#platonic foul legacy x reader

[watatsumiis]

"Darling, you're the most gentle person I know." Foul Legacy x GN!Reader

Inspired by a prompt from @sh1-n0bu !!

Heads up for a passing mention of injury (a scratch on the cheek). Foul Legacy struggles with words in his abyssal form.

Childe, despite all of his elegance and prowess in battle, is far from what one would call 'coordinated' in his day to day life. 

This seems to shine through even more when he's in his 'Foul Legacy' form. Though he doesn't mean any harm (to you, at least), you often end up with little nicks and cuts from his razor-sharp claws, as well as bumps and bruises from him accidentally knocking you over or holding you too tightly. 

You accepted after the first few times that this was simply how it was going to be when Childe managed to trap himself in this abyssal form. You'd resigned yourself to the occasional injury, especially knowing how much anguish being like this caused him. 

Even now, as he's staring forlornly at the long, shallow cut along your cheek, still burning and tingling in its freshness, you don't really have much to say about it all. It was an accident, you understand. You've already got the first aid kit to clean yourself up. 

Foul Legacy plonks onto the floor by your feet, a long puff of air escaping him in a sigh that sounds almost comically like a tired old dog, followed by an odd, guttural crackling sound from somewhere in the back of his throat. 

You recognise it as a noise of distress, and react accordingly, even as you're still dabbing your cheek clean with a cloth.

"Hey. Stop that." You chide gently. 

Childe tucks his chin in, broad shoulders hunching in a defensive manner as he pointedly looks away. You hear the gentle tapping of his claws against one another as he holds them close to his chest, curled so they're out of the way. "I hurt you." You barely manage to catch the tinny whisper.

"It was an accident." You reassure him warmly. "I'm not mad." You hurriedly dab your cheek clean and apply a band-aid, wrangling out a crooked smile to demonstrate that everything is okay. "See? All better." 

"I…I always…" He lets out a little 'hff-hff' and shakes his head. 

“Hush.” You tell him sternly, reaching out to give him a pat on the head, right between the arcing horns that jut out from the mane of fuzz there. 

“I…I can never…” he chokes on the words, shying away from your touch as if he’s the one who has been hurt. “I can’t not.” he tucks his chin in and worries at the scarf around his neck with his claws.

You sigh gently, pityingly, as you bend your knees and crouch down beside him. It’s almost comical, when a creature this large is so curled in on himself. “Hey.” You tilt your head to the side and wait until he meets your gaze. “It’s not your fault, okay?”

“All I do is hurt people.” He mumbles, about to look down at the ground once more. 

“No.” Before he can turn his gaze off of you, you reach out and grasp his chin between your fingertips. The almost metallic texture of his face-slash-mask is cool and smooth against your fingers. He lets out a little chrrr. “You’re wrong.” You tell him gently, hoping the conviction on your face will communicate just how serious you’re being.

Though he may be clumsy, especially in this abyssal form, Childe is always kind, soft and caring to those he loves. You’ve been around him more than long enough to have witnessed firsthand how careful he is when handling things that are delicate or alive. It’s inevitable that he may accidentally scratch something up every now and then.

It’s hard for Childe to express emotions through his face when he’s like this, but you’re familiar enough with his abyssal form’s body language to know that he’s slowly calming down, latching onto your words. He lifts his big hands a little and you take them carefully in yours.

“Darling, you’re the most gentle person I know.” You tell him, and it’s nothing but the truth.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

SAGAU where the Creator is slain once, accused of being an imposter, and reborn as... a Melusine.

there's screaming and pain, the sensation of a thin blade digging into your chest- then nothing. nothing but the soft melody of running water. tentatively you open your eyes are met with dancing colors and shapes, little shell houses and baubles making a small, cozy village. your hands have become mittens, your skin swirling with pretty patterns, a pair of antennae sprouting from your head, and where there were previously cuts dripping with blood have turned to markings that shimmer slightly in the light. another Melusine approaches you and asks if you're lost, and when you merely shrug she introduces herself as Cosanzeana and shows you her slowly growing flower garden.

it's nice here, in Merusea Village. unlike the rest of Teyvat, the Melusine don't know nor care much about any sort of Creator myths- they came from Elynas, after all- so they happily regard you as a sibling who simply got lost on the way. finally you're free from the world above, everyone who chases and tries to harm you, spending your days collecting components to trade and swimming beneath the waves. Mamere in particular becomes a close friend, both of you regarded as a little strange but still beloved by all your siblings. she shows you her artwork and you help her collect paint, and in the coldest nights when you're swarmed by bad dreams, you tell her of your previous life as she swears to keep it a secret.

the only time you venture out into the far caverns alone is when you meet a familiar face- Childe's Foul Legacy form. you always loved the transformation, when Teyvat was just a game on your computer, but now you hastily hop a few steps back. the others treated you as a fraud, tearing at your skin until you gave in and died- he would be exactly the same. but Foul Legacy just blinks, slowly crouching to your height and staring into your eyes, speckled with tiny stars. he trills quietly in awe, then lowers his head into a bow in presence of the true Creator.

the other Melusine cluster around you when you bring him back to Merusea, curiously poking at his armor and glittery wings. you all see him as beautiful, and he is beautiful! Legacy stays with you in the village, accepted with open arms, much like Seymour stayed with Mamere for a time, and it becomes common to see a slightly sparkly Melusine running around with an Abyssal beast at their heels. he swims with you, navigating through the Primordial Sea, and shields you from any outsiders that happen to appear, the ones who dared to harm his Creator so horribly.

you, a Melusine, and Foul Legacy, your protector and best friend.

[thedarkestrivernymph]

A Heart Of Gold

Platonic! Y! Royal Child x Cruel/Uncaring! Royal! Mother! Reader x Y! Mistress! of cheating husband x Y! Brother in Law

-> part 2 here

word count: 11,5k (probably one of the lengthiest fics I have ever written haha)

warnings: mention of abuse (both verbal and physical), neglect, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, murderous thoughts, morally gray! reader, paranoia, harassment, unconsenual acts, kissing, mentions of death(s), killing, breakdowns/meltdowns, generational trauma, unhealthy mother/child dynamics, obsessive behaviour, classism, misogynistic views, homophobia, not completely accurate historical depictions!

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Author's note: Boy this got lengthy, still I hope you enjoy it! :) So let's dive into it, shall we?

“A heart of glass shatters, but a heart of gold melts into something newer and sturdier. Into something dangerous and menacing. It molds to a new life of cruelty, while the heart of glass is swept away, its pieces discarded and forgotten. I don't want to travel with the wind, fleet in one blink, I want to be reborn, experience freedom for the first time in my life. I want to have a heart of gold.”

Do you know the feeling of an itch that no matter how much you scratch, how incessant you drag your nails over that patch of skin, you can just never get rid of? That was motherhood, but worse.

For you, at least.

The life of a commoner was jarring, a constant battle for life, that most, no matter how hard they tried to intimidate, would never succeed in defeating. Most died young, early thirties or fourties, with nasty diseases of all kinds being the reason—and yet they always seemed so lively compared to nobility. The nobility with all of their masquerades and dramatics. They never were allowed to let the intricately crafted mask crack, even for a second, if they valued their life that is.

Perhaps that's why you had envied those mindless pigs most of your life—working away until their bones cracked and fell into themselves. That mindless devotion and that foul language they could use whenever they pleased, the sheer stupidity in believing in something higher and more valuable than the crown, was so vastly different to your own complex persona. Your life was quiet, filled with studying, tea-parties that never reached deeper than surface level of conversation and endless long nights where you would raise your gaze to the heavens above and just stare at the stars, as if the answers you desperately longed for were written in them.

You were like a man deprived of water, thirsting for something to quench your endless need for freedom. Any kind you could get your hands on, you clutched on—wether it was the question of if you maids were to dress you in blue or white or rather in violet and yellow, or something simple if you wanted to wander around in the gardens that day; you loved all these small luxuries. Even the pearls of your mother's, now hanging from your neck like heavy cobblestones on a string, felt nothing compared to the little escapades you were allowed. And the needle you were embroidering with in this old moaning manor pricking you gave you some semblance of joy, that at least in some shape or form there was something under your control.

Until even that had lost its taste—like your once most favoured dish that had reminded you of childhood in your youth, the fields, the servant's children that you would play with after repetitive lessons and so much more, one day none could comfort you anymore. As many others, you grew out of your juvenile thinking much too soon and in a way that was far too shattering of an experience.

Sweet seventeen and the marriage with the crown prince was held. You had known before, it was to be expected, you had anticipated the dreadful day when you would have to give up your freedom in exchange of legacy and reputation, yet actively knowing and actively being were two vastly different states one could experience. So as the princess you had been, you had bowed down to everyone in power; to your mother with her stern gaze and even harsher words, to your father with his cane as sharp as his gaze was, to the king of a different nation, you had only visited once in childhood who was nothing more than a distant memory at this point in time and lastly to your future husband, who would not reign yet, but still hold enough power to crush a small country with just his fist.

So you bore the stranger a child, one not out of love, but out of duty to the crown, to your family—to everyone who had invested in you as a powerful tool as the key to peace between two neighbouring kingdoms. “He’s pretty. His eyes are like mine,” were his first words upon seeing the crying infant still caked in blood with you drenched in your own sweat. The world had crumpled in that moment, only to rebuild itself a second time in your life as you remembered that nothing ever was out of love. Everything was done out of ego. At least concerning nobility and royalty. And you were royalty.

That’s when the curse had started—the deep loathing for something that didn’t deserve it.

“Mother!” you frowned, determined to keep your gaze on the embroidery in your hands.

“Mother!” another high-pitched cry and you swore a vein on your forehead was about to just pop open and deflate like a par of lungs you wanted to slice through with a scarpel.

You glanced at the door, counting the steps and sure enough it took the little demon thirty-two before bursting right in as always. “Mother! There you are— look, look mother! Misses has just taught me how to..” you tuned out after the second word, already feeling another headache bloom between your brows, subtly ushering your maid closer so that she could take care of the chaos. Ignoring the way the boy protested and cried as he was led out with the excuse that his dear mommy was tired and in need of rest.

That had been ten years ago—in fact you were just melodramatic and liked to revisit your past, thinking about how foolish you had been to ever belief love was more than a myth. Sighing you took another bite from your steak.

“Mother, have you heard? I won this year's tournament again.” the deep voice startled you.

“Oh, you have?” another bite and it would be over soon, another bite and you wouldn't have to talk any more than necessary.

“Yes mother, has father not informed you?” no, don't let your thoughts get bad, he didn't mean to mention his father.

“Mother, you and father haven't been talking much, have you now? How utterly disappointing. I had assumed that he at the very least would share my achievements with you, mother dear.” you were losing it again, because you could swear he was doing it on purpose, he was rubbing salt in your wound knowingly. No, no he wasn’t, you were just paranoid, instead why not focus on the flower motive on the egde of your plate or the rich red swirling in your cup or—

“Mother? You seem rather pale. Would you like me to call your maid?”

He isn’t doing it on purpose.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He didn't ask to be born, he was just here because he had to—as you were, as the worker ants and the pigs were, as the common folk were.

Just breathe.

“Mother—” no you couldn't just breathe.

Your fists slammed against the dinning table, causing silverwear to clink against porcelain and wine to spill. It dripped to the floor and with it your last nerve.

“Don’t you dare, Nicholas! You and I, as well as any other resident in the palace, are very much aware of your father's open infidelity—and to incessantly remind me of it, is just unacceptable! When will you grow out of your boyish theatrics and take life seriously? You should concern yourself more with your studies and yourself than my matters!” you were standing, you didn't even know when you had stood up, but now you were face to face with your son for the first time in the duration of the entire dinner—and you tasted bile. Luscious chestnut coloured hair, forest green eyes and fair skin with an oval face; he was the copy of his father, quite literally and everything in you felt deeply disturbed by it. Or perhaps it was because of the way he would stare at you, even as a baby, with this sort of hunger, this all-consuming need to take and take, without giving back, like a parasite in your guts, feeding off whatever you consumed.

“Mother, you wound me." he had the audacity to jest, smiling that bone-chilling smile. Sometimes you wondered if that really was your son and not just a demon that had slipped into his skin at birth. “I am your son, mother. I worry for you. You’ve had such a weak constitution since my childhood, I cannot help myself.” devil. You shuddered.

Beyond yourself and all responsibilities that came with being bound to the crown, you stormed off. Your maids rushed behind you but you swat them away, yelling at them to leave you be, that you just needed fresh air and throwing what other excuses you managed to come up with at them. And they were quick to listen—even though with great reluctance scattering like baby ducklings would, while the guards stationed in front of the dinning hall were watching you silently. Everyone was, constantly.

You huffed, hands gripping your gown like the talons of a bird clung to a mouse and you ran—perhaps if your mother could see you now, she would claw her way out of her grave to berate and scold you like the child you were behaving as, but you couldn’t stop your legs from moving forward, even as your feet started to ache and you felt something warm run down your shoe.

“Your Majesty?” you halted.

“What is the matter? You seem upset?” Charles. Your gaze softened, something that happened far too little. Soft brown curls with a matching chocolate brown gaze all dressed up in a relaxing blue. He was like a gift wrapped in a blue bow.

“I was just walking by. All council members were called.” he was blunt and clipped as always—comfortingly so, gazing at you in thinly veiled concern.

Before you could spout whatever irresponsible nonesense that your mind could conjure up, he had clasped a hand around your wrist, quick to check for curious eyes that would misinterpernt the rather narrow distance between you two, before pulling you both aside into an empty chamber nearby—the room not much bigger than a closet, obviously something forgotten.

You opened your mouth ready to speak but he beat you to it.

“Is it your husband again? He’s a fool. To think he can feel free of guilt when his lovely wife has to suffer because of his childishness.” you felt his hand cup your cheek and you melted, the darkness and slight chill of the room suddenly secondary, as warmth from your very insides bloomed.

“I don't know anymore, Charles,” you sighed, head against his chest. You found a steady rhythm there, something unlike your life.

“He brought her here. Here! Into the castle. He wants to make her his second queen, his second queen! That's unheard of but he's so stubborn and he won't listen. Not to me, not to his advisors—he just doesn’t listen.” there was some relief in sharing your pain, some relief that at least someone would listen to what you felt and thought.

“It's a scandal.” he admitted in a whisper, now rubbing your back in gentle circles. “To have a mistress for all the world to see and to want to elavate her status to yours. He’s crazy. You deserve better, much better.” he consoled you and reassured you, making you feel more at ease with your teenage-like outburst. You ought to pull yourself togehter, (y/n). Be quiet and strong. Don’t cause a fuss, men don’t like that. Yeah, mother, you did everything right, but father still had three bastards he brought home.

Exhausted you groaned, embracing the very chest that Charles has been offering you since the first day at the palace. Sometimes you would wonder what would’ve been if you had married Charles instead of your husband, but you never thought too long or too hard about it, because to be tuthful the prospect that you could’ve lead a happier life depressed you.

Something wet rolled down your cheek.

You pulled away.

“Thank you, Charles. You’ve always been very understanding. But I should return to my chambers. It’s late. Where were you headed to again? You should make haste.” you were quick to dismiss as usual. It was unheard of that in-laws were so close with eachother, especially when the gown you were wearing once had been your husbands gift. It was like his cruel paw extended time and place to even shackle you in place here in the furthest corners of the palace, alone with the man that you had— in your younger years at least— occasionaly thought about at night, when your husband would be working or have his occasional trysts with some courtesan.

He was quiet for a second or two, letting you spiral furhter into the dark place that had a permenant residence inside of your mind, only to startle you with a squeeze to your shoulders. “Are you certain? You still appear unwell and I would feel like a terrible brother-in-law if I just—” you didn’t let him finish.

“No, no need. I am absoloutely capable of returning by myself. Just you go.” and with that escaped before you could cry your eyes out in front his brother, even when he was the only human in the family of festering little demons, you would rather not let him catch you off guard. He was the apple Eve was tempted with only to fail the test, but you were better than that, you were a noble, not just any you were a royal, you wouldn’t fall for fate’s cruel tricks.

