#its like a scale xD

[pageofheartdj]

It's so interesting to think what Raine and Collector's relationship will start with when they become a family. Because of a more unique baggage they have about each other.

I hc no one was conscious as a doll, since it's supposed to be preserving them(except Hooty somewhat, because of his titan connection). But when Belos possessed Raine's body, it 'awoken' them, since they could later fight back and push him out. So they were present, a silent viewer through the body that is supposed to be theirs. But it's wooden now and there is another driver. A malicious driver. They know it was the Collector who put everyone in this situation in the first place. But they got to see first hand that they are really nothing else but a kid. An insecure and lonely and hurt kid. And they were being taken advantage of. Raine is a bleeding heart, so even after everything they can't not sympathise with them, and hate how Belos plays them. So even though they had a more different experience as a doll from everyone else to be wary of him in the beginning, they also are more inclined to not be blinded by fear to offer that child unconditional love and support.

And Collector as well, would have complicated feelings about Raine. Because Raine is super nice and fun and have a cute foxy friend and play pretty music. But also in any random moment they remember Philip. They remember it was like then, when he thought the doll was his friend. That nice attitude suddenly puts him on edge even though logically he knows Philip is not there anymore.

And from time to time 'Ray-Ray' slips in, that makes both freeze. A reminder for both, of Raine being trapped and controlled, of Collector being lied to and now guilty. But it would be nice if Raine will accept it if Collector does. The experience is in the past now and Collector can trust Raine fully now. So they work together to get rid of Ray-Ray's bad connotations.

[pranabefall]

⠀⠀QINGXIN IN THE MOUNTAIN.⠀⠀⸺ ⠀⠀zhongli.

syn. while the divine war rages on, you find yourself entangled in the company of a wounded god and reservations or not, you don't have the heart to let someone die on your watch.

TW. ⸺ beta read, long oneshot like seriously it's over 14k, mentions of war and past death, seclusion and wounds. this work contains 18+ contents so minors, you know the drill, unprotected sex, half-dragon zhongli, reader has no gendered pronouns but has female parts, 4k words worth of smut guys get ready.

LOG. ⸺ this is another repost of this fic after my old account got deleted on accident. taken from my old blog lol, a buffer as i work on my current wip XD. this work has been marked mature for containing smut. readers below the age of 18 / ageless blogs and antis, do not interact.

“i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”

— PABLO NERUDA.

Curiosity , you learned, was a reckless maverick in every right. Your mother told you of its consequences, of the people who wandered too far from the safety of your village and the watchful eye of your deity, and she told you of their death and the disaster they reaped alongside it.

Curiosity was what cost you — and you knew , you knew better than to indulge in its traitorous little tug when you wake, the scent of petrichor in abundance and the chill of a rainstorm’s aftermath prickling your skin. 

“Forget about it.” you tell yourself when you rub the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Forget about it.” you tell the reflection staring up at you, her brows furrowed with a familiar sternness. It scatters when you dip your hands into the basin, the icy water stinging your fingertips.

“Forget about it.” you breathe out as you lean against the doorframe of your small home, staring out at the expanse of green and the fog that had settled a few feet below.

Yet here you were , scaling down a mossy slope, your bare feet damp from the dew it trod over and your hair still messy from your sleep. You could dimly recall something the previous night between the rains, between the crash of thunder and the crackle of lightning. It was a sound too distinct and out of place in a storm, something akin to the beginnings of an earthquake before an unknown force cuts its life short.

Your head swivels to the side. You couldn’t see much past the mist save for what was in front of you and you clamber down with a little more prudence till the ground evens out a bit more and the screen before you dissipates. You could see nothing out of place, save for a few upturned trees and your shoulders slump. It was all for nothing , you realize and a tinier voice dares to whisper a spiteful little ‘dammit’ .

You turn, casting one last glance over the clearing, then make your way back uphill. It was a wasted attempt and as you stew in your own self-berating and disappointment, you almost miss the faint crackle behind you. It was just the wind , you reason. There was little cause for it to be anything else. What could possibly make its way up here ?

When you hear it a second time, you freeze, something cold jolting at your bones.

Well shit .

It doesn’t take too long to find the source, save for trudging through the mud and a few of the murkier parts past the tree line — but you find it by the time the sun shifts the barest fraction to the west..

“ Ah — ” was the most your throat could choke out as shock swallowed you whole, like ice water.

There is a trail of gold on the earth, and it leads up to the slumped form of a man, his robes stained with the same gilted shade and his breath leaving shallow puffs of air where he lay, motionless and seemingly dead.

Well — fucking — shit . You mind shudders, your thoughts screaming and splitting up against your head like some panicked beast. It was chaos at its core, it was the frenzied scrape of control.

You were no fool. The man before you, both massive in frame and presence, was one amongst the hundreds of those touched by divinity — god or not — whose names were uttered and praised amidst this war. There was nothing distinctly human about him; not his clothes, not the horns that curled atop his skull and the brown scales smattered across, not the ichor he bled out — nothing .

For a moment, or maybe more, you stare down at him, long and hard as you try to wrangle your rationality back and think of what move to make. You could not afford the trouble that comes with aiding a foreign being and the land you settled on could house any force hostile to the man at your feet. A shaky breath escapes, then another. You were trembling now, just a little, daring to take a step back, then one more.

Kill him , another voice snaps. It was twisted and its words breathed acrid revulsion. Get it over with, he’s not worth the pain.

You consider it, for the tiniest bit of a second till he lets out a shudder and shifts with tense shoulders, his grunts labored and streaked with muted agony — those darker thoughts quickly flatline to scattered anxiety and the hand that brushes the blade at your hip falls limp. Not now, perhaps . You could just leave him here, let nature run its course.

You could do that , you decide with a semblance of confidence.

Of course you could.

Of course .

Your shuffling comes to a stop and you're backtracking immediately, your pace holding an urgent bounce with every step. There is a feverish jerk to your movements when you settle beside him, and a storm of emotions raging in your chest. It does little to ease you — little does, these days — and you press up on his shoulders in an attempt to roll him over onto his back.

It happens so swiftly, a blur of gold and black that shadowed your periphery before you were slammed down with eyes like uncut cor lapis glaring down at you. You scramble, clawing at your neck, at the digits pressed up against your windpipe and your pulse and it beats faster and faster and faster . One tiny move and you’d be left for dead.

( A part of you is stunned — for even wounded and weakened from some unknown, unspoken battle, the quavering power within him seemed to beat strong. You feel a mix of thrilled awe and terror turn in your stomach. )

His gaze hardly falters, roving at your form before his grasp on you releases and he mutters something akin to an apology, collapsing again. His eyes were still open, watching you beneath a haze of pain and deliriousness, stiffening now and then when you so much as move. The strength he showed, no matter how small it was, is gone and there is the slightest hint of vulnerability beneath the stripped layers of stone.

Your instincts scream at you to run yet you stay rooted in place, coming to sit up and hover by his side. In the end, your own concern and pity won out. “Y-you’re wounded.” you try to reason, only to be met with a grunt. You find yourself wincing as you stutter over your words, your voice hoarse from months of disuse. “Please, l-let me help. My h-home is c-close b-by.” 

Feeble , you chide yourself amidst it all, old, old regrets tearing at your mind and clawing at your thoughts. You shut your eyes, letting your muscles relax and you try again.

Tugging at his arm serves to be fruitless. He was too large for you to carry over and your first attempt gives that away well enough. The gold in his veins seems to dim with the passage of time and you fear his life slipping away under your watch. “I n-need you to w-walk…” your plea is almost caught in your throat and you have to wrench it out to let it be heard. He tilts his head your way. “You’re too h-heavy…” you try to reason.

Another grunt sounds out and thankfully , his form rises. You’re quick to move to his side, supporting him against your shoulder, the thrum of elemental energy strong beneath your hold. He practically oozed it and it feels like what the storm felt like — the trembling earth itself.

You don’t say much after that, leading him back to your home, your hand and clothes staining a bright gold.

Perhaps your house would have been a little cleaner had you known you’d have a guest over. When you lead the the being inside, you scan the small space with a sense of perplexity, hoping he wouldn’t scrutinize the sight too much ( your mother always seemed to emphasize the need for a well kept living space — should she see you now, you know she’d be rolling in her grave with indignity ).

He stumbles a little, letting out a guttural snarl and you flinch, almost dropping his weight onto the floor when you feel claws close down on your arm and press against your scarred skin. You hiss softly and he gives a little jolt, his hold on you releasing, leaving little but the crumpled sleeve of your tunic behind. 

“How much — ” he cannot finish the sentence, his nose wrinkling up and he almost looks a little feral underneath the light. 

“Just a l-little more.” you assure, cracking the barest of smiles as you cross the room and lay him down on your bedroll. He was tall enough as is, and you think his horns would scrape up against the ceiling of this house should he stand upright. 

The bedroll itself was pathetically small beneath him, but you couldn’t throw a fuss about it, working away at his clothes in relative silence, steeling yourself up in preparation for the worst. 

The clasps and the belts and sashes are undone by nimble fingers and as the layers peel away, you come to a stop. It was not a pretty sight, his wounds, the clawed lacerations criss crossing across his torso like patchwork. You doubt you could salvage much and you almost give up at the spot, pulling away the rest of his clothing. The worst one splits across his chest and you look to the side, battling out the vertigo and the nausea threatening to creep up. 

He’d have been dead at this point, had the blood in his veins be that of a mortal’s and not something inhuman. In some convoluted sense, he was lucky.

Stop cowering , you hiss internally. Pull yourself together .

The sound of rustling clothes is all you could hear after, followed by the clinking of metal and the sharp tang of alcohol. Your movements are almost robotic — and you had done this plenty of times before, cleaning the wounds of children and soldiers. But this wasn’t home and you doubt any soothing words would stoke at the feelings of a god. 

When you return to his side, his forehead is damp with sweat.

“ Shit — ”

His skin was warm . Could an immortal being fall ill? Was that even a possibility?

“I will be fine.” he rasps out and you jump, snapping his way as you hold the clothes closer to your chest in defense. He turns his head, peering at you and you think you see a stubborn glimmer beneath the usual masked strain and impassivity. “My wounds will heal in time…I…only seek shelter till they do…”

“Absolutely n-not.” you reply, splaying your palm out on his stomach to keep him still as you clean away the dirt and dried blood. The shallower wounds were slowly closing up again. “You’re in no state to argue right now.”

His mouth twitches and there is a momentary flash of teeth. You try not to let it frazzle you as much despite his initial protest, your movements slowing to a more delicate pace as you bathe the worst of his lesions till you were satisfied with the lack of dirt caking his body. “It seems choice no longer holds to be a luxury.” he utters under his breath.

“No.” you agree. “It does not.”

He falls silent, a petulant turn on his lips. “Are you a healer?” he asks. You bow down, unwinding the linen wraps you had stored away.

“My mother was.” you finally admit, your posture straightening. “I learned what I could from her to aid the people in my village. I never studied medicine formally, however…” you trail off. Talking seems to grow a little easier the more you speak. The hoarseness was slowly giving way and your stuttering grew less frequent.

“And I take it you shall try to help me as you do with any other human?” there was a sardonic sort of amusement in his tone that has you bristling. “Your medicines and methods will not work on an Adeptus. Put your tools away, you only waste your time.

“Adeptus…so you hail from the settlement south of Mt. Tianheng?”

“You’re ignoring my words,” he accuses. You bat your lashes at him innocently.

“Small talk.” you shrug. “You can tell me everything you want after I’m done tending to you.” you meet his gaze, tumultuous gold melded with an orange-red. He narrows his eyes, his unfocused vision scanning you, then the house, then at the bandages you held before he leans his head back with a defeated sigh.

By the time you conclude your task, he has fallen unconscious, his breathing deep and his heartbeat unnaturally slow for a human. You look down at your ruined clothing, at the stains at the hem of your tunic and at the sleeves and you hope you can salvage what you can from this, moving on to change out of them and fish out a cleaner pair of clothes. 

The smell of petrichor still persists through the day, the sky brewing with the makings of a new storm. Perhaps you had lost track of time and the monsoons were sitting in sooner than expected and you move on to salvage whatever you’d left outside to dry and board your windows up for the incoming onslaught.

The man wakes when night falls, form set aglow against the dim lamp light. 

“Let’s change your bandages.” you offer. He doesn’t protest this time, painfully sitting himself up with gritted teeth as you get back to work. His skin still radiates that uncomfortable temperature as you press up against it. You might need to get a wet rag ready lest he overheats

He speaks after the silence persists. “You shouldn’t see me like this.” it comes out as a whisper so soft, you almost miss it. His face however holds a distant look, with a hint of disappointment lurking within and you tug at the linen a little harder. You’ve heard that before, from the lips of men and women who had too much to hold and little weakness to show. You wonder what it would entail for a warrior, or a being whose years spanned farther than yours, to sink as low before a stranger.

It must be hard.

“We all get hurt sometimes.” you smile, hoping to lighten the air with a bit of humor ( it was getting too heavy, the air in the room ). “I’ve lost count of the number of times I've hit my head…and you think I'd be a little more cautious given my studies…”

A poor joke stays a poor joke no matter the delivery ( and yours was weak to begin with ). He does not say or do much, save for a slight twitch in his jaw and an unamused tilt in his head. You shrink back, skittishly throwing his used bandages aside in favor of new ones with a hasty “Nevermind.” on your tongue. 

“Do you truely not know who I am?” he asks, his touch skimming the sheets absently. You shake your head, confusion and that damned curiosity slowly lurking and clawing its way to the light. You want to stamp the ugly feeling down and out of sight. You try to. It does not disappear. He continues, “What of the civilization south of Tianheng?”

A shrug was the most you could manage. You guess that was where he hails from. “I know it’s the domain of a geo god, and that beings touched by longevity, ally beside him. “My old home is far, however, and our god hid us away from the world…my knowledge on this is sparse.” 

You’re almost ashamed to admit it, to acknowledge the bubble you had grown within, accepting the suffering of the men and women who ventured out and returned with broken bodies you and your mother had to fix. You weren’t sure what sort of terrible dichotomy it was, to live in ignorance amidst blatant horror and blood, and you don’t wish to return to it.

He seems to take this in, his eyes training up at the ceiling, then upon you with a lidded stare. “Who was your god?”

The icy set to your jaw was a hint he picks up on and he does not further the topic.

“...I am from there…from Liyue.” he says instead, in recollection of your previous question. The settlement was a distance from here, a few days worth of journeying by cart and hardly worth the risk of the travel with the demons that lurk and the gods that warred.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

His lips curl again, but it’s less of a grimace and more of a smile, his fangs tucked away to show a visage less feral, less dangerous. You find yourself relaxing a bit more unconsciously, seemingly charmed by this simple action ( and the thought almost scares you ). “What is your name, mortal?”

Ah, he wasn’t going to make this easy. You’re tempted to tug on his bandages a little harder if only to spite him.

You don’t reply till you are done with your chore and you lean back, massaging your stiff fingers. Your name slips out of your lips then, the action feeling natural in defiance of the years spent hardly having a friendly face within your home, save the occasional traveler. The adeptus seems satisfied. “You may call me Zhongli.” he replies, his voice softer, raspier.

“Zhongli.” you repeat. Zhongli .

There is a rustle of fabric and his fingertips brush against yours, the touch nearly having your arm lurch back in muted shock. He seems unphased but you — you watch a soft light shimmer through the dimness of your walls. When it fades, a single visage of gold stares back.

“It’s your reward. For aiding me.” there is a medley of pride and contentment and you liken it to that of a child offering a messily put together gift. Gold is coveted by most, but has little use here, and you have little use for it. But the gift is still cupped within your hands and you hold it as if it is something precious.

( Oh, your heart trembled just a bit and you feel a lump grow in your throat, bigger and bigger till you dip your head down out of his line of sight. )

His eyes bear down on you harder, set aglow and unyielding.

You smile to hide your trembling frame, thoughts revolting within your mind like the beat of war drums with a mix of unease and appreciation. Yet, who were you to question Zhongli’s secrets?

Maybe hypocrisy runs deeper in your blood than you initially assumed.

Mist dances at your fingertips.

It weaves and spreads and obscures the light and the woods around you and you run through blindly as the skin beneath your feet tears and the chill of the night clings to your skin and leaves behind dew and sweat.

You could see nothing; nothing save the pale glow of the moon above you as it tries to break through the barrier and light your way. It cannot, for Balam’s magic conjures obscurity, and obscurity was worshiped.

But you were human and you were curious and the voice that called your name was so familiar and warm and you wanted to weep and run towards it. The mist will not stop your folly and you will keep running to appease that growing thirst. In the end it will cost you.

