Nov. 23rd, 2024 06:43 pm
november 23 2024
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travastilaconsider this a miscellaneous wip dump. there might be a time i come back to these later, but as of now, i think these will probably remain unfinished.
“Father… if I was a girl, what would you have named me?”
The question wasn’t one the older man expected, but it was no use to deny his child an answer. The boy would force it out of him sooner or later, and after many years, he found it was simply best to answer sooner to temporarily sate Kaeya’s neverending curiosity. “You should be asking your mother that. She was far better with names than I was, lad. If I remember correctly, you would have been–”
“K-Kaeya. My name is… Kaeya.” Kaeya wasn’t able to meet the other child’s eyes as he answered (he remembered his father scolded him for having such an obvious tell when he lied), but if the redhead noticed, he didn’t seem to care.
“Kaeya…” The name felt foreign on Diluc’s tongue, but it sounded just as sweet, no– even sweeter than any other he’s spoken. “It’s nice to meet you, Kaeya! I’m Diluc.”
Without much thought, he took Kaeya’s hand into his own, interpreting his quietness as a sign of introversion instead of what was more aptly fear. Crepus was tempted to intervene, but Kaeya didn’t seem uncomfortable, rather he stepped closer to Diluc and gave his warm hand a firm squeeze, as if to test if he was truly there. Diluc naturally ran warm (Crepus always woke up with a sweat when the boy insisted on sleeping in the same bed), and it slightly coaxed the chill of the rain off Kaeya’s skin. Still, Crepus knew better than to let that be the sole remedy of the harsh elements and wrapped a blanket he pried from the living room couch around the children, then scooped up both of the boys into his arms.
Sometimes he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he was doing when raising Diluc, but… somehow he had a feeling that having Kaeya in their family would make things easier.
—
“Father knew?”
“I wouldn’t say he knew completely, but I’m certain he had a feeling that something was different about me.”
--
“Diluc,” Jean greeted warmly, though the exhaustion in her eyes was impossible to ignore. He was tempted to advise her to get some rest, though he quickly realized how hypocritical that would be. “It’s good to see you. I’m sorry for having you schedule an appointment, but with the way things have been–”
Diluc simply shook his head as he made his way into the chair in front of Jean’s desk. “It’s fine. Trust me. I’m very familiar with having a lack of free time.”
Jean still looked guilty, but she didn’t continue with the apologies. Instead, she cleared her throat and brought her hands together to rest them against the wooden surface.
“In any case, is there anything I can do for you?”
Now it was Diluc’s turn with guilt. Jean was sharp enough to know that Diluc didn’t make appearances at the Knights’ headquarters for nothing, and it would be an insult to her intelligence to pretend otherwise.
“Right, yes.” He leaned forward, drumming his fingers against his knees. “I wanted to ask you about Kaeya.”
Jean’s expression didn’t change, not even a bare hint of surprise on her face, which made Diluc internally scold himself for being so obvious.
“Kaeya is the Calvary Captain now, and she–” Jean lingered on the pronoun far longer than necessary, and when Diluc didn’t flinch at it, she continued. “She
“I knew that.”
Jean furrowed her brows with a slight tilt of her head. “I’m… not sure what else you wish to know. It isn’t my place to share the details–”
“No, no. I don’t need to know that,” Though Diluc didn’t really know what that was referring to, “I suppose I just… wanted to know how she was… doing.” It sounded sillier saying it aloud.
Despite this, Jean, without missing a beat, simply smiled and pushed herself out of her chair. Diluc’s eyes followed her as she moved, and, eventually, she stopped at the door of her office and pulled at its handle to open it, light from the windows
“I think there’s someone else you can speak with to find that out, don’t you think?”
–
Diluc should have taken Jean’s advice, but instead he found himself pacing around the headquarters’ library, eyes scoping for rows upon rows of book spines to find a title that may aid in his predicament.
Orders in Order: Interpersonal Communication Competence Among Knights of Favonius. Too scientific.
Mondstadtian Guide to Talking to Girls. Too juvenile.
What Women Really Want: Mondstadtian Monster Sex Appeal. What?
Before Diluc could tear his poor eyes away from the source, a smooth voice cut through the silence.
“Master Diluc, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company in my humble library?”
Diluc didn’t know the woman, though Jean had filled him in on the people who had come to fill the seats on the Knights of Favonius during his departure. It was no surprise that he wasn’t satisfied with the way they conducted things, nor would that change with new arrivals (in fact, it made him even more weary). His investigations on said individuals thus far hadn’t revealed anything warranting his immediate concern, but his suspicions were a hard beast to put at bay.
“Lisa Minchi, I take it.”
A slight tilt of the head and a honey-sweet smile was her response, and Diluc turned away to continue his search.
“As the librarian here, I’m very familiar with our selection, if you’re looking for something in particular.” Lisa slowly descended down the stairs.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“No? Hmm, a shame.” A book appeared from behind her back, and she slotted it into the empty space near Diluc’s hand.
“If you ask me,” He didn’t. “I find these sorts of books to be most unhelpful. I wouldn’t dare trust the opinion of someone who can’t write half-decent prose.”
Diluc’s straight face remained, though he had to fight the embarrassment rising to his cheeks. Caught red handed, childish guilt in the pit of his stomach, and Diluc was emotionally transferred back to when he was a kid and stealing sweets tucked away in the cupboards for him and Kaeya.
“Our lives are so unique, and no book can mend all our wounds.” She pulled away, brushing a stray hair behind her hair. “The best we can do is to be honest to ourselves, and to others, even if that means having difficult conversations.”