You rushed through the halls, your heels clicking with each step, as the night only turned darker and your thoughts only more frenzied. Finally you reached your chambers, your skittish maids, breathing out in relief, rushing towards you to check in on you and your trembling state. You waved them off, barking again to be left alone, only this time they wouldn’t. Suspiciously so.

“Why won’t you let me enter? Speak.”

“My queen, we would never think about witholding you from returning to your own chambers, but there is an issue of sorts, you see..” the oldest of the bunch spoke up, the same age as your mother would be if she was still alive and well.

With slits for eyes you glowered, now more persistent in your demand, even if it was one of your most loyal of maids, you wouldn’t be leniet enough to let them off the hook so easily. “Speak.”

“My queen it is that—”

Oh.

Staring at you so incredibly smugly, as if you couldn’t wipe the floor with her visage if you wanted to, was the twenty something mistress of your husband, of the the king, Maria.

How ironic of a name.

“Oh? If that isn’t the first queen. How delighted I am, to meet the woman the king adores as much as he adores me. And how beautiful of a woman you are! So graceful, even at your age, with a child that’s nearly old enough to build his own family! You must be proud! Certainly, you’re so lovely.” you felt your eye twitch. She was utterly shameless standing in the doorway to your chambers while dressed in nothing but a chiffony nightgown and black hair like the streaks of tint on paper. How utterly depraved and sick.

As she smiled too, you probably turned red in the face.

“I am so happy to finally meet you! I heard a lot about you—all he does is talk about you. I am glad you’re my opponent I can vie for the king’s affection with. Anyone else would’ve been bland in comparison to you.” her fingers brushed away a strand of hair in your face and it probably took all of your self-restraint not to snap and bury your fingers in her scalp to pluck away some of that inky black. “I am truly grateful.” her blue eyes were worse, piercing and clear like the streams of fresh waters—truly a horrible colour to be gifted to such snake, undeserving of such beauty.

“Why are you here? This isn’t the king’s bedroom, girl.” you were cold, slapping away her hand and trying to undermine her presence with the fact that you were older and more experienced, yet she just giggled. Was it wrong that she reminded you of your son? The both of them certainly were the same level of vile, making you feel uncomfortably unauthorative in their presence.

“Oh it isn’t? My mistake, your Majesty. But you can just call me Maria, no need to be so distant. Or you could get used to calling me Queen Maria. Pardon—is it a sensitive topic? You’re glaring at me so intensely, I am uncertain if I should fear for my life.” on second thought maybe being thrown into prison for bashing in the king’s mistress’ head against a wall didn’t sound so appaling. No, pull yourself together.

“I ask of you to move. These are my chambers. So move, now.” one more minute of this and you were sure you would end up growling like an animal, but thankfully she finally took the hint and brushed past you but not without a flying kiss your way. “See you soon, your majesty.”

At the end your maids held you back from tearing her apart like a rabid dog the moment she turned to walk away. Thankfully, they were also able to pull you into your chambers before fleeting before your outburst. Vases were flying—clothes ripped apart and you burned the single strands of black you found, above your lamp’s little flame. All while you stared up at the night sky, like you used to, asking the heavens why they had cursed you. Why a god couldn’t have let you be born as an empty-headed piglet, why you had to be able to understand language, why you just couldn’t rip anyone’s head off that treaded too close to you.

At the end of your breakdown you found your mother’s pearls scattered on the checkered tiles like the stars that mocked you from above. You pursued your lips into a smile. It was somewhat symbolic.

Mother was dead. Father too.

But you weren’t, not yet at least. So why waste it with stupid things such as deceny? You had desired for more than superficial workship of your body—you wanted real love, something to take your mind off your duties. And if the king was allowed such a thing, then you would just aquire one too.

Charles had always been friendly to you. Why not pay the favour back? After all, he was such a good brother-in-law.

The imaginary gods truly scorned you, didn't they? Because why else would you be dining with your husband, his mistress and your son. Were you truly nothing but the butt of the joke? Your presence meant nothing—all the years of hard-work, serving the crown and greater good, for what?

For Maria to wink at you and mock you in broad daylight, with even your son doing nothing but quietly watch. Father like son. How true that statement was.

Were you disappointed though? No, you didn't expect much of demons festering off others.

The eggs were cooked into gooey soft richness, just as you liked it, giving you some semblance of comfort. Today you were dressed in rich velvet purple; truly a gown for special occasions and this particular day probably was the most special out of all. It was the day you had anticipated all these upcoming weeks with nothing but an ache deep in your chest whenever you thought of it.

Today he would announce when the law would be finalized—and with its finalization the death of your dignity.

Maria would officially be the king’s second queen, not consort, not mistress—not even the occasional courtesan he liked to fuck, no, she would be of your status, when she was nothing but a count’s daughter. It was laughable really, you stabbed at the beacon on your plate as if it had committed a crime against you.

From childhood until your marriage to him, you as a royal princess had been kept endlessly busy with tutoring of all kinds; writing and reading first and foremost then state affairs, french, latin, philosophy, politics, how to properly sit and talk, embroidery and so much more that at eight you had started wishing to be born a pig, kept fed until slaughter.

“As you all know,” all heads drifted in his direction, sitting proud at the head of the mahogany table, “The law will be legalized by the end of the month and to celebrate this joyous occasion. I ask my first wife, to prepare a banquet for my love.” he probably didn't even see you as a human, only as a political ally.

“Of course, your Majesty. I would love to.” nevertheless you replied as if you had a choice in the matter anyways, flinching as soft hands snaked up your arms. “You will? That's wonderful news! I cannot share just how honoured I am that you will be planning this! Anything you make must be nothing short of astounding beauty!” was she trying to gain even more of the king’s favour? It certainly seemed to work on your lovesick husband, who only leaned back in his seat, the cushions were red—a colour worthy of a king and let his lips curl up into a tender smile, with moss greens that seemed to scarily soften up.

Had your husband ever been capable of such a look?

You couldn't remember him ever staring at you so lovingly. It was chilling to say the least. Perhaps even repulsing.

You were quick to look down at your plate again—wishing for nothing more but to peel her fingers off of you, hopefully with so much force that one of her fingers would clean-cut break into two. It wasn't a question of love nor jealousy after all; but a matter of respect, and she was downright waddling her tail in front of you in victory. As if she deserved your just title as much, if not more than you. Slut.

“Mother,” this time it was the voice of your son calling out to you, ��it seems you will be occupied for the time being with the courtesan's banquet,” he sighed, “and I here I was anticipating to spend some time with you after my exams.”

Had he just—

Silence.

Even the servants could do nothing but stare at the prince wearing such a proud expression, as if what he did was the right course of action. As if he just didn't insult his father's current obsession with the occupation she had before he brought her into the castle.

Everyone knew not to mention it, not even in the passing. Just hinting at it could cost you lots yet here was the crown prince doing what he knew not to do.

Oddly enough, while electricity zapped through the air, something destructive brewing beneath the king’s icy cold gaze—you could nothing but gape in fascination at your spawn. Were you imagining it, or was he protesting against his father? If you didn't know it sny better, you would've thought he did it to defend your honour. But that was laughable.

It seemed the young prince had grown up, when you had no clue, but sometime ago probably, with the way he held his chin up high, no fear visible in his gaze all while holding his father's glare.

You would be lying if you said you weren't weirded out. Hopefully him acting out wouldn't put you in bigger trouble than you already were in. He could at least grant you such a favour.

“What—what did just leave your mouth?” the king practically spat, your husband rising a hand decked out with hefty golden rings.

“I said, father,” you internally groaned, this child was just determined to cause you misery, “Courtesan. Because that is exactly what she is. Isn't that right, Maria? Before father married you, you were nothing but a whore with your legs wide spread open to please—”

Thwack. The king loomed over his own son, like God, – if he existed – probably had over Lucifer to berate him one last time before he would've earned his fall from grace.

“Enough! One more word and I will forget myself entirely!” the threat rung through the entire dining hall, it rung so deep it seeped into your bones.

Nicholas’ cheek was left marked with imprints of fat rings that managed to slice through skin and leave one side of his face a swirl of red and slowly forming purple. He hadn't just hit his son, but he had done so, with such force that his head was moved out of your sight.

Yet he still talked; spat out words like they burned his tongue.

“What, father? Can't handle the truth—”

“Edwin! Oh dear!” Maria’s fingers only now left your arm. She was rushing to the man that was supposedly your husband, to stop him from actually killing the boy he had wanted so badly. Immediately she latched onto him, practically throwing herself at him, dotting on him, doing her best to calm his wrath and somehow it worked. While all you could do was watch in stunned silence.

Your cousin, what was her name again— ah, yes, Lilian— would’ve surely snorted out a laugh at the scene. She found everything dark and morbid to be fascinating, perhaps that's why she had married a duke that would occasionally beat her into a bloody pulp?

Getting sidetracked again, weren't you? Point is you could accept much, but this, this was crossing a thin line that needed to be kept up for the balance of all things holy to the crown. If a mistress managed to throw everything out of order, then you truly had failed all your marital duty as a partner and as a queen.

Perhaps mother had been right? But then again, father had never been the big romantic, you were sure the man had been incapable of falling in love—obviously different to the Edwin you thought you had known all those years. He seemed enamored and it was truly terrifying.

The meal ended shortly after with the King storming off and his mistress right with him. Now, you never enjoyed being affectionate with Nicholas, however even you had to admit that you should probably offer the boy some words of wisdom.

Even if you liked to think of him as a little gremlin with a copy of his father for a face, you knew he wasn't exactly the same as him. Sometimes, it was hard to admit, your son did manage to spark some motherly affection in you, as scary as it was. So sighing, you rounded the table and your gaze landed on the brunette boy.

“Come, let's get you cleaned up.” was the most affectionate mumbling you forced out from between your lips. Only to turn around almost immediately, not waiting for him to collect himself as you wandered out and away from the dining hall. There was a short burst of laughter—probably, you weren't sure, you hoped it wasn't crying. You hated seeing him cry. He was an ugly crier. Then you heard footsteps behind you and soon passing by a few of your family portraits, the irony not lost on you—your life in contrast to the perfectly crafted deception painted onto these canvases—you found yourself in your study.

“Sit.” your words were always clipped when you talked to him, weren't they? It was hard to remember.

Nevertheless you rummaged through your drawers, the subtle scent of wood mixing with the incense that you were quick to ignite.

Funny, so that's what your study looked like? It was organised and thoroughly dusted, with each book and document in different neatly arranged piles. He remembered never been allowed in here as a boy, only able to take sneak peaks at you at your desk while the door closed in behind his nanny's somber face. Now it made sense, you feared a child would ruin your precision and need for perfection. Oh, mother, is that the reason you shun me so?

You felt that unexplainable chill again, which would always travel down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. See that look in his eyes? Those soulless green orbs you swore would burn a hole into your face from how intensely he was staring at you as you sat down in front of him. That's exactly why you didn't want anything to do with him, he was just—so peculiar.

“Close your eyes.” was your next command, not being able to stand the abyss you found in your own son’s gaze. You waited while you prepared the cotton through soaking it in alcohol.

And thankfully he listened. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Mother” he spoke. “Mhm,” you hummed.

“Mother, aren't you mad at father?” you paused, inhaled, already unnerved before continuing to pat his cheek gently.

“It's not in my place to question what the king does, neither is it yours Nicholas.” a soft sigh escaped you, “You ought to behave yourself. The little stunt you pulled at dinner tonight was dangerous. He may be your father, but before all else he is the king. And you should respect him until the crown is yours. Or do you wish to ruin your future just because?”

“It wasn't just because—” you chuckled, letting your hand fall away from his cheek as he forced the words from between his teeth.

“Oh?” you used the same look your mother always gave you—a scoff and a frown combined to make the one on the recieving end feel disgustingly guilty. You shook your head at him, youth.

“The reason isn't of any importance, what is of importance however is you ascending to the throne. And you cannot do so if your father hates you so. You may be older and of pure blood, but if the new woman at his side falls pregnant with a boy and you continue to be foolish, then you can just stand and watch everything being ripped away from you.” were you getting emotional, describing your future too while trying to warn him? Maybe. You didn't realise it until your son threw himself at you, alright, maybe not literally but he embraced you, as if you were the child and he the parent.

You stilled.

When had been the last time you hugged your son? You couldn't remember. The moment was peaceful, oddly so and just for a split second you forgot of your revulsion towards that child and let him clutch onto you.

“Mother,” he breathed against your shoulder, startling you, “Mother he’s openly betraying you. While the whole nation watches. You don't deserve this mother, you deserve a better man. If I had been my father I wouldn't have—” you immediately pushed him away.

Did you mishear?

“Don't—don’t ever talk like that again!” you declared, instead of questioning it further, immediately assuming that the fault lied in your twisted mind. You must've misunderstood you must've—

Something was brewing beneath his exterior, you could tell. Something dangerous flicked in his gaze, something that you knew justified your fear towards your own spawn. Now, any minute, you swore he would burst and unleash his inner demons.

“Mother,”

“I apologise.” he smiled. You felt yourself release a breath, one you weren't aware you had been holding.

“I didn't think about my words, I am truly sorry.”

You quickly wrapped things up after that and it was not long before you send him off on his merry way. If he continued to talk about his father as if he wished for him to be only a memory and his skeleton six feet under the earth, then he would only spiral into a world of trouble and take you with him.

Besides—since when was he this rebellious? You sighed, feeling pain bloom between your brows.

Was this some sort of mockery?

To shame you continuously?

Or why for god's sake was this bitch in your chambers again?

“Your Majesty!” she chirped and you wished you could claw your eyes out and stuff them into her mouth so she would finally shut up.

“Child…”

“Maria, it's Maria, your majesty!” she huffed, then pouted, again clad in nothing but her nightgown, underwear really; silk that fell over her shoulders and reached down to her ankles.

“Besides—,” she pouted and you started to question the sanity of this woman, “You're not much older than me, your Majesty. Mhm, like an elder sister! How about I call you queen sister? Since we both will be queens!” she giggled.

Had she been dropped on her head at birth? You couldn't help but stare wordlessly, as she interlinked her arm with yours.

“Again. This is not the king’s chambers.”

“But queen sister—”

“Don't call me that.”

“But—”

“I said don't call me that!” you screamed.

Great. Now you were causing a scene in the hallway, with your maids and the guards watching. Great.

However you hadn't been prepared yet for the grand finale—suddenly she bursted into tears. Graciously of course, she was a lady, a lady with many tricks up her sleeve that is. She was crying, seemingly an endless stream, sobbing and quivering, staring up at you with big puppy-dog eyes.

If there was a god in heaven, you were certain that he hated you.

“My queen” she was still sobbing, now leaning forward so her cold lips could brush against your ear.

“You scream at me again and I’ll tell the king that you insulted me to my face.”

You gasped, this cocky little—

Yet what could you do? You knew one of her words amounted to a bar of gold to him; something to be treasured, possibly sacred. But you, he never had viewed you as such, you were the mother of his child and the queen yes—but your presence, —you knew as much as that— never has been valuable besides those two strong points. He saw you as an ally, a friend of sorts, a political fawn; someone with an intellect, but nothing more.

You didn't want to imagine his anger at even just daring to belittle what was rightfully his, that you, the queen in his little game of chess, would've mustered up courage that bordered on dangerously life-threatening.

So you sighed, with liquid anger pumping through your veins and your face flushing from the pressure of it. Your temples hurt again. Your head hurt again

You didn't register her leaving with a shit—eating grin on her face, nor the fact that one of your maid, Leslie, was half-carrying you inside your chamber, having to sit you down on your bed before feeding you your medicine in form of a brew.

It was funny, like your memory was wiped clean—as if your mind was a clean slate similar to how it had been when you were a drooling infant. Everything around you eased, the tension, the worries—what even was there to worry? You hummed, even purred in satisfaction as you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

You hated waking up. Peace never existed beyond a deep slumber void of dreams. You hated dreams, you hated being dragged up and dressed like a doll and hated the sky. Especially the sky with its sparkling stars all mocking you, calling you as you were; defeated.

Utterly so.

Your reminisced about your beloved husband calling you to discuss something urgent with him. What could've been this urgent matter, one may ponder? Well, it was Maria.