The sound of your footsteps cease. The mist thins out and at the end of the veil, you poke your head out for the first time to witness the world outside. A set of teeth, white and sharp greet you. Then another and another, till the darkness itself glows as it does beneath the moonlight.

You hear her voice. It comes from the open maw.

The demons spot you and you run again, feeling their jaws clamp down and tear through muscle and bone and you scream and scream and scream at the white hot agony and the very feeling of your nerves set aflame before they numb.

Your curiosity cost you.

You wake to your fingers clawing at your shoulder with labored gasps and Zhongli panting, his fingers gripping at the sheets of the bedroll and his brow furrowed. You blink away the sleep in your eyes and tug the blanket off of your shoulders, shakily making your way to his side. His skin was hot again and panic lights in your chest, like the incoming winter.

“Fuck — it’s gotten worse.” you mumble a few more expletives as you stumble out to collect some more water and the few mistflower corollas you had stored away within your cabinets, hoping the elemental energy in them hadn’t dissipated completely. Setting the bucket down by his bedside with the corollas nestled within, you hiss at the cold pricking your palms and the frostbite coming to form.

Never mind that! The fucking adeptus is going to melt .

Oh my, thank you for pointing out the obvious! 

The cloth bath was set to a near feverish pace as you feel him twitch and convulse through the chills wracking his body. “Hot — ” he groans.

“It’s the fever.” you mutter, tugging his pants down, your eyes unconsciously trailing down the slope of his waist and dip of pelvis, then avert your eyes before you could see any more, face flushed whilst a cloth was thrown onto his hips to spare him some decency. “You need to cool down…please, stay still.”

His hand comes to grip your arm and the dormant strength within it, one etched into his very being, was frightening. The adeptus’ sights were set upon you, the fever-addled state of his blowing his pupils out till only a thin ring of gold remains, shining through the light of the oil lamp, brighter and brighter. You pull away and rest your free hand on his with a soothing squeeze. 

“You will be okay.” you assure. “It will come to pass soon enough. Let me take care of you for now.” You coax him to stay still as you continue the cloth bath, wiping away at his clammy skin while fatigue continues to weigh down on your shoulders and tug at your eyes. “I know you’re hiding something…and if you…if you’re one of the gods, then you must live. You’ll have people waiting for you…they need you, at a time like this.”

He lets out a weak exhale, shakily sitting himself up with sudden urgency. “ Liyue… ” he whispers, gait faltering and you steady him as he leans into you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You struggle to push him back down atop the bedroll, his breaths growing pained with the passing seconds. 

“Liyue.” you nod and repeat. “You need to go back soon, don’t you? You’ll have to heal first, and for that, you must rest.” The cloth is pressed against his temple now, wiping away sweat all while the smell of petrichor grows stronger. The searing temperature hasn’t subsided and hopelessness stirs inside, an ugly feeling, a familiar feeling ( it was worse than your curiosity — it always was ).

Zhongli leans into your touch, his fingers tangling against yours. “ Stay… ” he whispers. You cease your movement as his body shifts and presses against your lap. “Stay….” he repeats.

“I…I’ll stay.” you slump in defeat, resting his head on your lap. Lightning flashes outside your window and the walls seem to shake as the rain comes pelting down. You continue the bath, listening to a leaky spot in your roof and the incessant downpour rattling against the tiles. Zhongli seems to still, his breaths still weighed down by that terrible heaviness.

The rain continues. His fever grows worse.

Then the pattering slows down, and the flush on his skin comes to cool. By the time the rains stop, his fever breaks and you lean against the wall of your home, shutting your eyes as you nearly weep, your worries allayed.

Morax was the first to wake in the early hours of the morning, the scent of petrichor pervading his senses followed by the faint lull of jasmine. Then comes the warmth and the softness, one his claws unconsciously dig into with a groan shuddering out of his chest.

It was you , slumped against the wall, lost in your own dreams and too tired to notice and the sight makes him swell with a conflicting mess of emotion. Then comes the pain, the aftermath of his fever coming to tear at him, at his limbs and his tendons till he ceases his stubborn movement and lets his body fall slack.

He does not understand your intent, but the faint memory of that familiar care against a muddled haze stills his tongue and his suspicion. Your muffled words, your hand in his, everything, blurred away yet so clear.

Humans were strange, so fragile, so determined…

“Fool…” he murmurs. The last of his strength is used to draw the blanket over your shoulders. “But thank you, nonetheless.” Sleep calls him again, and Morax shuts his eyes.

The jasmine lingers, stronger than most. He lets it swallow him whole.

You come to realize how much you hated it, the loneliness.

Your home was far removed from civilization, settled between regions  and away from main travel ways that weren’t blocked or destroyed. The quiet of your house was nothing like the bustle of the town you hailed from and the chaos that accompanies the stalls in the early mornings. The most noise that encloses your small plot of land were the local wildlife, the creaks and groans of wood born against strong winds and the weight of snow and the distant battles fought over the horizon.

During arbitrary moments of your routine, you question why Zhongli landed here of all places, in the midst of nowhere. You wonder if this is some grand scheme or punishment for your past mistakes and when you feel your curiosity dare to skitter forth and poke more holes into your blind acceptance, you drive it away with an angry hiss.

He is not an unwelcome guest, even if he holds a sense of urgency at times and a well kept secret whose nature you suspect . It’s almost comforting, no matter how contrived it seems, listening to him speak of an obscure plant or hearing his heavy footfalls a few days after his arrival. 

How desperate are you? The bitter pride in your heart speaks up, and it’s seedy and unhappy as you straighten out the drying sheets over the heated slab. Where is your self preservation? Your brain cells? You’re smarter than this you fool —

“Is something wrong?”

Zhongli’s voice snaps you out of your reverie and you start, nearly dropping your laundry on the grass.

“Nothing!” and it is a weak save on your part as you straighten the worn down basket to move to an empty patch of stone, ducking under to check the state of the flaming flowers underneath. His hands come to rest on the surface and he lets out a soft exhale, his eyes slipping shut in a seeming moment of peace. “You should be resting.” you remind him.

“I believe I'm past the need for excessive bedrest.” he intones with an amused lilt. “Do you need help? It is partly my fault you have far more work to sort through.” He wasn’t lying. What little linen you had was used up to change the sheets on your bedroll before his fever broke. You had little clue how illness amongst higher beings were treated, but simply washing the contaminated cloth was the best option you had on your for now.

Ah, sometimes you regret not moving closer to a town.

Your reply was short, when you notice the silence being drawn out for a little too long. “That does not mean you should strain yourself. The less of a load you place on yourself, the faster you will heal. I’m sure you are needed back at your colony. The war is far from over.”

The comment seems to tug at his emotions, a stern moroseness settling on his face. “That is true…but I trust my fellow adepti to hold the lines in my absence.” you bend over to collect another sheet from the basket, the hair at the back of your neck prickling when he moves behind you. “Even so, I should hasten my return.”

“Then — ” The sheet is snatched from your hands and you watch Zhongli step beside an unused slab to lay it across the surface, a mischievous smile touching his lips. “Oi!” you snap, reaching out to grab it.

“However,” he continues, ignoring your protest with a look of innocent serenity. You want to squawk, to stamp your foot down childishly and you almost do, your movements stilled by you clenching your fist to curb it. “I’ve fought battles with wounds far worse and won. Menial chores are hardly a labor and if it means aiding you then I shall take it.”

You let out a groan in defeat and push the basket between the two of you. Zhongli was preening in his small victory, setting the clothes out to dry with relative ease. “Guests shouldn’t partake in chores like these.” you repeat the line your mother had uttered so many times, one amongst many of her favorite maxims. 

He watches you from his spot behind the stone slab, a contemplative haze clouding his hues. “I simply return the favor. It is the nature of a contract, to balance out what is given with due compensation.” 

He isn’t going to let up, is he?

“Fine, fine…you can help me collect a few mist flowers later.” you concede.

“What do you need them for?” he asks, collecting your laundry basket as you kneel upon the grass, blowing some air into a patch. One of the flowers is set alight and you sigh, letting them burn awhile as you feel your fingers retain a little more warmth in them. 

“Preservation…I use them to make my herbs and food last a little longer…it’s not easy, coming across certain ingredients for a decent meal…” You let out a dry chuckle at that, which melts away into a mildly sheepish one. Even if you bear a slight annoyance to your choice of settlement, and even with the debilitating isolation that came with it — it was still home and it was still safer than most.

Zhongli takes this in, a hand resting against his chin. “I see…cooking is not a part of my skill set…unfortunately. But a friend of mine intends on relaying an old recipe of his should the war end soon. Perhaps I could pass it on to you, if you don’t mind it.”

It was an oddly sweet gesture coming from him and you hum, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you consider it. That also meant opening a tiny window of opportunity; a chance that you may see Zhongli again. The thought stirs a clash of emotion, of fear and of excitement and dare you say it, hope and it feels warm and cold and all sorts of things at once. “I’d like that…granted you don’t accidentally poison me.” 

He feigns annoyance as his head tilts to the side, quietly regarding you. “You overestimate my inadequacy. The last time I did partake in the culinary arts, the worst outcome was an offhand crystallize reaction and a burnt stove.” he pauses. “Besides, my skill in brewing tea is decent.”

Oh Gods —

“I’m just being cautious.” you laugh a little louder at that, holding up your hands in defense. “Dear Lords though…I hope that friend of yours is prepared then. You might turn out to be a genius in cuisine or a hopeless case.”

“Then I hope for the former.”

You grin, hanging up the last of your clothes. “If you turn out decent…then I wouldn’t mind sharing some of the recipes passed down to me. I couldn’t indulge myself in them as much, but i hope you may come to like them.”

Something in Zhongli’s eyes softens and he nods. “And I would like that in turn…” he utters slowly, watching you clear away any dry branches and grass close by. His fingers absently brush over his torso, where the bandages stay wrapped around him. You catch the subtle purse of his lips and the twinge in his jaw. “Do not be concerned…” he snaps up to meet your worried face. “I am fine.”

“...Right.” you knew it wasn’t wholly a lie. Zhongli proved to be a quick healer, perhaps a trait passed down by his inhuman lineage. But these displays of vulnerability only played into the damning knowledge you knew before; of the hidden fragility the gods held. “Come on…I think it’s time we get those bandages changed.”

Zhongli smiles but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Another secret , you think sadly, taking his hand as you lead him inside, taking in the momentary warmth he held even if his skin didn’t quite feel like skin or that they glowed a bit too bright between the cracks of your fingers.

You don’t ask him to collect the mist flower corollas again, staying at home with him with some tea set at the table for him to sip on while you inspect his lacerations. There was some idle chatter over dinner and Zhongli spoke a little more about his home.

“You’re going to leave tonight, aren’t you?” you ask suddenly, your voice soft. His words die out and you try to still the sharp edged pain in your chest. It refuses to fade and you accept the growing weight with an unwilling gait.

“Yes.” he whispers, setting his cup down and he looks ashamed.

“Then go.” you mumble. He opens his mouth again but you hold up a hand. “I…I know your name is not really Zhongli…it’s not is it?” His silence was damning and you finally piece it together, the knowledge you learned from your village and from your travels, no matter how meager, painting a slow picture in broad strokes.

The stories depict Morax to be more of a beast and less of a man. You would have glossed over it as well,expecting a dragon instead of the visage of a handsome stranger.

“I take it you’ve come to a conclusion.” he muses, looking a little apologetic, a little ashamed. “I never intended on deceit but the nature of our meeting called for it.”

“You were afraid I was going to kill you?” you guess. Zhongli — Morax laughs and shakes his head.

“Even in my weakened state, you would have been incapable of it.” well damn . “I feared someone of greater power would catch wind of talk of a wounded god…but given your lifestyle, they held no merit. I apologize though…I know you may have suspected a while.”

Morax smiles and you try not to battle the disbelief that a good sat across you, eating your food and drinking your tea. “However, I have a question to ask you.” 

A pause

“What became of your deity?”

Your breath seizes and you meet his gaze. His stare seems to hold so much more weight to it and you look down. Your old god was a memory you sought to bury away well out of sight. Recollecting them only brought in a bitter taste and a dull ache and Morax notices it. “That’s a story for another day.” you finally manage out after some deliberation. Your tea has gone cold by the time you take another sip out of it, the air feeling heavier again. You wrinkle your nose at the taste.

He nods. “Then I will return and pay my debt in whole as well.” he decides. “Your kindness is one I shall remember, little one.” You hate how a part of you melts into this buttery, weak mess and when he smiles, you hate how it’s so easy to feel yourself tear at the seams, to beg him to stay a little longer. “Thank you.”

He was gone the next morning, a fresh batch of mist flower corollas left behind in an earthen pot alongside a delicate flower preserved in amber.  

“Good riddance.” you tell yourself, the words feeling forced.

You will miss him, you think.

He returns three months later, or maybe it was more. Time was easy to lose track of and the seasons were all you had to know of a passing year. By the time he arrived, the last remnants of winter had receded and you found yourself in the midst of spring, restocking your stores and setting soup to boil in the hearth. 

Should I bow? You think when he appears at your doorstep. Extend a greeting? Address him by his title? Your great eminence…no that sounds pretentious… You reminisce about your old customs, of the times you spent watching your mother lay out scented flowers and fruits at the feet of your deity during festivals or during victory feasts. Morax however, steps inside with a smile in greeting, his hand coming to tuck some stray hair out of your face.

Then comes the deja vu. 

You question why his arrivals were always timed on days when your home was a mess.

“Wait! We can talk outside.” saving the last few traces of your dignity is all you had in mind as you blockade the entrance. It would hardly do any good, you realize then; he was tall and he was far bigger and when he stops with a puzzled look and scans the room and the traces of stalks and unswept and unused parts of the herbs you were sifting through, a glint of understanding flashes in his eyes and he steps back.

You want to sink into the ground with the traces and remainders of you. Oblivion seemed a tempting option with the way your face burned and your heart hammers at a pace nearly hard to keep up with.

“My apologies.” he utters, letting you lead him outside. He does not seem as bothered or flustered, thankfully; nor does he pry as he erects a few makeshift seats sculpted from geo and sits himself down alongside you with a soft sigh on his lips. “I wish we could have met sooner,” he admits.

“Is that so? It’s hard to believe you’d bother…” you hum with a shy dip of your head. Morax considers this.

“Did you not ask for it?”

“I did…but I accepted the possibility of you not returning.” you cease for a second, recalling your promise to give him the answer he sought. It felt like a cheap trick, back then and it still does now, of you running away as you always did. “I'm glad you came back though…it was nice having someone around to speak to.”

Moax looks pleased with this. “I simply find your company enjoyable.” you feel a stirring in your stomach when he says that, and it feels like a wonderful sort of sweetness, like honey. “Even if our first few days spent together lacked any delicacy in approach.”

“You were quite stubborn.” you admit.

“I was, wasn’t I?” he agrees. You snicker.

“I wouldn’t blame you though. Even I had a hard time staying still when bedrest was forced upon me…how have you been?” your fingers slot together as you pull your knees closer to your chest, your cheek resting against your thigh as you watch the scenery in the distance. The mist had abated, just a bit and you could see the copse of trees expanding then scattering as the plains began. 

Morax exhales. “As I’ve always been.”

“Stubborn?”

“ Busy .” he corrects, flashing you a look of warning. You grin innocently. “The war has come to a temporary standstill. Only smaller battles seem to keep up…with the weaker gods mostly weeded out, planning our next move is of importance. I only have a few hours to spare now before I leave for Liyue.”

“Oh…” you take this in. Perhaps this was a sign of the war slowly coming to a close. Maybe during your time, if you were lucky enough, or in another hundred years or so. “Then…tell me about Liyue.”

Morax raises a brow but he smiles, humoring your question. “What would you like to know?”

“Plant life? What’s it like there?” you supply, leaning forward in quiet anticipation.

He chuckles. “Not of the people? Or its history?” he asks.

“You can tell me that too!”

He hums, his gaze softening. “It’s not uncommon to see mountains in Liyue,” he admits. “To say our weather has a stark contrast in the plains and the peaks would be an understatement. Juehyun Karst, the realm of the adepti is pleasantly cool most of the time, but the plains are hot and humid. That being said, our flora seems to take on this diversity as well…”

He tells you about the yellow sand bearer and the gold ginkgo trees that spot Liyue’s landscape, of the horsetail that covets the marshes and the reclusive glaze lilies that grow within the terraces. He tells you about the silk flowers nestled amidst the red bushes, always found in pairs and the violet grass sprouting forth off of cliffs. And he tells you of the qingxins that turned away from the warmth of the plains and grew in the distant peaks, looking down upon Liyue as a whole.

