#immortal's child au

[itty-bitty-sunshine]

If you still believe in the Lord above, get on your hands and knees and pray for us.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

So, in PIDW, there was obviously wife plots that could bring back the dead (mushroom body being one of them), and since we know Airplane is a hack that reuses concepts over and over, there’s probably multiple wife plots that could work, so like, where’s the PIDW fics where Liu Qingge somehow comes back to life, memories of Shen Jiu trying to save him intact, and goes to hunt the asshole down so he can repay his life debt, and along the way accidentally clears Shen Jiu’s name of all his crimes and now everyone is convinced Shen Qingqiu is a saint.

[rayveneyed]

cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛‍♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /

choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.

in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.

to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.

it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—

“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”

control which he now flounders to grab.

a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.

you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.

“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”

that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.

“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”

his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”

“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”

his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.

you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?

a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.

“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”

“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”

all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.

you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—

“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”

his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.

metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.

“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”

he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.

“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”

oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.

he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.

“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”

and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.

“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”

[afsosville]

Ever After High, but make it a PIDW AU.

Imagine how fucked up it would be if Shen Jiu is up there doing the book signing ceremony that seals his destiny of becoming the next 'Shen Qingqiu', and the mirrors display him getting thrown away by his martial siblings at the trial, and his limbs being torn off and other despicable tortures, and being brought down so low that your humanity is stripped away from you, all for an audience to see. And they cheer. The crowd is ecstatic, perhaps even more so than when his father, Shen Qingqiu, was put on trial.

[little-pondhead]

There was another timeline.

One that, at the moment, only Clockwork and a single other person knew about. Both of whom has separately vowed to never let the timeline exist ever again.

That time was dark. It was bloody. The skies were painted red and the oceans boiled. The dead walked the Earth with a freedom not even the living could achieve. It was like the pits of hell had opened up and spit out the things even the Devil couldn’t bear to look at. It made the Dark Ages look like a middle school girl’s slumber party on Halloween.

It was the timeline where Danielle successfully replaced Danny. Both as Phantom, and as a Fenton.

She replaced Danny, under the orders of Vlad. And then she did more. She grew up, committing more and more crimes at Vlad’s command, gaining infamy and hate, eventually surpassing Vlad’s own reputation as a violent ghost.

Vlad knew she’d grown too powerful by the time she was biologically fourteen, the same age Danny had been when Danielle had shattered his core and eaten it. Vlad knew this, and thought the same trick would work again.

He tried to replace Danielle with another clone.

It didn’t work.

In that timeline, Danielle killed Vlad, absorbing his ghost half, just like Dan did. She became Eleanor, the Queen of Death, and ravaged the Earth for many years. Due to the power boost of consuming two other halfas, Eleanor was more powerful than any other variant of herself, Danny, or Dan that Clockwork could find. The only reason she did not expand to other dimensions, was because Danny was not around long enough to pass on the knowledge of time travel, and how to reach Clockwork’s tower.

It was a dark time. But Clockwork’s fears have been laid to rest, as the Dani of the current time had NOT replaced Danny. In fact, she’d been adopted into the Fenton family with open arms, and the Vlad of this world was less psychotic since he didn’t have a mental break. No Fentons died and caused Dan, and Amity has accepted the various Phantoms and other ghosts with open arms. It was the best possible course of events.

Nothing could go wrong, right? Eleanor was a secret Clockwork would take to his grave, if he ever got one. Not even the Observants knew about it.

Booster Gold, however, did not swear to keep the timeline a secret. He swore to prevent the timeline.

No matter what.

[arbiterlexultionis]

Instant Eternity

Time travel involving the infinite realms is truly a bizarre thing. Sometimes it follow one set of rules, and sometimes that set of rules may as well not exist. Usually, however, it works in one of two ways, the first is when the time travel is achieved through artificial means such as clockworks portals and allows for the altering of the timeline as one would expect time travel would allow. The other type of time travel is through natural means, portals usually, and it’s just that, Natural. That portal to the past opened up in the past the same moment it did in the present. If you step into the portal in the year 2000 then you already stepped out of the portal hundreds of years ago. It’s A Thing That Already Happened. Danny himself experienced this, as while chasing Vlad through time they fought in the middle of a Roman coliseum and, whoopsy daisy, set a really big fire. A fire which Danny had learned about years before he even had his accident.

So, the infimap can take the user anywhere, anywhen. And the infimap is just that, a map. It doesn’t make new roads, it just drags you across already existing paths. So it is a natural form of time travel, if you use it to go in time to kill your grandfather in order to insure your never born your interference will result in your grandparents falling in love and your birth.