“Have you started your preparations for the ball, yet?” his tone was colder than usual.

“No, but I am very much in—”

“Then haste. It will be held soon enough.”

You nodded politely, not wanting to aggregate his nerves further. So he waved you off and dismissed you, until he abruptly spoke up.

“And make sure that boy learns some manners.” his glare was so sharp it cut into your nape.

“Will do, husband.” you fled the room after that.

Perhaps you did not actually flee, but you certainly felt inclined to do so. Sometimes you did fantasize about escaping to a lone island, one that would resemble the paradise your nanny had always spoken so fondly of. What was her name again? You didn't remember, you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried because all you called her was Mommy—obviously only behind closed doors, away from any eyes or ears that could rat her out to your real hag of a mother.

She had been the only thing close to a mother's loving embrace which you so frequently would read about in books; fairytales and romances. An angel with crooked teeth and a hunchback, but an angel no less, with a softness to her that you never were able to replicate no matter how hard you tried. She was simply of different blood that wasn't blue nor red but gold; she wasn't like the rest of them. But you were like them, hiding behind a mask, no matter how terrible life whipped at you to reveal the truth—you wouldn't, you were trained to not give in after all, drilled from a young age.

And she had been so adamant to free you, telling you stories about juicy fruits with tastes rivalling that of honey, a sky that never darkened and greenery that never faded—if you narrowed your eyes to slits, you could imagine the royal garden spread out in front of you to be the paradise she so often spoke about.

You sighed again. Those were just childish fantasies. Something she had made up to bring you happiness, even if your shared wonder only lasted two years before she was caught being too affectionate with you and discarded.

As a chubby five-year old you had been devastated and confused, wondering why she had left you behind to fend for yourself, alone with the wolves. But as you matured, as your own son's nannies came and disappeared, you realized it had never been her fault in the first place. They had been at fault.

“Your majesty!”

Some of your days were good, tranquil even, but some—some were either destructively evil or somberly empty.

“Your majesty—” and today you wanted to be somber, away from everything. But fate didn't want this. Of course it didn't, fate despised you as you did your mother. So even if you had promised to betray fate instead and experience an adventurous tryst with the man in front of you just out of spite, you felt no desire to speak with him or anyone else, after the short but life-threatening conversation you had had with his majesty.

“Has he upset you again?”, Charles sighed, his initial enthusiasm fading, “It seems every time we converse you're miserable.”

Now that he mentioned it—he wasn't wrong. He was like some sort of saviour, someone that reminded you of your nanny so long ago and your hardened heart softened again. You didn't want to push him away, not Charles, not the man with soft-features, a tender look in his eyes, with his dashing looks and personality—not when he was only a few years younger than you. So little in fact, it wouldn't matter at your age anymore.

“Seems so.” you muttered and you couldn't hold your hand back from outstretching to pull him down besides you on your little white-painted bench placed in the shades, with another piece of embroidery in your lap. For a moment he was silent, stunned by your fingers wrapped around his wrist for all eyes to feast on—and continuing to hold it even as he sat.

“It seems you're always there for me, Charles.” was this a fever dream? Or why else would you, the queen, tempt him so, seductive as always, yet bolder than ever, calling him so intimately out here—hopefully out of the ear of onlookers to the spectacle; your maid and a few guards scattered around.

And then you even fluttered your lashes at him, so blindingly beautiful that it hurt. Tantalizing with your lips that he was certain were sweeter than sugar, and the new heart-robbing smile on those soft pillars of warmth. The slope of your nose, the apple of your cheek, everything about you was sin incarnate and he was just helpless to the devil’s calls. Just what if he leaned down and—

“I thank you.” god you teased him.

“It's my pleasure. As a devotee to the crown.” he managed to finesse and gloss over his little stammer with a bright smile and you, thankfully, let it slip.

Or at least he assumed so.

Actually you were giggling in your head like one of those young village girls, when a boy would ask for a dance—you had watched that spectacle occur one time out on the countryside for some respite after mother's passing.

What a time it had been, so beautifully peaceful with only the birds to yap away— similar to now, the only difference was that now you were holding his hand, and nothing, not even the king could prevent you from enjoying this moment to the fullest.

“Charles. How long have we known eachother?”

“Fourteen years and counting, your Majesty.” he answered, with warmth in his eyes. The day was warm—the sun blazing and at its peak, with the garden neatly trimmed, sitting beneath the proud tall that was probably older than both of you combined, the shade provided you would with protection from her rays.

“Thank you, Charles, for always consoling me in times of need.” your fingers slithered between his own, entangling your hands under lingering eyes, yet in that little moment you found yourself not caring. Life was short, so why shouldn't you be able to enjoy life to the fullest as his majesty. If it came and he would hear of this, you would accept whatever punishment, because you were sick of not being free.

Then again you felt freedom spread her wings above you with Charles by your side.

You smiled, softly, gently, tenderly even. A smile not even your son had ever earned from you—something he probably never would, no matter what he tried, because he was still that man’s son with motives behind his façade that you could never figure out. He was still the baby that terrified you with the ravenous hunger in his soul reflected in his gaze.

And that very son, was plastered against one of the castle windows, his glare bearing down on you both, if possible, it would have burned a hole through your face from the sheer intensity of it. You had always viewed your child as creepy—unsettling to be around for too long. But you had never possessed any evidence for it—you knew not to blame a seedling, something that had sprung from you, but you just couldn't stop yourself from feeling dread when meeting his eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, this silent horror was not completely irrational.

Actually it was simple survival instinct.

Especially when the heir to the kingdom craved nothing more but your motherly love and seeing you give affection to his uncle, of all people – his enemy — he couldn't help but trash your favourite vase. Actually he wasn't that different to you in that sense—he needed chaos and destruction to satisfy the inner barbarian in him.

“Mother,” he slammed his fists onto your desk. He had been snooping around your study—his favourite past time activity since he had managed to steal the second pair of keys to the room you viewed as sacred and safe. If you just knew, Mother.

“You give, Mother. To everyone but me.”

he was trying to maintain his composure, to not burst into a jealous rage from seeing you intertwined hands, the close proximity you shared—the smile plastered onto your face much more similar to that of a young maiden experiencing her first love than the queen with a heart of ice.

The moment his uncle dared to lean forward to brazenly press a kiss to your knuckles, was the moment he snapped. Destruction reigned over your study, his desire for carnage so raw, he treated craftsmanship like flesh and blood, strangling them as if they owed him an apology.

Then finally it was over.

As it was, peace settled over his silhouette, drenched in his own sweat in the stifling hot room, panting like a rabid dog.

“Mother,” you both were gone now from his view, he should haste, he knew, but he couldn't leave without these last words.

“If you won't give me your love willingly, as a mother should. Then I will take what is mine to own. I will overthrow father, be the king. You won't be able to escape, me, your son. You won't shun me no longer, mother. I won't allow it.”

Mother I will own your leash.

When you finally parted—you felt light and airy. Freedom was on the tip on your tongue, and butterflies danced around your hollowed out chest. Summer lingered on your skin, warm and sandy, reminding you of beaches you had never visited and tropical fruits that run over the back of your hand when you squeezed tad too tightly.

You hadn't felt so giddy in a while, nothing could ruin your good mood, not your husband, nor his mistress and neither your son. Cotton clouds were wrapping around you and you would be damned if you wasted time to not mock the stars back, staring up at the bright sky with a sneer. See, Mother? I will have my freedom too. I won't end like you, heartbroken by a man that never learned to love.

How foolish you were. Unassuming even. Years of living on this earth, shackled by fate and you still dared to dream.

So when the door to your study gave in and you entered to discover—

nothing amiss.

You sighed, you were being paranoid again, weren't you? How silly of you. Why would anything be out of order—children and most servants were forbid from entering. You handled delicate matters, events even; such as banquets and balls, carefully writing out invitations to selected guests, curating the invitations. Also you were responsible for all of your servants and the choices they made.

Before the old king’s unfortunate death you had been responsible with his care. He had deteriorated into a bad mental state in the last two years of his life; so much so that he couldn't recognise his son anymore. You had shared your husband's pain then, younger and naïve, a decade ago.

But you didn't, not anymore, not after so much you suffered through and with him only for him to sought out a courtesan and bend the entire law for her, risking even a coop!

You approached your sleeping quarters as always, while thinking about Maria, which granted you with a pulsing headache—in the literal sense. You should ask one of your maids, maybe Leslie, to brew you, your medicine once again.

“Maria." you greeted her dryly, the routine familiar now.

“Your Majesty!” she chirped as always and you had to control the twitch of your eye—or the twitch in your hand to slap her.

You opted to just silently stare at her, agitated by having to encounter her each night in your chambers, dressed in a nightgown you didn't want to imagine the king peeling off of her skin. She was trying to shame you, in front of your closest servants and in front of the guilt-stricken guard—that couldn't deny her request because in fear of attracting the king's anger.

“Your Majesty! I have waited and waited, just where have you been?” she was active as a child—but her eyes mirrored that of a snake, just searching for one of your weak points, so that she could torment you further until she managed to properly get rid of you.

“Maria please move. I would like to rest.”

“Then let's rest together! I am terribly tired—you know how tiring the king can be! So ravenous.” she snickered, much to the horror of your servants around you, “Oh..my apologies. Am I hurting your Majesty’s feelings?” her slanted gaze drooped, pity and amusement lingering in their depths.

Oh.

She did not—

That bitch!

“Leave!” you roared. Not towards her but to everyone around you, needing to feel her scalp beneath your fingers. You knew what you would be doing now was going to wind up ruining your just newly acquired saccharine taste of freedom, and probably destroy your life—but your anger gripped your by your shoulders and slapped you on your back as you roughly shoved her inside of your chambers.

Darkness shrouded the room in thrilling mystery of what to come—at least you thought Maria found it to be thrilling judging by her giddy following, excited to play a sick and twisted game of cat and mouse in the privacy of your chambers.

Your burst came all too soon and familiar—stripping you of any royalty, drowning out all the voices in your head trying to shackle the beast you would become when allowed. Usually you were only to do so in private, behind your doors—with only your servants to be subjected to your other face, but this time you wanted to indulge Maria. Show her heavenly grace and what it meant to be of royal descent.

You strangled her.

Everything unfolded in the blink of an eye, you couldn't stop or control yourself before tackling her causing her to stumble over your carpet in shock, crashing with into your nightshade, lamp shattering the moment it embraced the marbled floors while she embraced you as you both tumbled into your bed.

“Have the king! Have him all you want—like all the other men that you had between your legs. Warm him at cold nights! I urge you, please do.” hissing you leaned down to continue. “But know that you will never be able to be loved as much by the court, by the people, by everyone else. You won't survive this for too long. Even if I am beheaded after this.” you snarled while noting that she was indeed oddly calm beneath your palms. You were uncertain. Maybe it was the sheer shock? Perhaps she was weaker than you had assumed?

Or, she had died.

Panic surged through you. You weren't ready to be her murderer just yet! The thought alone made you flinch as if it branded your forehead in big bold letters in crimson. As if everyone could already bear witness to your crimes.

And suddenly you stood in front of the court.

Fingers pointed at you, screeching out blurts of sentences you couldn't make out, while you were dragged away by your own son, his grip on your hair so tight that you swore your scalp would peel off any minute now.

Kicked to kneel in front of the king, you begged and pleaded but mercy was foreign to the man that robbed you of your youth, and that you robbed of love and his sword swung high and far before—

You convulsed, gagging only at the thought, letting loose of her neck instantly, falling off of her onto the silken covers.

“I am sorry—” you mumbled, scrambling away from her, stubbornly looking away from the assumed corpse.

You were about to flee, kicking away the covers, dazed by the turn of events, trying to claw yourself back to your feet.

Run, Run, Run. It chanted inside of your head, and you surely would’ve managed to do so, if Maria’s fingers didn't clasp around your arm like a python’s jaw.

“Where are you going, your Majesty? We just started didn't we.” you shrieked, her hoarse voice genuinely startling.

Slowly you turned around to face the woman, with wide-eyed panic still clear on your face. “Let go of me!”

“Why? So you can take flight? Escape? Your majesty, even if you run, Edwin’s underlings will still catch you.” she was grinning, a feverish rush on her cheeks, mania clear and deep in her icy blue stare. “There's no one to run to, your Majesty. No where to hide. Embrace it. You're a monster. Old and greedy, craving things that no longer are yours.”

Was the bed coming closer? Or were you being pushed down? Because soon enough you laid on your bed, another headache, so potent it nearly blinded you with its pain—left you at the mercy of her cruel words.

“The king doesn't love you. He never has. Never will.” she muttered, with purple blooming on her throat like blossoming tulips, “You suffer for naught, your Majesty. Why do you worry for someone with such little regard of your person?” it was a bitter pill to swallow the truth in her words—and even if you wished to protest, you couldn't.

You were tongue-tied from the agony, with suddenly lead instead of bones, only further sinking into the open arms of your bedding.

“You're a fool, your Majesty.” a laugh ripped free from her throat. “For ever agreeing to be alone with me, don't you fear what I could be? Don't you fear my hands on your cheeks? Don't you fear the lust for blood in my gaze?” her voice like a melody, like a drug to aid to your wounds—it worked better than the mix of herbs you usually downed to find relief.

“Will you kill me?” you asked, only to earn another boisterous laugh that felt like a whip on your soul accompanied with slanted eyes that slithered over your form.

“No, far worse,” she paused, gaze smoldering.

“I will love you and you will love me.”

Pause.

You gawked. What was she saying?

“What?” you spat, puzzled.

She was completely deprived of sisterly love, or so it seemed. This was bizarre, downright weird—had she gone mad? Now you feared whatever her sick mind conjured next.

Something morphed and shifted until a smile so daunting, that if it weren't for the pulsing agony between your brows, you would've slapped it off her face and gladly so, while simultaneously increasingly feeling as if you were trapped in the coils of a snake.

“Edwin doesn't see you, as I do, your Majesty. He cannot see the madness in you, as I can. The insanity in your eyes, the very same one I crave to have. He doesn't love you, he doesn't. Not like I do.” your brows scrunched up, puzzled, she truly spoke like a madwoman.

Maria only chuckled. Her gaze narrowed in on your lips, in a way that twisted your stomach in discomfort; the way a man leers at a woman he desires. What foolishness! She couldn't possibly mean such an atrocity! It was never heard of a woman with a woman—

And as if to prove you wrong, tear your worldview apart, she leaned down with heavy paws pressing onto your shoulders. Your corset seemed tighter. The air or the lack of it was stifling. She wouldn't, right?

Fate truly had never been kind to you—and now it proved itself to be only more cruel as her lips crashed onto yours.

She was feverish with soft lips and scraping teeth, her tongue poked and prodded as if she tried to hollow out the warm cavern of your mouth. Her scent lingered in your nose so strongly it made your eyes water—lavender mixed with something you failed to recognise as she smashed her mouth against yours over and over again, until you were convinced that she was trying to strangle you with the wet muscle in her mouth instead of her hands.

The moment she let go off your figure, as stiff as a board , she was smirking deviously, as if she won a prize in a competition. As if the prize was you.

“I promise—” she leaned down, languidly slow, as if she had all the time in the world with no concern for the ravenous chaos she had just unleashed inside of you, “that even after Edwin’s reign, you will stay queen by my side.”

A bone-chilling cold kiss pressed to your damp temple.

“Goodnight, my queen.”

Sleep was not kind enough to visit you that night or the night after even though Maria had abruptly stopped with her nightly visits after that faithful encounter—still, your head was a buzzing beehive of thoughts. You were overwhelmed and at a loss for words at the strangeness of it all. For her to kiss you and demand—No, you refused to ponder about it further.

Nevertheless as if fate wished to humiliate you further —the stars in the sky hiding behind the light of the sun at daytime mocking you — your son was glued to you for the past half an hour or so, even had send all your servants away and no matter how much you tried to pry him off he would have an excuse prepared smoothly evading all your accusations. It was creepy. Has he sensed something? He never was so persistent.

Nevertheless you still couldn't fathom why she had did, what she had done.