There was a sort of magic, listening to Morax speak of his nation with a layer of fondness and sadness. 

“Maybe when the war ends, I’ll visit. I think I'd like to start a garden some time.” you hum, surveying the empty patches of land in front of you. It would be nice to have a few more flowers around to brighten up the monotony you have grown accustomed to. His expression shifts, a brighter shine lighting up his eyes.

“You could stay there if you wish.” Disbelief rattles through your ribs and it steals your breath and pushes against your lungs. You fall silent, ceasing the anxious play with your clothes. “I could find a place for you amidst my people…would you like that?”

There was disbelief, yes, and a stutter in your words, but there is also the pang of appreciation and the tingle at your fingertips. However cold dread settles down ( for it is an old bedmate ) and Morax seems to catch on. “Have I misspoken in any way?” he questions, his hooded gaze appraising. 

You jerk your head. He had it all wrong and the last thing you need is a messy misunderstanding to fall into your pile of terrible mistakes. “No, no…I don’t think I'm ready to return to a land ruled by a god…or even around so many people…not yet…” you couldn’t bring yourself to word it out and it shames you. You are an adult. You needed to speak like one.

There is a faint brush on your cheek, the barest hint of a touch and when you look up, you see the suspicion he holds paired with concern. You want to shrink back, make yourself smaller, unknowable, something you were before he came along and made you care and vie after company and something as simple as touch.

“I assume it has something to do with your old settlement?” he asks.

You nod.

“We were hidden behind our god’s mist and illusions…our people were cut off from the rest of the world save a few soldiers and those who joined our god in battle. My mother would accompany them sometimes…she’d tell me about the world outside and we promised to visit a lake just a short walk from the barrier…” you hold out your hands, trying to grasp the words she had tattered. “She called it starlight on earth…or…something like a mirror clearer than any metal she’d seen. I wanted to go, but we were not allowed to leave.”

“You were not?” Morax asks. He leans in, listening closer.

“We were not.” you affirm softly. “Or god never spoke it…but we knew. They talked about demons lurking out and we were scared. One day…I couldn’t find her amidst the returning line of soldiers she left with…I did later…and I couldn’t even stand to look at the state she was in.” you stare ahead, the weight of his gaze resting even harder now. “I don’t know why…if it was grief or curiosity or a mix of both…but I thought I heard her voice one day…calling out to me. And I knew it was a trap, but I ran towards it, out of the forest, and the mist…”

You swallow hard. You felt cold. Cold all over, like that night, where the silence was unsettling and the sound of your name was a taunting whisper. Your mother, it was your mother, rigid at some times with her own rough edges and flaws, but loving for the most part. Your mother — and it was an old hurt you had locked in a box a long time ago, that time had weathered down till it was the embers scraped to the side of the charcoal pit.

“They were right…my deity warded off those things that attacked me…but they were bleeding everywhere . Balam was strong , but as a god…I doubt they held much in par to some of the others who warred out there…” Like you , you almost add. “They were weakened…unfit to fight in a state like that and we tried what we could. The wounds didn’t heal as we thought they should. I was banished for endangering their life and as I traveled…I heard of Balam’s passing in the hands of an invading god.”

“...and now, I'm here.” you finish, wryness coating every syllable. You wished your apathy was more than a weak front to bury away the stab in your heart; you wish you could be stronger than the coward you are. Morax shuts his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest.

He looks a little more like the god you were told about; sharp, pragmatic, with a presence that looms over most. “If there was a law that stated so, that forbade stepping out of your deity’s territory, then yes, you have committed a wrong. I have heard tell of Balam, whispers of their whereabouts and they did try to protect your people from a harsher way of life…” 

Ah, so that was his response. You wilt a little, feeling a mix of fury and defeat, at Morax, at the gods, at this war and at your own childish stupidity and audacity to even dare to feel this way. “I see…” you mumble. Morax holds up a hand, cutting you off. The words die in your throat faster than embers in snow.

“But,” he behind and his expression pulls into something gentler, lacking the initial rigid sternness it held. “Demons are still a force to be reckoned with. Even my adepti struggle with stifling down their noxious presence, whether it be the weight of karma or a disparity in power itself.”

Coherency is now a lost subject.

“I doubt you could have resisted its influence and Balam knew of the battle they would throw themselves into. Your god was willing to make that sacrifice, something of a rare sight amongst a few of the divine. Remember this well.”

A lump grows in your throat. It’s not an unwelcome one, quietly easing the nerves that crackled and frazzled beyond possible repair. You look down at your hands and your eyes slip shut as you take his words in, bit by bit. Balam was a god who, while distant within the front lines of battle, still loved their people.

It’s ironic how the gods can be capable of human sentiment and human error. 

“Thank you, Morax.” you mutter. “I needed that.”

“The bitter truth, or the comfort?” he jests softly. “Because while I deal well with the former, my skill with the latter falls abysmally short.” 

You laugh softly.

“For both .”

( His eyes light with surprise. Then you spot it, the faint flush on his cheeks and a dangerous thought enters your mind. You shake your head. It was best you didn’t raise your paltry hopes . ) 

He does not visit for a few weeks, but you spot a few saplings left behind at your doorstep, of plants and flowers you had never seen before.

You pick one up and a single word echoes in your mind — qingxins .

A smile tugs at your lips.

The distant noise of battle has grown reticent.

You tell it to Morax on one of his visits and he dares to flash a knowing smile in response. “The war is coming to its close. Only a few handfuls remain.” he states, tracing your bandaged hands; a new set of souvenirs from a stray whopperflower. You shiver involuntarily, leaning into him a bit more while longing tears your insides raw. “Hopefully you will come to enjoy an era of peace soon.”

“Will it end soon? The war?” you ask, wincing a little when he presses his fingertips down on the afflicted skin, bathing it in honeyed gold. “Ah! Gently!” you hiss, pulling back on reflex. Morax holds you fast, drawing you back to him with a playful tut and a sheepish glance your way.

“Apologies. Is this alright?” The pressure on your wrist still brings forth a sting, but it’s far more bearable. You nod. “Alright. Now hold still …” The glow returns, as does the tingling warmth and the tense nervousness gives way to a content sigh as the pain ebbs to obscurity. You watch your bandages fall away to skin mostly unblemished, save the faint traces of a scar left behind. “Better?” he asks.

You nod. “Much better…I wonder why you didn’t try healing yourself earlier. You’re not too bad at it.” he wasn't. Only a few humans were ever imbibed with the grace of divine power. You always longed to be gifted with the strength to heal, and you feet the slightest hint of envy as you take in the sight.

Morax blinks. “I was in too weak a state to do so. Healing is not my greatest strength either…I simply learned it, should it come to use amidst battle.” he flexes his fingers, the last flickers of gold falling away. His gaze meets yours with its usual intensity before he reaches for your other hand. 

“Hm…I suppose this means you’ve paid your part of the debt?” you tease. “You’ve healed me as I've healed you, right?” 

“True…” his lips quirk up as he mends the last of the burns, then presses a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “Does this mark the end of our contract?” The gesture only serves to fluster you further, bringing forth the feeling of fluttering warmth and the near lightness in your chest. Morax chuckles, his voice dipped to a teasing whisper as he calls out your name in a low, purring timbre.

“H-hold up!” you choke out, terrified of potentially overheating as you push his face away, stifling away the shy laughter that threatens to burst out. Morax shifts closer, closer still, his close presence having grown familiar through the meetings and the shared conversations and meals ( you missed the gentleness in his touch, you missed so much of him ).

“Hm? Stop what?” he teases, a cheeky glint lighting up in his gaze. “My, your face feels warm.” he adds with a soft simper, tilting your chin his way as he scans your features.

A desperate attempt to shift his attention comes to form. “Look at the qingxins you gifted me! They’re growing nicely, right?” you try to smile, looking at the flowers growing just a small ways from your home. Morax hums.

“They are. Give them a few months and they will come to bloom.” he replies, his wandering touch tracing up your arm, grazing at fragile skin and faint scars and the sensation has you shuddering. The glow in his eyes brightens and he huffs out something unintelligible, then asks you, “Would you like me to stop?”

You fall silent. “No it’s fine…” you sigh, reaching up to grasp his hand gently, ignoring the phantom stings as your finger splays out over Morax’s palm, at the dazzling gold dipped at the edges fading away to a spider web of veins and dark scales. “I like this.” you hum. Morax blinks, his cheeks coloring pink.

The intensity burns brighter in his gaze. It scorches at his touch and in the way he looks upon you now and as acute as it was, you felt blanketed beneath a safe warmth.

Morax speaks up, “I will make sure this war ends soon.” It was a promise, holding the weight of his blood. You feel it in every syllable, every rise and drop in his cadence. He leans in and the spice in his scent pervades your senses.

His lips are softer than you expected, mildly chapped from the heat and the battlefield, and between the buzz slowly beginning to sound off in your head and the feel of his touch brush away at your hair and rest on your cheek, your heart hammers hard in your ribcage. You feel the earth shift and watch the sky sweep away as you fall back on the grass and Morax palms at your hips and kisses you some more.

It feels like a distant dream, something you’d rather not wake from and when he pulls away to look you in the eye, you watch the smirk in his face grow as he dips down and buries his face into your neck, his pace languid, his claws gentle against the softness of your skin. You bite back a stray mewl when his teeth prickle down on sensitive flesh, slowly and deliberately making his way down down down, and his hand pressing flat on your thigh.

A glow flickers within his chest. He stops and tugs away with clear frustration, heaving as he watches you try to recover from the fog clogging up your thoughts, the memory of his touch warming every inch of you. Morax chews at his bottom lip. “I am needed again.”

“...oh…” you croak out, even if you wish to scream at the unfairness, to pull him back down atop of you and finish what he started. You shut your eyes, easing at your frayed nerves at the trembling and the traitorous dampness that was gradually settling in. The god in front of you holds a shadow of amusement and he kisses you again, gentler, with less teeth and tongue and more tenderness.

“I’ll come back,” he whispers. It holds another promise masked beneath the assurance, it’s cheekiness lighting his gaze.

When Morax’s form departs, you let out a shaky sigh, one hand delving into your heat while the other clamps over your mouth. The moment your slick coats your fingers, you moan into the silence, the promise persisting.

Morax thinks about you when the rains fall once more.

He thinks about you on the battlefield, waiting with that patient smile.

He thinks about you when his adepti fall and the last god is slain — when he finds his numbers dwindle, their blood staining his victory. He holds that memory of you close, that cherished warmth. His little flower.

Morax thinks about you. And he longs .

You came to know of patience’s workings through the days and months in between Morax’s visits, and this one is his longest thus far. The war persists still, the sound of the heavens screaming slowly growing quieter as deities were felled and the lands were stitched together by victories and defeats. You wonder where your old home lies now beneath the seven seats, what it would grow into in the near future.

Then one day, you wake to complete and utter silence.

The war is over. The roads had cleared. One day, when the world stills just a little more and the last few scars left behind have healed, you could try to visit the towns and cities beyond your isolated home.

Morax stays absent. You go on with your life. The qingxins he gifted you bloom in your garden. You wait, shedding away the accusatory remarks, the words that dare you to doubt his victory, that take your mind to darker spaces with the image of his still form and cold hands. No, absolutely not, you could not doubt him .

You repeat it over and over, beating down at the cynical whispering. Do not doubt him .

A storm rises again, blustering through the lands with the threat of tearing your home down from its stubborn foundations. You stay inside, the change in weather setting forth a persistent chill that your meager hearth could hardly hold against. Finally, after a few hours of running about, your body hunches over the blocks, feeding the fire with the last of your firewood.

“How much longer…” you mutter, storing away the last of your herbs when the rain refuses to cease and it grows harder to differentiate between night and day. The lightning thunders in response, asserting it’s long stay and you curl up by the warmth you fed, numb fingers gripping at old blankets and watching the rain beat down incessantly on your roof. It would be a long wait, you realize. It’s best if you find a way to pass the time.

There was another clap of thunder, then a crash that felt all too intimate with your memories. Then came the knocking and you scuttle up to let a drenched Morax in, his pupils blown wide and his body hot to the touch as he stumbles in. You’re almost afraid he’s fallen ill once more, but the insistent tug at your wrists has you follow him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, seating him down by the fire, moving to dry his hair after draping a sheet on his shoulder. “Morax, what’s wrong.” Despite the sudden appearance, you feel relief crash down and tug out a lump in your throat. You hold back the tears for his sake. You did not want to startle him in this state.

“A visit.” he shrugs.

“In this weather?” you question every ounce of wisdom he holds. He looks unbothered, pulling you closer to him while you squeeze the water out of his tresses, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. Warm breath pools out and hits your neck and a shiver racks at your body. “Morax — ”

“I missed you…” The hoarseness of his voice steals the words in your mouth. You latch onto him tightly, fisting at his robes, uncaring of the silk wrinkling beneath your rough hands. Morax does not stay silent or stay still, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer up against him. “I missed you…” he repeats feverishly. The hunger in his stare is an answer enough.

The fire crackles and lets out a sputter.

Morax lays you on your back with a gentle thump and hooks a hand beneath your knee, pushing it up against your chest as he steals a kiss from you, heated and impatient after weeks of mulling over his affection and lust. “Stay still.” he orders as you squirm a little, wanting more, needing more, trying to bury yourself into him as much as humanly possible. 

Your open mouthed breaths did not help in the slightest as he steals another kiss, then another, the wetness of his tongue delving deep down your throat as he muffles out any sounds of shock from you —

— was it forked ?

You could not ponder over it for long, choking against the invading muscle while his lips caress yours with growing need and intensity. It made sense, for one like Morax — who adored talking about the origins of an obscure tea leaf to the festivities that littered the streets of his city — to fancy the act of kissing you. And he still keeps kissing you, over and over till your head spins and his body is pressed up flush against yours.

He noses at your neck with a noticeable huff, fingers dragging up the side of your hips, slowly, deliberately, till they tug at the hem of your clothes. Molten gold catches the anxious excitement bubbling within you and your eyes and you catch the smirk on Morax’s face.

“I’d like to continue.” he sounds breathless.

“ Go on then .” that threadbare line that held you together had snapped now. You do not think you could wait any longer than you have for him. Morax chuckles, bending down with a narrowed gaze till his nose brushes against yours.

“I haven’t finished my statement.” he chides and you don’t know what is worse, him dragging this out to a near painful pace, or the hand that caresses the inside of your thigh teasingly, drawing out a stray moan from your lips. “If you feel overwhelmed, or you wish to stop, we must establish a safe word.”

He waits expectantly and you scour your mind for the first word that pops into your head. “Squid.” you decide, shifting your hips closer to him. Morax lets out something between a wince and an amused chuckle, his hand leaving your thigh. You wine in protest, grabbing at his wrists to pull him closer.

“So needy.” he lilts. “Are you sure you want this?”

How cruel , you think unhappily, unsure of how to take his consideration; a loosely veiled attempt to drive you further into wanting or a call of sincere concern. You think you know Morax. You think it’s both.

“ Yes !” you cannot wait any more and neither could Morax, his claws curling round to clutch and tangle at the back of your head while he captures you in a devouring kiss. Your own experience hardly held a candle to his own practiced ease, but you do what you can, groaning into the clacking of teeth and the teasing little nips he leaves on your lower lip. 

His thumb traces down the side of your neck and hooks at your clothes, tugging away at the fabric to stroke your now bare shoulder. Morax leaves no trace of skin untouched by his lips and he brushes down the line of your collar bone, his teeth flashing in the candle light till you feel him bite down at the spot with a muffled growl.

The rush of pain and pleasure has you pressing your face down into the mattress with reeling shock, any moan held back in the midst of the hazy shock lighting up inside you. The action was mostly unintentional, but you were glad it could have saved you any further embarrassment in Morax’s eyes.

“Not a sound?” he asks, licking his lips with a predatory tilt to his head, regarding every inch of you with voracity. You stubbornly refuse to respond, lips sealed tight with a set of eyelashes batting up at him. Morax likes a chase and you give it to him, no matter how small it may be. “No matter. We’ll see how silent you are by the end of the night.”

The words hang in the air like an impending omen. You do not doubt him.

His voice dips to a sultry whisper as he undoes your top and lets it slide past your shoulders and down your waist till it was bunched to the side and lay there forgotten. The storm rumbles outside your window, and the wind prickles at your skin. Between Morax eyeing you down, mapping out every detail with his fingertips and the chill in the air, your arms instinctively move to hug yourself. 

“No.” His word was stern, absolute as he tugs at whatever covers your entirety from his gaze. “I’ve never seen you this shy before… adorable .” he purrs, stroking your cheek. 

“ Tease .” you test out.

