as he leans back, his hand midway between you two on the ugly upholstery.
Your therapist clears her throat, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Why are you two here?”
Leon takes the lead, his eyes sliding over to you. “We’re having… problems.”
You scoff immediately. “Understatement.” You mutter under your breath, arms folding tightly again.
Leon’s mouth presses into a line as he restrains himself from giving into your baiting before he says, “I’ll lay my cards out on the table.”
You bristle, eyes flicking over at him. Your face is stonily neutral, the slight knot of your brows betraying your frustration.
Wife and husband in habit of needling one another.
“I drank. A lot.” Leon leans back, crossing an ankle over his opposite knee. “And she did a lot to try and keep our marriage afloat before I got my head out of my ass.”
Your therapist notes this on her legal pad. “How long ago was this?”
“Three-ish years.” Leon offers, lacing his fingers together. His wedding band glints in the light—yours is conspicuously absent. His eyes land on you, the second time he’s spoken directly to you. “And I’m forever grateful.”
“Mhm.” Therapist writes that husband is apologetic and open, attempting to bridge the gap. Wife is unreceptive. “And how long have you both been married?”
Shit. That’s a better question for you, you have the dates straight, somehow. Your first time, the date you two got married, the day you two met, your first daughter’s birthday, your first son’s birthday, your second daughter and son’s birthday.
He used to tease you about your calendar brain early on. You’d look a little sheepish and he’d kiss it right off you.
Leon sneaks a glance at you like a drowning man looks at a float. “Um…” He can feel his face warming up, a pretty flush spreading across his cheeks.
You shift, sighing through your nose and picking at the seam of your jeans. “Sixteen years.”
Right. Wife seems to defrost when asked how long they’ve been together—sixteen years.
“And how did you meet?” Just so she has the dates straight.
“College.” Your face heats the longer Leon stares holes into your cheek. Wife seems nostalgic of the early days of relationship. “I worked at the campus dining hall.”
A small, helpless smile spreads across Leon’s face. “I came over to the sandwich and pasta stations as much as I could.”
Husband holds affection for wife still.
You don’t look up at him and your therapist can watch the heartache bloom in his eyes before he looks away.
“What’s your perspective, Mrs. Kennedy?” The therapist asks you, crossing her legs.
You stay silent for so long that the therapist wonders whether you heard her before you say emotionlessly, “He did drink.” Your eyes fall to your fingers. “And mope, and feel bad for himself.”
“I went through a lot of things.” Leon says quietly. Your therapist opens her mouth to hush him, but you beat him to the punch.
“Nobody’s saying you didn’t.” You look up at him for the first time. “If you’d let me finish, you’d understand what I’m saying.”
Your therapist holds up her hands before this can devolve into a full-on argument. “Excuse me.” Two pairs of eyes settle on her. “Let’s not interrupt one another, please. And let’s keep the hostility to the minimum.”
“I’m not being hostile.” You retort, brows furrowing in the middle.
“You’re not exactly being gentle, either.” Leon mutters, raising a brow when you look at him with a frown on your face.
Husband and wife have habit of speaking over one another. “Please.” Your therapist says a little louder. “Mrs. Kennedy, continue.” Wife is on defense.
You take a steadying breath and let it out slowly. Wife employs self-soothing mechanisms. “I was going to say that the previous drinking isn’t the issue to me.” You uncross and recross your legs, bouncing the one on top. “The drinking, frankly, wasn’t a surprise.”
“Can you elaborate?”
Your lips part, eyes flicking over to Leon as you attempt to figure out the best way to talk without breaking his confidentiality.
Leon doesn’t look at you, head balanced on two fingers.
“I…” You take another deep breath. “It’s his job. It’s… it’s a tedious and stressful job. And he’d—“ you cut yourself off, glancing at him again.
“You can say it, it’s fine.” Leon says, sounding particularly weary.
You look particularly conflicted when he says that, mouth turning down at the corners. “He’d got the job from a big incident in ninety-eight. He wasn’t supposed to have this job.”
Wife employing vagaries to protect husband.
“Mhm.” Your therapist looks vaguely uneasy at the omission, but lets you go on.
“He hadn’t started drinking heavily until he was working for the President.” You chew on your cheek, eyes on your husband. “Then after that, he tried to go away to Colorado for a week, leaving me pregnant with three kids.”
Leon’s mouth pulls into a line. “So that’s what this is about.”
Husband and wife hold vague resentment for husband’s job.
Your therapist refrains from rolling her eyes, clearing her throat and waiting for you to go on.
“And then,” you say pointedly, eyebrows raising, “you didn’t have a vacation at all because your job called you in. That’s what I was getting at.”
“More like it found me, but close enough.” Leon replies flippantly, crossing his legs.
You squeeze your eyes shut, measuring your breaths. Your therapist is almost tempted to write that husband has a bad attitude, but holds back.
You look away, one hand moving to twiddle your wedding band out of habit before you register that your finger is empty. You pull your hand away. “He sobered up after the Colorado thing.” You say quietly.
Husband’s work takes him away from the wife and kids fairly often.
Your therapist nods, looking between you two. Wife was angry at beginning of session, now looks downcast, switching role with husband who was earlier downcast, now is irritated. “And how many children do you share with one another?”
“Four.” Leon fills in, hand twitching for his phone as if to show pictures. “Two boys, two girls.”
Four children, two boys and two girls.
“And how has this break—“ When she asks, Leon flinches and you look guilty. “in your relationship impacted your children?”
You glance at one another in tandem. Wife and husband still look for support in one another when asked questions pertaining to them as a family unit. Leon looks away first, cheeks turning red.
You sigh, reaching up and rubbing the back of your neck. “Our eldest girl started acting out in school. She’s defiant, she’s antisocial. She…”
Leon waits as you trail off, then picks up. “She’s an extrovert, like her mom. Which is why it raised alarm bells when her teachers told us that she’d been angry about having to do group work because she wanted to be left alone. She had to be taken home one day because she got in a physical fight with some kids who just wanted to play with her.”
“And your other children?” Her eyes flick between the two of you.
“Our youngest two aren’t in school yet.” You inform her, shifting a little and fiddling with your nails. “Our eldest boy—he’s six—had begun isolating himself from everyone. He wouldn’t even sit at his desk, he just wanted to sit in the library area and do his work—which is completely fine and I don’t see why the teacher threw a fit about it, frankly—but he’d also refused to play with other children. He would just watch other kids at recess—and he’s a very energetic kid.”
Your therapist nods slowly. “I see.”
Leon’s mouth pulls into a small smile at all the information you throw at the therapist. That’s his girl, always motormouthing and talking about anything and everything. Though, you could start an argument with your echo, so maybe there’s a drawback to your ability to talk about anything.
Parental relationship affecting children in household.
“Our youngest two don’t really understand why mommy and daddy are fighting.” Leon muses, watching you play with your fingers. He has half a mind to reach over and hold your hand so you stop fidgeting, but refrains.
“How old are your children?”
“Eight, six, four, and two.” You sneakily reference a tattoo on your forearm of the kid’s birthdates with their initials—he knew you were cheating when it came to remembering their birthdates.
Your therapist glances at her watch, jotting down a few more notes before she closes the legal pad, marking it as Mr. & Mrs. Kennedy. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have this week. If you both are willing to come back, my receptionist out front will schedule you for another session next week.”
Leon watches his cum swirl down the drain miserably, leaning his forehead against the shower tile. What a waste.
That session last week could’ve gone worse, admittedly. It could’ve had you two throwing shit at one another and both of you getting arrested.
The silence during the drive home was excruciating. In the early days, you could fill up the whole fucking car just talking about anything: your coursework, which kid in your class you think is autistic, this new show you watched, anything.
