Childe - Blog Posts
smth bout pantalone man.. gotta find and take as much content about him
he’s clingy when he’s sleepy ft. pantalone, childe
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pantalone [regrator]
there was something distinct about early mornings that left him behaving differently than he normally did. it could have been the cold air, the intimate ambience, or how cozy it felt to lay in bed with you during these hours—whatever it might be, it allowed him to act shamelessly fussy and whiny in your presence.
you barely leave the bed early in the morning lately without him crabby about your absence, grumbling how freezing and lonely it was to not have you around to keep him warm and comfy. clearly, when you did so one day at the break of dawn to answer the ringing home telephone downstairs. he wasn’t pleased to roll over and reach out to hold your body, only to meet an empty space.
pantalone sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes, racking his brain for an idea on what was happening. he was initially convinced that you left the house to attend to an impromptu errand before he catches your voice speaking at an animate pace outside of your shared bedroom. who were you talking to at this hour? he was a tad bit disoriented, but he still chose to follow you.
staggering down, he sights you lounging on the living room couch with your back facing him as you chat on the telephone. it was evident that you remained clueless of him nearing you since you carry on idly twirling the cord around your pointer finger. when he stood close enough, he taps your shoulder to capture your attention and it causes you to flinch at the abrupt contact then settle down after you spot him.
not another word needed to be said for you to stand up and offer him enough space to sit down and allow you to nestle on his lap sideways. he then circles your torso and tugs you closer against his body and rests his chin on your shoulder. he draws close enough for you to feel his breath by the skin of your neck.
“who’s that?” pantalone whispers while the other person on the other line proceeds to talk your ear off. you lay a hand on too of his, eagerly patting it as you inform him which one of your friends called and the reason for the random ring. he didn’t give much attention, too focused on interlocking your fingers and holding your smaller hand in his.
his silence concerned you. rather than offer you a legitimate reply, he merely hums at the end of every word you said. you try to not think anything of it, brushing it off as him still recouping from recently waking up. you tell him it was okay and gesture him to return to bed but it didn’t work.
of course it wouldn’t.
he was adamant about staying by your side. it was the main reason why he followed you in the first place. he didn’t want to be in bed alone.
“it’s alright, little one. i don’t mind waiting…” he whispers, “i love listening to your voice—it’s soothing.”
you spent the following minutes in his lap, snuggled against his body as your boyfriend struggles between dozing off and staying awake. he practically rejoiced when it ended. he scoops you up in his arms, and carries you back to the room with a satisfied grin. after he lays you down on the mattress, he draws close and holds your body in an embrace.
before you both drift to sleep, you hear him utter in your ear, “sleep well, my love.”
childe [tartaglia]
childe being your boyfriend meant you were overly intimate with each other; you were joined at the hip, like two peas in a pod, as close as the bark to a tree, and among many other to emphasize the point. in short, you were inseparable. your relationship was close figuratively and physically.
your mutual friends couldn’t recall a time nor day where you were seen apart. perhaps the hours you were separated was during work, but other than that? nothing. if anyone needed to look for childe, they just had to find you and vice versa.
it worsens in the morning.
your boyfriend couldn’t tally another reason aside from your your body and the warmth it provided made it difficult to leave the bed and get ready for the day ahead. you couldn’t take a hot shower or prepare breakfast without him putting up a struggle, or stopping you altogether. he would cling on you like second-skin, refusing to let go no matter what.
and today was another one of those days.
your boyfriend lies under the covers with you, his arms were circled around your stomach and his face rests on your bare chest. hours must’ve passed with you two in this position because your leg was starting to cramp thanks to staying in the same pose. you try to stir him awake, however, all it had done was elicit a deep grumble and tighten his hold on your figure.
“so warm…” childe incoherently murmurs, “don’t wan’ to let go…” nuzzling up closer than he previously did. at this point, you were a glorified teddy bear. someone would have to pry you out of his hands for him to release you.
your face turns incredibly flush at how soft he was acting. in spite of dating him for a significant amount of time, he continues to fluster you until your cheeks turned bright pink and bashful. you attempt to pull away to collect yourself but he had other plans, refusing to let go regardless of his state.
“no!” he whines, “don’t hide your face away from me! let me see that shy smile of yours,” as his lips slowly trail up to your neck and his hand on top of your stomach where he lazily drew shapes on your skin. “how long have you been up?” he yawns.
“maybe, like, five minutes before you did?” you answer, and he dazedly nods. you weren’t sure if he was listening to you, he looked like he was in a trance.
you felt a tad guilty for pushing him away, although the idea and feeling soon disappears from your mind after he placed a chaste peck behind your ear. it didn’t take too long for you to relax in his arms.
“can’t we stay in? i’m too tired to do anything today.” childe adjusts his position to rest on his side with an arm propped up. he looks at you, wide and doe-eyed begging you to agree without any complaints. it was difficult to resist when he was staring at you this way.
unable to find the right words to speak, you settle on rolling your eyes then nodding at him—all playfully, of course. now falling back into the softness of the sheets, his arms extend to you, and your legs thrown over his, he mumbles a gentle, “i love you,” before going back to sleep.
this hurt like a bitch wtf
aftermath of a break up
cutting ties with you was easy. getting over you wasn't.
includes: childe, zhongli & xiao !
CHILDE had been the one to say those words, fueled by his momentary anger in the heat of the moment — “we should go our separate ways.”
and hours later even as his rationality returned, impulsive tendencies out of the way, he couldn't bring himself to regret it; why would he? on the contrary, he'd never been better! dating wasn't a necessary part of life, and even if it'd been nice with you by his side, he could live on his own without you all the same. he did it before, and he'd do it again.
