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m1d-45 · 2 years

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the scottish play

summary: some things are better left unknown.

word count: ~3.1k

-> warnings: spoilers for liyue story quest, reader dies (again). blood mention. zhongli probably cries off camera

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @atsukawolfcat || @thehoneymushroomhealer || @imyme20 || @bittersweetorpheus || @vampirecatsw || @willburzone || @some-mildly-happy-human || @yourlocaldrugdealerbutfancy || @inmyprinceerafr || @depressed-bitchy-demon || @kithewanderingme

<< first part || < masterlist >

you should have known better than to trust liyue.

a rock hits your shoulder, kicked down from the ledge behind you, and the abyss mage in front of you shouts a cry lost amidst the hilichurls’-

“YA!“

clubs are grabbed and shields are raised, the electro shooter taking your wrist roughly and pulling you away. you hear human voices behind you, calls to get them! and that’s the missing artifact! nearly drowned under your heartbeat in your ears. the electro hilichurl pushes you behind the grenadier before grabbing its crossbow, hastily beginning to load it. in the camp, you can see an archer up on the stone ledge—the same one you entered from—as well as four other millelith guards in the camp itself. an electro-infused bolt skims the cheek of one, a spear narrowly blocking the swing of a club, two have to ditch their weapons and roll to dodge to mitachurl’s charge-

the grenadier’s calloused hands pull you out of the way of an arrow, one that lands in the sand and quivers with force. the hilichurl pushes you away, waving its hands for you to run.

if you’d have paid more attention to the fight, you’d have noticed the hilichurls were fighting defensively to give you time.

you turn on worn, hole-ridden shoes, doing your best to take in air as you run down the path. this area of liyue is sparse, with no weaving pathways to hide in or trees to cover you. there’s nothing for the earth to shelter you with, and other than bringing more dust into the air around the archer, it’s just as helpless as you are.

there’s a building set besides a crack in the huge wall besides the path, a fork approaching quicker than you’d like. the path continues forward, toward trees, but it’s a long way to the small forest..

you turn. an arrow bounces off the stone just behind you as you do.

immediately you recognize your mistake, spotting first spiked walls, then rippling red banners, then the archer towers they’re attached to and the guards climbing down the ladders on them.

the crack you saw seems to open into a larger area, with trees you’ve never seen before, so you take the risk that the millelith can’t climb all that quickly with their armor and keep running. it’s not like you would have survived turning back anyways; they’re the ones with the archer towers.

a guard makes it to the ground just as you pass, throwing aside his spear and running after you. an arm loops around your waist, then another over your arms as you fall.

the weight of the guard on top of you knocks out the air from your lungs, leaving you dazed. he quickly gets off and pulls at the arm with the ring on it as you desperately try not to breathe in dirt.

you fuss, trying first to close your hand into a fist then hitting at his with your other. it works, the ring falling to the dirt, and though you try to follow it with your eyes you quickly lose it in the light of the sun.

the guard starts to wipe desperately at the dirt and you take the opportunity to run into the crack, pulling a random bundle of things you hope are medical supplies off a nearby cart as you do. the guards shout at you, but you keep running, taking a set of confusing turns before coming across a small campsite. there are tents and rudimentary walls, but you decide to shove yourself into the space between a stack of crates and a wall, holding your breath.

footsteps thunder by, slowing to a stop not too far from where you’re hidden. you clutch at and attempt to cover the white in your arms, turning it towards the wall as far as you can without moving the crates. you don’t dare move to peek between the boxes, simply sitting in your little corner and hoping beyond reason that they won’t think to search in the most obvious area.

“what?”

“where’d they go?”

“find them!”

your heart thuds in your chest and you have to fight to keep your breathing quiet, pressing yourself further against the wall as the guards search the small camp.

the floor tips and spins beneath you, the world blurry and hazed from dehydration and exhaustion, but you stay hidden as boots stomp by again, listening to the irritated words from one of the guards as they pass.

“we must report this to the qixing.”

zhongli walks through liyue harbor, one hand holding a folder and the other one clenched in a fist. he can feel the stares of people as he passes, the new whispers on their tongues, and he sets his jaw, picking up the pace.

he’s used to the stares. people pointed him out as odd, eccentric, the funeral consultant that everybody knew yet didn’t know why, or where he was from. the stranger that somehow knew alarming amounts of liyuen history, the new worker at the parlor who puts up with the director, the one with a vision from liyue yet seems adept at using it nonetheless.

stares are regular, until they’re not.

the empty space on his lower back where his faux-vision once was affects him more than it should. maybe because it feels like a real one, now, since he hasn’t been able to manipulate geo ever since it turned against him. the lack of pressure, the missing weight of glass and gold, no matter how papery the front it put up, bothered him. it wasn’t real in any sense, it was utterly worthless, it didn’t glow or have any connection at all, and yet.. it still refused to obey him. touching it felt like he was cutting his palm open over and over despite the lack of physical injuries, and when he tried to have hu tao reattach it to (a new) chain, it only stabbed at him through his clothes.

it was fake. it shouldn’t be possible.

but he couldn’t tell anybody of his plight.

nodding a greeting at the blacksmith, he continued his journey across the harbor.

