#this is why i write short stories

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

This, Cinderella thinks, is a fairytale.

The nobles are bowing to the Prince, to her, and the air smells like the desserts on the table to her left. The music is still going, a sweet flute that serves a placeholder until the greetings to the prince are done. Over the bowed heads of the dancers nearest them, Cinderella can see her stepfamily curtsying to the arrival of the Prince.

Curtsying to her.

“I am glad that my tardiness did not hold up the festivities,” the Prince says. He inclines his head to the dais where the Queen and King sit. “We should resume.”

The Queen and King.

The Queen is as beautiful as the rumors say. Her long, black hair, streaked with grey, falls around her shoulders like vines, pinned into curled shapes against her violet gown with pins that sparkle like the night sky. She wears a simple gold circlet that glitters in the candlelight. Is it encrusted in jewels?

The King wears a heavier crown in burnished copper. His eyes remind her of the Prince’s, hawkish and knowing when he looks at them. He’s dressed completely in black except for the sash that crosses his chest. That is the same violet as his wife’s cape and his son’s jacket.

Cinderella is prevented from curtsying by the way the Prince presses her hand against his arm. She bows her head as best she’s able, heart thundering in her chest. Somehow looking at the Queen and King reminds her of the rainbows in the meadow. They swim in her vision as if obscured by power.

“Hold your head high,” the Prince whispers to her. His breath is hot against the shell of her ear and when she glances at him out of her peripherals, his eyes are warm. “You’re with me.”

Cinderella has never been with someone. She’s always been trailing behind, packages in hand, or at their knee with a hairbrush and sewing kit in hand. Even as a little girl she was never with her parents. She always felt like she was a step behind them, watching as the distance between them grew into an ocean.

She doesn’t feel like that now. The Prince’s arm is warm under her fingers and the gaze of so many people makes her face hot even if she knows the Prince’s magic protects her from being recognized. Cinderella has never felt so keenly in her own skin as she does in this moment.

Cinderella pulls her shoulders back and looks right over every noble to the blooming mosaic on the other side of the hall.

Well done, the voice in the back of her head purrs. There’s satisfaction curling in Cinderella’s stomach that feels foreign and heavy. She likes standing tall. She likes feeling bold and confident. Very well done.

“I know I promised you champagne,” the Prince says. He waves his hand and the music begins to play again. The nobles don’t resume their dance right away, their eyes fixed on the Prince’s every move. Expectant? Hopeful? Envious? The Prince only has eyes for her. “But I am jealous your first dance wasn’t with me.”

“Perhaps if someone had been on time it would have been,” Cinderella says. The Prince snorts and Cinderella’s smile widens. “Your highness.”

The Prince leads her onto the dance floor. The band is gently coming together again, string instruments rising underneath the lonely flute, the pianist adjusting on their bench in preparation. The nobles part for them like water, sliding back into their places without a word.

The Prince comes to a halt in the center of the dancefloor. If he notices the way the nobles stare, it doesn’t seem to bother him. He slides his arm out from under Cinderella’s hand, but doesn’t relinquish it. He kiss the back of her hand and asks, “May I have this dance?”

Cinderella must be beet red. She breathes in through her nose and smiles on the exhale. “Yes.” Then, because he is her friend, “You’ll be the first to have a dance from me, if that makes you feel better. The rest only shared one with me.”

Does the Prince’s gaze soften? Candlelight catches in his eyes, setting them ablaze. “Having or sharing, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “As long as it’s with you.”

Cinderella is speechless. The Prince takes the opportunity to sweep them into their first dance together, one hand on her hip, the other still holding her hand aloft. She’s not ready or at all prepared for it and has to rely on his grip for support when she stumbles.

“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?” Cinderella hisses. She kicks at his shin and scoffs when he evades it easily. “Ugh.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s not how this dance goes,” the Prince says, tone mild. He’s smiling when she turns her glare on him. He whispers, “You’ll need to be faster if you want to kick me.”

Laughter bubbles in her chest. Cinderella fights it down. “You’d better show me how this dance works before I give into the temptation.”

“My pleasure.”