CHILDE had his priorities straight. chasing after a lover who didn't want him anymore — oh, excuse me, he meant a lover he didn't want anymore — certainly wasn't at the top of the list. he had a family to care for, enemies to battle, and a duty to the tsaritsa; you didn't fit anywhere in the equation. your separation even granted him more freedom! no one to nag him to stop fighting, or to forbid him from purchasing useless expenditures, or to force him to rest when he was clearly busy with his job, or to meddle with any of his personal affairs from here on out.
but in the dead of the night as he drags his battered body to the comfort of his home, aching all over from bruises and cuts, something wells up in his throat. his hands are shaky as he opens the first aid kit, eyes examining the contents closely. he isn't very familiar with the items inside — you were always there to take care of him, he never needed to check it himself.
there's something wrong about returning home without the lights turned on, the panicked questions flung at him as he's ushered to sit, and the soft hands carefully treating his injuries. there's something wrong without someone to lean on, someone to wait for him to come back, someone who worries for his wellbeing when nobody else does. someone who puts him back together when he's fallen to pieces.
and as CHILDE drops the roll of bandages to the floor and cries in silence, he wonders what went wrong.
on the surface, ZHONGLI's behavior didn't differ much from his normal day to day attitude — he moved at his own pace, working diligently at the funeral parlor without breaking a sweat, and offered little information pertaining what transpired the day before. his colleagues were well aware of his recent... separation, you could say. after all, your heated argument wasn't a very private affair, since you'd broken into a fight at a relatively populated spot of town.
ZHONGLI acted stoic throughout, showing no signs of backing down in his side of things, and coming to a disagreement, you split up. unruffled as ever, he paid no mind to the worried glances sent his direction during work the next day; perhaps avoiding them consciously to a degree.
it worked, somewhat, and break time eventually came along, wherein ZHONGLI habitually prepared himself some tea and snacks. it didn't even occur to him he'd prepared two servings by pure muscle memory alone until he sat down and saw nobody sitting opposite of him — the spot where he expected you to be present, smiling at him like you always did.
something pricked at his chest, piercing through a weak point he thought he never had, but he numbs the pain, hastily inviting a coworker to share tea. she appears to be surprised, an emotion akin to pity glossing over her eyes, and ZHONGLI can't bring himself to force a smile.
the loneliness he feels doesn't subside.
when verr goldet first heard news of you dating the adeptus, she'd been relieved. XIAO had a bad habit of overexerting himself more often than not, arriving at wangshu inn half-dead after his usual patrols to fend off entities with malicious intent. though she'd been tasked with looking after him, it wasn't easy to tell him off. he'd be more likely to scoff at her concern than take her warnings to heart. “i can handle myself.”
with you by his side, a worrywart and stern to boot, her worries lessened considerably. XIAO actually listened to you intently, vowing to have some semblance of self-preservation rather than throw himself into violence carelessly. he began to smile more, too, his usual scowl withering to a passive expression. verr hadn't been given the opportunity to see his smile personally, but she heard his small chuckles whenever you came over and initiated pleasant conversations.
however, the peaceful days came to an abrupt end. XIAO came back one day, drenched from the rain; his blood mixed with the droplets running down his face, and verr wondered if he'd been crying, taking notice of his reddened eyes. her first instinct was to call you over, but he stopped her immediately, coldly glaring her down and cutting off anything she said sharply. “i don't need them anymore.”
but anyone could tell he still does. he stands at the top of wangshu inn, waiting patiently for someone who'll never come, and he knew it. he knew because he was the one who pushed you away in the first place. but he reasons with himself it was for the best, for your better future. he may live an eternal youth, but you can't — there was no point in staying this way forever, was there? (and yet he continues to wait anyway, waiting, waiting, and waiting. what a laughable fool.)
and as XIAO leaves for his patrol one afternoon, verr goldet sighs, pulling out a piece of mail she'd hidden away out of his sight.
she hopes he'll never see this wedding invitation soon.
AUAYAYAYAYAYAYA THIS IS LITERALLY PULLING ME THRU MY ALLERGIES ISTG
lights, camera, action!
premise. in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)
includes. xiao, childe, albedo, ayato, scaramouche, thoma & kazuha.
previous episode. watch here.
note. the long-awaited sequel nobody actually waited for lmao. please read part 1 if you still haven't! this entire fic would be incomprehensible otherwise :'D
四 ; ayato, the cannon fodder
although xiao is, with absolute certainty, regarded as your definite favorite celebrity in your heart, ayato comes a close second.
he's a modern day prince; if anyone were asked to say which male lead they liked best, you can guarantee their answer would be among one of his roles.
he played a lot of characters—a school heartthrob, a ceo, a bar owner, and even an actual prince for a snow white retelling. each one with stellar execution, as you'd expect from an actor of his caliber.
so it is to your absolute horror to find him casted in this production as a minor villain. the one that happens to (futilely) seduce the journalist to bed, no less!
is he asking to get his image destroyed?! which... actually does make sense. he's already been typecasted as the “prince” type of male lead, and you can guess how frustrating that can be. it must suck to play one persona over and over, mindlessly spouting recycled lines; not much room for creativity there.
but he's had different roles too, of course. one that stuck to your mind is another murder mystery, a film focusing on the death of a family head. the power struggle for the place of successor isn't a secret even to the public, and the prime suspects are primarily composed of the victim's relatives who stand to benefit from the family head's death.
ayato played the role of the first son, believed to be the one most likely to inherit the riches. which means the sooner the family head dies, he gets to have all the assets. he's suspicious due to his probable motive, but overly so that it's too obvious; ironically enough, this leads the audience to think he definitely couldn't be the killer.
except he is exactly that, but for a reason nobody would expect. rather than greed, the first son murdered his father for driving his biological mother to madness due to abuse and then sent her to a psychiatric ward, where she eventually died. he took in a second wife, a woman only after his money, who kept on pressuring her husband to make her daughter his successor.
contrary to popular belief, ayato's character didn't loathe his step-sister. in fact, he cared about her quite a bit, and his hate for his father grew whenever he scorned her for being “lacking” or “good for nothing.” his scummy personality led to his demise.
in the end, the step-mother was wrongly arrested, and the true murderer wasn't revealed until after the credits, where ayato was shown sitting at his father's desk and laughing to himself, followed by a scene detailing how the actual murder took place and how he tricked the investigators successfully.
the contrast between his acting as a shallow young master and a cunning mastermind had been praised by many. to tell the truth, you don't know how he was typecasted as a prince when he's clearly more suited for “villain” roles.