“-consultant for-?”

“-where’s his-?“

“-did his vision-?”

questions flew in the space between people, gossip lighting the way between lampposts. he knew they were watching. he didn’t know why it unnerved him so much.

zhongli kept walking.

two millelith guards are standing duty near the bridge, and he listens in on their conversation as he passes.

“-hear any updates on the situation?”

“no, only that they’ve gotten to the chasm. it’s to dangerous for the qixing to send-..”

hm..

he files the information away.

zhongli openes the door to the parlor, nodding in greeting at ferrylady. perhaps he should pay the chasm a visit on the chance that the guards were speaking of what he hoped they were.

you wouldn’t be too much of a challenge—he is still, after all, morax, the god of war and contracts. he’d signed on the dotted line when he took his first breath, signed to be the warrior of his god and to stand by their side for as long as he lived. it was a deal he could easily uphold, and one he’s not going to fail.

he’s served his god all his life, and he refuses to allow such disgrace to befall their name.

perhaps if he’s lucky, he’ll be the one allowed to slay you…

he shakes the thoughts of bloodshed from his mind, knocking twice on a door marked ‘director’. when he hears permission to enter, he wastes no time in pushing it open.

hu tao’s eyes brighten when she see’s it’s him, the pen in her hand twirling around her fingers in her excitement. “zhongli! you’re back quickly.”

he nods, stepping forward to hand her the folder. “the negotiations went easier than anticipated.”

her eyes suddenly narrow, hee hand retracting from the folder. “did you say what i told you to?”

“yes, director, i kept the price within the range you specified. i was simply commenting on the simplicity of the transaction; who knew it was so easy to-“

the air shifts, a presence materializing from a cloud of black and teal smoke at zhongli’s side. hu tao yelps, her chair skidding backward.

xiao catches the pen she throws at him with ease.

zhongli pulls it from his hand, the director having finally registered what happened.

“wha- who- you? y- you can’t just appear in my office like that!”

xiao paid her no mind, turning to zhongli and bowing, the latter easily dismissing the action.

“what news do you have?”

“i have scoured all of liyue and have yet to find a trace. in addition, b-… venti has not felt their presence upon the wind, and considering the tightening of security around the harbor thanks to the millelith, i can only assume they have either gone to sumeru through nantianmen or lumberpick valley, or they are in the chasm.”

the words of the millelith from earlier echoed in zhongli’s mind, a plan swiftly forming.

“i see. thank you, xiao. i will leave at once.”

with a nod, the adeptus vanishes back into a cloud of smoke.

“zhongli? who was that? and where are you going? who were you talking about?”

zhongli set the folder on her desk, the pen placed on top. “all in due time, ms. hu. until then, i’m afraid i must depart.”

“you can’t-“

“i promise that appropriate compensation for my leaving early will be arranged, and we may speak on the topic when i return.”

“‘li-“

“goodbye, director.”

black and gold fabric twisted around him as he turned, the empty chain across his back glinting in the light of the office. while he had some regret about leaving so harshly—he’d surely receive a rant about reliance when he returned—it was quickly drowned under his determination.

his god was calling, and all he’d ever wished for was to answer.

you stumble into a tunnel next to a blue waypoint, walking in as far as you can manage before crumbling to the floor. you have to go. to hide. you don’t know how many ‘lives’ you have left, and you’re not keen on finding out, not with the qixing on your tail.

you drag yourself next to a shining chunk of cor lapis, gritting your teeth at the pain.

how did it come to this?

to running from the millelith, hiding in the chasm of all places?

you breathe heavily as you sit against the wall, the sudden shift from relaxation to running for your life taking a toll. you put your hands on the floor to shuffle further against the wall only to wince, moving your palm to see what sharp rock you’d landed on.

except it wasn’t a rock. the ring, the one the dendro slime gave you, is sitting peacefully on top of the dirt like it belongs there. still clean, still shining, the gem without a scratch you can see as you lift it up. the tunnel is only lit by sun streaming in from around the corner, and though it makes it hard to see imperfections on the gold, the light only highlights the wear on your figure. your clothes are tattered and worn, reduced to scraps, that ring the only thing of passable quality. how ironic, that the thing in best condition was the one you never should have taken—where would hilichurls even get them? did you think about it at all?—and the one that almost got you killed.

again.

you couldn’t hold it against the millelith, really. you didn’t know where it came from or why. it didn’t look ancient to you, the gold still glimmering in the faint light, and the gem wasn’t large enough to be of any importance, but maybe it was. maybe it was some artifact that was really rare or highly sought after. maybe it was the dropped ring of some important ruler. maybe it was the wedding band of one of the workers here.

maybe you were just making excuses because you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate them.

