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atlaswav · 4 months ago

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CATACLYSMIC ☾

INFO: 5252 words..... dr ratio x fem! reader SYNOPSIS: You hate him, of that you're certain. You hate the man behind the alabaster figurehead, and you want to see him unravelled, but you don't know exactly what you do to him. WARNINGS: um alcohol and one kiss. also some swearing but mostly fine AUTHOR'S NOTE: rising from the grave to bring to you this thing i found this in my drafts from who knows how long when I was obsessed with this man (still am). someone help. i can no longer write this much for one fic. what was i on.

Veritas Ratio made it no secret that he despised those who lived in ignorance. He openly shunned those who were stupid enough to turn their eyes from knowledge – they’d be beggars in due time. They didn’t know how the world was governed, and ignorant fools would play victim to fate’s cruel touch.

With this philosophy of his, you often wondered whether or not his ivory figurehead would soon burst with the tumultuous storm of the man’s self importance. You wondered what would lie underneath. Surely, the divine makers would’ve allowed balance in his creation – surely, his face was horribly disfigured in exchange for such otherworldly intelligence.

He was both delightfully astute and horrendously ill mannered at once. Brighter than your entire class combined – your entire university combined, no doubt – but his pretentiousness was overflowing, and you believed he was in dire need of being put in his place.

Arrogant and pretentious were two of the words that came to mind when someone mentioned Dr. Ratio, and you were sure you weren’t the only one who refused to worship his word like the gospel. In turn, he seemed to despise your very existence, as if you were merely a faded annotation in the footnotes of an ancient epic. Vandalising a work of art. A moustache on the Mona Lisa. Circe in the Odyssey, if she’d welcomed sailors with open arms, allowing them to degrade her as they would a common concubine, not a descendant of the gods.

Yet instead of sharing the witch’s beguiling, seductive nature, you only shared her mortal voice. Thin, reedy, quiet, compared to the booming voices of gods. The voice of Veritas Ratio. Your achievements could only pale in comparison to his, and it took everything within you to clap politely as he received his third – fourth? (you weren’t intent on keeping track) – diploma.

God you hated that man. You’d muttered as much under your breath countless times.

“Dr. Ratio is fine. No need to worship me.” he’d once corrected. But the attempt at humour was lost on you as your classmates began to laugh. The divine makers likely brought him into existence just to spite you. Oftentimes, you fought your urges to hurl the nearest textbook at his caricature head and watch the plaster crack, fall to the floor, and reveal his disfigured face.

Not that you’d seen it before – lingered around him enough to see it disappear.

His scorn held no favourites, and certainly not when it came to you. He’d openly dragged your work through the dirt a couple of times before, and it was only a matter of time before he did it again. His words were scalding, leaving burns across your thin skin and leaving your mouth tasting of ash. Your voice, faint and human, fell quiet at his ‘gospel’.

If it weren’t obvious, the hatred was mutual. He’d never admit it outright – he was far beyond these meaningless, trivial things such as immature hatred – but you felt his scathing glare in your soul, even through that perturbing headpiece, and that was enough.

“Have you found it?”

You turn around, meeting the cold, blank, unseeing gaze of his caricature head behind you. It was disconcerting to say the very least, but no one else had asked him about it, so you never pushed him further. None wanted to invoke his wrath, no matter what circumstance. It was a miracle neither of you had exploded at each other yet, but you suspected that he’d gladly put aside any type of loathing he harboured for you so that this project would get done faster.

You were happy to oblige as he took the lead. A free credit was a free credit. But you did have your limits.

“Nope. The text is ancient. I doubt this library has it.”

“Nonsense.” he clicked his tongue, glancing to the side. “I’m asking the professor. Go work on your part.”

Patience is a virtue, as you keep reminding yourself.

“Sure. Let me know if you find anything.” you say instead of the retort that sits on your tongue. False niceties and biting, underhanded remarks. This charade was entertaining, at the very least.

How did everyone love him? There had to be people like you who shared your dislike towards that conceited scholar. With a long suffering groan, you took a seat at one of the plethora of tables in the university’s library, clicked your pen and began to write.

Maybe the reason he despised you so was because of your ideas, arguably the opposite of his own way of thinking. Where his twisted logic, rearranged rationality and pulled apart natural reasoning to formulate new material, you cut and stitched the work of others together to create your own emulations. (Frankenstein's monster. Was that a cliche? For Ratio, it probably was.)

He’d likely scrap what you’d written as soon as he returned, but that didn’t stop you from trying to spite him anyway. You hoped your readings wouldn’t go to waste as you recorded your findings, then started to draft an outline for your project.

The scratch of paper became white nose, your hand struggling to keep up with the pace of your mind – was it even worth it? He’d likely call it worthless, snatch it from you and throw it into the recycling bin, then start writing his own outline. It only angered you further as you frowned at the page, wondering how he’d approach the project.

The thump of a heavy tome on the wooden desk snapped you out of your sombre thoughts.

“Here.” Ratio took a seat at the chair opposite of yours, brushing the dust off the thick text, leafing through its yellowed pages. “I told you they’d have it. You just need to search better.”

You offer him a tight smile. “Noted.” More false niceties, more flat remarks.

Then the figurehead disappears in a blink, and you nearly drop your pen. He barely pays you any mind as he runs a hand through his hair, flipping through the text. You’d heard the rumours of the handsome face beneath the statue, but you’d never have imagined him to be so disgustingly perfect.

Statuesque.

His deep violet locks looked unbelievably soft. His crimson eyes showed laser focus as he scanned the text in front of him, ignoring you completely as he noted something down. After a brief silence where you skim over your outline and he presumably attempts to decipher the undeniably unreadable and ancient text which you were opposed to reading in the first place, he turns to you with a sigh. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“I wrote an outline.” you hand the papers to him begrudgingly, fidgeting with the pen in your hand. You don’t meet his gaze, afraid that his calculating gaze might see too far into your soul.

“This?” his distaste seeps through his tone. You don’t need to look at his face to know that he’s frowning.

You say nothing as he skims through your work, twirling your pen between your fingers.

“...It’s not the worst thing I've ever read.”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

“It’s not good, either.”

You scowl at him.

“I can salvage it.” he nonchalantly throws it back onto the table, returning to the text at hand.

You want to shove his grotesquely perfect face into the book. He really was put on this earth to spite you.

“Don’t just sit there. Go look for texts on criticism of our stance.”

You don’t know how you’re going to find the patience to survive this project. If anything, it irked you further to find that there wasn’t some monstrosity hidden behind that figurehead. In everything he did, he seemed to be inventing new ways to get on your nerves. However, unbeknownst to you, Veritas Ratio held you higher than you gave yourself credit for. He believed your ideas to be invigorating. Refreshing, almost. A welcome reprieve from the same reiterated, chewed, swallowed and regurgitated approaches that your other classmates had.

You weren’t like the rest of the mindless, studying machines at the university. You could be brilliant, and it annoyed him that you didn’t know this. He’d admitted as much to himself before, but he’d never tell you. But it was still not good enough for his standards – far better than what the imbeciles in your class could’ve come up with – but still far behind him. Or so he kept telling himself.

Days passed by without a word from either of you. You were content to write your part in the solitude of your dorm, and he seemed perfectly content mulling over whatever he’d found in that indecipherable ancient text. By the time you’d nearly finished your part, he decided to meet with you once again to share your findings.

His definition of deciding to meet with you meant simply cornering you after class and asking you to follow him.

You started to protest, but he’d already turned and briskly walked out of the classroom, so you groaned and followed after him, winding up in the library again. This time, in a secluded corner with the late afternoon sun pouring through the window, illuminating the small table and workspace with a warm glow.

You wondered how he wasn’t winded after trekking across the entire campus. You certainly were. His muscled build suggested that a mere leisurely walk couldn’t possibly have tired him out. What did he eat? Was he what Nietzsche had in mind when he wrote of the Superman?

“What are you doing? Sit.” he gestures to the seat across from him, and you sink into the armchair, taking out your papers. His headpiece disappears once again, and your breath catches in your throat.

His hair cast a faint shadow across his face, and his eyes seemed to glow. As you leaned in closer, you realised there was a thin ring of gold around his pupils.

“Are you done with your part?” he demands, breaking you out of your trance.

You silently hand over your drafts, watching his eyes flit across your paper. His eyebrows furrow slightly, eyes narrowing, but he remains quiet. Were his eyelashes always this long? They created an indistinct shadow on his cheeks. His skin was pale, fair. Not the sickly kind of pale you thought he’d be. Did he exercise? You wouldn’t be surprised, with all your classmates always fawning over his broad, strong chest and narrower waist.

Was it your imagination, or were his cheeks slightly flushed? It might have been the light.

“It’s deplorable.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as you sit back against the armchair.

“Your ideas are rudimentary. Have you been reading at all?” he sighs, holding his head in his hand. “No matter. I can fix it. I don’t need you to do anything anymore. You can go.”

You stay seated in shock, unable to move. You’ve heard the anecdotes of people crying over being scolded by him, but was he always this harsh?

“You know it’s a group project, right?” you begin before your better judgement can decide against it, “My work is just as important as yours, it doesn’t matter if you think my work is ‘deplorable’. I’m in the same class, I take the same course, I learn the same things as you do, you don’t get to look down on me no matter how stupidly smart you are.”

He raises an eyebrow, unamused. “Why not?”

“Take that stick out of your ass, Veritas Ratio. Get off your high horse.” you snatch your papers out of his hands and take your leave, ignoring his calls of your name.

Were you dramatic? Yes, but not without reason. Given Ratio’s reputation for prioritising academics over everything else, you suspected that it wouldn’t take long for him to find you, either.

You were so wrong.

More days passed with no contact. He didn’t seem to be affected by your dramatics, and never once batted an eye in your direction unless necessary. It seemed your hypothesis of him inventing new ways to get on your nerves was on the track of being proved correct. But if you didn’t do something within the next few days, you trusted him to turn in the project without your name on the paper, resulting in a zero.

He was just as stubborn as you, and though you were nothing compared to him in actuality, you were so close to grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you for who you were.

Seemingly, even in the battle of wits, he seemed to emerge victorious.

“Ratio.”

He barely glances up, engrossed in his writing. “What?”