...even so, his current role isn't anything like the previous one! a cannon fodder and a genius murderer are nowhere near alike! he's only there to make the protagonist jealous and his character is fated to die one week after the scene with the journalist!
you suppose your disbelief must've shown on your face when each actor's respective role was announced because he couldn't help but chuckle when he looked at you.
“...by any chance, did you audition for the murderer role? because- it's hard to believe that-” you struggle to piece together words, rambling while ayato is busy signing his autograph on your phone case. (as luck would have it, you don't have paper on you. you said he could sign the back of your shirt but he politely declined, insisting the shirt would get dirty like you aren't planning to get it framed on your bedroom wall and declare it your heirloom.)
you don't even feel shy talking to him from the sheer incredulity of the situation. ayato only laughs as he hands you your phone case. “i did. but it turned out getting a minor role is a good thing since i'm planning to be on vacation soon.”
“oh. that's understandable, then...” barely. you still have complaints about it. as an actor, you respect the director's decisions, but as a loyal fan, you oughta give him a talking to and demand to give your idol the role he deserves.
“do you dislike it?”
your brows knit together, eyes momentarily leaving your now prized phone case to glance at him. “dislike what?” dislike that you're treated like this? that you have to act as a brainless villain? that you don't get much screentime? then fuck yeah.
“dislike that you're going to do that scene with me.” almost bashful, he leans closer to whisper to your ear. “you know. the one in the hotel.”
all the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks. impishly, ayato's lips curl into a smile of mischievous nature, a far cry from the elegant simper he usually holds. “i... that isn't what i... no, i mean it's not that i don't like you as my partner, but- but-!”
sufficiently entertained by your fumbling, he stops being mean and lightly pats the top of your head. “let's both do our best. truthfully, i'm not the most adept with bedroom scenes, but if you need help, you can always rely on me.”
rely how exactly?!
...
“is it too tight?”
“um... a little.”
“okay. is this better?”
“yes. am i too stiff?”
“mhm, a bit. you don't have to be nervous. it's just me.”
ah yes. it's just THE kamisato ayato pinning you down your bed, breathing down your neck, moments away from stealing your lips. nothing to worry about, clearly.
he adjusts his grip on your wrists, loosening it to your liking. his character is meant to push you down forcibly, but of course he doesn't want to actually harm you during filming—to prepare before the shoot, practice is of utmost importance. you have to give the illusion of an aggressive assault when in reality he's handling you like a piece of glass.
but you're doing this right after a day's work, and you have to blame your stupid mouth for running off without command and casually asking him if he could visit your apartment to go over the scene. in late hours of the night. in what can be interpreted as a much more scandalous suggestion.
thankfully, you're not dealing with childe so you're spared from wiggling eyebrows or phrases with flirty implications.
but him being ayato doesn't make it any easier.
“don't you feel embarrassed making out on screen...?” you laugh awkwardly in an attempt to ignore the weird tension in the air, slightly overwhelmed by his intense gaze. “i know you've done this several times, but i imagine the awkwardness never wears off.”
“not quite,” he agrees. “but a job is a job... i say that, but i'd like to make it comfortable for you, if possible. how are you faring? do you need a break?” he sits up, allowing more distance in the space between you. you shake your head.
“i'm fine. just... nervous. it's my first time doing a bedroom scene...” you look off to the side, staring at the lights beyond your window. though you're in the comfort of your own room, having an unfamiliar man on your bed makes it all feel so strange.
...as you thought, it really was weird to invite a co-actor to your bed! eh? would booking a hotel be better? but isn't it overboard to go to a hotel for practice? inviting him to your apartment is equally as bad, though?!
“all the cameramen watching can be pressuring,” he adds in afterthought, releasing one of your wrists only to pin it with a single hand. you flinch a little when his fingers skim over your cheek, but you slowly relax into the heat. “it's best if you try to forget about them.”
“i'm afraid that's easier said than done,” you murmur, voice growing weaker as he leans down once more.
“really? i consider myself a decent kisser.” he grins, sly and confident. “i'm certain i can keep other things off your mind for a while.”
“wh- i'm not supposed to enjoy it, remember?!” you squawk indignantly with flushed cheeks. he relishes in your reaction, chuckling lowly.
“oh? my bad. you'll have to work hard acting like you don't like it, then.”
his lips hover above yours, breaths mingling with each other. the proximity catches you off guard but his hand is a steady weight holding you in place, urging you to look at him.
“don't think about anyone else. just focus on me.”
五 ; scaramouche, the best friend
“fantastic. i was also looking forward to a drama adaption but you've already ruined it for me.”
“that's not nice! you're supposed to congratulate me for passing the audition!”
“my courtesy towards you has already expired 5 years ago.”
“yes. you've made that very apparent.”
“have i also made my ire apparent? it's like the universe is telling me seeing you everyday isn't enough, i have to see you on television too. frankly, we see too much of each other.”
“you say that but you're the one coming over my apartment uninvited.”
“this is where i store my beer.”
scaramouche has a perfectly functional fridge so you know he's only doing that as an excuse. he's been this way for 8 years. (of course, he'd only been storing milk at your house when you were both still underage.)
(the milk didn't do any favors for his height, unfortunately.)
his words are as harsh as ever but believe it or not, he's your closest friend. not that he'd ever admit it, even at gunpoint. it's a feat you should add to your resume, honestly, because as far as you know, you're one of the few people he doesn't hate.
he tolerates you enough that he can practice your lines with you (with enough pressure), though he delivers his part of the script with such dispassion it makes it difficult for you to get into the mood. but in his own brand of patience, he lets you reiterate your lines an endless amount of times until you feel like you get it right.
he helps you with expressions too, albeit in a manner you find hard to appreciate.