“Right.” Diluc patted the wood of the shelf and “I didn’t find what I was looking for. It may be pertinent for the Knights to look into keeping better stock.”
“Oh? I’ll keep that in mind, but do let me know how your womanly troubles turn out, else I’ll have to find out for myself.”
Lisa’s laugh sounded teasing enough, but Diluc had a feeling that was more of a threat than a jest.
Diluc didn’t get two steps out of the headquarters when he felt a solid fifty pound force ram and bounce off his leg. He had to fully turn his head down to find the culprit, a little girl with sharp ears with a backpack that looked as big as her whole body. The girl didn’t seem deterred by Diluc at all, even when she pushed herself up and was met with his tired, stern face. It must be one she was used to, as she simply pouted and tucked her arms behind her back. When she wasn’t met with a scolding, her demeanor quickly shifted from pitiful to curious.
“Who are you?” Klee circled around him, as if that would give her a better clue. “Hmm. Nope. Klee hasn’t seen you before.”
“Uh.” It wasn’t as if Diluc disliked children. Far from it. In truth, he wanted a family of his own one day, but… he wasn’t entirely sure how to talk to them. The girl was so little, he thought to lean down to meet her eyes, but he recalled that he found the gesture demeaning when he was her size. “My name is Diluc Ragnvindr. I own–”
“Diluc? Diluc?” She interrupted, digging her heels into the ground to stop herself right in front of him. She adjusted her bag and jumped in place. “Klee knows you now!”
“You do?”
“Mhm! Big sister Kaeya told me about you.”
Diluc couldn’t stop the gargled sound that erupted from his throat. Klee continued regardless.
“Big sister Kaeya said you went on a trip for a while. Klee asked where, but Kaeya said that she didn’t know either, but she said you would bring back souvenirs to show everyone! Can Klee see?”
By the time it took Diluc to wrack up a response, Klee was already gone, distracted by something that was far more interesting than a man wound up by his own thoughts.
“It’s considered rude to talk so much about a person who isn’t present, you know.” Kaeya said. “It’s hard to believe we were taught the same manners. At least be more discreet about it next time, won’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Diluc pushed his mask further up his nose, though he knew that it was fruitless to conceal his identity around his sister, of all people.
Kaeya hummed knowingly, expecting that response. “My mistake, then. I suppose I have you confused for someone else.”
Diluc sighed and jumped down from the roof ledge he was perched on. When he stood to his full height after landing, he realized how close the two were, and that the last time they were mere inches apart, it was with swords at each other’s throats. Up close, Diluc could watch her eyes flit upward to meet his gaze, could tell the exact fabric used for her clothes just by its stitching, could reach out and touch her, if he were a man of less restraint.
“Oh? What’s the matter? Does the Darknight Hero want to escort a lady to her home?”
“I–” Diluc knew she was teasing, it was something she just… did, now, but the offer of walking side by side was too tempting to resist, and he nodded once, then twice more. “Yes. I can.”
“What?” That took her off guard, and Diluc watched her internally and externally stumble to regain control of the conversation. Her wide eyes and parted lips were soon replaced with a faux flirtatious stare, punctuated with a smile . “Well. Far be it from me to turn down a humble request from someone so charming.”
They walked in silence.
Mizuki is more used to sleep with interruptions than without. It used to be the night terrors, visions of war and death on repeat, decade old memories so palpable that he tasted blood in his mouth each time he shot up in bed, clutching at the scars that ached as if they were raw, fresh– the fear of infections and returning home in a casket.
It’s Kitaro’s whispers that pull him out of dreams, now. Tiny, fearful pleads that Mizuki would nod and tiredly mumble to. Too exhausted to mutter anything close to coherent, but alert enough to coax the boy right into his warm, steady arms.
Tonight, though, he wakes up to Kitaro crying, which is rare for his age. Stranger still, is the fact that his son isn’t snuggled in the futon with him. With how far he sounded… he must be in the kitchen. What could it be… The boy was so stoic, it was hard to imagine anything that would upset him that much. Maybe he dropped something in the midst of getting a midnight snack, something that Mizuki cherished, but there wasn’t anything Mizuki treasured more than Kitaro. Mizuki yawned as he shuffled off the blankets, brushing away the sleep dust in his eyes.
Then he hears someone else. A voice he didn’t recognize, one hushed and urgent, and Mizuki’s heart sinks as he grabs whatever is close and rushes out of the bedroom.
A burglar? No, Kitaro would’ve taken care of it. A yokai? More likely, but surely his father would’ve been by Mizuki’s side to let him know? Down the hall, to the right, and Mizuki shoves the shoji aside, raising a broom high above his head.
“Get away from–!” Mizuki shouts, and the rest of the demand dies in his throat at what he sees.
Even in the dark, Mizuki can clearly see Gegero– but in the flesh, though much younger than Mizuki remembers. He’s struggling to hold a squirming Kitaro in his arms. His limbs are gangly and awkward, body still growing into itself, the softness of boyhood rounding his face. Kitaro whines as he pushes against Gegero’s chin and forehead with chubby hands. Kitaro’s grimace only lifts once he catches sight of him.
“Mizuki!” Kitaro shouts as he forces himself out of Gegero’s grip with a good wiggle. The boy runs to his side, wrapping his babyfat arms around his leg for comfort.
Gegero stands hunched in the dark of their kitchen, eye wide and hair puffed up like a cat. He takes a couple steps back, teeth bared. “Who– who are you? What are you doing with one of our young?”
