#celestial cataclysm

[kaolincrush]

just thinking about how after their splitting apart into two separate beings isolde realizes that everything they've done is wrong and they must atone while guinevere becomes all the more certain that everything they've done is right and she must carry the torch, and i'm so normal. splintered by the same event in massively different ways. it's fine 🥴

[erinhime83]

I LIED, there was actually one more design I needed to do, but I wasn’t sure if I would actually do it or not, or if the character was even going to be in the story.  She doesn’t need to be, but I’ve also developed a bit of plot around her, so I figure what the hell.

So…this one has a bit of a weird backstory to it.  See, my family has really gotten into Build-a-Bear in the past year, and one of the times I was in there, I decided to make myself a cat.  Now, with all of my bears, I’ve chosen celestial names for them, and upon looking for one for the cat, I came across Asta, which I decided to use.  And then I was amusing myself afterwards thinking about the fact that Astra is simple to Nova.

(I already had one I had made years and years ago named Nova, which, funnily enough, is a dog.)

But somehow, that kicked off my muse thinking about a character that was opposite of Nova who was named Astra.  And this is pretty much the end result of those thoughts, lol.

So Astra is a new superhero who really did gain her powers from the explosion Cosmic Star created prior to the book, which is why no one had heard of her before.  Flying superheroes are incredibly rare, with only three known before Astra turned up.  (I was going to give her the star blasts as well, with the idea that she has simple powers to Cosmic Star, before deciding to just stick her with the one power.)  She’s a bit arrogant thanks to her unique power, and she and Cosmic Star clash a lot because she’s inexperienced.

For her looks, I obviously wanted her to be the opposite of Nova, but the opposite of Nova happens to be Gabe, so I gave her green eyes to sort of make her not look like Gabe?  But also, since Nova’s style is comfy causal, I modeled Astra after all the girls I see in my store who wear extremely tight leggings and shirts that are too short to be worn with leggings.  (In other words, a modern style.)  And somehow, it works for her?

As for her superhero design, I wanted to mimic Cosmic Star a little, but her bodysuit is skin tight, whereas Cosmic Star’s is supposed to be loose.  (This is, by the way, where I got the idea of giving Cosmic Star the belt, since I didn’t think it was fair that the two other characters had belts and looked awesome and Cosmic Star did not have one.)  I gave her inverted colors from Cosmic Star as well, although the yellow was originally more of a light brown, but I didn’t like that as much.  I also like the way her name mimics Cosmic Star’s as well.  I had a hard time coming up with a similar ward to star before realizing astra means star, and thus, aster.  And I have a habit of punning their superhero names off their real names, so…yeah.

I do like how she turned out, and I hope I can portray her right (or at all) in the story.

The other design is just me not wanting to put up only one picture on Tumblr.  It’s nothing really special – just the forms of Nova prior to Division.  The first one is a redesigned very first outfit of Cosmic Star, and I really like it!  It turned out so cute!  I like the idea that Nova had bangs when she was 15/16, making her current look even more dramatic.  I also liked the idea that she just used the pants and the over shirt for Swift Star, making it all different enough so its not immediately obvious it’s the name costume should anyone actually remember this version of Cosmic Star.

And then when she gets her new shirt, she adds the old belt just to have something from the old uniform still on her.  Or something like that.

Basically, since I updated Swift Star and Cosmic Star’s design, I just wanted a way to show the other ways she looked.  ^^;

[wickedzeevyln]

Straying Off Spaces Unknown

◯ ☽ ◑ Silver Treader ◐ ❨ ◯ Watch her rise like solar flares from an ancient star. Igniting, stripping off atmospheres, scorching civilizations of good will. Watch her drift beyond his reach, beyond his gravity, out of orbit, until she’s gone rogue. Watch her laugh at the speed of light, slip between dimensions, stray off the path like a comet. She is all these. And one day… …she will look up…

[iohnmcmullen]

My Eros will blot out the Sun! (April 2010)

[nasa]

Love Letters from Space

Love is in the air, and it’s out in space too! The universe is full of amazing chemistry, cosmic couples held together by gravitational attraction, and stars pulsing like beating hearts.

Celestial objects send out messages we can detect if we know how to listen for them. Our upcoming Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope will help us scour the skies for all kinds of star-crossed signals.

Celestial Conversation Hearts

Communication is key for any relationship – including our relationship with space. Different telescopes are tuned to pick up different messages from across the universe, and combining them helps us learn even more. Roman is designed to see some visible light – the type of light our eyes can see, featured in the photo above from a ground-based telescope – in addition to longer wavelengths, called infrared. That will help us peer through clouds of dust and across immense stretches of space.

Other telescopes can see different types of light, and some detectors can even help us study cosmic rays, ghostly neutrinos, and ripples in space called gravitational waves.

Intergalactic Hugs

This visible and near-infrared image from the Hubble Space Telescope captures two hearts locked in a cosmic embrace. Known as the Antennae Galaxies, this pair’s love burns bright. The two spiral galaxies are merging together, igniting the birth of brand new baby stars.

Stellar nurseries are often very dusty places, which can make it hard to tell what’s going on. But since Roman can peer through dust, it will help us see stars in their infancy. And Roman’s large view of space coupled with its sharp, deep imaging will help us study how galaxy mergers have evolved since the early universe.

Cosmic Chemistry

Those stars are destined to create new chemistry, forging elements and scattering them into space as they live, die, and merge together. Roman will help us understand the cosmic era when stars first began forming. The mission will help scientists learn more about how elements were created and distributed throughout galaxies.

Did you know that U and I (uranium and iodine) were both made from merging neutron stars? Speaking of which…

Fatal Attraction

When two neutron stars come together in a marriage of sorts, it creates some spectacular fireworks! While they start out as stellar sweethearts, these and some other types of cosmic couples are fated for devastating breakups.

When a white dwarf – the leftover core from a Sun-like star that ran out of fuel – steals material from its companion, it can throw everything off balance and lead to a cataclysmic explosion. Studying these outbursts, called type Ia supernovae, led to the discovery that the expansion of the universe is speeding up. Roman will scan the skies for these exploding stars to help us figure out what’s causing the expansion to accelerate – a mystery known as dark energy.

Going Solo

Plenty of things in our galaxy are single, including hundreds of millions of stellar-mass black holes and trillions of “rogue” planets. These objects are effectively invisible – dark objects lost in the inky void of space – but Roman will see them thanks to wrinkles in space-time.

Anything with mass warps the fabric of space-time. So when an intervening object nearly aligns with a background star from our vantage point, light from the star curves as it travels through the warped space-time around the nearer object. The object acts like a natural lens, focusing and amplifying the background star’s light.

Thanks to this observational effect, which makes stars appear to temporarily pulse brighter, Roman will reveal all kinds of things we’d never be able to see otherwise.

Roman is nearly ready to set its sights on so many celestial spectacles. Follow along with the mission’s build progress in this interactive virtual tour of the observatory, and check out these space-themed Valentine’s Day cards.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[diz-eaze]

albedo and his alternative to baby trap you :(

; soft yandere, parent trap 2.0 but is it really babytrap if you lowkey told him you wouldn't mind a child (yes it still is), low-key delusional albedo, not proofread, throwback to fontaine's quest and albedo teaser #og,

the concept of breathing life into what was once an illustration is ludicrous. blasphemous, even. if the original hydro archon was punished for turning her familiars into a new race of humans, then is it not fair for an alchemist to be smithed down for a similar sin?

but the silence of the heavens has been going on for numerous centuries; it's hard for albedo to feel even a smidgen of fear, nevermind finding a speck of regret.

being born with special capabilities is rare. training under a great sinner of khaenri'ah is even rarer - it leaves him with skills that far surpasses even the average vision bearer. it grants him the power to tamper and play with the very notion of life itself.

a memory plays at the back of his mind as he settles down his painting materials, for once away from the frigid winters of dragonspine in favor of the fresh breeze found in windrise.

"the traveler told me of what happened in fontaine," albedo begins, gently taking the test tube you pass onto him. "of what became of their prophecy."

"oh?" you muse, now idly playing with the microscope lenses. "pray tell."

albedo settles his canvas down on the stable easel stand, taking out his paints and brushes in preparation. the ever-present wind blows through his messy hair, and he welcomes it.

"it would seem that fontainians were originally oceanids, only transformed into humans by the previous hydro archon." his eyes are trained upon the drops of sweet flower extract falling into the narrow test tube. "the prophecy was punishment for their sin."

"huh," you breathe out, placing down the lenses to look at him. he fights the urge to look away from his materials. "i can't tell if the arrogant one in this situation is the hydro archon or the heavenly principles themselves."

he swatches out each paint on his person, and he lines up the needed brushes for this personal project of his. the first brush, a round brush, is used to prime the canvas.

albedo finishes extracting the sweet flower and takes out a damp cloth to wipe his table's surface with. "why so?"

"think about it," you saunter up to him, leaning in unbearably close to survey his work. in this proximity, he can smell traces of cecilia flowers and windwheel asters on you. his grip on the damp cloth tightens subtly.

"the heavens think of themselves to be the absolute rulers of this world," you puff your cheeks out childishly. "yet they are more akin to tyrants. celestial nails, sins, punishments, the cataclysm... a creation of life is much tamer compared to the heinous acts they've committed!"

albedo mixes and matches his paints - a tint of red, a dollop of brown, tiny amounts yellow, and white added in moderation - in order to emulate the shade closest to your skin tone. his second brush, a flat brush, is used to lay down the overall shape of what he envisions.

"you think so?" he questions, relocating the test tube on its designated rack. he makes no move to inch away from you - not that he wants to, never. "but 'humans' who are not born from breeding are considered to be an anomaly. they are considered an outlier, are they not?"

not that he cares, may it be sinful or otherwise. he merely tells this to get a feel of you, to take a dive into your mind.

"i care little of how a human is produced," you huff out, leaning even more to disrupt his orderly workflow. he wonders how you'd react if he told you he wouldn't care should you trash his camp, so long as you continue to be shoulder to shoulder with him like this. "if it's sentient, it has life. i think all life should be valued, regardless of the creation method. the creations themselves didn't ask to be brought to this world, either."

his deft fingers scrapes paints together to match his hair next. only little tufts of hair for now. the brush dips into the water to be rid of its previous color, reborn anew into a clean slate. he pats it down with a spare cloth and goes back to painting once again.

"you're not wrong," albedo comments, eyes trailing after the flutter of your lashes. the body heat that emanates from you causes his synthetic one to gradually warm up, too.

he hesitates, then. licking his lips as if to buy time before he voices out the question stuck in his throat. you must have noticed his pause, for you peer at him in silent questioning. you nudge him slightly, and his body sways from the motion.

there is little he fears in this world. not when he was raised in the aftermath of the cataclysm, horrors unknown to normal people are found there. but the thought of your opinion of him souring slightly has his heart palpating in dread.

albedo leans closer to the canvas, intent on detailing the cherubic face as much as possible. focused on creating the perfect specimen that earns your adoration.

a beat passes.

"then," he looks down at his workspace, unable to find the strength to look you straight in the eyes. "what do you think of creating life artificially, from the likeness of your image?"

you blink once and tilt your head, though he does not see it. you crowd closer to him, now nearly chest to chest. if you inch even closer, he fears you'll fear the loud thumps resounding deep within his chest.

"a life... with my likeness?" you parrot back, still not comprehending him fully. then, your eyes widen, as if struck with realization. "oh! you mean your magical drawings, right? i still remember that vishap you created! i am dismayed at the poor thing's lower half, however."

his masterpiece is almost finished. sunset is near, and the wind is starting to pick up. it feels as if barbatos himself is advising albedo to stop with his actions. but not even the divine nail from celestia would tear him apart from this painting.

his mind was lingering more on the alchemical method. though, if this is the method that you prefer, then it will be what he goes through with.

"perhaps," still, he nods, "so, what do you think of it?"

you smile, a gleaming, precious one that surpasses crystalflies. "since it's a hypothetical, i suppose the idea would be cute."

the verbal 'hypothetical' is blocked out from his illusioned mind, for he locks onto your explicit agreement, even going as far as to call his idea cute.

he smiles, clearly pleased with your answer.