..wow, this is kinda pathetic.

you do your best to wrap your wounds with the bandages you swiped, mumbling a quick thank you that they were bandages, no matter how covered in dust from your journey. between your shaky hands and the severity of the wounds, though, you don’t know if you’re actually doing anything of benefit. not to mention you’re still lying on the floor, in a dusty tunnel in the chasm.

dirt and rocks dig into your skin and wounds, scabs breaking as you curl up further, too caught up in your pain to hear the footsteps approaching you.

or maybe you do hear them, and simply don’t care.

you never had the highest level of self-preservation.

zhongli has lived for eons.

he’s seen it all.

nothing surprises him anymore.

….nothing should.

but as he approaches the tunnel the millelith had told him of, as he walks and hears hitched breathing and choked words….

his knuckles are white around his polearm.

he turns the corner, stepping around a wooden support. dust stains the air as if trying to hide you from his view, but can still see. torn clothes, your hands wrapped in dirty bandages that are more likely to get them infected than protect, and you’re… you’re crying.

as he watches, you look up, matted hair falling into your face. you’re sitting next to a chunk of cor lapis, the ore looking like it’s glowing brighter than normal. in the golden light, he sees the tear tracks streak through the dirt on your face, and something like pity twinges in his chest.

something like a laugh leaves your cracked lips.

“morax…”

you knew?

you knew him?

how?

his posture tensed, but you only sat up straighter, leaning on the wall behind you. it was hard to tell if that was blood on the floor or just shadows cast by the ore nearby, but you were obviously weak.

you licked your lips. why hadn’t he moved yet?

“i don’t mind dying, you know. not if it’s you.”

you sounded weak, voice hoarse and painful, like your throat was lined with glass.

and yet… him?

why?

how did you even know him?

surely… surely you weren’t the same person as before, in wuwang hill, right? you weren’t the one who looked up at him with eyes that glittered not with tears but with admiration, your gaze sweeping over his face with such emotion. you weren’t the one that, even as he pointed his spear at your heart, dared to whisper a compliment?

…what did it matter? you… you deserved to be slain. he couldn’t be swayed simply because you looked like his god.

his hand almost didn’t want to obey as he leveled his polearm at your neck, noting the exhaustion with which you relaxed further into the stone. your eyes fluttered shut, your hand landing closer to the light of the ore. he could see a ring on one of your fingers: gold, archaic, likely stolen from a ruin nearby. how pitiful that an artifact would be ruined by you.

the golden point of his blade leveled against your skin, seeming to buzz with excitement in his hand.

he should make it quick.

in his hesitance, you spoke. “you want last words?”

to ask somebody on death row for the worst of crimes for last words would probably be itself a crime elsewhere. giving you the opportunity to take advantage of him while he was vulnerable—though he doubted you had the strength for that…

a small smile crossed your face.

he swallowed. his hand wavered.

“if you wish.”

why did you seem so familiar?

he was starting to shake.

it didn’t matter that you looked like his god. you were the imposter, you were the fake, but being here with you…

why was he hesitating?

this was a sin against his god, to allow such a devil to walk his nation. and to dare to feel sympathy for such a-

“i don’t mind if i die.”

but your voice-

you spoke so softly with his weapon pointed at your throat, every bob of your skin threatening to tear itself across its edge. and yet, you continued, leaving him no choice but to believe your statement.

“i don’t know why you want to kill me, but i don’t. really.”

in the golden light of the lapis and whatever extra was coming around the corner, your skin broke.

what were you saying?

why couldn’t he listen?

he was entranced by the bead of blood, almost shimmering in the light, rolling down your neck.

he had to kill you.

he had to.

why didn’t he want to?

“it’s a good day to die.”

that was a lie, the skies were gray and threatened rain, the earth itself irritated and rumbling with an anger you couldn’t sense. the only reason you said that was because you didn’t know.

he found himself believing it anyway.

“kill me, morax.” the way you said his name- “i’m… i’m sure your god would be proud.”

what did you know of his god?

in the instant anger overcame him, he pressed vortex vanquisher forward, pushing until he hit stone. you flinched, blood rolling down his weapon and falling into your lap in waves. to his surprise, it didn’t stain the blade dark with crimson, instead…

no.

he told himself it was the light.

no.

your eyes fluttered, struggling, and he compared the shade of the ring on your finger to the one on his weapon. even in the tinted lighting, they looked the same.

no.

it was impossible.

even as he tore his weapon away, a futile attempt to undo his actions, he knew it was impossible.