Even days later, it just didn't make sense. What benefit could she reap from forcing her mouth onto yours and behaving like a man? You shuddered just at the thought, everything about this situation was odd, vile, repulsing and something else. Something you wished to keep buried deep in you and left unexplored.

“Mother, look! It's a swan with ducklings.” he pointed out the window, at this very moment behaving much more closer in age to a child than to a man. “Yes, Nicholas. How grand.” you muttered dryly, eyes kept steady on the embroidery in your lamp while indulging him slightly, after countless failed attempts and of hushing him away, you had tired and the pounding headache that wouldn't relent didn't make you any more awake.

“Swans mate for life. Do you believe this one is mated?” your brow twitched in frustration, eyes kept steadily on your needle, going in-and-out of the tight fabric.

“I do not concern myself with such matters, perhaps you also shouldn't.” you muttered abrasively, watching the motive of a purple tulip come to life, something about it eerily similar.

“I believe that it was mated. Then rid itself of its mate. It knows it doesn't need one. Just look mother— all the cygnets that follow without her mate in sight. They all seem so happy. Especially the mother swan, the way she—” red obscured your vision.

Something warm and human dripped down your hand. You didn't move, didn't even breathe, all you did was stare at the needle sticking out of your hand.

“Mother?—” a gasp, “Mother!” his footsteps were overwhelmingly loud, even louder than his ramblings that were grating on your nerves.

“Oh Mother.” the condescending attribute of his tone was sharp and rung in your ears. “What have you done? Your beautiful skin,” he was mumbling again. God, when would this child stop mumbling beneath his breath! And his eyes full of fake pity concealing something much darker made you just want to pluck the needle from your hand and ram it into your throat, perhaps then the scornful look on your mother's face would finally stop haunting you every living moment.

“Mother, you're upset again, aren't you? You're always upset.” Nicholas face fell as if genuinely distraught, taking your wounded hand in his, prodding at the damage you caused. “Father doesn't know how to care for you, he is mean and brutish. To scold you for informing him that you can't possibly prepare the banquet because you're unwell and getting mad at you. He’s audacious, a fool. He doesn't deserve you—no one deserves you Mother. No one but me.”

You yelped as he pressed down onto the needle, causing further damage to your hand—the pain unbearably uncomfortable. For days your head was a dizzy spur of thoughts, paranoid and refusing to meet Charles and now, you couldn't even be properly be enraged about your son's foolishness. At least the mind-numbing headache of yours lessened thanks to the one in your hand.

Suddenly he was much closer, eyes a combination of bright and hopeful and sick. There was something manic about his gaze too, something that made you swallow thickly, alarm you once more to not stare at the demon dressed in your son's human’s shell.

“Mother, I will be a fair king. I will be good. And I will take care of you in a way, no man or husband can. So just endure it for a while longer, I know you carry all this pain with you—and all of it is the reason why you can't love me fully. But if father, his whore and everyone else that upsets you dies—then you will be free. Then you will be free to love me how much you want. We can finally be happy mother.”

You were about to puke. Was this what you had allowed to grow? Over all the years, no matter how much you detested spending time with the little copy of Edwin, you had made sure he only had the best nannies, a great governess and tutors at hand. All for him to spew out such nonsense.

But you had known. Known since the day he was born, that Nicholas was not sane. And right now it both angered and chilled you to see your worst fears manifest in flesh and blood.

“Get lost. Out of my eyes.” you hissed, bathed in cold sweat. You had to get up and out. Needed to flee before you were given the moment to acknowledge that you were raising such cruelness beneath the facade of a noble. Perhaps what amplified your dread was that he—the look of insanity in his eyes, the hatred, yet longing mixing into a destructive love— and you weren't so different after all.

That you both craved motherly affection so intensely you both had spiralled, into different lows, but spiralled nonetheless.

“Mother—you don't mean that.” he smiled. Yet not calm anymore. He wouldn't hide it no longer. You deserved to know that he forgave you, that he saw your pain and ache and that he would ease it for you. Just let him destroy the world only to rebuild it in your name, so that you could finally love him.

“No.” you breathed. He didn't relent, clutching your hand as if it was sacred.

“No! Let go!” you shoved him away this time, crying out in pain, as the needle’s head now pierced through your palm. You were trembling. The creatures lurking in the shadows would now find you. Freedom was a dream, happiness equally but at least you used to have peace, at least you used to have Charles, but this new reality of yours, with your son as the same maniac you were in your youth, would destroy it all. He will take from you, as he always had.

Your anger boiled over.

It was a mistake—he was the heir for god's sake, no matter how foul his mouth had gotten!

Nothing changed the fact that it was done though.

You slapped him right across the face, as his father had done, startling him into a stunned moment of silence. He was as if frozen, shocked that the verbal abuse you inflicted on him would actually one day turn physical. For a moment everything halted, the particles of dust in the air, the chirping of the birds, the soft footsteps echoing around the castle and only shock remained.

Then he smiled.

“Mother—”

And you fled.

You scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the room in such a hurry, you still held your embroidery in your hand while out in the hallway, running pathetically slowly. This wasn't your son. Even after years you still refused the truth, you didn't ask for this! Fate was cruel, but it couldn't be this—not this! You were a queen now, your mother would've been proud, the same mother you had thrown off the balcony.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, sick to the stomach. No, not now! You couldn't cry now, not when duty and responsibility always came before being and feeling and living and— Before you even realized you plucked the needle from the back of your hand, throwing the embroidery against one of the oil paintings hanging nearby, hoping your blood could lay curses and if it actually could,

You hoped to curse this entire castle.

Everything should’ve changed after her death! You should've been free, should’ve lived a better life than her—but you were following into her footsteps, the same miserable marriage only used as a pawn, with the same excuse for a husband caring even little for his heir. You hated it, hated it so much you could burst!

“Your Majesty?”

“Charles,” you muttered, lip between your teeth. You groaned, stumbling forward, dressed in red—the colour which had adored your mother as she had laid lifelessly on the ground. Life was funny indeed wasn't it?

The man has been your angel for so many years, once more spread his wings embracing you in all his glory, letting your red taint him with the evil your mother, you and your son bore. It was in your blood, in your very DNA, you were bred to be a demon—perhaps that's why your son's eyes had always send a chill down your spine, not because he possessed the same potent green of his father, but he held the same wickedness in it. The one you recognised.

“By god!—”

And speak of the devil and he rushed towards you, immediately growling at his uncle that held you in his clutches. Yet before he could step further forward, the doors to his father's study opened, the room one of the largest and proudest and with its opening the king stepped out with Maria as always glued to his side.

All of them and the servants—all were staring at you, while you couldn't help but let your tears flow; your pounding headache, the blinding lights and the blurry edges in your vision everything you could focus on, all were maddening.

You were dying weren't you? This was probably the divine judgment for all your sins. Perhaps the stars were right to scorn and mock you; you were indeed pitiful, a creature born out of neglect and the same abuse you instilled on others now.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the king demanded as proud as ever, before the world was replaced by a void and swallowed you whole and the chaotic cries around you dimmed, until your own stopped.

Until you were no more.

Hopefully this time you would be reborn as a bird with fully fleshed-out wings.

[daylite-writes]

Welcoming Legacy (It welcomes you) - SAGAU ft. Foul Legacy Tartaglia

Ever since you woke up in Teyvat, you’ve been… confused. The memories of your previous life fading, leaving you to wander. One thing was for certain though, the people here despised you for the face you wore. That was, until waking in the Snezhnayan wilderness after another death, a certain abyssal harbingers saves you from the cold.

cw: imposter au SAGAU shenanigans, temporary death, hyperthermia, passing out, not very yandere (but from his perspective it definitely would be), hurt/comfort, Capitano cameo! Written to be x reader ish, but it’s vague and ur kinda cold so can be read as Romantic or Platonic! Will be tagging as both lemme know if it shouldn’t be.

1.5k words

~~~

It’s almost funny, you think, how he’s the one who reconsized you first.

No. Not recognised. This was the first time you’d met any of them. The vision holders, the ‘characters’ that you once fawned over and held very dear. They wouldn’t know your name, your face—except for the fact they did. And they hated you for it. “Impersonator”, “Heretic”, “Damned”, “Witch.”

They all looked at you as if you’d committed a grave crime. A slight that could not be forgiven. But how could you have? You were given this name, and born with this face.

And yet you were hunted. And yet you were killed. Arrow through the heart, spear through the back, claymore to the ribs. The pain was unbearable, but death wasn’t the end. Each time you closed your eyes, hoping for an end to the nightmare, you awoke somewhere new.

You recognized the landscape from hours spent playing the game, and quickly learned to avoid settlements, villages, and most importantly, vision holders. The pain of death was too much, leaving your body trembling with sobs and quietly pleading to whatever force put you on Teyvat to just let you go home.

After the fourth death—at the hands of an electro charged spear, courtesy of a certain mahamantra—you woke up, shaking uncontrollably. Only this time, not from phantom pains or the emotional toll of death. This time, is was due to a heavy, bone deep, unnatural cold.

Snezhnaya.

Of course it had to be Snezhnaya.

You whimpered, cursing your luck. This would be a slow, painful death if you couldn’t find shelter and fast.

Stumbling to your feet—bare, the clothes that stayed with you after death did not include them—you looked around pitifully. A snowy forest. Beautiful, but useless, and hard to see far in. You’d never been to Snezhnaya in game either, so there was no way you’d be able to find shelter. Pitifully, you dragged yourself under a tree, curling into yourself under the pine’s branches, hoping it wouldn’t be too painful. Achingly, you let your eyes close, waiting for the next place.

Only, before the cold took you, a rumbling call broke through the tranquil silence of the forest.

Blearily, you opened your eyes. Some kind of beast? It wasn’t like you were familiar with the creatures of Snezhnaya. But it didn’t sound like a normal enemy monster. It was sad, keening… longing.

It called out again. You… would rather die quickly to a beast than slowly to hypothermia, you supposed.

“Here,” you called out weakly. You clicked your tongue a few times, as if luring in a cat. “Come on.”

You laughed slightly. Had delusion from hypothermia set in so quickly? You were making kissy noises at the monster in the forest. Luring in your death with soft sweet noises.

The forest was still for a moment. And then it wasn’t.

Snow crunched underfoot of what was undoubtedly a large creature. You were pretty sure you heard the waning bend of pine trees as it shoved pass.

Was this a mistake? Probably. You were too cold to care. Maybe its claws would be warm as it tore you apart. Ha. Wouldn’t that be nice?

At some point your eyes had slipped closed again, but it was close now. You could hear it. So close—you waited for the sink of claws into your flesh—

It came to a stop in front of you, inches away, maybe, if the warm breath on your skin was any indication.

In a raspy, warbling tone, it spoke English. “Creator?”

What?

You opened your eyes again, and gasped as you saw… Tartaglia? No, not him, exactly. But, his Foul Legacy. The rough plates of armor adorning his limbs, the red mask with a singular clouded pearl eye in the center, the sheer size of him.

“Ajax?” You mumbled.

“Creator!” It said again, rough, desperate, as if it had a throat not made for speaking.

“Hi.” You said simply, before your eyes slipped closed.

~

Warmth.

There was warmth.

A lot of warmth.

Fire.

You sighed, not daring to open your eyes for fear it might disappear. That you might still be laying in the snow, your blood crystallizing in your veins.

A smooth, clawed hand cupped your cheek, then your jaw, tilting your head back. Was this when the pain would come? You stirred a bit, but little nothing happened. The thing holding you sighed, gently pressing the sides of your cheek to open your jaw. What? What was happening? You hardly had time to panic before something warm was poured into your mouth, and his inhuman hand latched around your mouth to keep it shut.

You whimpered, eyes still closed—gods you really didn’t want to open them. You really couldn’t mentally confront what was happening. For now, it needed to stay invisible, it needed to not be real—as the liquid sat in your mouth. You refused to swallow, but it tasted like broth? Was it broth? You decided you didn’t care, not so long as you were being forced to drink—

That was, until its other hand came up and began to massage your throat. You sputtered, the rough finger pads gently rubbing against your throat forcing you to swallow after a moment.

It’s… nice. Warm but not hot, and definitely just some sort of broth now that you think about it. The next time the edge of a bowl is set against your lips, you drink of your own volition.

Whatever was caring for you seemed happy, as its rumbling chest, reminiscent of a cat's purr, seemed to indicate. Honestly, you were too, going slack against it, hiding your face in what you think is it’s neck, lined with a mane of fur, as it rubbed circles into your scars. The old aches of death soothing under its fingerpads.

Sleep came easy.

~

The next time you woke up, you weren’t so afraid to open your eyes.

Strangely calm, you didn’t even jump at the sight in front of you.

Probably seven feet tall, with thick, armored plates running up his body, a mix of purples, blues, blacks and reds coloring his body. His mask was a dull red, and an abyssal blue, almost jewel like eye was set in the center.

Foul legacy. Tartaglia’s abyssal form. This was Childe, no—

“Ajax?”

He practically melted, wrapping around you at the raspy croak of his own name.

You sighed, snuggling into the small fur mane around his neck.

“What are… what are you doing here?” Wasn’t he out of the country? You weren’t sure what point in the story you arrived during, but none of them had him in his homeland for long. “Isn’t being in that form for too long dangerous?”

He smiled. Well, ‘smile’ was a bad term. He curled back his lips and opened his plated maw, one you didn’t know he had. It was hidden among the red armor of his mask, which you were now convinced were just, ya know, his face when in foul legacy. His maw, black and almost a void inside, lined with row after row of sharp, shark-like teeth. He yawned, wide, before snapping his mouth shut with a little clack.

You couldn’t help the small giggle that bubbled up from your throat.

He seemed to like that, purring as he set his chin atop your head.

Your giggle faded away, and your face fell. You gave a soft sigh, body aching slightly. With a quiet voice, you could help but ask what’d been gnawing at you since you woke.

“Why… Why are you helping me?”

“Because the ones who hurt you are fools.”

That was not Ajax.

You turned your head, towards the entrance of the cave Ajax had holed the two of you up in.

When you saw who it was, you shied into the arms of Foul Legacy, who was happy enough to wrap his arms around you.

Capitano’s intimidating figure blocked the entrance of the cave, mask glinting in the fire light.

“I apologize for the late arrival, I was combing the west side of the valley for you. Tartaglia seemed to find you first.”

“I…” What?

Capitano stepped deeper into the cave, his steps were confident, but the closer he got, he lowered his head. It almost looked like a sign of respect.

A mere few strides away, he reached a hand out—to greet you? Touch you? You were sure, as before he could do anything, Ajax dragged you closer and responded to Capitano with a guttural growl.

“Quiet, eleventh.” Capitano commanded. Despite his unhappiness, Ajax obliged, letting Capitano closer.

A cold metal gauntlet approached your face slowly, before cupping your face. Gently, it tilted your jaw up, forcing you to meet the void of his mask.

You didn’t know that when the firelight hit your irises, they glittered with constellations, or that the veins barely visible against the white of your eyes were gold.

What you did see through, was the way his heavy shoulders dropped, and you heard a reverent sigh of relief. He dipped his head lower, and you swore crystal blue eyes blinked slowly down at you.

“Welcome to the waking world, dear Creator. Celestia has kept you asleep and unseeing for far too long.”

~~~

Omg this had so much more but the plot got out of hand so I just took the first bits and left the rest out. TECHNICALLY there’s lord and explanations but I know I’d never finish a cohesive plot so here we are! My first attempt as SAGAU!

Gonna update my ask specifics soon as well as answer one!

ALSO IVE BEEN TRYING TO FIND THIS SOULMATE AU SCARA FIC WHERE HE FINDS READER LIKE TIED OUT AS A SACRIFICE AND FINDS OUT SHES HIS SOULMATE AND HE LIKE BRINGS HER ALONG WITH HIM AND SHE IS LIKE SICK FROM THE COLD AND HES ALL WORRIED AND LIKE “FORGET THEM THEY BTRAYED TOU” AND I CANT FIND IT AGAINNN AAAA anyways if you’ve read it and know pls tell me

[prttykittes]

MASTERLIST! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Meanings :: — 🦷= fluff/sfw, 🧠 = smut/nsfw, 🕊️ = dark content, 🦴 = angst, 🐾 = platonic

A/N :: most of them are afab but also gender neutral! but I am trying to do amab as well!{btw afab means people born as females, amab means people born as males! Still gender neutral..kinda ig)

Events :: KINKTOBER 2023 ! .