“My name is Mizuki.” A prim and proper introduction, just like a businessman. Still, he ushers Kitaro behind him, just to be safe. “You were holding my son, Kitaro. We mean you no harm.”
“Your son? But you’re…” Gegero stops to look him up and down, tilting his head as he sniffs the air. “You smell strange. You’re not a human, but you’re not a yokai, either.”
“It’s a long story,” is what he thinks to say at first, but he knows better than to rouse any more suspicion. After what happened in the village, Mizuki couldn’t ignore the strange things about himself, noticed even without his memories. Hair devoid of color, canines sharper, his reflection unchanged by time. He brings his hand to his chin, humming in thought. “I’m… something in between.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” It doesn’t make much sense to Mizuki, either. Gegero inches forward, cautious. “Regardless, he–” A finger towards Kitaro, “doesn’t belong to you. He needs to come with me.”
“Hmm.” It would be a lie to say he hadn’t considered it. He adores Kitaro, always will, but even he worried that he might be better off raised by yokai. Perhaps it was selfish, how easy he was deterred from it with Kitaro’s bright smile. “You can try, but I don’t think he’ll let you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The ghost tribe has a bond stronger than you could ever understand.” Gegero gets onto his knees, arms wide and inviting, and he finally smiles, though not at all directed Mizuki’s way. “Come, child. We’ll go somewhere safer, far from here.”
Kitaro doesn’t budge; he isn’t even looking at him, too scared to come out of hiding, just clinging and shielding himself behind Mizuki’s thigh. Gegero looks so hurt by Kitaro’s blatant rejection that Mizuki can’t help the pity that swells in his heart. “Kitaro… come on, he wants to say hello to you.” He reaches down to ruffle Kitaro’s hair for comfort–
“Don’t touch him!” Gegero yells, loud enough to shake the walls, and suddenly he’s right in front of Mizuki, his wrist grabbed so sudden and tight that Mizuki winches at the already forming bruise. Gegero’s sharp nails dig into the soft underbelly of his arm, and Mizuki’s veins throb under his touch. He knows Gegero’s strength, knows that he could tear his arm straight off–
“No!” Kitaro slips between the gap of Mizuki’s legs to push Gegero away with enough strength for Gegero’s back to meet the floor with a loud thud. Standing straight in front of Mizuki, arms stretched out in protection, Kitaro stomps his foot. “Stop it! Go away!”
“Kitaro, I’m okay–” Mizuki tries to reassure, and he has an apology on his lips for Gegero… only to find that he isn’t there anymore. All that’s left of him is a trail of dirty footprints that lead from where Kitaro shoved him to the front of their home.
Instead of relief, worry tickles the back of his mind. This Gegero seems so young and… scared. Gegero talked briefly of his past, how he was left wandering alone until he met his wife. Mizuki can’t imagine how he feels being rejected by the last of his kind.
Still, Kitaro takes precedence, and his son is so exhausted by the night’s events that he’s dozing off while he stands. Mizuki smiles as he takes Kitaro into his arms, hoping that wherever Gegero is, that he’s safe.
Mizuki didn’t have to worry long. Gegero came back the next morning, though he kept his distance, likely
When he wakes up, he finds Gegero perched over him, watching him like a hawk.
“Ah–” Mizuki gasps, trying to still his beating heart. “...Good morning?”
“I knew it.” Gegero huffs. “You’re not suited to take care of him at all. A dangerous yokai could’ve killed you in your sleep.”
“Good thing there isn’t a dangerous yokai here, just you,” Mizuki replies, and he doesn’t miss the bashful look on Gegero’s face, even though the boy tries to hide it by crawling away to the other side of the futon. “Are you hungry?”
Gegero shakes his head, but his stomach betrays him, gurgling at the very mention of food. Mizuki laughs, and Gegero puffs up his cheeks and crosses his arms in embarrassment.
“I’ll make you some breakfast while you watch Kitaro for me. How does that sound?”
“Kiiitaaarooo…” Gegero repeats, as if tasting the name. “Why is he… called that?”
“Ah, well…” Mizuki pauses. “His father gave him that name.”
“His father?” Gegero blinks. “Where is he?”
It’d be too difficult to explain that Mizuki is looking right at him, so he opts for a half-truth. “He’s away. He’ll be back soon.” Hopefully.
“...Okay.” Gegero seems to accept that answer, much to Mizuki’s surprise. He stares at Kitaro sleeping, then lifts a finger to point to himself. “Do you–” He turns his head to Mizuki, though he’s too shy to meet Mizuki’s eyes. “Do you think… I could have a name, too?”
Mizuki’s heart almost gives out at how cute he is. He smiles and nods. “Of course. Let me see…” Mizuki pretends to think long and hard. “How about… Gegero?”
“Sounds stupid.” Brat. “...But okay. You can call me… Gegero.”
Kitaro didn’t seem keen on Gegero’s company at first, but things smoothed over during breakfast, where Gegero was too ravenous to give Mizuki much trouble.
Gegero stays with them from then on. He even sleeps in the same room, though he opts for sleeping curled up in the corner of the bedroom instead of a futon. Over the course of a few days, though, the boy moved closer and closer until Mizuki found him tucked into his side.
Tonight, Gegero opts to lay on top of his chest. Gegero must enjoy his body heat and the sound of his heartbeat, with his limbs completely wrapped around Mizuki’s body and his ear pressed against the space right above his heart. Mizuki thinks the boy is asleep, but a small, gentle hand sweeps through his bangs, white strands passing through pale fingertips. Gegero lifts his head to stare up at Mizuki.
“Mi-zu-ki,” Gegero plays with the syllables. “It’s strange. You almost… look like one of us.”