“Are you done with the project?” Biting the bullet stings your teeth and left a bitter taste on your tongue.

“No. Not yet. Why? You’re finally going to help?”

“Are you going to stop looking down at me?”

The library is nearly empty. The sun is barely a sliver on the horizon, and the voices of students float down the corridor beyond the grand stacks of books, yet you’re here. Why do you bother? Are you really that desperate for his validation?

“Are you going to keep writing such reprehensible work?”

You glare at him. “Guess not.” you turn on your heel.

“You’re absolutely infuriating.” he sighs, leaning back in the armchair. “You’re not aware of what you can do, are you?”

You glare at him. Your chest stings.

He looks at you, then. Truly. His complexion relaxes, and he rubs his temples. “Sit. Let’s go through your part.”

“Why?”

“I mulled it over. Your part is brilliant.”

Your eyes widen.

“But your expression and research is appalling. Have you learned how to write academically at all?”

You’d never simultaneously wanted to slap and kiss a man at once until today. “What happened to getting off your high horse?”

“I got off it. Now sit and listen, I won’t repeat myself.”

You supposed that was the closest to an apology he’d ever give you, so you sat. It pained you, but you did. Besides, he had called you brilliant – your part – but still, you couldn’t force the smile from your face as you listened to his instruction.

“Your ideas in your introduction are well formed, but from there, it all goes downhill. You have to reorder your logic for it to make sense, and we will be deducted points if you don’t elaborate on the principles of your concept first.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So how would you do it?”

“For one, I’d restart completely and get straight to the point.”

You sigh exasperatedly. “Show me, then, if you’re so good.”

His eyes narrow at you, but he says nothing as he motions for you to come closer.

The librarian was likely too scared to kick either of you out after closing time. Your arguments were heard by all of your neighbouring desks, and whenever there was a break in conversation, it seemed as if everyone held their breath. There was pin drop silence except for the two of you – but neither of you realised it.

He was blunt, and had no idea what you were thinking, but perhaps this is what entrapped him.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about how he had called your ideas brilliant.

You quickly learn how good of a teacher he is. Maybe it’s his forced patience or once-in-a-millenium genuine praise that spurs your decision, but you find yourself so willing to prove yourself, and he finds himself willing to help.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

“Just fix it, stop arguing with me. I’m right.”

“Why? Do you know every single thing about our topic?”

“No, but I have four degrees and more experience than you.”

“Jackass.”

“Change it.”

You grumbled another insult under your breath, yawning as you scribbled out the section you wrote and began to reword your thoughts. The sudden quietude was jarring, and as you looked around, you realised the overhead lights were off, the only source of light from the lamps illuminating the desks.

“Is everyone gone?” you ask, sitting up straight and stretching.

“Who cares? Finish up, then we can head back.”

“Fuck you, give me a break. I don’t write at the pace of a robot.”

“Then learn.”

“Fuck you too Veritas Ratio.”

“Expand your vocabulary while you’re at it.”

“Why are you so intent on irritating me?”

“You get irritated easily. Not my problem.”

“If you know I get irritated easily, why do you keep provoking me then? Do you want me to hate you more?”

He seems to pause. Minisculely, almost unnoticeable had your gaze not been trained on him for the past few hours. He had a habit of pausing and furrowing his brows when you said something slightly out of line.

“Just finish the paper. You talk too much.”

You sigh and get back to work as he leafs through his own research.

Amicable silence passes. The night is alive outside, gleaming and glistening with the touch of benevolent gods and whispers of long gone wishes – pearls stitched by fate’s knowing hands.

“I’m done.”

“Show me.”

You pass the paper to him as you watch his expression carefully.

Crimson eyes flit across your work, gold ringed irises flickering in the scarce light. If you could capture the way the light reflected in his eyes in a jar, you think wishfully that you’d stare at it forever; Until the light died out, or it decided to escape the ephemeral glass confines.

But you’d never admit it out loud. It was wishful. If Veritas Ratio could read minds, he would undoubtedly reprimand you.

He clears his throat, and you snap to attention, swatting away your fantasies of stealing and bottling evasive light.

“It’s good.”

You wait for him to speak further, but he says nothing. “Just good?”

“Well, by my standards, no, but for you, it’s good.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” he leans on the table, forearms flexing. “That you’re finally starting to live up to your potential.”

“Huh?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“What potential?”

He shakes his head absently, almost in disbelief. Forget light, you’d barter with the lady of fate to let you preserve this moment in a frame so that you could glimpse this expression forever. You’d never seen him so dumbfounded and awed at once – you doubt anyone ever has. He’d always been a man of knowing, and whatever he didn’t know, he would find out. Nothing was ever a “maybe,” or a “probably,” it was always absolute. It had to be absolute in his philosophy.

You happened to be the one exception.

“You’re not aware of the potential you have?”

“You think I have potential?”

“Aeons,” he murmurs under his breath, before standing and gathering his belongings. “I’m going to bed. See you in class tomorrow. We’ll finish up then.”

He leaves before you have the chance to question him, but as you slump back in your armchair, you can’t help but smile.

Potential was as close as you’d ever get to a compliment from Veritas.

—

The lady of fortune and lady Themis looked him in the eyes and saw their mortal emanator at his birth. He’d never been certain what he was made for, but he never let it burden him. Things like these weren’t made for him to ponder, that was up to the dreamers and inventors.

He was a being of logic. A doctor of calculations and reason, and everyone knew him as such.

But he simply couldn’t figure out what it was about you – your naive gaze or that pout that absently curved your lips – that had your words and scent and eyes lingering in his mind like a vengeful phantom.

You were the being of all chaos and irrationality, but you were so bright. Unhoned, rough and unhewn. A gemstone shining with impurities but shining still, casting a beautiful mosaic cast across the ground with indecipherable shapes and patterns.

It was deplorable. He hated you for being on his mind, and hated you even more for your wasted potential. He hated how you stared, how his cheeks would redden from the intensity of your gaze, and how he’d have to pretend he was unfazed, because he couldn’t afford any distractions.

You were the being of his undoing, he was sure. You were brought into existence to spite him, to bring an unaccounted variable into the equation of his being, and present a causality dilemma for all he was.

He wanted you gone, but he wanted you closer all at once.

He hated it.

It wasn’t common for him to sleep in either, so when he woke five minutes before class was supposed to start, he cursed you with all the spite in his heart and rushed to class, clutching papers from the night before, still imbued with traces of your lingering fragrance. Just how long had you pored over those papers for your smell to latch to them? It should be impossible. Fate was clearly against him.

Fate brought you back together as he entered the brimming lecture hall, and the only vacant seat was the one next to you.

“Did you get the papers in order?” you asked, glancing at his dishevelled state. The Dr Ratio you knew was never dishevelled, but this was the closest you’d ever seen him to it.

“Yes. Just write your name on your bits and sign the sign off sheet and it’s complete.”

You take the paper from him, scrawling your name across your work, then handing it back.

With your project finally submitted, you could breathe easy again – never endure his biting remarks and criticism again.

But as the class progressed, you realised you were in trouble.

The professor was merciless. He flicked through the presentation on the new topic with haste, rushing through new concepts, formulae and calculations with record speeds. You’d nudged Ratio, whispering for help, but he rolled his eyes and kept his stare attentively on the presentation.

You wanted to slap him.

Was he tolerating you because of the project? Was he going back to cold stares and dismissive glances?

You wouldn’t allow it. Not when you were so close to discovering the man behind the alabaster figurehead. As soon as the professor signalled the end of the lecture, a collective sigh was released from the class.

You turned to Ratio, and he was already staring at you.

“What was it you wanted to say?”

“Tutor me please.”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because you’re smart.”

“Pick someone else, then. I don’t see why I should.”

“You asshole, I’ll buy you lunch if you tutor me.”

He frowns at you as he begins to leave. You trail after him. “Please?”

He sighs deeply. Like a man burdened with the weight of his own world on his shoulders. Byron’s brooding, romantic hero, in his melodramatic glory. “Fine. Stop annoying me.”

You smile. “Thanks. Meet you at your dorm after dinner?”

He sighs again. “ Don’t be late or I'll lock the door and go to bed.”

He watched the seconds tick by in agonising motion – a man awaiting his sentence, but also his reprieve. Is this what his classmates felt before they took tests? It certainly seemed like it. Relief was on the horizon, and yet great suffering was imminent. He’d never known the feeling until now.

But as they say, the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun, and he wasn’t about to relinquish his quest to decipher you.

It seemed mutual as he paced in front of his front door, having eaten dinner at the cafeteria early to mentally prepare himself.

When your knock finally sounded at his door, he sighed, checked his watch, then reluctantly opened the door.

You were a picture to behold.

Hair slightly damp from a shower, drowning in loose, oversized clothing. It was all painfully domestic to see you walk through his doorway, scanning his living space. In the back of his mind, he thought it felt right, but he shook his head.

You were messing with him again.

Two could play that game.

“Take a seat.” He pulled out a stool from his kitchen island. “Want a drink?”

“What, like alcohol?” you huffed.

“Are you an alcoholic?”

“Only if you want me to be.” you shrug, setting down your notes on the bench.

He sighs exasperatedly, already berating himself for agreeing to this. He never agreed to tutor anyone. Why were you the exception? You shouldn’t be.

His hypothesis: you were trying to get something out of him. A way to cheat the class, his academic favour, something hedonistic, even. It seemed plausible enough, but you listened intently as he explained the concepts the professor spoke of in the lecture, asking questions and actively engaging with his explanation.

It didn’t seem like there was any ulterior motive. So why was he letting you break his rules and defy his nature?

“God, why didn't the prof explain it during that lesson? Everyone struggled.”

“You’re not smart enough to understand his concise methods, then.” he huffed.

“You’re too smart.”

“You’re not smart enough.”

“Smart ass,”

“Get back to work. You did that question wrong, by the way.”

You groaned. “Where?”

He was so caught up in your quarrels that he didn’t notice the time grinding away at the pestle. It was nearly midnight when you’d finally caught up with that day’s classwork, and he sighed in relief.

“You understand?”

“Yes. You don’t have to worry now.”

“I won’t. Now get out.”

“No drink?” you frowned, pretending to sulk at his expense. He simply stared at you, getting up from his stool and walking to the fridge.