Danny realizes that anytime he needs to heal from a battle or has gone 156 hours without sleeping or eating he can use the infimap to pop back to the past for a few days and then have the map bring back to the “Present”, exactly one second after he left. A three week vacation that lasted one second. At first he’s really wary about using this, worried about accelerated aging or getting lost in the time stream and a hundred other issues. At first.

It’s been months sense the accident. Sam and Tucker have both shot up several inches. Danny, on the other hand, hasn’t grown sense the accident. At all. They fought a ghost who could rapidly age opponents, a single slap turned Tucker into a decrepit old man. The ghost wrapped his hands around Danny’s throat and spent 5 minutes trying to strangle him while Danny bought time for Sam and Tucker to pull off the plan. The sucked him into the thermos, his influence on time ceased so Tucker returned to his proper state. “Jeez it sure is lucky he didn’t try and age me, right guys? Ha ha ha”. Danny gets blasted through a natural portal while making a trip through the zone and spends years trying to get home, not aging a day.

He can’t deny it after that, can’t ignore it. He’s immortal. He’s going to live forever. He’s going to watch his friends and family whither away and die out. He’s going to have to spend the rest of his life wandering from place to place trying not to get outed as the same 14 year old who save someone’s great great grandma 100 years ago.

After having his first middeath crisis, suddenly the only reasons he had to not spend years on end wandering the world and the past is gone, even if he loses the infimap, worst case scenario he’ll just take the long way home. Suddenly, he’s dreading the next 80 years of the “Present”. He decides that if he’s going to watch his friends and family grow old and frail he’s going to make sure it’s takes as long as it possibly could, from his perspective. By the time they’re 20 Danny’s gonna have 200 years under his belt.

He becomes a temporal tourist, hopping into the past every time the late night fights and schoolwork become to much. Spends years in every civilization imaginable, mastering every skill he can, leaving legends in his wake.

I feel like Danny and his adventures do have a lot of potential for story’s, as it’s a pretty good setup for having Danny in any type of time period or historical event for extended periods of time, fighting in the trenches of World War I, exploring the Americas during the era of colonialism, sailing the seas a swashbuckling vigilante pirate. I, however, have most of my related ideas being based around crossovers. So most of that will be in part two, so that people who like to filter out all that can still see this post.

[nuclearchaosperson17]

WIP

[rendoa-blog]

Ghosts of the past!

Pssst, you can ignore this, but I wanna share it with you guys because I think you might enjoy it @ancha-aus @spotaus

Also, @mortallydarkbird , get your ass in here. You're reading this whether you like it or not.

"Nightmare, King of Negativity, Rulers of Emotion (mind the plural), is a prominent figure in the multiverse. He and his group are not... feared? They are respected and work under... a merciful deity. Huh. That seems... wrong, somehow. Ink truly does not understand why it feels that way. With the information he has been provided with, nothing about this looks off. So... what is making it feel like this???"

OR

I, Myeba, share the great ideas of my mind! So! Because I don't know how to word this properly other than BadSans(+Dream)-centric! Let's just go and list some facts about this!

So, what's wrong here?

Dream! Dream is what's wrong here!

This Nightmare is haunted by the undead spirit of his petrified twin!

Dream never got out of stone, his petrified body, overgrown with moss and greenery in some spots, stays in Nightmares private garden with their dead mother. (The castle is built atop the apple hill in Dreamtale, the destroyed, deserted village of their youth rebuilt and repopulated under their rule.)

Nightmares garden isn't the only area of the castle blocked off to everyone else. Every single room with a window that has a view into it is also forbidden, together with their connecting corridors. Dream stays there during the day.

Dream is, and will stay, a child. He lacks a physical form he can use due to being petrified, and because of it, Nightmare is forced to be a voice for both of them. That is also the reason for the title of Rulers of Emotion being plural, even if there is no one, but these two, who knows why it's like that. Dream is still the one who decides on things regarding positivity as he stays by Nightmare during any meeting that could require his presence.

When Nightmare goes to sleep, his spirit leaves his body while it rests. This spirit is also 6 years old and lacks half his skull. Nightmare did grow up naturally, though, even if he still looks like a child as a spirit due to unfortunate circumstances (cough basically death). Nightmare and Dream walk around the castle and cause slight shenanigans during this. They're mostly Dreams fault.

Dust can see ghosts and spirits occasionally, but they have not figured out how it happens. He has seen Dream and Nightmare running around the castle during his first few weeks when Nightmare didn't know about that. Dust is aware that something there is haunted and he thinks it's the castle itself, since he's never seen the spirits outside. He stopped seeing Nightmare entirely (because Nightmare is avoiding him), but still catches glints of Dream every once in a while when Nightmare isn't with him.