Genshin impact !

STEPBRO!Kaeya devours you when your asleep! — Kaeya #afab/female reader 🧠🕊️ (incest)

BIGBRO!Aether fucks you and claims you! — Aether #Gender neutral reader 🧠🕊️ (incest)

ONLYFANS!Scara fucks you! — trans!Scaramouche #afab reader 🧠

Foul legacy Childe fucks you after losing the battle! — Childe #gender neutral reader 🧠🕊️

Multiple genshin characters smut! — Beidou, Kazuha, Zhongli, Diluc #gender neutral reader 🧠🕊️ (two are incest)

ONLYFANS!Childe rides your dick/strap! — Childe #gender neutral reader 🧠

Cutting initials on both skins! — Rosaria, Yae Miko #female reader 🧠🦷(slightly suggestive)

You Fuck afab!kabukimono cunt with your dick/strap! — kabukimono/Scaramouche #gender neutral reader 🧠

Dom!Scara fucks you and him with a double dildo! — Scaramouche #female/afab reader 🧠

Face riding Childe! — Childe #afab reader 🧠

:3 anon writes Zhongli sadly boops ur dead body(tw.nerco)! — Zhongli #gender neutral reader 🧠🕊️(I can't fix the tags for some reason, it won't let me :(

Afab!Scara humps ur pillow and piss' and comes on it! — Scaramouche #gender neutral reader 🧠

Baking a cake with big brother!scara! — Scaramouche, Ei, Yae Miko #gender neutral reader 🦷🐾

Scara fucks you and pisses in your hole! — Scaramouche #gender neutral reader 🧠

Lactation kink with Scara(your pregnant in this..)! — Scaramouche #gender neutral reader 🧠

Doctor dottore confess his feelings for you! — dottore #gender neutral reader 🦷(🕊️maybe)

Scara craves his name into your skin! — Scaramouche #gender neutral reader 🦷(tw.blood)

Pegging Lyney with a 🍌 with a rainbow condom! — Lyney #afab reader 🧠

S-cara writes me Scara smut! — no reader mentioned #Scara solo 🧠

I write S-cara a gift! — CHONGYUN x reader x SCARAMOUCHE #gn reader 🧠

Childe fucks u when his siblings open presents! — Childe/Ajax #gender neutral reader 🧠

Threesome and NTR with genshin characters! — Xiao, Zhongli, Venti, Kaeya, Scaramouche, Raiden EI, Xingqiu, Chongyun #gn reader 🧠(cw.slight incest, NTR)

Stepcest w/ genshin men — Scaramouche, Zhongli, Kazuha, Kabukimono #gn reader 🧠🕊️(tw.stepcest)

Fem!scara scissors you! — Scaramouche #afab reader 🧠

Scara and Xiao noncon threesome u! — Xiao, Scaramouche #gn reader 🧠🕊️(tw. Noncon, slight stepcest)

Scara fucks u cat!reader when ur in heat! — Scaramouche #amab reader 🧠(CW.dubcon?)

Incest w/ wo/men! — Diluc, Lisa, Baizhu, Scaramouche, Childe #afab & GN!reader 🧠🕊️(tw.incest)

GENSHIN and HSR men w/ smut! — Dottore, Kaeya, Scaramouche, Blade, Dan Heng, Jing yuan #gn & afab reader 🧠

(step or not) big!brother! scara has anal sex with u! — Scaramouche #afab reader 🧠🕊️(tw.(step/in)cest)

Wanderer awkwardly praising you! — Wanderer #gender neutral reader 🧠

Kazuha praises and Wanderer regards you! Kazuha, Scaramouche #gender neutral reader 🧠 (CW.threesome)

Bully!reader bullies their sensitive nipples! — Kabukimono, Thoma, Kazuha #gender neutral reader 🧠 (cw.classroom sex)

Public sex and getting caught! — Kaeya, Wanderer, Kazuha #gender neutral reader 🧠

Fucking their boyclits! — Scaramouche, Yuta, Choso #gender neutral reader 🧠

Klee comforting her 15yr bff! - Klee #gender neutral reader 🐾

Foursome with Venti, Kazuha, Scara! — venti, Kazuha, Scara #gender neutral reader 🧠

Raw and lipstick! — Choso, Kabukimono, Gojo, Childe #gender neutral reader 🧠

Kazuha fucks you and scara after y'all tried! — Kazuscara #gender neutral reader 🧠

Bsd !

Daddy kink! — Dazai, Fukuzawa, Chuuya #gender neutral reader 🧠

Blowjobs! — Akutagawa, Atsushi, ranpo #amab reader 🧠

Domming you! — Dom!ranpo #amab reader 🧠

Pussy and dick! — Chuuya, Dazai, Atsushi #afab reader 🧠

Akutagawa eats you out! — Akutagawa #afab reader 🧠

Beast!Boss Dazai punishes you — Dazai #afab reader 🧠

Chii reader personality — Dazai, Atsushi, Mori #gender neutralreader 🧠

Nipple play — Chuuya #gn reader 🧠

One night stand! — PMzai #female reader 🧠

First time + highschooler reader! — Dazai #gender neutral reader 🧠🕊️

Date and "normal" highschooler reader! — PMzai #gender neutral reader 🦷

Annoying people when you are with him! — Akutagawa, Sigma #female reader 🦷

Writing Fantasies! — Poe #gender neutral 🧠🦷

Anonymous and I write incest smut of Chuuya! — Dad!Chuuya #afab reader 🧠🕊️ (incest)

Lingerie shopping & fucking! — Dazai #afab reader 🧠

Rei personality! Reader! — Beast!Dazai, Fyodor #female reader 🧠

:3 anon and I write dazai fucks you with your panties! — Dazai #afab reader 🧠

:3 anon writes roofie smut with Dazai! — Dazai #gender neutral 🧠🕊️

Chubby darling anon writes pervy stepbro! — Dazai #afab reader 🧠🕊️ (incest)

🌷 anon writes BigBro!Nikolai teaching you! — Nikolai #female reader 🧠🕊️ (incest)

Nerco!boypussy sigma fucks himself on you! — Sigma #afab reader 🧠🕊️

Dominating beast Dazai!(after he doms you) — BEASTZai #gender neutral reader 🧠

Cheater!bsd cheats on you! — Dazai, Chuuya #gender neutral reader 🧠

You have sex with the girls in cheater!bsd — female ocs (Dazai,Chuuya) #gender neutral reader 🧠

Comforting you about sh scars(?)! — Dazai, Chuuya #female reader 🦷

Baking cupcakes for your loved one! — Kenji, Unspecified #gender neutral 🦷🐾(one is where reader likes Kenji and second is Unspecified x reader :)

Chubby darling anon writes Icky stalker! Poe smut! — Poe #i forgot gender reader 🧠

Reader touching themselves and the bed men watch you! — Dazai, Fyodor, Chuuya #gender neutral reader 🧠

Brat taming Ranpo but not really?? Not sure tbh! — Ranpo, mentioned Poe #amab reader 🧠

15!ssk comforting you after an weird old man! — Chuuya, Dazai #gender neutral reader 🦷(🐾)

First time with Atsushi! — Atsushi #female/afab reader 🧠🦷

Dad!Chuuya throat fucks you(his son's homeroom teacher!) — Chuuya #gender neutral reader 🧠

Stepdad!Chuuya fucks u and cupcakes! — Chuuya #gender neutral reader 🧠 🕊️ (tw.stepcest)

EXTRA! [twst, hsr, tokyorev, jjk, pjsk, randoms!)

GENSHIN and HSR men w/ smut! — Dottore, Kaeya, Scaramouche, Blade, Dan Heng, Jing yuan #gn & afab reader 🧠

Leona fucks because ur his lucky item! — Leona #afab reader 🧠

Fucking their boyclits! — Scaramouche, Yuta, Choso #gender neutral reader 🧠

Raw and Lipstick! — Choso, Kabukimono, Gojo, Childe #gender neutral reader 🧠

BLUE LOCK !

Sexually provoked! — Barou #female reader 🧠

Threesome with reonagi and bonus! — Reo, Nagi #gender neutral reader 🧠

Demon Slayer !

:3 anon and I write Free use Friday so he fucks you until your out! — Giyu #gender neutral reader 🧠

Chainsaw man !

One sided date! — Denji #Gender neutral reader 🦷

Pick which one of us! — Denji, Yoshida #implied fem but gender neutral 🦷

:3 anon and I write Dad!Aki fucking you and calling you mutt!! #gender neutral reader 🧠🕊️ (incest)

Obey me !

Nothing yet (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠)

Original characters & unspecified characters !

:3 anon writes good incest smut and I love them for it!! — unspecified #fem reader(uses she/her) 🧠🕊️ (incest)

Blowing daddy!(I write smut in a hate post)! — incest(daddy! Unspecified #gender neutral 🧠🕊️ (incest)

You have sex with the girls in cheater!bsd — female ocs(Dazai, Chuuya) #gender neutral 🧠

:3 anon and I write incest sister smut with leash! — female oc/unspecified #feminine! reader 🧠🕊️ (incest)

Nanny!Reader has sex with married man?! — unspecified/male oc #gender neutral reader 🧠

Butler!male teacher his master(you) a lesson about your mouth! — Unspecified/male oc #gender neutral reader 🧠

Paying stuff with your mouth! — shop worker!male unspecified/oc #gender neutral reader 🧠

Perv!character fucks "you" but he is doing a random girl and imagines it's u! — Unspecified #afab reader 🧠

Yandere!male who fucks someone for your guys child! — Oc/Unspecified #gn reader 🧠(CW.dubcon(?)

Yandere!Loser fucks u! — Oc #gender neutral reader 🧠(tw. masochist)

(⁠｢⁠`⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠)⁠｢ yippee!!

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter crossover Masterlist

Ideas and headcannons

Two short ideas about Imposter SAGAU AU x Self-Aware BSD AU Crossover.

More short ideas about Imposter SAGAU AU x Self-Aware BSD AU Crossover

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover ideas. ADA Edition

About Heizou

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover ideas. Port Mafia Edition

How BSD Cast will treat people, who helped Reader

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover ideas. The Guild Edition

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover ideas. Rats in the house of the Dead and Decay of Angels Edition

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover ideas. Hunting Dogs Edition

Who helped Reader during Imposter Hunt

About Foul Legacy

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover ideas. The Government and Others Edition

About Nahida

Punishment for Fake Creator

Some questions about AU

More questions about AU

About Navia (And Neuvillette)

About Portals

About Kazuha and Venti

About Tsaritsa

About Thoma, Itto, Nilou, Yunjin, Xingqiu, Chongyun, Xinyan, Xiangling

More questions about AU. Part 2

More questions about AU. Part 3

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover ideas. BEAST Edition

About people, who helped

More about people, who helped

About reflections

About Arlecchino

About Scaramouche

About Teyvat Helpers again

More questions about AU. Part IV

What if (Zhongli and Neuvillette)

Oneshots

BSD/GI/JJK ideas

About voices

Monster from the deep (Self-Aware! Howard Phillips Lovecraft x GN! Reader)

For your safety (Self-Aware! Tetchou Suehiro x GN! Reader)

Lost and found (Self-Aware! BSD Characters x GN! Reader)

He can't hurt anyone (Self-Aware! Saigiku Jouno x GN! Reader)

So much planning (Self-Aware! Dazai Osamu x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Fyodor Dostoevsky)

Mora makes Teyvat go round (Self-Aware! Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald x GN! Reader)

When you were gone (Self-Aware! Nikolai Gogol x GN! Reader)

Truth of fallen god (Self-Aware! Chuuya Nakahara x GN! Reader)

Little comfort things (Self-Aware! Kunikida Doppo x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Paul Verlaine)

Count them (Self-Aware! Akiko Yosano x GN! Reader)

If you were not alone

Part I (Self-Aware! Platonic! Aya Koda, Self-Aware! Platonic! Katsumi, Self-Aware! Platonic! Shinji, Self-Aware! Platonic! Kousuke, Self-Aware! Platonic! Sakura, Self-Aware! Platonic! Yuu)

Part II (Self-Aware! Platonic! Kenji Miyazawa, Self-Aware! Platonic! Kyouka Izumi)

Part III (Self-Aware! Hunting Dogs)

Part IV (Self-Aware! Platonic! Atsushi Nakajima, Self-Aware! Platonic! Akutagawa Ryunosuke, Self-Aware! Platonic! Lucy Maud Montgomery)

Part V (Self-Aware! Platonic! Ranpo Edogawa, Platonic! Nahida, Platonic! Furina. Aranaras. Melusines. Small Elynas Cameo)

Part VI (Self-Aware! Teruko Okura, Self-Aware! Fyodor Dostoevsky, Self-Aware! Howard Philips Lovecraft)

Part VII (Self-Aware! Chuuya Nakahara, Self-Aware! Doppo Kunikida, Self-Aware! Nikolai Gogol)

Part VIII (Self-Aware! Dazai Osamu, Self-Aware! Kunikida Doppo, Self-Aware! Atsushi Nakajima)

Part XI (Self-Aware! (Child!) Atsushi Nakajima, Self-Aware! (Child!) Akutagawa Ryunosuke)

Part XII (Self-Aware! Paul Verlaine)

[euphorickaeya]

Hihi

if your up for it can I request (imposter au) reader whos on the run from everyone and ends up in snezhnaya. Exhausted from running, ends up collapsing in the snow. Childe finds them, foul legacy recognises them as the creator and yeah... Just sort of fluff/comfort if possible, I'm finding it hard to find works on him in sagau. Thank you

an yes! The classics, back in the prime days of sagau you’d find these in no time, but ofc ofc Childe is one of my favourites so I need to write this too!

i think, I wrote this too much out of what i wanted el oh el, as much as I love the carefree childe who’ll probably try to cheer you up by popping jokes, I’d like to dig deeper into their actual obsession to you. Reminder, I believe that, they don’t really worship you, you as the person but as a embodiment of the god that create them.

i don’t see a lot of people write about that, and it might be ooc but I really want to dig deeper into this!

—————

BLUE’S ALWAYS BEEN MY FAVOURITE COLOUR.

honey’s notes : hello, hello! I’ve been trying my hardest to get back into genshin impact, im currently trying out tower of fantasy + marvel movies, it’s been a busy year for me! Please do be patient with me when it comes to putting things out, im trying to continue both my series and see if im able to progress where I left off. As of now, have this small fic I wrote, I hope you enjoy this!

summary : ever since you’ve been small, you’ve always had the connection with the colour blue, it was the first thing you ever felt happy seeing. whether it’s the blue sky, the serene waters, or even, your favourite acolyte’s eyes.

pairing : childe x reader. [can be platonic/romantic.]

reader uses they/them pronouns.

may contain really bad grammar.

taglist : will be placed in later!

recommended song : once upon a december - christy altomare.

a cough escaped your lips, frail and shivering. you clutched the now tattered and ruined cloak, the fabric barely clinging onto your bruised and battered skin. Your fingertips run themselves against your arm, trying to create warmth.

you couldn’t tell if people were still hunting you, chasing you. their yells and distaste ringing in your ears, their words so thoroughly clear in your ears, never leaving. you grit your teeth. You haven’t slept in days, you remember. You told yourself you couldn’t, not until you’ve passed Liyue. Then you will rest.

You grit your teeth in anger and disappointment, your legs wanting to give way but your will won’t let them. You could remember the amber eyes that laid their gaze on you, full of hatred, full of distaste, as if, you were to blame of the way you looked. Were you?

You have no idea how long you’ve been on the run, how long have you had a full meal? Clean water? Warm clothing? A home? Every step you took, it felt like your body would cave in. You remember what Venti has told you once,

“there’s no home for you here. As long as you carry a face we so adore, you are always to be considered a curse.”