Morax’s expression lapses to a playful smile in the midst of your indignation, leaning back to watch you with clear intent. He guides your legs around his waist and shifts you partly atop his lap, gently moving your hips to a slow grind against his torso. The sudden stimulation draws out a squeak, your cheeks set aflush.

“ Beautiful… ” his claws linger over your chest before it trails down to stroke your stomach. “You’re so soft , little love…” they stop at your shoulder, raking around the scar settled there, gnarled marks and torn flesh left behind by talons and teeth. You feel the flare of doubt and self consciousness flare back up, but it fizzles out when he bends to leave a kiss atop it.

It was hard to find a spot that he did not touch. Morax was precise, diligent, learning what spots made your squirm and whimper and shake beneath him with white hot pleasure. The rain’s roar was a distant muffle between the pleasant buzz in your head and Morax’s ragged breaths sounding in the otherwise quiet room. He hunches over you, nosing at your neck with near obsessive need, nipping, kissing — anything to cast on some semblance of his scent and essence.

Your chin nestles atop his shoulder, your sight trained upwards, oblivious to where Morax may choose to touch you next. The clinking of metal does draw in a few questions, most quickly answered when you feel his clothes give way and settle on your stomach. Then comes his teeth, sharp fangs sinking into you. You hardly register the moan you let out, or the heat that you sink into, desperate for more, for more skinship, for more of Morax.

“ Beautiful .” he repeats, a growl bleeding into every syllable, down to the rumble in his chest. He still donned his pants, but most of his clothes now lay scattered across the mattress, pushed aside a moment later with an impatient huff. 

You have seen Morax bare chested plenty of times before, when he first arrived wounded on the slope of your little mountain home. There was no denying he was a beautiful man, sharply lined with the faintest of silvered scars scattered beneath stark gold tattoos. “ Morax .” you mutter, lacing your fingers into his, tugging at him instantly. “Keep going.”

He smiles. 

“Patience.” he croons. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold back the swear resting on your tongue. “I have waited for so long…” his teeth don’t hold the old hesitance it did, now wholly marking you with delicious bruises and love bites. “...and I intend on savoring… ” his lips linger on the line of your jaw, tickling your ear. “... each… ” they brush down, down, down. “... bite… ” and true to his words, he sinks his teeth down again.

Your hands tangle at his hair, his hair tie snapping to your insistent tugging till burnt brown strands pool around him. He looked a little wilder, with how his eyes glow beneath the shadow cast on his face. You comb through them with a soft “So pretty.” earning a flattered hum whilst he cups your breasts, chanting your name lovingly.

You gasp at the feel of a soft pinch on your nipples. Morax lights up, a dangerous splay of his fangs flashing in your field of vision before he engulfs one breast within his mouth, suckling, biting, devouring greedily and the other grows sensitive to his slow strokes. “M-Mor–AX!” Your mewls peak and your hands grab at his shoulders, his back, at the sheets — somewhere , trying to ground you to the sensation. 

( He could hear your racing heart beneath his grasp and the sound of it makes Morax purr with an emotion so old and primal and possessive. )

He pulls away with a wet pop. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“H-hot.” you barely manage to blurt out. “Hot everywhere.”

That smile was back again, the one with the barest flash of primality. “Hot?” he repeats. You nod. It was hot, in your cheeks, your chest and your stomach and core — and you could hardly bring yourself to wait. With Morax’s resolve to take his slower pace. You curse his patience. You wish he was just as desperate. 

“I am.” he muses nonchalantly, ducking down to take your other breast in his mouth. “I crave every inch of you. I want to hear you sing, wǒ qīn'ài de .” his hand drags down, teasing the inside of your thighs with circular strokes. You buck your hips into him with a pathetic whimper, and Morax pounces at the lapse, tugging your underwear down with a single fluid motion then pushing his fingers into your drenched heat.

“Oh how obscene.” he lilts, a delighted shine in his eyes, momentarily bringing his slickened digits for you to see. “You’re drenched.”

“ Shut .” you snap, a depraved cry cutting you off as he teases at your entrance with one finger, thumbing up your core till he settles on your clit with a peased grunt. Your hips snap and shudder, tears slowly pricking at your eyes. It was an odd sensation, a buildup of pressure far greater than what you could coax out that tightens in your gut. 

Morax slides a finger in, slowly, gently. “ Ah — ” you bury your face into your mattress, spreading your legs further for him. He continues his slow thrusts, in and out and you revel in the sweet sensation. “Feels — f-feels good — ” 

His scrutiny comes with its merits, stroking your walls with an out of place gentleness as he watches every shift, keen and whine with a deep found appreciation and yearning. “You’re quite tight , little one.” he rumbles. You warble in response, bucking your hips into him as the pressure steadily builds and builds and builds.  

“I’ll be adding another.” he decides and he does, a second finger slipping in. the stretch stung and you fist at the sheets with a groan.

“N-no…t-too much — ah!” The broken whimper does elicit a sympathetic look from him and he kisses away the tears, thankfully easing his movements.

“I know, little love. I know.” you sink into his warmth, melting at the delicacy in how he holds you close. “But we’ll need to prepare you, don’t we? And you’re taking me so well too…” you think you are when the pain slowly subsides and the pleasure returns, your very being trembling when he scissors you. “Ah, witnessing the state you're in…it makes me wonder how well you’ll take something else of mine, hm?”

“M-morax!” you squeak, cheeks flushed. The embarrassing squelch from your core shuts you up immediately. You decide you’re better off muffling out your moans out of petty spite at this point and you seek your refuge in the covers, burying your face into your mattress.

Ha! You think, naively, foolishly, daring to assume that Morax would fold at the face of a challenge. A third finger slips through and the moan is smothered. You think you hear him chuckle and you think you see the excited flash in his eyes as he shifts and twists your body, laying you down on your stomach.

“So stubborn.” The delight is apparent in his cadence. His hand presses down at the small of your back, then his torso presses up against you, continuing his slow and agonizing thrusts with practiced pace. “The vitriol in your silence hardly diminishes how soaked you are. Your body is far more honest, it seems.”

“ MMPH !”

You gasp, feeling his fingertips stroke your g-spot, pulling you apart at the seams and chipping away at your mind. Everything feels distant and muddled and the pleasure was almost too much to bear. “Does it feel good when I touch you here?” you shut your eyes and curl up, bucking up into him uselessly. His weight restricted your movements and you doubt you could wiggle away for a temporary respite ( even if some masochistic part of you liked the deluge of sensations pile up steadily ). “I need words.”

Another thrust. You wail into your hands, whatever dogged decision to stay silent, now shattered. “Yes. Yes — P- please!” you haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re begging for at this point, but the fullness you feel from his fingers alone is enough. “L-like that. Morax please keep going.”

He adds a fourth finger.

“You keep tightening up…” he whispers, as if trapped in a trance of his own, your head lifting to press against his bicep while his movements momentarily slow to ease you in before his pace picks up and that slow, brutal torture begins again. 

You squirm, squeal, bite into his arm with vigor. Morax laughs, kissing your temple with comforting croons. “Good.” he coos, dipping his nose into your hair with a victorious purr. Your thighs squeeze around him and your hips jolt forth. The pressure steadily building up in your stomach seems to crest while you chime out his name. Your orgasm seeps closer and closer and closer —

He pulls his fingers out and you bite back a cry, a protest, tears pooling out as dismay settles fast. Was it something you said? Was it something you’ve done? Why did he stop?

“Why…” you manage out, stroking his hair. Morax raises a brow then slides down, his lips latching onto your inner thigh with a groan. You fist at the sheets again, a vague idea coming to form between the haze and the jumbled confusion and disappointment and it sets a spark of excitement. 

A pause.

Morax meets your gaze.

He smirks.

You stifle back a scream when he bows his head down and laves at your heat, catching the receding traces of your buildup and letting it reel in steadily. His tongue was greedy, warm, devouring you whole as he slicks it through your drenched folds, and — oh gods —

Whatever praise that you cry out turns into a feverish mantra being babbled out over and over, the sharp mountainous air taking on a headier scent. Your validation was enough to spur him on, it seems, every bit of Morax, from the practiced gentleness to his eagerness to undo you coming to shine with the fervor of a starved animal. 

“ Good .” he growls out, claws digging down a little harder into the softness of your thigh, his teeth and tongue grazing and toying at your clit. You clap your hands over your mouth once more, a squeak cut short, only to have them pinned down by him. He flashes you a warning glare before gold light illuminates your wrists and you feel the weight of geo press them down to your chest.

The cuffs were heavy, and they did their job well as you could only grab at air while his licks grow more languid. Your thighs were pushed back with a single fluid movement and a flustered cry escaped with your sudden exposure. 

“Ah — ”

You tug at his hair, drawing out another delicious moan from his throat. Liquid gold appraises you, taking every detail in, between your fucked out expression and your twitching body. Morax presses against your sweet spots, and you could have sworn some strange magic were at play, with every careful thrust and every slow vibration. You could hard;y word out the state you were in, your mind all cotton wool with little thought.

Overwhelming…indescribable…that was a way to put it.

Morax does not complain about your growing insistence, your moans growing louder, your thighs squeezing round his shoulders, your attempts to free yourself from the stone shackles he placed on you.he must be just as far gone with your arousal in his mouth ( and that was true ). You hope he won’t turn to cruelty like the last time and deny you of your orgasm. It was a delirious pitch in the back of your mind, a soft cry.

“I-I think i’m close — ” you gasp, feeling that knot grow tight as the tell tale spill of an incoming release shudders up your spine and fingertips. Morax looks at you, the gold of his eyes wide and his pupils blown out with suppressed mischief. A well-timed thrust from his fingers served your undoing.

“Go on then.” he relents.

You sob into the sheets gratefully, pleasure rippling through as the coil snaps and you crumple and sink into a state of unawareness. You could only just register Morax sitting up, thumb swiping at his lips, licking away at the mess you made, smeared between his thighs and on him. “S-sorry!”

He shuts his eyes, quiet bliss washing over him. “I could devour you here and now…” he mutters in indulgence. He rubs your sore wrists down, pressing kisses against the expanse of skin with an apologetic smile. “You look tired. Shall we stop here?”

Alarm lines your features. “What about you?” you blurt out, bug eyed and still fatigued from your orgasm. Morax doesn’t respond, laying down next to you. You feel a bitterness line your mouth and you find yourself pushing your body up and crawling atop him. Morax opens one eye, amusement quirking at his lips.

“Oh?” he doesnt bother feigning surprise as his clawed grip settles on your hips. You try to hide yourself, embarrassment from your bold move hardly aiding in your focus as you slide his pants down and stare, he bore two of them, standing erect against your stomach. You helplessly glance at him. 

“You’re…you’re big..” you tell him dumbly. “I-I don’t…I don’t think I can take both of them…” Morax chuckles.

“We’ll take it slow then. You only need one.” he decides, helping you up. You steady yourself on his shoulders, carefully laving your entrance with him before you lower yourself onto him, feeling the first telltale sting that has you stop with a whine. “Careful.” he speaks up, rubbing at your sides and you try to be, taking him bit by bit. Morax stretched you out in a way his fingers couldn’t and his second shaft rubs at your sore clit, leaving you jolting with sparks of pleasure.

He was roving every inch of you, biting down at his bottom lip when you clench around him. Every bit of him screamed of his self control hovering a step away from a more viscous beast. You don’t think you’re ready for what Morax tucks away in the corners of his mind, but you hope, hope that you could indulge him some day.

You were soaked enough for him to slip in with ease, a collective of your and his arousal trailing down with an audible squelch every time he dared to grind up a little more against you. “Fuck….” he whispers out, a rare lapse in demeanor. “D-does it hurt?”

“No.” you shake your head, a half lie. It stings, yes, but the slow haze of euphoria was pressing up and you knew he would stop if you showed the slightest sign of discomfort — and you did not want him to stop. Not with this lovely warmth, and with him holding you like you were the most delicate of flowers.

The sound he makes is animalistic and he thrusts, just a little, into you. He could hardly help himself, seemingly just as lost as you were ( and he was, with his parted lips and fluttering lashes ). You curl into him, pressing your face into his neck. “That’s it.” he whispers mindlessly. “Wonderful, y-you’re taking me so well…don’t rush now…”

You take the rest of him, seated snugly on his lap with a shaky mewl, tears pricking at your eyes. Morax bares his teeth, groaning freely as the air itself seems to crackle against you. You open your mouth, trying to say something, anything, but he pins you down with a single look. “Little minx .” he rasps.

A laugh bubbles up. You wonder if it’s from amusement, or from the overwhelming rush of dopamine or both. 

He kisses the corner of your lips, gathering his bearings. “You’ve had your moment of fun, little love. Now move .”

“Yes sir…” you sigh, and do just that, lifting your hips just a bit before you rock back down onto him. “S-shit…s-so good…” 

Morax hums, pursing his lips. His face was flushed and the tattoos on his arms were cast in gold and light. He takes matters into his own hands, pounding up into him with sudden force and your teeth chatter and your eyes roll back with a pathetic whimper.

A few marks of your own were delivered, from your nibbling as Morax continues to thrust up into your drenched cunt, and from your nails scratching at his back. His approval was punctuated by a particularly hard one, that made your head spin and had you see stars. You vaguely register the scent of petrichor through everything else.

“ Morax — ” 

The state you were in only behind to sink in. That he was inside you, that he was taking every chance to draw out these obscene sounds from your lips. Even gods could not escape the perversion of mortal desires. Was this even considered blasphemy at this point, when he seemed to be stuck on the same boat as you were, sinking so fast into his lust?

“ — so good for me .” he guides your legs around his abdomen, whispering your name with a weak whine. He bites at your neck, at the marks he inflicted, then soothes them with kisses. He rubs your back and strokes your hair, his tender touch contrasting against his rough movements, grinding into your sweet spots and paired with his second cock rubbing at your clit, you could only lose yourself a second time.

That knot tightens and you feel the onset of your release. It was close, fast coming and you tug at his hair to warn him. Morax growls, his tail winding round your ankle. You try to keep up, try to ride him, but his pace far outmatches yours, stretching you out, pulling you flush against him. You let him use you, your monks reaching a feverish peak, grasping a taste of heaven on your tongue.

“Morax — ah!”

He curls into you, around you with an engulfing embrace with whispered words being uttered into your ear, “Do you want to cum?” You jolt your head. “Then cum… ”

And the bliss washes over you as you finally find it, slumping up into Morax;s patient arms with a near boneless stance. Your eyes met his, the hunger that still rages as he watches with awed fascination at how you come apart and piece back together again with teary eyes and a debauched smile.

“Beautiful.” he mumbles, then presses you face first into the sheets, still sheathed deep inside you. You only just realize he still has reached his own peak yet when he moves, absently reaching out for a pillow for you to grasp.

“God…M- morax — ” you were tired but with overstimulation settling fast and your own desires to see his pleasures being met, you bite into the pillow with a helpless whine. There was a rush in the pain you felt, from feeling all that pleasure wrap into a tight knot while he slicks back and forth into you, hitting your g-spot again with insistent grunts. His pupils were blown wide, like he was trying to take in as much of you as he could.

“M-more!” you blurt out then wince, feeling a hint of shame prick at you for being so greedy. It was about him now; sure you could put your own needs aside.

Morax however, smiles. “ More ?” he coos. “You want more?”

A gasp. You feel his hand settle on your clit, his untouched cock brush against your thigh. “Now who am I to deny you?” He continues his rough thrusts, godly stamina barely denting at his reserves and his pace. Perhaps that came with being an adeptus, this unending virility and endurance. Morax kisses at the back of your neck, laying down more marks to serve as a reminder for the next few days ( that you were, undoubtedly and irrevocably his now ).

Wanton moans pour out easily. Morax delights in them, carefully stimulating spots that were sure to bring the most out of you. The initial phase of searching and mapping out and learning was long gone — he was always quick to pick up on things, and things that make you fall apart into a quivering mess so easily were no exception.

It feels so good. So good —

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks. You feel sore in the best of ways and you nod. You don’t want him to stop. You don't ever want him to stop, drunk on the overstimulation, the euphoria, his cock, him —

Morax lets out a shaky exhale and slams even harder into you. “You’ll be my undoing...” he whispers and you turn your head, catching a glimpse of him. His straight faced composure was long gone, what careful parts of him he keeps hidden from sight having fallen over. Claws prickle at your ass, his eyes are trained on you, you you and when he meets your gaze, he captures your lips in a heated kiss.

“What kind of spell have you ensnared me with, little love?”

You could say the same thing. You try to, cut off by a rough grind on your clit. A lump builds up in your throat, vaguely recalling his small gestures of affection, his admissions, through your heat hazed mind and you arch your back into him to catch another kiss. Morax never needed to say the words and you were fine with it. 