“you look like you're constipated, not about to cry.”
“your jaw is hanging open. want to catch a fly with your tongue? act like you caught your husband cheating, not like you're about to eat half my burger when you said you'd only take a bite.”
(personal grudges were involved.)
he's not interested in the film industry at all, but he was the one who pushed you to pursue your dreams when everyone else was discouraging you from taking an unstable career. he's your pillar of support; even if he's glaring at you scathingly or giving cutting words matter-of-factly, he's all bark and no bite. the moment you shed tears, he's already pulling you to his chest, remaining silent as he rubs comforting circles on your back. he doesn't even complain when you bury your face to hide in his neck, soaking his shirt with tears.
underneath all that layers, he's pretty nice.
(admittedly, you have to dig real deep.)
when you're smiling and happy, however, he takes the chance to complain. sneering, he blurts, “what's up with you taking roles in romance dramas all the time? besides, you're way too old to be in high school.”
“i still look fresh.” you batted your eyelashes at him, celebrating inwardly when he made a scandalized noise. “but i'm auditioning for a different role soon. if i get it, you'll see me as a murder victim instead of a high schooler.”
two weeks later, you get the e-mail confirming the love interest role. scaramouche goes so pale you consider taking him to the hospital.
“i know the journalist is your favorite character, but aren't you overreacting? do you hate me acting as them that much?”
he rolls his eyes so hard you almost think they're going to be permanently pointed heavenward. “are you stupid? that's not what i'm worried about. wouldn't you have to- you know- do that scene-”
“which one?”
“...the hotel scene...”
ah. well that certainly is a cause for concern. it's steamier than what you're used to; so far, you've only done light pecks or kisses that don't last too long. bedroom scenes are definitely foreign territory.
“i can only hope my partner is good-looking, then. i wouldn't mind it, if that's the case.” you laugh sheepishly, missing the way his eyes narrow in disapproval.
“...whatever. suit yourself.”
“don't tell me you still feel weird about kissing scenes?”
“i don't have issues with kissing scenes. i just don't want to see you sucking face on tv.”
“don't use that word! it's too vulgar!”
as part of work, it's inevitable you have to do a kissing scene here and there. scaramouche has never been fond of seeing them, turning away from the television or excusing himself to the bathroom whenever they come up. it's a reaction you can sympathize with; it is rather awkward to see your friend making out with someone on screen.
but he especially detests the old recording of your high school play.
long, long ago, you were part of the drama club. by association, scaramouche became a member as well—the pair of you were considered as a package deal. he was your practice partner so often that he got forced into joining.
he'd die before he ever tells anyone, but he had a knack for playing villains back then, specialized in wicked cackling and bone-chilling monologues reeking of depravity.
but in your final year, he got roped into playing the prince when the original actor sprained his ankle. incidentally, you happened to be playing the damsel in distress in your (pretty much unrecognizable) rendition of sleeping beauty.
“why is the prince shorter than-” before you could end your statement, he already slammed your face with the script.
the play was a hot mess. scaramouche couldn't play a decent prince for the life of him, so your club made the play a comedy and reworked the entire script to fit him better. the valiant and heroic character became satirical, forced into saving you not for love but to fulfill a prophecy that definitely wasn't in the original sleeping beauty.
the audience was taking the change well, intrigued by the bizarre twists and turns. the huffing-puffing prince was hilarious to watch, too.
it wasn't long before you laid in the casket, blinded by stage lights even with your eyes closed. the cardboard dragon had already been defeated, and the prince was fast approaching.
to your utter distaste, it was decided the prince would slap you awake. so you prepared for it when the last lines were being said, bracing for the stinging pain.
but then there was a rise in pitch, nearing to a yelp, then a loud thud, then the weight of two hands pressing on either side of your head, and-
your lips were touching something soft and warm.
the squeals and yells reverberated in the whole theater, the narrator stammering awkwardly and improvising ad libs last minute. your eyes snapped open and you'd gotten a front row seat to see scaramouche's blushing face, an explosion of pink dancing across his features.
after the play wrapped up and he peeled off the ridiculously frilly prince costume, he'd been set on destroying every record—alas, your friends weren't so keen on deleting such good footage. to this day, he still bristled at the thought of it; his and your first kiss showcased to hundreds of people.
it's harder to endure when he sees you kissing someone else, however. he never gets used to it, no matter how many times he tells himself to.
“oh, finally. it took so long for them to get together,” his co-worker groans as he watches the tv at the break room, airing the latest episode of the drama you star in. scaramouche glances at the screen, turning away when the camera flits to the boy with ashy brown hair. he's touching your face for the millionth time, bright teal eyes staring into yours so deeply scaramouche almost thinks he's actually besotted with you.
“you're not watching? i thought you liked this series?”
“i don't.”
for his own sake, he doesn't give the tv another glance, stepping out of the room.
this is fine. it's not the first time he's felt like this.
(it doesn't feel any less terrible.)
六 ; thoma, the former male lead
there are as many aspiring actors as there are stars in the sky; it's unfortunate only some of them shine brightly enough to be noticeable, and the rest twinkling weakly in miniscule dots.
for your case, and for your friend thoma's, you belong to the latter.
thoma is handsome, that much you can see with your own eyes, but a pretty face can be found anywhere in the industry—he lacks that special something that makes him stand out. that being said, you don't have it either, so you're on the same boat.
you're best pals, comrades in arms, partners in crime.
actual partners. once. for a romance drama.