"i am glad to see you so enthusiastic about this," he parts away from you and begins to tidy up his workspace with renewed vigor, moving with a sense of purpose.

you confusedly look at his back, "about what?"

but you're met with no reply.

albedo finishes his painting with the last brushstroke being an eyelash of the infant. he steps back to observe for any errors made, but he finds none. excitement courses through his body, eager to bring life to this illustration. his mind is already running amok with all the domesticity he will soon witness you do.

his gloves hands reach into the canvas, surpassing the physical barrier as he reaches for the finished painting. it's similar to reaching into a void, but he knows how to navigate this power of his. when he tugs his hands back into reality, he is not empty handed.

in his hands is a crying infant, not just any infant, but his baby with you. within a few seconds after giving it life, the infant opens its mouth and wails.

he kisses the top of its head, endeared at the sight of pale blond strands.

"shhh, your father is here now."

he understands the original hydro archon now. even he would endanger the lives of others for the creation of life.

[astrologyvas]

mars in the 12th house overlay/synastry

please do not copy or repeat my work anywhere

mars in the 12th house is a mystical, alluring and beautifully contradicting synastry placement.

in this overlay, we have mars, the fiery and confrontational celestial body. when you mix that with the 12th house, being an elusive, murky swamp of reminiscence, there is a lot of conflicting energies. on one hand, the fieriness of mars has the potential to boil out the impurities of the watery house and cleanse them of tainted habits. on the other hand, water can extinguish fire completely.

the first glimpse of this person ignites a spiritual pull towards one another. both, but typically the mars, feel an insatiable curiosity towards the other. it's like a dark, faint-lighted party where they can't take their eyes off each other.

mars in this connection wants to untwine the soul of the house, diving head first into their whirling and opaque waters. however, they quickly realize they need to slow down and restrain their impulsivity in order to be abundant in this connection. the house is cautious of mars, and may be scared away if mars does not tread carefully. trust is very blurred in this overlay, both wanting to be in control of the vulnerability shown to each other.

the house is an oasis of water that mars stumbled upon. mars will need to relinquish its aggressive nature in order to penetrate the shy and mysterious aura the house emanates. mars frantically texting "why are you ignoring me?" while the house is asleep vibes.

how aware one is of their subconscious will be how aware they are of what's going on beneath the surface of this overlay. there is a very passive energy when it comes to disputes and arguments. hidden conflict is a theme because of the timidity of both parties. there is potential for destruction if open & honest communication is not at the forefront of this connection.

mars is almost drowned in the dim haze of the house, causing a tendency for delusion and false impressions. both mars and the house feel like a piece of the puzzle is missing, because of their preconceived notion of who this person is.

this linkage will be a sensual and otherworldly bond. sex feels like you are traveling to astral planes through each other. like you are pulling their walls away, and reaching into the depths of their soul.

it is a powerful coming-together, but if either parties aren't looking or prepared for 12th house activation, it can be just as powerfully draining and cataclysmic.

mars can reach parts of the house that they may not be used to, especially if the house person has an inactive or empty 12th house. it can have the energy of "wait, you noticed that?" after the mars pointed out something the house only ever thought to themselves.

12th house connections are notoriously tragic, as the 12th house itself is a very impenetrable retreat in the natal chart. the house person may initially be full of lust for the mars person, which in time bleeds into insecurity or resentment. this is due to the nature of the 12th house bringing unconscious wounds and trauma to the surface when triggered by someone like mars.

however, this synastry is spiritually elevated and beautifully transcending if the challenging energies are balanced and nurtured. these bonds are meant to trigger change and emotional discomfort.

songs that may resonate:

like a tattoo - sade she - harry styles how to disappear - lana del rey rose blood - mazzy star

[true-lavender]

The beauty of Zhongven is that they've been married for centuries and when you have someone for so long you have your time periods of being so incredibly close and time periods of when you need some space from each other so I interpret their relationship as one of the open type.

Time to time they both go to other people but they always come drifting back to each other. Mortal lives are fleeting and should be cherished while they last. They, on the other hand, will have each other for all eternity.

Like, fuck bro, they introduce their partners to each other time to time and when they speak about each other they can't even mask the deep-rooted fondness of centuries so their partners sometimes have to do a double take and question whether they're witnessing a friendship or some irl soulmate bullshit. They're bad at hiding affection for each other so they have to evaluate which partners they're willing to take the risk of introducing.

Sometimes it leads to occasional threesomes or more... Gods ought to have some fun, you know And they value all their partners greatly too, even if at the end of it all they'll always find each other in a familiar embrace of one another.

Like, they didn't like each other at first. Or more accurately, Morax didn't like Barbatos because to him Barbatos was an enigma. Even while being surrounded with gods like Guizhong who had their fair share of unorthodox ways of rulership, Barbatos was completely and utterly different. He claimed he had given his nation freedom but to Morax it seemed like nothing more nor less than abandonment of a cowardly or lazy God.

So when he showed up in Liyue Harbour purely to invite Morax for a drink, he was flabbergasted and kept searching for Barbatos' true intentions. Which turned to be futile because for some reason, this weak and irresponsible God had been telling the truth and kept fleeting around Liyue purely for entertainment and morax' company. And no matter how much he denied it, he couldn't help the feeling of fondness whenever the wind tides in Liyue turned and Mondstadt's god of freedom descended to his abode with another drinking invitation. Or simply a request to walk among the humans, just them in the crowd of strangers. Of 'his children' as Barbatos has cheerfully proclaimed them to be with deep fondness straight from his hearth. Morax' children. And he thinks faintly that somehow, even if Barbatos officially has nothing to do with Liyue, they are his children too. He had never before thought of his people like that. But it fits. Painfully so.

So how could one not grow terribly fond of a god who manages to bring out the best in everything he frets around?

As time passes they both face losses, in from of friends, acquaintances, fellow archons, their people, their children, and Morax terribly dreads the day he'll find himself alone, when the wind of his mental stability will cease playfully spinning around him and be laid down to rest, replaced by some other soul who, no matter how much it'll strive to do so, will never be able to reach even close to the warmth of Barbatos' words and actions, whose winds will bring nothing but pain accompanying memories.

The cataclysm is the first time in all of the long years of companionship that he clearly sees Barbatos break down. He can't blame him, he has a feeling that much like he himself, Barbatos is weighted down by the same worries. They're just pawns to celesties, now the last remaining archons of the original seven. Two lonesome souls left alone in this world.

He knows he wouldn't be able to bear losing Barbatos too and he suspects Barbatos is much the same.

They find solace in each other's company, much like always, but there's something different to it. They're the last two. The only remaining ones. And Morax knows he'll hold onto Barbatos not only for how long the Celestia will allow him to, but beyond that. They're complete with each other, no matter how much time it'll pass before they see one another again, no matter who gets to warm their way to their hearts in the meantime, they'll always end up in an embrace of soothing winds and stable rocks, support to many and to each other.

And if anyone intends to take the blessing that is Barbatos away from this world, they'll have to suffer Morax' wrath first.

[jhuzen]

the woes of a god [gn/m.reader]

definitely not my comeback piece. just got inspired randomly in the middle of so many things that i have been doing. i deeply apologize ;; 🙇‍♂️. this is just… a really long story that builds on the premise of the last story i posted TvT.

𖦹 big on genshin lore again, with a few interpretations of my own to fill in the gaps and insert the reader, creator reader but not sagau (again like the last story), focuses on post primordial one vs sovereigns, primordial one and second throne war, archon war, and post-cataclysm. features all six archons by their goetic names (the tsaritsa is conveniently not around), neuvillette, mentions of old seven and apep, this leans on a what if scenario, of reader coming down to teyvat before the archon war, reader is a little brutal but that’s okay ;;

The sky has never looked more fake.

Your eyes squint at the light that the world you have crafted bathed in. You had seen the horrific sights that lie beyond the peaceful blue that the skies projected before you.

Though it did little to bother any other living creature that now dwelled on your magnum opus. Your gaze drifts to the new beings, molded with striking differences from one another, their characteristics bound by the land that they were born on.

The day you had awoken was a painful ordeal to go through. The wounds that lodged within your very body is terrifyingly painful. And the very world that you had created and anchored into your body was the only culprit.

For a time, your masterpiece, Teyvat, felt like a malignant tumor that only propagated within your soul, corroding every piece of your self until you are no more. How ironic was it that your most cherished creation among all the other worlds became the very thing that causes you physical harm.

You had slumbered for a long time since then, and had dutifully descended. Your sleep was not only attributed to the pain during its descent, but also to mourn the painful passing of your beloved sovereigns. Your eyes cannot endure the fate they suffered through, and to this day, the guilt tramples over whatever sense of elation that you feel, washed over with the feelings of intense shame.

Their creator was you alone. No one else.

And when an alien being came to hunt them down for a war that lasted decades, you were nowhere to be found.

You were certain that Nibelung knew your gaze was casted on them, that he understood you were stepping away as a form of test, a way to see if he, as well as your seven sovereigns could withstand such a small conundrum such as a foreign descender.

The thought sickens you physically — you could only wonder if you putting your loving faith on them to be your champions in this war was a devastating mistake of yours that they paid for with their lives and dignity. Your mind could barely comprehend the kind of desperation that Nibelung must have felt for him to dive into the deepest depths and use a knowledge not of this world that Teyvat, and to an extent — your body, until now, struggles to recover from.

A sigh escapes your lips.

It was a gnawing ache, like those celestial larvae that crawl into your body, having a grand feast on it.

The day you descended, you had called on the elements that embodied this very world, seeking answers for what had happened when you were in such a deep sleep, entirely clueless of the events, with only a body that aches from the physical wounds it sustained to guide you to the clues about Old Teyvat’s demise and the embarking of its new age.

You had learned that day, that after the devastating defeat of your dragons, it imparted a new life. And now, humans walked the very ground you had crafted for dragons to walk on initially. You have also learned that the tiny vishaps have retreated deep into Teyvat, living under the hopeless depths, making do and surviving in such a decrepit environment.

Coming in contact with them was nothing more than a world full of hurt when you came to the realization that even the vishaps are terrified of your light. It had shattered a piece of you, and have only grieved with nothing but shame and regret.

And even when you left, the despairing echoes of your cries remained beneath as the vishaps’ lullabies as well as the tears that created a pool for them to bathe in.

Your cries that soothed the vishaps became a haunting legend in a certain civilization that had collapsed and fell through the depths. Children cowered at the stories told about the harrowing echoes, and the scholars of that very civilization had recorded your voice as a mere phenomenon, a tale for the insane, a story for bedtime to frighten unruly children.

Much after the grieving that you had succumbed to, you had learned the stinging pain that pierced through your body that keeps persisting to this day was the work of these pillars — you have come to know them as its divine nails, made to heal the lands of Teyvat from the parasitic effects that the forbidden knowledge inflicted when it was used during the wars.

Quite frankly, it did little to heal your body as you feel the way it seems to lodge within your very core, destroying and corrupting pieces of your soul.

Your first journey since your awakening was nothing short of enlightening. You had learned much about the turn of events. Your dragons have suffered enough, with the few alive ones like the Dragon of Verdure incredibly spiteful of the new race that came about.

And you were not clueless about the sharp tone Apep had taken when she first talked to you after your disappearance during the war between it and the seven sovereigns. You understood the bitterness and sheer betrayal that she had felt, knowing that all this would have been prevented had you only decided to lend a hand.

You left Apep’s abode with little pity for yourself and more remorse for not being a proper artisan to your creation.

But as you watched a civilization grow among the vast sands, you also cannot help but disagree with the unsavory words that Apep had described the new life.

Yes, they were small.

But you understood that humanity is not insignificant.

Gods have always fascinated you.

You understood that to some degree, you too, are a god. You understood that way before Teyvat became a project of yours. Your previous creations that were successfully inhabited with the creatures you had given life to worshiped you, and your descent on your visits were always welcomed with celebrations of endless grandeur.

Things were no different once the sovereigns had come to realize that you were the source of their life and the very world they live in right now. And you had also been crowned as Teyvat’s primordial deity.

However, the age of humanity had given birth to two differing types. There were the normal humans — mortal, average in strength, and so easily swayed by their desires and fears alike.

And then there were the immortals. You had come to realize that immortals came in all forms. Some had originally been creatures of the myth, others were mere elemental manifestations, spirits, or humans that were lucky enough to be ordained and strong enough to defy all the odds that an average human can only do.

There were also gods who took the shape of creatures — sea monsters, newer dragons that were striking descendants of the ancient ones.

You understood then, that even immortals, much like mortals, answered to the authority that reigned supreme in your world, someone who is not you.

