#ahhhh.

no fr it's like. at one point half his body was outside of the umbrella. im so 😩🫵💞

Right? Delicious stuff.

Here's another one though.

They're fighting, the night before the reaping and they don't talk or meet up the day of, they don't even look at each other.

Eddie can't, he's frozen, standing alongside Death on the sidelines, watching the love of his life potentially be called into the games while Eddie can't do anything to intervene.

Because he would, he thinks. He'd volunteer over Steve in a heartbeat, unable and unwilling to watch Steve in the games.

So he's angry. He's so very angry.

But at the root of the anger is fear.

Fear about the potential. Fear of the inability to act. Fear of what he would do.

Eddie wanted to run but Steve refused, said he couldn't. There were too many people he loved that they'd end up leaving behind. He couldn't imagine leaving the kids, god... The kids.

And it's not like Eddie wanted to leave them behind either, but... He had such a bad feeling about this year, Steve's final year.

There's no danger to Eddie's life but he's more scared than ever because of it.

So. They don't talk. They don't meet up for breakfast. Steve doesn't see Wayne like he would any normal morning.

Eddie doesn't get to kiss him or tell him he loves him.

Because they're fighting. And it's so stupid. But Eddie is so spitting angry.

So when they call Robin's name, something so cosmically wrong to him (and something Eddie never in his life imagined happening), Eddie just knows what's going to happen next. There's a growing pit in his stomach and finally, finally, his eyes find Steve, watching the resolve settle on his shoulders, watching as he stands taller.

And Eddie just knows that this is going to be the end of him.

Because there's no way Steve is coming back to him. Not after this.

Bob Newby has just barely started to reach towards the fishbowl with the boys names before he's interrupted, "Me," and Steve's voice rings loud in the crowd, "I volunteer as tribute!"

And the claim is finalized with an anguished cry from the stage where Robin Buckley is being restrained from darting forwards - towards Steve - begging for him to take it back.

Eddie... he can't watch anymore. He can't handle the final nail in the coffin. Eddie turns away, pulling away from Wayne and the gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.

Steve won't survive this.

"Time for you to get some rest. And no need to fret, I'll be monitoring communications in your absence to ensure all is in order." She has a good book for company and a pot of fine tea, the finest things for a night's vigil over Mondstadt. She can rest when Jean returns to the offices taking a sleep through the morning and returning to the library in the afternoon chasing those pesky late books. "Mondstadt won't fall down if you get a good night's sleep. Have faith in us."

AS ELOQUENT AS LISA IS IN HER CHOICE OF PHRASE, the core principle remains the same. Go to bed. That’s what she surely means to say. Yet perhaps she knows Jean too well to realise that such brazen orders would only cause her to dig her heels in. When framed like this, it’s almost impossible to dispute, particularly since it comes from a place of concern rather than procedure. She’s always been like that though hasn’t she? From the very first day the mysterious librarian had joined the Favonius ranks at the Grand Master’s behest, she had always had a knack for balancing both. She could bend the rules when it suited her, but the blonde would surely be hard pressed to find anyone as caring or considerate as the enchantress herself. 

 ❝How about five more minutes? ❞ She tries to counter.  ❝I won’t be able to switch off if I leave this half finished…❞ Which was true. The dandelion knight had always found comfort in the precision of completion. It meant she could start her day with a clean slate, instead of trying to scramble backwards to salvage a fractured document in which she had woefully lost her chain of thought part way through. Although of course the main issue there was trying to see straight for long enough to get pen to paper and form actual words instead of ambiguous squiggles that could so easily be misconstrued. Lips part as if on instinct, ready to fully plead her case, yet the witch is too quick. Too prepared and used to this silly back and forth, that Jean to this day, has never actually managed to win. 

Blue eyes blink once and then again, as the pen is plucked from her grasp and papers slid away, the subtle rustle providing a far from subtle serenade to her defeat.  ❝What if the Grand Master decides he needs this first thing? What if…❞ The neurosis involved is nothing short of criminal; the faint tinge of panic lacing those usually calm tones as her brows immediately furrow. It shouldn’t be her problem. By all rights, you could even argue it wasn’t and instead let it be a problem for the paperwork dodging hero himself! But that would require admitting she hasn’t hit her deadline. It would mean admitting to a self-imposed level of perfection that despite her best efforts, Jean had been unable to meet. 

A gloved hand rises slowly, brushing down her face as at last the eldest Gunnhildr stifles a yawn. She can’t argue with Lisa and win. Nobody can if they value their life; but maybe there’s a comfort in that. Maybe there’s a much needed level of trust and loyalty in admitting that if anyone can handle just about anything the universe wishes to throw at them overnight, it would be her genius of a dear friend. ❝I have faith in you.  ❞  She corrects quietly as her chair scrapes backwards, the weight of the world already lifting from those overburdened shoulders.