Your gaze stays on the floor, you can no longer tell when you’ve crossed lands, you no longer remember when you’ve stopped to take a rest, because you knew, they’re always near by, the people who despise you so, the ones who can never let go of the face you so wear.

For once, for once in your long walk, you look up. The silver storm of a suspicious land greets you so, you could almost see, every unique snowflake’s design, so intricately made. Your head makes a click, Snezhnaya. You could see the sigh that escapes your lips, forming a small gust of air in front you.

You just now start to feel the ice freezing up to your feet, your toes no longer being able to move, how long have you been walking this barren land? The icy blue was the only thing you can remember. For once, you smile. Blue was your favourite colour, it reminded you of the good things in life.

The blue sky, the calm waters you’d play at as a child, the bluebells that’d grow outside your home. You can no longer feel energy to walk, you knees give way, a soft thud onto the snow, you can barely feel the cold creep up to your limbs. The white snow, reminding you of a blank canvas. So peaceful, yet so horrifying. You’re alone, in what seems like a never ending field of ice and snow.

A hum is heard from behind you, you don’t turn your head, no longer feeling the will to, just staring at the white fields that lay itself in front of you. weirdly enough, you’re warm.

“your celestial highness, you must be cold no? don’t you worry. This one, will take care of their most beloved.”

You don’t remember what happened after, the last remnants you do, you remember staring at a beautiful creature, reminding you of the galaxies they’d talk about back in your world. Oh how gorgeous you remember it. You felt a warmth surround you, as you slowly close your eyes, letting yourself be consumed by the tiredness you’ve finally acknowledged.

blue eyes stared at you, you felt your eyelids still droop, your tiredness not going away. a hum, once again, though you can’t tell if that came from him or you.

Childe stared at you with uncertainty. Although not at you, archons, never at you. You force your fingertips to life, you felt it twitch, shaking. Your eyes slowly move around the room, the fireplace in the far corner, the countless pales of warm, boiled water. The bucket that lay at your feet, your feet’s draped in a hot towel.

You could tell why, from your ankles to your calf, it grew bright red, you though, from the snow, must be. Childe watched you scan the room, you remember him as awfully noisy, so, carefree. Almost child-like. It kind of weirds you out, how quiet and so, calculating his gaze was on you.

“tartaglia..” your hoarse voice calls out, as if a machine turning back to life, he moves, his hand reaching for a glass of water from the bedside table, slowly placing the rim of the glass to your lips, quenching your thirst.

“shh..beloved. you’re still weak.” His hushed whispers tell you, slowly tipping the glass more and more, so you could get as much water as you needed.

you force yourself up, childe supporting you from the small of your back, the soft plush bed dipping as childe stacked your pillows up behind you.

“where..” a hum silences you, you stay silent for a moment, almost afraid to speak.

“I cannot apologize for, what the other nations did to you, your highness..” childe replaces the now cold towel on your forehead, only now feeling the wet sensation as he peeled it off and placed it in a pale with warm water, you watched his hands wring it damp before dipping it back into the water.

“they know not, when their god possess such a weak mortal body, and for that, they are insolent idiots.” Childe continues, wringing the towel damp one more time, before folding it neatly, into a small shape, big enough for your forehead.

“but here, in snezhnaya, we adore you so dearly.. here you are, our treasure. the most wondrous.” you took the time to admire him, as he gently placed the warm towel on your head. You could see his ginger curls, lay so perfectly on his frame, his hair was a mullet, small cuts litter his cheeks, you mustered it was from the countless spars you always imagined he’d love to do.

his freckles littered his face so perfectly, his lips in a thin line, his gaze flickers from the towel to meeting your eyes. His cerulean eyes meet you, his eyes carry adoration, care, love and affection for you. a truly magnificent acolyte.

You could not think of anything to describe laying your eyes on childe for the first time, almost, as a breath of fresh air, but you can feel yourself bubble up, especially his eyes, oh how his eyes affected you so. Your favourite colour, Blue.

“we, snezhnaya as a nation, will restore you to your peak greatness. I, your loyal acolyte, the 11th harbinger. The holder of your foul legacy, will promise you so.” His words stun you back into silence. You aren’t sure how to respond to him, his declaration has you so curious. Why hasn’t he had the same reaction as the other characters you’ve met?

and if he knows who you truly are, then why doesn’t the others?

you didn’t let words speak for you, rather your actions. Your hand shakily raised to meet your beloved Ajax’s face, it was almost if it was a perfect fit, his cheek to your warm palm, his eyes flutter close, as he yearns more for your skin, your touch. Your thumb slowly runs through his cheekbone, delicate, soft and gentle.

“ajax..” you mumble as he hums even more, the vibration ran shivers down your spine. he looks up at you, a small smile on his face, determination and his face shows serious listening, wanting to hear every syllable your lips tells him.

“will you…will you protect me, till then? till I give them their judgement, my revenge?” You whisper, voice still hoarse, ajax leaned his lips against the inside of your palm, nodding enthusiastically, kissing it ever so gently, as if you’ll break from under his touch.

“I promise, I will restore you back to your divinity, and I will stand by your side, the day you take back the world you once created..” his eyes glisten, never breaking his gaze on yours. you couldn’t help but, fall a bit in love with his eyes. after all, blue is your favourite colour.

“we must get started then, no?”

[jayeeintheclouds-inactive]

Who’s your favourite parent?

istg my friends still have no idea at all that this blog exists and i’m running it they’re gonna be so mad at me lmao

Notes: past zhongchi, reader is zhongchi’s love child, platonic! zhongchi x reader, adeptus reader, reader used to be mortal, angst, implied dead childe, reader is called princess once but generally gn reader

Summary: You love to reminisce about childhood games, all except one, one that you absolutely despise. One that takes a father away from you, no matter what option.

Baba: Father in Chinese

“(Y/NNNN), who’s your favourite parent? Me or Baba?”

You cocked your head to one side and pretended to think for a while, even though you already had an answer in mind.

“Baba, of course,” you say cheekily, and watch in amusement as your father’s face morphed into an offended expression. “Want me to list the 100 reasons why?”

Your father grumbles. “For an 8 year old kid, you sure are incredibly cheeky. Xiao must have rubbed off on you. I’ll tell Zhongli to stop letting Xiao babysit you.”

You tug on his hair. “That’s reason number one.”

“Hey!”

“I can’t believe you forgot that I’m 10. That’s reason number two,” You huff your baby cheeks and turn away. Childe snorts.

“Okaaay, I’m sorry, princess. How can I make it up to you?” He smiles, and carries you in his arms. You are way too big to be carried anymore, but he doesn’t care, and neither do you.

“Listen to my speech about why Baba is my favourite father then.”

Childe frowns immediately, and childishly throws you out of his arms. He only does so because he knows that you’ll land in his husband’s arms safely, and you do, letting out an “oomf!” as you fall in your other father’s strong but soft arms.

Zhongli sighs, and stares disappointedly at a pouting Childe - he sometimes can’t tell who is the real child between the both of you. “Please refrain from throwing our kid, Childe. (Y/N) could have gotten injured real badly.”

“Yeah! That!” You find your way and sit up in Zhongli’s arms, pointing at Childe accusingly. “You don’t take good care of me, but Baba does. That’s reason number three.”

You and Zhongli watch smugly as Childe glares at the both of you, getting more and more offended by the second. How dare his husband and his child gang up on him? Simply outrageous. Have they forgotten that he is Tartaglia, 11th of the Eleven Fatui Harbing-

You interrupt his internal monologue. “You’re doing that monologue again, aren’t you?” You deadpan. Dang it, he thinks, but he won’t admit defeat just yet.

“If I agree to let you sit on my hair while I’m in my Foul Legacy form, will you make me your favourite father?”

You perk up, almost convinced. It is Childe’s turn to look smug.

“Childe,” Zhongli warns him, but he too leans down to your ear and whispers, “If I turn into dragon form and let you ride on my back, will I remain your favourite father?”

Your eyes light up in excitement, bringing a playful smirk to Zhongli’s face - a side that you and Childe see for the first time.

“Don’t listen to him!” Childe whines, “I’ll even create my hydro whale for you to play with it!”

“You’ll get wet playing with that useless whale. I’ll let you play with my mini meteor,” Zhongli counters.

“Okay, fine! I’ll buy whatever you like. Just name it, and it’ll be in front of you in a minute!”

“I’ll buy twice of whatever you like.”

“With Dad’s money?” You ask.

“With Dad’s money,” Zhongli confirms smugly. You’ve never seen a more offended face on Childe before.

You start laughing, and Zhongli slowly joins in too, bouncing you up and down while you are still seated comfortably in his arms. Childe puts on a prideful face at first, and refuses to crack a smile, but it isn’t long before he joins in the merry laughter.

“Alright, alright,” Childe concedes defeat, “I can see why Zhongli is your favourite parent now. There is a reason why I fell for him after all.” He executes a wink after that statement, successfully bringing a blush to Zhongli’s face.

You giggle when Childe takes you from Zhongli’s arms into his own, careful not to drop you. “Don’t worry, Dad, even if Baba is number one in my heart, you’ll always be second.”

Childe pouts. “Only second? I don’t like the sound of that.”

You wish you had listened when your father said that.

It has been so many years. Your other father has made you an adeptus, as per your request, and you have taken a liking to harnessing new powers and staying with your father and adeptus friends together for a long time.

But at what cost? Your other father is dead.

You want to hate them, but you can’t. You want to hate them for falling in love even though one is a mortal and the other a powerful god, you want to hate them for making you choose between the both of them, and you want to hate them for leaving you in either choice. But you cannot find it in yourself to hate them.

If you had chosen to remain mortal with your Snezhnayan father, you and he would die eventually, leaving your other father all alone and grieving for the both of you. If you chose to become an adeptus instead, you and Zhongli would live together for eternity, but you both would have to watch your ginger-haired father die. Either way, you’d have to go through the pain of leaving one of your fathers.

It was a hard decision, but could anyone blame you?

You hated the fact that you saw understanding and love in Childe’s eyes when you chose to become immortal with Zhongli. You don’t think you deserved any of it, especially when you had just basically wished him a lonely death. You couldn’t look at your father in the eye when he stroked your hand and looked at you with the softest gaze, just moments before his soul completely left his body on the deathbed.

You wish he hadn’t taken the fact that he’d always be your second favourite person to heart. You hope he never forgives you for leaving him to die alone, even though you know he would forgive you no matter what. Because you are his child, and he loves you.

And you hate that. You wish he would just not forgive you for leaving him all alone in death, as it would make the guilt eating your heart less painful.

You wipe away a tear that is rolling down your cheek, and muster a smile in front of Childe’s grave. The stone is cracked and looks like it could crumble into pieces any moment soon. You make a mental note to change it with Zhongli.

Gently, you place a bowl of Calla Lily Seafood Soup in front of the stone, and make sure to sweep away any leaves on the ground.

Out of childish, playful spite, you snicker lightly as you place chopsticks on the rim of the bowl.

The smile that is on your face disappears quickly, and you are frowning again, despite your efforts not to.

“Dad,” You softly mutter, receiving no response, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t want you to die alone. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Come back. I’m sorry.”

The more you mutter, the more you feel yourself losing your composure. It’s not long before you break and start wailing, the salty tears dropping into the soup meant for him. You don’t notice.

“I’m sorry,” You continue to apologise tearfully.

You hear the wind picking up a bit, and a small sound is heard next to your ear.

It was my choice, the wind says, and caresses your cheek. You wail louder.

[watatsumiis]

Reader's Stuffed Toy

Just a silly little set of drabbles about different characters finding out that the reader has a plushie in their likeness :D

Gender neutral reader, platonic fluff, very slight angst in Foul Legacy's part

Characters: Ayato, Foul Legacy, Gorou, Tighnari, Rex Lapis (yes the dragon), Xiao

Ayato is insufferably smug about it from the moment he realises. He’ll waste no time in teasing you about it and commenting on the plush, though there’s a dark flicker of something in his eyes whenever he catches you contently snuggled up to it, or tucking it carefully into your bag for a long trip. It may take some reassurance that no, this little bundle of fluff isn’t as good as the real thing, until he warms to the idea, and eventually you may find little packages laid out addressed only to “The Junior Yashiro Commissioner.” that, when opened, reveal itty bitty clothes, hand-sewn by Thoma with the utmost care to match Ayato’s own day-to-day outfits. He also may incorporate the toy into his own routine, occasionally stealing it from you so that it can ‘complete its paperwork for the day’. He denies being in any way attached to the toy, but it’s hard to take his claims seriously when he’s got it sitting on his desk in a little chair belonging to Ayaka’s dolls, with a teeny tiny brush and paper in hand.

Though Foul Legacy doesn't entirely get it, he understands that the stuffed toy is of great importance to you. He holds it so delicately, like it's made of glass, so his claws won't shred it. He'll mimic the way you treat it, patting it on the head and chirping curiously at it, as if it's a living creature. It takes him a while to realise how much the toy actually resembles him - there’s a level of disconnect between him and his physical form, but the moment he finds out, he can’t seem to stop thinking about it. He wonders why you’d want a plush of (what he perceives to be) such a monster, but it seems to bring you a great deal of comfort, so he lets it slide, making sure to always be extra careful when he’s tucking it in next to you while you sleep. He finds a whisper of familiarity and comfort in the way you treat the plush that makes him think back to days long past in a small, seaside village, supplying his little siblings with various toys and watching them play.

Gorou is utterly embarrassed - his immediate response is to ask if the Guuji Yae put you up to this. He cannot fathom why you’d be carrying around other than it being some sort of ploy to mess with him. He encourages you to put it away, seemingly worried about any of the other soldiers seeing and potentially teasing him for it - it’s all in good fun, of course, but Gorou is more than a little shy at the best of times. He doesn’t really get it, and may pull you aside to ask you more questions, but there’s just something about it that doesn’t seem to click for him. Though, once he knows you’re being kind and genuine, and that the plush was a one-off commission and not some kind of mass-produced piece, he’s more inclined to allow it, though he’ll get all blushy whenever he thinks about it - he just can’t quite process the fact that you like him enough to own something like that. Even if his soldiers happen to catch on, they realise that there’s a boundary of sorts there, though they may donate little trinkets and tiny toy weapons to the ‘miniature general’ as a sort of good luck ritual before big battles.

Tighnari finds the plush one day when you accidentally leave it sitting out - his initial reaction is one of utter confusion as he wonders if his admirers have grown so bold that they’re now making merchandise of him on top of the trading cards that are circulating. The moment he picks it up and realises it’s drenched in your scent, he’s pleasantly surprised and more than a little flattered. The concept of comfort objects is quite familiar to him, and he takes care to place the toy exactly where he found it. He keeps a closer eye out in an attempt to catch you in the act, partially out of curiosity, but also a little because he likes the confidence boost he gains from it, and how embarrassed you seem to be about the whole situation, hiding the toy away whenever he comes near. If it’s ever brought up, he just kind of laughs it off, but the twitching of his ears reveals how endeared he is to this specific trait of yours. He may also try to find ways to subtly direct you towards Collei, who also has similar comfort objects of her own and can be pretty embarrassed about them at times - this may end up with both of you having cute little Tighnari plushies in your possession.

Rex Lapis takes it pretty well in stride, doesn’t even comment on it at first - after all, this is basically a form of worship, no? That is, until he realises that you treat the toy as a companion more than an item of reverence. He’s a little confused about it at first, watching as you walk about with the plush dragon tucked in your arms, chattering away to it. Eventually, he caves and rumbles out his questions about it, asking if this is meant to be some form of teasing or mockery and listening intently as you awkwardly try to fumble out an acceptable explanation. It takes him some time to grasp the concept that it’s simply an item of comfort to you, and even then he’s not entirely convinced it’s some kind of adeptal trick or machine brought to life somehow.