Dancing with the Prince is better than any of the other dances, though she doesn’t think she can bear to tell him that when he’s grinning like he knows it. He doesn’t guide her like Cy, her first masked partner, pulling and navigating her through the steps like a teacher might. He doesn’t make it a competition like Iz did, doesn’t change the rhythm whenever she manages to catch up to his pace. He isn’t considerate like Morrigan, waiting for her to catch her breath after a particularly tricky step.

Dancing with the Prince is like…it’s like being in the meadow. It’s like laying underneath the oak tree and watching the sun through the leaves, his gentle voice in her ear and the feeling of his magic chasing the chill away. It’s the feeling of being together where anything she says or does will be welcome or celebrated.

She doesn’t know when the other dancers join them, but she notices when the Prince nearly runs into a pair. She neatly takes the lead, spinning them to avoid a collision. The Prince startles and then scowls.

“I would have noticed,” he says. His gaze is dark on the dancing couple as if he’d like to curse them for the near accident.

“But you didn’t have to,” Cinderella says. Somehow she knows he isn’t that irritated. She thinks about spinning him but decides against it. She’s never tried spinning her partner before and is afraid of throwing him into the swirls of skirts and tailcoats that now surround them. She follows him away from the couple who nearly collided with them, surrendering the lead easily. “I did.”

“You did,” the Prince says, an inscrutable look on his face. It only lasts for a moment before he’s quirking an eyebrow at her. “Another song?”

Cinderella doesn’t feel tired at all. “Yes.”

They dance.

-----.

The night is a dream.

Cinderella holds onto it even after the Prince escorts her back to the Emerald Castle, after Helga pulls the pins from her hair, after she gulps down water and fruit before climbing into bed. They never did manage to have a glass of champagne. Cinderella can’t bring herself to regret the missed opportunity.

I’ll just have to try it tomorrow, Cinderella thinks with a thrill. Tomorrow. She’s going to the ball tomorrow.

She danced with the Prince all night. He delighted in each song with her, always keeping up with her mood and inviting her into faster steps or higher leaps. They talked and they laughed and, looking back, they must have seemed like children to everyone else. Cinderella felt like a child, free and excited in a way that she hasn’t been allowed to be in a long time.

She closes her eyes and can’t wait for the Prince to come pick her up for the ball tomorrow.

-----.

The carriage lurches and jumps as it transitions from the smooth Royal Road to the rougher cobblestones of the royal town. The silent occupants seem to wake up from their stupors all at once, the jostling as good as cold water on a dreamer.

“Mother,” Drizella whines. She doesn’t understand what went wrong. She did everything her mother said to do! She curled her hair and wore her lilac dress and didn’t dance with anyone other than the Prince. Except— “He only danced with her all night!”

“I have never been so embarrassed,” Anastasia says. She bites her thumb. Visions of the woman in green spin across the back of her eyelids every time she blinks. “We wore the same color! How dare she?!”

Baroness Ramsey doesn’t answer her daughters. She promised herself when she married the Baron that she would never allow anyone to guess at her non-noble past through her conduct. So she lets her face remain impassive and thinks carefully before she speaks.

Inside she is seething.

“That woman was in the wrong,” the Baroness says at last. She lays her hands daintily over her lap. “A ball like this – well. It’s for all noble ladies, isn’t it? The Prince was meant to dance with others. I’m sure the King and Queen will talk with him tonight. Tomorrow…”

She trails off. Her girls misunderstand as she meant them to. They perk up at the mention of tomorrow and the idea that the Prince will be different then. Anastasia begins debating what jewelry she will wear to compliment her gown tomorrow, going over the pros and cons of each one (“That woman wore gold tonight and won’t tomorrow, so the gold necklace might be the safest choice. But the prince wore silver tonight and might again and if I wear silver we could match.”) while Drizella pulls at her curls, lost in the daydream of what tomorrow could bring.

Inside the baroness is not so sure.

“A second invitation will be sent to those the Prince has taken an interest in. Expect news by dawn.”

They are not high nobility. It is only through the baroness’ hard work and clever deals that they’re nobility at all. Perhaps it would be different if her husband were better at networking like her, but he’s not (if he’s still alive at all) so they have no advantage through title alone. Their only advantage lies in her daughters’ beauty being recognized and – thanks to that woman – that didn’t happen.