Remarkably, he pulled out two beers.

“Don’t speak. If you do, I'll regret allowing you over again.”

A smile befell your lips. “I’m not saying anything.”

“I don’t like the look on your face.”

“Wipe it off then.”

A frown. His new hypothesis: you were trying to seduce him for better grades, more tutoring sessions, or for his own downfall.

“Drink and leave.”

“If you say so.” you take the chilled bottle and drink. He watches your throat move, and he thinks of himself as pathetic as he drinks as well, wincing at the bitterness.

“Do you live by yourself?” you ask, head propped onto your hand.

“I do.”

“Are you lonely or something?”

“No, people are irritating.” Like you.

“What a ray of sunshine you are.” You’re not much better.

“I don’t have to put up with any idiocy.”

“If you say so.”

Quiet passes as beer fizzes in the bottles, golden liquid sloshing at the sides of the glass.

One thing you learn that night is that Veritas Ratio, the famed multiple time valedictorian of your university, is an extreme lightweight. His cheeks become red quicker than you can finish your bottle, and he starts to grumble nonsense under his breath.

“You’re really smart, you know?” he suddenly says after mumbling something about quantum physics.

“What was that?”

“You’re really smart. Really smart. Impressive.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you idiot, how many times do I have to repeat myself?” he leans on the bench, not entirely aware of his surroundings as he does so. He squints at the ground.

He’s a cute drunk, you realise begrudgingly.

“Thanks, Veritas. You’re smart too.”

“I know.” he drinks from his bottle again, swirling the dregs. “But I can’t figure you out.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Do you hate me?”

You hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”

“Then why are you like this?”

Your eyebrows raise.

“You’re making me irrational. I can’t figure it out.”

“...Sorry?”

“You should be. You know, I was nearly late to class today because of you. You kept me awake.”

“Really?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking. Thoughts. And things.”

You laugh at his predicament, draining your beer and gathering your things. Trying to leave before he said anything that could turn the encounter south.

“Wait. Don’t go.” he slams his palm onto your notes, determination in his eyes.

“I need to go to bed.” you say as if scolding a child.

“I need to figure you out. You’re still an enigma to me. The anomaly of my behaviour. Is this your intention?”

“What are you talking about? You’re drunk.”

“I can think. I can move. I can see fine. I’m not drunk. Answer me.”

“Maybe I'm just so mesmerising to you.” you joke, but his brows furrowed in thought.

“Maybe.” he retracts his hand from your notes, and you stow them away into your bag, slinging it onto your shoulder before he can do anything else.

As you’re halfway to the door, he pushes you against the wall.

You never realised how tall he was until then. How much of a height difference you had, or how muscular he was. He had to have worked out on a daily basis. The pungent smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, and his cheeks were tainted with deep red as he searched your gaze.

You decide he’s officially lost his mind, but who were you to complain?

“Are you mesmerising?” he whispers, eyes trailing down your face, examining and analysing, his hand tracing down your body with those slender scholar’s hands.

“You tell me.”

Then he grabs your face and mashes your lips together. The kiss is rough, biting and rushed. You freeze for a sliver of a second before returning it, letting him decide your allure with his own devices.

He pulls away almost too fast, lips kiss bitten, breath fast.

“You’re a siren.”

“Am I?”

“You’re going to ruin me.”

“What a weak man you are, if it only takes one woman to ruin you.”

“I hate you.”

“Really?”

“I hate it because I’d probably let you.”

“Are you a masochist?”

“Not in my right mind. I’ll wake up and regret everything, but it’ll all be the same, fundamentally.”

“So what’s your conclusion?”

He still has you pushed against the wall, caged within himself. “You were put into this world to bring about my destruction.”

“How? Why?”

“You’re my opposite. Brash, naive, carefree.”

“Are you normally this analytical of people?”

“No, which supports my point.”

“I see. So you’re going to let me ruin your image?”

“No. I hate you for it.”

“Let me go then.”

He wordlessly steps away, and you stumble to the door.

“So what are we?” you ask, turned away from him. You can’t see the way he drinks in your visage like a starving man, and the small, sober part of him is grateful for it.

“Polar opposites.”

“I mean who am I to you?”

He’s silent for a while, so you turn back to him to find him leaning on the wall, gazing into space.

“Veritas?”

“You’re my undoing. A catalyst, maybe, for my downfall. But there must be balance, right? So what are you?”

“What am I?”

“I don’t know.”

You knew then that he was beyond reason. Was this what you did to him? You took some sadistic pride in seeing a man such as himself reduced to a mumbling, questioning, incoherent mess. You were somewhat pleased with the effect you had on him., but you could never let him know this.

He crumpled to the floor, back to the wall, clutching his head in his hands. “I’ll figure you out.”

“Sure you will. Goodnight, Veritas.”

“Night.”

Your smile was brighter than the morning as you left his apartment, embracing the night’s welcoming chill.

written by @atlaswav , published 15th of July 2024

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zoe-oneesama · 5 months ago

Note

I think the explanation for why Gabriel can't just make a doctor akuma or sentimonster is in the first part of the third Season 5 episode 'Destruction.' Orikko says that he (and kwamis in general) can neither copy nor interfere with powers/effects of another Miraculous. Since Emilie's sickness was caused by a miraculous, another miraculous or kwami can't do anything about it. (The exception presumably being Miraculous Cure, but Gabe doesn't have that).

I don't think that's a good enough explanation, even if you're right and that's supposed to be canon's justification. I know the Ladybug and Cat are supposed to be "special", but the only thing that makes them special is the ability to combine and make the wish, not their own powers or how they work.

If Ladybug's Lucky Charm can fix Cataclysm damage, there's no reason that another Miraculous can't fix another Miraculous's damage. Especially because "Healing" doesn't fall under the jurisdiction of "Creation".

Not to mention all the times that Hawkmoth has just straight up made Akuma or even Sentimonster copies of existing heroes and their powers - Copycat, Volpina, Queen Wasp/Miracle Queen, SentiNino/SentiPace... There's no way his power can't just stomp all over the boundaries that the rooster specifically has to deal with.

#ml salt

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nihilityuniverse · 3 months ago

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CREATOR | Genshin x FEM! Reader

In which, You, The Creator, descend onto Teyvat as a Human in disguise.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Also available on Wattpad: Chapter 1

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Long, long ago, even before humans existed, our beloved Creator walked upon the land they had formed, accompanied by dragons and living harmoniously with their creations. Their mere presence caused bountiful fruits and vegetables to grow, and with each step they took, golden flowers blossomed.

As time passed and the first mortals and gods emerged on Teyvat, the Creator ascended to a higher plane, beyond the understanding of mortals and gods. Yet, their gaze never left Teyvat, always watching over their creation.

But then, without warning, the tranquil and pure presence vanished into thin air. The following day, disaster erupted across Teyvat, accompanied by numerous cataclysms. All living beings were left bewildered, not knowing what offense they had committed to warrant such a punishment from their Creator. This tragic event became an indelible mark in Teyvat's history.

In the present day, tales of our Creator are rarely spoken, and only a few ancient scripts remain to remember them. It seems as though humans have forgotten and abandoned the Creator, the memory of their grace fading into obscurity.

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Descending back onto the physical plane as a human felt both alien and exhilarating. The first gasp for air filled your lungs with a sharp, cool sensation, invigorating and strange after eons of ethereal existence. Each breath tasted of the earthy, ancient air of Teyvat, grounding you in a way you had almost forgotten.

Your eyes scanned your surroundings, taking in the dimly lit chamber. You found yourself back inside the old temple where you had once departed from this world, your first creation of both the planet and the universe it resided in.

The room was vast and ancient, with high, vaulted ceilings adorned with faded frescoes depicting the dawn of creation. The stone walls were etched with intricate runes and symbols, remnants of a time long past. Torches flickered softly in their sconces, casting dancing shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of the ages.

You were lying on top of a stone slab, the surface cold and unyielding beneath you. A simple white robe clothed your new form, its fabric coarse against your skin, yet comforting in its simplicity.

You raised your hands, watching eagerly as you moved each finger. The sensation was foreign, a mix of fascination and discomfort. The human body felt both fragile and potent, a vessel brimming with possibilities.

Attempting to stand, you found your legs unsteady, and you tumbled to the hard, cold ground with a soft thud. "Ugh..." you huffed, the sound escaping your lips, a blend of frustration and determination.

You tried to stand up, but your arms and legs were still shaking. You let out a sigh. 'This body is more fragile than I thought it would be...' you mused.

Crafting this body had been a complex task, designed to contain a tiny fraction of your powers and your Consciousness while still maintaining a link to your true form in the higher plane.

With a surge of determination, you mustered your energy and stood up again. You managed a few unsteady steps before crashing against the stone door. Sweat dripped down your forehead, and you panted, feeling the strain of physical exertion for the first time in ages.

Bracing yourself against the cool, solid surface of the door, you took a moment to catch your breath.

The temple was eerily silent, the only sounds being your labored breathing and the faint echo of distant memories.

You placed your hands on the old, heavy stone door, trying to push it open with every ounce of physical strength in your frail body. It was as if you were trying to move a mountain. Your muscles trembled with the effort, and despite your determination, the door remained stubbornly immobile.

Realizing the futility of brute force, you closed your eyes and placed your hand gently on the door. Focusing intently, you drew upon the small reservoir of power within you. A faint white light began to emanate from the palm of your hand, soft and ethereal. It tingled through your body, warm and invigorating, as if tiny sparks of energy danced beneath your skin.

Slowly, the heavy door began to open, not through physical effort, but as if invisible, imaginary threads were pulling it open from the other side. You could feel the ancient mechanisms responding to your power, groaning softly as they shifted. The door yielded, inch by inch, until it finally stood ajar, allowing a soft breeze to drift into the temple.

With wobbly legs, you walked outside and were greeted by a vast expanse of vibrant green stretching out before you. The sounds of birds chirping echoed in the distance, a symphony of life resonating through the forest. Your eyes widened with excitement as you hurriedly ventured deeper into the forest, mesmerized by its magical allure.

Each step you took landed on a bed of soft moss, the texture cushioning your feet like the most luxurious mattress. The sensation was soothing and delightful, a stark contrast to the hard stone of the temple.