Leon’s a quiet guy, he doesn’t have the capacity to talk about nothing and everything for an hour and you’re his favorite little chatterbox in the world.
He turns off the faucet and shakes his hair out like a dog, raking the curtain aside and grabbing his towel, mopping his face and hair before he dries off his body.
He wraps the towel around himself and steps out of the shower, slicking his hair back and wiping a streak in the foggy mirror so he can somewhat see where he needs to shave.
For good measure, he opens the window and leans forward to the mirror, inspecting his face.
You knock on the door thrice. “Can I come in?”
He turns around, one hand on the knot holding his towel up and the other unlocking the door and pulling it open. You step inside without so much as a glance at him, pausing when you see the streak on the mirror. “I hate when you do that.” you mutter, pulling open the cabinet and rooting around for some disinfectant.
“You hate when I do anything.” Leon mutters back, retrieving the trimmer from the cabinet and being careful not to whack you in the head with it. He jams the plug in the wall, undoing his towel both to dab his cheeks and jaw dry with a corner of it, but also to see if he can get a reaction from you.
You give none, coming back with some rubbing alcohol and cotton pads from the cabinet. Somebody must’ve scraped their knee. You bonk the back of your head on the way out. “Motherfucker!”
Leon puts down the trimmer with a stifled laugh, leaning down and stroking the back of your head gently. “Jesus. You okay?”
You swat at his covered thigh, sitting down on the tile. “It’s not funny.”
“Did you hear me laugh?” Maybe you did. His bad, he should’ve been quieter. He strokes the back of your head one last time before pulling his hand away.
“No, but I know you want to.” You grouse, getting up from the floor and picking up the rubbing alcohol and the cotton pads. Safe, just like a guy stealing a base at the last second.
You walk away without anything further and Leon feels stupidly self-conscious as he watches your ass. Is it the hair? No, you said you liked the body hair. Is it the body? Is he out of shape? Well, he’s not far outside the realm of dad bod. Besides, you told him a couple years ago that you liked seeing the give to his tummy, means he’s eating well.
He shakes his head, leaning into the mirror and picking up the trimmer as he buzzes his stubble down a little more. Your four year old runs into the bathroom with a smile and he pauses, face half-shaven to give some love to one of his three girls, plopping her on the counter as she talks his ear off and he continues shaving.
After a while, he helps her down so she can go run around with her siblings and so he can get changed, hanging his towel up when she’s gone and changing into a pair of boxers. He comes into his bedroom and heads over to his dresser, pulling out a shirt and some sweatpants.
He comes downstairs fully dressed to utter chaos.
Your kids are too busy running around the living room and body slamming one another to listen to you. You stand there frustratedly as you try to configure a game plan, one temple aching. You don’t like raising your voice at them, your voice goes too high and at a certain point, kids tune it out.
“Hey!” Leon, on the other hand, has no qualms about raising his voice. He doesn’t have to do much, he has a lot of diaphragm support.
The kids pause, immediately looking guilty.
Wordlessly, he points out to the back door and they scramble away, shouting and ordering each other around and back to playing with one another.
Leon goes over and shuts the door with a sigh. “They get that energy from you, you know.” He muses, heading over to the kitchen to get himself a snack.
“I know.” You sit down on your humongous couch, rubbing a temple. In the corner is your pillow, your blanket hung over the back of the couch. Leon’s heart dully aches when he sees that setup, he’s not sure it ever won’t. God, he misses cuddling you and his babies.
Your therapist holds up a hand in the last ten minutes of your session after having found a good place to cut you off. “So.” She says after letting out a quiet sigh, looking over her notes.
11 - 25 - 17
Making some headway in conversations about the other’s intentions. Husband and wife very similar: hardheaded, hate to lose, want their voices to be heard. Neither want their children to be in a broken home.
Wife sleeps on couch, lacks wedding ring for second session in a row. Husband longing for connection with her but wants her to give the signal that she’s ready.
She looks up. “I’m going to give you both some homework.” She watches your eyebrow raise and Leon smirk. “First, no matter what either of you is doing, when you first see each other for the day, I want you to hug for at least twenty seconds.”
You frown, Leon’s expression lightening. Amateur advice, or so you think.
“Second, I want you both to start keeping journals of your fights.”
Nevermind.
“Journals of our fights?” You repeat, crossing your legs at the ankle.
“I’m not finished.” The therapist reprimands gently, watching you frown. Wife has issues with authority. “These journals should take place over a week’s time. I want you to write down what the fight was about, what was said, how you both reacted. At the end of every week—Sunday, we’ll say—you’ll exchange the journals and read from the other’s point of view.”
Damn, that’s actually really good.
“Third,” The therapist pins you in place with a look. “I want you to wear your wedding band again.“
She watches the embarrassment cross your face, eyes cutting over to Leon when he looks too smug. “Don’t look so smug, Mr. Kennedy. I want you to recite five things you like about her—“
“That’s easy.” Leon says, meaning every word.
She gives him a look. “When you’re in an argument. Mentally, not out loud. Speaking of, you both need a code word for when the argument is getting to be too much and you need to walk away from it.”
She stands up, putting the legal pad in the folder in the Kennedy file. “I’ll see you both next week.”
After the third session, you move right back into the bedroom, after waking up to Leon laying on top of you on the couch.
Leon’s brushing his teeth as you change into pajamas, leaning over and spitting into the sink before he brushes his tongue. He rinses the bristles and puts the brush back in the holder, coming out and helping you ready the bed before your six year old son comes in, saying his tummy’s upset.
“I’ve got it.” Leon comes over and presses a hand to his son’s forehead. Warm. Five out of the six of the Kennedys tend to run warm, which isn’t a worry. “Let’s get you some Pepto, buddy.”
He takes his son’s hand and leads him downstairs, giving him a dose and taking him back up, laying him back in his bed. “Goodnight. Mommy and daddy love you.” He whispers, going over and kissing his three other children goodnight.
He comes back to your room to find you in bed reading, lights dimmed. Instinctively, he comes over to your side and adjusts the lamp so you’re not straining your eyes to read. He comes back around to his side and turns off his light, lying on his right side and facing you.
When you decide it’s time to sleep, you lean over and turn off the light, putting your book on your nightstand and slipping beneath the covers.
It’s silent for a while before Leon whispers, “Sometimes, I wonder if we should have another baby.”
Your head snaps over to his. “What?”
“Not—“ He scoots a little closer, almost reaching out to take your hand. “not, like, a bandage baby or anything. I don’t think a baby can fix this.” A pause before he gestures in the dark. “Us, I mean.”
You snort despite yourself. “I hope not.”
Leon scoffs, coming a little closer. “You know me. That’s not fair to a little baby. And you said four’s your limit.”
Your heart warms. Maybe you shouldn’t be so surprised he remembered.
“I love you, you know.” Leon murmurs, hesitantly and loosely taking your hand. Even in the dark, you can see him coming.
Your chest aches. “I know.”
Another long pause.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” When your head turns, he’s there, inches from your face.
“That it took me so long to pull my head from my ass. You are… my anchor in this crazy-ass world.” He squeezes your hand, hoping you’ll let him hold it for a while longer. “And I hurt you. You’re the sweetest woman I’ve ever met, and I love you, and I hurt you.”
Your burning eyes scrunch shut as you press your forehead to his.
“I just hope you forgive me—I hope one day, that I’m good enough for you to forgive me.” He whispers, voice wavering. “I want this to work. I want you. God, I miss you.”
Maybe that’s what you needed, you needed to hear him render his heart open.
You come closer, pressing your front to his.
“And even my job—“ He curses, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then the spot between your eyebrows. “I’ll quit.” When you giggle, he huffs. “I’m serious. Give me the word and I’ll quit.”
