#lucult

Your sword clatters next to you. Childe lands on the ground, his boots creating craters. Everything is far too quiet. He makes his way over to you, brow creasing as he assesses your surroundings. You do not move.

“Hey-” he calls your name, but you give no response. Paimon gives him a dirty look as she keeps trying to revive you, shaking your lifeless form frantically. Worry overrides the anger and panic sets in.

Get up, Childe pleads silently, watching your limp body. GET. UP. Panic rises in his chest when Paimon tugs desperately at your arm.

The tiniest groan of pain, so small, that he nearly misses it, and you begin to move feebly. Relief engulfs him like a tidal wave coursing over his entire body and Childe staggers, trying to keep his Foul Legacy under control. Bile rises in the back of his throat as he watches you lean heavily against your sword, using the weapon as a means to prop yourself up.

The differences and impulses and your obsession with The little things you like stick, and I like aerosol

He shouldn’t be worrying about whether or not you get up. He shouldn’t care. He was a Harbinger after all. The Harbingers prided themselves for being the Tsaritsa’s weapons of war, without being susceptible to useless things such as emotions.

And yet, Childe feels his insides twist unpleasantly as you force yourself into a fighting stance, breathing labored and sword arm trembling.

“I’m not going to let you get away with this,” you say, but your voice has no force, no life. Childe sees the exhaustion settling in and guilt gnaws at him.

But failure is not an option for him. It’s better to end this now.

He grips his staff as he sneers, “You never had any chance of beating me to the Gnosis. In fact, you had no connection to the Gnosis, no matter where it had been taken.” It’s easier for him to be the bad guy if it means he didn’t have to see your tears. It’s better if you were angry, instead of being hurt by the likes of him.

“Unfortunately, it’s time that our battle ends. My quest still beckons.” Despite every fiber in his being protesting, Childe raises his staff. Currents of electricity sizzle in the air.

Just before you throw your arm up to block the blow, you see him hesitate. The hesitation lasts only a split second, but it is enough. You knew. For someone who loves the thrill of the fight as much as Childe did, he never hesitates in battle. Hesitating means the difference between life and death. Hesitating means you lose. As the purple beam of lightning hurls towards you, a small smile appears on your face.

The bolt lands mere inches from you, making your eyes squeeze shut from the stifling air, but the smile remains on your face.

He missed.

When you open your eyes again, Childe is nowhere to be seen.

━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━

The days following the battle with Childe and Osial have you attempting to help others. It wasn’t until Zhongli had suggested that you rest and Paimon threatening to tie you to your bed, that you relented.

And on one sunny afternoon, you watch the bustling streets of Liyue from the window, confined to your bed, lest Paimon unleashes her wrath.

A quiet knock breaks you out of your thoughts and you murmur a soft “Come in,” expecting to see Zhongli for tea or Baizhu with your daily medicine. The battles had taken quite a toll on you.

You were not expecting, however, the ever-familiar figure in gray with a somber expression.

“Have you come back to finish killing me?” The words that you utter are flat.

Childe winces slightly at your frigid tone and starts slowly towards you.

“Stop.” You throw out a hand and Childe obeys, watching you cautiously. “Before you say anything, tell me this.”

He cocks his head as he waits. And suddenly, you feel the urge to cry, but you shove the feeling down.

“Tell me,” you say, voice hoarse from unuse or unshed tears, Childe does not know. “Who are you? Who is the person who stands before me?” You were trying to put up a front, but he can see the cracks beginning to form. Your voice wavers. “Are you Childe, the pride of the Tsaritsa, the person who went on all these adventures with me, my cheerful comrade in arms? Or are you Tartaglia, the eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, bloodthirsty and power-hungry, the one who tried to kill me the other day?” There is a hitch in your throat as you continue, “Or…are you…Ajax,” your voice is trembling, the name pushed through your lips as if difficult to say, “Defender of Childhood Dreams, the person willing to give up his reputation to save the hero-like image Teucer has, warm-hearted and kind, the one named after the hero. Ajax, the one who made those promises to me?” You press your lips together as you look away, gaze landing on the window, where it stays.

Childe is silent, for he does not know the answer to your questions either.

And my hopes, they are high, I must keep them small Though I try to resist I still want it all

Minutes pass and the silence is overwhelmingly stifling.

“Does it matter which version of me is before you?” He finally breaks the silence. You squeeze your eyes shut at that, not wanting to see, to hear him.