Above, a canopy of trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves creating a symphony of whispers. Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow that danced around you in an enchanting display.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the earthy aroma of the forest floor. You took a deep breath, the freshness of the air invigorating you. The sounds of chirping birds and the distant babble of a stream created a soothing background melody, a gentle reminder of the life teeming around you.

Massive trees with trunks wide enough to house entire rooms rose majestically around you. Their leaves were an array of colors, from the deepest greens to shimmering golds, reflecting the sunlight in a magical display. The forest floor was dotted with flowers of every hue, some glowing faintly, adding to the breathtaking atmosphere.

You spun around in happiness, full of energy, as you took in the beautiful scenery. You had always gazed at the planets from afar, observing them and the mortals who inhabited them, but never being able to feel it, to live it. Now, you were here, a part of this vibrant world, experiencing its wonders firsthand.

Every moment in this new form felt like a gift, a chance to connect with the creation you had so lovingly crafted. The forest welcomed you with open arms, and for the first time in millennia, you felt truly alive.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, every flower, tree, and plant you passed seemed to bloom brighter and more lively than ever before. With each step you took, golden flowers blossomed in your trail, a testament to your presence.

You were filled with happiness, giggling in delight. 'So this is what feelings are like!' you thought.

In your true form, you had never experienced such sensations. Witnessing this firsthand was truly amazing! Creating a human body, a vessel capable of containing even a fraction of your essence, had been the most difficult part, especially after observing billions of humans from different planets and universes simultaneously.

Lost in the scenery, you suddenly tripped over a root and went rolling down a hill. "Woahh," you yelped, and before you realized it, you tumbled off a cliff.

The wind rushed past your face, your hair whipping wildly as you plummeted through the air. Time seemed to slow as you neared the water's surface, the crystal-clear lake shimmering beneath you.

You hit the water with a splash, the coldness enveloping you instantly. The shock of the cold water against your skin was invigorating, every nerve ending coming alive with the sensation. You sank momentarily, the water muffling all sound, creating a serene, otherworldly silence. The lake's clarity allowed you to see the sunbeams piercing through the water, creating dancing patterns of light.

As you resurfaced, you gasped for air, the coolness filling your lungs. You floated there for a moment, feeling the gentle sway of the water around you, the chill seeping into your bones but also refreshing you. The lake was a pristine, tranquil haven, the cold water a stark contrast to the warmth of the forest above.

You laughed, a joyous sound that echoed across the water. This was living, truly living, and the exhilaration of it all was beyond anything you had ever imagined. Every experience, every sensation, was a marvel, and you couldn't wait to see what other wonders this world had in store for you.

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Alhaitham, the current scribe of the Sumeru Akademiya, strode through the dense forest, searching for a very ancient ruin unknown to ordinary people and even the scholars.

This might seem an odd and unnecessary task for a scribe, yet Alhaitham justified it as part of his duty to document rare and important findings.

In Sumeru, the role of a scribe involves more than just classifying and archiving documents. The scribe is a key figure with access to vast and profound knowledge.

Alhaitham fits this role perfectly, possessing information unknown to most, and often comparable to the Grand Conservator. His privileged access to ancient texts has made him a repository of wisdom.

The reason for his solitary search lay in an old relic he had discovered, written in an ancient language and not recorded in the Akasha system.

The relic spoke of a sacred ruin where the Divine Creator had left Teyvat and ascended to a higher plane. Driven by his scholarly curiosity and desire to understand the world's underlying principles, Alhaitham was compelled to verify the existence of this ruin.

As he ventured deeper into the forest of Sumeru, he noticed flowers and plants blooming with an unusual brightness. Intrigued, he followed the path marked by these vibrant plants.

His light turquoise eyes fell upon a pair of golden flowers, their petals shimmering in the sunlight. He blinked, thinking it was an illusion, but as he stepped closer and touched the flowers, they felt real, their golden hue dazzling in the sun's rays.

"Golden flowers bloom in the trail of the Divine Creator's steps," Alhaitham recalled the old tale.

He gazed back at the brightly bloomed flora and then at the golden flowers. As he connected the dots, a sense of wonder and realization washed over him.

This finding...

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His usually composed demeanor wavered, his heart pounding with the weight of this revelation.

The Divine Creator... has finally descended.

The significance of what lay before him was overwhelming. These golden flowers, blooming so vividly and impossibly in his path, could only mean one thing.

The legend was not just a myth; it was unfolding right before his eyes. The Creator, whose presence had been absent for millennia, had returned to Teyvat.

Alhaitham's mind raced with questions and possibilities. What could this mean for Teyvat? For its people and gods? He felt a profound sense of duty to document and understand this momentous event.

But beyond his scholarly curiosity, a deeper desire stirred within him. The golden flowers only bloomed in the Creator's steps.

If he could follow this trail, he might find the Creator themselves. The thought was both exhilarating and daunting. To meet the being who had crafted this world was a prospect beyond his wildest dreams.

As he pressed on, the golden flowers continued to guide him, their radiant glow a beacon of hope and discovery. The forest seemed to part before him, welcoming him deeper into its mystical embrace.

He was on the path of the Divine Creator, and he was determined to see where it led.

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"You ask, what does the Creator look like?"

"Hahaha... my child, we do not know. According to the sacred texts, our Creator is shapeless or may take on different forms to our eyes. What is important is that all beings in Teyvat will recognize when our Creator has descended."

"You ask me how?"

"Oh, little Haitham, this is quite simple, especially for those who wield visions, for they will feel the presence unmistakably."

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#creator reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #sagau #alhaitham #al haitam x reader #sumeru #aeon #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact #harbingers x reader #genshin harbingers #genshin x female reader #female reader

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lynnlyrae · 6 months ago

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VnC timeline

I’m mostly an artist in this fandom, but sometimes inspiration strikes and leads me in completely weird directions, such as… figuring out dates of every event in VnC!

With the invaluable help of @retracexcviii, who has created timelines for VnC events before (thank you forever and ever💜) and helped me to avoid some really silly mistakes, I’ve done… this monstrosity of a text, which includes every important canon event I could think of.

— All events are distributed by centuries, starting with XVI and finishing with XIX, and after listing all the events of each century I will put screens of the same texts with correlating manga pages. Additionally, there are numbers of chapters for most of the events.

— Some dates are marked with ~, which means that this date could fluctuate a bit (could be a bit earlier or later).

— Events that I couldn’t put anywhere specifically are in “UNKNOWN MOMENT” category. I still tried to differentiate them between centuries.

Alright, here we go!

XVI CENTURY

1493-1500 — creation of an engraving; plague, cataclysms, Paracelsius is looking for a way to save humanity.

(7)

~ 1500 — Babel. The awakening of Faustina, who is considered to be the first vampire.

(19)

1500-1550 — the awakening of Teacher and Machina as vampires. Machina might be younger than Teacher. Creation (awakening?) of Luna? The awakening of Teacher and the creation of Luna — probably around the same time?

(19)

~ 1550-1560 — Chloe is born. She becomes a vampire at the age of 4.

(31)

Between 1550-1600 — Ruthven becomes a vampire. He is currently more that 200 years old, and it’s unknown whether he was born as a vampire or awaken or even when exactly his life began. But looks like an adult in 1650, so he was most likely alive in 1600. He is also younger than Chloe: when she calls him a “child”, he doesn’t correct her.

(31)

Presumable order of awakening of the oldest vampires:

Faustina —> Teacher —> Machina —> Chloe —> Ruthven.

When exactly was Luna born? Does Kresnik exist in this century?

XVII CENTURY

~ 1650 — the war between humans and vampires. Chloe meets Ruthven.

(31)

~ 1665-1669 — Jeanne awakens in a flask in front of an unknown person. She leaves the flask. Later, she is adopted by Eric and Louise, Ruthven's students.

(39)

~ 1669 — Chloe meets Jeanne. Ruthven tries to establish peace between humans and vampires.

(31, 32)

~ 1672 — (3 years after Chloe and Jeanne met, 30 years before the end of the war) Ruthven loses his students, his eye is injured; Jeanne becomes the Bourreau of the Senate; Chloe meets Machina; Machina tells about the fate of Ruthven and Jeanne. Almost immediately, Naenia appears for the first time (indicating that Faustina is already a cursebearer); Ruthven visits Chloe for the last time, they part as enemies. If Naenia exists, does Charlatan exist as well?

(32, 33)

UNKNOWN MOMENT BEFORE 1672 — Faustina becomes a cursebearer.

(33)

UNKNOWN MOMENT BEFORE 1672 — Luna creates the Books of Vanitas, which are considered to be the reason for the appearance of the Malnomen. Could the books be created to cure the cursebearers in the first place? Most likely, this happened early in the timeline, since there is a whole folklore about it. Even earlier, someone gave Luna the name " Vanitas", which is also reflected in the title of the books.

(48, 49)

XVIII CENTURY

Before 1702 — Ruthven joins the Oriflamme family, becomes one of the Queen's advisors and a senator. The Queen is still alive, but she is also active as Naenia. Luna sees Jeanne in battle.

(33)

1702 — the end of the war. According to the pact, vampires move to Altus and sell Astermite to humans in exchange for other goods.

(33, 59)

1764 — Chloe spends more than 50 years alone. Death of village girl Jeanne, who speculated to be killed by a Beast, but was a victim of radical anti-vampire group. On the same day, she is visited by Naenia and then meets Jean-Jacques. The Beast conspiracy continues.

(36, 33)

1767 — Chloe witnesses one of the murders and reveals her vampiric powers when she defends herself. After that, the general belief is that Chloe is the master of the mysterious nonexistent Beast and both are the culprits. Her human family is killed. A few days later the Chasseurs (Vampire eradication fraction?) and Ruthven come to Gévaudan. Jean-Jacques becomes a Cursebearer to protect Chloe. Jeanne, now the Hellfire Witch, finds Chloe. Chloe tries to jump off a cliff, but Naenia comes to her again. Chloe also becomes the Cursebearer. Jeanne kills other hunters, but Ruthven saves her, makes her give him an oath (she tries to resist) and puts her in deep sleep. The Beast stops attacks. Conspiracy between Ruthven and the Chasseurs presumably continues.