The tension in his chest eases when you tuck your head beneath his chin. “God, no, don’t do that. At least one of us needs an income.” You mutter, throwing an arm around his waist.
SUMMARY: Headcanons of what I think they would be like as fathers to your child. And what if his dormmates were like honorary uncles to the child?
CHARACTERS: OB Students (Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia)
TAGS: Headcanon; Fem!Reader (AFAB) (I never really know what tags to use but I hope you know what I mean)
WORD COUNT: An average of 690 words per character.
COMMENTS: I would have liked to have made a headcanon about the relationship with the boys' parents and siblings, but since we don't know them that well or at all on the Eng Server like Vil's father, I think I'll leave that for a possible post that complements this one. If you want.
Since I didn't want each character to have a big chunk of text, I put them as paragraphs instead of bullet points.
I hope you enjoy 🩵
CONTEXT: This was written with a cisgender female reader in mind. Reader is Yuu. But if you want (and can) read it in any other way, feel free to.
By the way, this is one of those moments when I wish English had a second person plural, instead of the singular and plural being the same. Whenever I write “your child” I mean it in the plural (you, the reader, and his)
Riddle’s child(ren) call him: Father
Riddle has the same demands and standards for his child that he has for himself. But he doesn't want to make the same mistakes as his mother, so in comparison he can be more permissive. Because of this he will ALWAYS listen to you if you tell him he is being too harsh.
In terms of studies, etiquette and behaviour he is quite strict as you would expect. But when it comes to play he lets his child do almost anything they want.
He doesn't know how to play with his child, but he will always make an effort to learn how to and do it with them. He almost seems to regress to the childhood he never had and wants to give to his child. Whenever the child learns a new game, they will show it and teach it to Riddle and he will be delighted with it.
Although he is strict, he is also relatively protective, especially if your child is a girl. He tries not to be overly protective, but he can't help but worry about your child. If there was a right way to raise a child, is he doing his job well enough? You will have several conversations at first to reassure him that he is doing a good job.
He will study any and all parenting books that experts in child behaviour and education recommend. This kind of knowledge is never too much. Which often leads you to try to convince him to relax and just trust his instincts and what he feels is right. The child is his, not all those authors and experts. Sometimes there are things that a parent simply knows.
Lawful and calm Uncle Trey. They love uncle Trey's sweets! Sometimes Riddle asks him if he's not giving them too much sweets and Trey always assures him that it's okay because he knows how to make healthier sweets and the limit for a child to eat. If they weren't already Riddle's child, the whole thing about always brushing their teeth could be scary.
Chaotic Uncle Che'nya. The crazy and fun Uncle! Your child and Che'nya join forces (maybe even with you) to play pranks on Riddle. Never anything that could get the child into trouble with their father, just enough for everyone, Riddle included, to have fun.
Uncle Ace and Uncle Deuce are more from your side than Riddle's honestly. Ace is a bit like Che'nya in the case of being one of the chaotic pranksters uncles. But he is also the uncle of magic tricks who is always deceiving, but also entertaining your child with them.
Deuce is the rad uncle with a cool moto and/or even cooler blastcycle, who offers to take your child for a ride in it with him. Your child also finds it funny to see the two of them arguing amicably. But it’s even funnier to see them imitating their father trying to order them to stop arguing.
Uncle Cater doesn't show up very often, but they like him. He's not chaotic like Ace and Che'nya, but he's also fun. Your child enjoys receiving compliments from him and taking pictures with him.
Your child imitates their father scolding Grim too. Just like Riddle (and probably because they're still little) they have a very bad temper. Riddle gets embarrassed whenever you say that someone takes after their father.
Leona’s child(ren) call him: Dad
Leona still doesn't like kids... your child(ren) is/are just an exception.
Yes, Leona would treat a daughter slightly differently than he would treat a son. In the same way that he treats men and women a little differently. But the only difference is that he would be tougher on a son than a daughter, but will still be affectionate regardless.
No matter what gender his child is, he wants the same for them: be strong both physically and mentally. To outsiders like some servants or citizens who don't know him, they may get to the point of thinking Leona is a harsh father who doesn't deserve all that love from his child, and he will tell both you and your child not to mind that. But the truth is that he is just like he was with you at school: a tough guy who hides a caring heart.
Leona continues to show himself to be a person who doesn't want anyone to upset him and who would growl at anyone who bothers him. The only people who can get close to him even when he's angry and remain safe and sound are you and your child. He'll still growl at you and your child quietly, but there will be a volume that is the line, like if his growl is louder than that limit it's because he's getting really angry, until then it's just him being him.
Your child will already have the best private teachers and tutors (one of them being Kifaji/Neji if he’s still alive), but even so, Leona will want to make them study and learn more. But in that discreet way that he knows. He will not force them to study more, he will find a way to convince them to want to learn more on their own.
You end up being the most affectionate parent and the one they trust for emotional comfort. Leona is the tough love, you are the soft love (at least in comparison). Leona will always tease you, insinuating that you are too soft and only spoil your child. Although he enjoys when you spoil him too.
He is 100% the ‘Go ask your mom’ kind of dad.
He lets his child take naps with him. And you too.
If he has more than one child, he will police himself not to favor any of them. He may have a tendency to favor the younger ones because of what he went through as the youngest himself, but none of his children will be treated in any special/different way based on their birth order. Neither the youngest nor the oldest.
He will try to convince his child not to be too close (emotionally) to their uncle or cousin, but won't stop them from playing with Cheka. When your child is old enough not to tell others what is said in your home, Leona and them will talk badly about Falena and Cheka behind their backs.
Leona will prefer your child to play with Ruggie and/or his children. On the one hand, he wants to keep them away from his family, but on the other hand, he also wants his child to know what the real world is like, to see both wealth and poverty, to know royalty as they knows their people and only then create their own judgement.
They don't call anyone uncle or aunt other than Falena and his wife. In the same way, Leona also doesn't give cute titles to anyone without being sarcastically. Even when he calls you “love”, “darling”, “honey” or something like that, it's to tease you.
Whenever you go to Shaftlands, whether for democratic reasons or on holiday, you always try to find a way to meet with Jack. Leona pretends that he only helps you with this because you want to see your friend and he wants to get rid of his family. Both you and Jack know that he just doesn't want to admit that he wants to see him too. Jack is the cool parent's friend who taught your child how to snowboard. While they are little they like to hug his tail because it’s fluffy.
Despite everything, he doesn't want his child to have the same lack of hope that he has, and despite trying to hide it, he always feels extremely guilty and bad whenever your child says something like that. At these times he relies on you to be the ray hope in that house, they will both need you for that.
Both Leona and your child are afraid of you when you get really serious or angry.
Do you know that scene from The Lion King where Mufasa uses Zazu to give Simba an pouncing lesson? Leona often does something similar, but instead of the target being a blue bird, it's a magical creature called Grim.
Azul’s child(ren) call him: Daddy (when little) Dad (when older)
Azul is an extremely emotional father, despite trying to hide it. There's going to be a lot of moments like: “HE/SHE IS THE CUTEST LITTLE THING IN THE WHOLE- *clears throat* I mean, he/she is such a charming little child.” He will most likely cry at your baby's first words, steps, anything.
Azul is overprotective! If any living creature even thinks about harming your child, he will tortu- that is, find a completely legal way to ensure that it never happens again. Now, if you'll excuse him, he suddenly felt like talking to Jade and Floyd. (The same protectiveness applies to you.)
Although he is very (secretly) emotional and loves to spoil his child, he is also relatively strict about their studies. He likes to spoil them (and you) when it's deserved, but he will not raise a spoiled child! This ends up balancing things out a bit.