He sees you grit your jaw, tension running a clear line, the same place where he had loved to press soft kisses against. “Yes, because I’m trying to figure out if all the memories we shared were real or not.”

“And if they were?” Childe breaths out, the ghost of his words hovers in the air between the two of you, “What if I told you that they were, every last one of them, as real as the sunlight filtering through the window right now?”

“You expect me to believe that?” You laughed dryly, sound grating and harsh. The laughter continues as you pull off the silver ring on your pinkie and flick it at him. Silver circle catches the light, a tiny streak glinting in a wide arc, and the two of you watch as it sails towards its original owner. Childe catches it by instinct, swallowing hard when he did so.

“And what about this promise?” You challenge, raising your brow. “You sounded so sure when you made this promise.”

“You’ll love the rest of my siblings,” Childe murmurs. He grabs your hand and holds it up for his inspection under the moonlight. “I’m very proud of them. They’re great kids.”

You laugh as you lean back into his arms with a satisfied sigh. “You’ve been saying that so many times, but we haven’t gone to Snezhnaya yet. I’m starting to think you’re a hoax.”

“I promise,” he turns to you, gaze earnest, “I promise I’ll take you there.”

“Pinkie promise,” you offer and waggle your pinkie playfully, “Or else, I’ll throw you on the ice.”

Childe smiles, cerulean eyes disappearing into cheerful slits, as he hooks his pinkie around yours, “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off, so you never lie again,” he recites the ever-familiar nursery rhyme. “Close your eyes, I have a surprise for you.”

You look at him questioningly but obey regardless. You feel Childe take the hand that he had been holding and something cold glides up your pinkie.

“Ajax-”

“Shh, don’t want to ruin the surprise now, do we?” Warm fingers grasp yours and you feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. Lips, albeit chapped, press against the unfamiliar coolness, as if branding some sort of unspoken vow.

You give in to the urge to open your eyes and you do, just in time to see Childe sit back with a relaxed smile. “Wha-“ you begin and that’s when you notice a silver ring around your pinkie. “What’s this?”

Childe smirks, a self-satisfied upturn of his lips as he grasps your hand again. “A pinkie promise,” he proclaims proudly. He curls his pinkie around yours but this time, there was a gentle clink. You see a similar ring glinting on his finger. “I promise I will take you to Snezhnaya and you will get to meet my siblings. That is a promise I fully intend to keep.”

Your pinkie tightens around his and there is the distinct clink of your rings knocking together. You decide you rather like the sound of it.

“What about the promise?” You ask again.

Childe does not speak, but you notice his hand tighten around the ring ever so slightly. You can’t read the look in his eyes.

“If you make a promise, you keep it. If you make a mistake, you apologize…” You softly repeat the words he had said to you long ago. “The nursery rhyme Teucer taught me… You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again,” you recite the words, each one hammering a nail that would seal your fate. “Looks like you’re going to have to break the promise,” you settle back against your pillows with finality.

He swallows then, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. As much as you hate to admit it, you feel hope rising inside of you at the sight.

Was any of it real? Were his feelings genuine?

But the fact remains still, was that he had betrayed you.

“We’re going on two different paths. You, on the path to power. Me, to find my brother. Our paths should never have converged,” you are surprised to hear that your voice is steady, not betraying the turmoil you currently feel raging inside of you.

Only fools fall for you, only fools fall

Childe closes his eyes, sighing softly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, so faint you barely catch it, “Truly.”

You feel disappointment settle in and you berate yourself mentally. What did you expect?

“You’re full of contradictions,” You breathe out, drawing the covers closer to you as if they could block out the hurt. “You refuse to let Teucer know about your real job because you wanted to protect his childhood, yet you do everything in the name of the Tsaritsa. Who even are you?” You laugh, but there is a little catch in your voice. “You make all these promises with honeyed words, yet you tried to kill me when you believed I stole the Gnosis from you, just because I happened to be in your way.”

“As one of the Eleventh Fatui Harbingers, it’s my duty to see the will of the Tsaritsa fulfilled,” Childe reminds you. It was a reminder you didn’t need. You can’t help but notice the loneliness in his tone.

You snort derisively, “The will of the Tsaritsa. Does it include nearly destroying entire cities, putting thousands of innocent lives at risk?” Does it include getting close to me to gain my trust only to betray it in the end? Was I part of this plan? You want to ask, but you were afraid of the answer.