(35, 36, 37, 43, 39)

UNKNOWN MOMENT BETWEEN 1672-1702 — Luna witnesses Jeanne in a fight with vampires. Later, after 1767, Luna also knew about Jeanne’s sleep.

(4)

XIX CENTURY

1861 — Olivier is born.

1862 — Roland is born.

1868 — Dominique and Louis are born. Teacher takes Louis.

(46)

1869 — Noé is born.

1870 — Vanitas is born; Dante is born.

1873 — Astolfo is born.

~ 1875 — Olivier meets Roland.

(58)

~ 1874-1875 — an elderly couple finds Noé. They live together for some time.

(9)

~ 1876 — Mikhail is born. Luca is probably born around the same time or a bit later.

~ 1876-1877 — Noé is kidnapped and ends up in a black market, gets an eye injury and is bought by Teacher. Noé meets Domi and Louis (their proportions are quite similar to Astolfo in his childhood flashbacks, where he is presumed to be around 8 years old, but Noé looks younger, so here I’m assuming Noé and the twins could be 6-7 or 7-8 years old). // Probably around the same time, Dante is abandoned by unknown woman. He meets Johann and Riche. Absence of his glasses and bandages indicate that there could be at least a few weeks or months between the two events.

(9, 61, 62)

~ before 1881 — Vanitas is orphaned and placed under the care of the Church as a potential future Chasseur, but is kidnapped by Moreau for secret experiments.

(49)

1881 — sketch of the Tower of the Sun by Amédée Sébillot, electrical engineer. He worked with engineer Jules Bourdais on this project, but in fact the tower was unrealizable. If the monument designed by Sébillot was real, it would have collapsed under its own weight.

Before or early 1881 — Roland and Olivier move to Paris. Roland is injured, but it’s unknown how it happened. Olivier’s hairstyle may indicate that it happened earlier than the time when Roland almost died.

(46.5)

~ 1881 — Roland (vice-captain) is injured while defending Olivier. Olivier was injured too. // Misha (who looks about 5 years old??) meets Roland, but later ends up in Moreau's laboratory, where Vanitas is already located.

(47)

~ 1881-1882 — Astolfo secretly meets a vampire. When Astolfo befriends Olivier, he tells him about this secret. The death of the Granatum family. Astolfo meets Carl, Roland (his injuries, which were still visible when he met Misha, have already healed) and other Paladins. Olivier definitely had a title of Obsidian by the time of Granatums’ murder, so some time passes between the day Astolfo met a vampire and the day of Granatums’ murder.

(48, 58)

~ 1882-1883 1881-1882* — Louis dies. Domi learns the truth about her and Louis being twins. // Luna saves Misha and Vanitas when they destroy Moreau's lab*. Moreau joins the Charlatan. Misha agrees to be bitten by Luna. Later, Luna loses their true name; Misha loses their arm; Luna dies by Vanitas’s hands. Vanitas and Misha inherit the Books, but are separated, and Teacher takes Misha.

*@torterrachampion mentioned in reblog that Noé is officially 12 years old when Louis’s died ang provided an image from a booklet for the Blu-ray of the anime. I completely missed that fact, so thank you for bringing it up! I’ve decided to change the time range for this event to 1881-1882 for better accuracy.

*It is likely that Noé witnessed Louis’s death around the same time Vanitas and Misha were saved by Luna; bonus card features Noé in the same outfit as on the day of Louis’s death together with Vanitas dressed in his lab clothes. 1881 or 1882 is a possible year for Louis’s death and salvation of Vanitas and Misha. In this scenario Luna dies later than Louis.

(9, 46, 51, * bonus card)

1887 — possible start of construction of the Tower of the Sun (in reality, the construction of the Eiffel Tower started on 28 January 1887).

~ 1887-1888 — Astolfo and Roland have a conflict.

(59)

UNKNOWN MOMENT (after 1702?) BEFORE 1888 — Veronica and Loki, along with Machina, become Beastias, and Antoine enters the Senate. How old are Veronica, Antione and Loki?

UNKNOWN MOMENT (not earlier than 12 years?*) BEFORE 1888 — “death” of Faustina at the hands of her Beasts and Rusven. Luka replaces her on the throne, but the Senate controls him. Strangely, he isn’t even officially presented yet. It’s unknown how old he was when he assumed his current position, but it’s unlikely that the Senate and Beastias would “kill” the Queen without choosing a suitable successor first.

*Alternatively, it could happen earlier, if Loki, Luca’s older brother, was supposed to inherit the throne prior to becoming a cursebearer as well, but was replaced with Luca. But this is a pure speculation.

(38, 13)

UNKNOWN MOMENT BEFORE 1874 — Archivists disappear. It’s unknown whether there are any living Archivists other than Machina and Noé in the present. It’s also unknown why Noe thinks about blood when he thinks about his clan.

(57)

UNKNOWN MOMENT BETWEEN 1871-1888 — Vanitas meets Teacher, or Saint—Germain, who at that time had a different appearance. Were Luna alive at that moment?

(55)

UNKNOWN MOMENT BEFORE 1888 — Machina becomes patron of the dhampires and creates her network of information brokers.

(62)

~ 1888 (before current events) — Astolfo and Roland become Paladins. // 6 month before — Teacher goes somewhere. // 1 month before — Jeanne awakens from her sleep.

(13, 4)

1888 — Teacher asks Noé to witness the story of the Book of Vanitas via correspondence. Current events begin.

(1, 52)

Possible future event — The Exposition Universelle of 1889, which was held in Paris, 5 May to 31 October. The Tower of Sun (instead of Eiffel Tower in VnC universe) was created for this fair. However, at least some of the buildings were ruined.

(44, 20.5, 46, 55)

That’s it for now! I think I will update this post in future when we have enough new information to define unclear dates and add new details and whatnot~

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jessamine-rose · 5 months ago

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⋆˚♱ଘ Annular Eclipse ଓ♱˚⋆

A long time ago, I binge-watched The Ancient Magus’ Bride and that decision came back to haunt me in my Church AU…… *evil laugh*

As always, thank you to @diodellet for beta-reading this piece!! And to my dear mutuals, I hope you all suffer enjoy the sinful story of Cartaphilus! Pierro x Angel! Darling ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭

Tw:: yandere, blood, violence, death, suicidal ideation, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 5.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Among God’s creations, His favorite is granted a special fate. Though all lives end in death, only humanity is blessed with salvation and afterlife. Those who live righteously may thus ascend to Heaven, whereas sinners are condemned to eternal suffering in Hell. There is, however, one exception—a fragment of humanity whose sins may never be forgiven.

♡ Legends speak of Khaenri’ah, the nation of sinners. Once the pride of humankind, its citizens challenged God through their creations in alchemy and technology—and the entire nation was subsequently destroyed in a sea of flames. In the wake of the Cataclysm, pollen from the Tree of Life rained down upon the survivors, afflicting them with their final punishment, immortality.

♡ Since then, Khaenri’ahns have roamed the mortal plane in a perpetual state of living. Denied a place in Heaven and Hell, they are cursed to live forever no matter what harm befalls their body and psyche. Due to their wicked reputation, they must also live in fear of their once-fellow humans, lest they face persecution. For this reason, eternity differs among Khaenri’ahns, with a unique fate reserved for the one who goes by the name of Pierro.

♡ After the Cataclysm, Pierro led a group of survivors to Snezhnaya where they established a new home. For three centuries, it was a peaceful haven hidden from the divine gaze of God and the Church…until it was exposed by a traitor and destroyed with manmade flames. In the ensuing chaos, Pierro was the sole “survivor” in the sense that he managed to escape. The rest were critically wounded, buried alive, and left to suffer for all eternity.

♡ Having lost his second home, Pierro began a search for other Khaenri’ahns, only to be further disillusioned. Many communities had also fallen to ruin, if not from persecution but by their own madness. Others, blinded by dreams of death, had resorted to violence and witchcraft in their fruitless attempts to break the curse. And several individuals had embarked on quests for the Tree of Life, only to disappear far away from their homeland. In two more centuries, Khaenri’ah was reduced to a forgotten myth, and Pierro had lost all hope for his people.

♡ So when he gets into an accident, he sees no point in saving himself. If he were younger, he’d be horrified at the thought of falling off a cliff. At best, he’d end up with more scars albeit another permanent reminder of his tragic fate. As for the worst-case scenario, he’d become paralyzed, trapped below the cliff, doomed to eternity as a living corpse. But now, hanging off the edge by his fingertips, he considers the possibility that his head takes the brunt of the impact. A coma would be the closest thing to a reprieve from his waking hell.

♡ Just as his grip weakens, a hand reaches out and catches his wrist. The action is so sudden, so forceful, that Pierro has no time to think before he is pulled up and his back hits the grass. Above him, eclipsing his view of the sun, is the face of a stranger. A tearful expression. A kind gaze that seems to pierce through his soul.

“Are you hurt? Why didn’t you call for help?! You poor thing, I’m sorry for only seeing you now.”

“I am…” He averts your gaze and instead focuses on the sky. It is the color of twilight—a harmony of blues, oranges, and reds that pale in comparison to the crimson skies of his nightmares. “...fine. Thank you for your kindness.”

♡ Once the shock wears off, Pierro takes a careful look at his savior. You have the appearance of a typical human, roughly the same age as he was when his body stopped aging. Definitely not a Khaenri’ahn, given your lack of cursed marks and star-shaped pupils. Neither are there any religious symbols on your clothing, which is a relief. As for your tears shed on his behalf…he’ll chalk it up to pity.

♡ At your insistence, you treat him to a meal at the nearest inn. When Pierro introduces himself as an ordinary traveler, you make a similar claim and suggest journeying together. It is a tempting offer—the both of you are alone with no destination in mind, and you seem harmless. So against his better judgment, Pierro accepts your proposal.

♡ Over time, he warms up to his new companion. You are kind, competent, a bright presence in his life. Traveling with you is like seeing the world with new eyes—you lead him to bustling cities, picturesque forests, places teeming with life. The only downside is your visits to the Church for prayers and chats with the local priests, but you at least seem to be an open-minded believer. You always tell Pierro that he doesn’t need to follow along but he does so anyway, if only to evade suspicion and admire the religious art with you.