Xiao isn’t sure how to react. It’s not something you really chose to hide from him, considering his own outlandish habits, you figured he probably wouldn’t even care, but it seems that his fight or flight kicks in whenever he glimpses you with the plush that bears such a striking resemblance to him. His cheeks flush and his pointed ears tilt downwards as he crosses his arms over his chest and demands to see the toy, asking where you got it and why you have it. It’s not quite something he can wrap his head around - why would you want to have something that looks like him when you could just call his name and have the real him there in an instant? If he’s feeling particularly agitated that day, he may just pocket the toy and walk away with it - it’s not the first time he’s done something like that to one of your belongings, and you know it won’t be the last. Following him reveals that he tucks it away in a secluded corner of his nest amongst the high branches of Wangshu Inn, maybe even placing some other similar trinkets and scraps of fabric around it like an imitation of his own nest. He might just turn a blind eye if you happen to be brave enough to try and steal it back from him, though this may end up in an impromptu long-term game of ‘capture the flag’.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or used to teach bots!

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Hello, I'm new here! Was checking out your blog after seeing the melusine foul legacy post.

So... If it ain't a problem; Any melusine foul legacy headcanons?

Take your time!

Have a nice day :)

YES ABSOLUTELY. I LOVE THOSE LITTLE GUYS SO MUCH THEY'RE SO SWEET

~ * ~ Melusine Foul Legacy HCs

Foul Legacy x Reader (Platonic) Genre: Fluff Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: Mentions of the ocean

~ * ~

-He’s just… a lil guy… lil Abyss sea slug creature… -(I know all Melusines are female but you know what I make the rules here) -Legacy’s a bit peculiar, even to his sisters- apart from identifying as male, his body is also more monstrous and off-putting than the other Melusines -He’s still absolutely adorable, just a liiiiittle less soft and a bit more armored, all purple and red and midnight black -Slightly taller than his sisters, and has a pair of horns instead of antennae -You know the little wings some Melusines have? His are glittery and translucent, shaped like moth’s wings -Still has mitten hands though and they’re the bane of his existence, since they make everything so difficult to hold -Can speak, but also tends to intersperse his words with trilling and chirp-like sounds -Foul Legacy lives in Merusea Village, specifically in a small alcove in the underwater part, away from the other Melusines -He has an odd and intense interest in fighting and battle, which is actually fitting because his special token is an old, rusted blade that was lodged in Elynas’ body -You meet him when he dares venture above ground so he can get the sword cleaned and repaired, shooing away some people who were trying to scam him and offering to take him to Beaumont Workshop instead, where you happen to work -Your boss Estelle is quite amused when you walk into work with a Melusine at your side, sheepishly explaining that you got held up by some ruffians. Foul Legacy hides behind you until you explain that Estelle is your friend, to which he slowly nods, handing you the blade -He stares as you work, polishing and sharpening his most prized possession until it practically gleams, chittering in awe when you finally hold it up, complete

-Legacy thanks you profusely when you hand him the cleaned blade, looking as if it hasn’t aged a day. He cradles it carefully, doing his very best to not drop it as he sticks out a mitten-like hand to shake- he heard from his sisters that humans consider a handshake to be polite!- and he beams when you take his hand and give it a firm but gentle shake -He abruptly asks you to come visit him in Merusea Village, maybe so you can teach him how to use his sword, but unfortunately your lack of a Vision means you can’t breathe in Fontaine’s waters :( -But that’s okay- he’ll just visit you instead! He insists on it, in fact. You’re his first human friend (his first friend in general, actually) and he’s fascinated by your behavior and talents involving weaponry -You really weren’t expecting much when you gave this odd, star-speckled Melusine your address, telling him to be careful as he ran off back to Elynas, his precious sword held high over his head. But there’s a soft knock on your door a few days later, and when you open it there Foul Legacy stands, proudly clutching his blade with his mitten hands -Your friendship quickly blossoms from there as you teach him how to properly wield a weapon and show him around the Court of Fontaine. Legacy is extremely eager to learn and is very curious about the world above the ground, and he often tells you about life in Merusea Village in return -He brings you various components he finds to ask you what they do- they help power those large metal creatures patrolling the city? What’re they called? Are they friendly or rude? Why do you need them in the first place? -You also get to meet some of his sisters! You’ve seen them walking around the Court before but never really had a chance to interact with them, and almost every time without fail they’ll tell Legacy to stay out of trouble and not get into any tussles, while simultaneously thanking you for befriending their brother

-Foul Legacy is a little lonely, really. He doesn’t feel particularly at home with the other Melusines, especially since his appearance and demeanor are so different, so he’s very grateful for your company -He does still live in Merusea but makes it a habit to come up and wander around the city in search of you, and if he spots you going about doing your daily chores, he’ll follow you until you notice him- Estelle often teases you about having a little Melusine shadow (he absolutely lights up when you do notice him and runs over to hug you) -Yes, he does have a tail, and yes, it does wag back and forth when he’s happy -Would die for headpats -You teach him to use various types of weapons- bows are still his weak point almost entirely due to his mitten-paw-hand things. But Legacy is one determined sea slug, so somehow he makes it work (you don’t know how, it baffles and impresses you at the same time) -He swears that he’ll protect you from anyone or anything that tries to hurt you. Not that he doesn’t think you can’t defend yourself! He just likes the feeling of camaraderie and like he’s making a difference in someone’s life -Occasionally Foul Legacy will draw you sketches of what Merusea Village looks like, pointing out where his house is in particular. If you ever happen to be blessed with a Vision he’ll immediately ask if you’d like to see his home, happily swinging your hand and skipping towards the ocean if you say yes -Overall he’s a little strange for a Melusine, but is still very friendly and an excellent companion. Good sea slug Legacy :)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Brightest Star

Synopsis: In a world eager to give and receive love, you fail to meet expectations. Foul Legacy shows you that you’re perfect the way you are.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Happy ending Warnings: Mentions of vomiting, nervousness, death, self-loathing, reader has a difficult time romantically loving other people, reader has difficulty accepting love from others, reader feels like they are “broken” because of this

Note: I realize that the contents of this fic might come off as very insensitive to people who are part of the aro/ace community- this is not my intention. This fic is partially based off my personal struggles with the concept of loving, dating, etc, and is not meant to invalidate anyone’s identity. Please proceed with caution if you think this fic might be upsetting to read for you.

~ * ~ You’re not an ideal lover. Oh, how you wish you could be, as the concept of being held in a special someone’s arms fills your chest with warmth; sweet little daydreams imagined in your head. You see couples on the streets- partners, friends, newlyweds- all celebrating the different types of love they have for each other, and in your eyes, it’s beautiful. A wonderful occasion, worthy of the highest praise, and you clap and cheer and wish you could find someone to love on your own. But wishes rarely come true, and your desire to adore and be adored entirely is overshadowed by the stone-cold truth of impossibility. For you have never loved, and don’t know if you ever will love. Surrounded by all walks of life in Liyue Harbor, you drifted through existence alone, putting on a polite smile of false security. To satisfy your thirst for understanding, you would observe the people of the city, taking note of each and every laugh, argument, and rejection that passed by your eyes, and more and more your curiosity grew. Love is multifaceted, and it both soothes and burns the souls of mortals and gods alike, a flickering candle and a roaring flame all at once. Ah, how you sometimes wish to have it in your hands. By the time you were grown, you had made relative peace with life, content to watch and celebrate others loving and being loved if you could not have it for yourself. It was an excellent type of joy- happiness, to you, has many forms- to see your dearest friends so elated, their cheeks warm with both embarrassment and delight. Perhaps in those years you had mastered a type of love, platonic love, and you cherished and protected it as your most precious treasure. But still, sometimes it hurts. No matter how many times you reassure yourself that you don’t mind, it always feels like something is wrong with you, thinking about romance and fantasy. Because no matter how much you yearn for it, you just don’t seem to be capable of loving a partner- even less so being loved back. It’s lonely in the Harbor, and you are the star of its melancholy, hiding your worthlessness behind your malfunctioning heart. It was sheer coincidence- or perhaps fate- that your paths intercepted, the thread of your life crossing and looping around his as you look up one day, out on your daily walk, and catch the cold azure eyes of a stranger. But those eyes simply curl upwards as the copper-haired man dressed in gray waves to you, the garb of the Fatui outshone by the beaming smile on his face. The Eleventh Harbinger, the Lord Tartaglia. Something sparks in your heart like fireworks and you stumble, disoriented. It fades to background noise as he rushes over to help you to your feet, but it’s still there, you can feel it just out of reach, and it makes your cheeks grow warm in confusion. Is this what dying feels like? There are butterflies only you can see, brushing their wings against your cheeks and making your stomach twist and turn. But Tartaglia laughs kindly, giving your grasped hand a firm shake, and suddenly you find yourselves acquainted. For Tartaglia- or Childe, as he goes by in Liyue- acquaintances are little more than friends who’ve barely met. Somehow he keeps finding you at corners, shops, even when you’re simply eating alone, sauntering over to sit down beside you and talk your ear off. All the while you’re silent, conflicting emotions of nervousness and delight and trepidation and perplexity whirling around until you’re a mess, a muddled disaster who only wants to scoot closer and lay your head on Childe’s shoulder, if only you were brave enough. Is this what love is? That’s impossible. You’re supposed to be broken, condemned to a life of loneliness. Or are you just breaking more? It only gets worse when Childe shows you Foul Legacy, his monstrous half originating from deep beneath the world, from a vast Abyssal ocean of stars. He’s a creature of destruction and decay- yet you’ve never met anyone sweeter, Foul Legacy sweeping you off your feet and holding you to his chest upon first sight, happy trilling noises slipping from his fanged maw as he hugs you and purrs. You didn’t even know Abyssal monsters could purr. Or maybe they can’t, and Foul Legacy is the exception. Either way, Childe bashfully admits that Legacy shows what he truly feels, rather than hiding them under a cover of charming grins, and soon all your outings end with an armored moth-beast snuggling against you while rumbling in delight. Foul Legacy likes you, Childe says- he likes you more than anything. Then, as always, the Harbinger trails off and averts his eyes, and the flame in your chest glows warmly when you see the blush dusting his cheeks before you grow nauseous with nerves for the umpteenth time this month. It’s a vicious cycle of nausea-happiness-fear-delight whenever you’re with Childe, human or Foul Legacy, the excitement of loving balanced by the terror of a new, raw emotion, an emotion you had convinced yourself that you’d never feel. Your friends, so experienced and knowing, catch on immediately, crowding around you and asking who the lucky person is, what’s their name, what do they look like, are they kind, are they flirty, who, what, when, where- You feel like vomiting, and stumble over your words. They can never know he’s a Harbinger, for his safety and theirs, and you retreat to a quiet space once they leave, head fuzzy and blank. You love him, don’t you? Were you deluding yourself into thinking you were broken? But that’s worse, isn’t it, if you do truly love him. Because you can never love him enough, not as much as he deserves. How does one “show love”? Nothing makes sense to you. Slowly you realize that it can only end in heartbreak, and you curl in on yourself and scream in agony. It’s raining the next time you’re supposed to spend the day with Childe, so Foul Legacy arrives instead, shaking water from his glittering wings and kneeling to your height so you can dry his ginger hair with a towel. It’s soft and thick, and you decide to forgo the towel in favor of brushing Legacy’s hair with your fingers, his blissful purrs coaxing a bubbling laugh from your throat. Then doubts trickle in, filling your mind like thick, murky water, and the laugh fades into silence, your gentle pats slowing to a stop. Foul Legacy whines and nudges your hand, your fingers trembling as your lungs constrict and your blood turns to ice; a sculpture that could shatter at any moment. “Childe- Legacy- I-” You don’t get any further before tears start running down your face. Large claws move to gently clasp your hands, and with a simple touch you break and begin to sob. You want to love him. You desperately want to reciprocate his affection, to give him the same easy, constant adoration he gives you. But something is just wrong with you. Everyone you know can love so easily, but you, you! You’re stuck, not knowing if what you feel is truly love or if you’re just fooling yourself because you want to have what everyone else has. You don’t want to be lonely, no matter how much you say it’s alright. But you don’t know if you can love either, because you’re broken and always have been. And if this dancing fire inside your heart is indeed love, you don’t know if you can love him enough, as Childe deserves so much more than you. You don’t know anything. Finally your endless, rambling sentences trail into nothingness, and you’re left with tear tracks on your cheeks, gazing shamefully at the floor. For once, Foul Legacy is silent, and you burn with self-loathing, hating that someone as broken as you has to stand in front of him, who’s perfect in every way to you. Something swipes underneath your eyes, making you blink and glance up at Legacy, gently brushing your tears away with his thumbs. He tenderly croons to you, the softest sound you’ve ever heard him make, and gingerly picks you up to place you on his lap. Exhausted from crying, you lean against his chest, the thumping rhythm of his strong, loving heart filling your mind as he curls his talons over your hands once again, leaning closer to press his forehead against the top of your head. Not broken. It feels like you’re speaking to both Foul Legacy and Childe, even if Legacy can’t talk in the way that you do. Not broken. Rumbles begin filtering from the Abyssal monster’s chest as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close enough to kiss. Not broken. Because you never were broken, not now, not ever. Love is fickle, temperamental- it comes and goes at its own pace, hopping from whichever person it wants to another and never staying in one spot. Some love everyone, the entire world is their friend, and no one is an enemy. Some don’t love at all, fulfilled without needing romantic relationships. Some love themselves, and inspire others to be kinder to their body and mind, as mortals only have one life. And some are like you, unable to see themselves loving or being loved, only to find that their harshest critic is from within. Not broken. You’re not broken, because both loving and not loving are perfectly reasonable ways of existing. Childe will not ask you to love him- he wants the emotions to be yours, not something you feel obligated to do in order to be “normal”- he’ll never stop loving you either way, even if you don’t feel the same. You’re crying again, overwhelmed by everything and nothing, but the fiery feeling in your chest swirls and bursts into something steady and beautiful, like firelight on a dark evening, and you give Foul Legacy a watery, grateful smile. Ah, you said it at last- those meaningful words. I love you.

[watatsumiis]

Reactions to Being Ignored for Video Games (part 2)

Modern AU Genshin characters react to the reader not paying attention to them in favour of a video game! No content warnings apply. Enjoy!

Characters: Dainsleif, Diluc, Dottore, Foul Legacy, Gorou, Itto

Part 1 (Ayato, Arlecchino, Baizhu, Capitano, Childe, Cyno)

Part 3 (Heizou, Kaveh, Kazuha, Lisa, Pantalone, Pierro)

Dainsleif acts like a sad little puppy at the first hint of you not paying attention to him. He won't admit it but he can be pretty insecure and he doesn't like to have to compete for the attention of the ones he cares about. He'll only repeat himself once or twice before he just turns and leaves the room. He doesn't mind playing along if you invite him though, but he isn't very good at most games since it's just not something he does very often. You have to walk him through the controls every time and explain how to do certain things over and over, but once he's got the hang of it he's not entirely terrible. 

Diluc doesn't mind - he understands more than anyone that sometimes people need something to help them pull away from reality, something to keep their minds and hands occupied for a little while. He's perfectly content to wait until there's a lull in the gameplay to ask for your full attention. He's not afraid to stand in front of the TV or wave a hand in front of the screen if you continue to neglect him, though, and he can get kind of stern and pouty about it if he thinks you're being rude on purpose. He may occasionally ask to play games with you, but less because he actually enjoys them and more because he sees it as another way to connect with the ones he cares about. 

Dottore will not hear a word of it. If he has sought you out, he expects your full and undivided attention until he tires of it, regardless of what you were doing beforehand. If ignoring him for video games becomes a common occurrence, he just turns them off the moment he walks into the room, pulling out the power cords or pressing buttons until the screen goes black. He has very little interest in video games himself (except for the odd management simulator), but on occasion he may just sit down and observe, ask you questions about the games you're playing and document your responses carefully. He doesn't seem to realise the reason you get so flighty and pause the game when he walks in is because of his well documented history of unplugging things mid-game.

Foul Legacy can be a little unpredictable. For the most part, he's more than content to curl up next to you and simply bask in your presence as you do whatever you feel like doing (provided it doesn't disturb him too much), but if he feels like you've forgotten he's there, he may worry at your clothing or skin with clawed fingers and let out these barely audible peeeeeps as he frets for you. Usually just giving him a pat on the head or wrapping an arm around him will be enough to calm him down. Though, if he's trying to speak to you and you miss what he's saying because you're busy, he'll get all downtrodden and upset and go pout in a corner somewhere until you go over and give him your complete attention until he's wrangled the words out. 