“She will get that which she desires,” Childe is firm, and you have to bite down the disappointment.

“So where does that leave us?” The question comes hurling out before you can even begin to process it. You bite back a curse.

Childe exhales. “You should know…Anyone who strives as I do to grow stronger shall be called a friend, even if our friendship can only be shown in battle against one another,” he says softly. The expression on his face is forlorn. “The next time we meet, it will be on the battlefield.”

You laugh in disbelief, “Friends,” you scoff, “Friends don’t cross blades with one another.” Friends don’t betray one another, you wanted to add, but you held your tongue. “It would be more fitting to call us enemies.

“I harbor no ill will towards you,” Childe’s admission is nearly silent, “In fact, most of my happier memories were those shared with you.”

“It’s too late,” you grit out and there is venom in your words.

Childe studies you as if trying to commit all of your features to memory. You think to yourself that you have never once seen this expression cross his face, lost and melancholic. “Farewell, comrade,” he finally says quietly, “I hope you find all the answers to the questions you’re searching for.” He turns to go.

“Ajax…” you call his name, his real name. It comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself and it hovers nervously in the air. He stops at the sound of his name, and he turns back to you, expression unsure. “You hesitated,” you say simply. “Inside of the Golden House. You hesitated to kill me. And you missed on purpose, didn’t you? That means you lost.”

Childe does not say anything. He offers you a slight smile as he pulls the door open. And just like that, Childe is gone from your life, leaving the same way he had entered.

Only fools do what I do, only fools fall

━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━

Nighttime finds Childe under the tree where he had made the promise to you. It overlooks the ocean, Liyue lights blinking in the distance, a would-be pretty sight if he had better company save for himself. It’s a moonless night and Childe thinks to himself that it is fitting for a night like this.

“You seem quiet, what’s going on?” Childe asks as he plops next to you, jostling your arm.

You huff at him, moving your sketchbook out of the way, “Careful,” you warn.

Childe pushes himself onto his elbows, curious, as he peers down at the paper. “Your brother?” He asks, voice gentle. “Are you thinking of him again?”

You nod, filling in the details of your brother’s face. “I wish I had more information,” you sigh.

He watches you work, your expression was forlorn, lost and Childe wishes he could do something to alleviate your pain.

“You’ll find the answers, I know you will,” Childe offers, draping himself over you. His body presses against yours and the familiar warmth calms you. “Don’t forget I’m assisting you as well.”

“I’m just…homesick I guess,” you admit as you shade the contour of your brother’s jaw. “Have you ever heard of this word?”

“Hiraeth,” Childe mumbles. He remembers what you said to him.

“Homesickness for a home you cannot return to. The nostalgia, the yearning for the lost places of the past.”

It makes him think of warm arms and cheerful laughter. Of quiet nights under the stars and dreams uttered against lips. Of playful fights and adrenaline-fueled battles. Of forgotten duties in lieu of lazy mornings in bed, surrounded by the mere essence of one another.

It makes him think of you.

Home is not a place, it’s a feeling. It’s a person.

It’s you.

He presses a kiss to the smaller of the silver rings, his whisper lost to the wind. Nothing but the sky and the trees bearing witness.

“You were my home.”

Fin.

“Lucien…” her voice is muffled by his shoulder.

Lucien doesn’t speak and holds her tighter. The relief flooding through him has a drugging effect, dulling all senses of the outside world save for the warm body in his arms.

“Lucien…” the girl tries again, causing Lucien to inhale slowly. Her sweet, familiar scent assaults his nose and it wipes all traces of rational thought.

“I…thought you were…gone,” Lucien’s admission is hushed, a quivering line of discernible fear clear as day in his voice. “I did everything I could to get you back, to see you…to hold you like this…It wasn’t enough…It wasn’t the real…you.”

The girl is silent, but Lucien can hear the quiet puffs of air that indicated she is breathing.

Taking her silence as courage, Lucien continued haltingly. “But that’s okay, I guess,” he sighed, “I’ll take you in any form I can get, even if you aren’t real.” The girl pushes softly against him then, peering into his eyes, a faint disappointment set in the crease of her brows.

“And what if I am real, Lucien?” She asks, voice honeyed and lilting. It spoke of promises made under camphor trees, wishes tucked in paper cranes.

Lucien laughs at that. The sound catches in his throat, and it comes out, strangled. His subconscious was getting better and better at conjuring all these scenarios, twisting his idea of reality. It was too late. He was too far gone anyway. He decides to humor the illusion he had conjured up.