♡ Other than that, you don’t reveal much about yourself. But you aren’t one to pry into Pierro’s past so he gives you the same courtesy. At times, he finds himself looking at you fondly, feeling a spark of physical attraction, dreaming of a happy future with you. But those delusions are always dashed by the fact of your humanity, so he instead resolves to cherish what little time you have left before death claims your soul.

♡ That was his goal until he begins to notice certain…oddities. It’s common for the two of you to share a tent, a room, sometimes even a bed. Neither of you are fazed by it, especially when Pierro’s main concern is concealing his cursed marks with makeup. But a few months into your travels, he makes a quiet realization: In those nights of shared slumber, not once has he fallen asleep without feeling your gaze on him.

♡ At first, he assumes that you merely sleep later and wake up earlier than him. But every time Pierro wakes up in the middle of the night, you immediately sit up and tend to him, acting as energetic as usual. Neither do you appear lethargic after nights when it is difficult to sleep. So he puts it to the test by regularly chatting with you late into the night; you always follow along, not once sounding tired nor in want of sleep. Once, he talks to you all night long and in the morning, while Pierro is plagued with fatigue, you look perfectly awake. And only when he subtly points it out do you yawn and go back to bed.

♡ Other mysteries follow. There is the time the two of you trekked through a barren wasteland and ran out of food. It took you two days to reach civilization and while Pierro was starving, you never complained about hunger. If anything, you still managed to walk and fight off beasts at your usual energy levels. And on the rare chance that Pierro is injured, you are the one who treats his wounds…and they always heal at an unnaturally fast pace.

♡ A year into your travels, he decides to look for answers. One night, he shares a bed with you and feigns sleep. For the next few hours, he just lies there and takes note of your unnatural way of sleeping—no slowed breaths, no involuntary movements, yet the persistent feeling that he is still being watched. Shortly after midnight, he pulls out a dagger from under his pillow and aims it at you.

♡ It was only a test to see if you’d react quickly and reveal your ruse. Which is exactly what you do, eyes fluttering open and your hand catching the dagger before Pierro can stop short of stabbing your chest. The look on your face is calm, utterly devoid of fear, and you make no move to leave the bed. You just stare at him with the same piercing gaze.

“Good morning,” you tell him. “Are you going to explain the sudden wakeup call? I don’t believe this is rooted in any Khaenri’ahn practices.”

At the mention of his homeland, Pierro’s grip on the dagger tightens. “So it appears that my suspicions were not unfounded. Answer me, are you a spy of the Church?”

Your answer is a benevolent smile. A soft light shines from your body as a halo—silver, pierced with nails—appears behind your head, followed by a wispy veil. Luminous wings emerge from your back, caging Pierro in a feathery embrace.

Your hand, marked with a bloodstained scar, wraps around his wrist.

“I’m your guardian angel,” you whisper.

♡ Technically, your statement is untrue. In a calm voice, you explain that Khaenri’ahns can’t be assigned guardian angels due to their immortality. Moreover, most angels harbor contempt for his kind though you are a rare exception, having taken pity on Pierro and chosen to become his unofficial guardian. The last part triggers an offended response—are you mocking him?

♡ As for your true nature, you’re the leader of the Archangels. As an angel of the Third Sphere, you are one of the closest to humanity, a divine messenger with the additional tasks of providing blessings and guiding humans towards the path of righteousness. Only, you’re currently on a ten-year “break;” it just so happened that you noticed Pierro at the start of your sabbatical.

♡ Once he is confident that you won’t smite him in cold blood, he goes to sleep—it’s been a long night and fatigue will only dull his senses. When he wakes up, he can almost believe that last night’s events were a dream…until you loom over him in your true form, wishing him a good morning. After a long conversation, he decides to continue traveling with you. That way, he can keep a close eye on you and gain some useful knowledge.

♡ Thus resumes your journey. In addition to Pierro’s distrust, there are major changes to your dynamic. You still travel in your human guise but you switch to your true form when it’s just the two of you. Since angels don’t need food or sleep to sustain themselves, you stop eating with him unless you’re in public. At night, only one bed is needed and you simply watch over Pierro, wishing him a peaceful slumber. Your gentle gaze is always the last thing he sees each day, though it takes months before he can fall asleep comfortably.

♡ He also learns about your nightly pastimes. As it turns out, while Pierro is asleep, you like to fly around the city to help lost souls. Just small acts of kindness in your human form…and if needed, divine interventions in the Church. It explains why he often wakes up to news about corrupt priests who experienced “visions of an angel” and publicly confessed their sins.

♡ Along your journey, you also stop by the homes of the humans previously assigned to you. At the beginning of each visit, you go to the cemetery and speak to their grave. Afterwards, you bring Pierro to their favorite places and reminisce about their lives. When he asks why you can’t simply see them in Heaven, you give him a sad smile and explain that the deceased reside in a realm beyond the jurisdiction of angels. In a paradise where every soul is purged of sin, what use is there for an angel’s guidance?

♡ You mourn the lives of angels as well. It comes as a shock to Pierro, the idea that even an angel is susceptible to death. To which you explain that many of your divine siblings were killed by demons. And because afterlife does not exist for spiritual beings, both species simply cease to exist once their lives have ended. As for your former brethren, they cut all ties with you after their descent.

♡ Slowly, Pierro grows to trust you again. It helps that you were able to prove yourself a year later by saving him from your own kind. Granted, he could suspect that it was merely an act but the sight of a Principality cowering before you, their cassock staked to the floor by silver nails, is quite convincing. Not to mention your cold gaze overflowing with wrath.

“So tell me. Why exactly did you attack my dear human?”

The room is silent, save for the younger angel’s whimpers. To think that a few minutes ago, Pierro had been sleeping peacefully. Now he stands beside you, blood trickling from a cut under his scarred eye, still gripping his unused sword.

“I…” Despite being a rank above you, his attacker is clearly terrified. “But ______, that man…he is one of the accursed sinners! He—”

“Now, now.” You kneel to their level but all kindness is lost in your tone. More nails appear out of thin air, all pointing towards the angel’s body. “Look me in the eye when I am talking to you.”

♡ In the end, the angel kneels before Pierro and begs for forgiveness. He accepts their apology, but not without harsh words and a swipe of his sword against their face. After they leave, you worriedly turn to Pierro and heal his injuries. Thanks to your powers, all of his wounds close up without a trace. Still, when you take your hand off his face, what he sees in the mirror is not his healed cheek but the cursed marks exclusive to Khaenri’ahns.

*✧･ﾟ

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Despite the nature of the attack, you are the one acting emotional. A tear rolls down your cheek as you trace the cursed side of Pierro’s face.

“You need not apologize on behalf of your brethren,” he mutters. He glances at his right arm, sleeve pulled up to reveal a similar pattern of blue veins and blackened skin. “...or your Heavenly Father. And I believe I’ve told you countless times not to waste your tears on me.”

“Still.” Shaking your head, you look him in the eye. “How can I not cry every time I gaze into your soul? I wish I could save you, put an end to your suffering…but it’s beyond my capability.”

“So why do you still devote yourself to me, ______?”

______. It is the false name you go by in the human realm, spoken by every person who has known you as their guardian angel. As for your true name, it remains a mystery to Pierro.

Still, he’d like to believe that he is the human who knows you best. He knows that you are the First Archangel, one of the oldest beings in existence. He knows that you were opposed to the Cataclysm but powerless in stopping it. He knows that your decade of rest was caused by an accumulation of stress, an endless cycle of giving and saving and sacrificing which will only continue in a few years’ time.

And what then? At the end of your journey, will you still have time for him? Or is he truly cursed to drift aimlessly in eternal solitude?

His half-mask rests on a nearby drawer, a relic from his second home. He picks it up, thumb pressed against a painted gold tear.

“You astound me,” he continues. “You, of all people, know that salvation is forever beyond my grasp. And yet you continue to spare me absolute grace. Anyone else would have deemed me a lost cause.”

“That is because I love you.”

At that, Pierro nearly drops his mask. He turns to you, starry eyes wide with wonder. “Can you kindly repeat that?”

But the moment he sees your face, he realizes his folly.

“I love you,” you tell him, a soft look in your eyes, “as I love all humans.”

Has kindness ever sounded so cruel?

“...I understand.” He puts down his mask, pride shattered. “Such is to be expected from a being for whom the love for humanity is inherent.”

A love which he and his compatriots are no longer beholden to.

“But of course.” At that, your countenance turns reverent. Your wings fold inwards, and you place a bloodstained hand over your chest. “An angel’s purpose is to serve God and to save His creations. Beyond that, there is no other point to our existence.”

Silence. This time, Pierro doesn’t bother to hide his judgment.

“Well, that is our initial reason,” you add, noticing his expression. “After all, what’s not to love when your kind is capable of so many wonderful things? Really, you never fail to surprise us.”

“How so?”

“I’ll confess, many of us angels were once in awe of Khaenri’ah,” you admit. “Think of it: Your people found a way to create life, sorcery, powers that were once exclusive to God. Had I met you during your days as a royal mage, I surely would have been impressed.”

Hard to say. Despite his previous status, Pierro hasn’t practiced Khaenri’ahn sorcery in years. It’s likely that his powers have eroded alongside his spirit.

“Then only a century after the Cataclysm, there was the Angel-Killer who performed miracles using our flesh. As a matter of fact…I made the mistake of assigning his first victim to him.”

Your grief isn’t lost on him. The bed creaks as you take a seat next to Pierro, adjusting the chain of mourning lockets around your waist. It bears mementos of both humans and angels.

“Thirteen angels lost their lives to him, including two of my dearest siblings. Needless to say, we were all relieved when Il Dottore finally died, though I had to be given a century’s worth of rest to recover from grief. Sohreh, Pasithea, Oizys…I still think of them to this day.”

Il Dottore. He is an infamous figure in history, a priest whose sins rivaled those of Khaenri’ah. And yet even he was granted the mercy of death.

“And there are the humans I was blessed to watch over,” you tell him, eyes shining with tears. “I remember all of their names, their smiles, every achievement they made in their short lives. And I’m sure that there will be more in the future.”

That is the final nail in the coffin.

“You are right.” With that, Pierro leaves the bed. “As such, there is no need for you to dwell on how the world is now. I have no doubt that many souls owe their salvation to you, ______, and anyone would be a fool to dismiss your efforts.”