Glancing up at the sky, your gaze immediately drifts to that floating piece of land, meant to hold the thrones of those revered by the new worldly life.

And just as you were finally understanding the existence of gods lesser than you, the one above who has stolen your very presence of authority declared an all-out brawl across Teyvat, deeming your very masterpiece its playground for needless bloodshed and barbaric warfare.

It declared seven thrones for seven remaining gods that would triumph above all.

And nothing could prepare you for the prize of winning one.

It was an unforgettable feeling — the way your blood ran cold as it presented seven ornaments in unique shapes, each containing a very familiar power that you have cultivated and given yourself.

The prize was the authority of your defeated sovereigns.

Mockery. You thought it was mockery. You thought whatever resides up there knows you were lurking, relearning Teyvat after your forced slumber for survival, and decided to taunt your everlasting grief over your creations by using the very dignity of each dragon sovereign that you had entrusted those authorities to.

And now, it taunts you in such a needlessly cruel way, by desecrating your world once more through an all out war between the very gods they have also created.

It was a jarring era. You took part in aiding the defenseless mortals, taking whoever in the tiny nooks all over the world. You had brought several mortals in your sanctuary in times of desperation while gods have staked their claim by surviving battle after battle.

Tactics were employed by different gods, differing in styles. Some had bargained for it, some willingly gave their throne to a god they deem fit, others who are weaker opted to team up with those that can trample over others, some had forcibly taken what was rightfully theirs, and some had willingly shut themselves off, cowering away in hopes of being left alone so they may protect their people in peace.

You had learned by then that even gods… can succumb to their desires and fears.

It had been long since the great war among gods had concluded.

However you can still feel the bittersweet sensation that pulsed through your veins as you watched all seven take their seats, claim their divine thrones, and hold the vessels for the power stolen from your elemental dragon sovereigns.

You would remember them as they staked their claim over their regions.

Barbatos, Morax, Baal, Rukkhadevata, Egeria, Xbalanque, and previous Tsaritsa.

You recall them well enough — considering that they have managed to unearth the truth of Teyvat’s existence. They came to you, offering themselves for you to indulge at the cost of recognition.

The original seven, eager as they were to meet you, were promptly shut down with a smile on your lips.

“You are not mine to claim, as my blood does not flow through any of yours’ veins.”

Suffering became an easy friend of yours.

You had gone through so much already, and your body as well as Teyvat have yet to heal and recuperate from the effects of the many wars that transpired on this world.

And here comes another one.

However, this time, someone had played the role of Icarus, and had flown way too close to a certain parasite.

It dawned on you as the familiar stinging pain seeped though your very core, breaking you once more little by little, its persistence unmistaken when you first felt it when the very first war erupted in this world.

Someone had unearthed Nibelung’s discovery of the forbidden knowledge and decided to use it.

You remember it vividly — yet another huge devastation that came to Teyvat. However, the catastrophe was marginally bigger compared to the horrid Archon war. And with the discomfort of bearing through that disgustingly painful experience, you had plunged into yet another slumber.

By the time you had awoken, you realized how deeply affected each and everyone was. Many comrades have died, some were affected, and you had come to find out that even the archons had to make some incredibly difficult sacrifices that dealt equally devastating blows to their very being.

You had little to say.

However, you have much to do.

Perhaps it was your guilty conscience that pushed you into this long journey. However, you were not guilty of being asleep while the fallen nation had wreaked havoc with their circumstances. Your guilt lied within the fact that you had never gotten to console your dragon sovereigns when they were defeated by it.

Most of them were dead, others were sealed and unable to reincarnate.

And so this was your way of making it up to them, albeit… with the archons, those who remained, and those who are now stepping up into their new responsibilities as a member of the newly established seven.

You had first visited the cold region of Snezhnaya, paying a visit to their new Cryo Archon, who has been planning something else entirely. She had willingly entertained you, despite the slight edge and tension within her. However you understood that you were limiting her desire to continue on with her plans, and so you were quick to disappear from that very nation.

Barbatos has always held you in a high regard the moment his eyes were opened to your existence. The heavenly principles call you the slumbering sloth, deeming your forced slumber and inactivity to act against the horrors Teyvat has gone through a mistake on your part as a creator.

But he deems it as a slander, and he quietly protests at the image imposed so heavily on him. He adored the freedom you had granted — giving free will to the creatures that now live on your domain, and it was that freedom that had continued to flourish within him, spurring on a belief that he had cultivated since the moment he received his gnosis.

In that tiny piece of divinity, he felt you. Quietly lurking across the lands of Teyvat, minding your own affairs without intent of reconnecting with others.

And when he and his fellow archons sought you for answers, you had little to say. Shutting them down with an indifferent gaze — no, Venti hardly calls it indifferent, the mask sure was indifferent, but there is a sense of agony that seems to seep out from that very mask.

Barbatos sleeps for eons not to gather his bearings, but to feel closer to you.

And now here he finds you in the waking world, gaze overlooking Mondstadt — currently rebuilding the life that was devastated by the cataclysm alone. His wings tuck behind him, respectful as he was as he bowed to you.

“They have it handled, Your Benevolence,” he regards you with a carefree grin on his lips, “…Humans are strong. And that freedom I’ve given them will flourish.”

“You seem so sure of it,” you respond without missing a beat.

“…They are still ignorant of you, and they do not realize that the freedom I embody is how I carry your will,” his voice comes out in a quiet purr, a reverent tone that held nothing but unadulterated adoration and devotion.

Your gaze seems too far — looking at the horizon and Barbatos wants to see what your eyes can see in this world. What perspective you have, what you think of the new Teyvat and what you think of him, carrying out your principles through his own beliefs.

“…Let us hope it is not a mistake,” you mumble, your fingers gently caressing those pristine white wings of his, and Barbatos relishes in the feeling.

He held back a wince as he felt a sharp sting from when you plucked a feather from his wing.

Barbatos had one thing to say.

“If it is your will, then it shall be done.”

You had doubts with that. You had your will — and it was done. And where did that lead you? Facing a god bearing the face of a creature that now replaced your creations.

You sucked in a sharp breath before smiling, a shallow gesture as you tucked in Barbatos’ pure white feather behind your ear.

“Mm… it shall be done,” you repeat, and a gentle breeze brushes past you. A tiny whisper and a loving kiss from the archon himself.

You accept it with a quiet hum.

Morax had more questions than the blatant adoration that Barbatos held for you. He first came to you apprehensive and tense, but you knew that he understood that he had to be around in order to get the answers he desired. He came to you with the arrogance and bravado befitting of a god.

How pathetic was it that he looked more like a god than you will ever be. But when he did, you were in a fit of deep sorrow when the heavenly principles made a mockery of your sovereigns and had given it to these new gods that prevailed mostly through bloodshed and sheer force.

He questioned your methods, Morax understood so little about your motives, about your life, about your method of creation. However arrogant and mighty as he was, he held deep respect for you still, you were the creator of the dragons that inspired him to mold his likeness into the same sort when he presented his Exuvia during his descent in Liyue.

And yet you still managed to devastate him as you first rejected him along with the first seven. Unlike Barbatos who saw agony, Morax felt the indignant resentment that enveloped your divine being, and it rubbed him the wrong way.

Morax was quick to straighten himself up, and was eager to wisen himself.

Right, he was taught to understand others.

Your legacy was infamous for losing against the heavenly principles’ divine intervention, that your sordid draconic creations were no match for the primordial one and its shades. That your era was replaced within a battle that only lasted for a few decades. And as you sat at the edge of the tall mountains that he had shaped, gracefully indulging in the tea ways away from Chenyu Vale, he could only bask in your divinity as he stood behind you, keeping a watchful gaze of your very being.

You still had that alluring glimmer that he saw when he first came to you.

An uneasy feeling grasps onto his very being. Perhaps it was the lingering trauma of being rejected by you initially that even served his cautious display now.

“…You’ve done well,” you murmur quietly. A simple, quiet praise, and Morax’s knees nearly buckled at the sheer weight. Of all the times he had been on the battlefield, none could outweigh the suffocating feeling that you suddenly imparted to him.

He feels the weight of expectations while your gaze swept over Liyue’s entirety. And Morax invites it wholeheartedly. His body gives into the sudden pressure that weighed him down, prompting him to go down on one knee, head bowed with a reverent expression.

Morax adores you so much.

“I have taken great inspiration from your creations, Your Benevolence. I have crafted them with you in mind, with how you may envision my nation to its way to prosperity.” His voice sounds like a whisper compared to your melodious echo. “It pleases me greatly to be praised by you.”

Your eyes flit to the countless mountains that were not there before. No doubt they have been shaped with the aid of Morax’s newfound authority over the land with his won authority over Geo.

“As an artisan, I must say, you have truly outdone yourself,” you quietly muse, resting the teacup between your thighs. “You have the talent, I would be remiss to not take you in and teach you few of my personal techniques.”

Morax’s breath hitched, his lips tremble, making his way towards you, half-crawling like a pest that now will surely refuse to leave your side. He had done well in his mind — redeemed himself from the foolish arrogance he once had that might have caused your blatant rejection of his being at first. But now, you were willing to let him learn from you, and that was a step far bigger than any god could have ever made.

“…Please,” he mumbled, his fingers digging into the dirt as desperation floods his mind wave after wave. “Please… please, Your Benevolence. Impart your knowledge to me. I will forever be grateful.”

Nothing could prepare him from your quiet laughter, amused by his devotion.

He is quiet, sucking in a sharp breath as he heaved a quiet sigh of sheer pleasure and relief. A genuine desire blossoms through his chest, flourishing and spreading like an illness that cannot be remedied with something remotely as simple as a handful of ground up adeptal herbs.

It took you one look to understand… that you ought not to shatter his genuine bliss. That you ought to not tell him you merely laughed in memory of the dragon who once possessed the authority that now Morax holds.

Beelzebul has always been off with you. She did not know how to feel. Adoration and the imminent desire to devote her life to you was not the first thing she had felt. Perhaps her twin sister did, Baal always did have a sense of innate fanaticism that even as her identical twin, Beelzebul could not understand.

Though she understood that when she saw Baal so utterly heartbroken after speaking so highly of you that she felt enraged. Her sister had rightfully earned her throne in the heavens, to receive that Electro Gnosis, it was hers to have with no room for argument. She had won the favor of the higher power, so why… pray tell… have you rejected someone as strong as her?

She thought you were blind to the notion of strength. She thought you were a fool — to not have seen the grace of power that Baal, that Makoto, had in her hands. For you to refuse the adoration her twin sister felt was nothing short of an insult to Beelzebul. And for a long time, she had intent to make you recognize Baal.

And then the catastrophe comes and long gone were her desires to turn your gaze towards her sister.

Traumatized, Beelzebul had little to say as she lamented over Baal’s death on that horrid war. The war that combed through Teyvat, claiming the lives of not only powerless and helpless mortals but gods like Baal fell.

On that one moment, Beelzebul casted aside her resentment, and begged for you to see just what her sister was willing to do to protect your creation. To witness the pain Baal had to go through despite her inability to curry your favor.

How ironic was it, that now, overcome with immense grief and desire to achieve the eternity Beelzebul wanted for her people, that you decided to come.

The puppet hung still, lifeless and incomplete from the waist down. Beelzebul stood by, and an odd sentiment of understanding for Baal’s fascination and love for you washes over her, as if Beelzebul was programmed to love you in an instant. Her watchful gaze never left you as you walked around, analysing the puppet Beelzebul was in the middle of creating.

Your gaze — one that Baal had longed to have — was directed at Beelzebul now.

“Your desire to reach eternity… is this puppet the answer?” You ask, “Free from erosion, everlasting puppet, made to run your territory to a perfected pace.”

Beelzebul’s footsteps echo as she closed the distance between you and her inch by inch. She becomes minutely aware of your divinity. It was like no other. It provokes the inner sanctums of Beelzebul’s physical being.

Beelzebul wants to cry.

And she wants you to hold her.

You took note of how she stepped back, before responding to you, regarding you respectfully, “…Yes, Your Benevolence.” Her eyes flit to the features of the puppet. He is hardly molded to her likeness, but it shows, beautiful and everlasting. “An eternity does not succumb to the rotting scent of gradual decay. He is a mere prototype, a test of what shall be my true creation.”

“Pity that is,” you quietly murmur. “He would have been a precious one,” you gently cupped his cheeks around your hands.

Beelzebul watched with confusion and interest as your lips press against the puppet’s forehead.