“I would never let you go,” Lucien responds with finality, “I would tell you the things I didn’t say, do the things we didn’t do.”

She smiles, and Lucien’s heart lurches at the sight of it. “Like what? What would we do?” The girl stands up delicately. Lucien follows her, taking her hands into his with great care. He spins her into his arms.

Lucien savors the press of her body against hers before answering, “I would want to witness all your triumphs and setbacks. I would go with you to the ends of the earth. I would kiss you under the flickering light of fireflies. I would have a proper dance with you, surrounded by perfumed wisteria. Just you and me, with no one but the flowers to bear witness.”

“We can do that now,” the girl offers, guiding them to a beat only familiar to the two of them. She loops her arms around his neck as they swayed, “What did you want to say to me?”

There is the sound of stifled gasp. “I…want to apologize to you,” Lucien murmurs, “For not being able to protect you. For…betraying you...”

She studies him intently. “That’s all in the past, Lucien… What about now?” The girl closes her eyes and lays her head against his chest. Lucien rests his head gently on top of hers. “What about right now? In this moment?”

“Right now...” Lucien drifts off, “You’re...not real,” the words are listless. He has to take several gasping breaths before continuing, “But you’ll let me pretend, won’t you, Butterfly?”

“Kiss me once,” she commands softly, the words leaving her mouth in a soft puff of air.

Smiling, Lucien obeys, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss.

“Then, kiss me twice,” she adds, a mischievous curl of her lips, “Then, kiss me once again,” she hums against his mouth.

Understanding the reference, Lucien utters the next lyrics, “Haven't felt like this, my dear, since can't remember when… It's been a long, long time.” The girl grins at him, pleased, and Lucien feels content for the first time in a while. The feeling is foreign. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt like this, but he didn’t want this illusion to go away, a beautiful trick of his broken mind.

The couple stays like this until Lucien could feel the effects of the drug disappearing, the fogginess of his mind slowly clearing up. Coldness is seeping steadily into the warmth he had felt earlier.

The girl gazes into his eyes, “It’s time, Lucien,” she announces.

Lucien grabs onto her a little tighter, “No, please,” he begs, “Just-just a little bit longer.”

She smiles sadly and Lucien panics, “No!” He holds onto her desperately. “No! Don’t go, please! I-I can’t lose you again!”

“Lucien,” she says and her voice is no longer sweet, but disembodied, haunting. “You’ll see me again,” there is a promise to her words, but it doesn’t sound as inviting.

The edges of her body starts to turn black little by little, and he holds her hand as if it’s a lifeline.

“No-don’t, you can’t…” The panic consumes him, until he can’t breathe and he chokes, bile rising in his throat. “I can’t lose you again!” He shouts as more of her fades into nothingness. “I can’t-” Lucien is frantic, grasping her dissolving hand. 

The last thing he feels before she’s completely gone is a ghostly touch, feather-light fingertips caressing his cheek. It may as well have been a kiss from the wind. 

“You will see me again. I promise.”

You'll never know How many dreams I dream about you Or just how empty they all seem without you

So, kiss me once Then, kiss me twice Kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time 

───── ⋆⋅ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ⋅⋆ ─────

A/N Part II: With that, Ladies and Gentlemen, I believe it is the conclusion of “Super Angsty Series.” Watch I get another request and think “Ooh, that would be great.” I am finally back and kicking and my first comeback piece is angst, ofc.

Part I: here

Part II: here

“I thought you didn’t drink,” Kaeya sighs as he moves the bottle of dandelion wine away.

The fiery haired male glances blearily at the source of the voice, but his blurring vision made it hard to focus. “S’okay,” he mumbles.

Kaeya shakes his head, moving behind the bar to hunt down some of Diluc’s specially pressed grape juice. “How much have you had to drink?” He calls as he gets a clean glass.

“Kaeya,” Diluc says hoarsely, “I guess you should know…”

“Quit your yammering, Jean says I have to get you home,” the azure-haired man pours grape juice into the glass, not paying attention.

“I’m…” Diluc says softly, voice forlorn as he pillows his head in his hands, “I’m in love with her…”

Kaeya pauses, his grip on the glass tightens as he processes Diluc’s confession. His knuckles turn white, a startling contrast against his dark skin.

“What?”

AND THAT IS ALL YOU WILL GET, NONNY 🤩🤩