Killer and Horror know about the children as well because Dust has told them about them. They also know that Nightmare knows something, but they have been unsuccessful in getting the answers.

Cross is also there, but he's been in the group for far shorter so he doesn't know about Dream yet.

...They call the kids Yellow and Purple because they have no other way of addressing them. Dust has tried to communicate multiple times but Dream runs away every time due to being noticed.

Dream wants to befriend the group and spend time with them, especially when Dust shows up and actually sees him. Nightmare doesn't trust them enough for that.

The group has something akin to familial bonds, but Nightmare strictly excludes himself from it. He tries to be cold and distant. They know its a mask though. ...not Cross though. Cross doesn't and fully believes it because of past experiences.

Ink and Error are just 2 toddlers fighting over who gets to play with the pretty glittery pony, except the pony is attention and it usually ends with casualties. That is literally all I have about them.

Swap never left home! He's happily in his AU and while yeees he does know who Ink is and what the AUs are because the squid crash landed in his timeline one time (...or multiple times...many, many times.) he is not involved in anything concerning the multiverse.

Nightmare just collects unfortunate souls that remind him a bit too much of himself, victims of circumstance that didn't get a different choice if they wanted to survive.

The castle itself has many floral and nature inspired patterns in the stone. It is also heavily covered by plants anywhere that aren't accessible to those who don't live there, with some exceptions where it would make the room useless. Many corridors have vine ceilings or plants on the wall, but the kitchen, for example, only has a few controlled herbs in specific spots on and in the walls. The flora also doesn't even try to reach into private areas such as their bedrooms unless specifically encouraged to do so. (ex. Nightmares room) The group mostly doesn't want the plants there, though.

The entire group was pretty surprised when they moved in, because this was not what they expected, especially Cross who was very used to the formal and perfect visual that the part of the castle accessible to guests showed.

[hearts401]

for that au i was talking about

[flowerscentedartist]

Child!Dream: What is death?

After Nightmare explained

Child!Dream: But I'm not going to die, right?

Nightmare: I'm afraid you will one day.

Child!Dream, starting to cry

Nightmare: Oh! No,no,no! Don't cry!

Nightmare: I'm going to die one day, too!

Child!Dream:

Child!Dream, cries harder

Blue: You're first time with children?

Nightmare: What am I doing?!

[puppetmaster13u]

Not me making a batfam backrooms au with entity Bruce and a Gotham inspired level and a sublevel inspired by the manor. Nor am I making the batkids wanderers who gets adopted and also turned into entities.

Not doing that at all :]

[sentient-stove]

Hi wanted to practice line less cause it was fun n I was thinking about your too much child support au n made these

im literally kissing you with tongue this is beautiful art

[akirakirxaa]

[ day 9 : family ]

Persephone always dreamed of having a family of her own. Maybe now the dust had settled, she could dream about it again.

[ masterpost ]

[stellas-et-abyssum-vincite]

Crashing Meteor ~ *Childe/Tartaglia*

Summary: Now that he's feeling better, Childe is ready to leave your cottage. He's hoping for a heartfelt goodbye. Instead, he's met with cold indifference.

Pairing: Childe/Tartaglis X G/N!Reader

Genre: Angst Oneshot

Word Count: 1272

Warning: N/A

Masterlist

A/N: This is Part Two to Falling Asteroid. I highly recommend reading that one first.

Childe spent two extra days under your care. You could tell it was bothering him, staying with you for so long. But you never told him he couldn't leave. He stayed because, to him, he still wasn't strong enough yet to leave. You found it odd he would think that way, but did not press to learn why. He had his reasons and you would respect his privacy. Instead, you continued to brew him tea to help keep his strength up for when he did eventually leave.

You were weeding through your garden when he quietly came up to you. He looked like a child, trying to figure out how to put his thoughts into words. He was tugging at the sleeves of his shirt and was looking anywhere but at you.

In response, you smiled up at him and continued your work. "What can I help you with, Childe?"

"It's time for me to go."

"Very well. It was a pleasure to meet you. I wish you luck in your future endeavors." You firmly nodded.

He hesitated before asking, "Is that all?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, you took care of me for over a week. Aren't you a little more torn up by the fact that I am leaving?" Despite his voice being quiet, there was an icy edge to it.

You looked up at him again. "Childe, as I've told you before, I have healed many people in my time. You learn to not dwell on those who have come and gone. To me, you will always be another patient."

He scoffed. "Your bedside manner is awful."