“I love you.” you tell him instead, taking everything you had to get your tongue to move. Morax freezes up. He shuts his eyes and strokes your cheeks and buries his face into your neck.

“My Qingxin.” he whispers, tenderly, lovingly. The faltering in his pace, the sloppier jerks of his hips, then undertones of strained control beneath his moans signal his release. You grasp at his free shaft, and the gasp that echoes out was a rewarding one as you stroke him along into his release. “In or out?” he grits out, stuttering for a second. You feel the drag of his cock against your walls. “In.” you blubber.

You blank out after, feeling the rush, the fullness, him spilling out of you, between your legs, onto the mattress, over your stomach. Morax lets out a shudder, his marks glowing a faint gold before he pulls out. His hand does not leave your clit. Coaxing your third peak out with gentle kisses and insistent mumbles. The pain was sharp but you drink it in, pride lining every crevice of you till you jolt, that pressure finally releasing.

“Thank you.” you mumble. Intimacy was always so foreign, and a kind touch was a far away thought. Morax settles down, pulling you to him as he kisses away the drying tears and the sated touch starvation. He kisses you on the lips. Then the tip of your nose. Then at the bites he inflicted. 

“Rest.” he whispers. 

The cadence of his voice made it hard to disagree with and you feel unconsciousness wash over you fast. You could vaguely make out the sheets being changed and a damp cloth washing you down.

Morax’s weight next to you was the last thing you register.

“Are you well?”

Morax could count the number of times you sought refuge beneath his arm, eyes roving the stalls in the harbor with caution and nervousness. Your jumpiness was an expected clause, and a slightly endearing one as he walks you along the streets as a mortal man and his lover. There were no gods in Liyue Harbor today, at least none the people were aware of.

“Zhongli.”

He turns his head. “Yes, love?”

You fall into earnest silence. “I think I'm going to freak out.” you say. As taught as a bowstring against him. You grip at his hanfu tighter. “They’re staring. Why are they staring?”

“I suppose a new face does bring raised brows. That…” he dips his head down, nose brushing against your cheek with a loving chuckle. “...and you look exceptionally beautiful today, love.” You tug at his sleeve. “Ah, would some food ease my flower’s nerves then?” another tug. He takes that as a yes.

Even so, Morax knew you. Qingxins were flowers that know the intimate dangers of the mountain side and the bustle of the harbor below. You will grow, as you do and you will adapt as you do, maybe slowly, maybe quickly. He knows not to rush it along and he contents himself with your company and your curious question and the bliss on your face when you try a skewer.

“Liyue is beautiful.” you admit after a while. “Crowded, but beautiful.”

“Thank you.��

“I’m not used to this.” you tell him for the umpteenth time, quick, apologetic and Morax has none of that ( why would he ever see it fit to fault you? ). He takes your hand, pressing a fluttering kiss on your palm. 

You shoot him a flustered glare. He smiles. “We’ll take our time. This old man has much to spare.” and he does.

He’ll wait millennia if it is for you. 

📼 — AUTHORS NOTES

reposting done XD.

TAGLIST ノ join the taglist. — @silentmoths @meimeimeirin @sleepynoons @meirvelle @endursent.

@jessamine-rose @ofoceansandtombsanew @chiyoso @4acoffee @loveliluc.

[dreamerwitches]

Full wnk trailer analysis lets go (p1)

Homura with wavy hair fronts. Matches the one from the poster

I dunno about you, but her face looks kinda younger from the side? Cuter? I dont think we've seen anyone else from the side so maybe its just the artstyle and im being silly

The background is pretty hard to decipher

She has a ring but no visible stone or fingernail marking. It doesnt seem like the end of her main hair is wavy. It looks like she's missing the buttons on her front but this may be an animation error or the angle is hiding them

This bit makes me think she's falling down a spiral staircase? Though it doesnt resemble the one later. The gold bits look like banisters. The background gives me a stained glass window church feel

Madoka's home maybe? This is still wavy hair homura

Madoka has no ring

Not much to say. Text in the bottom right says mramasa but the rest is japanese and some numbers. Looks like maybe the power of the fan?

Ibari, number one. Yes its her, the lighting is just pink/red, you can tell cause her blue skin is more purple. To me, it looks like someone is holding her. The light peach parts on the bottom left and right look like the regular animation style. The flowers on the magnifying glass look a little like mami's

Dumb venus maybe? That compact wouldnt close if it had that pearl sticking out XD

I believe this is a homura we havent seen before. The ribbon doesnt match the poster homu from the right. Its brown, her uniform has a white under shirt. Ive seen people theorise this is Manuke, stupidity. The brown ribbon would match her hair colour. Her eyes are more purple than the pink of the previous homura. The colour also matches phone homu from the first trailer.

Ive seen people mention the fencing vaguely looks like oktavia's scales. I think the multiple parts remind me more of her tail. The windows at the very edges kinda remind me of the first scene.

I didnt realise at first but this is homura's wing being broken

Devil outfit has changed. She has a red streak in her hair. Her feathers look fluffier but it might just be the art style. Another red addition to her leg. Her right shoe looks like madoka's. Actually her gloves kinda look like madoka's too

With the city(?) below and the unmoving effects, is this happening during a time stop? Im getting the feeling this trailer (or movie?) has a brown/orange-ish glow to it so maybe they artistically changed the colour of time stop?

With the bright bg and chair colour, i think madoka is with mami (seen later) in this scene. Also i think thats her left hand, no fingernail marking

Rebellion cafe real, it even has the steps leading up to it (though its not 100% perfect... but eh, artistic licence...)

Also, the girl's teacup is cracked. I cant remember the name but it looks like that japanese art of repairing something broken but making the repairs beautiful (repaired witch???).

A stretch, but the napkin underneath reminds me of homu's handkerchief

I thought the lack of soul gem in the ring was an animation mistake but maybe not??? And a dark (could just be obscured by the cup) fingernail marking. It looks like the london underground symbol ToT

Ah the walls dont really match with the rebellion cafe... maybe this is just what cafes look like in madoka XD the single table is still a mirror to it though. I think the lotus flowers are telling.

I wonder if the girl's golden eyes (like godoka's) mean something because magical girls colours usually match dont they? But maybe they've stopped doing that, eh. I like how her glasses are the opposite to homura's, rim on the top.

I didnt realise the thing next to her is a purse, its huge ToT it has flowers on it. I saw someone call them roses to try and say this is gertrud... um no XD have you ever seen a rose???

A stretch but the crockery reminds me of Candeloro's

Its the same three colours

Nagisa has brown scrunchies and her hair is in two low bunches with dark red beads. It looks like her dress is different too

She has the mitakihara uniform and a yellow cardigan. You can see her soul gem ring. The yellow of the cardi and the brown hairbands make me hope it is bear girl......

Girl full of slinkies!!!! The dots around the place remind me of homura's corruption from rebellion (ala on the bus). This is bandaged sayaka

These make me think of candeloro's kiss. I think i can see flowers on the spine too

But the hands together on the middle of the spine is from madoka's rebellion transformation

Walpurgis?

Yes im sure this is the same cafe as madoka was in now. Very pretty

Mami has her hair clip from her magical girl form on the top left of her head. Also could be animation error but maybe her ring is missing the gem

ALSO ARE YOU JUST EATING A SUGAR CUBE MAMI????

Is this the same place from the dancing scene? Doesnt one of the nightmares have an attack like this? So is homura doing it because she controlled the nightmares.

Also they explode with white feathers hmmmmmm. I have the horrible feeling homura would do it to scare madoka

Clearly not the previous kyoko. Outfit is different and more like her original one i'd say. The cake looks like its from the cafe

Also hnnngghhh concept movie?????

Damn ive hit image limit... well part 2 incoming

[damian-lil-babybat]

DAMIAN WAYNE IS A GREEK TRAGEDY

When I say Damian al Ghul Wayne has almost all the ingredients of a classical Greek Tragedy, it is not an empty claim.

1. Tragic Hero: The hero facing his destiny with dignity. His virtuous character forms a bond with the audience, while his tragic flaw results in the audience’s fear for him, and his terrible punishment reveals a sense of pity.

Damian is the hero of his own story. In his mind, he was given a destiny, a standard to live up to. It came from his grandfather, as Hafid al Ghul, son of the Demon. It came from his mother, as her Alexander, with Talia deluding herself as Olympias. It came from his father, as the son of Batman.

He thought himself perfect on all those role, mighty ones they might be, heavy and overwhelming even, but he persevered in ways that should be impossible and ultimately achieved the pinnacle of a perfect heir for all of them.

2. Tragic Flaw: The human limitations of the hero or an error in judgement leading to the downfall. He attempts to escape from his destiny; however, he unknowingly runs toward it. His attempt leads him to his “damnation”.

But what he thought was perfection, was his downfall. For even if he was designed and raised to be perfect, those roles are fashioned by imperfect mortals. As the son of the Batman, he was all too much of a monster to even be treated as child, let alone a son. As the son of the Demon, he was too soft, kind, and all too human, to sit upon the al Ghul's immortal throne. As the great Alexander, he was deemed as a mere pawn, a victim of circumstance, and not a victor of his own fate.

He was set up for failure before his story even began.

3. Catastrophe: The horrible ending of the play: death, suicide, ruin etc. Upon the truth being revealed about Oedipus’ origin, Queen Jocasta commits suicide by hanging herself, Oedipus stabs his eyes with the pin on Jocasta’s dress and pleads to be exiled from the city.

And just like all tragedies, it ends up in death...so many deaths and sacrifices. Repeat and rinse, the cycle continues with each redeeming arc punctuated by his death or ruin.

And just like Sisyphus, one must imagine him to be happy. For how else could he endure these unending trials?

4. Central Belief of Destiny: The belief of the fact that the actions were preordained by the gods and the flaw was inevitable. Even though Oedipus attempts to flee from his preordained destiny, the belief in inevitable destiny becomes the reason for his destruction.

How else could he keep harking on to his destiny? Desperately clinging to it like a promise gold once he touched it like Midas' cursed hands? But no, everything he touches turns to dust, every height he scale would be pushed down reverting him back to his old bare bones of an unwanted worthless child from both side of his parents, even how much he tries to make things right. Every person or thing he treasured is another ammunition for plot purposes to make him more tragic than he already was.

Damian had tried to flee before, but fate always brings him back. Because Batman needs a Robin. But Bruce already has a Robin, doesn't he? Because Damian needs to be Robin? Just cause, who would he be then? When all those titles he earned has been discarded and thrashed in the light of Batman's justice?

And the only one title he could be proud of is always threatened to be taken away if he just as much cross an invisible line that keep on changing depending on whims of the doomed narrative.

5. The Chorus: Approximately twelve masked men, forming a specific group, make comments on the ongoing play by singing and dancing.

Due to its form of media, Damian has no twelve singing and dancing masked men. XD

BUT If I have a say on this, I'll give Damian his own set of bardic troupe narrating his life story, and maybe somehow DC writers would finally admit he was loved and wanted, and was never alone and actually have family, companions and friends along the way!

https://www.byarcadia.org/post/ancient-greek-tragedy-101-the-introduction

AND THAT IS WHY it makes more sense for writers to like and, or dare I say, even love Damian's character.

A lot of great fanfictioners in AO3 actually root for this little guy. So it's nice ✌️

[modelbus]

Wrote this last night, ITS A COOL IDEA BUT ITS BARELY COMPREHENSIBLE!

Y/n is an ender dragon hybrid that was unsafe in the end, so Mumza (goddess of death) put them on Phil’s doorstep when they were like a month old. Phil is an adoptive parent to Techno, Tommy and Y/N. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo are close friends, growing up Y/N was also close with them. Phil lives in a snowy biome, Techno and tommy have renovated bedrooms from when they were little for when they stay over. The main town is a big clearing in a forest with a river running through. (There’s no government-) Niki runs a flower themed bakery that also sells flowers, Puffy runs a training center, & literally all dsmp people you feel comfortable writing live there, so they can be in a crowd. (not wilbur ofc)

Y/N went missing 5 years ago, when they were 11. (Tommy was 8, Techno was 16) they were looking at the stars from a bench on a forested cliff they liked hanging out at cuz it had a view of their house and the mountains behind it, and XD found them while doin his thing and was like “wait- you’re supposed to be in the end, small child.. I don’t care the void is spreading and its going from looking like a purple and yellow overworld to a bunch of floating islands.” So he /tp’d them back to the end- KEKW anyway- Y/N’s time in the end decays them, turning the ends of their limbs (including their tail and wings) all void like and glitchy but also scales and they’re tall- (do I make any sense rn?) oh, and the endermen try to kill them but shulkers are nice. SO TRAUMA AND TRAPPED IN THE END FIVE YEARS tryna get tf out and go home but surprise being in the end makes em really powerful as the void melds with their soul and basically says “HEY! DRAGON KID, HIIII! YOU’RE COOL, WE’RE GONNA SLOWLY ATTACH TO YOU!.. oh daym your not dying like everything else we try to be friends with..” BOOM VOID POWERS, ITS ALL GLITCHY LOOKING AND BLACK HOLE STUFF, BUT THE VOID IS NICE AND DON’T MEAN TO EAT THINGS SO NOW THEY CAN CONTROL IT KINDA AND FLY AND STUFF.. eventually their void powers get all strong and shit so they can go home, but htey kinda fly around and see all their friends and family acting completely normal and having a GRAVE despite knowing Y/N was still alive somewhere. the void is mad that their family stopped looking for them despite there being no death messages on their communicators so like a protective bestie its all like “bro you gonna take that? You gonna let them forget you like this?. Hellll no.” And they are also like ‘wtf man YOU KNEW I WASN’T DEAD BUT GAVE UP LOOKING-?!’ After spending five years just trying to find a way back home.. SO VILLAIN ARK, THEY START BUILDING A HUGE CASTLE AND ITS LIKE BLACK & PURPLE EVIL CASTLE LAIR TYPA THING. the void oopsie kills the area around so its all like black and decayed around the castle and its like REAL evil lair shit. Y/N sends ominous notes with the coordinates acting like someone who kidnapped her being all like “come here and bring everything you have if want them back.” So they bring (insert all members mothy picks) along with them and go the the castle, BOOM ITS LIKE AN ESCAPE ROOM KINDA THING WITH PUZZLES AND TRAPS N SHIT. so they slowly make their way up to the throne room thats like at the top fighting things and doin puzzles but when they make it to the top they rise up on a little circle platform into the room all ready to see Y/N in a cage next to some big bad guy. but they see Y/N (5 years older than they last saw them) LOOKING LIKE A FUCKING EVIL QUEEN(or king or ruler) WITH END PARTICLES AROUND THEM AND THEY’RE PARTLY MADE OF VOID AND ALL EVIL DRAGON HYBRID QUEEN BADASS SPOOKY. So they’re pissed and stuff tommy is the first to talk before everyone else joins asking questions and being all confused and sad so they talk a little then they get pissed not believing how sad they are acting so they sends mobs made of materialised void to attack them from their throne it goes on a while and they keep fighting and trying to reason with Y/N before tommy is trying to convince them their not lying and explains that they finally decided to give the town a name after they had been missing year and named it after Y/N & built a statue of them as a memorial in the town enter after two years when they finally stopped looking, and what Y/N saw was just a small grave at their childhood home. They don’t believe it at first but eveyones like why would we lie about that?? So Y/N is all like Wait what- so I’ve been hurting you all for no reason- and they end up being horrified with themself after seeing their reflection in the gems on their crown, drop it and break the wall to fly away while repeating ‘I’m so sorry’ and crying. We cut out at tommy picking up the crown all angsty.

I DO have ideas for another 3-5 parts so like if you manage make it into smth and wanna continue it just say the word. *eyes*

-✨🌌🌙 Annon

you wrote this like it’s a movie and god I wish I could edit shit because I’d make you the movie it deserves. I somehow included too many Greek mythology references and for that I’m so sorry…

Pairing: Gn!Hybrid!Reader x Philza, Technoblade, Tommyinnit, Tubbo, Ranboo (+ cameos)

Doomed Dragon

You love the sun. It’s bright, and warm, and feels like how warm cookies taste when it beams down on your wings. It’s nearly blinding when it reflects off all the snow, but you don’t mind. Sometimes blinding isn’t a bad type of blinding, or at least that’s what Tommy said.

Speaking of Tommy, he told you ages ago he’d be back with Tubbo and Ranboo, but he isn’t. They all ran off to Niki’s flower-bakery-awesome-place so Tubbo could buy some dandelions, and you (being the wise 11 year old you are) decided that suntanning your wings was a far better option. You never did get the hang of trudging through all the snow, and you didn’t want to slather your wings in sunscreen for a fly.