“You think so?” Mizuki considers the thought. “Must be my hair.”
“Mm.” Gegero’s hand moves to Mizuki’s cheek, then his neck, then his shoulders, like Mizuki might disappear if Gegero’s not touching him. “You remind me of my mother.”
“Really?” Gegero hadn’t talked about his family before. Mizuki should tread carefully. “What was she like?”
“She was kind. And strong. ,” Gegero smiles at the memory, though it fades. “She told me to hide when she was taken away.”
“I’m sorry, Gegero. You’ve been through so much. I’m glad you’re alive.”
Gegero sniffles once, twice, then it gives way to the waterworks, fat tears
Miles hears Miguel before he sees him.
Miles doesn’t need to look down to find him, but he does anyway. Miguel is fully suited, all deep blue and red as he steps out of the portal, and the eyes of his mask squint at the sight of Miles standing on the side of a 24-hour coffee shop. He has a half-eaten chocolate croissant in hand, and his mask pulled up to the bridge of his nose.
Onlookers don’t look a tad bit phased at Miguel’s imposing form standing in the middle of the sidewalk. They’re used to this, seeing big, strong guys ready to take on Brooklyn’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man… which sounds super wrong when Miles thinks about it that way.
Even though Miles can’t see Miguel’s face, he can feel the unamused glare aimed his way, watches the way Miguel’s mask scrunches up at how easy-going he is.
Miguel crosses his arms. “You gonna come down easy, or am I gonna have to get you myself?”
“What’s the fun in that?” Miles taunts, chewing through a bite of dark chocolate. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights.”
“No,” Miguel squats down. “Just hoping to get you tucked in before your bedtime.”
Miguel leaps to Miles, has to be at least six feet vertically, and tackles him. Miles loses his grip against the brick wall and, even worse, his croissant is lost in the collateral.
1610-1.mp4 transcription
day/month/2099
5:24 P.M.
Detecting movement at its door, the cell room’s camera automatically turns on. The room is stark white, bare of everything except necessities.
Miles: Let me go! You can’t keep me here!
Miguel:
1610-2.mp4 transcription
day/month/2099
3:59 A.M.
0.00 - 3.20: Silence. Anomaly is assumed to be sleeping at this time. He tosses and turns until his eyes snap open. He sits up and stretches, bones creaking. Quality of sleep is assumed to be low, noted by his dark eyebags and sluggish movements.
3:20: Anomaly dejectedly gets up from the bed. He sighs. He begins pacing around the room, socks dampening the sound as he walks from one end of the room to the oher, over and over again. His footsteps become more frantic and uncoordinated, and he nervously fiddles with the t-shirt loosely hanging off of him.
4:37: Anomaly stops pacing. His clothes shuffle as he sits down onto the bed. He chews his nails, staring at the index finger, ending at the thumb.
4:55: Anomaly begins to sing. His voice is shaky, but he gains more confidence once he reaches the chorus. Regardless, the Anomaly is out of tune. The song in question is Universe-1610’s rendition of Sunflower by Pre Malone and Snae Lee.
Miles:
1610-?.mp4 transcription
day/month/2099
? A.M.
Miles: Stop, you’re– hurting me. Please– please just… let me go... I’m sorry. I don’t want this.
Miguel twists Anomaly’s arm behind his back, pinning him against the floor. Anomaly cries out in pain. His struggles end there. Miguel lowers his mouth to Anomaly’s ear.
Miguel: You don’t get it. You never will. You think I want to do this? I’m keeping you safe, Miles. If I let you go, you’ll destroy your dimension. You’ll endanger everyone you love. I’m the only one keeping everything together.
Anomaly doesn’t respond. Tears stream down his face. Miguel pats Anomaly’s cheek.
Miguel: You know better than that. Say it. Tell me the truth.
Miles: (sobbing)
Miguel: Miles, Miles. (sigh) Just repeat after me. I’m sorry, Miguel. I’ll listen.
Miles: I’m sorry– Miguel, Miguel… I’ll listen…
Miguel: Much better. Was that so hard? You always have to be… so difficult. Frustrating. You’re better like this.
1610-?.mp4 transcription
day/month/2099
? A.M.
Miguel enters the room. Anomaly brightens up immediately, his smile wide and eyes lit up. He mischievously hides his sketchbook behind his back.
Miles: Hi, Miguel.
Miguel: Miles. Have you been good?
Miles: Yeah. (giggles)
Miguel: What do you have?
Hell is a cruel place. It was nice to be free from its stifling clutches, even for so short a time. Pitiful souls wander here, lost and afraid, and they either bend to the whims of the damned or face an even worse fate. Strophaia has fended for himself long enough, gained the strength to make his name strike terror into whoever speaks it. Word travels fast amongst its denizens, though, and Strophaia's banishment is the talk of hell. Whoever heard of one of God's angels falling not once, but twice? He doesn't pay their words any mind; they don't matter, never have. No, instead, the empty space where Aeshma should be is punishment enough.
It's not long, though, (twenty seconds, six minutes, seventeen hours, and five days, in fact) until familiar sigils appear above him, entwining themselves until a red, tempting gateway to the human world is left in their wake. His eyes widen, though surprise doesn't linger long, a wide smile gracing his features as he reaches for it. The warm air tickles his skin as his body passes from one realm into the next, and he finds himself in a familiar home with an even more familiar face.
"Aeshma," he coos, knowingly. His wings flutter, curl around his thin frame as he hovers, closer and closer, until Ichiro's cheeks rest in his palms. He leans forward, lets their noses touch, and he knows Aeshma won't shy away from the affection. "Calling me back so soon?"
