#stupid old man gays

[legaltrashgoblin]

I'm old.

I'm satisfied.

-Bill

[edwardbonnets]

rook: *obvious flirting* emmrich: 😲😲😲🤯🤯🤯😳😳😳??????????

bonus:

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

No time to play. You are being sent away.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[skraldehund]

carved and caressed

[m1d-45]

the pain of rapture

summary: there is no excuse for weakness in an archon. only explanations; no matter how impossible to find.

word count: ~3k

-> warnings: major spoilers for liyue archon quest . duh . unedited . also duh

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @sarienic || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

there was no underestimating the time that zhongli had waited for this day. it was every archon’s desire to fulfill their duty, of course, but he couldn’t help but feel as if his wait was all the more painful than theirs.

every archon—no, every person had, at some point or another, strayed from their ideals. whether inconsequential white lies or betrayal of that which they loved, no soul was pure. nobody ended up exactly as they intended to be, in exactly the life they meant to live, with exactly the views they had longed for as a child. it was simply impossible; the world was too unpredictable, forcing one through trial after trial to pull gem from slag and discover what color crystal lay within one’s veins. despite these unremarkable paths, it was equally everyone’s nature to seek out a reason that they were unlike everyone else. billions of unique voices joined an endless choir of individuality, cutting into the same earth for a place within it, blind to their actions being pushed along by the mob around them.

and perhaps, due to his position as archon, he had thought himself better. perhaps he, like everyone else, had thought that he was nothing like anyone at all. while he could never return to who he was before the archon war, his memory was not as easily washed away as time, and he had had millennia to reflect.

was it his own mind that decided to rewrite his history? actions were undeniable, but nobody but him could attest to his motivations. was he judging himself through the wrong eyes, and in the process blinding himself to the truth? or had he willingly turned away from what he already knew? even from an outsider’s view, he was a stark contrast to the morax he was. should it not follow that he has also changed internally? that the rough, raw ore of his pain had softened and smoothed? ah, but to argue that would be to admit that he was once a jewel that hurt to hold. what gem did not want to be admired?

there was a lot that has changed in his life. it should not be so shameful to acknowledge that he, too, had changed. stones in rivers did no good to travelers when jagged and unsteady. he had learned. he was not so foolish as to think he was incapable of learning. there were many things he did not know then, and still things he did not know now. what did it matter that “humility” was missing from the first list and “pride” from the second? circumstances had changed, and he had changed with them. there was no shame in adaptation.

(if put back in the thick of war, would he become who he was then? would he revert back to the mindset of selfishness and wrath that had kept him alive? was that really what had enabled his survival at all, or was it just his claws?)

the moon was not the only witness to these debates, but it was the most frequent. during the day, he could busy himself with work and walks and idle discussions with whomever he pleased. it was only at night, when the port had settled but his mind had not, that he was without reason to avoid such musings. the air was warm and yet he kept his hands close around his teacup, feeling the corners settle into the indents of his knuckles like there was never a time he didn’t spend his evenings like this. there was nobody around to fool.

sleep never came easy to him, in any of his iterations. morax had too much to do, plans to pore over, reports in one hand and a sharpening stone in the other. rex lapis got the closest, spending time not tending to his people quietly meditating, listening to the prayers brought through the stone beneath his hands. even now, if he pressed his hand flat against the earth and searched, he could still find the last vestiges of these pleas. he never listened for long, though.

despite shedding as much of his skin as possible, sleep did not come easily for zhongli. he could lay and wait until his muscles itched for any sort of attention, but his mind never slipped away. if work was particularly stressful and he had neglected this routine the night prior, he could perhaps slip into a fitful doze, but it was always easily interrupted. birds on his windowsill did not make him reach for a blade as they once would have, but they did once again bring his mind back into consciousness, identifying its call and guessing the time as if his internal clock ever wavered. he had long since come to peace with this—it made sense his transition into humanity would not be seamless—but it had become more troublesome recently.