“Blessed be thy path. Return to me and you will be recognized.”

You walked towards her, the ends of your robes fluttering behind you. Her breath hitches at the feeling of your hand over her sternum, “…And may you return to me, should your pursuit come into a halt.”

It felt like a challenge, but Beelzebul does not miss her desire for it to be a mere comfort from a god who is clearly far greater than she will ever be. Undeterred, Beelzebul turns to the puppet and resigns herself into yet another long period of endless work.

There will be eternity. And at the heart of that very eternity will solely be you and her.

Buer knew the day she was born that she had huge shoes to fill in. Her predecessor was a great one, and their domain altogether was far bigger than one could imagine. Sumeru had a tall order and young little Buer had to fulfill it all on her own.

She was born into succeeding Rukkhadevata’s greatest feats, already pushed into the limelight to take over and take action over the nation that her predecessor had managed to cultivate with her compassion and wisdom. Buer was intimidated, she had enough sense to admit and accept such a fact. Buer admired her predecessor, and will continue to do so, loving her endlessly and singing praises about the hard work that Rukkhadevata had put into establishing the rule of Sumeru.

Hence, Buer finds it so difficult to find her footing. Everything she does feels so little in comparison to her predecessor’s achievements, and it was not long before a part of that adoration turns into a quiet hum of deep insecurity, seeding into Buer’s heart that forced her into a never ending cycle of pressure and admiration.

“You have so much on your mind, little one.”

Her mind clears, and she stares up into you. You — the one adored by many, and one that Buer was certain Rukkhadevata had also adored and held in such a high pedestal and rightfully so. Buer wonders how you are able to withstand the crushing weight of pressure that you probably feel on your shoulders as you carried the very fate of this world that was secured and anchored well into your body.

“Your predecessor was the same,” you continue while your fingers slowly cross strands of her hair over the other, neatly plaided. “I watched her scramble around, trying to clean up the messes that her fellow god kings have caused. I watched her get smaller and smaller, sacrificing every part of herself into clearing out catastrophes one after the other.”

Buer agrees without a word. Perhaps not even a god like you is immune to just how truly amazing the original Dendro Archon was as you sang her praises.

“The world is ill, little Buer,” you mention as you gracefully tied her hair to the side. “And when Teyvat is ill, I too suffer the same painful fate.”

No person could understand the paradoxical nature of the feelings that slowly invited itself into Buer’s heart.

She feels light from your encouragement and yet feels utterly crushed at the weight of expectations that you have placed on her, whether or not it was your intention.

Buer feels smothered by it all, and it feels so damning, so terribly incapacitating that it pains her. But Buer loves you. You came to guide her like a parent would to a child when Rukkhadevata had given her the stage to guide a region far bigger than any other archon’s claim.

“I know, Your Benevolence…” she quietly murmured.

Buer’s eyes opened, and the green tint of this prison she was in knocks her out of her daydream. Her palm presses flat against the barrier. A wave of loneliness comes over her being, and it hurts. It had only been a year or two since you came and since her capture, but she had never felt so alone in a solitary prison that Rukkhadevata once used for her own benefit now being used against her own successor.

Where are you? Are you coming back? Are you sending a champion to rescue her? How long will she stay here? A century? Five? A millennium?

Buer prays to you. She asks for an answer. An answer that you alone can possess.

The God of Wisdom seeks your knowledge in desperation, hoping you do not turn a blind eye.

From her prison of isolation, Buer could only hear the last words you have said to her;

“Happy birthday, Little Buer…”

Focalors much like the others in the same state as her had rightfully succeeded the throne of the original archons that now perished in that catastrophic event. Focalors was a mere oceanid, following after Egeria’s will as the late Hydro Archon was led into a battle that she would no longer return from. And now, Egeria’s corpse lays within the deserts of Sumeru, where the late Dendro Archon had buried and cultivated her corpse into a tree that will always be a good distance away from the very nation Egeria ruled over.

Focalors feels injustice against her predecessor now that she has shouldered the prophetic curse that the heavenly principles have decided to rule against Egeria for her sin. Her sin. Focalors’ eyebrows furrowed — was it so bad that the late archon created life? That she had desired to create humans the same way that it had done. She recalled the day Egeria was blessed with the wisdom of your existence.

A sole artisan, you, had created this world. And another one came to give birth to a new realm inhabited by humans. You were not their creator, but from your inaction, it was clear you had accepted, or at the very least tolerated humanity that now thrives on the world you have created. Egeria holds a different opinion compared to the other archons. She thought it was fair that you had rejected them initially, in a way it was your justice to refuse associating yourself with the creatures that replaced your original creations.

Hypocrites, the one that they answer to are all hypocrites.

And the feelings further exacerbate as she feels your hand press against her back. Her shoulders squared as you danced with her, a faint melody from your quiet hum was the only rhythmic guide to this romantic tango of two lonely gods.

There is a sense of longing that stews within the waters of Teyvat, Egeria once told Focalors upon receiving the Hydro Gnosis. And now that she is in close proximity with you, the feeling was overwhelmingly palpable. Her chest hurts as it tightened with every step she took, following after your flawless footwork.

This was a tragedy in the making and Focalors was eagerly participating in it.

“Does it hurt?” She asks you, adoring the serenity etched into your face as a defaulted expression. “To have your name sullied by the injustice inflicted by the winners? That no human speaks your name and sings your praises?”

You flawlessly spin her away until she comes back in your grasp, “I am in agony,” you admit with a haunting smile, mirthless and still so beautiful, “Even more as I am reliving him through you.”

The pace picks up and Focalors hurries, having little time to catch her breath as she feels an unsettling pull wash over her. There was a desire to please you, as if your request cannot be denied outright. Maybe it was the world asking her to do your bidding, or maybe Egeria had programmed this into her very core when she was created as a mere Oceanid familiar.

Before she was even aware, the humming comes to a close and Focalors was bowing like you to an audience of nothing but the endless sea and the creatures that lurked beneath it.

You tilt your head to the side, “I hope I have relayed my feelings well enough to you.” You smile at her and Focalors’ grip on your hand tightens significantly.

You don’t say it, but she feels it. She has the authority of the everlasting waters — your tears, your agony, your pain. And it drowns her further and further until it suffocates her and dissolves her being, much like the dreaded prophecy she was tasked to solve by her predecessor.

Give it back. Give him back.

He was never gone. Focalors had not met him, but she knew of his existence. She knows what you want.

Focalors was blessed with great intelligence, and knew how to kill two birds with one stone. She had thought about it. She could solve the prophecy and fulfill your wish.

Focalors was a romantic as much as she had a flair for the dramatic. She loved humanity above all but perhaps her love for you exceeds that even just for a generous millimeter.

A quiet sigh escapes her lips.

“Applaud me for my performance once it ends, Your Benevolence.” She requested in a quiet voice, and she pities herself for feeling immense satisfaction from a mere wordless nod from you.

For you, who had accepted the humanity that Focalors loves, the archon would do the same. She would accept your selfish wish and make it come true, indulge in your quiet favor, be the one you will forever love and adore even in her death.

Haborym has heard of the tales of the great one. How the very world was shaped by your divine hands, like a sculptor carving out the features of your next masterpiece. But that was only after the First Pyro Archon had gained control over the Pyro Gnosis roughly a thousand and five hundred years ago, one that uncovered the existence of a will greater than the ones that ruled over them from above.

However, most of the people of Natlan remain blissfully unaware of one of the many secrets that the lineage of Pyro Archons have known by their succession to the heavenly throne.

They were unaware of Xbalanque’s great failure in gaining your favor. The failure of the first Pyro Archon that assumed the throne. And the next archons in line that failed after it.

It was much like the pilgrimage, once an archon, not only are they tasked to care for Natlan’s delicate situation against the Abyss, their people, but also they must try again to gain your favor. It was like a tradition, an obligation even — passed down from one archon to another, seeing how they can succeed in what Xbalanque, as great as he was, completely failed at.

Perhaps you were exasperated by the constant badgering for the Pyro Archons that came before Haborym, because somehow, before she could even get to you, you had appeared before her during the havoc that Khaenri’ah’s incident has wreaked upon your lands. You came to her while she finished wringing out every bit of life of any Rifthound that threatened the lives of her people.

She had exerted much of her energy, and though she had enough energy still for more confrontations along with the revered heroes of Natlan, you had come to aid her even for a second. She felt your cooling touch that soothed any aches that rooted deep within her from the abyssal creature’s devastating attacks. She is mostly certain that any normal person would crumble into dust if they even were swiped at by one measly claw of these things.

Regardless, that was the first time you and her had met. Haborym barely registered the truth in your identity before you swiftly disappeared.

And now confusion only grows more evident in her core as she watched you, sat atop the tallest valleys in Natlan’s many plateaus. You sat, cross-legged as you watched the nation slowly recover from its terribly huge loss. You seemed lax, for someone having witnessed the lands of your creation nearly succumb to the abyss. But you were hardly fazed, with your face resting on the palm of your hand.

“…I must extend my apologies.” You finally spoke, breaking the silence.

Haborym feels a sense of camaraderie, and oddly enough, it prompts her to sit beside you. Her fellow archons — whether within Natlan or among the other nations — have always placed you on such a high pedestal. However perhaps it was because Haborym was a human before she was… well, Haborym.

But the humanity that dwelled within her thrives and connects with what she can perceive as a small island of humanity within the seas of your divinity. It was small, but it was irrational, loving, and resentful, all emotions hardly any gods, much less a higher being like you should never be bothered with.

Haborym takes a deep breath before nodding, “I accept your apology.”

She thinks she’s doing better than the preceding Pyro Archons when she heard your laughter. Somehow, Teyvat grew a little brighter upon that single moment.

“I believe I have a hand in the failure of Natlan. The reason why your nation has suffered far more devastating blows was because of the weak constitution of the leylines,” you explained, and it was not news to her. It had been the consistent problem that hung over the heads of the previous Pyro Archons, and now hers.

Haborym nods. She doesn’t ask the question of why, and patiently waits for what else you have to say.

“I am certain you don’t need any explanation, however… I created this place without factoring in the possibility of your kind’s creation. Had I known, your lands would not have been the backdoor for the darkness that threatens to consume the lives of your people.”

You smiled a little, throwing a glance at Haborym, “…You must understand, I am a creator in belief that all good things must become bad… and all bad things must become good. I believe in the equilibrium of the worlds — that all must learn the essence of balance. It is why Teyvat is my masterpiece, because it encapsulates my belief.”

“Creation must face destruction, and destruction must birth creation. That is the essence of my samsara.”

Your words felt like a hint, and Haborym’s eyes dart towards the heart of Natlan, where the Sacred Flame burns bright and hot.

And Haborym was taught from a young age that a true god’s wisdom is never something to overlook.

You had to applaud the collective effort of everyone in Teyvat. Five hundred years later and it keeps thriving from the devastating cataclysm. And now you have met a fitting champion to wield your will. Though they only wished to see their sibling.

The Heavenly Principles finally did something right in setting the stage as your challenger.

Your gaze drifts from the piece of land in the unreachable parts of the sky, down to the tea that you were wonderfully having with the bearer of your tears.

Focalors was right — her performance was unbearably long, however intensely impressive. You had honored her sacrifice with a permanent seat in the dining table of your private sanctuary nestled within the dark seas of Teyvat, where only the seats were personally crafted by you and were only enough to fit the humongous forms of the dragons that once ruled over your world.

She, among the other divinities that were not of your creation, was the first to earn your respect and genuine love.

“Is the tea to your liking?”

You still find yourself looking up on instinct just to meet the sharp gaze of the Hydro Sovereign, only to look back down to see a human being as his incarnation. Though his piercing gaze was certainly not lost on you.

“Hot enough,” you mumbled, “Bitter enough,” you added, recalling the tastes of one divine puppet that found his way back to you through your golden champion and little Buer’s rehabilitation.

Neuvillette quietly basked in the grace of your being. You had not changed one bit. He had recalled your presence when you first met him within the little tunnel on the side of Palais Mermonia during his break, and after Focalors’ final act, he was consumed with memories of you when you first descended in Teyvat.

As the bearer of your tears, he was your sole confidant, something even his fellow sovereigns envied him for all those years ago.

“…I have many questions,” he prompted the conversation, refusing this first meet to be mere session of stewing in silence and basking in each other’s presence. It was clear how dear he was to you, but his memories that eluded him suddenly came crashing down certainly gave him a terrifying and confusing time.