“...Thank you. It means a lot.”

You don’t let him leave, however. A hand around his wrist is all it takes for Pierro to stop, to yield to your embrace. In the dim room, you are the only source of light, an idol of unparalleled benevolence. Divine, beautiful, yet never within his reach.

“Eight more years,” you tell him. In your eyes, his reflection has never looked more hopeful. “That is the amount of time we have left. And until then, I will never leave your side.”

*✧･ﾟ

♡ The next eight years are content. More travels. Deep conversations. Peaceful nights. Another angelic encounter, in which a subordinate merely reported to you and avoided Pierro’s gaze. At one point, you reveal to him that the Tree of Life is no longer in the human realm, eliminating any hope of breaking the curse. His devastation is softened by your comfort, and he can only imagine the reactions of his compatriots if they knew this truth.

♡ Not that he has anyone to share it with. In the Church of Fontaine, Pierro is surprised to recognize the head priest as a Khaenri’ahn. She is only a descendant and thus spared from the curse—a blessing for Arlecchino, a tragedy for her ancestor who likely mourned the generations between them. After their chat, Pierro leaves without divulging her lineage. It’s enough to know that one of his kind is leading a fulfilling life, though he finds it ironic that a Church ended up in a Khaenri’ahn’s hands.

♡ Other than her, there is the familiar face he spotted in Inazuma. Blond hair, blue eyes with star-shaped pupils, a distinctive half-mask…but before Pierro can approach Dainsleif, you grip his wrist and enable him to see the eagle-winged demon clinging to his former comrade. In a fearful whisper, you explain that she is one of Hell’s strongest demons, the slayer of countless angels. And when she turns in your direction, Pierro feels the weight of her crimson-gold glare. In the end, the two of you walk past them, preventing what could have been a bloody reunion.

♡ As your sabbatical reaches its end, Pierro finds himself making the most of your remaining time together. He smiles at you, holds your hand first, asks you more personal questions. Your travels also end in a surprise destination—a forest near Snezhnaya, concealed with divine mist. Leading the way, you explain that it was a meeting place for you and your closest siblings until they all perished, including the Virtue who created it. And when you turn to Pierro, asking if the area suits him…he accepts the gift with full gratitude.

♡ The last year is spent constructing a humble house in the heart of the forest. On the day of your departure, the two of you enjoy a final meal together. It’s bittersweet with recollections of your travels, though the mood dampens when Pierro asks about your angelic duties. With a sad smile, you tell him that you have a lot of work to do. At some point in your journey, you even laid eyes on a young human and applied for a position as their guardian angel.

♡ At midnight, Pierro goes to bed and you wish him good night for the last time. He only closes his eyes when you disappear, when he no longer feels your gaze on him, when the residual warmth of your embrace has been chilled by the night air. When he wakes up in the morning, you are nowhere to be found.

♡ In the following months, Pierro develops a new routine in the forest. Hunting, foraging, visiting the neighboring cities, admiring the aurora-colored sky, even practicing his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. He doesn’t see you again but there are hints of your visits—a luminous white feather, seeds for fauna exclusive to Mondstadt, a wound that healed overnight. Eventually, he gets used to sleeping in solitude again.

♡ One day, he decides to visit his old home. He knows it is futile to seek out his people; after two centuries, their bodies must’ve fully decayed and mixed with the soil. Still, he might as well see what the Church did with the area…and if he can take revenge on the traitor. So he packs his bags, leaves the forest, and travels to the other side of Snezhnaya.

♡ …There’s nothing left. When he reaches his destination, he finds a glorious city built over the mass grave of his people. Only the cold of eternal winter welcomes him back, but the entire city—the devout Snezhnayans, the stories of the city’s origins, the magnificent church in place of his old house—is unfamiliar. Not even the traitor remains. Perhaps they, too, were given a coffin, forever trapped below layers of ice and concrete.

♡ He gets an answer on his way back to the forest. Near the border of Snezhnaya, Pierro is ambushed by a group of heretics…and when he demands an explanation, their leader holds up a preserved eye, the pupil shaped like a four-pointed star. As their fight continues, Pierro deduces their motives—to achieve immortality using the flesh of Khaenri’ahns. It’s pure mockery to hear those fools refer to his curse as a blessing, but his warnings fall on deaf ears as he is outnumbered.

♡ Just as he is about to lose hope, a bright light shines above him. It’s you, in all of your angelic glory, commanding the heretics to let him go. Most of his attackers fall to their knees, in awe of your divine presence, but their leader interprets it as a sign that Pierro is truly the person they’re after. They swing their sword at him…only for their entire group to be impaled by your nails.

♡ It’s a bloody sight. But once your wrath has subsided, you fly down to Pierro and check his condition. You’re incoherent, healing his wounds with trembling hands, apologizing for your late arrival. He assures you that he is fine, only to be interrupted by a sudden ray of light. But this one is blindingly bright, coming from the sky, the same holy light which shone upon Khaenri’ah during the Cataclysm.

♡ It hits him just then: In harming those humans for his sake, you’d violated one of God’s orders. Yet in the midst of His divine wrath, you muster a false smile and tell Pierro to go home. Then you fly up into the sky, disappearing above the clouds along with the holy light. He does as he is told, but not without killing all of the heretics to ensure that they won’t come after him or more Khaenri’ahns. As for the traitor…he doesn’t bother to ask for their location.

♡ The forest is the same when he returns. The next few hours pass by in a blur—unpacking, checking the animal traps, cooking dinner, and so on. The whole time, he can’t stop worrying about you. He doesn’t know if God would listen to his prayers but he tries, anyway; it’s not like he can help you in any other way.

♡ He goes to bed early, only to jolt awake when a flash of light illuminates the bedroom. When he rushes to the window, it’s just in time to see a falling star. It shoots through the sky, outshining the auroras, a beautiful sight if not for the fact that it seems to be drawing closer to him. It disappears from his range of vision, followed by a deafening sound and a severe earthquake. Then the world falls silent, returning to its tranquil state.

♡ After a few minutes, Pierro leaves his house to investigate. Seeing how the meteor bypassed the divine barrier of the forest, he doubts it was a natural phenomenon. You once told him that the Fourth Order of angels, the Dominions, are in charge of the celestial bodies—could they have been ordered to destroy his third home?

♡ Thankfully, the destruction is limited to a crater at the edge of the forest. But instead of a meteor, he finds you curled up in pain. Fragments of your halo pierce your body. Your right wing is gone; all that remains of it are clipped feathers and sawed bone. Most prominent are the curved horns jutting from your head, covered in a mix of blood and torn skin. You became a demon.

♡ Your half-conscious cries prompt him into action. Carefully, Pierro carries you to his house and treats your wounds. When he notices your hand on your stomach, he remembers what you said about demons needing food and sleep to survive. So he heats up some soup and feeds it to you; and once your hunger has subsided, he tucks you in bed. In your delirium, you can only muster a single sentence before falling asleep.

“Pierro? I’m sorry…it’s my fault, not yours.”

“Silence. We may talk tomorrow. But tonight, you must rest.”

♡ That night, you sleep for the first time. Pierro watches you all night, checking your pulse every so often. When you wake up, the sun is high above the sky and Pierro has already cooked lunch. You’re more coherent now, able to feed yourself, though you wince in pain every so often. And when Pierro asks about your descent, your expression darkens.

♡ In a shaky voice, you explain that the heretics’ ambush had been a test from God. It was fated to occur at the same time as an important event in Heaven, the decennial meeting between God and the leaders from all Nine Orders. As soon as Pierro’s name was brought up, you were quick to defend him. And when you were informed of the attack, you stormed out of the meeting to save him, fully aware that it would bring about your downfall.

♡ And despite it all, you’re the one apologizing to him—for your late arrival, for the danger he was put through, for the “burden” of taking care of you. At the last part, Pierro finally finds the words to chastise you, to say that you won’t achieve anything by wasting your tears on Heaven.

“I wish you would not think so lowly of me. After all these years, do you truly believe that I would harbor anything but gratitude towards you?”

♡ That shuts you up. For the next few weeks, you meekly accept Pierro’s care—he cooks for you, dresses your wounds, lets you sleep in his bed. There is only one problem: Your body refuses to heal. Blood continues to seep from your wounds, and you’re in a perpetual state of pain. Still, he faithfully tends to you day and night. It’s the least he can do for you.

♡ One day, he leaves the house to pick fruit and comes back to find a dark silhouette in his bedroom window. He rushes inside, armed with a weapon, to find a demon. Only, they’re kneeling by the bed, holding your hands, shedding tears of joy. That is when he notices the bloodstained scars on their hands, their tattered veil, your kind words for them…they, too, are a fallen Archangel.

♡ All peace, however, is dashed when your former subordinate tells Pierro that they are bringing you “home,” in other words Hell. As for the matter of your health, they claim that while your divine punishment is unheard of, they should be able to find a cure…from Il Dottore of all people. And despite your conflicted expression, it’s clear that you are seriously considering their invitation. Only for Pierro to take that choice away from you.

“And what makes you believe that I would allow ______ to leave our home?”

♡ Prior to you, Pierro never would’ve dared to challenge a spiritual being. But now, after all he’s been through, he takes a step forward and tells the demon to leave. It doesn’t take long for their argument to turn physical. But before the demon can smite him, Pierro defends himself with his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. They’re a formidable opponent, however, and the fight continues until he aims a galaxy-like aura at their heart. Quickly, you protect your former subordinate with a shield of rusty nails, only for the element to refract and hit you instead.

♡ Much to everyone’s relief, however, it has a different effect on you. Your feathers take on a black tint and a deep blue iridescence. The same thing happens to your horns. Most importantly, all of your wounds close up, leaving scars identical to Pierro’s cursed marks. And when he rushes to your side, asking if you are all right, you breathily tell him that you feel so much better.

♡ That is what convinces the demon to leave, but not without promising to return once they’ve informed the Devil. With peace restored in your home, the two of you go downstairs for lunch. You still need Pierro to support you, but it’s the first time you’ve managed to walk in your new form. And your appetite is bigger, healthier compared to your previous portions.