if anyone asked, not that they would, he would simply say that lantern rite was coming up soon. with vendors focused on the event, it would be harder to fetch the supplies necessary for the parlor, and as a consultant his job was to be able to provide options for his customers. if florists were out of silk flowers until next week, or there were no dried birch available, then it fell to him to inform the client. those in mourning were already unconsolable, and he saw no reason this excuse would not work. the handful of times he’d had to use it, when he was new to the parlor and they hadn’t gotten used to his personality yet, it had worked fine.

it was good that nobody knew who he truly was. he had long since grown used to the desperate cries of his people, and heard enough of their disputes and conversations to know which words helped and which did not. his excuse was just that; an excuse.

zhongli did not have a birthday. not just as a date of the start of this identity—though that itself had taken several years of pondering, each of which could have been equally considered a “day of birth” in that sense—but as an absolute date. aside from the fact that the modern calendar had simply not existed back then, there was no date in his memory that was truly his birthday. consciousness was a hazy thing, and he’d never had a need to decide which of the days of his blurry existence constituted a “birthday.” however, humans placed importance on them, and so he did as well. like everything else about his new persona, he had chosen it, placing it at the end of the calendar year for no particular reason other than it feeling right. no day stood out to him enough to be “his,” and all carried some level of importance. he had experienced thousands of each day, and it wouldn’t be right to decide which stack of events was more or less “meaningful,” so he didn’t. the last day of the year, perhaps somewhat symbolic of his retirement.

before that day, he hadn’t given much thought to the passing of time. he was aware of it, certainly, but it had never weighed on his mind as it did. dedicating himself to human ideals meant noticing and appreciating when the year ended and another began, looking out over the city from ground level.

it also meant that when he looked up, he recognized the stars held within the night’s tapestry.

lapis dei. the stone of god. it hadn’t appeared until several years into his place among liyue’s harbor, and only a few months before his planned failure during the right of decension. his vision was glass, and yet it weighed heavy as jade against his back that night, the name settling against his heart like a snake around a sun-warm stone.

it was not that night that he sought. as your traveller had roamed the world, it was to be expected that you may have your pick of companions, and it made sense than an archon (however retired) would be among them. no, the day that had just closed, that left him with now cold tea, was not something as simple as a rearrangement of false stars.

it was that a special set of six had flowed brighter. it was that, before he could blink, he had been pulled into the sky. his teapot was in front of him one moment, and the. it was gone the next, replaced by sprawling clouds and a voice he’d never heard. all the same, you were familiar, a memory he did not hold but could still feel the shape of.

he had waited for years to feel this light. to be held in a sea of stars and to be something of desire, something the one who had all wanted. it was, in his mind, a final act of defiance against celestia, and a firm bind of his loyalty despite the distance between him and you.

(he asked, at first, for a contract to prove it, but you had just laughed. it made sense. he still wondered if you were laughing at the impossibility of the idea of you being limited by mortal paper or laughing at him for suggesting it.)

those years, however, were spent doing just that: waiting. sure, he busied himself with the harbor and considered himself as doing a rather good job as blending in with the people around him, but he was not a fool. to be worth someone’s time was to have something to offer.

equally, he was not some unsteady, sobbing servant. he did not win his seat in celestia through pacifism. he did not sprout stone forests without power within his hands. he felt nothing but pride as a new polearm was placed into his hands, hefting its weight. the stars faded and he was left in unfamiliar territory, led to a group of enemies that snatched up their weapons the moment he got close.

for good reason, he’d thought, leaning into your touch as you guided his hands to pull a stele from the earth. pure geo wrapped around his shoulders—a skill he hadn’t needed to use for several decades now; he’d have to brush up once you were done with him. that was secondary, though, to the planet befall collecting over his shoulder. already, undead habits rose to the surface of his mind, preparing for the dust to settle and his spear to once again seek blood.

but his opponents were not left frail and weak by his show of skill. within seconds, they shed the stone he’d built around them, looking little more than annoyed.

why?

his spear glanced off their armor without so much as a scratch, despite the force with which he swung it. you pulled him in and out of range of their swords, far too dodgy to be handling an archon.