You had nowhere to be, and the traveler was busy with their affairs and many other adventures.

“We have all the time now,” you chuckle, watching the tiny whirlpool in your tea after stirring in a pinch of sugar. “After all, reunions are meant to be focused on reconciling with one another, like two old friends who have lost touch for… thousands of years perhaps.”

“Though I understand my… old life… was subjected into being your confidant for eons to come, I must exercise my impartiality to you.”

You laughed, amused at Neuvillette’s words. Though you respect him as a friend, nodding along. A creation could never judge a creator — it is what many among your fellow artisans have believed. But you have seen when worlds have rallied against their creator, and some have managed to kill theirs for justice or desperation.

You once walked the world of a now deceased colleague, who created a world filled with oppression, where the waters do not flow, and the pantheon of that very world have sought to fight the very god that created them in the first place.

Cruel as it was, you relished in bathing in that artisan’s never ending tears, flowing from their closed eyes as their decapitated head became the new mountain that births fresh water to their creation.

Nevertheless, for hours, you were subjected into endless questions, interrogated from left to right by the Hydro Sovereign that wanted answers more than anything. You had the key and had willingly opened the chest to him, absolving him of the troubles that might have weighed down on him once he received the Hydro Authority that was rightfully his when Focalors killed herself before his eyes.

The questioning only boils down to two questions left. Significant enough for Neuvillette to base his new opinion of you.

However you only had one proper answer for one of them.

“…Do you detest the Heavenly Father for his actions against the new order?”

You had thought long and hard about it. You wandered Teyvat for years to understand what you felt about it.

And you had the proper answer for it.

“Nibelung did what he had to do,” your eyes glazed over, and Neuvillette follows your gaze. Before he could think you were being disingenuous, you focused your attention back to him, gazing firmly into his eyes. “I had thought I felt injustice and resentment for his… foolish actions.”

You picked up the teacup, savoring the bitterness that the liquid offered.

“However I came to realize that he was desperate enough to seek the forbidden knowledge. Only then was I consumed with guilt. I mourned him and you and your brethren. Apep despised me when I visited her in the desert of Sumeru.” You recounted with a quiet hum. “I know not of what happened to the others, but I understand that my inaction may have forced his hand.”

“I feel guilt and I will prostrate myself as an apology before you if you so wish,” you offered.

Neuvillette thinks it was a coincidence when he felt the same. Him and his fellow sovereigns could have defended the world you had generously gifted them before. But a terrifying thought comes to his mind that perhaps his role as the Hydro Sovereign had him tethered to you even in his own emotions.

It was his new crisis — whether or not he truly feels guilt or if he merely shares it with how well connected he is to you.

“Please do not subject yourself in such a disgrace. You are my creator.”

“And my creations have been neglected until their death,” you countered with ease and Neuvillette doesn’t know if it was his programmed reverence that stops him from contesting you or that he also feels that your words ring true.

You stood up from your seat, walking over to him, and he basks in your presence yet again, nearly losing himself like how Fontainians before he had forgiven them dissolved within the Primordial Sea.

You pulled him in a gentle embrace, his stiff posture leaning awkwardly against your midsection as he sat still.

Neuvillette could hardly pull himself together. Your affection feels forced, an obligation that had to be done to console him, and further puzzles him if you shared his emotions or if you truly felt bad for the guilt that he claims he feels.

“…Then, if it is guilt that you feel. Do you resent humanity for flourishing in a world that does not have an allowance for their existence?”

That one, you had no answer for.

Humanity is so beautiful, but you had come to learn that you were merely tolerating them.

Neuvillette feels himself stiffen as your warm body grows cold in this one-sided embrace.

He may be the one responsible for judging the archons and the heavenly principles that had done you wrong.

But he was never the one to call the shots when judging the fate of this world.

After all, an artist can orphan their work once displeased.

Neuvillette just got you back. And he is certain that though the archons were tied within the Heavenly Principles, they desired your presence more than the ones they were expected to answer to.

You had graced him with a subtle kiss on his forehead, loving and forgiving.

“Focalors had you convinced that humanity was worth it,” you mutter, “So it must be true that they have something to offer.”

He looks up to see a small smile on your face.

Empty. Haunting. Grim.

“…If one dead god can convince you, how many do you think would it take to convince me?”

And just like the sky, your benevolence has never looked more fake.

[dreamersworldduh]

Hello! First of all I love all your stories ♥♥♥ Well, I wanted to make a request (if it's not bothering me) although I don't know if you write about Jon Kent, but well in this case. You could write a Jon x male reader story where the reader is a son of Trigon and like him he maintains control of his father like Raven.And Jon is like the reader's "anchor" that allows him to keep Trigon prisoner and then at some point Jon is hurt which causes the reader to lose control out of anger. Which makes him attack all his teammates and enemies and Jon controls him being the cinnamon roll that he is lol. That the reader and Jon have a relationship but keep it a secret, until that moment where Jon will not care about anything, only saving his boyfriend. I hope I have not bothered you, I apologize if so.

BOUND BY DARKNESS, ANCHORED BY LOVE

• JON KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Being the son of Trigon is an unimaginable burden. Trigon, a demon lord with immense power, casts a vast shadow that affects everything. Carrying his bloodline means not only inheriting his legacy but also becoming a vessel for his darkness. This struggle feels like a curse, with a constant battle within your soul. Every day is a challenge to maintain control against Trigon's tempting influence.

Jon Kent is your anchor, helping you stay grounded amidst chaos. He sees you for who you are and not just as a representation of Trigon's terror. Jon's unwavering faith in you shows you that your choices define you, not your lineage. His presence makes the internal war more manageable, providing hope that being Trigon's son doesn't have to dictate your life. With Jon, you're not just surviving; you're truly living, and for that, you are grateful.

WARNING! Suggestive Langauge. Violence.

WORDS! 5.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! It’s not bother to write! Thank you for so much for requesting, I hope you enjoy this ✨🫶🏽

Being the son of Trigon is a burden that defies comprehension. Trigon, a demon lord of unfathomable power and celestial tyranny, is a name that echoes across dimensions, conjuring fear and despair in all who hear it. To carry his bloodline is to inherit not just his infamy but the unrelenting darkness that defines his essence. It's more than a legacy; it's a curse, a war fought within the deepest recesses of your soul. Trigon's influence is not abstract or distant—it's alive, a seething force that courses through your veins, threatening to overwhelm you at every moment. Every breath, every thought, is a battle to resist the pull of that chaos, a desperate balancing act between light and shadow, humanity and monstrosity.

Your sister, Raven, bears her own connection to Trigon, but her mastery of discipline has allowed her to channel his power with precision and control. Through years of focus, meditation, and sacrifice, she has shaped herself into a weapon wielded by her will. You, however, are a different story. Your bond to Trigon is far more volatile, your powers raw, untamed, and ferociously destructive. Unlike Raven, whose strength is tempered by resolve, your abilities are a storm—wild and furious, a force that defies containment. You are not merely powerful; you are a cataclysm, a walking paradox of creation and destruction. Your struggle is not measured in quiet moments of focus but in primal, ferocious conflict. There is no margin for error in your existence. One lapse, one moment of surrender, and the devastation would be unimaginable.

The battlefield of your mind is no less treacherous. Trigon is always there, a shadowed presence at the edges of your thoughts, his voice a chilling whisper that weaves through your consciousness. He promises dominance, tempts you with visions of power, and mocks your efforts to resist him. The mental strain is relentless, a grinding weight that erodes your resolve. Some days, the effort feels unbearable, the temptation to let go—to embrace the storm within you—almost too strong to fight. But even in the darkest depths of despair, there is one constant, one anchor that keeps you from surrendering: Jon.

Jon is more than a partner; he is your lifeline. In the chaos of your existence, he is the calm at the center of the storm, the steady hand that keeps you tethered when the world feels like it's crumbling beneath you. Where others might flinch at the raw intensity of your power, Jon never falters. He doesn't fear you, doesn't shy away from the turbulence that rages within you. His presence is unwavering, his resolve a mirror to your own. He meets your tempest with quiet strength, his patience and understanding carving out a space of peace in a life otherwise defined by conflict.

As a comrade, Jon understands the weight you bear. He fights by your side, witnessing the devastating toll your powers take on both you and the world around you. He knows the stakes of the battles you face, the enormity of the threats you must repel. But as your lover, Jon's role transcends the battlefield. He is your sanctuary, the only place where you can lower your defenses, where the constant struggle fades and you can simply be. In his eyes, you are not a harbinger of destruction or Trigon's heir. You are just you. He sees past the chaos, past the shadows, to the person you strive to hold onto. His love reminds you of the humanity you fear you've lost, grounding you in a way nothing else can.

It is because of Jon that you find the strength to stand against your father's influence. In a life consumed by darkness, he is your light, a beacon that cuts through the oppressive shadows threatening to consume you. When the fight feels insurmountable, when the weight of your existence feels like it will crush you, Jon is the reason you keep going. His belief in you, steadfast and unshakable, inspires your own belief that you can win this war—not just for the world, but for yourself.

Without him, the battle would feel like an endless, futile struggle, a war against an adversary you could never hope to defeat. But with Jon at your side, the impossible feels within reach. The darkness remains, a looming and constant presence, but it no longer feels like an inevitability. With Jon, you remember why you fight. You remember what's worth saving—not just in the world you've sworn to protect, but in yourself.

Working alongside the Justice League is no ordinary job—it's a monumental responsibility, one that demands unyielding dedication, constant vigilance, and the ability to put the fate of the world above your own personal concerns. The stakes are always unimaginably high, and any lapse in focus could mean the difference between triumph and disaster. For you, this isn't just a duty—it's a standard you hold yourself to with unwavering commitment. That's why, when you and Jon decided to take the next step in your relationship, secrecy wasn't just an option; it was a necessity. It wasn't a decision made on a whim, but one born from a shared understanding of the pressures you face as heroes and as members of the League.

Balancing a relationship against the backdrop of constant battles, cosmic crises, and a world that never stops needing saving is already challenging. Adding the Justice League's watchful eyes into the mix would only complicate things further. You know your teammates well, and you can already predict their reactions if they were to find out about your relationship. Take Clark, for instance—Jon's father, the ever-principled Superman. He would approach the revelation with his trademark combination of earnestness and protectiveness, fumbling through advice about love and responsibility while trying to reconcile his paternal instincts with his respect for you as a peer. The thought of Clark, awkwardly yet sincerely attempting to deliver a "heart-to-heart" about dating his son, is enough to make you shudder—and laugh, if only privately.

Barry, of course, would be a whirlwind of jokes and teasing before anyone else could even process the news. He'd rattle off quips at lightning speed, leaving a trail of laughter—and mild annoyance—in his wake. Hal, never one to miss an opportunity to needle someone, would chime in with smug comments and suggestive grins, probably making a crack about office romances or "following in Superman's footsteps." And then there's Bruce—stoic, inscrutable Batman. He wouldn't say much—he rarely does—but the subtle lift of his eyebrow or that infuriating, knowing smirk would speak volumes. It's easy to imagine the two of you exchanging exasperated glances while Bruce stands silently, exuding his usual air of calculated disapproval.

The women of the League wouldn't make things any easier. Diana and Zatanna, for all their wisdom and camaraderie, would dive headfirst into your private life with relentless enthusiasm. Diana's curiosity, tempered by her warm-heartedness, would lead to endless questions about your connection, your dynamic, your plans for the future. Zatanna, meanwhile, would take a more playful approach, combining genuine interest with her penchant for mischief. You can already picture her crafting magical scenarios to "test your compatibility" while Diana plots some extravagant bonding activity meant to honor your relationship. Their intentions would be well-meaning, but the thought of being the center of their collective attention is exhausting.

But it's not just the teasing and prying that concerns you. What you and Jon share thrives in the quiet moments—the stolen seconds of connection in a life otherwise dictated by chaos. It's in the subtle, shared glances exchanged during tense missions, the fleeting but meaningful words spoken during a debrief, or the rare, precious nights when the weight of the world lifts just enough for you to be alone together. These moments are fragile, like treasures hidden in plain sight, and the thought of losing them to the relentless scrutiny of the League is unbearable. If your relationship were out in the open, those moments of intimacy would be harder to protect. The jokes, the questions, the interruptions—they'd chip away at the sanctuary you've built together.