Maybe I was hasty to leave Cinderella at home, the Baroness muses. Cinderella would have caught the Prince’s eye. There’s always been something…unsettlingly compelling about that girl. To be honest, the Baroness has always been a little afraid of Cinderella. Even as a child she always seemed to look through the Baroness rather than at her. With her golden hair and odd, light eyes, Cinderella would have been enough to compete with the woman who had captured the Prince’s attention. Then, when the second invitation arrived, the baroness could have kept Cinderella away to leave the real work to her girls.

She eyes her daughters. No. She could not have chosen any differently. It’s been hard work ensuring her daughters never grew afraid of their strange stepsister. Imagine if they were forced to watch the prince be bewitched by her? The baroness was right to leave Cinderella at home, dressed plainly, rather than allow her daughters to see through the soot and rough clothing to the strange, menacing woman beneath.

“We will stay up all night until the invitation arrives,” the Baroness announces. She won’t be able to sleep anyway. “I want each of you to go over every detail of tonight. Who did you notice? What could you have improved on? We will need to be even better tomorrow.”

Anastasia and Drizella complain, but the Baroness tunes them out. She knows what’s best for her daughters. If she says that they need to go over noble greeting they say, every pin, every broach, every conversation, they will.

It will come, she tells herself. The Prince may not have noticed her daughters, but the Queen was certainly interested in them. She seemed particularly interested in Drizella. Perhaps she will be the one to choose the prince’s bride. Yes, that must be it. She was too attentive to my daughters for that not to be the case.

The second invitation will come. The carriage squeaks to a halt outside of their inn and the baroness waits impatiently for the coachman to open the door. Yes, her earlier concerns were born from anxiety. Obviously the Prince won’t choose his own bride. Clearly! He’s a prince and princes must marry based on their parents’ wills. She, a baroness, wouldn’t allow her daughters to choose their husbands. Certainly the Queen, a fellow noble mother, feels much the same.

Cheered, the Baroness doesn’t yell for the coachman to hurry up helping her daughters down from the carriage. Anastasia does it instead and her Capital accent is even beginning to sound convincing! Drizella nearly falls when the coachman supports her step down too weakly, but her recovery is much quicker than it would have been two years ago.

Yes, the baroness must not lose herself to anxiety. She’s raised her daughters well and that will all pay off when she sees one of them married to the prince. Perhaps she should talk to the Queen herself tomorrow? Mother to mother?

Yes, that’s the best plan. She’ll leave her girls to the business of catching the eye of the prince. If they prove successful, wonderful. If not?

The Baroness hides her smile. There’s a reason she came to the ball despite the invitation not including mothers of the potential brides.

-----------.

Three important invitations are delivered at dawn.

One is snatched by the Baroness who breathes a sigh of relief that she must hide from her daughters.

The second is handed to Helga who rolls her eyes at the redundancy and promises to deliver it to her charge once she wakes.

The third is delivered via raven to a lone man on the road on horseback. He holds his arm above his head as soon as he recognized the purple ribbon tied around the bird’s neck, barely flinching when its talons cut through his thin, traveling shirt.

“A summons?” the man asks. The bird does not answer. It takes off as soon as he unties the message from its leg. He flips the letter over to examine the seal. His stomach lurches. “From the Queen?”

He can’t ignore a letter from the Queen. With a sigh, the man turns his horse gently before even breaking the seal. The Queen only accepts replies in person. A bitterness coats his tongue.

Another letter has brought him back to his ancestral home. A very important letter from someone he’s been forced to leave alone too long. And now, barely four days’ ride from the sender, he’s forced to ignore her once again.

I’m coming, Cinderella. Just a little longer.

Baron David Ramsey has been away from home for too long.

If you’d like to read more parts of Cinderella a week earlier, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! On top of posting all my stories a week earlier there, I also post Patreon Exclusives.

[beastsovrevelation]

Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.   

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.  

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.   