A chuckle escaped you. "Unfortunately, I am not at your bedside. Forgive me for hurting your feelings with my pragmatic attitude. I didn't think you were offended so easily."

"I don't get offended easily!" He snapped and folded his arms over his chest. "I just... I was just hoping for a better goodbye, that's all."

"A better goodbye?" You shook your head. "I don't owe you anything Childe. I saved your life. If anyone owes anyone anything, it is you who owes me for saving you. But I got my payment and now we're even."

"What payment?" He narrowed his eyes on you before it dawned on him. "What, my name? That's all you wanted?"

You nodded. "Yes. Why? Was that too much to ask?"

"I- no..." He scoffed and looked away from you again. "You're very condescending."

"And you're a petulant child." You sigh and shake your head before standing up. You wipe your hands off and pick up the basket of weeds that you will burn later. "I've been around for a very long time, Childe. I know how to handle people who believe themselves to be dangerous. You are not a God. You are a tool for a God, which allows you to feel Godlike. I will not indulge in your self-righteous fantasies that you are anything but a tool. Now, you were leaving, were you not?"

He stared at you, his mouth agape at your astute observation of him. And for several moments he didn't say anything. Until anger flashed across his face.

"You know you are making a very dangerous enemy out of me!" Childe yelled as you walked away from him. "I could kill you right where you stand!"

You glance over your shoulder at him. "Then why haven't you? I told you, I've been around for a long time. I know not to play games with children. You don't know anything about the world you've entered as a Fatui. You don't know how the world works enough to be given the kind of burden they will place on you. You don't know who you are or what you want. And I will not be the one to help you learn that."

"You don't know who I am!" He shouted back. "You don't know anything about me! So don't go acting like I'm nothing more than a little child, when I am far stronger than you! I am a Harbinger of Fatui after all! I have far more power than you!"

"No, you don't."

"And how do you know?"

"Because I used to be one myself."

That caused his arms to fall, his eyes to widen, and his jaw to drop to the floor. You let out a long sigh before shaking your head once more. You then turned your back on him again and walked back to your cottage. You had just set your basket down and touched the handle to the door when a hand grabbed your arm.

"You were Fatui?" Childe asks, his voice frantic and angry.

"It's none of your concern."

"It is my concern considering I myself am a Fatui."

"No, it's not." You rip your arm away from him. "I made my choice to step away from them. Since then, I have been an outcast, doomed to forever be a stain on the name of the Fatui and an enemy to every other nation of Teyvat. I live my days knowing that it could very well be my last. There isn't a person alive who doesn't want me dead. That is why I refuse to indulge in your self-righteousness, because in the end, it will only cost you your life in ways you didn't think possible."

"But why did you walk away?" He demands. "You would have been protected in the Fatui."

"Protected?" You laugh and shake your head. "What you call protection, I call manipulation. Those people, they only care for themselves and their own selfish gain. I didn't wish to be a part of that life anymore. I was not like them. And I will never be tempted the same way they've been."

Childe's grip on your arm begins to loosen. "I don't understand you."

"Good. You shouldn't."

"The Fatui have been good to me. I don't see why anyone would turn their back on them."

"Have they?" You tilted your head to the side. "They've never abandoned you when you needed them most, or forced you to make a choice you couldn't make?"

You could see in his eyes the frustration and pain that came with being confronted with the hard, unrelenting truth. He was beginning to hurt more than a fall from the sky ever could. But you didn't back down. It was your choice to expose to him the lies he had been fed by the organization that took everything away from you in return for your unyielding devotion.

"I am not asking you to abandon the Fatui." You quietly reply, putting your hand on his hand still holding your arm. "But I am asking you to question their motives. Realize that you have entangled yourself in something far bigger than you thought. You are not safe anywhere you go and the only one who can protect you, is you."

"I..." Childe's voice trailed off and you shook your head.

"Don't explain yourself to me. Just go with the knowledge that I've given you. That is all I ask of you."

He stood there and released his grip on your arm. You went into your little cottage and grabbed his things. When you returned, you handed him a satchel with some food and medicine. He took it and you could see there was a stiff numbness in his movements. You understand the damage you inflicted upon him, but perhaps this was for the better.

Before you closed the door on him, you imparted one last piece of advice. "Remember Childe, a seed of doubt can bloom into a very powerful thing."

And with that, you closed the door.

[promptsausandshit]

Picture this; #482

When offered a gift the child asked if they could know how long they shall live, the fae smiled and told that they shall live as long as a rose is in bloom.

[yonemurishiroku]

I don’t think Nico would ever have kids. But I do think he’d gain respect from some little one and they would just adopt him as their father figure, no matter how hard Nico claims otherwise.