Your need for privacy isn't about shame, or mistrust, or a lack of faith in your teammates. It's about preserving something rare and sacred in a life that so often demands sacrifice. As heroes, your existence is defined by duty and obligation, by the constant call to put others above yourselves. But your relationship with Jon is different. It's yours—something untouched by the demands of the world, something that brings light and meaning to the chaos around you. It's a reminder that beneath the masks and capes, you're still human, still capable of finding beauty and solace amidst the storm.

For now, the world sees you as comrades, warriors fighting for justice in an endless battle against darkness. To the League, you and Jon are allies, partners on the battlefield. But in the moments you steal for yourselves, behind closed doors and away from prying eyes, you're something infinitely more. You're each other's anchor, a refuge when the weight of heroism becomes too much to bear. What you share isn't just love—it's a lifeline, a reason to keep fighting, a bond that reminds you why the battle is worth it.

And that bond? That's worth every ounce of secrecy, every careful glance, every hidden touch. Because in a life dictated by duty, protecting the part of your world that feels most like home is the greatest act of heroism you've ever known.

Those moments with you are Jon's anchor—the rare, fragile pockets of tranquility that defy the relentless chaos of your lives as heroes. In a world where danger seems omnipresent and the weight of responsibility never lifts, those stolen interludes with you become his sanctuary. They are his reminder of what he's fighting for, of the strength and solace he's found in you. They're more than moments of reprieve; they're the essence of what keeps him grounded, what makes it all worthwhile.

Jon cherishes the way you both manage to carve out time for each other, no matter how demanding your lives become. It's not about grand, theatrical gestures or sweeping declarations; it's the simplicity of the connection you share that means the most to him. He treasures the quiet evenings spent recovering from grueling missions, where words are few, but the companionship between you speaks volumes. The two of you might share a meal in comfortable silence, exhaustion melting into a mutual sense of solace. Those moments of quiet, unspoken understanding remind him that, in a life full of noise and chaos, peace can still be found—if only in your presence.

One of his favorite memories is the time you both sat side by side on the Watchtower, gazing out at the Earth spinning below. Your shoulders had been close enough to touch, a faint warmth radiating between you that neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. The enormity of the universe had seemed so small in that moment, dwarfed by the quiet bond you shared. No words were needed. The stillness, the weightlessness of the moment, was enough. Jon carries that memory with him, a reminder of the unshakable connection that transcends words.

It's the way you let your guard down with him, even if only for fleeting moments, that Jon holds closest to his heart. You, who bear the burden of unimaginable responsibility, allow yourself to be vulnerable with him in ways you never do with anyone else. He treasures the soft curve of your smile when you think no one is watching, the rare but melodic sound of your laughter that seems to make the air lighter, and the way your hand lingers just a moment longer in his. Those subtle, fleeting acts of intimacy—so small yet so profound—are the things Jon finds himself replaying in his mind during the toughest days. They are glimpses of a side of you that belongs to him alone, moments that feel like a gift amidst the turbulence of your shared existence.

The late-night conversations, though, are what Jon cherishes above all. Those are the times when the rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of you in the stillness of the night. He loves the way your voice softens in those moments, unburdened by the weight of the day, and the way you share pieces of yourself that no one else gets to see. You talk about your fears, your dreams, and the quiet hopes you keep hidden from the world. In those moments, he feels as though he's seeing the most authentic version of you, unguarded and real. It's during these late-night talks, when your words are a quiet murmur in the dark, that Jon feels closer to you than he ever thought possible. Those whispered confessions, spoken in the safety of each other's presence, are more precious to him than any victory on the battlefield.

Even the smallest gestures from you linger in Jon's mind long after they pass. The way your fingers brush against his when you hand him something, leaving a fleeting spark of warmth. The way you murmur his name, soft and full of a quiet affection that sets his heart alight. The way you instinctively lean into him when you're close, as though his presence alone offers you a sense of peace. These moments may seem insignificant to others, but to Jon, they mean everything. They are proof of the bond you share, a bond that remains unshakable in the face of all the challenges you both endure.

For Jon, these moments are more than just fleeting respites from the chaos of your lives—they're everything. They're the foundation of what you've built together: a relationship rooted in trust, fortified by love, and sustained by the quiet, stolen moments you create for one another. In a life filled with battles, uncertainty, and the ever-present shadow of danger, those moments remind him of what he's fighting for. They give him strength, hope, and a reason to keep going, no matter how dark the world becomes.

With you, Jon has found more than just love. He's found a sense of belonging, a home in a world that often feels fractured and unforgiving. And in those rare, precious moments of peace, he knows he has found something extraordinary—something worth protecting at all costs.

The room is quiet, wrapped in a fragile cocoon of warmth and stillness—a rare sanctuary in your chaotic lives. The television hums softly in the background, its flickering light casting muted shadows across the walls. Whatever show is playing has long since been forgotten, its dialogue fading into white noise as you both savor the fleeting comfort of simply being together. You're curled against Jon, your back pressed to his chest, his strong arms draped around you in an embrace that feels at once protective and tender. His warmth seeps into you, a grounding presence in a world that so often feels unstable.

Your head rests against his collarbone, and his fingers trail lazily along your arm, tracing aimless patterns that send pleasant shivers through your skin. It's in moments like these that the weight of the world feels lighter, the relentless demands of heroism pushed to the periphery. Here, in the safety of his embrace, there are no battles to fight, no masks to wear, no shadows threatening to swallow you whole. It's just the two of you, a rare and precious quiet that you both cling to.

Jon's lips brush against the curve of your neck, feather-light at first, as if testing the waters. When you lean into him, a small gesture of encouragement, he doesn't hesitate. His kisses grow more deliberate, his lips pressing firmly against your skin, lingering with an intensity that sends heat coursing through you. One of his hands slips to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulls you closer, while the other moves to rest against your chest. The tenderness of his touch contrasts with the raw, magnetic pull of his lips on your neck, and you can feel the world outside this room slipping further away.

The TV becomes nothing more than a distant hum, the glow of the screen forgotten as your senses focus entirely on him. His breath is warm against your skin, and you tilt your head instinctively, offering him better access. He takes it, his teeth grazing your neck in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, followed by a gentle, soothing kiss that makes your heart race. His touch is electric, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel as though you're floating.

And then it happens—a faint, pulsing glow catches your attention from the corner of your eye. At first, you try to ignore it, unwilling to let anything intrude on this rare, precious moment. But as the glow intensifies, flickering like a heartbeat, a cold dread creeps into your chest. You glance down and see it: the pendant. Its cursed, crimson light spills into the room, its glow erratic and insistent, a dark reminder of the power tethered to your very existence.

The air shifts almost instantly. The warmth of the room is replaced by a chill that seeps into your bones, the moment of intimacy fractured by the suffocating presence of the darkness you can never quite escape. The pendant's light grows brighter, its ominous flicker casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. You can feel it, like a cold hand gripping your heart—the stirrings of Trigon's influence, clawing its way to the surface.

Jon notices the change immediately. His lips still against your neck, and his arms tighten around you, protective and grounding. "What is it?" he asks, his voice soft but edged with concern. His hands, once playful and tender, now hold you with a steady firmness, as though ready to catch you should the darkness drag you under.

You don't answer right away. Your gaze is locked on the pendant, its glow pulsing in time with the faint, malevolent presence stirring within you. It's not the first time this has happened, and you know exactly what it means. Trigon's essence—his shadow—is awakening, drawn to the vulnerability of the moment, eager to remind you that it's always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

Your chest tightens as you feel the beginnings of his presence creeping into your mind, a dark whisper that threatens to pull you under. It's like a tide rising, insidious and unstoppable, and you can already sense the fight it will take to push it back. Gritting your teeth, you focus on the warmth of Jon's embrace, willing yourself to resist. Not now. Not here. Not with him.

Jon's voice cuts through the haze, calm but firm. "Hey," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. "I'm here. You're okay. We're okay."

His words anchor you, pulling you back from the edge. You take a shaky breath, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the solid warmth of his body against yours. Slowly, the glow of the pendant begins to fade, its pulsing light dimming until it's no more than a faint, ominous flicker. The air grows lighter, though the shadow of Trigon's influence still lingers, an ever-present reminder of the battle you can never truly escape.

Leaning back into Jon, you finally find your voice. "It's him," you whisper, your tone heavy with exhaustion. "Trigon... he's stirring."

Jon's hand moves to cover yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture of quiet strength. "Then we'll deal with it," he says resolutely, his voice steady despite the shadow of unease that hangs over you both. "Together."

Though the moment of peace has been stolen, the intimacy shattered by the relentless intrusion of the darkness you carry, Jon's unwavering presence remains. His arms around you, his voice grounding you, remind you that you're not alone in this fight. Closing your eyes, you let his words and his touch steady you as you prepare yourself for the battle ahead—the one within, and the one that will inevitably come.

Your bond forged is in love and trust but sometimes tested by the overwhelming fear of losing each other. That instinct is as natural as breathing, yet in the heat of battle, it often borders on overzealous. Neither of you can help it; keeping the other safe isn't just a priority—it's a necessity. That protectiveness was on full display during a recent mission with the Justice League, one that escalated into chaos faster than either of you could have anticipated.

It began with Felix Faust, the ever-ambitious sorcerer, whose reckless pursuit of power led him to tear open an unauthorized portal to a volatile magical dimension. This wasn't a minor disruption in the fabric of reality; it was a gaping wound, spewing malevolent creatures and destabilizing the surrounding area with chaotic energy. The portal's influence threatened to spiral out of control, drawing more and more destruction with every second it remained open. The Justice League was stretched thin, battling the endless onslaught of creatures that poured from the rift, but the real danger lay in the portal itself. If it wasn't sealed soon, it would consume everything in its path.

That's when Raven and Zatanna called out to you, their voices cutting through the chaos. They needed your help. Their combined magical prowess wasn't enough to close the tear, and they needed a third to stabilize the spell. You didn't hesitate for a second. You knew what was at stake, and your unique connection to magic made you the perfect choice to assist. But Jon's reaction was immediate, his protectiveness flaring to the surface as soon as he realized what stepping into the heart of the rift would mean for you.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with unease as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder. His piercing blue eyes searched yours for any trace of doubt, his concern evident in the tightness of his jaw and the tension in his posture.

You nodded confidently, offering him what you hoped was a reassuring smile. "Raven and Zatanna need me," you said, your tone resolute. "This is the only way."

Jon didn't move, his hand lingering as though he could physically anchor you to him. "If anything happens—"

"Jon," you interrupted gently, your fingers brushing his. "I'll be fine. I promise."

You could see the war in his eyes, the conflict between trusting your abilities and the gnawing fear of letting you step into such danger. But eventually, he gave a reluctant nod, his hand dropping away as you turned toward Raven and Zatanna. You could still feel the weight of his gaze as you moved toward the swirling chaos of the portal, the air around it charged with unstable magic.

The closer you got to the tear, the heavier the atmosphere became. The energy radiating from the portal was oppressive, a chaotic blend of light and shadow that threatened to pull everything into its maw. Raven and Zatanna were already in position, their voices a steady rhythm of incantations as they worked to contain the rift. You joined them without hesitation, summoning your own power to weave into theirs. Together, the three of you created a fragile balance, a barrier against the portal's expansion.

Jon was supposed to be focusing on the battle, helping the League fend off the endless creatures that poured from the rift. But his focus kept drifting back to you. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to be at your side, to shield you from the unpredictable surges of magical energy that flared around you. He trusted you—he trusted your strength and your skill—but that didn't silence the fear gnawing at the edges of his mind. Between every punch, every blast of heat vision, his eyes flicked toward you, his heart racing each time the energy from the portal crackled too close.

Your protectiveness wasn't any less fierce. Even as you concentrated on the delicate spellwork, your gaze darted to Jon whenever you had a spare second. Watching him fight the monstrous creatures that spilled out of the rift filled you with equal parts pride and anxiety. He was a force of nature, his movements precise and powerful, but every time a creature lunged at him, your breath caught in your throat. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to focus. The portal had to be closed, or none of you would make it out alive.

The strain of the spell began to take its toll, the three of you struggling to keep the chaotic energy in check. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and your arms trembled under the weight of the magic you were channeling. Through it all, you felt Jon's presence in the periphery, his protective instincts a constant undercurrent even when he was meters away. It was as if the bond between you transcended the battlefield, his silent promise to watch over you steadying your resolve.