Dad says you’re an ender dragon hybrid. It was a lot of fancy words that led to Techno poking and prodding at you, but you figure it’s practically the same as Dad’s wings. After all, his are black like yours, even if his are feathered and yours aren’t.

“Move it.” Techno orders from behind you, stepping over your wings. You do not, in fact, move. “Phil told me I could check on the dogs.”

You never got why Techno called dad by his first name. You and Tommy both said dad, but Techno just had to be special. Dad said it was his ‘teenage’ phase, and Techno was 16, so he’s got 4 whole years before he’ll call him dad again. Then the second half of his sentence clicks, and you gasp.

“Can I come with?” You plead, but he’s already shaking his head. “Please! I won’t even touch any, I swear!”

“You know they’re scared of your wings.” Techno huffs.

“I’ll tuck them under a blanket really well!”

“They have noses. Besides, aren’t you waitin’ for the rest of your group? What if they come back?”

You puzzle this over, then sigh. “Fine. But be super nice to the dogs for me.”

“Will do.”

Techno vanishes into the snowbanks, his red cloak and pink hair being swallowed up in the white of snow. He better give those dogs your love, or you’ll steal his special shiny books.

You settle into your sunbathing, eyes closing. After a few moments, there’s a thud.

“Techno, I know there’s no way you have those dogs my love—“ you start, eyes still closed.

“Not Technoblade, child.” The voice is echoey, and you jolt up. From above you, a man with two white wings and two glowing rings around his head stares. Looking at him too long makes your eyes hurt, and when you glance away you’ve already forgotten what he looks like.

“Who are you?” You ask sassily, because this is definitely a newcomer. They have wings like dad, but their pretentious ass clothing reminds you of Techno.

“You can call me XD. And you’re out of where you belong. Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to The End in no time.” A hand settles on your shoulder, and panic flares in your mind, because dad taught you all about stranger danger.

Before you can even scream, your stomach twist and drops, and the world around you vanishes entirely.

-

The End sucks. That was one undeniable truth; The End is horrible and you hate it. Between shulkers—purple things that open to shoot other things that make you float—and the endermen, you were over it.

Although, you had one friend in all the darkness and desolate floating islands. It never gave you a name, and whatever it spoke it certainly wasn’t English, but you understood it all the same. Even gave it a name; hard not to make friends with the one thing that seemed to speak back to you.

In a way, the void replaced the family that never found you.

“Morning, void.” You sigh, tossing a yellow rock into the darkness. It gets chucked back at you, entirely purple. “You’re in a mood today. Sad I didn’t die in the night like always?”

Silence. Then you feel the tingling in your wings, your long tail, the fingers that have turned purple. The void.

Ḷïẗẗḷë ḋṛäġöṅ

“Yeah yeah.” You huff. “That’s me.”

You run your fingers alone the yellow stone below you. Mentally, you call it endstone. Seems fitting enough. Following your touch, purple spreads, eroding the stone. That’s been happening lately, and it always leaves the same tingling you get when the void speaks.

“This is so fucked.”

Ї ċḧöṡë ÿöü

“I didn’t ask to be chosen! I just want to go home.” Home to dad, and Techno, and Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, and all the others.

Ẅḧö ṡäïḋ ÿöü ċäṅ’ẗ?

“Um, logic and the fact there’s no way off this stupid fucking island?” You roll your eyes. You can’t fly long distances, and you’re too scared to try flying off into the void.

The void doesn’t respond, but your breath still catches. Is it implying that you could? That if you did, there was a way out?

Strange things have been happening to you and your body since you got here. And not in the teenage puberty way that dad talked to you about. Your wings had grown, your tail had gained fucking spikes, purple stressed spreading over your skin. Even your hair started blackening at the ends.

And then there was the fact that when you touched things, they sometimes turned purple. Sometimes, when you were really upset, the object would vanish completely, leaving behind a black hole of nothing. A hole that looked oddly like the void.

You weren’t science-smart, mostly because Sam never taught you before XD dumped you here. But you sure as hell knew that wasn’t normal.

Staring into the void, you make up your mind. “If you’re fucking with me, void, I’ll kill you. Somehow.”

You stand up, spread your wings, and hesitate. Were you really trusting some disembodied voice that gave you fucked up powers? But then the image of a grown-up Tommy, of your dad bent over the kitchen table, of Techno’s back as he walked away from you, all flash in your mind.

And you step forward.

-

It happens in a blink. It feels a lot like teleporting, the way your stomach twists and drops, the way your breath is stolen from your lungs. But instead of falling into the unfamiliar like you had 5 years ago, you emerge flying, a new person.

There’s snow below you, wind lifting your wings. Wind. Real wind. The air isn’t oppressive, isnt weighing down on you, isn’t leaving a sour taste in your mouth. It feels like home.

You bank down, landing on your feet in the snow. Under you, it warps, purple and black spreading outwards, twisting at the edges. One blink and it’s white snow, another and it’s all wrong again. That never happened in the end.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re back. The world seems to call to you, a sense in your heart tugging you in a certain direction. You follow it on large wings.

Will Dad cry when he sees you? Will you finally see Techno emotional? Maybe they’ll take you out to dinner to celebrate being back: you’ve missed Bad’s cooking. Surely they’ve been searching for you, and you can’t wait to see their surprise when they realize you found your own way back.

The sun beaming down on you makes no hindrance in your flight. You aren’t Icarus, and the sun won’t stop you from being free. Techno used to tell you and Tommy that one, always joking that Tommy had the looks and you had the wings. Two halves of one whole.

You were about to reunite that whole.

Slowly, your home comes into view. The streets and buildings of the town, and just past that, the house you love. The house you can’t wait to sleep in for the next century. Dad is never getting rid of you.

It’s silent when you land, the second time your feet are touching the ground here. This time, the ground doesn’t glitch. Thank God for that.

“Dad?” You call out, pushing open the door. It was never locked when you were a kid. “Tommy? Techno?”

No response. Maybe they’re outside, or maybe they’re out looking for you? You’ll check the dog area for Techno first.

Trudging through the snow, you delight in making an impact and leaving footprints behind. You never got to see your footprints in the end. Funny how you miss the little things about life.

“Techno? It’s me, I’m ba…” you trail off, spotting a small weathered stone. That certainly hadn’t been there before. You take a few steps closer, staring down to read engraved words.

Your name stared back at you, paired with a date that was five years ago. The day you went missing.

They… they thought you were dead? Is this a grave?

Ṫḧëÿ’ṿë ḟöṛġöẗẗëṅ äḷḷ äḅöüẗ ÿöü

The void’s voice startles you, but you don’t dwell on the fact it followed you.

“No they didn’t!” You shout, but your heart is beating too fast, sick rising in your throat. “No, someone else has to be here!”

Before you realize it, you’re running. Following the familiar path to the town, coming to stop when you see a person. Antfrost, you can recognize him even now, whistling as he carries a box inside.

Acting normal. Normal, as if you didn’t disappear. Normal, as if you hadn’t been gone for five years. Normal, as if your disappearance never made an impact.

Ṗööṛ ḷïẗẗḷë ḋṛäġöṅ

“No…” You whisper, staggering back. “I— I don’t—“

Ḟöṛġöẗẗëṅ. Ḧöẅ ċöüḷḋ ẗḧëÿ? Ṫö ÿöü? Ṡö ṗëṛḟëċẗ, ṡö ṁïṅë?

How could they indeed. The void is right. You’ve been forgotten.

Ṫëäċḧ ẗḧëṁ ḅëẗẗëṛ. Ṫëäċḧ ẗḧëṁ ä ḷëṡṡöṅ. Ÿöü äṛë ẅöṛẗḧÿ öḟ ṛëṁëṁḅṛäṅċë.

“How?” You whisper, arms curling around yourself.

Ṛëṿëṅġë, ḷïẗẗḷë ḋṛäġöṅ. Ṫäḳë ṛëṿëṅġë.

“I don’t want revenge, void. I want—“

Ÿöü äṛë äṅġṛÿ. Ї äṁ äṅġṛÿ. Ẅë äṛë äṅġṛÿ. Ṫäḳë ṛëṿëṅġë, ḷïẗẗḷë ḋṛäġöṅ.

Even as you want to deny it, you know it’s true. You are angry. Pissed, in fact. How dare they forget you? How dare they act as if you were nothing, as if your personal hell didn’t matter?

Slowly, an idea forms, pieces falling into place.

There’s a story you used to like, gasping and laughing at the drama of it as Techno told it. Indulged you.

A king and his friend, Theseus. The part you loved hearing was the end of it: Theseus sought refuge with the king, and the king pushed him off a cliff.

You sought refuge with this town, and they stabbed you in the back. And if they want your forgiveness? Well. They’ll have to prove themselves worthy.

Ä ċäṡẗḷë. Ḅüïḷḋ ä ċäṡẗḷë.

“With puzzles.” You murmur, planning with the void. Embracing it. “And traps, and mobs. Twelve floors.”

Ẅë ẅïḷḷ ẗëäċḧ ẗḧëṁ.

-

You don’t remember building the castle. Hell, you aren’t even sure if you could build something like this. It’s tucked behind mountains, black stone and purple stained windows hiding it in the shadows. Spires reach toward the sky as if they’re claws, threatening to rip a hole in the world.

The void, at some point, must’ve taken over for you and built it. That’s the only logical explanation you could come up with, bolstered with the evidence of the void’s impact on the landscape around the castle.

It’s obvious at first glance that something is wrong with the greenery. The flowers and trees have all withered and died, shriveling up into dull-looking husks. The snow has melted to reveal blackened grass underneath, and the mountain is infected with veins of purple. It looks evil. You look evil.

The void loves it. You aren’t so sure, but at least you look cool. And you felt cool setting up all the traps and challenges.

There’s mazes and mobs and hunts and puzzles, all of which you set up. Your favorite is the one where they’ll have to search the room to find three golden apples and deliver them into a chest. It was some tricky redstone, but once they do that the door will open. That’s the eleventh floor, the final one before you’ll finally see them.

All that’s left is to send out the notes, each of which you hand write in (quite honestly) horrible handwriting. The void helped with the threats and the purple paper, leaving you with a simple message.

“𝓑𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝟧 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝑔𝑜 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀. 𝓛𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝓜𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒾𝓉; 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇.”

It’s stupid, and possibly cringey, but you’ve never written a ransom note before, so you think you’ll get a pass. You just need to send them and wait for the plan to start working.

-

It takes them less time than you thought it would to get through all of your rooms. It’s as if you blinked and they were all there, staring at you as you sit on your unnecessarily fancy chair.

“Are you real?” Tommy blurts out. He’s the same golden-hair kid you remember running around with, just grown.

Are you real? He had asked. Surely you don’t look that bad. The scales on your arms grew, certainly, and purple particles floated all around you, but it was still you.

“Kid?” Dad asks, stood next to Tommy. “Are you— what are you doing?”

“Where have you been?” Puffy adds on, wide-eyed. “Have you been safe?”

Your gaze sweeps over them all, anger clawing its way up your throat. Puffy, Niki, Antfrost, Bad, Ranboo, Tubbo, Tommy, Dad, Techno, Sam. All of them are here, staring at you with mixed expressions of horror and sorrow and surprise.

It’s fake. It must be fake. They gave up on you! They left you for dead, left you to rot alone!

“You’re all liars!” You shout. “Acting sad, as if you didn’t stop looking for me!”

“We didn’t—“ Tubbo starts, but you cut him off.

“Stop!” You hold your hand up to signal him to stop talking, but purple particles swirl in front of your palm and materialize into something solid. Then again, and again.

It’s not until there’s ten purple figures that you realize what you’ve done. You created mobs, living creatures made of the void. One of them groans like a zombie, then rushes at Sam. He reacts immediately, swiping his sword at its head. The purple head rolls, disintegrating. Then, it reforms on the void-zombie’s shoulders.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Everybody’s shouting and swinging their weapons around, trying to figure out how to get rid of the void-zombies. All you can do is watch, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. Those things came from you, from your anger.

“You’ve got to get rid of these things!” Techno shouts, looking over at you while swinging his axe.

And you? You don’t do a damn thing.

“We looked for you, all of us! We’d never give up!”

“Shit, a little help!”

“Oh, God…”

Everyone’s voices mix into one big mess of noise, only made worse by the noises of the weapons and the void-zombies.

“We named the town after you!”

Your head whips toward Tommy’s voice, eyes focusing on him. He ducks under a void-zombie’s hand, staring back at you.

“And Ranboo has this brilliant idea— we made a statue of you! Well, Sam made it, but it’s pretty sick looking.” He adds.

“…You’re lying.” You accuse, but you already know he’s not.

“Why would we lie about something like that?” Niki asks, gentle despite the violence filling the room.

As if on command, all the void-zombies vanish.

Oh, God. Oh God oh God oh God oh God. What have you done? What have you become?

Ḷïẗẗḷë ḋṛäġöṅ…

We’ve fucked up. You’ve fucked up. The horror is cold, spearing through your body, no part of you untouched.

Your glassy eyes catch on the chandelier, a thousand crystal images of you reflecting like a mirror. And all you can see is the void. The glitchy darkness surrounding you, the horrible thing you’ve become.

Maybe you’re a coward for it, but you run, crown falling from your head. The second your hand brushes against the wall, it vanishes, glitching out of existence as you hurtle through it and into the dark night.

“Kid!”

You don’t look back.

-

The silence you leave behind is eerie.

Five years. Five years since they last saw you. And now here they were.

Tommy is the first to step forward, to grab the crown you had dropped. He always liked shiny things, but more importantly, he liked keeping your things after you went missing.

He looks down, meeting his own eyes in the gems.

This crown doesn’t feel like you at all.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Raven! Besterd fox maen is comin' XD

Onto the event! Since I know it'll happen, gonna beat everyone to it: Headcanons about Tsum!Fellow and possibly a Tsum!Giddle~?

Curiouser and Curiouser.

Fellow Honest

What’s this? A marketable (and sentient) plushie made in his own likeness? Of course Fellow’s going to nab his tsum self and try to auction it off for a quick buck! … But somehow, it always comes back to him and an angry customer comes with it, accusing him of scamming them.

Other scams Fellow and his tsum pull together include him distracting a target while the tsum fishes in their pockets for valuables, running a roadside show (come watch the tsum bounce and twirl its cane), and selling a spell that brings inanimate objects to life (pretending to demonstrate with the tsum). They walk away with a decent amount of cash for their efforts.

Tsum!Fellow has the smallest pair of glasses you ever did see. It doesn’t always wear them, but whenever it does you notice it is trying to read a teeny tiny book upside down and lecture.

Tsum!Fellow stares at its larger counterpart when he has food on him. Fellow will insist it’s HIS grub and that the tsum should get its own, but soon enough he caves and breaks off a small piece for his little buddy to enjoy with him.

Like Fellow, the tsum loves apples! If you give it a fresh fruit, it’ll zoom around it in circles, shaving away at the flesh until there’s nothing left but the core. (Epel has deemed it an apple-eatin’ termite.)

Normally the tsum is docile but it puffs up at anger when it’s looked down on (particularly by rich or influential people). When that happens, tsum!Fellow swells really big and proceeds to crush foes with its great size.

Tsum!Fellow knows how to make a quick getaway. When there’s someone chasing after it, it throws sand or dirt (or even confetti or glitter from under its hat) in their face before skedaddling. It’s not above using cheap tactics if it nets results!

Tsum!Fellow gets all sparkly-eyed when it sees a stage, whether it’s on TV or it’s a real one. It gets excited and tries to hop on to put on a performance of its own!

There’s something a little childish and carefree about tsum! Fellow. It loves hitching rides in pockets or on heads, treating them like their own amusement park rides. It also loves seating itself on toy traits, boats, and cares, imagining itself traveling the world and having grand adventures!

Tsum!Fellow is quick to cozy up to anyone it thinks will benefit it. For this reason, you’ll see it snuggling up to dorm leaders, the staff, the headmaster, even you! It nuzzles against your hand and makes puppy-dog eyes until you melt in its flimsy hands.

While Fellow mends his suit and pants, tsum!Fellow likes to dive in the fabric and swim around in it. It gets in the way of his work, so Fellow fishes the tsum out and appoints it the role of being his pincushion. (The tsum is very grumpy about this and they get into a whole squabble about it.)

Gidel

It’s rare to see tsum!Gidel by itself. It’s normally tagging along with tsum!Fellow as a minion or a helper in some of its tricks. If the two are ever separated, they’ll both appear slightly distressed and will try to seek the other out.