He will hide the whole mafia-like part of his life from his child. Dad is just doing business, boring adult stuff. Maybe when your child is older he will start to reveal a little of that side of his life, if they later want to join their father it will be their choice. But until then, let them be innocent children, they are cuter and happier that way, there is time for everything.
He will always hold back his emotional side so as not to be overly affectionate. Unless his child starts crying. At that point his mask falls completely and he becomes the most affectionate and comforting father there can be, that is his weakness.
And if one day the child realizes this and starts using crying to get what they want from him, he won't know whether to be angry that he is being emotionally manipulated by his own child, or proud that they learned so quickly.
You will be the only one immune to the fake crying.
From the beginning, Azul has been wary and suspicious of letting Jade and Floyd be like uncles to your child. However, you two ended up letting this happen, but Azul will always keep an eye open.
Both Jade and Floyd will definitely use the child to play pranks on Azul. Mostly Floyd, Jade prefers to watch and assist. Azul will always be upset with the twins, never with his child. And depending on the severity of the prank, he will turn on his overprotective side and threaten Jade and Floyd that if that happens again they will never see your child again. They never go beyond that limit.
Every now and then when Floyd plays with your child, he will do that joke where he playfully tells them he's going to catch them and bite them. Actually in his playful voice, he doesn't want to scare them. And they will run to Azul and hide behind his legs asking for help while laughing. Or tentacles if they are in their merfolk form.
You know those little plastic cashiers where kids pretend to have a little shop and try to sell things to people at home? Usually parents or sibling. Azul loves to play this with his child because it is a great and fun way to pass on his knowledge. Both about sales and about taking care of your money. Usually using the Grim as a guinea pig. Grim also likes to play because he always ends up with food in exchange for toy money.
If you ask them Jade is the scary uncle (only sometimes) but they themselves don't even know why. It's just his vibe or something. However, they are not afraid to ask any of them for something, it being to play or for help.
Jamil’s child(ren) call him: Dad (in informal moments) and Father (at formal events)
Jamil needed to learn to express himself more and better emotionally so as not to end up being a cold father without meaning to. He needs your help to teach your child when to hold back and when to know when they are in a safe space to let go.
The only thing that will follow Jamil forever is an inevitable feeling of guilt for your child having the same fate as him, simply for being his child: serving the Al-Asim family with no other choice. But you can be assured that if there is a way to stop this and give his child freedom of choice, whatever that method may be, he will not give up until he finds it and do it! Normally parents want to give their children what they always wanted and could never have, in Jamil's case it’s freedom.
There was something Jamil wanted to do, but he didn't have the courage to ask the Al-Asim for some kind of vacation. But you had! Using your great friendship with Kalim, you managed to get him to allow you to take a vacation long enough for you to travel as a family, as Jmail wanted. Jamil has always wanted to travel alone, but now with you and your child he would like to travel as a family and give his child the experiences he would have liked to have had himself.
He is quite demanding with his child's education and training. However, his attitude towards this is always calm and collected, and he is attentive to his child's limitations and needs. He is a great and responsible tutor, who knows how to distinguish between being a teacher and being a father.
He is usually quite serious, so you and your child are the ones who start messing with him to have fun and make him laugh. It's always nice when he reminds you two that he can also be a tease. Normal or biggest target of your joint teasing ends up being Grim at some point.
During his work as Kalim's servant, Jamil always had to cook a lot and he's not that big a fan of cooking, so so he can rest at home you're the one who cooks most of the time. He will teach you everything you want to learn and at first you will cook together a lot until you feel comfortable cooking alone. But even then he will continue to offer to help you. Your child will continue to say that Jamil's food is tastier, but yours is prettier. And the food you make together is the best because it’s tasty and pretty. Jamil will also encourage his child to cook with you two so that they can learn from a young age.
His child knows that there is only one thing in this world that can make their father scream in fear: Bugs! If your child is also afraid of insects, you're screwed, because you will be the insect killer in that house. However, if it is just the two of them, Jamil's protective instinct will be stronger and despite his fear he will protect his child. If your child is not afraid of insects, then Jamil will have two protectors. “Can you do dad a favor?”; “Where is it?”; “Living room, south wall last time I saw.”; “Does it fly?”; “...Yes.”
Kalim will treat your child almost like one of his own children, for loving you both so much. He got emotional when he found out you were pregnant, he wanted to help pay for your doctor's appointments if necessary (never was), and he got emotional again when your child was born. He loves buying toys for your child too and give them gifts. He would love for Jamil to let them call him Uncle Kalim. And he loves it when your kids play together.
Vil’s child(ren) call him: Father
Vil wants to have a family that is at its best as he likes to be at his best himself. He wants you and your child to be as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside, just as he strives to be as well. However, he would treat a daughter slightly differently than a son because of the different pressures of societal beauty standards.
With a son he would be as strict with him as he is with himself. But with a daughter, he knows she's more likely to suffer from these kinds of things. So although he continues to be relatively strict and wants her to be the best she can be, he ends up being softer with criticism and stronger with praise and soft love than he would be with a son.
He would hire a specialist, like as a child psychologist or something like that, to always know the best ways to rise and protect your child. Children of famous people like him, especially in the digital and social media age, may need more protection from their parents in this regard, in addition to the toxic pressure of comparison that exists. However, because Vil cares so much about your child's personal development as their happiness, he may end up putting enormous pressure on himself to be a perfect parent too.
Both Vil and your child will need you to be the person who brings them both back to the real world and the life of a loving family with flaws like any human being. Vil will always listen to you if you feel he may be being too harsh and demanding with your child, or with himself in terms of parenting.
If you are the type of person who likes to tease Vil by letting yourself be sloppy from time to time, (always at home) then your child will also like to tease their father like that. “You have your mother’s cheekiness, I see.” Vil sighs but laughs. The teasing includes eating sweets and food that Vil would not approve of. You are the parent they ask for things from and who best comforts and pampers them. You two probably team up to make Vil relax and have fun with you.
His child will have the best teachers and tutors, go to the best schools and best establishments for any extracurricular activity they want to have. Vil will probably force them to have an extracurricular activity but they will be free to choose which one.
Rook is OBSESSED with your child! In a respectful way of course, he is just already a huge fan. The result of combining your DNA with Vil's? MERVEILLEUX! He won't hold back the tears when he sees the baby for the first time. He will LOVE playing with your child. He will babysit for free and will be happy to do so if you ever need. It will be a long time before he stops getting so emotional whenever your child calls him "Uncle Rook."
Uncle Epel is the rad uncle, when Vil is not around. He is that person who will help your child do cool activities that Vil may not allow. Like taking a blastcycle ride with him, eat grilled meats, playing with things that make the child very dirty or other things that Vil didn't like Epel to do when they were at NRC. But if at least one parent allows it (you), then there is no problem. Right? All this, of course, when Vil is not around.
When he is there, both Epel and your child behave like little angels. You and Epel have to be very careful that the child doesn't get careless and say something in Epel's dialect in front of Vil. They love Uncle Epel because it is fun to do cool things without their father knowing and with your help.
Your child likes to use Grim as a doll to dress up in cute clothes. The funny thing is that Grim likes it too because your child eventually realizes that if they tell him he looks cool instead of cute, he'll let them keep dressing him up.
Idia’s child(ren) call him: Daddy (when little) Dad (when older)
Idia doesn't believe he can be a good father. A shut-it and antisocial otaku like him? Are you crazy? That's a disaster! He can't take care of himself, how is he going to help you raise a child? However, and especially with you, he also has that overly cocky side that believes that even being an antisocial nerd he would be 1000 times better than a lot of parents out there. So basically he has a tendency to oscillate between these two moods.
In comparison, you are the strict parent, he is the parent who spoils the child. They are both afraid of you when you get upset. He's a ‘Don't tell your mother’ type of dad. He can't say no to his child, but, oddly enough, he can't be emotionally manipulated either. He may even let his child do a lot of things, but even he has limits to what he knows is good or bad for them.