(but not the main characters. just an obligatory side pairing, of course. you're the rebound for the second male lead.)
it was your first work, and you'd rather delete your existence than watch it again. hopefully, that also erases your dark history.
your... amateurish acting had been unsightly. the innocence you portrayed wasn't lovely, just a ghastly display of incoherent mumbling and lack of comedic timing. you wanted to tear apart each clip and toss it in some imaginary ditch where nobody can find it again.
thoma's performance wasn't as severe as yours. it wasn't half-bad, almost decent if not for the scant instances of awkwardness in scenes that required more emotional acting.
alas, the end product was just about what you expected; a series no one paid attention to. both a relief and a disappointment, because even if you hated it with every inch of your being, the effort you poured into practice and filming was real.
but after the drama ended, you kept in close contact with thoma, chugging down beer at dinners as you complained to each other about work. failed auditions, mistakes in filming, inability to get roles—you shared everything, and he did the same. each moment of embarrassment and each moment of breakthrough that called for a celebration, you told each other. through thick and thin, you had the other's back.
naturally, he was one of the first few people you called (second only to your manager) when you received the e-mail confirming your role as the love interest for arguably one of the most anticipated series to date.
he'd been overjoyed, above all, his elation overruling his surprise; it was a far cry from other violent reactions. (“are you sure it's not a prank?” scaramouche had said in disbelief.)
“you're finally going to be acknowledged!” gleefully, thoma chattered on, “that's the best news i've heard all year!”
and that was good. it was nice having his support. he'd been the one to give you a pep talk before you had to start rehearsals, soothing your fretful worries.
when you don't understand the essence of a particular scene, he's more than happy to help—“i'm just one call away!”
when you fumble your lines on camera, he laughs but not with mockery (a stark contrast to that little gremlin scaramouche)—“it's no big deal. you only have to do your best tomorrow.”
when you recount your experiences working with famous actors, he listens attentively—“you're starting to get along, huh?”
and then you would hesitate. it sounds like you're... bragging.
he says he's only one call away, but he's busy with his own work; still, he makes time for you. he listens whenever you complain, but he has bigger problems, ones that he doesn't say because he knows it'll dampen your mood. he has to hear about you acquainting with celebrities he can't even dream of meeting, like you're showing him the things he can't have.
you got lucky. what about him?
slowly, your face bleeds to commercials, advertisement banners, even huge outdoor LED displays on shopping malls featuring the drama cast—yet he remains as a blurry, nameless figure in the sea of aspiring actors.
he doesn't show it, doesn't even hint at it, but he must be... envious, right?
it's not hard to be. you've been in the industry for the same amount of time, began at the same starting line, yet only one of you found success, the other one left behind in the dust.
still. still. he never shows it. never stops being your biggest fan. never lets you think otherwise. he watches every episode, every interview. babbles how amazing your performance was in this scene. rambles how you did so well in this drama and he's so proud of you. smiles at how you have to wear a disguise now whenever you go out together so nobody can recognize you.
“it must be hard,” he comments as you hide in a secluded park, nearly getting found out by someone you noticed following you around. “you can't get around as freely anymore. are you okay? nobody follows you home or anything?”
always the worrier, you think. “of course not. my manager drives me around everywhere these days. you don't have to worry.”
thoma grins, plopping down at a bench. “that's a relief.”
for a moment, you just sit in silence, basking in the slight chilly air. the orange and pinks of sunset darken to streaks of blue, streetlights flickering to life.
“...did you know there are rumors of you dating xiao?”
you choke on air, coughing to your fist. “what?!” not that you feel flattered. not at all. (you've badgered xiao to come with you to the carnival last week, and then the waterpark a week before that with the rest of the cast, and- well. you suppose there's reason for people to speculate. you also wore matching animal headbands—how on earth you got xiao to do that, you're not sure either.)“why did that- how did it come to that?!”
“it's surprising for me, too,” thoma says. “if anything, i'd expect dating rumors with the actual male lead. or childe. he seems... particularly clingy.”
“albedo? there's no way he'd like someone like me.” you furrow your brows. if anything, it's only gotten awkward between the two of you ever since the confession scene. “ajax... well. i never know with him.” you honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not.
thoma laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. “you look close with all of them. if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were acting a romance film outside of the project.”
you shudder. “if, and only if, i end up dating one of them, i'll attract all kinds of bad attention. it's not even good PR. i'd hate to think of all the fan girls who'll start cursing me, stealing their man and all that. hell, i'm not even dating anybody and i'm already being cursed.”
“i'll reply to every single mean comment and defend your honor.”
you snort. “do you even have the time for that?”
“...unfortunately, yes. i'm not receiving much work at the moment.”
oh.
fuck.
“i can... i can recommend you to the director. i heard he's starting a new project soon, so maybe-”
thoma frowns and you ground to a halt. “it's fine. i don't want you to do that for me.”
it sounds like you're pitying him. like you don't trust him to rise on his own.
but you want to help.
“is this why you look sad around me every so often?” he realizes, astonished.
“i... can't help but feel guilty,” you admit, unable to maintain eye contact. “every time i say a silly story about xiao, or ajax, or albedo, i feel like i'm showing off. every time i complain, you never try to compare, you only comfort me and never tell me about your problems. i want to do something for you, but i don't know what. i care about you, and i want you to do well because i know how talented you are. except everyone else doesn't, and i want them to see you.”
it's not fair. he's putting in the effort. the same as you are. but it's still not working out for him, and it's not fair.
“you... want to help me?”
you manage a weak nod. you hear an intake of breath, feel him shuffling closer. then he places his hand on top of your clenched fist.
“[name]. can you look at me?”
slowly, you raise your head. his green eyes are shining so brilliantly, bright emeralds gleaming in the moonlight.
yet they also seem... resigned.
“you're really nice, [name]. but you don't have to feel guilty. it's not your fault i'm still like this, and i'm already thankful you're worrying about me. i can't say that i was entirely... not jealous of what you have now, but that's just my problem. so you don't have to make that face, okay?”
he smiles, just like always. you open your mouth to respond, but then you feel that sensation again—that prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling that makes your hair stand on end.