“Father… if I was a girl, what would you have named me?”
The question wasn’t one the older man expected, but it was no use to deny his child an answer. The boy would force it out of him sooner or later, and after many years, he found it was simply best to answer sooner to temporarily sate Kaeya’s neverending curiosity. “You should be asking your mother that. She was far better with names than I was, lad. If I remember correctly, you would have been–”
“K-Kaeya. My name is… Kaeya.” Kaeya wasn’t able to meet the other child’s eyes as he answered (he remembered his father scolded him for having such an obvious tell when he lied), but if the redhead noticed, he didn’t seem to care.
“Kaeya…” The name felt foreign on Diluc’s tongue, but it sounded just as sweet, no– even sweeter than any other he’s spoken. “It’s nice to meet you, Kaeya! I’m Diluc.”
Without much thought, he took Kaeya’s hand into his own, interpreting his quietness as a sign of introversion instead of what was more aptly fear. Crepus was tempted to intervene, but Kaeya didn’t seem uncomfortable, rather he stepped closer to Diluc and gave his warm hand a firm squeeze, as if to test if he was truly there. Diluc naturally ran warm (Crepus always woke up with a sweat when the boy insisted on sleeping in the same bed), and it slightly coaxed the chill of the rain off Kaeya’s skin. Still, Crepus knew better than to let that be the sole remedy of the harsh elements and wrapped a blanket he pried from the living room couch around the children, then scooped up both of the boys into his arms.
Sometimes he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he was doing when raising Diluc, but… somehow he had a feeling that having Kaeya in their family would make things easier.
—
“Father knew?”
“I wouldn’t say he knew completely, but I’m certain he had a feeling that something was different about me.”
--
“Diluc,” Jean greeted warmly, though the exhaustion in her eyes was impossible to ignore. He was tempted to advise her to get some rest, though he quickly realized how hypocritical that would be. “It’s good to see you. I’m sorry for having you schedule an appointment, but with the way things have been–”
Diluc simply shook his head as he made his way into the chair in front of Jean’s desk. “It’s fine. Trust me. I’m very familiar with having a lack of free time.”
Jean still looked guilty, but she didn’t continue with the apologies. Instead, she cleared her throat and brought her hands together to rest them against the wooden surface.
“In any case, is there anything I can do for you?”
Now it was Diluc’s turn with guilt. Jean was sharp enough to know that Diluc didn’t make appearances at the Knights’ headquarters for nothing, and it would be an insult to her intelligence to pretend otherwise.
“Right, yes.” He leaned forward, drumming his fingers against his knees. “I wanted to ask you about Kaeya.”
Jean’s expression didn’t change, not even a bare hint of surprise on her face, which made Diluc internally scold himself for being so obvious.
“Kaeya is the Calvary Captain now, and she–” Jean lingered on the pronoun far longer than necessary, and when Diluc didn’t flinch at it, she continued. “She
“I knew that.”
Jean furrowed her brows with a slight tilt of her head. “I’m… not sure what else you wish to know. It isn’t my place to share the details–”
“No, no. I don’t need to know that,” Though Diluc didn’t really know what that was referring to, “I suppose I just… wanted to know how she was… doing.” It sounded sillier saying it aloud.
Despite this, Jean, without missing a beat, simply smiled and pushed herself out of her chair. Diluc’s eyes followed her as she moved, and, eventually, she stopped at the door of her office and pulled at its handle to open it, light from the windows
“I think there’s someone else you can speak with to find that out, don’t you think?”
–
Diluc should have taken Jean’s advice, but instead he found himself pacing around the headquarters’ library, eyes scoping for rows upon rows of book spines to find a title that may aid in his predicament.
Orders in Order: Interpersonal Communication Competence Among Knights of Favonius. Too scientific.
Mondstadtian Guide to Talking to Girls. Too juvenile.
What Women Really Want: Mondstadtian Monster Sex Appeal. What?
Before Diluc could tear his poor eyes away from the source, a smooth voice cut through the silence.
“Master Diluc, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company in my humble library?”
Diluc didn’t know the woman, though Jean had filled him in on the people who had come to fill the seats on the Knights of Favonius during his departure. It was no surprise that he wasn’t satisfied with the way they conducted things, nor would that change with new arrivals (in fact, it made him even more weary). His investigations on said individuals thus far hadn’t revealed anything warranting his immediate concern, but his suspicions were a hard beast to put at bay.
“Lisa Minchi, I take it.”
A slight tilt of the head and a honey-sweet smile was her response, and Diluc turned away to continue his search.
“As the librarian here, I’m very familiar with our selection, if you’re looking for something in particular.” Lisa slowly descended down the stairs.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“No? Hmm, a shame.” A book appeared from behind her back, and she slotted it into the empty space near Diluc’s hand.
“If you ask me,” He didn’t. “I find these sorts of books to be most unhelpful. I wouldn’t dare trust the opinion of someone who can’t write half-decent prose.”
Diluc’s straight face remained, though he had to fight the embarrassment rising to his cheeks. Caught red handed, childish guilt in the pit of his stomach, and Diluc was emotionally transferred back to when he was a kid and stealing sweets tucked away in the cupboards for him and Kaeya.
“Our lives are so unique, and no book can mend all our wounds.” She pulled away, brushing a stray hair behind her hair. “The best we can do is to be honest to ourselves, and to others, even if that means having difficult conversations.”
“Right.” Diluc patted the wood of the shelf and “I didn’t find what I was looking for. It may be pertinent for the Knights to look into keeping better stock.”
