It goes something like this:
what starts as your genius plot to sink your icy claws into Mondstadt's (upsettingly successful) wine industry devolves into a petty game of sabotage with your insufferable colleague after he, the fool that he is, decides that it'd be funny to upturn your carefully constructed takeover. You both keep retribution and revenge as your closest confidants; you're both much too prideful to concede to the other in this ridiculous charade. Loved as much as you are hated, predictable as much as you are not—you're a whirlwind of mystery and paradoxes set on a path of self-destruction and he doing nothing but fanning the flames. Your mutual antagonism is nothing new: you've been at odds with one another ever since the day the boreal winds swept you into the Tsarista's cold embrace.
Scaramouche is only certain of one thing: thanks to dumb (you) and dumber (Childe), he has a front-row seat to one hell of a show.
miya osamu has cleaned up after his twin brother more times than he can count, a quiet countenance trailing behind a glorious sun. he doesn't love his job—doesn't hate it either, just resigned—day after day, a steady cycle of picking up the broken, gossamer pieces of crystal hearts and burning gold, lavish frivolity shriveling under the moon. he watches ash seep into his skin, a reminder of his domain. and he watches as you climb the steps, past crimson torii gates, past tarnished bronze coins, past mistakes, and past him to reach the twin kitsune's shrine. blessed by inari, perhaps you will last longer in the golden flame. maybe you will be spared.
he's rarely wrong.
but it looks like sometimes he isn't right either.
or; osamu wonders how long he'll watch you let yourself break
(cross posted on wattpad)
In which you think fleeing to a different city is an acceptable coping mechanism, and how the two most important men in your life prove you wrong in the most convoluted manner possible.
Bookmarked by sunshii
26 Nov 2020