“you're kind.” his hand cradles your cheek ever so softly, tenderly. your lashes tremble, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. “that's why... i hope you can forgive me.”
this position is familiar. you know this, because you've experienced this before.
long long ago, just when you started your career, you'd practiced this scene with him in the dressing room—hearts pounding, hands awkwardly finding their places;
your lips brushing together in a shy kiss.
now, his fingers are carding through your hair, the closest he's ever been to you in years. you flinch, gripping his shirt, uncomprehending, and-
you hear it.
the shutter of a camera.
七 ; kazuha, the murderer
the first time you heard a complete newbie would act the murderer role, you were in disbelief.
alright, you were an unremarkable actor before your current role, but at the very least, you had experience. not only is this person entirely new to the industry, having nothing to show for himself, he's an amateur. it sounds like a recipe for disaster.
it's even more baffling when you discover ayato, THE kamisato ayato, tried for the role and didn't get it. who the hell is this newbie? someone who got in through nepotism? preposterous! the murderer is an incredibly important character to the plot, the whole series would be ruined if he turned out to be awful!
and then you see who he actually is, and oh boy, he does not look like a murderer.
he's more like a harmless bunny. fluffy white hair, round red eyes, a polite disposition—did you arrive at the wrong set, kid? maybe you were aiming for the high school romance drama and came here by mistake?
the webtoon murderer was no pretty boy. just an average-looking dude working at a convenience store nobody suspected to be the killer because of his unassuming looks, and that was the point. yet this eye-catching hottie is the complete opposite.
but everyone else in the cast is hot as hell, so maybe the murderer needs to be hot too so he can blend in??? director, what exactly did you have in mind?
“[name]!” just as you were staring at him, he turns and notices your gaze, expression immediately brightening. like an innocent baby chick, he walks up to you. “good morning.”
it's another day of rehearsals for the upcoming episode. so far, you haven't gotten to see his true skills yet—the most he's done is act like an ordinary extra part of the background and out of the limelight. it's understandable, since his character doesn't appear much until halfway through the series.
“kazuha,” you acknowledge him, still a little unused to his... general stickiness. you don't know what he found so appealing about you but he's taken to sticking by your side most of the time. childe has teased you more than once that perhaps the little chick has a crush on you.
“do you want to eat lunch together? i know a good fried chicken place.” so it's cannibalism now?
you agree to go anyway because fried chicken sounds great. plus, as much as you came to find that even celebrities are just regular people and you managed to befriend a lot of them, there's a sense of comfort in kazuha—he's the one you felt least intimidated by.
even if you text xiao for hours now, or come over to childe's house frequently, or go on food trips with albedo, or go clothes shopping with ayato and his sister, they're still people you can't get close to without boundaries. there's still a sense of distance separating you, one that you can't cross, but can happily do so with kazuha.
being with kazuha is just comfortable. there's never a need for formalities, and rather than co-workers, you feel closer to being friends.
sometimes, you feel as if you're babysitting though. he just... screams youth. holds the freshness of an amateur, clutching to naive hopes and wishes in the path of stardom. it's endearing to see, and it's like seeing a younger version of yourself.
it's a shame you've buried those naive wishes long ago, but you hope kazuha's career goes well for him. this drama will undoubtedly be a big boost for his popularity, but will also backlash on him if he performs horribly.
“this is my treat.” kazuha pushes the plate of chicken fingers to your side of the table, eyes shaped in smiling crescents.
you shake your head but take one nonetheless. “what kind of senior would i be to make you pay? order all you want, it's on me.”
kazuha doesn't pout but comes close to it, sulking as he bites on a piece of korean bburinkle chicken. “i can't tell if you're doing this on purpose.”
“doing what?”
“letting me off easy.”
...? this kid says some pretty strange things sometimes.
“i'll order some drinks. what do you want?” he offers, standing up.
“iced tea is fine.”
“got it.”
as he moves, his wallet drops on the floor. you're about to tell him so but you think better of it, already considering the possibility of kazuha sneakily paying for your meal on the counter and ordering drinks as an excuse.
you sigh, bending down to pick it up from the ground, but the wallet faces up, revealing the contents.
the first thing you see is your face.
you nearly jolt and hit your head on the table in shock, but you manage to suppress your surprise in a garbled mess of choking. this photo is... from that modeling gig you did a year ago. but why is it in kazuha's wallet-?!
you quickly put it back on the table, just in time for kazuha to arrive. he raises an eyebrow at your flustered expression but doesn't mention anything.
he makes a face seeing the wallet he forgot on the table. you were right after all.
later, as you return to set and practice ends after a few more hours, you recount the order of events to xiao, who could not be anymore uninterested at your entire spiel. perhaps childe would've made a more engaging conversation partner, but you'd rather not deal with his teasing right now.
“-and my face was right there! as his wallet photo! what the hell does that mean?!” years ago, you never could've guessed you'd ever be able to rant to xiao's face like this. yet here you are, unashamed in front of your idol.
“isn't it obvious?” xiao isn't even pretending like he's giving you his full attention anymore, hands preoccupied with the game console in his hands. “he likes you.”
“???”
xiao sighs, dead fish eyes looking straight at your clueless expression. “don't you have a photo of me in your wallet? that's the same thing.”
“that is certainly not the same thing! you're- xiao, and i'm just me. you're popular.”
xiao almost rolls his eyes. you're way too humble for someone who gets recognized by people on the street daily. “congrats, then. you met one of your rare fans.”
that was an unbelievable thought, before. you? having a fan? whenever you searched up your name, you couldn't find anyone talking about you. your character is different; you're looking for people who's interested in you as a person, not just your role.
now, though. you've accumulated enough fame for a fan club. several maybe, even.
... but even then. that modeling gig hadn't been successful. only someone who knew about it a year ago would know about it now, since it faded from the internet pretty fast.
as far as you know, you didn't have fans a year ago.
xiao makes a realization. “...isn't this the fourth time he invited you to lunch this week?”