♡ After a few days however, the effect wears off. Your body loses its blue luster, your feathers fade to their original color, your pain returns. Once you’ve fully reverted to your original state, Pierro decides to try out his Khaenri’ahn sorcery again. This time, he holds your wrist and carefully channels his power into you…and it produces the same healing effect.

♡ For the sorcery which doomed his nation to save the life of his beloved…the irony leaves him at a loss of words, on the verge of laughing. But it does explain why you landed in Pierro’s home instead of Hell, and why God allowed the two of you to reunite. The knowledge brings a dark smile to his face. You’re at his mercy now, dependent on him for all eternity.

♡ When he faces you, he can tell that you’ve reached the same conclusion. Still, you entertain the thought of moving to Hell—surely, there must be a way for you to live without forcing Pierro to expend his energy on you. That is when he grips your hands, pulls you towards him, and tells you that you aren’t leaving him. If the two of you are truly fated to suffer, then it is only right that he returns all of the love you have given him.

♡ It’s easy to persuade you. After all you’ve experienced, you’re tired so you just nod and lean into his embrace. And in the following days, you slowly adjust to your new life. You help Pierro around the forest. A new bed is built, to fit two people. At night, the two of you engage in your usual bedtime conversations but you’re the one who falls asleep first.

♡ When your former subordinate returns, Pierro stands his ground. With you asleep, he is able to fight them outside and easily subdue them; he even had the wisdom to enhance his weapons with blood from your used bandages. And with his argument that any attempt on his life is equal to risking yours, they have no choice but to accept your situation.

♡ You’re still asleep when he returns to your shared bedroom. Careful not to wake you, he changes out of his bloody clothes and leaves his sword on the table, next to his old mask. Then he takes off his glove and traces your features with his cursed hand. And when you open your eyes, the look he gives you is one of pure hope.

“Pierro? What time is it?” you mumble.

“Far too early,” he replies. “Go back to sleep. I will join you shortly, ______.”

“...All right.” Yawning, you snuggle into the pillow and close your eyes. “Can you wake me up later? I don’t want to oversleep again.”

He smiles, caressing your cheek. “If you wish.”

It doesn’t take long for you to return to the world of dreams. Your sleeping face is truly a wonder to behold—an expression so tranquil, well-rested, vulnerable to his kiss.

“And when you awake, I want you to tell me your true name.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

..…Don’t ask me how Pierro ended up with the highest word count in this AU. All I can say is that it was very cathartic to make him suffer, which is a recurring theme in his fics. If y’all enjoyed his story, do let me know (๑･̑◡･̑๑)

Also, soft launch for the next couple + story!! I’m rlly excited to write for Dainsleif, and just know that he’s in for a lot of surprises <3

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @naraven @euniveve @stickyspeckledlight @harmonysanreads @oofasleep @mistymem0ryy @lazyroseart @teabutmakeitazure

#pierro #pierro x reader #yandere pierro x reader #yandere pierro #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: sui ideation #mdni #g/n reader #jessamine-writing

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torgawl · 5 months ago

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started thinking about "the pale princess and the six pygmies" again and realised the five unloyal pygmies match the sinners of khaenri'ah pretty well.

when the pale princess from the moonlight forest and the prince from the kingdom of light enter the kingdom of pygmies, one pygmy (deformed pygmy) asks her help to save his five brothers who were trapped under different circumstances in exchange for their loyalty to her. and so starts the journey of saving each of the five pygmies.

after saving all the pygmies, she took them to the kingdom of light as part of her people and the pygmies started serving both the princess and the prince. "but they were still heinous creatures from the land of night, and corruption flowed in their veins. as the days traveling to the kingdom of light grew long and dangerous, the root of evil would again blossom in their hearts". the pygmies then started plotting revenge and ended up poisoning the prince.

one of the pygmies though (deformed pygmy), was still loyal to the princess and felt guilty for the plan and so he spirited the prince's body away from his wicked brethren and took it to where the princess was staying. what he didn't know was that the night mother had already found the princess, who she emprisoned. before collapsing, transforming into a pile of sludge and worms, and leaving the pygmy to grieve, she proclaimed one prophecy: "in thousands of years time, my greatest foe will descend. he wields a sword that heralds the dawn and wears armor that can reflect the shining sunlight. he shall destroy my kingdom and bring the prince back to life. the princess will then be free from her eternal torment. until then, i fear not a single soul in the land of might, for nothing will bring an end to my kingdom except for the catastrophe foretold by the prophecy. as for you, the treacherous slave that poisoned his master… fate shall see that you get what you deserve". at last, the pygmy hid the body in a tree hole and walked off alone into the night, into a self-imposed exile.

what specifically caught my attention was the motives each of the five unloyal pygmies gave to betray the prince, which seem to mirror the five sinners of khaenri'ah. and i guess it's also relevant to add that alberich in "the ring of the nibelung" was, in fact, ruler of the dwarves. in this case, pygmies as an allegorical parallel could very well make sense to refer to the people of khaenri'ah.

to make a few of the connections i made between the sinners and the pygmies, i went into speculation and theory territory, so take what i'm saying with a grain of salt. but going into each of them:

hroptatyr means 'sage' in old norse and was one of the many names that odin went by. the one entity in khaenri'ah, who happens to parallel odin and a sage, simultaneously, and who also made use of power from beyond beyond the skies is non other than king irmin. he became "indisposed" during the cataclysm and didn't defend his kingdom, which led to anfortas taking his place as regent. this description of events very much matches what dainsleif told us about the sinners not fullfiling their role and being unable to protect the kingdom. it also adds some context as to why the only justification for why irmin wasn't able to rule at the time of the cataclysm was because he was "indisposed". king irmin is also known to only have one eye so his respective pygmy being "blind" is very fitting.

dain also refers to himself and the sinners as "the six of us". if the loyal pygmy from the book represents dain, this would make a lot of sense. i forgot to add before but the line about corruption flowing through the pygmies veins caught my eye as well as we know the sinners shared this sinful power between them and in "a drunkard's tale", wine is used as a metaphor for the abyss. the sinners are what led to the creation of the abyss order.

from the very little we know about vedrfolnir, he's able to foresee the future. the foolish pygmy envies the smart. pierro is one of theorised identities for "the visionary". besides his title being "the jester" which is pretty much another variation for fool, he has an interesting quote in the 'pale flame' set: "since my level of learning could not compare with the sages, i failed to earn the favor of the previous ruler". it implies he used to crave knowledge, like the pygmy, and it mentions irmin, who he served while he was still in khaenri'ah. pierro is also the one behind the fatui's plans, he seems to always plan ahead and all his goals end up being fullfiled even after many complications. he also possesses great historical knowledge, both abouth the future and past, as he seems to know about arlecchino's history despite being part of the later eclipse dynasty.

surtalogi "the foul" is the one behind "foul's legacy", a combat technique used by childe. he has ties to the abyss and much like childe's combat-hungry spirit, the timid pygmy desired to battle the prince.

the shrunken pygmy is the most straightforward one. rhinedottir is a practitioner of the art of khemia, probably the most proefficient one too. like the pygmy, her focus is on creating life through alchemy.

as for rerir's connection to the carefree pygmy, i placed him by process of elimination. we know nothing about them so i don't think it's possible to make a very factual connection but the pygmy's sentiment of wanting to avenge his situation seems silimar to the feeling behind title "avenger of solnari". despite solnari not having a very clear origin, it either stems from: 'solari', related to the sun; or 'solunar', pertaining to the rising and setting times of the sun and moon, phases of the moon, eclipses, etc. the princess and the prince in the book represent the moon and sun, respectively. and there's also the ties to the eclipse dynasty in khaenri'ah.

another parallel between the sinners is the primordial one and the four shades. but rather than representing each other, they work as counterparts: hroptatyr vs primordial one, vedrfolnir vs istaroth, rhinedottir vs the shade of life, rerir vs the shade of death (?) and surtalogi vs the shade of void (?).

not sure if there's a connection between each of the sumeru akademiya's cardinal sins and the pygmies since they're also six but they seem like sins commited by khaenri'ah either way:

"revering gods without acts of devotion" caught my attention because khaenri'ah is supposed to be a godless nation yet we see hilichurls around the thousand wind temple while also having banners with istaroth's symbol in their camps, as if they followed istaroth somehow. i have my thoughts about some of the other sins (like the human evolution one), istaroth being connected to khaenri'ah, her theorised identity as a moon sister and her possible ties to this book as the pale princess but i think i'll leave that to another day. i'm very sure other people made the connection between the pygmies and the sinners too, i am probably very late to the party but i just wanted to add my two cents on it and make a post with my current ideas on the identities of hroptatyr and vderfolnir. don't trust me, though!! the pygmy isn't the only fool, i'm just having fun thinking these possibilities. thanks for reading, if you did ahah

edit (23/08/24): i never came back to this post but i realised the identities can be easier to infer without speculation, since the names are clearly the opposite of their desires. the pygmy who wanted to see makes sense to be vedrfolnir, the visionary - blind pygmy. the foolish pygmy, the one who wanted to become smart is obviously hroptatyr (and here pierro makes a lot more sense, i know some people theorised pierro to be hroptatyr). the pygmy who wanted courage makes sense to be the timid pygmy, possibly rerir. rhinedottir is without doubt the shrunken pygmy which leaves us with surtalogi being the carefree pygmy. the carefree pygmy much like the deformed pygmy don't really have any desires, but the title "the foul" contrasts carefree really well. wanted to reiterate this since people keep relogging this post. i didn't really go to deep into the sinners either though i will leave here that the name khaenri'ah is possibly derived from an arabic phrase meaning "betrayer of winds" (خائن رياح) and the pygmies betrayed the pale princess and the light prince (represents the sun and gold - end goal of magnum opus) in the book. which leads us to istaroth, "the thousand winds of time". i said i wasn't going to go into it but i cannot stop myself from saying this because i wasn't clear earlier and i feel like this is cool. okay, bye!!

#how to tag this? lol when you write about unknown characters #dainsleif #hroptatyr #vedrfolnir #rhinedottir #rerir #surtalogi #khaenri'ah #genshin impact #genshin thoughts #edit: i made an edit to the post and reiterated the pygmies and the sinners i had originally wrote #i think it's silly to delete the post but i still want to leave what i feel like makes more sense at the end in case anyone reads this

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