Because he's the permissive father, he's also the scariest when he gets serious. He can never get really mad at his child, but he can say a firm and assertive “No” if necessary. However, if they are still very young and start crying, he will panic and call you immediately. You will then have to comfort Idia and tell him that no, he did not make a decision that put him on the path to the traumatic and apocalyptic ending. What he probably did was the opposite.
If it depends on him, his child will be a nerd/otaku just like his father. However, he doesn't want them to be socially anxious like him and will always encourage them to go for walks with you outside even if it's without him. That doesn't mean there aren't times you drag him outside with you.
Besides occasionally questioning whether he is being a good father, there is something else that haunts him... He still carries and will probably always carry the feeling of guilt for what happened to Ortho, so he is absolutely TERRIFIED that something like that may happen again.
Idia has always tried to keep your child as far away as possible from all areas that are dangerous or even remotely similar to the hallway where that happened. But if your child ever happens to even enter an area that their father did not allow, they will get to know a side of Idia that sometimes you yourself don’t even remember exists: The overprotective, traumatized side that isn't afraid to scare his child if it means keeping them away from the danger. And probably the only way they'll see his red hair. But it will probably be after that, that the two of you will have an open heart conversation and Idia will apologize.
Now, about Uncle Ortho, they LOVE uncle Ortho! He's the one who goes for a walk with you and your child when you and he can't convince Idia to go too. He is a cheerful uncle who loves to play with your child. You three made up stories to explain why uncle Ortho was a humanoid. You always make up different and crazy stories to jest with them and make them change the subject. The day will come when they will be old enough to know the truth.
Idia may even talk badly about himself a lot of the times, but no matter what his child do, they are talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular and everything good. “Of course that's because they inherited it from you, not me.” He will say with a smile.
Both Idia and your child treat Grim like a pet cat and find it funny to see him getting grumpy.
Idia spoke to his child in that baby voice when they themselves were also babies. And maybe also when they are children to the point where they tell him to stop treating them like babies.
Malleus’s child(ren) call him: Daddy (when little) Dad (when older) Father (at formal events)
The day Malleus found out you were pregnant was already a happy day, but the day your child was born was the happiest day of his life! And every moment with them is the happiest moment of his day. And of course with you too. He totally and completely loves his family!
Anyone who dares to speak ill of the child of Malleus Draconia, especially about the fact that they are half-human, will suffer the consequences! Anyone who spoke openly about the child being something of a disgrace, shame or an abomination was either killed or imprisoned. (Depending on how opposed you really are to Malleus killing or ordering someone to be killed.) and of course, the same applies to talking bad about you.
The problem is that this is doing the same thing to your child that was done to him. He's scaring everyone and making them afraid to come near your child for fear of saying or doing something that might upset them or Malleus. He listens to you and agrees with you, showing concern and thoughtfulness about what should be done. He hates people being disrespectful to the ones he loves, but he also doesn't want his child to go through what he went through.
What ends up happening is that, on Malleus's part, he realizes that he has to start learning ways for people to respect his child without using fear, but to do that he also has to start letting certain insults slide. He doesn't like it, but if it's what's best for his child, he'll do the best he can. Although the same applies if they disrespect you. He hates it so much!
In the case of your child, you are helped by Lilia (if he’s still alive), Silver, Sebek and their families. Perhaps trying to spend more time among their people and with other fae, humans, and half-fae might be beneficial to a child's social development.
Lilia would treat the child as if they were his own grandchild. Even if Silver also has children, they are ALL Lilia's grandchildren! “There's no denying it any longer... I am... officially... an old man... For the best possible reasons!” Everyone will rescue your child from Lilia's food. “Never eat anything that Grandpa Lilia cooks, you hear?”
Silver is the calm uncle who, despite not being the most fun to play with, is the one they turn to when they want to rest and simply have a good chill time. Or take a nap. Probably who they turn to to run away and hide from Sebek when he's being annoying. He ends up being the adult (than is not their parents) that they trust most and feel most comfortable with. Silver is very happy when they ask him for help to get closer to an animal to see it better, and even more so if they and the animals end up interacting and playing with each other.
Now about Uncle Sebek... If there is anyone more protective and flattering of that child than Malleus, it is Sebek. He cried when the child was born, for sure. And cried even more when the child said his name, or whenever they at least tried to. The day they called him "Uncle Sebek" he was about to have a heart attack. The problem is that he ends up being one of those type of person who adores children (although in his case the only ones he likes would be Malleus's and his own children) to the point that the child finds them annoying and clingy. “But don't tell Uncle Sebek that, he'll be sad.”
Whenever the child throws a tantrum that ends up causing their powers to manifest in storms or uncontrolled magic, Malleus will take care of it while you stay away and safe. To him, any attack would be mere tickling, but he always made sure that your child knows that the same does not apply to you. They may end up thinking that you are very fragile while they are little, but it is better this way to ensure that they do not hurt you unintentionally.
This also means that whenever you need to say ‘No’ to your child, Malleus will do it if there is a possibility that they would start throwing tantrums. At least while they are young and cannot control their powers well.
Malleus also runs the risk of being a father who spoils his children.
Your child and Grim probably burn a lot of things around the castle because they play together and they both have fire powers.
If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX
And if you would like to read this but with other characters you can write in the comments. If this post has a lot of notes (likes and reblogs) I might consider making a second part with other characters.
Featured Column - Genshin Impact (Geo Archon Quest)
Zhongli has spent lifetimes watching the world change, bound by duty and the weight of eternity. But when Reader speaks of growing old together, he realizes—for the first time in thousands of years—that he wants to walk the same path. To be bound, not by time, but by choice.
Editor's Note: This was made as a request from a peer who wished to remain anonymous. Thank you for this lovely prompt and giving me creative freedom with it, sorry it took me so long! I hope you enjoy!
Liyue Harbor was a city of rhythm. It moved with the tide, with the clatter of ships unloading at the docks, with the rise and fall of market voices offering their wares. It was a city that hummed with life, never truly stopping, only changing pace with the time of day. But in the quieter hours, when the crowds thinned and the lanterns cast long reflections on the water, it was also a city of patience. It was a city that waited.
[Name] had learned to keep pace with it, though not in the way most people did. She didn’t rush through the streets like merchants anxious to make their coin before nightfall, nor did she wander aimlessly like a traveler marveling at the sights. She found her own rhythm—steady, deliberate. She worked, she bartered, she built.
And somehow, Zhongli had become part of that rhythm.
It had started as most things did, small and insignificant. The kind of moments that go unnoticed if one isn't paying attention. He had been a customer in her shop, another face among the many who admired the delicate craftsmanship of her glasswork. Unlike the others, though, he had not simply glanced at her wares and made a purchase. He had lingered, tracing the smooth curve of a finished piece with careful fingers, his golden eyes studying the details as though committing them to memory.
“These are well-made,” he had said, turning a small glass dragon ornament in his hand. “Your work captures the element of Geo quite well—solid, enduring, yet not without elegance.”
She had tilted her head at him then, amused. “You always talk like that?”
His gaze had lifted to meet hers, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a flicker of surprise—like he hadn’t expected the question. Then, he smiled.
“I suppose I do.”
From that day on, he had returned.
At first, it had seemed purely out of interest in her craft. He would stop by, ask thoughtful questions about her techniques, listen attentively as she explained the process. He had an appreciation for craftsmanship, that much was clear—an understanding that went beyond polite admiration. He noticed details that others overlooked, traced patterns in the glass with a reverence that felt almost personal.
Then, somewhere along the way, the visits became less about her work and more about… her.