“Oh? I’ll keep that in mind, but do let me know how your womanly troubles turn out, else I’ll have to find out for myself.”
Lisa’s laugh sounded teasing enough, but Diluc had a feeling that was more of a threat than a jest.
Diluc didn’t get two steps out of the headquarters when he felt a solid fifty pound force ram and bounce off his leg. He had to fully turn his head down to find the culprit, a little girl with sharp ears with a backpack that looked as big as her whole body. The girl didn’t seem deterred by Diluc at all, even when she pushed herself up and was met with his tired, stern face. It must be one she was used to, as she simply pouted and tucked her arms behind her back. When she wasn’t met with a scolding, her demeanor quickly shifted from pitiful to curious.
“Who are you?” Klee circled around him, as if that would give her a better clue. “Hmm. Nope. Klee hasn’t seen you before.”
“Uh.” It wasn’t as if Diluc disliked children. Far from it. In truth, he wanted a family of his own one day, but… he wasn’t entirely sure how to talk to them. The girl was so little, he thought to lean down to meet her eyes, but he recalled that he found the gesture demeaning when he was her size. “My name is Diluc Ragnvindr. I own–”
“Diluc? Diluc?” She interrupted, digging her heels into the ground to stop herself right in front of him. She adjusted her bag and jumped in place. “Klee knows you now!”
“You do?”
“Mhm! Big sister Kaeya told me about you.”
Diluc couldn’t stop the gargled sound that erupted from his throat. Klee continued regardless.
“Big sister Kaeya said you went on a trip for a while. Klee asked where, but Kaeya said that she didn’t know either, but she said you would bring back souvenirs to show everyone! Can Klee see?”
By the time it took Diluc to wrack up a response, Klee was already gone, distracted by something that was far more interesting than a man wound up by his own thoughts.
“It’s considered rude to talk so much about a person who isn’t present, you know.” Kaeya said. “It’s hard to believe we were taught the same manners. At least be more discreet about it next time, won’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Diluc pushed his mask further up his nose, though he knew that it was fruitless to conceal his identity around his sister, of all people.
Kaeya hummed knowingly, expecting that response. “My mistake, then. I suppose I have you confused for someone else.”
Diluc sighed and jumped down from the roof ledge he was perched on. When he stood to his full height after landing, he realized how close the two were, and that the last time they were mere inches apart, it was with swords at each other’s throats. Up close, Diluc could watch her eyes flit upward to meet his gaze, could tell the exact fabric used for her clothes just by its stitching, could reach out and touch her, if he were a man of less restraint.
“Oh? What’s the matter? Does the Darknight Hero want to escort a lady to her home?”
“I–” Diluc knew she was teasing, it was something she just… did, now, but the offer of walking side by side was too tempting to resist, and he nodded once, then twice more. “Yes. I can.”
“What?” That took her off guard, and Diluc watched her internally and externally stumble to regain control of the conversation. Her wide eyes and parted lips were soon replaced with a faux flirtatious stare, punctuated with a smile . “Well. Far be it from me to turn down a humble request from someone so charming.”
They walked in silence.
Mizuki is more used to sleep with interruptions than without. It used to be the night terrors, visions of war and death on repeat, decade old memories so palpable that he tasted blood in his mouth each time he shot up in bed, clutching at the scars that ached as if they were raw, fresh– the fear of infections and returning home in a casket.
It’s Kitaro’s whispers that pull him out of dreams, now. Tiny, fearful pleads that Mizuki would nod and tiredly mumble to. Too exhausted to mutter anything close to coherent, but alert enough to coax the boy right into his warm, steady arms.
Tonight, though, he wakes up to Kitaro crying, which is rare for his age. Stranger still, is the fact that his son isn’t snuggled in the futon with him. With how far he sounded… he must be in the kitchen. What could it be… The boy was so stoic, it was hard to imagine anything that would upset him that much. Maybe he dropped something in the midst of getting a midnight snack, something that Mizuki cherished, but there wasn’t anything Mizuki treasured more than Kitaro. Mizuki yawned as he shuffled off the blankets, brushing away the sleep dust in his eyes.
Then he hears someone else. A voice he didn’t recognize, one hushed and urgent, and Mizuki’s heart sinks as he grabs whatever is close and rushes out of the bedroom.
A burglar? No, Kitaro would’ve taken care of it. A yokai? More likely, but surely his father would’ve been by Mizuki’s side to let him know? Down the hall, to the right, and Mizuki shoves the shoji aside, raising a broom high above his head.
“Get away from–!” Mizuki shouts, and the rest of the demand dies in his throat at what he sees.
Even in the dark, Mizuki can clearly see Gegero– but in the flesh, though much younger than Mizuki remembers. He’s struggling to hold a squirming Kitaro in his arms. His limbs are gangly and awkward, body still growing into itself, the softness of boyhood rounding his face. Kitaro whines as he pushes against Gegero’s chin and forehead with chubby hands. Kitaro’s grimace only lifts once he catches sight of him.
“Mizuki!” Kitaro shouts as he forces himself out of Gegero’s grip with a good wiggle. The boy runs to his side, wrapping his babyfat arms around his leg for comfort.
Gegero stands hunched in the dark of their kitchen, eye wide and hair puffed up like a cat. He takes a couple steps back, teeth bared. “Who– who are you? What are you doing with one of our young?”
“My name is Mizuki.” A prim and proper introduction, just like a businessman. Still, he ushers Kitaro behind him, just to be safe. “You were holding my son, Kitaro. We mean you no harm.”