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles   had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation  you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

[starry-bi-sky]

okay so i was thinking of a joke earlier about how in DPDC Amity Park's slogan "a great place to live" is not only city propaganda but also the city lording it over the rest of America for being normal. But then I remembered that, despite how many DCU Cities with heroes in it there are, the amount of cities in America without heroes still far outnumber the amount of cities in America WITH heroes.

So I did a little digging so the joke would still land. Something most heroes have in common is that they operate in major cities. What makes a major city? I found that the general consensus is that the population is roughly over or around a million. THEN I looked up the populations of cities in the DCU that I thought of off the top of my head. So Gotham, Metropolis, Starling City, Central City, Jump City. All of them ranked up to millions in population (most of them were in the tens of millions).

Amity Park's wikipedia describes it as being similar to specifically Philadelphia, Chicago, and San Francisco.

Philadelphia's Population: 1.576 million as of 2021 Chicago's Population: 2.697 million as of 2021 San Francisco: 815,201 as of 2021

Whiiich means that Amity Park if we take that from canon, is probably a major city. There are approximately 19,000 cities in America with probably less than a hundred that are major cities. Adding the DCU major cities wouldn't skew the data too much.

Which MEANS that I can make the joke that Amity Park's "great place to live" is not only just typical city propaganda, but also its Amity Park lording it over the other major cities for being one of the only major cities that doesn't have problems bad enough to warrant a superhero or a vigilante. Cue stage left the Fentons and Phantom :)

Amity Parkers were probably SO proud that they didn't need a superhero. They didn't have to worry about things like 'world ending threats' and 'super-powered individuals' and 'staggering property damage'. And then enter Fentons.

It also could be used as an excuse for why nobody took notice to Amity Park getting ghosts if folks like me aren't huge fans of the notion of a media blackout via Tucker, Technus, or the US Government. Or if you want to keep Amity Park as its urban city self. Amity Park's news on ghosts gets drowned out in a week because there's news on more popular, well-known cities going on every other day. The shit going on in Amity Park is every other major city's regular Tuesday and it gets filtered as such.

[gildedtrashcan]

To them she was PRO-02M1G, the first subject to survive the cloning and splicing process. She was sick and weak from the beginning, her immune system was non existent so they kept her inside.

She told us that the day they researchers gave us to her was the best day of her life, she had a reason to wake up. Despite the medicine and the things they told her, she knew within that she was never leaving the facility.

She experienced the world through a screen, swears she could almost smell the salty ocean, feel the rain on her skin and the breeze through her fur. She always told us we were made to fly and how she wished that one day we could fly together.

She grew weaker and was taken away.

I hope wherever she is, she's flying. At least we can fly for her.

[pestilentbrood]

VERY long Ramble incoming

honestly now that I'm looking at the auraboa lore situation, I'm just disappointed. There was such POTENTIAL in the idea of the Loop and the horror of a new generation inexplicably being disconnected from it, forcing the newly hatched children into a world totally separate from that perceived by their parents (I mean, hell, they perceive TIME differently!).... but then the writer(s?) just fell ass backwards into Icky Tropes.

I feel like I can see what the idea was, especially with the recent alterations to the Encyclopedia entry... It seems like staff fundamentally understands the true Horror potential here, but... Instead, through the short story, they proposed it through the lens of a condescending outsider character, turning the fears of the older generation into something trivial. And also weirdly demeaning the Auroboa's situation by portraying them as overreacting.

Why... why would you do that? Like, from a storytelling perspective? What's gained from that? Why not embrace the true horror and even Emotional significance of that disruption? Why instead go for "ohh we NEED outsider help we NEED to be saved because we are so helpless and it is so Silly that we, creatures who have never experienced such things, do not know what sleep is"????

And if they WANTED to have a condescending outsider, I feel like they COULD have done that, but it would have to have that character realize the horror at some point. And make it obvious that their attitude towards distressed parents and children facing Eldritch Shit and the Sudden Deconstruction of it was not cool!

(or at the very least be a bit more...idk. Consistent with said outsider character? Juniper just goes from "omg I am so honored that the fascinating creatures of the behemoth have chosen me to speak to" to "oh their wasting my time because they don't know what sleep is. I'd rather be sleeping!! 🙄" like girl... c'mon now. Why are we trivializing it like this. Do you want me as the reader to be invested in their plight or not.)