why did it seem like he wasn’t doing a thing? why, when a crossbow bolt clipped his shoulder, did it feel like the shot had passed through his chest instead? you clicked your tongue like a parent who’s child had done something they weren’t supposed to and he was back in the skyless sea, watching distantly as unfamiliar vision wielders took his place with well-worn precision. he was barely bleeding, the shift of his coat over the scratch shouldn’t feel like he was dying, and his spear should not have been so blunt. he drew it again, testing the edge with a finger, and it caught the fibers of his gloves with ease. he could feel the steel itself hum under his touch, a fine, razor point despite the repeated reflections.

it was only then that zhongli had begun to worry.

he’d heard countless stories from both near and far about the feats of strength normal people could wield when under your blessing. why was he not affected by it? why did it feel instead like all of his strength had been sapped from him, leaving him unable to even nick a bandit’s skin? had he made a mistake somewhere?

what would you think? an archon made helpless. offering you his strength was one of the pitiful few ways left he could help within the bounds of his contract with celestia, and now it was gone.

or had you noticed how he had faltered? how he had slipped from being zhongli for a moment, and decided to punish him for it? would this state last beyond your influence? no, you weren’t so cruel as to leave him helpless for one mistake. and yet, his mind fell to late nights, wondering if his worries had crossed time and space to reach your ears.

it was a plain truth in zhongli’s mind that the only thing he had left to offer you was his strength. he had no stories you had not heard, no wisdom you did not already know, no information left for him to speak. was this a lesson of some sort? but why not tell him directly? your voice had cooed in his ear as a war plume was tucked into his lapel, talking about domains and rolls he didn’t understand, but could hear as clear as jade.

and yet. you led him on a few more walks through valleys and plains, the few interactions with enemies either sprinted away from or leaving him tucked on a shelf while your better equipped followers attended to the problem. when it was over, his house felt too oppressive, the pot barely moved off the stove before he pushed open the door and took to the earthen path.

it was the lantern rite, he lied, his vision heavy against his spine. it pressed against his lower back and swayed when he walked, like the guiding hand of one treading alongside him, except the streets were empty and he had little to blame but himself.

did you know it was his birthday? did you blame him for having one?

did you know that that single day with you had only pushed sleep further away from his grasp? did you know that he could not change the past, no matter how hard he tried? if he’d not signed that contract with celestia then he would not have been here to witness your golden messenger. was he not meant to?

why not tell him? or had you already? had he missed something, somehow? when? was it during the war, when his memories were still colored by his selfishness? what lesson was he supposed to learn from helplessness?

was this some indication that you preferred him as a human, without the earth-shaking power he had held with his gnosis? but why lower him to the strength of an insect? he didn’t know.

zhongli was not insecure. he was proud of his new life and had not been given any reason to doubt that self assurance. even now, he did not regret it, only… wondered. wondered, and thought, and pondered, and mused, and ruminated, and reviewed, and every other verb one could apply to the deep, unsettling feeling that he had made missed something somewhere, and the rapidly growing need to find it.

[mischievous-thunder]

Point to be noted, M'lord. From then on, they only chose to show each other that they would sacrifice themselves to save each other.

[rystiel]

stanley develops homophobia (he fears having to hear them while in such cramped living quarters)

[loopnoid]

whos this guy

[drac0line1nn1t]

Ayup Tumblr,

I have escaped from the middle of fuck ass nowhere, has anyone done this one yet?

[fyllophobia]

think fast! surprise trust fall

[mel-kusanagi]

here's a wip of peter b tryna rizz up miguel (its working)

[crescentpaws]

me: “aww they’re so cute”

literally them:

“You Councillors just can’t seem to get enough of me,” Fintan muttered as Bronte approached him, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Tell me, is there a reason you couldn’t have come to me during the day? Or do you just enjoy inconveniencing me?”

“I assumed you’d be awake,” was all Bronte said.

“A risky assumption,” Fintan replied. “I was just about to head to bed. In fact, if this could wait until tomorrow, that would be great.”

Now it was Bronte’s turn to roll his eyes. “Must you make everything difficult?” he asked.

“It’s what I’m best at,” Fintan agreed.