She had noticed it in the way he would linger even after their conversations about glassmaking had ended. In the way he always seemed to find her when she was taking a break outside, leaning against the wooden beams of her shop with a cup of tea in hand. In the way he would appear in the market when she was there, always at ease, always ready with some quiet, insightful comment about the world around them.
It was never grand. Never obvious.
It was simply him, existing along with her.
She had once told him that she never stayed in one place for too long, that she wasn’t the kind of person who set down roots. Liyue, though, had a way of making people stay.
It had started with the city itself, with its warmth, its beauty, the way it seemed to hold its history in every stone and street. Then it had become about the people—about the familiarity of the shopkeepers she bartered with, the regulars who stopped by her workshop, the feeling of belonging that had crept up on her when she wasn’t looking.
And then, at some point, it had become about him.
She wasn’t sure when, exactly.
Maybe it was one of those quiet afternoons when they had found themselves sitting at a tea house, the world slowing around them. Or maybe it was the way he always seemed to know what to say, his words careful, deliberate, never rushed. Maybe it was the way he listened—not just to the things she said, but to the things she didn’t.
Maybe it was the way he had laughed that one time—really laughed, not just the polite chuckle she had heard before. It had been after she told him about a particularly disastrous attempt to negotiate with a merchant in Fontaine, one that had ended with her leaving empty-handed but with an entire street’s worth of people cheering her on for standing her ground.
“You are… quite remarkable,” he had said, still smiling, and something about the way he had looked at her then had made her stomach flip in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.
She hadn’t known what to do with that feeling, so she had shoved it aside, pushed forward as she always did.
But it hadn’t gone away.
It had settled there, in the spaces between them, waiting.
And slowly, steadily, it had begun to grow.
She didn’t think much about the future. She never had. It had always seemed like something distant, something that would happen when it happened. But then the thought came to her one evening during a small festival, as they walked along the harbor, watching the lanterns flicker against the darkening sky.
She thought about what it would be like to still be here, years from now. To walk these same streets, to keep working, to keep building. To have him beside her, just as he was now.
And that thought didn’t unsettle her the way it once might have.
She glanced at him, watching the way the light caught in his golden eyes, the way he seemed at peace in the stillness of the evening.
“You know,” she mused, nudging him lightly, “for someone who always talks about the past, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about the future.”
He turned his gaze toward her, thoughtful. “No, I suppose you haven’t.”
She tilted her head. “Do you ever think about it?”
A long pause. Then, finally—
“…I do.”
Something about the way he said it made her heartbeat quicken.
She opened her mouth to say something more, but before she could, the first firework of the evening went off in the distance, its golden light bursting above the harbor. She turned her head to watch it, but not before catching a glimpse of him, watching her instead of the sky.
She didn’t ask why.
And he didn’t offer.
The firework faded, its golden light swallowed by the vast stretch of the evening sky, but the hush it left behind seemed to linger between them. [Name] didn’t break it, content to let the warmth of the festival surround them as they stood by the harbor, the voices of the city carrying on without them. For a while, neither of them spoke, and yet, nothing about the silence felt uneasy.
Zhongli’s gaze remained on her a moment longer before he, too, turned toward the horizon. His hands were still folded neatly behind his back, his expression as unreadable as ever, but something about his posture felt different—thoughtful in a way that went beyond his usual musings.
She had seen that look before.
It was the same one he wore when he traced his fingers over old inscriptions on stone tablets or when he spoke of Liyue’s past with the kind of familiarity that only came from lived experience. She had always chalked it up to the way his mind worked, how he seemed to carry an endless well of knowledge that even he couldn’t quite put into words sometimes.
But now, with the golden glow of lanterns flickering in his eyes, she wondered if it was something more.
She let the thought drift away.
Instead, she nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get something to drink. All this standing around is making me feel like I should be making a toast or something.”
He blinked, as if pulled from some distant thought, before letting out a quiet chuckle. “A toast, you say?”
“Well, yeah,” she said, already starting toward the tea house at the edge of the harbor. “It’s a festival, isn’t it? If you’re not eating or drinking, you’re doing it wrong.”
He followed, and though his smile was small, it lingered.
It became a habit, after that.
She wasn’t sure when exactly it started—maybe it had been that night, or maybe it had been happening all along without her noticing—but Zhongli became an unspoken fixture in her life. Their walks through the harbor grew longer, their conversations stretching into the night until the streets grew quiet. When she worked late into the evening, she’d sometimes find him waiting outside her shop, two cups of tea in hand, as though he had known without asking that she would need a break.
He never lingered past his welcome, never overstepped, and yet he was always there, as steady as the tides.
And she… she found herself gravitating toward him in turn.
It was never something they talked about, never something they put a name to, but it was there, woven into the spaces between their words, into the brush of hands reaching for the same teacup, into the way he always seemed to instinctively fall into step beside her, no matter where they were.
And yet, despite all of it, Zhongli remained careful.
[Name] noticed it in the way he would hesitate just a fraction of a second before touching her, the way he would sometimes look at her as though he were about to say something but would instead let the words settle unsaid. He was never cold—far from it—but there was a certain deliberateness to his every action, as though he was holding himself at the edge of something neither of them had spoken aloud.
She didn’t press.
Whatever this was—whatever it had become—she was content to let it be.
But Zhongli… Zhongli was thinking.
It was not something he could ignore, not when it sat at the forefront of his mind with each passing day.
He had lived for thousands of years, watched the world shift and change in ways mortals could never comprehend. He had stood where mountains had yet to rise, had spoken with those whose names had long since been swallowed by time. Mortality was something he understood, something he had always respected, but never something he had felt bound by.
But now, it was different.
Now, it was standing beside him, laughing at his old stories, pulling him through crowded streets with an easy familiarity, tucking her feet beneath her on the tea house bench and humming absentmindedly as he spoke.
Now, it had a name.
[Name] did not know the weight of the years that stretched behind him, did not know the things he had seen, the battles he had fought, the gods he had called his peers. To her, he was simply Zhongli, a man with an old soul and a tendency to over-explain things.
And for the first time in a long, long while, he found himself reluctant to correct that assumption.
But that did not change the truth.
She would live, and she would age.
And he would remain.
There would come a day—sooner than he wished, far sooner than he was prepared for—when time would begin to take its toll. He would watch as the years softened her movements, as the lines on her face grew deeper, as the vibrance of youth gave way to something slower, something more fragile.
And when that day came, when she looked at him with eyes that had grown old while his remained unchanged, what would he say?
Would he tell her then? Would he wait until she had begun to notice the difference, until she began to wonder why he never changed, why he never spoke of his past beyond vague recollections? Would he let her live her life never knowing?
Would it be a kindness? Or a cruelty?
He did not know.
All he knew was that for the first time, the passing of time felt like something looming, rather than something distant.
And for the first time, he was afraid of what it might take from him.
The tea house was quiet, tucked away from the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor, its warm lantern light flickering against dark wood. The scent of osmanthus lingered in the air, curling in delicate wisps from the cups between them.
[Name] swirled the tea in her cup absentmindedly, watching as Zhongli poured himself another, his movements practiced, careful. It had been a year since they met—since he first stepped into her workshop and admired her glasswork. She hadn’t thought much of it then, just another customer, another passerby, but now, sitting across from him in their quiet corner of the world, she knew better.
He had remembered today. She hadn’t. Not at first. It had only dawned on her when he had arrived at her shop earlier that evening, a bouquet of Glaze Lilies in hand. He hadn’t said anything about them outright—just placed them on her workbench with a soft, “I thought you might like these,” before suggesting tea.
She had smiled, taken them without questioning, but now, watching him across the table, she found herself turning the thought over.
"You really remembered the day we met?" she asked, breaking the comfortable quiet between them.
Zhongli glanced up from his tea. "Of course."