I mean come on. They're beings connected through one networked hivemind-like system, yet each still maintains a silver of individuality that allows them to move freely throughout the Behemoth that they care for. And they've got an eldritch understanding of time that no other dragon could understand. They're seeing the future, past, and present unfold simultaneously. They're witnessing the birth and death of the world at the same time, and have no way to communicate it to other dragons. The best they can do is maintain their home, and even then, they see its roots spread and decay all at once.

And then the newest generation is suddenly disconnected. An inherent link between parent and child and all dragons in-between, that has existed since the creation of their species, is just suddenly GONE for the newest births. With NO explanation for it. The children have no easy way of communicating with their parents. The children are experiencing time in a way that was not meant for their species. They've forcefully been shoved into a circadian rhythm that they are Not! Built for!

The only way a parent could communicate properly with their child would be when the latter is sleeping, something that is also completely foreign to this species. It would be terrifying for all involved!!!

They are literally experiencing eldritch horror from the perspective of the eldritch being forced into the mortal.

Like why WOULDN'T there be panic!!! And why would that panic be trivialized! Why are we only shown the perspective of an outsider who looks at this situation and goes "Oh the silly tree beasts are being so silly over nothing, it's no big deal!"

That and the way the auraboas talk to outsiders. Like. There was such potential there. Real opportunity to explore how ancient, time-bending beings would communicate to someone who couldn't even BEGIN to understand the intricacies of it.

Instead we got what feels more like baby talk (even described as though they were hatchlings enunciating their first words, which... I dunno man, maybe we don't want to compare them to children like That) and less like... Beings that experience all of time at once. I mean, the hatchlings and the adults speak the exact same way, and that doesn't make any sense given the literal time barrier going on.

I totally get why people thought there was just a language barrier and that auraboas had their own language, thus causing the disjointed speak, and not that it was because They Do Not Experience Time Like We Do. And I feel it would've been far easier to get it across by just... I dunno. Do anything else?? I saw someone on here suggest they speak in the "wrong" tenses, or using multiple tenses in the same sentence, which I think would've been far more clear.

Like, as opposed to "saplings wilt! saplings silent!" just "the saplings will wilt in silence, they've wilted in silence, they are wilting silently." Said all at once like all things are true simultaneously. And if we're going for hivemind, have each auraboa speak in a different tense, all at the same time, and have them switch it up every time. Have our outsider get confused and be like "which is it? are they wilting now, or have they already wilted?" and the cluster of auraboas respond in a cacophony of yes's, no's, and maybe's all at once.

Would've probably gotten across the "alien" vibe they were supposedly going for far better than wide-eyed desperation for an outsider's guidance conveyed through disjointed, in-world described as baby speech.

And also maybe would've had less accidental connotations. Because as it stands, I completely see why people have made the connections to the real world where they have. This doesn't read like eldritch timey-wimey intrigue, or even a respectful look at how younger generations can become detached from their families' cultures over time and the struggles that come with it. It reads like a culture being perceived by an ignorant outsider who (despite supposedly respecting these dragons) scoffs and rolls their eyes because the tree beasts with their funny words are being silly again, and that Hey, isn't it actually a great thing that the children are fundamentally different in all manners now? Because now they can join the rest of us in the "real world."

Yknow. Ick.

(I Personally think it would've been better to have the perspective be one of the Auraboas themselves, especially one of the children, to really understand what was going on here. Give us the full brunt of the mind of a creature experiencing all of time interwoven as one shape. The waters fall and the oceans crash with waves. They've now fallen to drought. The ocean has yet to be born. Caves have been carved out through the waters' currents. And when I break from this timeline, I open my eyes to see a child, the child not yet born, the child born now, the child born yesterday. Why can't I hear it? Why couldn't I hear it? Why won't I ever hear it?)

I dunno. People more qualified than me to speak on this matter have already torn the lore apart, I'm just... dropping my own two cents. Potential got weirdly squandered and we ended up instead with unfortunate implications and tropes that could be connected a liiiittle too awkwardly to irl situations.