-

Fintan wondered how he had ever gotten through working alongside Bronte without wrapping his hands around his throat.

-

“Perhaps,” Bronte mimicked through gritted teeth, “it would be best if we continued this conversation inside.”

Fintan clapped his hands together. “Ooh, are you going to torture me?” he asked. “How exciting. I’ve honestly gotten bored of this conversation already. I appreciate you skipping to the action.”

-

Fintan found himself wondering how much trouble he might get in if he attempted to strangle a Councillor.

-

“I’m not so stupid that I’ll threaten a Councillor to his face,” Fintan said. He twirled his finger in a circular motion. “Turn around, maybe then we’ll see.”

-

“Why not go ahead and ban every ability?” Fintan laughed, though it wasn’t funny in the slightest. “They all have the potential to be dangerous, after all. And hey, why not start with inflicting?”

He thought it was a clever comeback—until Bronte shot him a glare that was so vicious it made his knees weak.

-

“Because I know what it’s like—“

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Fintan spat. “You have no idea what it’s like. Any trouble you’ve ever gone through—any pain you’ve ever felt—I’ve experienced it ten times over. And no one’s ever come to my aid. But why should they? I’m a murderer, after all.”

The words couldn’t have been more true.

His eyes strayed to Bronte’s neck. He wondered what it might be like to feel his pulse beneath his fingers.

-

“I fucking hate you.”

———

<333

(anyway. these are all from a fic i wrote that will never ever see the light of day)

[severalbonez]

Good evening cuttletavio nation

I return with a treat: these two fools on a date night

Designs are heavily referenced from @mackeralsauce ‘s The Ruse Theory fanfic

Go support him or I’m going to give ur mom a big fat smooch

[pokemon-radical-red]

I hate it when I headcanon a character who’s canonically a girl as a trans man and make ships of him and a character who’s canonically a guy and I refer to it as a gay/mlm/guyxguy/whatever ship and someone gets mad. Like omg let trans people have FUNNNNN. Why are queer headcanons and genderbends cool until they’re saying that the character is trans???

“OMGGG you’re so misogynistic I can’t believe you would erase FEMALE representation!!!”

and like half of the characters in the franchise are women, and a total of… NONE of the characters are trans men. Also, my headcanon doesn’t change the source material. If my stuff upsets you, you can block me and go engage with the source or maybe every single other fanwork, since mine is the only trans man hc for this character that I’ve ever seen.

or when people are like “WTF??? this is so transphobic!!! how dare you imply that a character who looks like that could be a trans man?!?! do you think that trans men are women or something??? she uses she/her, and you’re misgendering her!”

No, I don’t think that being a trans man makes you a woman or vice versa. That’s why it’s a headcanon, and the headcanon is that this character is actually a trans man and not a woman at all! You’ll never guess what pronouns most trans men had to use at some point in their lives, and you really won’t like it when you find out about pre-(or no-)transition trans men… or trans men who are in the closet… or trans men who don’t know that they’re trans yet.

“But the character is a kid!!! Saying they’re trans is sexualizing them.”

I’ve seen this one from other queer people. Like did you miss when all of the homophobes said this about your identity, or do you think that bigotry is only bad when it’s directed at you?

“Why would you say ‘testosterone could fix her’??? Are you trying to call her a delusional woman?”

Why would your brain even go to that first? This literally has to be a bad faith reading, because there’s no way that someone could see what I said and get this unless they were specifically looking for something to be mad at me for.

(Note for anyone unaware: “Estrogen would’ve fixed him!” was a meme going around at the time I said this. I’m not sure if it’s still super big, but this was a joke to the effect of that.)

“So girls can’t be tomboys anymore? You just wanna trans everyone?”

This is like actual real life transphobic rhetoric. This isn’t even just shitting on my headcanon, but in fact, sending transphobic hate to a trans man. Thanks 👍. Maybe you should go send JK Rowling another message about how much you loved her essay instead of bothering me.

[sirmanmister]

Tfw gay doesn’t mean cheery and mirthful anymore

[sillystringsimpsons]

...he knows what he did.

interactions hugely appreciated <3