Just when the portal's energy flared dangerously, a creature broke past the League's defenses, hurtling toward Raven and Zatanna. You acted without thinking, summoning a burst of raw magic to intercept the creature before it could disrupt the spell. The backlash from your magic sent a wave of energy rippling outward, momentarily destabilizing the rift..

Everything seemed to be under control—until Felix Faust turned his dark magic directly on you, Raven, and Zatanna.

You felt the shift before you saw it, the air growing oppressive, thick with malevolent energy that seemed to coil and writhe like a living thing. Faust's magic lashed out in a torrent of chaotic force, black tendrils streaking through the air, aimed directly at the three of you. The onslaught was relentless, designed to shatter your concentration and disrupt the delicate balance required to seal the portal.

Without hesitation, you raised a shimmering barrier of protective light around Raven and Zatanna. The shield absorbed the brunt of Faust's attack, but the force of it reverberated through your entire body like a series of thunderclaps. You gritted your teeth, pushing back against the overwhelming energy, even as you felt the strain begin to sap your strength.

"Keep working!" you shouted, your voice sharp and resolute, cutting through the chaos. Raven and Zatanna exchanged a quick glance before nodding, their chants never faltering as they refocused on stabilizing the rift.

The barrier held, but barely. Each impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through its surface, the shimmering light flickering under the pressure. Faust's dark magic was relentless, a tempest of hatred and destruction, and it demanded everything you had just to keep it at bay. You knew it was a gamble; diverting your focus from the portal to defend against Faust's assault was dangerous, but letting his magic reach Raven and Zatanna was not an option.

Across the battlefield, Jon noticed the sudden shift in energy. His sharp eyes found you instantly, his expression darkening with concern as he saw the way your barrier strained under the force of Faust's attacks. He was locked in combat with the monstrous creatures pouring from the portal, but his focus kept drifting back to you. Each glance fueled his urgency, his strikes growing faster, harder, as he fought to clear a path to your side.

But before Jon could reach you, a streak of malevolent energy shot across the battlefield, slamming into him with unrelenting force. The blast knocked him off his feet, and he hit the ground hard, a sharp, agonizing cry tearing from his throat.

The sound sliced through you like a blade, wrenching your attention away from Faust. Your eyes snapped to Jon, and the sight of him sprawled on the ground, his body wracked with pain, shattered something inside you. Your grip on the barrier faltered, and for a moment, everything went still.

Then the rage came.

It erupted from the deepest recesses of your soul, raw and uncontrollable, a tidal wave of fury that surged past the barriers you'd spent a lifetime building. The infernal power of Trigon, always lurking beneath the surface, seized its opportunity. You felt it surge through your veins, molten and all-consuming, igniting every nerve in your body.

Your skin flushed an unnatural red, glowing with an ominous, fiery light as veins of molten energy spread across your body. Your eyes multiplied, each one blazing with otherworldly intensity. The pendant around your neck, the cursed vessel of your father's power, pulsed violently, its crimson glow flooding the battlefield with eerie light.

The transformation unleashed a fiery manifestation of your rage—a phoenix of living flame that exploded into existence around you. Its wings unfurled, scorching the ground beneath them as it let out a piercing, unearthly screech. The battlefield seemed to shrink in its presence, all eyes drawn to the inferno rising from within you.

Felix Faust faltered, his confidence evaporating as he stared at the infernal spectacle before him. You turned your blazing gaze on him, your voice low and guttural, laced with barely restrained wrath. "You'll regret that."

The phoenix surged forward, its flames consuming everything in its path. Faust's spells disintegrated in the heat, his defenses crumbling as he scrambled to retaliate. But it was no use. You overwhelmed him with a fury he couldn't match, and within moments, he was on his knees, powerless and terrified.

But the victory brought no relief. The flames didn't wane; instead, they surged outward, unchecked and all-consuming. They devoured everything in their path, their relentless hunger fed by the raw fury coursing through you and the insidious whisper of Trigon's influence. His voice curled through your mind like smoke, a low, serpentine hiss that twisted your anger into something darker, more destructive.

Why hold back? This power is yours. Let it consume them. Let it consume everything.

Your heart pounded as the lines between yourself and Trigon blurred, the boundary of your own will and his malevolence fracturing under the weight of your unleashed rage. The fiery phoenix that had erupted from you seemed to grow larger, more feral, its flames casting an unholy glow across the battlefield. It screeched, its cry a harbinger of ruin, as it lashed out indiscriminately.

Raven was the first to step forward, her expression steady but her movements cautious. Her voice, calm but urgent, cut through the chaos. "This isn't you. You have to stop."

For a moment, her words seemed distant, muffled beneath the deafening roar of the flames and the insidious pull of your father's power. The rational part of you—the part that still clung to who you were—tried to grasp her voice, but the intoxicating pull of destruction drowned it out.

The Justice League wasn't far behind. They moved in unison, encircling you with precision, their intent clear: containment. Batman's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, a tone meant to cut through any chaos. "Stand down!"

But you didn't hear him. Or rather, you didn't care. The phoenix-form responded instinctively to their approach, its flames flaring brighter, hotter, as it lashed out at anyone who dared come close. Superman and Wonder Woman led the charge, their combined strength barely enough to withstand the inferno. The League's efforts, coordinated and powerful, were falling short against the primal, unrelenting fury of Trigon's unleashed influence.

Somewhere in the chaos, a glimmer of who you were fought back, screaming to regain control. But the voice of your father was louder, more persistent, more persuasive.

They fear you. They want to cage you. Show them what you are capable of.

Then, through the cacophony of destruction, a single voice reached you.

"Stop!"

It was Jon. His voice rang clear, cutting through the haze of rage and fire like a beacon. Despite his injuries, he pushed himself upright, staggering but resolute. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he moved toward you, ignoring the searing heat of the flames and the warning shouts of his teammates. His eyes, unwavering and focused, locked onto yours.

"It's me," he said, his voice firm but gentle, steady in a way that only he could manage. "Look at me."

Something in his tone, in his presence, sliced through the chaos gripping your mind. For a fleeting moment, the flames flickered, and the roar of the phoenix softened. His gaze held you, filled not with fear or judgment, but with something deeper—love, trust, and unshakable belief in you.

"You're stronger than this," he continued, his steps carrying him closer despite the heat and the danger. "You're not him. You're you. Come back to me."

The phoenix screeched again, a sound of defiance, but its flames faltered. Jon's words, like an anchor, pulled you back from the brink. You could feel the weight of Trigon's influence loosening, the suffocating grip of his power receding as you fought to reclaim control.

Slowly, painfully, you wrestled with the fury, with the darkness. Your skin began to return to its natural hue, the molten glow fading with each passing second. The extra eyes that had marked Trigon's influence vanished, and the phoenix, once feral and consuming, began to dissipate, its flames flickering into embers. The pendant around your neck, the cursed vessel of his power, dimmed to a faint, ominous thrum.

Your legs gave out beneath you, exhaustion and the weight of what you'd done crashing down all at once. But Jon was there, his arms steady and sure as he caught you. He sank to the ground with you, holding you close as the ash settled and the battlefield fell silent. His voice, a quiet murmur in your ear, was the only sound.

"I've got you," he said softly, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. "You're okay. I'm here."

The League stood down, their wary gazes softening as they saw you collapse into Jon's embrace. Raven approached cautiously, kneeling beside you. Her eyes, filled with both relief and understanding, met yours. "You fought it," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You won."

But you didn't feel victorious. The memory of the flames, of the destruction you had almost unleashed on your allies, lingered like a shadow in your mind. The fear of how close you had come to losing yourself clung to you, heavy and unshakable.

Yet when you looked at Jon, his face etched with concern and his eyes still unwavering in their faith, you found a flicker of hope. His presence reminded you of what you were fighting for—why you had to keep fighting.

As long as he was by your side, you knew you'd always have a reason to resist the darkness. And with him, you could believe that you were more than Trigon's heir. You were you. And that was enough.

[elryuse]

Fuck It, You're Ours Now

Yandere Bae & Lily X Male Reader

I was a mere speck in the cosmic expanse that was K-pop, a solitary planet adrift in a galaxy of stars. Then came Bae and Lily, twin suns igniting my celestial existence. Their performances were a supernova, a cataclysmic event that consumed me entirely.

Their Seoul concert was the Big Bang that created my universe. As the stage transformed into a cosmic canvas, their eyes, twin black holes, pulled me inexorably into their orbit. In that moment, I became a satellite, forever bound to their gravitational pull.

After that night, I became a cosmic stalker, charting their every move with obsessive precision. Their concerts, their public appearances, became my pilgrimage, a desperate attempt to satiate the insatiable hunger they had ignited within me. I studied their laughter, memorized the timbre of their voices, and their smiles were the constellations by which I navigated my nights. I was a ghost in their world, a silent specter haunting their dreams.

Unbeknownst to me, I was far from invisible. Backstage, in the twilight zone of their dressing room, Bae and Lily whispered about me, their voices a cosmic symphony of desire. Their eyes, twin quasars, held galaxies of obsession as they dissected my every reaction, my body language a map they were desperate to explore.

“He watches us with such hunger,” Bae breathed, her voice a nebula of longing, a cosmic ache.

Lily, her eyes twin black holes, replied, “He is ours,” her voice a low, possessive growl.

I was their black hole, a cosmic anomaly that consumed them entirely. With each concert, their desire for me grew, a supernova of obsession building within them, a force of nature that threatened to consume them both. They began to anticipate my presence with a desperation that bordered on madness, dressing to impress, hoping to ensnare me in their gravitational field.

One night, after a performance that shook the very foundations of reality, I found myself backstage, pulled by an invisible force, a cosmic tether that bound me to them. The dressing room door creaked open, revealing two goddesses, their cuteness amplified a thousandfold by the soft backstage lights.

“You,” Bae breathed, her voice a cosmic whisper, filled with a desperation that chilled me to the core.

Lily's eyes were twin black holes, sucking me in with an intensity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. “Ours,” she corrected, her voice a low, possessive growl.

The room contracted into a singularity, the outside world a distant memory. I was trapped in their event horizon, a cosmic prisoner in their celestial cage.

“You’re cuter than we imagined,” Bae purred, her voice a velvet caress, laced with a hint of madness.

Lily stepped closer, her hand a comet brushing mine, her touch sending shivers down my spine. “Ours,” she repeated, her voice a low, insistent demand.

The room crackled with static electricity, a supernova about to erupt. Desire, a black hole of its own, consumed me, a cosmic tempest raging within me.

“You’re both incredibly cute,” I managed, my voice a distant echo, a feeble attempt to assert my own reality.

Bae's lips curved into a cosmic smile, but her eyes held a predatory glint. “Ours,” she corrected again, her voice a low, menacing growl.

Lily moved closer, her eyes twin pulsars, boring into my soul. “Closer,” she demanded, her voice a hypnotic command.

I hesitated, a cosmic battle raging within me. Fear, excitement, and an undeniable pull warred for dominance.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bae assured me, her voice a soothing nebula, but her eyes held a predatory gleam.

With trembling hands, I reached out and touched Lily’s face. Her skin was like stardust, warm and inviting, but her eyes held a possessive fire.

“You’re so cute,” I whispered, a satellite lost in her orbit, but my voice held a tremor of fear.

Lily’s eyes flashed triumph, but there was a darkness lurking within them, a cosmic void that terrified me. “Ours,” she repeated, her voice a final, irrevocable claim.

Before I could react, Bae’s lips met mine. Her kiss was a supernova, consuming me in a celestial explosion, but there was a desperation in her kiss, a hunger that went beyond mere desire. I responded instinctively, lost in the cosmic dance, but a cold dread crept into my heart.

Lily’s kiss followed, deeper, more demanding. Her tongue explored my mouth with a cosmic hunger, but there was a possessiveness in her kiss, a mark of ownership that chilled me to the bone.

We kissed for what felt like eternity, our bodies entangled in a cosmic embrace, but a growing sense of entrapment consumed me. When we finally broke apart, we were breathless, our eyes locked in a gravitational pull, but the darkness in their eyes had deepened.

“Ours,” Bae whispered, her voice a possessive echo, filled with a chilling intensity.

“Forever,” Lily added, her voice a deadly serious cosmic promise, but her eyes held a promise of something far more sinister.

I looked into their eyes, galaxies of obsession and possessiveness swirling within them, but there was a darkness at the core, a cosmic void that terrified me. I knew in that moment that my life would never be the same. I was a planet captured by two black holes, and I was theirs to consume, to possess, and ultimately, to destroy.