It’s curious about so many things. Tsum!Gidel bounces around in a hyperactive manner, making it quite difficult to contain. It displays a special interest in school, hopping among stacks of books and forgotten pencils, scaling them to see how high up it vanishes climb.

Gidel and his tsum self can communicate effectively, despite neither of them being able to speak. They’re great about reading body language and anticipating what’s to come next from the other. It’s almost like they’re finishing each other’s sandwiches sentences.

Tsum!Gidel is very clumsy. It’s a normal occurrence for it to fall onto its face or to roll and roll until it makes contact with something sturdy. It doesn’t quite have its footing down yet…

Of course, it comes with its own little hammer! The hammer seems light and makes a little squeaky sound when tsum!Gidel bonks the back of your hand with it.

When the tsum gets scared, it scurries into Gidel’s oversized sleeves. It won’t come back out again until it’s completely sure the danger has passed. (Occasionally you’ll see it poking its round little head out and checking the area.)

It attempts to tie Gidel’s laces for him since they’re tend to be loose. Unfortunately, the tsum ends up getting knotted in the laces and Gidel has to spend 20 minutes untangling the poor thing!

Gidel didn’t realize the tsum was sentient at first. He popped it into his mouth thinking it was a bread roll or a fancy marshmallow. The tsum had to squirm and fight for its life to escape the jaws of death!

They’re study buddies! Gidel and his tsum copy down letters of the alphabet together, then exchange notebooks and check each others’s work. It’s harder for Gidel to understand tie tsum (maybe on account of the notebook being so small), so he takes the mantle and tutors his new buddy.

Sometimes the tsum takes on a size closer to that of a stuffed plushie. In those instances, Gidel fiercely hugs them close. There’s a comforting sensation in owning an item for just pleasure, not solely for one’s survival—the life that Gidel is so used to.

Tsum!Gidel assumes a bigger form and allows Gidel to use it as a pillow at night. The boy had never been able to sleep on something this squishy and soft—is it really okay for him to fall asleep like this?

[incorrectfatui]

Today on my headcanons: are they superstitious?

Note that with superstition I'm primarily talking about belief in/worship of supernatural creatures/practices outside the Gods and known magic. Think knocking on wood/throwing salt over your shoulder/buying fortune slips. However I will make exceptions on beliefs in Gods/Entities that are not explicitly true, like the rumours surrounding some of the Youkai in Inazuma and how to avoid them.

With that being said:

In general, I think out of the regions, Inazuma and Liyue would be the most superstitious, with Mond and Snezhnaya close behind. Yes, Natlan, Fontaine and Sumeru have their own magical creatures and such, but Inazuma, Liyue and Mondstadt have much more obvious displays of superstition- Mond mostly in regards to the Gods (yes including Andriud and Vanessa) and Liyue and Inazuma with their prominent non-human population. Youkai and Adepti seem much more elevated above and less integrated in the general population than Foxians and Elves in Sumeru or Saurians in Natlan/Melusines in Fontaine. Snezhnaya I'm mostly going off of vibes tbh.

Least superstitious I'd say is Khaenri'ah, which is funny given that they're almost entirely based off of/inspired by Germanic Mythology.

I'd say my final order would be Inazuma > Liyue > Snezhnaya/Mond > Natlan > Fontaine > Sumeru > Khaenri'ah

As for the Fatui:

Pierro: Literally from the Atheist nation, so no, and he thinks it's stupid. Unlike a certain someone, though, he keeps his opinion to himself unless asked about it.

Capitano: no, but respects it when others are. Will participate for traditions, or to pay tribute to others culture. Does follow some superstitions just out of habit, but will gladly subvent them If necessary.

Dottore: actively looks at superstitious, tries to figure out how to do them wrong/offend the entity the worst, then does that.

Columbina: ABSOLUTELY superstitious. Technically stronger than most entities, but thinks they traditions are fun, so she follows them. Makes up her own little rumours as well.

Arlecchino: Not really superstitious, but tries her best to follow actual rules that surroung some of Teyvats non human residents, just to be sure. Fontaine is relatively low key in this regard compared to some other reasons, so she mostly doesnt have to worry about it

Crucabena: used to be incredibly superstitious when she was younger, but grew out of it for the most part. Likes using scary fairytales to get the children to do what she says, but lowkey kind of believes some of them herself on a lesser scale.

Pulcinella: yes. The grandpa type of superstitious. Doesn't take it too seriously, but definitely would rather follow the traditions then not.

Scaramouche: Kind of hard to explain. Inazuma definitely seems more suitable for superstition, given the Youkai, but considering his own heritage he's very aware about which legends are true and which aren't, and doesn't feel very threatened by them. Used to follow superstitions out of politeness as Kabukimono, now he doesn't really care. Imitates Dottore in actively disobeying tradition, but only in regard to the Shogun and Yae- he doesn't dislike the youkai enough to try and piss them off on purpose, although he definitely doesn't go out of his way to respect them either. Actually probably has quite a few urban legends and superstitions surrounding himself as Kunikuzushi and the Kabukimono.

Sandrone: no. Doesn't give a fuck. Thinks Dottore's approach is really annoying because he's actively inconveniencing everyone else in the process, but she herself wont follow tradition unless its useful to her.

La Signora: it's a little hard Not zo project on her (and Pierro) given they're from the nations inspired by my culture xD For her, I'd say surprisingly yes. She wont follow Seelies in the dark because they remind her of Will O' Wisps, and definitely believes Dragonspine and Old Mondstadt are haunted. Has shared books on scary Mondstsdtian fairytales (look I need to bring up German fairytales whenever possible) with Crucabena more than once.

Pantalone: Kind of. He used to follow all the good luck superstitions when he was a kid, but have up on them when they werent working.

Childe: a little weird case. Definitely kind of believes in Snezhnayan superstitions (and post Scaramouche leaving he believes in Inazuman ones, because remember the paper mansion?), but likes to take them as a challenge. Will be told to watch out for evil spirits and intentionally try to goad them into fighting him, but doesn't do that around his elders because it's rude and some of them get genuinely scared. Would do 3AM YouTube Challenges.

[artist-in-training-wheels]

Updated designs as of: 8/20/24

Remember when I said I was knee-deep into SAMS/LAES? Welp, I still am- so here's my (mental) designs of all the core characters (Not scaled for height)! Some notes/extra thoughts under the cut :D Added their pallets to make coloring easier!

Main 4:

Work:

I swapped Sun and Moon waist thingy; I just think they would do that since they're close. Their arm ribbons were also changed to purple to match!

Moon has a cape instead of a ruffle like Sun because... idk, I think he'd like it!

Earth and Lunar also have matching cuffs; theirs is pale/light cobalt blue.

Gave Earth's dress more Princess vibes; why? Idk, just felt like she would like it!

Sun's joints can be seen since he hasn't died and been "placed" in a new/updated body!

Casual:

Moon and Earth (kinda) have casual outfits, so I thought I'd make something for Sun and Lunar.

Sun HAS his matching friendship bracelet with Dazzle- I finally decided to draw it ^^

Sun's shirt says, "Here comes the Sun" I feel it would mostly be a gag gift, but he likes it!

I almost gave him a sweater (cause he gives me sweater vibes, tbh), but then I saw his Q&A video and went, "damn, never mind, I guess".

Lunar's hoodie was also a gag gift (cause its color scheme is similar to Gemini)- but he likes it too much, plus it's soft :D

Made Earth's sweater a bit darker, mainly cause she has a lot of light colors already (the pink comes from the sprinkle sweater!)

I also feel like the boys would take off their bells when they're not working.

It was asked how and... idk they made an interdimensional portal- I'm sure they found a way to take off the bells lmao

The other 4:

I hate how I did Ruin's rays and hat. But nothing was working for me, so... oh well...

I gave Jack the two tips for his hat because I think he'd like those- same with the arm sleeves!

Also- yes he has a friendship bracelet with Dazzle- he keeps it protected under his arm sleeve, it's identical to Sun's!

I really like how Solar came out. Specifically his boots and shirt design!

He gives me knee boot vibes, so I gave him shoes with a sun and a moon on the back (they lace up just didn't feel like adding those details)

I Like how Eclipse came out- Miiiight redesign him... depending on how the Eclipse and Puppet Show goes, but for now, I'm content :)

I never mentioned it, but I do imagine that Eclipse has a second set of arms. I would think Solar did, too, but those were taken away during his revival because of the "Eclipse sees other Eclipses as inferior" stuff!

The Evil 4:

I made Dark Sun look like Regular Sun... cause that's kinda his whole thing! But if I were to give him a different outfit- it would be Eclipse's!

Few changes to Nexus (I can't take him or his model serious tbh, I kept laughing XD), decided to give his hat a Wither shard at the tip because power (and possible corruption) go BRRRRR (Side Note: Made an AU on it :D)

I'm not sure how visible it is, but on his right cheek, you can see a virus of some kind—I really like that, so I put it on him because I really like the idea of him slowly being corrupted due to his insanity!

He has a darker shade of boots similar to Solar because... well, Solar :)

World President Earth (or WP Earth) has a lovely wine-red dress with her flag as a cape (the same flag seen in the thumbnail)!

The flag is held together by a smiley pin because why not =)

Evil Lunar (while tempting to go with Current Lunar design) has the design of the previous version because, well... that's the form he gained the power in (from my understanding)

The tip of his hat is a dying Star because that feels appropriate, in my opinion.

I MIGHT do Foxy, FC, Monty, and Puppet, but I'm not too sure, tbh, since my mental image isn't too far off from their models. Anyways, time to return to my little gremlin hole and watch the series :)

[anthurak]

Random Old Theories/Headcannons: Wyrd RWBY

So those who have been following me for the last few years might recall that prior to us actually knowing anything about Volume 9, some of my theory posts touched on Team RWBY returning to Remnant changed by their time in this mystical realm beyond their own, wielding weird and strange powers.

Anyway, this is a WIP from a couple years back that went into some fun ideas for these changes for ‘Wyrd RWBY’ that I thought I’d touch up and finally post.

Enjoy XD

---

Yang doesn’t seem much different at first. Just that her hair seems to be a bit wavier than before, like she’s using her semblance all the time now. And the air around her always seems to be at least a few degrees warmer. But then you start noticing other things. Like how sometimes her right arm isn’t made of metal and circuits but instead wreathed in some kind of tangible flame. Or how the fingernails on Yang’s left arm now look more like claws. Or how when Yang’s eyes turn red, they now also become slitted like the eyes of a lizard. Or the golden flakes that now dot Yang’s exposed skin. Flakes that will sometimes spread. Sometimes they spread so much they look more like golden scales. Yang always laughs this off. Which is also when you can see that her teeth are quite a bit larger, and sharper than you remember.

Blake herself isn’t the one who seems different at first. It’s her shadow. Like how it often moves independent of Blake. Or is somehow able to grab things for Blake. Sometimes you’ll see Blake’s shadow moving along a wall with Blake herself nowhere in sight. Sometimes Blake’s shadow won’t look like Blake at all, but rather some manner of very large cat. And sometimes you’ll see a large black cat wandering the back allies with the shadow of a person.

Weiss… where to begin with Weiss? First off, you wouldn’t expect a girl like Weiss to be into tattoos, but now Weiss seems to be covered in them. On almost every bit of visible skin, Weiss has these strange, arcane symbols, glyphs and runes. They tend to glow whenever Weiss uses her semblance. Speaking of which, you know that the Schnee semblance is versatile to say the least, but you’re pretty sure they at least needed to dust to do some of their crazier feats.

What Weiss is doing feels less like a semblance and more like actual magic.

Then there’s Weiss’s Grimm. Not Grimm like everyone knows. No one would mistake these creatures for the Grimm that humanity fears. With their bodies and fur the color of freshly fallen snow and icy blue eyes. You’ve seen Winter and Willow Schnee summon ‘white’ Grimm before, but the creatures that Weiss calls to her side seem so much more tangible. Not some construct of aura that will vanish as soon as its mistress stops focusing on it, but something REAL. And there’s always at least one or two with Weiss wherever she goes, sometimes more.

And Ruby? Well, let’s just say the fact that she somehow has wolf ears and an eye-patch are probably the least weird things about her now.

Like how her silver eyes were always unique, but now it seems they often glint and shimmer and otherwise catch the light in ways eyes don’t. Even when there isn’t any light for them to catch…

Ruby also uses her semblance more. A lot more. As in, unless she’s accompanying someone else, you can expect her to enter a room not through a door, but via a trickle of rose-petals blowing in through an open window. Or a vent. Or just appearing out of basically nowhere.

In fact, it seems like there are always a few petals flaking off of Ruby’s cloak, only to vanish before they even hit the ground.

And it feels like any time Ruby might be struck or otherwise injured, her semblance will activate.

You remember one time when Nora tried to give Ruby an affectionate punch to the arm, only for her fist to travel through the arm as it suddenly burst into petals before reforming a moment later.

Come to think of it, you’re pretty sure you haven’t seen anyone actually TOUCH Ruby. Aside from her teammates…

Speaking of which, Team RWBY together brings even more strangeness.

Like how they’ll sometimes speak amongst themselves in a strange language that sounds more like a whistling breeze or a crackling flame than anything someone might actually speak with.

Or how they will sometimes move and act together without need for words at all. And that’s just the least of it…

Like you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Blake’s golden eyes flash just a bit when Yang uses her semblance. Or Yang’s violet eyes shimmer when Blake uses hers. Or how Yang’s semblance now creates a fiery, shadow-like afterimage of herself that looks a bit more like Blake than her. Or times when Blake will gain some sudden burst of strength while fighting that causes her hair to start flickering like a flame.

Meanwhile you’re pretty sure you’ve seen some of Weiss’s runic tattoos briefly appear on Ruby’s skin, or the edges of Weiss’s hair briefly turn red. And there was that one time Ruby and Weiss went out to save a group of incoming refugees being attacked by a horde of grimm, yet those same refugees swear they were saved by a mysterious woman in red and white.

Oh, and there’s also Ruby’s new pet mouse who actually seems pretty normal. Aside from the fact that some people are saying the mouse talks.

But that’s just silly!

[katzkinder]

Tsubaki should've been a cat considering how much of a pathetic little meow meow he is lol

Maybe then his Insta pics would get more likes than Kuro’s lol

This reminds me of something I think is pretty neat about the Servamps, actually, and it’s how they’ve integrated their animal forms with their lives.

Kuro and Tsubaki are basically the opposite in how they do this. Kuro has social anxiety like crazyyy (comes with being stabbed to death over some sheep) and I think part of how he mitigates this is by being Kibby. Like, his behavior as a cat and as a human… He almost seems like two different people. But he’s not, obviously. He’s just… I think, as a cat, he’s able to be more of himself, the person that he once was, because he’s got this mask to put on. It’s fine to be silly and needy and a glutton and cute and… All these different things he wouldn’t dare to dream while on the form of a man. It’s fine to want to interact with people, to be the center of attention.

He’s just a silly little kitty cat.

He’s also the Servamp who, I think, enjoys being babied and treated like a pet the most. He has this desire to be spoiled and loved on he can only be plain about while he’s an animal.

Compared to Tsubaki, who spends the second most time as a human compared to any other Servamp in the series relative to page time. I think Ildio might actually beat him out, but that’s not really fair considering what all was going on with him. Anyway. Point being, Tsubaki really only ever uses his animal form when he first meets Mahiru and Kuro, and when he and Kuro are trying to kidnap Touma Mahiru. I think, to him, rather than a mode of living, being able to turn into a fox is a tool. He basically uses its exclusively to get followers and likes on instagram or, in one of the conversations on Servamp Quest on Tanakabox, Belkia reveals Tsubaki likes to curl up inside his hat to nap which is just. So unspeakably cute. I wonder if that’s a self soothing thing for him. Finding himself a little hidey hole to doze off in while surrounded by the scent of his family.

But yeah. Tsubaki not really making use of his animal form makes a lot of sense! More than just not HAVING to use it, I don’t think he’d enjoy being “depersoned” the way that being an animal would come with. Getting fawned over is nice and all, but he’s also very noisy about how he wants to spoiled when he’s a man. It’s actually kinda embarrassing. He’s such a dork lol how do Team M put up with him. An embarrassing leader, but they wouldn’t trade him for the world.

The others are more of a sliding scale of the eldest and youngest, which is also very neat! And of course there’s Jeje, who, similar to Kuro, uses his snake form to avoid being A Person, but also to provide Mikuni with a bodyguard no one expects to pop out lol. Providing his Eve with the independence he’s known for without leaving him unattended. Compared to Lily, who will separate from Misono easily during the day but, when they’re together, seems to much prefer being the dutiful butler ready to fulfill every wish and command of his dear and darling young master, up to and including being a Literal Chair for him. Hm. Lily, you don’t think… People might find that suspect? xD

Ahem. It’s a really good juxtaposition showing the differences in how they approach their role in their Eves’ lives.