“Your son? But you’re…” Gegero stops to look him up and down, tilting his head as he sniffs the air. “You smell strange. You’re not a human, but you’re not a yokai, either.”
“It’s a long story,” is what he thinks to say at first, but he knows better than to rouse any more suspicion. After what happened in the village, Mizuki couldn’t ignore the strange things about himself, noticed even without his memories. Hair devoid of color, canines sharper, his reflection unchanged by time. He brings his hand to his chin, humming in thought. “I’m… something in between.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” It doesn’t make much sense to Mizuki, either. Gegero inches forward, cautious. “Regardless, he–” A finger towards Kitaro, “doesn’t belong to you. He needs to come with me.”
“Hmm.” It would be a lie to say he hadn’t considered it. He adores Kitaro, always will, but even he worried that he might be better off raised by yokai. Perhaps it was selfish, how easy he was deterred from it with Kitaro’s bright smile. “You can try, but I don’t think he’ll let you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The ghost tribe has a bond stronger than you could ever understand.” Gegero gets onto his knees, arms wide and inviting, and he finally smiles, though not at all directed Mizuki’s way. “Come, child. We’ll go somewhere safer, far from here.”
Kitaro doesn’t budge; he isn’t even looking at him, too scared to come out of hiding, just clinging and shielding himself behind Mizuki’s thigh. Gegero looks so hurt by Kitaro’s blatant rejection that Mizuki can’t help the pity that swells in his heart. “Kitaro… come on, he wants to say hello to you.” He reaches down to ruffle Kitaro’s hair for comfort–
“Don’t touch him!” Gegero yells, loud enough to shake the walls, and suddenly he’s right in front of Mizuki, his wrist grabbed so sudden and tight that Mizuki winches at the already forming bruise. Gegero’s sharp nails dig into the soft underbelly of his arm, and Mizuki’s veins throb under his touch. He knows Gegero’s strength, knows that he could tear his arm straight off–
“No!” Kitaro slips between the gap of Mizuki’s legs to push Gegero away with enough strength for Gegero’s back to meet the floor with a loud thud. Standing straight in front of Mizuki, arms stretched out in protection, Kitaro stomps his foot. “Stop it! Go away!”
“Kitaro, I’m okay–” Mizuki tries to reassure, and he has an apology on his lips for Gegero… only to find that he isn’t there anymore. All that’s left of him is a trail of dirty footprints that lead from where Kitaro shoved him to the front of their home.
Instead of relief, worry tickles the back of his mind. This Gegero seems so young and… scared. Gegero talked briefly of his past, how he was left wandering alone until he met his wife. Mizuki can’t imagine how he feels being rejected by the last of his kind.
Still, Kitaro takes precedence, and his son is so exhausted by the night’s events that he’s dozing off while he stands. Mizuki smiles as he takes Kitaro into his arms, hoping that wherever Gegero is, that he’s safe.
Mizuki didn’t have to worry long. Gegero came back the next morning, though he kept his distance, likely
When he wakes up, he finds Gegero perched over him, watching him like a hawk.
“Ah–” Mizuki gasps, trying to still his beating heart. “...Good morning?”
“I knew it.” Gegero huffs. “You’re not suited to take care of him at all. A dangerous yokai could’ve killed you in your sleep.”
“Good thing there isn’t a dangerous yokai here, just you,” Mizuki replies, and he doesn’t miss the bashful look on Gegero’s face, even though the boy tries to hide it by crawling away to the other side of the futon. “Are you hungry?”
Gegero shakes his head, but his stomach betrays him, gurgling at the very mention of food. Mizuki laughs, and Gegero puffs up his cheeks and crosses his arms in embarrassment.
“I’ll make you some breakfast while you watch Kitaro for me. How does that sound?”
“Kiiitaaarooo…” Gegero repeats, as if tasting the name. “Why is he… called that?”
“Ah, well…” Mizuki pauses. “His father gave him that name.”
“His father?” Gegero blinks. “Where is he?”
It’d be too difficult to explain that Mizuki is looking right at him, so he opts for a half-truth. “He’s away. He’ll be back soon.” Hopefully.
“...Okay.” Gegero seems to accept that answer, much to Mizuki’s surprise. He stares at Kitaro sleeping, then lifts a finger to point to himself. “Do you–” He turns his head to Mizuki, though he’s too shy to meet Mizuki’s eyes. “Do you think… I could have a name, too?”
Mizuki’s heart almost gives out at how cute he is. He smiles and nods. “Of course. Let me see…” Mizuki pretends to think long and hard. “How about… Gegero?”
“Sounds stupid.” Brat. “...But okay. You can call me… Gegero.”
Kitaro didn’t seem keen on Gegero’s company at first, but things smoothed over during breakfast, where Gegero was too ravenous to give Mizuki much trouble.
Gegero stays with them from then on. He even sleeps in the same room, though he opts for sleeping curled up in the corner of the bedroom instead of a futon. Over the course of a few days, though, the boy moved closer and closer until Mizuki found him tucked into his side.
Tonight, Gegero opts to lay on top of his chest. Gegero must enjoy his body heat and the sound of his heartbeat, with his limbs completely wrapped around Mizuki’s body and his ear pressed against the space right above his heart. Mizuki thinks the boy is asleep, but a small, gentle hand sweeps through his bangs, white strands passing through pale fingertips. Gegero lifts his head to stare up at Mizuki.
“Mi-zu-ki,” Gegero plays with the syllables. “It’s strange. You almost… look like one of us.”
“You think so?” Mizuki considers the thought. “Must be my hair.”