“yeah?”
“.....isn't he just hitting on you then?”
now that's just not in the realm of possibility. xiao is so funny.
“he literally baked you cookies the other day.”
“friends give each other cookies, xiao. i can even make some for you if you want.”
“they were heart-shaped, [name].”
(you end up making him cookies to prove a point.)
days pass by, xiao giving you increasingly odd looks, and kazuha finally proves his worth in filming.
his performance rivals that of albedo's—the soft edges of his eyes sharpening into something menacing, gaze cold and apathetic, his lips downturned to an unfamiliar sneer. you're watching the birth of a star, and it's only a matter of time before his talent will be acknowledged.
he's different from ayato as a villain. ayato is cunning, the perfect example of a mastermind. malicious and dripping with spite. but kazuha looks innocent, a cute little bun you'd never guess can make those kind of facial expressions—twisted, vicious, malevolent.
it's part of the act, but you flinch when his character turns violent; kicking down doors, smashing glass windows with a bat. holding the extras acting as murder victims by grabbing them by the hair, throwing down cops like they weighed nothing.
and then right after that scene concludes with the director's “cut!”, with (fake) blood still splattered on his face, kazuha runs up to you grinning innocently, fishing for compliments. “did i do good?”
nevertheless, you give him headpats. “you're terrifying.”
he flushes, not too pleased giving that impression to you. the next day, he acts all sweet to you again, giving you a batch of cream puffs this time. xiao snorts somewhere in the background.
eventually, your manager notices the snacks you receive regularly. “oh, it's from that kid?”
“kazuha? mhm.” you nibble happily on the pastries.
your manager chuckles. “never thought i'd see him again here.”
“...what do you mean?” blinking owlishly, you pause from chowing down. “you know him?”
“he used to work at the bakery you went to often before, didn't he? the kid you kept telling to watch your first drama. you forced him to watch the episodes on your phone during his break.”
...............FUCK.
you do remember doing something that stupid. during the filming of your first drama, you frequently stopped by at a nearby bakery to buy snacks, and you remember there was a cute kid working there. you often pinched his cheeks and cajoled him into watching the series.
but when filming ended, you couldn't go to the bakery anymore. the filming location was far from your house, and the bakery was simply out of the way.
did that kid... kazuha... support you all this time? from that early on?
you curse your manager for telling you this right before filming. your mind is a mess, having trouble connecting that cute, precious child (why are you always calling him a kid, he's barely 2 years younger than you) to the smooth and flirty man today.
it's an important scene today too! the confrontation between the detective, his partner, and the murderer. it needs your complete concentration, and you just don't have it right now. you've never seen the director lose his temper, but you can probably manage to do it today.
albedo is performing well in front of the cameras as always, so much like a protagonist that you feel like you're watching from a television screen already. but you have a job to do too, so you do your best in the spotlight, pretending to be unaffected.
kazuha looks even scarier up close, so unhinged and unreadable. you know what his next move will be, written on the script, but that doesn't make you any less uneasy.
“you're bold,” kazuha drawls, playing with the knife in his hand, “coming to see me by yourselves.”
you can hear what he's saying, but it feels like your head is full of cotton. why are you so distracted? “so it really is you,” you speak, praising yourself for acting normally.
the other two exchange lines, and you thank the heavens you're mostly silent for the time being. for the meantime, you have a few moments to collect yourself; there's a chase right after this, and you'd rather not do something stupid like trip over yourself in the middle of something so serious.
...
sometimes, you're gifted with foresight.
but! to be fair! you did not trip over yourself! the staff forgot to fix the cables in one part of the set, and you tripped over those. so no. not entirely your fault.
albedo is too far away—he's on the side trying to unlock the doors with his brain powers somehow, and you're the bait distracting the murderer before he does so.
ordinarily, you would not trip over the cables. you have able eyes, and you could easily step over them. but you're at the stairs.
...you're at the flight of stairs. and you're about to fall over. FUCK. WHY DID THE DIRECTOR WANT A CHASE SCENE IN THE STAIRS.
you brace for the impact, hands outstretched, but then in a complete break of character, kazuha reaches for you.
you're leaning too far to the edge now. there's no way to pull you back to even ground. kazuha grits his teeth, pulling you to his chest, and in an immense show of strength, twists around so he'd be beneath you.
you descend in a disgraceful tangle of limbs. you're enveloped in a warm embrace, cheek resting on a firm chest. a chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, heavy breaths tickling the skin of your shoulder.
you jolt back to action when you realize what just happened. “your head-!” you scramble to touch his head, feeling for any bumps or even worse, blood. kazuha hisses, so you soften the touch, tracing over this body to check for other injuries. he became a literal mattress. “what about your back? did you get sprained anywhere?”
“i'm fine,” kazuha wheezes under your caressing.
“you don't sound fine! who are you trying to fool? you didn't have to do that!” you grab his cheeks. they're as soft as ever, just as pinch-able as you remember.
“i'm not hurt. it's because you're... on top of me...” bashfully, he looks away. you blink, glancing down at your position. you're straddling his hips, at a proximity entirely inappropriate.
...his hands are still on your waist.
this kazuha is too different from two minutes ago! wasn't he just chasing you down the corridor in murderous intent?! now he's blushing underneath you, like a pure maiden you defiled!
what's with this soft, sugary atmosphere?! last time you remembered, this was a murder mystery drama!
(when the drama ends, you're casted for a romance college series with kazuha as the male lead. figures.)
The AMOUNT of passion given through this fic is just 😳🤚🤌🤌🤌✨ literally gonna go feral for a part two
A fall from grace (Yandere! Sub! Childe)
Characters: Yandere! Sub! Childe x Dom! Gn! Reader
Themes for the whole story: yandere, obsessive behavior, s/m themes, self-choking, masturbation, mentions of death and suicide (brief mention, not part of plot), Childe being gross towards the end
This is pretty much a slow-burn so strap in, gets interesting towards the end :’)
It was a peculiar feeling. Tartaglia can’t quite recall the last time he had felt this intensely about another human being. Or anything else for that matter.