"Not exactly a holiday," she teased, smirking. "You keep track of the first time you meet everyone?"
His lips curved slightly. "Mostly, yes, but especially of those who leave a lasting impression."
Her teasing smile softened as she rested her chin on her palm, tilting her head as she studied him. "What else do you remember?"
Zhongli set his teacup down, fingers curling lightly around the rim. "You were skeptical of me," he said, voice tinged with amusement.
[Name] laughed. "Yeah, you acted like you’d never seen glass before. You held onto that dragon sculpture for so long I thought you were about to recite poetry to it."
He exhaled a quiet chuckle. "It was… an impressive piece of craftsmanship. It still is."
She smirked, but her voice was softer when she spoke again. "That was a good day."
Zhongli nodded. "Yes, it was."
The quiet settled between them again, but this time, it carried something heavier. [Name] let the weight of it sit for a moment before finally exhaling, setting her cup down and leaning forward.
"Alright, I think that's enough reminiscing," she said, her tone light but her gaze steady. "There's been something on my mind that I want to talk about."
Zhongli tilted his head slightly, waiting.
"You," she started, fingers tapping against the table, "are a hard man to read."
His lips twitched, almost amused. "Am I?"
"Don’t act so surprised." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "We’ve been—" she gestured vaguely between them, "—this for a while now, and yet, I still feel like you’re always holding something back."
His fingers stilled against his cup.
She wasn’t angry, nor was she demanding answers from him. Her voice was steady, as was her gaze. But there was a quiet honesty to her words, the kind that left no room for him to dance around the subject.
"[Name]," he started, his tone careful.
But she cut him off with a shake of her head. "Look, I’m not asking for some grand declaration, alright? I just—I think about the future. A lot more than I used to."
His brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
She exhaled slowly. "I think about growing old. About the things I’ll do, the places I’ll see. And when I picture it, you’re always there." She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. "You, sitting across from me at some teahouse just like this, telling me stories I’ve already heard a hundred times but still pretending they’re new just to humor you."
Zhongli’s chest tightened.
She continued, her voice growing softer. "I think about you being the last person I see when my time’s up. About hearing your voice at the end of it all and thinking, yeah, I did alright." She huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "That’s a bit much, isn’t it?"
He should have expected this from her. She had always been forward, never one to leave things unsaid. But still, the weight of her words pressed into him, settling into the deepest parts of his thoughts, into the place where he had been avoiding this very conversation.
She spoke of years. Decades. A life measured in time she would experience fully, while he—
He swallowed, his fingers tightening around his cup.
[Name] studied him, waiting, watching, and when he still didn’t speak, she sighed, leaning back. "I guess what I’m saying is, I want you there," she admitted. "For all of it. If I’m being honest, I just assumed you did too."
Zhongli exhaled quietly, setting his cup down with deliberate care.
Her words—simple, spoken without hesitation—settled in his mind like stone against earth. It was not just a passing thought for her, not just something she wished for in the abstract. She had already placed him in her future, had already imagined a life where he was beside her, watching time unfold together.
She had spoken of it so naturally, without fear, without hesitation.
And in that moment, he realized he wanted that future too.
For the first time, he allowed himself to truly picture it. A life measured not by eternity, but by the years they would share. Mornings spent with quiet conversation, the scent of tea in the air. Evenings filled with laughter, with arguments over things that did not matter, with the warmth of knowing someone was waiting for him at the end of the day.
It was something he had never let himself consider before.
Now, he did.
He wanted to grow old with her.
He wanted to be there.
And for the first time in thousands of years, he understood what had to be done to make that a reality.
Their walk home was quiet. The city had settled into its nighttime hush, the streets dappled in the glow of lanterns overhead. [Name] walked with her hands tucked behind her head, casting glances his way now and then, as if waiting for him to say something.
But he did not, not yet.
When they reached the edge of her street, she stopped, turning toward him with an easy smile. “See you tomorrow?”
Zhongli met her gaze, something deep and steady settling within him. “Yes,” he said, “tomorrow.”
She lingered a moment longer before nodding, stepping back toward her home. He watched until she was gone, until the door closed behind her, before finally allowing himself to exhale.
Standing beneath the lantern light, he let the weight of the evening settle fully upon him.
There was no uncertainty now. No hesitation.
For the first time in his long existence, he knew what he wanted.
He would not simply watch time pass this time. He would choose.
But to do that…
To truly be with her, to share her years, to grow old as she would—he had to let go.
He had to step away from the life he had always known.
Morax had ruled Liyue for thousands of years.
Zhongli, however, was ready to live.
The city of Liyue was alive with celebration, its streets overflowing with eager voices, the scent of incense thick in the air. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, their warm glow illuminating the vast crowds gathered before the Jade Chamber. The people waited with bated breath, eyes fixed skyward, anticipation woven into every hushed whisper.
The Rite of Descension was a ceremony of great reverence. It was tradition, the foundation upon which Liyue had been built—an affirmation that their god, their protector, still watched over them. And for the last time, Rex Lapis would appear before his people.
Zhongli, taking the form of a dragon, stood at the highest point of the chamber, gazing down at the city that had flourished under his hand. For thousands of years, he had guided them, shaped their fate with careful precision, carved their future from the stone of the land itself. But now, it was time to step away.
He had prepared for this.
He had spent centuries watching over them, ensuring they could stand on their own. He had forged contracts not just between rulers, but between the land and the people, so that even in his absence, Liyue would remain strong. They no longer needed a god to oversee every transaction, to pass judgment over every decision.
And yet, even as he told himself this, there was an ache deep within him, a weight that pressed against his very being.
To let go of divinity was one thing. To let go of the people he had watched over for millennia, the land he had shaped with his own hands—that was another entirely.
Still, the decision had been made.
There could be no hesitation.
The moment arrived. A final breath. A final glance at the world he had built.
And then, he fell.
The sensation was strange—weightless and yet crushing, as though time itself stretched between moments. He felt the air rush past him, the stunned cries of the people below, the way the city seemed to recoil in horror as their god—their unshakable, eternal protector—crashed into the earth, lifeless and unmoving.
The murmurs turned to cries. Chaos rippled outward like cracks in stone.
"The Geo Archon is dead!"
From the depths of his consciousness, from the fading remnants of the form he had left behind, Zhongli listened.
He listened as the voices of the people he had watched over for so long trembled with uncertainty.
He listened as fear gripped them, as leaders stepped forward to bring order to the moment, as merchants and elders alike whispered prayers for guidance.
He had known they would react this way. He had prepared them for it. And yet, for all the logic in his decision, something in him wavered.
He had always been an observer, but this was the first time he had truly felt what it meant to be left behind.
He had prepared Liyue for this. But had he prepared himself?
Days passed.
The city did not sleep in the wake of the Archon’s passing. Vigil after vigil was held, offerings stacked high at the shrines, speculation spreading like wildfire. The harbor was thick with rumor—who had done it, why, what this meant for the future. But no one truly knew what had happened.
And somewhere, beyond the reach of the mourning city, Zhongli sat alone.
He had wandered the outskirts of Liyue, away from the lanterns and the sorrow, away from the weight of the decision he had made. Once he found the opportunity, had left the city as a mortal, leaving his vessel behind, and yet the weight of divinity still clung to him on any thread it could.
For the first time in thousands of years, he had no direction. No contract to uphold. No war to wage.
Only silence.
And he did not know what to do with it.
It was [Name] who found him.
She had been searching for days, asking vendors, dock workers, anyone who might have seen him. He hadn’t been at the tea house. Hadn’t stopped by her shop. He had vanished—and in the wake of the god’s passing, that absence had begun to gnaw at her.
And then, just as the sun began to dip behind the mountains, she saw him.