Thanks for the ask! This was super fun~

[desertrose244]

Hii!!

I was wondering if you could share some of your favorite fics? I've been in a drought and was just curious 🦅

RAH YES I CAN THIS IS MY FAVOURITE QUESTION TO GET!

I wasn't sure if you wanted fandom specific ones so here's just a collection of some of my all time favourites. These aren't one's that I've linked on this blog before, just because I already have given those appreciation posts and I have SO MANY FICS and authors that I love. Anyways, all of these are /reader - and most have mature tags, so just be mindful : )

BG3:

[Ongoing!] Hellish Rebuke by @bludazey is an Ascended!Astarion fic that answers the open ended state we left Tav and Astarion in. It's dark and filled with drama in such an addicting way I am literallly almost falling off my chair waiting to see what happens in it! Everyone within it is characterised well and the lore put into our MC makes choices a much more 3 dimensional thing as they are not a blank slate like the ingame Tav! [Complete!] Aleatory by @avas-poltergeist is a prequel fic for a durge run centering Astarion x Durge and it's a fic that knows the tone it should take and executes it perfectly. I especially love how it doesn't hold your hand through it's narrative and doesn't treat it's reader as if they are stupid. Some actions, feelings and thoughts are almost done as if they are environmental storytelling and I am a SUCKER for it. Also I just adore the durge being a halfling- they are characterised perfectly. Transformers:

[Complete!] Gravity by @shinyportalsandthings - ohhh my god I dont even what to say. This fic is a Starscream fic and wheeew boi it can be hard to make the gremlin a compelling romance but this fic blows it out the park. The dialogue is witty and natural- I adore the scale of it because it's not a "let's end the millions of years long war" it's just a "let's go be happy" - UGHHH It's just so fun, redeemed Starscream I love you. ((More reccomendations for Transformers are on my metal dune, found here!)) Misc:

(Doom (2016)): [Complete] Rip And Tear (Into My Ass) by Goremungunder is one of two inspirations for my entire writing style. It's a Doomslayer insert fic and it's just perfect in every way. Such an enjoyable read and an excellent fic for a x reader tag that doesn't get much attention. I think about this fic at least once a month and have read through it like 5 times pls give it some love its amazing.

(League of Legends) [Complete - I believe- but set to ongoing] Dream a Little Dream by OrangeCrushCrushCrush is just hilarious and at the end of each chapter even features some art made by the author! All of their work is enjoyable to read, even without knowledge on the world or a pre-existing like for the character. I mean, the second half of this fic is centered around Yorick Mori- a character in League I had literally NEVER touched- but then I read this and mained top lane for like 4 months after.

I think I could actually go on forever, but I'll stop here for now. Thank you for the question Star! I really love getting to go through my bookmarks and deciding what I want to reread XD

[pentapoda]

Well, i am writing fic again. Because i can apparently spend years lurking in mxtx proximal fandoms (shen yuan i love u), then a full year watching vox machina and then critical role campaign 1 and campaign 2, devouring all the caleb fic i can find and still not feel the energy to participate in the fandom. then be like no, no, this silly blue man and very serious tiny man with his violence ballet, this is where i have something to contribute (read, "someone did the au where the coinflip went the other way, right, right? huh i guess not, haha wouldn't it be funny if--")

???

Anyway it has been one month, i have written 25k, probably 15k to go, there is a Google slides doc with a diagram of the silken squall (its a giant kite, btw) and a map of the continent of marquet with to-scale color-coded annotations of each group's location and distance traveled by day, i have rolled stats for dorians parents (sorry dadvernwind, please have some extra guards, you need them), i made a ppt chart comparing parentvernwinds to the party's stats (y axis: win hearts [wis+cha], x axis: win fights [str + dex + con], bubble size: hit points) , i have a spreadsheet with the silken squall's land use and wealth distribution, ashton wants to know why he's so stressed when he's not even in the main pairing (jokes on him though he got to talk to dorian's mom twice and she threw out my arranged marriage subplot, look she says to me there's a marriageable young genasi right here who knows how to protect his own, they bonded over protective violence guys, ashton didn't notice), bell's hells sucked so bad at Orym's resurrection ritual i thought he might actually just stay dead, i had to go back and just let fearne lie,i gave the squall griffins to solve a travel-speed issue and now dorian's bitchy neglected griffin is the star of the last third of this fic, Imogen has emerged from the wings to live the horse girl movie she always wanted, and orym and dorian have not yet shared a scene together but i swear its happening soon

haven't written complete fic (not just a story set up) or anything longer than 10k since jan 2016 so.... this is good... tentatively optimistic here...

in conclusion:

(fcg isn't on there because the fic has bigger parts for orym, dorian, ashton, & fearne, but then i added laudna & imogen to make dorian's dad look better. ...it didn't work. XD)

[adrift-in-thyme]

Ooh congrats on the follower milestone trin!! For a fic request, how about something mixing your two AUs together? Fairy time and First? I don’t know how that would work but it might be fun XD

Or if you don’t want to do that, maybe two or three of your favorite Links goofing off together, with a dash of angst somehow?

-Sky Floor

Tysm Peggy!! I could’ve combined my AUs into something fluffy but what would be the fun in that? XD

CW for near-drowning, injury, and blood

————————————————————-

First dives in without a second thought.

The waters run deep, frigid like fractals of ice. Their deadly blue fills his vision. His lungs spasm madly in his chest, widening and constricting in time with the manic beat of his heart. Blood roars in his ears, pounds behind his eyes, drifts in delicate ribbons from the boy sinking mere feet below him. 

He is drowning, drowning in waltzing curls of crimson and cerulean, drowning in cold.

It matters not. 

Sky.

The name forms in his mind in a whisper, then, a scream. He is all that matters now. 

The knight’s golden hair has turned silvery from the constricting caress of the depths. His limbs float out before him, his body curves behind. 

First reaches, trying in vain to grasp the hand that drifts aimless and limp. Small bubbles burst from his lips. Knives of flame course down his throat. He kicks, hard, presses down further past the weight of gravity. 

Still, Sky plummets.

Were he conscious, this would be a different tale. First would not feel the need to dive down, down, down through a wall of icy blue. The scale gifted to him by the Water Dragon would be more than enough to allow him time to breach the surface.

But the very hit that had propelled the Skyloftian into these waters, rendered him unconscious. The scale is little use to someone unable to swim. 

Now, First’s thoughts do not center around the monsters screeching on the banks above or what may lay in wait for them within. Panic propels him forward, panic keeps him awake, alive.

Again, he surges forward. Darkness lines the edges of his sight now in lacey patterns. Nevertheless, he can see those pale fingers floating so near, so far. He can see the boy he loves as fiercely, as steadfastly, as he once loved Orville. The boy he must protect. 

Golden Goddess… 

The prayer pours forth, choked, desperate, from the very depths of his soul. 

Hylia, help me!

He grasps and water twines in mocking play about his fingertips. He reaches and his shoulder shouts its protests. Frozen muscles constrict. Spears of ice pierce his bones. His vision is little else besides darkness now. His throat is so tight he can hardly swallow, certainly can’t drag in the air his lungs cry out for in innocent deception. 

…flesh meets flesh.

First jolts. Consciousness sparks like lightning through his veins. Adrenaline sears through the murk of his mind. He slips, nearly loses his grip, grasps again, harder this time, holds on with as much force as his failing body will give. 

He turns and kicks toward the surface. 

The sun sends a gentle glow through the layers of deepening blue. First stares into the paltry slivers of it, drinks it in with the hunger of one long lost in the desert. His body yearns for it, craves it. It keeps him going when everything within screams that he give up. 

Sky is heavy, a load weighed down by clothing soaked through, many layers meant for the chill of the skies, mail and weaponry. His muscles are numb and twitching by the time a hand shoots through the water toward him. Uncaring whether it belongs to friend or foe, First grabs it. 

With a final kick of desperate ferocity and the strength of his savior, he breaches the surface at last. 

His body connects with solid ground with a dull, sodden thud. For a moment, he can do nothing except cough. Hacking and harsh, his lungs force out the water clogging them so violently that he trembles. The wind whips past him, raising goose flesh on his arms. His clothes cling to him. One hand comes up to cover his mouth, the other remains in its death grip entertwined with Sky’s.

“First…”

He gasps a breath, starts coughing again. Everything burns. 

“First…Link!”

First startles at the feel of a hand upon his back. Raising his head, he catches sight of Time’s face, his eye unnaturally bright in the midst of the waves of grey leaping across his vision. 

“S-save him.” His voice hardly sounds like his own. The words are flames upon his scorched throat. But he forces them out anyway.

…only for Time to shake his head.

“Do you have a potion?”

First stares. “No.”

That one word is a death sentence more than his years of imprisonment ever were.

There is a battle of sorts going on in Time’s expression now. First lacks the strength to decipher the emotions struggling there. Anyway, it is over too quickly for him to even try. 

“It’s alright.” The hero’s voice is as confident as a captain leading his brothers to victory, as vulnerable as a clay pot set upon a high shelf. “There is another way.” 

Time’s hand leaves his back and its welcome warmth goes with it. First watches as he rises and turns away, still trying to breathe, still trying to comprehend something, anything besides fear.  

“What…what do you mean?”

Time does not reply. Not with words, anyway. First supposes his next action is as good of an answer as any.

One moment, his familiar form stands tall against the sun, and the next he has disappeared in a mist of softly glimmering hues. In his place, is a small orb of red light. 

“A fae.” First breathes rather than speaks it. 

Time drifts in graceful circles above Sky, raining gentle showers of fairy dust upon him. First can only watch in wonder.  

When Sky jolts upright, motionless chest now heaving as he chokes up water upon the thirsty ground, he hardly believes it. And yet, here he is, dragging in his first full breaths in heavens know how long. Here he is, setting eyes of brightest blue upon First, breathing his name.

He moves forward, falls. First is there just in time to stop him from hitting the ground. 

“You’re alright,” he murmurs, as the Skyloftian fists his fingers in his tunic. “You’re safe.”

Time drifts around them both once more, soothing aches the raging adrenaline had forced him to ignore. Then, he transforms again. Grand wings wave in one final hurrah before dissipating like the fog the hero seems a part of. 

First looks up at him and feels he is seeing him truly for the first time. Such a secret among their group is not shocking. Nevertheless, many are kept even now for the sake of safety. He can only imagine what a sacrifice it is to release such knowledge to another, especially a newcomer such as he. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. Then, after a pause, “I will never tell another soul. I give you my word.”

Time inclines his head. His lips quirk up just slightly at the edges and First wonders if, perhaps, he is seeing him in a different light as well. 

Regardless, he is certain that as they kneel in the moist earth, with the hero they risked so much to save, there is much for them both to ponder. And much to be grateful for.

He holds the shivering Skyloftian tighter and breathes. 

[paintedkinzy-88]

Hey! I love your dragon!au so much! Its so cool and i love the angst with it! I have a few things for it!

1. Possible name for the au since you are still taking suggestions it sounds like: the curse of Icarus au or coi. Yknow, pronounced like the fish?

I just though it fit with leos intense yearning to fly, mixed with his falling/portal flying which has great angst potential btw, you been hinting at it and im so excited to see!

2. You mentioned in an ask before that donnie hasnt made a pair of wings for leo yet partly because of his fins and partly because leo seems perfectly content not to have any

So when the fam finds out JUST how much leo has been jealous and wishing so bad he could join his brothers, how responsible would donnie feel? Especially if its found out just how hurt leo was when donnie abandoned him when he made his wings (from that one comic of donnie showing off his wings prototypes i think it was)

I feel like ive forgetton something but ive already ramble a lot, sorry! But i love your work and cant wait to see what else you come up with!

1. I am SOBBING that is an incredible name??? And I’m stealing it??? So much better than Flightless omg. Thank you thank you thank you. 😭😭

I’m thinking the AU is Dragons Rise, but like… the Title is Curse of Icarus, cuz I like both of them. If that makes sense?? Like how my other dragon AU is Dragon Balance but we all call it Tipping the Scales fhbfhbvyh.

Idk I like having two ways to tag it, I think XD

2. Oh absolutely, Donnie will be the most guilty out of them all. He even has blueprints of possible wings for his twin, he’s just never focused too much on them for the exact reasons you said: Leo’s fins are in the way, and he just seems to not care. If Donnie knew, it would have been top priority! And when he does know, they become top priority.

Or, well, at least one of his priorities.

3. Ramble all you want! I love to read rambles, and god knows I ramble back way too much—

[drill-teeth-art]

are broil and tempo sprouts of the same character? only asking because of similar colors and shape and also I am very guilty of making an au for an oc and then that becoming its own separate new oc

Funnily enough, Tempos, Broil, and also Coal were completely intended to be separate characters and they still are. I tend to do this thing where I'm like "god I love this OC of mine what if I made another OC who was reminiscent in design and themes" and then be like "wow I love this new OC of mine what if I made ANOTHER OC who was reminiscent in design and themes but in a different way than the other OCs". I was very much in need of another fat blue transman OC with a heat and hunger theme multiple times. Though I've definitely spun an au of an OC into their own character before XD Tempos was honestly the result of me playing character telephone with myself with Rumble from Transformers until I was like "this is just an OC now actually I'm making this an OC". I think the creative process is just kind of like that. Like how a lot of iconic superheroes were initially inspired by other comic book protagonists. A lot of movies are rehashing other movies that are rehashing other stories.

I think that's just kind of a cool thing about art, you know? Drawing is redrawing and writing is rewriting but not even just on the scale of one artist. We're all doing and redoing and adding our own flavor to stuff we've all seen before. It's really cool. Endless game of telephone.

But anyway they weren't like. The same OC ever, but Tempos and Broil are very much cut from the same cloth!

[princess-of-the-corner]

Just had an extremely 'me' idea where post current canon, Chloe's basically cut off by Audrey barring what she's legally obliged to provide & well aware the moment she graduates its too the streets.

As Audrey's basically made it impossible for her access any resources or education out of spite, Chloe gets creative and leans on her Savate skills, not for mugging or bodyguard work but by putting out a:

"Fight a Super villain/Hero" social media challenge.

It starts off small, but quickly takes off, and Chloe herself actually becomes quite popular. As a lot of showy guys turn up either saying "I'll take it easy on her" or "Gonna put tat mouthy girl in her place" and both groups end up being either goaded into going all out and losing or just get their assess handed to them and go home crying.

Actual masters, even when/if they beat Chloe usually come away with "You may be a bit mercenary but you're clearly skilled." Which adds legitimacy. & leads to stuff like part time work a an assistant instructor or martial arts tutor.

Note:

It takes awhile for Paris to catch on because Chloe was blocked from appearing on Paris social media. Ironically not out of spite but because people being obsessively weird and abusive about a 14 year old who doesn't even live there and the tourism board said it made them look bad.

Had a few ideas on how it could go but my current favorite is like, Felix turns up to shut things down out of annoyance (He lives in London and has to see this shit first hand) Or cos Kagami fought Chloe & lost (Chloe's had a LOT more experience than either by this point and Kagami's a fencer not a martial artist)

Regardless, cos of Chloe's mounting experience its actually not much of a fight, and that's enough of a blow to his pride to go back later, specifically when Chloe's doing some kind of big event. But this time he's transformed, but in such a way that it looks like he's just wearing a judo uniform.

He initially humiliates her easily, but Chloe manages to put together that A, she didn't recognize him till he introduced himself and B, he is way too fast and strong. She 'seemingly' loses her temper and rushes in, but pivots in the last moment and nabs the Miraculous from its hiding spot (There aren't many and it kind of sticks out.

Cue Felix de-transforming and things only getting worse when she quizzes Doodoo on how he came by the miraculous, what he did with it (Red Moon) and if Ladybug knew.

Sure the cameras can't pick up the Kwami but the audience sure can.

Suffice to say, this would either be what keys Paris and the heroes in, or they had tuned in due to the scale of event & or Felix's presence.

Whatever the case, big drama.

"I'd say I'd hold onto the Kwami until the proper authorities get here, but it seems one can't even trust those these days. Tragic, lol."

Or

"Oh well, good to know the only thing keeping me from heroism was the ladder being up by Ladybug behind a glass ceiling."

Literally no clue where it'd go from there or if this would even be the ideal way to expand on such a premise, I initially toyed with Chloe at the Olympics and or having a Dojo, ETC. (Her school is literally just Savate with some gymnastics and ballet woven in for flourish and balance but no one calls her on it.)

But yeah, wanted to share XD

GET HIS ASS