One can imagine how truly strange it was to him once he had found somebody who had genuinely piqued his interests. At the start, he wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was about you that got him wrapped around your little finger.
Keep reading
Have a wonderful birthday, Ajax!!!
Credits to @khrysm
DUSK HARBINGER- CHILDE’S MASTER
Fox to the Flame: Pythia (Amari) Ragvindar Lupicus
Constellation: Vulpes Ignis
Vision: Pyro (Formerly), Abyss (Formerly), All (Current)
BACKGROUND
“FOR DAWN TO COME, ONE MUST RID OF THY DARKNESS; FOR DUSK TO COME, ONE MUST LET THE LIGHT FALL INTO THE HORIZON.”
Amari is 10 years older than her brother, Diluc (22), meaning she is 33 years of age. She left her home at the Dawn Winery in search of “Dusk” at the age of 16. She arrived in Snezhnaya shortly after. There she took the liberty of speaking with the Cyro Archon, Tsaritsa, thus gaining her second vision- Cyro. She then travelled to Inazuma, the Land of Eternity, meeting with Baal. This was before the shogun had become twisted, and Amari had established ties- gaining her the Electro Vision. She changed her name from Pythia to Amari. On her way to Natlan, she came across a Mirror Cicin Mage and followed her. The mage bore a child in Wolvendom, Razor, and left the child. Amari decided to raise the child along with the Lupine Pack- whom believe in lupical. She named the silver-haired child Razor and raised him as her own. She was 17 at the time. Razor gained the power of the vision through her and the way to use it. She had taught Diluc the claymore when she was 15 (He was 5 at the time). She then made her way to Natlan 6 years later, and left Razor in the care of Lupus Bóreas, or Andrius. When she arrived in Natlan, she met with Murata- the Lady of Fire. She formed a bond in finding out that she is a Child of Murata, and eventually strengthened her Pyro vision. Amari decided that when she finished her journey, she would join Murata in Natlan. After a solemn goodbye, she made her way to Liyue and met the Adepti along with Zhongli. She gained a Geo vision during the Rite of Descension. On her way to Sumeru, she met a young Lisa and guided her to the Sumeru Academy and gifting her with her first catalyst, Dawn of Starry Nights. Cyno, an old acquaintance of Amari’s, agreed to take Lisa in. She met with the archon and gained yet another vision. The time came for the last stretch of her journey, Fontaine. She played in a circus act to gain the attention of the archon and got herself a Hydro vision. Her journey was over and it was time to return to Natlan. Though, when she was faced with a Dragon of Dimensions, her vision spiraled out of control, plunging her into the deepest parts of the Abyss. She was overtaken the power that lead her to give Ajax the Foul Legacy- The Devouring Deep. She taught Ajax everything she knew and gave him the same Hydro Vision he wears today. After Ajax left, she was freed of her “curse“ and returned to Natlan. She swore never to use all of her visions at once again.
personal hc of Childe is that after the abyss he became physically unable to cry and on bad days he dissociates for hours on end and Zhongli just holds him while wanting nothing more but to heal him from the horrors of his childhood
so diluc is 5’10
i read one good chaeya fic and now im obsessed
Late Valentine’s doodles ( ˘▽˘)っ<3
But what i the Harbingers were in Resident Evil Village 🥺
"use the ashtray"
Definition of Boring.
According to Wei Wuxian: When people don't talk at all.
According to Lan Zhan: When people talk like Wei Wuxian.
I'm watching the untamed and I'm loving it.
I had this really cool dream last night.
So Lumine's a college student, right? I dunno what she studies. And there's a serial killer going around campus. The first victim was Signora. Childe is a transfer student from another college - one much more advanced than Lumine's. So when he makes a presentation on a gravity distortion device he and a few friends (probably Arlecchino and Dottore) everyone is blown away.
Later, at a bar, Kuni teases Lumine about how bad she has it for Childe (she doesn't, but they're best friends). Childe creeps up behind Lumine and startles her. He buys her a drink and Kuni leaves, smirking. They talk for a while, and Childe invites Lumine to visit his college, saying she's too good for this place. She declines and goes home. The next day, Ayaka, a girl Lumine had a crush on, is dead.
Lumine decides to start looking into the murders. She seeks counsel from Childe, who just wants to make time with her. He does tell her that maybe Lumine is the target, seeing as she liked Ayaka and Signora was her least favorite teacher. Lumine considers this and heads to a cafe with Kuni. On her way, she spots someone fighting in an alley. Kuni runs in to break it up and chases a hooded figure away. The other person was Lumine's brother, Aether. There's a knife in his shoulder.
Lumine's on the verge of insanity at this point. Kuni's doing everything he can to help her, but to no use. All he can do is tell her how much he cares about her. The next morning, his dismembered hand is hanging on her door. Lumine can only think of one person at this point: Childe.
Lumine marches over to Childe's hotel and demands answers. He says he'll tell her, but not at the hotel. They head to a ferry and Lumine starts asking why. Childe denies having any part in the murders. But then, he starts speaking strangely, and presses a button on his phone. Water starts winding around the ship. It turns out that the gravity distortion device he showed in class was just a prototype. The real one was the boat.
"Signora asked too many questions."
"Ayaka stole your attention from me."
"Kuni got in the way."
Lumine couldn't believe it. She snatched the phone and pushed Childe over the side of the boat.
A year later, Lumine is in Snezhnaya visiting Tonia and Teucer. Tonia knows the whole story, but Teucer thinks his brother is just taking a long vacation.
To this day, Lumine can't bring herself to tell him.
I finally had time to draw, so had Chaeya
Huggies
Inspired by this base :
childe with a crudely drawn cowboy hat, but it’s ✨fancy✨