“kill me, morax.”

and he had, he had, and now he wanted nothing more than to take it back, dirt staining his knees as gloved hands fluttered over the wound as if it would magically stick back together.

“i’m sure your god would be proud.”

#shout out to the theat(re/er) kids that caught The Reference. i’m midas i think i’m cooler than i am and i’m new in town #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin #genshin impact #sagau impostor au #sagau zhongli #sagau hu tao #zhongli #hu tao #i put. way too much symbolism and foreshadowing into my GENSHIN IMPACT FANFICTION #me staring at the subtle intricacies of my word choices: damn that’s good. i am proud of this and strive to forever improve.#me realizing nobody gives a fuck about the difference between ‘useless’ and ‘worthless’: oh no #aakidcnwkrkr FUCK i need better hobbies #sagau xiao #xiao #angst #zhongli angst

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yallthemwitches · 1 month

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Some James (and Potter family) Headcanon

Because I always seem to fixate on Lily hc and he needs some love:

---James didn't really chase after Lily because she was pretty, intelligent, and cheeky (though those helped) but rather because she was a challenge for him. Not in the sense that she said no for years and he loved the chase, but because Lily as a person really expanded his worldview. Due to his extremely coddled upbringing and lush life due to his blood status/ quidditch ability, James always gravitated to people that made his life more difficult in an enriching way: Sirius was the first person to ever "hit back" with his own antics and not shy away from taking the piss out of him, Remus had a troubled life completely foreign to James that provided lots of apparent troubles but also made James see bravery in a new light, and Peter made him a mentor figure who saw merit even in meekness. Lily came from a different background from him and despite having a temper was highly rational and never reactionary even when faced with discrimination. Despite growing up in one of the hardest times to be a muggleborn, she overcame it. She found meaning and joy in even the darkest places ( her friendship with Snape being the most difficult of examples to understand.) and made James better because she didn't resign to looking at the world like he did, but rather sharpened his vision of it.

--Of all the many muggle movies Lily showed James, his absolute favorite was Harold and Maude ( Hal Ashby 1971). It was the first time he had ever seen a depiction of mortality really laid out in front of him and it was the first time Lily ever saw him cry.

--Nothing made James more angry than when Lily would be harassed for her blood status and the fact that she was dating him. This feeling was often left unresolved as Lily refused to let him retaliate, saying it was stooping to their level to fight back.

---While also having just natural unruly hair, James like keeping his hair unkept because it was an act of rebellion from his parents who acquired the family fortune on hair taming products. He felt like it brought a sense of irony to the household.

---I feel like this one MUST be canon: James hated Snape for a lot of reasons but I think the biggest was that he was so close to Lily for so long and James was never so lucky. Then, once Snape started to be into dark magic it was all the more reason to detest him.

--I know everyone loves Fleamont, but I am always partial to thinking about Euphemia Potter because there is so little known about her. I like to think she was a very eccentric and worldly person who gave her interest in muggle things to her son. I have this image of her listening to 1960s muggle zamrock around the house ( artists like WITCH and Amanaz---60s trippiness meets African traditional music). For a while I had this headcanon that she worked directly with the Statue of Secrecy Department ( hence why she met the Potters' in the first place due to Henry Potter's influence) so she was very up to date on the very thin line squibs and muggles would walk into either finding or revealing the wizarding world (like how hilarious would it be if someone like Alejandro Jodowosky or David Lynch was a squib and Euphemia was their case worker and had to call them up and be like "Cutie, you are giving away too much, take it down a notch" so they don't accidentally reveal wizard secrets.) For this reason her and Lily got along really well.

--James really loved to read! Everyone always makes James this jock, prankster bad boy but the kid was super smart ( I mean he became an animangus and made the marauders map--its literally canon). He had loads of books on Transfiguration and mostly read nonfiction, but Lily got him to read more fiction and muggle works once they got together. He was more practical about his reading though and was not very interested in the more existential topics that Sirius would often carry around.

--When he found out Lily was pregnant he quit the order on the spot. No questions asked. Lily was annoyed by this for a while. He pulled them out of missions before she had even finished her first trimester and even so she felt like he would have been much more helpful out on the field then playing house with her at home (especially when she wasn't even showing yet). Lily even wanted to keep doing missions until she was farther in her pregnancy, but James was beside himself about the idea of her continuing to be in danger while pregnant. It was one of the biggest fights they ever had and ended with James crying, which immediately broke Lily down.

(Art source @blvnk-art )

#james potter #hp marauders #jily #lily evans #jily headcannon #marauders era #jily headcanon #sirius black #hp #I think too much about them I need to find a new hobby #prongs

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