Time warped into a surreal dimension. Days bled into nights, and reality blurred at the edges. Bae, Lily, and I existed in a secret universe, a hidden constellation amidst the glittering chaos of our public lives. Our rendezvous were clandestine, stolen moments in ordinary places - a cozy café, a dimly lit restaurant, any space that offered a semblance of privacy.

These were our sanctuaries, our cosmic refuges. We’d slip into these worlds, shedding our public personas like discarded skins. In these moments, we were raw, vulnerable, and utterly consumed by each other. Their eyes, twin black holes, held galaxies of obsession, a cosmic hunger that never seemed to satiate.

Their touch was an electric current, a shock to my system that both terrified and exhilarated me. Their kisses were supernovae, consuming me in a celestial inferno. And yet, amidst the passion and the obsession, there was a fragile tenderness, a vulnerability that surprised me. They would confess their deepest fears, their wildest dreams, their darkest secrets.

"I can’t stop thinking about you," Bae would whisper, her voice a trembling nebula. Her eyes, usually filled with a predatory glint, would soften, revealing a vulnerability that was both heartbreaking and intoxicating.

Lily would nod, her eyes filled with a silent storm of emotion. "Every moment without you is an eternity," she would say, her voice a low, mournful melody.

My heart would ache with a bittersweet longing. I loved them both, a love that was as vast and complex as the universe itself. But their obsession, their possessive nature, cast a long shadow over our paradise.

Our nights were a continuation of our days, a descent into a world of shadows and desires. In the hushed intimacy of our shared spaces, our inhibitions melted away, revealing the depths of our obsession. We were a cosmic triangle, a dangerous and intoxicating equation.

Their bodies were constellations I longed to explore, maps I was eager to memorize. And yet, amidst the physical ecstasy, there was a growing sense of unease. The lines between love, obsession, and possession were blurring, and I was losing my grip on reality.

One night, as we lay entwined, the weight of our secret world pressed down upon me. I looked at them, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the nightlight. They were beautiful, terrifying, and utterly consuming.

“I love you both,” I whispered, my voice a mere echo in the vastness of our shared universe.

Their eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and vulnerability crossing their faces. And then, as if in unison, they leaned in, their lips meeting mine in a passionate, possessive kiss.

In that moment, I was lost, a planet adrift in a sea of desire, fear, and obsession. Our love was a cosmic anomaly, a beautiful and terrifying force that threatened to consume us all.

[windcarvedlyre]

Thinking about Venti's role as an archon and how he might be doing his job- as Celestia intended- better than we think.

Archons, in Gnosticism, rule over the material realm and prevent souls from leaving it. Barbatos, in the Ars Goetia, "reconciles disputes between friends and those who hold power".

Everything we know about Venti implies that he hates Celestia and opposes all forms of tyranny, but if their goal is to keep humanity from advancing, realising the truth of the world and taking actions that could threaten the status quo...

...isn't the best way to prevent rebellions and slow progress to make the people you rule content with what they have?

Venti is all about making his people's lives leisurely and seemingly free (I'll get to that in a second). It's in his gemstone quote, the thing which summarises his approach as an archon:

"Still, the winds change direction. "Someday, they will blow towards a brighter future… "Take my blessings and live leisurely from this day onward."

We see this reflected in Mondstadt's culture and economy. There are still hardworking individuals in the Knights of Favonius, the Church of Favonius and the Adventurer's Guild, but this attitude isn't universal even within those organisations and the rest of Mondstadt's people generally have a slow, relaxed approach to life relative to other nations. They haven't produced any internationally notable industries outside of alcohol, and why would they? They have everything they need, graciously provided by the anemo archon himself*, so why strive for more?

This has already left them vulnerable to the whims of more powerful nations, incapable of meaningfully opposing the Fatui without inviting consequences they can't handle.

*Also see Jean's story quest for a scaled-down version of this. Mondstadt's general population relies on her hard work a bit too much and she enables them.

We also see Mondstadt have a softening effect on outsiders multiple times in-game. There are at least three cases of people questioning their life choices because its people and/or scenery are that nice. Two are branches of hangout events, one is a soon-to-be-ex treasure hoarder chilling on Cider Lake's coast. I've joked that Mond is a lotus eater hotel scaled up to a nation based on this, but what if that's somewhat intentional?

But why would he do this?

It could be an unintended side effect of efforts to improve people's quality of life. He was allegedly naive enough not to forsee the aristocracy situation, after all. But at the same time... he's a god of freedom and hope in a world where his people have no hope of freedom.

-Harmost's Notes (II), Remuria.

He knows what happens to human civilisations that advance too far and attempt to rebel against this world. He likely knows a god much like him, themed around music and desperate to free his people from fate, tried and failed horribly. He lives in the shadow of a celestial needle. The Cataclysm would only reinforce this perceived futility of resistance. He still hopes for a brighter future, but he may be pinning all of his hopes on a descender taking pity on Teyvat's people and choosing to help them. To quote the description of Mondstadt Statues of the Seven:

A monumental stone statue that watches over Mondstadt. Legends say that it was sculpted in the image of the Anemo Archon. "Seeds brought by the wind will grow over time." The statue silently anticipates the arrival of a noble soul to arrive, while thousand winds of time will soon unfold a new story...

Apart from that, what else can he do besides be passive and complacent? Besides make his people comfortable and hope they don't rock the boat too much before liberation is actually possible?

And the thing about resolving disputes with those in power worries me. It could just translate into his pacifism, but it could also mean he's less willing to act against Celestia than we'd hope. Why did the Tsaritsa, the only archon named after a saint and willing to take a stand against Celestia, fall out with him? He has reasons to be pissed at her methods but I suspect that won't be the only factor.

All we can do is wait and see.

[yourfavvvintj]

it’s a metaphor for something

words have power, i'm

sure you know. the

way you speak is

cataclysmic, like you're

somehow reinventing

the english language--

admittedly it's not a

very beautiful thing,

a soup of culture,

but the sounds on your

gentle tongue

stun me to silence,

really;

it's an honor

to be in the orbit of

a planet thousands of

astronomical units

away, with

moons like greek goddesses,

some foreign celestial object

that seems to know so

much more than i do.

i'm not very committed to this

metaphor, actually,

seems to me it's run its course--

what was I saying?

my mind is built of dry ice--

yes, that sounds poetic--

sorry to disappoint; my skills

are far worse

than subpar--

dry ice is dry like ice

(I believe? i'm not an

expert by any means)--

okay, but,

in all honesty

things get worse by the minute and

time gets blurry

with longer exposure.

soon my hands start

to shake of their own accord--

that's assuming i get there--

shit, it's too bad i'm not high;

that would be a worthy excuse

for my blatant lack of cohesiveness--

i'd blame it on the lack of sleep

but i know you're running on

much less.

---

@ravensncrowsx @regardingrowan @salmonsushi13 @inkandteaxx @somemismatchedsocks @frenchfryturtle @yourlocalbadgerscales @rainystarssx @raysofpoetry222 @nyxmahogany @girl-rudely-interrupted

---

for @infinite-spirals.

[honeythingtwice]

the thing about shooting star by carly rae jepsen is how hopeful it is - yes! opportunities abound! love is always possible! love happens just because! shooting star is so mystical, spiritual, alluring, confident.

her music is just so fabulous and ironic - shooting star comes right after bad thing twice, a song about rekindling something that ended in disaster (which is also a common theme in her songs... mother!) which is probably why i relate to her music and way of loving so much. it's intense. it's yearnful. it's dramatic. it's destructive. the absolute dichotomy of understanding that love is dramatically cataclysmic, and yet, she still believes in love.

shooting star is upbeat and fun - i've had many friends ask me why such a fun song is so emotional to me - approaching the end of the song, a tinge of yearning with her real, raw voice can be heard through the layers of heavy autotune - a pleading to celestial bodies questioning whether, "is this person truly the one?" despite all the hurt and heartbreaks, she still believes in love... which is very beautiful to me.

[sapphiresaphics]

I wanna talk about how DEEP the lore of League of Legends actually is. Because while some people might be confused by the events of some things that happened in Season 2 of Arcane, the series itself is less so pulling from our own earthly history, but instead that of the history of Runeterra.

Let me tell you about the tale of Azir:

“The youngest and least-favored son of the Shuriman emperor, Azir was never destined for greatness. He was a slender, studious boy who spent more time perusing the texts collected in the Great Library of Nasus than training to fight.”

Azir befriends a slave and the two of them bond over their love of ancient texts and magic. Eventually Azir is so enamored with his slave friend that he names him Xerath and appoints him to be his closest adviser.

After a series of cataclysmic events that resulted in Azir being in a position to become the new emperor, Xerath convinced him that “to stand as ruler over the entire world, Azir would need to be all but invincible, a god amongst men – an Ascended being.”

Azir agrees to undertake a dangerous ascension ritual, unaware that Xerath has actually been studying the dark arts and was seething with jealousy, hatred, and rage for being a slave.

“At the height of the ritual, the former slave unleashed his powers and Azir was blasted from his place on the dais. Without the protection of the runic circle, Azir was consumed by the sun’s fire as Xerath took his place. The light filled Xerath with power, and he roared as his mortal body began to transform.”

“But the magic of the ritual was not intended for Xerath, and such awesomely powerful celestial energies could not be diverted without dire consequence. The power of the Ascension ritual exploded outward, devastating Shurima and laying waste to the city. All that remained of Azir’s city were sunken ruins and echoes of its people’s screams on the night winds.”

“Azir saw none of this. For him, all was nothingness. His last memories were of pain and fire; he knew nothing of what befell him atop the temple, nor what became of his empire. He remained lost in timeless oblivion until, thousands of years after Shurima’s doom, the blood of his last descendant spilled onto the temple ruins and resurrected him. Azir was reborn, but was yet incomplete; his body little more than animate dust given form, held together by the last vestiges of his indomitable will.”

Azir comes across a woman who was stabbed. By using his powers he is able to resurrect her and heal her of her wounds.

“And with that act of selflessness, Azir was lifted up in a column of fire as the magic of Shurima renewed him, remaking him as the Ascended being he was meant to become. The sun’s immortal radiance poured into him, crafting his magnificent, hawk-armored form and granting him the power to command the very sand itself.”

“With the power and prescience of an Ascended being, Azir summoned an army of sand warriors to march alongside their reborn emperor saying; “I will reclaim my lands and take back what was mine!””

———

I had to edit a lot of that down and find respective screenshots that emulate the scenes that were being referenced… but I wanted to do this because I think it helps explain some of the stuff going on in Arcane.

Arcane is VERY MUCH drawing from its own lore and history of Runeterra. When you start digging into the lore you’ll start seeing these direct parallels and references, and some of the oddities start to make sense. I know we like to joke about Viktor being hextech Jesus, but his arc and storyline more closely resembles that of Azir than of Jesus.

League of Legends lore is FILLED with stories like this. Stories that are referenced by Arcane in many subtle ways that won’t be obvious to outsiders. This stuff runs DEEP, and the creators of Arcane know the lore enough to use it to tell their own stories with it as a guideline and reference.

Additionally it’s helpful to know that magic in League of Legends lore is a sentient thing that corrupts and WANTS to be used. This is why Heimerdinger hypothesizes that mages who use the Arcane magic often go astray and that this temptation to use the magic to commit world ending cataclysms “might be a property of the Arcane itself.”

As Rise says:

"Magic wants to be used, It is all around us, emanating from the first fragments of creation. It wants to be wielded. And that is the true challenge on the path we both walk. When you realize what the magic wants, how eager it is... Well, then the difficulty isn't how to begin wielding it. It's knowing when to stop."

Arcane tells the story of Viktor, a weak boy who makes a friend over their shared interest in studying and learning. Who goes through a metamorphosis after a cataclysmic event, saves people with his benevolence and newfound power, is ultimately betrayed and killed by his closest friend, and is resurrected through the use of (Warwick’s) determination and will to live, reborn into a godly figure who can control armies of his followers.

[chrissabug]

🌘 Máni, god of the moon, embodies the nocturnal skies. He commands his celestial chariot, casting pale illumination in his wake. He symbolizes contemplation and introspection, offering a tranquil respite from the business of the day. Yet, Máni’s fate, too, is intertwined with the prophesied Ragnarök, when he will face his relentless pursuer, Hati, the wolf that seeks to devour the moon, heralding the cataclysmic end.✨💫