He was standing at the edge of the harbor, facing the open sea, his posture still but not at ease.
Something in her chest tightened.
He looked tired. Not physically—there was no slump to his shoulders, no telltale exhaustion in his stance—but something deeper. A weariness that did not belong to a man who had simply had a long day.
She approached quietly, though she doubted he hadn’t already noticed her. Still, she didn’t say anything at first, simply stepping up beside him and letting the sea breeze wash over them both.
"You disappeared," she finally said, her voice softer than she intended.
A long pause. Then, quietly—
"I know."
[Name] studied him out of the corner of her eye. His face was unreadable, as it often was, but there was something about him that felt… distant.
She crossed her arms. "Alright. You wanna tell me what that was all about?"
He exhaled slowly. "It was… necessary."
She frowned. "Disappearing for days was necessary?"
He turned his gaze toward her then, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I have spent much of my life fulfilling expectations, upholding traditions. And now, for the first time, I find myself free of them."
[Name] tilted her head, studying him. There was something in his voice that made her hesitate—something deep, something old.
"You say that like you don’t know what to do with it," she said carefully.
He huffed a quiet chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "Perhaps I don’t."
That alone made her chest tighten. Zhongli had always been so steady, so sure of himself. He always had an answer, always spoke as if he already knew the outcome of every path.
To hear him admit uncertainty now was… unsettling.
She nudged his arm lightly. "You could’ve at least told me you were gonna go off and contemplate life for three days. I wouldn’t have worried."
His lips quirked slightly. "That is a lie."
[Name] sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine, I would have worried. But you still should’ve told me."
Zhongli glanced back toward the water, his expression unreadable once more. "I will keep that in mind."
She studied him again, biting her lip before finally stepping closer. "Look, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours," she admitted, "but I know you. And I know that whatever this is, you’re probably making it more complicated than it needs to be."
Zhongli said nothing.
[Name] sighed, softer this time. "Just… don’t disappear again, alright? You’re allowed to figure things out without shutting everyone out."
Another long pause.
Then, finally, he nodded. "I understand."
She gave him one last look before stepping away, heading back toward the city. "Good. Now come on, I’m starving, and you owe me dinner for the stress."
For the first time in days, something in him settled.
He turned, following her without question.
The seasons passed, and life in Liyue carried on. The city adapted, as it always had. Though the loss of Rex Lapis had shaken its people, the foundation of Liyue remained strong. Trade continued, merchants prospered, and the world did not end without its god. The people learned to stand on their own, just as he had always intended.
And Zhongli continued living as one of them.
It had been a slow process at first. He had spent lifetimes watching from a distance, unbound by time, unshaken by change. But now, for the first time, he was a part of it. No longer just an observer, but a participant.
And [Name] was there, as she always was.
Their walks through the harbor continued to be part of their rhythm, their evening tea an unspoken tradition. When she worked late into the night, he would often be waiting outside her shop, two cups of tea in hand. When he found himself wandering the marketplace, he would hear her voice calling to him before he even had the chance to seek her out.
Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.
They never named what they were, never spoke about it outright.
But one evening, as the lanterns swayed overhead and the scent of the sea drifted through the air, Zhongli decided it was time to change that.
Their usual tea house was quieter than normal tonight, the hum of conversation a distant murmur beneath the rustling leaves. The summer breeze carried the scent of flowers and salt, the lantern light flickering against the polished table between them.
[Name] sat with one leg crossed over the other, absently swirling the tea in her cup, her other hand resting against her cheek as she watched the people pass by. She looked content. At ease in a way she hadn’t been when he had first met her.
Zhongli watched her, as he often did.
But tonight, for the first time, he was ready to speak.
“I have been thinking,” he began, setting his cup down with deliberate care.
[Name] let out a quiet chuckle. “Uh-Oh.”
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I have come to a conclusion.”
That caught her attention. She tilted her head slightly, her teasing demeanor softening just enough for curiosity to take its place.
Zhongli met her gaze, steady and sure. “I would like to grow old with you.”
Her breath hitched.
He continued, his voice even but warm. “You spoke of this once, of wanting me there when your final day comes. And at the time, I was hesitant, uncertain.” He shook his head slightly, as if at himself. “Not because I did not wish for it, but because I had spent so long resisting the idea of permanence, believing that it was not mine to have.”
[Name] didn’t speak. She didn’t even breathe.
Zhongli reached for his cup again, fingers brushing along the porcelain as he considered his next words. “But I no longer wish to stand at the edge of life and watch from afar. I no longer wish to count time while ignoring the days right before me.” He looked at her again, something deep and unwavering in his gaze.
“I wish to spend those days with you.”
[Name] exhaled, setting her tea down with a quiet clink. For once, she didn’t have a quip, a teasing remark to cut through the moment. She simply nodded. “Good,” she murmured. “I was starting to think you’d never say it.”
His lips quirked slightly, a faint, knowing smile. “You always did have patience.”
“Mm, debatable.” She smirked, leaning back. “But I like hearing you say it, so I’ll take it.”
Zhongli chuckled softly, then let the moment settle before adding, “There is something else I have been considering.”
[Name] raised a brow. “Oh? More big revelations?”
He exhaled, resting his hand against the table. “We should have names for one another.”
That made her pause. She blinked, tilting her head. “Names?”
“Titles,” he corrected. “A way to define what we are to each other.”
[Name] furrowed her brows slightly, searching his expression. “You really do make everything sound complicated.”
Zhongli merely inclined his head, waiting.
She let the silence sit for a moment, then hummed, tapping her fingers against the table. “Alright. If that’s the case, what do you want these titles to be?”
Zhongli studied her, his gaze unwavering.
“I believe we are bound,” he said simply, not answering her question.
[Name]'s breath caught, though she quickly masked it with a half-smile. “Bound, huh? That’s one way of saying we’re stuck with each other.”
“Let me finish, but first, let me clarity. We are not not stuck with each other,” he corrected. “We have chosen each other.”
Something flickered in her expression—something hesitant, something hopeful. She didn’t respond immediately, letting his words settle.
Zhongli allowed a small smile before continuing. “I have always valued certainty, and you once told me that if we were to move forward, it would require commitment.”
Her brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, yeah. I think that goes without saying.”
He inclined his head. “And as you know, I place great value in contracts.”
[Name] stared at him, blinking once. Then again.
A slow, dawning realization flickered across her face, her eyes widening just slightly.
Zhongli did not elaborate.
“…Hold on,” she said suddenly, sitting up straighter. “You—did you just—” She squinted at him. “Did you just propose to me by calling it a contract?”
He did not correct her.
[Name] gawked. “Oh my god—you totally did.”
Zhongli took a calm sip of his tea. “That is in my nature.”
She groaned, running a hand down her face before letting out a breathless laugh. “You absolute—”
She shook her head, exasperated but undeniably happy. And despite her teasing, despite her laughter, despite all of it, there was something warm and real settling between them.
Because he hadn’t corrected her.
Because, in his own strange way, he had meant it.
[Name] exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Alright, fine. You wanna call this a contract? Let’s call it a contract.” She leaned forward, her smirk curling at the edges. “Just know—if we’re doing this, I expect fair compensation.”
Zhongli lifted his brow. “And what would that entail?”
She reached for his hand across the table, lacing her fingers with his. “Every day. Every month. Every year ahead of us.” She squeezed his hand. “That’s the price.”
Zhongli’s grip tightened around hers, his golden eyes steady.
“Then consider it signed.”
And, for just a fleeting moment, he felt a quiet sense of relief—not just in the certainty of her words, not just in the weight of the choice they had made together, but in the fact that this was a contract he could uphold... without financial strain. No expensive fees, no costly tributes—just time, shared freely, something he could give in abundance until the end of their days.