Gorou tries to be nice about it, he really does. He tries to be patient and understanding, but he can't help the puppy-like whimpers that escape from the back of his throat in time with his breathing if you've been ignoring him for too long. His tail will hang between his legs and his ears will go flat against his head as he stands off to the side, shifting his weight between his feet as he wrings his hands. Though on a surface level he seems to be polite and nice, he can't help but fret and wonder if he's done something wrong. He'll keep an eye on your game and wait for quiet moments before he tries to speak up again, often stumbling over his words as he tries to grab your attention. He loves video games, and if you're playing one he particularly likes or wants to play with you, he makes it painfully obvious, looking over at the extra controller or between you and the television as his tail twitches. Try as he might, Gorou simply can't control his body language, so it's always easy to tell what he's pining for. 

Itto barely gives you a chance to ignore him - he's big and bold and loud, it's hard not to pay at least some semblance of attention to him when he's in the room. If you somehow manage to ignore him though, he turns into a whiny little kid, wandering in front of the TV and demanding to be allowed to play. If you ignore him for long enough, he just goes and sits in a corner with his arms crossed and that adorable pouty look on his face, glancing over at you all the time to see whether you’re paying any attention to him. If you leave him hanging for long enough, he gets frustrated and just strongarms his way into playing, whether that be by jumping in with an extra controller unannounced or just snatching yours away so that he can have a turn. He’s super competitive with multiplayer games, even if they’re supposed to be cooperative. He’ll turn every single game into a competition of some sort, then brag about ‘winning’ a challenge you weren’t even aware existed.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites (without credit + permission).

[watatsumiis]

Walkabout series - Foul Legacy edition

Though it may not seem that way, Foul Legacy can be very self-conscious and insecure about his appearance - he dislikes being seen this way, despite all of Childe’s bravado and confidence - it just doesn’t seem to translate over, despite how much bigger and scarier Foul Legacy is. He actually dislikes the fact that his subordinates and coworkers seem to be scared of him, and needs encouragement to leave his quarters at all. This, coupled with his sensitivity to light, means that walks are few and far between.

Foul Legacy spends a lot of time cooped up in his room, in a cozy little nest of his own making, but with some determination (and patience for his occasional angry flare-ups), you’ll be able to convince him to come out with you, though he’ll hide behind you like a shy child, clinging to your hand like a lifeline. He lets out these discontent little grumbles whenever anyone so much as glances at him. It’s kind of adorable, and people will compare you to a big scary bear being protected by a cute little puppy. 

Foul Legacy towers over you (or any human, really), but he tries to hunch in on himself to avoid the inevitable stares. The best times to take walks are at dawn and dusk, during those twilight hours where it’s not quite dark but the sun isn’t so bright that it hurts him - though his sight is rather poor (based more on movement and shapes/sound than light), too much light makes his head hurt.  He’s so protective of you, keeping a constant watch for any possible dangers or enemies that might be lurking. If you happen to go somewhere more natural, he might even catch things for you, from rabbits to fish - or if you show displeasure towards those, he’ll gather berries, cool branches, nice flowers, all that kind of stuff, just to see you smile, as a thank-you for being willing to take him out on nice little trips like this. He’s so used to only being in this form to fight and do other such exhausting things that it’s a big relief for him to just be able to do something calm for once.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites (without credit + permission).

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

How to Say “I Love You”

Synopsis: Foul Legacy can’t speak, and that’s alright. But for you, he’ll tear down the stars trying.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Comfort, Fluff Warnings: Mentions of crying, stress, and exhaustion

Requested by @funeraldirectorhutao !!

~ * ~ What is the importance of the term “I love you”? For some, it is something casual; a playful piece of banter thrown back and forth between friends to show affection, platonic and pure. For others, it’s a phrase used to thank one’s family, solidifying bonds that hope to stand strong even under the harshest of storms, or else crumble. For a few, it’s a joke; a scathing remark said in voices dripping with spite and anger, or perhaps the smallest speck of longing. For you, it is a declaration of one’s deepest feelings, feelings that hopefully make you smile warmly instead of biting your tongue in confusion. For you, it’s easy, simple; three words, nothing more, nothing less. A simple phrase you’ll never hear, ever. It never was the right time for Childe to tell you back then, not wanting to crush your heart when he inevitably attempted to destroy the Harbor, your home and whole life. And when he was unable to transform back from his Foul Legacy, his mind was muddled by the changes in his body and the ability to speak was lost. Not to say Childe is silent- he rumbles and coos and trills so often it feels like having a conversation, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just speaking some mysterious Abyssal language, one your human brain can’t even begin to comprehend. You hope he’s telling you that he loves you in that language, because you love him like Teyvat loves the sun. Childe curses himself everyday for not being able to say those three words back, the ones you whisper so often when he’s curled around you, purring and drowsy. He’ll always chirp and croon to you afterwards, but all you know is that he’s happy, not that he’s confessing his undying adoration of you because you speak a language bathed in sun and moonlight while he rasps out something only mages of the infinite Abyssal sea would understand. He can’t even say your name anymore, the name of the person he treasures most. When he was human he relished your name, taking any chance he could to say it with enough warmth to melt all the snow in Snezhnaya. It always made you smile in that soft, gentle way he could never truly master for himself, and just that would be enough to make his bloodthirsty heart grow light with love for you. Those are Childe’s only regrets- not saying your name more often, and not telling you how much you truly meant to him before he was trapped by the weight of the stars in the sky. You always say it’s alright, that you don’t mind in the slightest, but he can see the melancholy beneath your endless supply of smiles. All he can do is hold you close and snuggle into your hair on those days, the days where you’re silent from dusk to midnight and your eyes are clouded and weary, rumbling quietly to soothe your frazzled nerves. He wishes he could do more, he wants it so badly. Wants to make you smile, really smile, on the days you both feel like the world is beginning to crumble at the corners, because when you’re crumbling, Childe’s crumbling, too. And the defender of childhood dreams, protector of his siblings and his family and you, wished so desperately it was born to reality, with trial, error, and love. It’s one of those days again, except today is somehow several times worse. Your hand shakes as you slowly shut the door, keeping your eyes trained on the ground as if looking at anything and anyone would make you spontaneously start crying. You try to keep your emotions under wraps, see- it’s unfair to make others deal with them, especially not your beloved Childe, who cares so much for you and so little for himself. When you’re sad, he’s sad, and vice versa. You can’t bear the thought of him suffering more, it breaks your heart, so on days like this you stay silent, refusing to let treacherous words spill out because with them you’re like an open book. As you walk towards the couch your legs feel like lead; you want nothing more than to collapse on the soft cushions and fall asleep, because perhaps the sun would return if you just block out the night that’s encroaching on your world, at least for a little bit. You slump down onto the couch and toss your bag to the side, hugging a pillow to your chest with a tight enough grip to break stone. Childe perks up when he hears the door close, tilting his head to listen for your footsteps- he’s mistaken birds as your arrival before- and with a delighted chirp leaps up from his place on your bed. He’s practically buzzing with excitement as he rushes over to greet you, but stops short when he sees you hunched over on the couch, shoulders tense and fingers curling into the fabric of the pillow caught in your vice grip. Carefully he approaches you- slow and steady, so you have a chance to ask him to leave if needed- and brushes his claws against your shoulder. You start, flinching violently in surprise, and Childe immediately yanks his hand away with a soft whimper, wings drooping sadly. He turns to leave but feels something pulling gently on his arm, your small, familiar fingers wrapped around one of his talons, holding him like he’s your lifeline. “Please… stay…” So he does. Childe stays with you, pulling you in for a hug and snuggling into the crook of your neck, poking your cheeks gently to make you huff with amusement. Your face is buried in his fluff, your laughter muffled by the copious amounts of lilac fur, but he hears it and purrs, purrs so strongly you feel your entire body shake from the vibrations and you laugh from somewhere deep in your heart, too busy snuggling into Childe’s fluff to notice him staring at you with a gaze full of sweet affection and relief. He nudges the back of his hand against your cheekbone, careful not to scratch you with the pointed edges of his night-colored armor, and you look up curiously, eyes bright and without the hazy exhaustion of before. Childe’s palm tilts your chin slightly and holds it in place, minute trembles running through his fingers and into your skin as he swallows, suddenly nervous. But he’s been practicing, and he’s not going to let this moment go to waste. His other hand resting on the small of your back, Childe inhales, shaking slightly, and says your name. Your mouth falls open, and he says it again. He’s shivering, ever-so-slightly, and it translates to his voice, but oh, he’s crooning your name, over and over again because you’re precious to him, the most treasured person in his life. Your eyes are filled with tears again, but you don’t even care because your smile outshines them all, and Childe coos in delight at your elated expression, bright enough to light up the stars. His voice is like music- different, deeper and more growly, but so undeniably him that you’re thrown back to when you first met him, when you first laid eyes upon that charming, boyish grin and had to hide your own pleased face. Then he leans close to your ear and plonks his chin on your shoulder, arms resting around your waist as he exhales. “I love you.” Childe murmurs, and the sun rises again, splashing colors of gold and pink across your heart as it brings forth the celestial dawn. What is the importance of the term “I love you”? Nothing to some, who live life alone. A casual phrase to others, who are surrounded by family and friends. And everything to you, who loves like sparkling waves foaming on a deep azure sea.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Imagine with Childe being the older brother figure with the reader not coming to the spot they meet at for weeks only to stumble there as a zombie with hazy and confused eyes and wrapped in bandages on their body

could this actually become a request?

(っ◞‸◟c)

yall. the words. they just worked so well this time. it feels so good to have the words just flow so well.

ALSO I KNOW IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE YOU REQUESTED I AM SO SORRY ;-;

~ * ~ Stop Thinking

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader (Platonic) Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Angst Warnings: Crying, feeling empty, allusions to anxiety, allusions to death

~ * ~

Children were peculiar. This Childe can say with confidence, having grown up as a middle-born with three younger siblings who looked up to him, not as Tartaglia the Harbinger, but as Ajax, the big brother. Though far from the eldest and most experienced, Childe, in his endless observation of the world, quickly gathered numerous memories regarding his little siblings’ differing personalities: Tonia’s sweet as sugar, Anthon is rowdy and playful, and Teucer, the youngest, had a thirst for adventure and little in the name of fear. And he was their protector, their Ajax, their toy salesman of Snezhnaya. But now he was here, in a strange new nation, despite the months he’d resided in Liyue, at the Tsaritsa’s beck and call miles and miles away. Time dictated by his mission, his task to steal and retrieve the Geo Archon’s gnosis, left him unable to explore and admire the city and the surrounding lands of towering peaks and lush valleys. Nor did he have any desire to, mind on a one-track path to victory, success, and home. Home to his nation, his archon, his family. It never occurred to think of extra time- as a concept, it simply didn’t exist for Childe. It’s this that he thinks and ponders, sitting outside in the swaying grass with his legs crossed and head resting in the palm of his clawed hand, a sudden overabundance of time within his grasp. A hiss of dissatisfaction escapes him, followed by a sigh when he catches the animalistic noise by its leg. This form was quite bothersome to simply use, and to be stuck in it was another hassle entirely, the aches and pains and new, elevated senses nothing but trouble. Yes, he was strong, but what use is strength if your bloodlust runs out? His want for battle, it seems, is at an impasse, near extinguished days ago and replaced by boredom and an odd emptiness, cold and hollow like a hole in his chest. The city glittered in the distance, below the mountain he had situated himself on, full of plots to be hatched and mischief to be made, but there was a distinct lack of want to stir and meddle in the mess of people of the Harbor, like the joy Childe received from his Harbinger work had been leached from his body and soul, and it was this lack of want that scared him so. Certainly he couldn’t go back, he’d only just escaped his subordinates! For their own safety, he justifies for himself, and he couldn’t return home, the thought of his family seeing him like this… he tries not to think about it. He’s gotten better at that, not thinking. It’s almost an art. It’s during one of these thoughtless sessions, one where the sunlight lulls him to sleep- out in the open, what a fool!- where he awakens to someone poking him gently in the side, small, inquisitive taps. He rolls over to glare at whoever or whatever could be bothering him, grumbles laced with annoyance, and comes face-to-face with a pair of bright, curious eyes. The eyes blink at him as you stare into this mysterious beast’s crystalline gaze, holding your ground until you blink again and proclaim the monster the winner of your staring contest. Childe gaps. Even when he was human, unconfined to his Abyssal form, few people would be brave enough to act so freely around him, the exceptions his younger siblings who adored him no matter what. Almost instinctively he lifts and sets his hand down on your head, slowly ruffling your hair and listening to your laughter and how you call him nice in an innocent, childish way. Harrowing, terrifying, powerful, that was how his Abyssal form was described, but never nice. But you didn’t seem to think so, and Childe finds himself patting your fluffy locks with more certainty, looking away as his eye wells up with tears. He didn’t even know this form could cry. Ah, at least they’re happy tears as you promise to visit again. And so it goes, you keeping your promise and hiking as hastily as your little legs can take you back to where he hides, everyday, half-past noon on the dot. For a child, you’re very good at keeping time, and you acknowledge it with pride. Never does he take you anywhere- he

can explore on his own time, and you shouldn’t wander too far from the Harbor- but you’re both content with simply lounging on grass and listening to sweet chatter and huffs and rumbles of agreement or admonishment. When the clouds bring rain and the rain pulls along wind for the adventure you and he huddle under a tree, contented and warm next to each other as you giggle and bury your cold hands into his fluff. Of course he couldn’t speak, but your young ears and eyes picked up emotional quirks in the tones of his clicks and coos and formed conversations in your imaginative head, listening for the words he could just-barely-almost sound out. In this way you deduced his first name, repeating it with a glee that swirled in both of your hearts as you immediately got to work breaking and piecing it back together for a nickname, and Childe feels his heart warm and the emptiness in his chest gradually fill with brotherly affection for you, and so it goes, day after day, stretching into weeks where he finally begins to reignite some semblance of happiness within him. Until the day you fail to appear. When at half-past noon he doesn’t see you, he assumes that, for once, you’re running late, perhaps caught up in little chores your parents have assigned or sleeping through a midday nap. He settles down for his own nap, pushing the worry in his mind away and enjoying the gentle rays of the sun. When he wakes up past 1, the worry creeps back in, clenching his claws anxiously as he paces, waiting. He waits for another hour, then two, which double again, exponentially. A day goes by, and another. He can’t sleep, unconsciousness eluding him as his thoughts go a mile a minute. Where are you? What happened? Are you alright? Are you hurt? It’s a week you’re missing and until Childe can sleep, collapsing from pure exhaustion and need. His dreams are surprisingly empty, or perhaps he just lost that capability sometime ago; the Abyss doesn’t give much to dream of. It’s hazy and weightless in his dreamlessness, until something pokes him. Something small and cold and familiar; he’s felt this before, and he springs awake despite his fatigue and rolls over to purr and fawn over you, then sternly wag his clawed finger at you for staying away so long. He looks at you, and he blinks. He lost, but you weren’t even competing. You’re wrapped in places, bandages around your arms and legs and even tiny ones on your fingers, and your movements are stiff, like a mechanical doll that’s rusted from neglect and misuse. But the scariest is your eyes, confused and bleary and sleepy-looking, with no emotion or warmth behind them, no spark of life. You blink back, slowly, and Childe’s heart freezes and breaks. You don’t recognize him. He holds back tears as he reaches up to pat your head, silently pleading that such a simple motion will click the gears of your memory into place again, yet they remain still and crumbling as you just stare at him, your hair and skin cold, too cold, against his touch. Someone calls for you, down the hill; a familiar voice, isn’t that the Pharmacy Doctor? You turn, slowly ambling down the hill without a second glance, and Childe watches you leave until you disappear from sight, burying his face in his arms as he cries freely, allowing his grief to escape in shining rivers of tears, dripping down his face and onto the grass you frolicked in not so long ago. To sleep he sobs, quieting only as the cold, hard emptiness returns, this time shaped like you and cemented eternally, the shape of a child from Liyue who knew him as Ajax. That night, the Eleventh Harbinger stopped thinking.