“Mm.” Gegero’s hand moves to Mizuki’s cheek, then his neck, then his shoulders, like Mizuki might disappear if Gegero’s not touching him. “You remind me of my mother.”
“Really?” Gegero hadn’t talked about his family before. Mizuki should tread carefully. “What was she like?”
“She was kind. And strong. ,” Gegero smiles at the memory, though it fades. “She told me to hide when she was taken away.”
“I’m sorry, Gegero. You’ve been through so much. I’m glad you’re alive.”
Gegero sniffles once, twice, then it gives way to the waterworks, fat tears
Miles hears Miguel before he sees him.
Miles doesn’t need to look down to find him, but he does anyway. Miguel is fully suited, all deep blue and red as he steps out of the portal, and the eyes of his mask squint at the sight of Miles standing on the side of a 24-hour coffee shop. He has a half-eaten chocolate croissant in hand, and his mask pulled up to the bridge of his nose.
Onlookers don’t look a tad bit phased at Miguel’s imposing form standing in the middle of the sidewalk. They’re used to this, seeing big, strong guys ready to take on Brooklyn’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man… which sounds super wrong when Miles thinks about it that way.
Even though Miles can’t see Miguel’s face, he can feel the unamused glare aimed his way, watches the way Miguel’s mask scrunches up at how easy-going he is.
Miguel crosses his arms. “You gonna come down easy, or am I gonna have to get you myself?”
“What’s the fun in that?” Miles taunts, chewing through a bite of dark chocolate. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights.”
“No,” Miguel squats down. “Just hoping to get you tucked in before your bedtime.”
Miguel leaps to Miles, has to be at least six feet vertically, and tackles him. Miles loses his grip against the brick wall and, even worse, his croissant is lost in the collateral.
1610-1.mp4 transcription
day/month/2099
5:24 P.M.
Detecting movement at its door, the cell room’s camera automatically turns on. The room is stark white, bare of everything except necessities.
Miles: Let me go! You can’t keep me here!
Miguel:
1610-2.mp4 transcription
day/month/2099
3:59 A.M.
0.00 - 3.20: Silence. Anomaly is assumed to be sleeping at this time. He tosses and turns until his eyes snap open. He sits up and stretches, bones creaking. Quality of sleep is assumed to be low, noted by his dark eyebags and sluggish movements.
3:20: Anomaly dejectedly gets up from the bed. He sighs. He begins pacing around the room, socks dampening the sound as he walks from one end of the room to the oher, over and over again. His footsteps become more frantic and uncoordinated, and he nervously fiddles with the t-shirt loosely hanging off of him.
4:37: Anomaly stops pacing. His clothes shuffle as he sits down onto the bed. He chews his nails, staring at the index finger, ending at the thumb.
4:55: Anomaly begins to sing. His voice is shaky, but he gains more confidence once he reaches the chorus. Regardless, the Anomaly is out of tune. The song in question is Universe-1610’s rendition of Sunflower by Pre Malone and Snae Lee.
Miles:
1610-?.mp4 transcription
day/month/2099
? A.M.
Miles: Stop, you’re– hurting me. Please– please just… let me go... I’m sorry. I don’t want this.
Miguel twists Anomaly’s arm behind his back, pinning him against the floor. Anomaly cries out in pain. His struggles end there. Miguel lowers his mouth to Anomaly’s ear.
Miguel: You don’t get it. You never will. You think I want to do this? I’m keeping you safe, Miles. If I let you go, you’ll destroy your dimension. You’ll endanger everyone you love. I’m the only one keeping everything together.
Anomaly doesn’t respond. Tears stream down his face. Miguel pats Anomaly’s cheek.
Miguel: You know better than that. Say it. Tell me the truth.
Miles: (sobbing)
Miguel: Miles, Miles. (sigh) Just repeat after me. I’m sorry, Miguel. I’ll listen.
Miles: I’m sorry– Miguel, Miguel… I’ll listen…
Miguel: Much better. Was that so hard? You always have to be… so difficult. Frustrating. You’re better like this.
1610-?.mp4 transcription
day/month/2099
? A.M.
Miguel enters the room. Anomaly brightens up immediately, his smile wide and eyes lit up. He mischievously hides his sketchbook behind his back.
Miles: Hi, Miguel.
Miguel: Miles. Have you been good?
Miles: Yeah. (giggles)
Miguel: What do you have?
Hell is a cruel place. It was nice to be free from its stifling clutches, even for so short a time. Pitiful souls wander here, lost and afraid, and they either bend to the whims of the damned or face an even worse fate. Strophaia has fended for himself long enough, gained the strength to make his name strike terror into whoever speaks it. Word travels fast amongst its denizens, though, and Strophaia's banishment is the talk of hell. Whoever heard of one of God's angels falling not once, but twice? He doesn't pay their words any mind; they don't matter, never have. No, instead, the empty space where Aeshma should be is punishment enough.
It's not long, though, (twenty seconds, six minutes, seventeen hours, and five days, in fact) until familiar sigils appear above him, entwining themselves until a red, tempting gateway to the human world is left in their wake. His eyes widen, though surprise doesn't linger long, a wide smile gracing his features as he reaches for it. The warm air tickles his skin as his body passes from one realm into the next, and he finds himself in a familiar home with an even more familiar face.
"Aeshma," he coos, knowingly. His wings flutter, curl around his thin frame as he hovers, closer and closer, until Ichiro's cheeks rest in his palms. He leans forward, lets their noses touch, and he knows Aeshma won't shy away from the affection. "Calling me back so soon?"