*Also, before anyone points out: Yes, I know the hatchlings aren't COMPLETELY detached from the Loop and can join it when they sleep. But the fact is, these thangs never had to sleep before. That wasn't in their species' nature. So that's still weird and foreign for them on both sides. And since the hatchlings now have a circadian rhythm, they can't stay connected to the loop permanently. And also Also, seeing as the previous generations aren't experiencing time linearly, who's to say they even recognize when their child joins the loop? They'll speak with an echo of their child when that child was last asleep ages ago, not knowing that it's not them presently, because there is no 'present' for the older generations.

[syl-stormblessed]

hey for all the locked tomb fans who are eating molten lava waiting for Alecto the Ninth to come out. you guys should all read The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

In your lights out!au when Eddie wakes up, how did Frank feel? Was he happy? Relieved? Were they a thing before everyone went to sleep, or did they realize they had feelings for each other afterwards?

I hope this hasn't been asked before! I'm just really curious

i'm thinking that before everything went dark, they were getting there. nothing was said aloud, but they were both having Mutual Feelings and Charged Moments that neither could ignore

just because i think it'd interesting if when Eddie wakes up, it's like no time at all passed. he walked Frank home just last "night". but it's been years for Frank - they have to reestablish where they had been with the added facets how time has worn on Frank. among other things

[austin-friars]

You know, as someone who is fundamentally for calling out the Catholic Church, sexualizing nuns to me at least, was never an adequate way to do it. Not because I care about the heavy critiques the religion faces, but because instead of actually calling out white supremacy, misogyny, p*dophillia, etc., you go straight to sexualizing women in the church.

Nuns are no strangers to being the objects of sexualization, rape, etc. Nuns were commonly raped during raids in the middle ages, and at other historical points, and even now, nuns face sexual abuse in the church as well.

like religion, a lot of anti-religion ideologies tend to run on misogyny and when calling out an institution like the Catholic church, it isn't surprising that women are oftentimes the ones who take the brunt of that.

you could let's say, call out the fact that the catholic church kidnapped and forced thousands of native children to conform and lose their culture, or that slavery was signed off by catholic popes and rulers and the reason that I myself am even catholic is due to slavery. you can call out how the patriarchy is still alive and well in the church and how, queerphobia still exists.

but for some reason, you run to sexualize women who are already the victims of sexual desire. many of whom which, in the past and even now become nuns to avoid that.

we can't really have talks about dismantling religious institutions until you guys stop targeting women.

[halfratsalready]

Bitches will get a little bit too into the world building for their fic exchange one shot and realize that they’re in way over their head for what’s supposed to be a one shot and don’t know what to do because they’ve created a world worthy of a multi chapter fic that they somehow need to keep as a one shot, but they don’t want to get rid of all the world building they’ve done because they’re super proud of it.

It’s me. I’m bitches.

Help.

[usermoon]

e&a

if i wanted to know who you were hanging with while i was gone i would have asked you it's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass but i felt it when i passed you there's an ache in you put there by the ache in me but if it's all the same to you it's the same to me

[fluentisonus]

this is mean but when people try to do the 'period piece but with homophobia surgically removed from society & nothing else changed' it's like. where is the period part of this period piece. how did we get here. why not make it fantasy or something

[neon-kazoo]

Choo Choo (Train Top Chase- The Briefcase)

(cw: threats, knife violence)

When Hero heard that Villain was planning to steal something in transit on the railroad, they assumed that they would find him rummaging through one of the sixty plus freight cars lined up on the tracks. They did not expect to find an immaculately dressed Villain surrounded by similarly dressed people dining in a singular passenger car at the end of the train.

The caboose of the train was…out of place, to say the least. Polished cherry wood lined the top of it, sealed and waxed to an impressive level of shine. There was no rust to be found, which was impressive for a train exposed to the elements for days on end. Chestnut paneling and gilded accents completed the outside, which was notably absent of any identifying number markers. The craftsmanship of the exterior was a stark contrast to the amateur graffiti that marked the previous car that the caboose was coupled to.

Hero observed the carriage car through a convenient skylight as the train started to move. The interior was similarly well-crafted with white tiered ceilings that gave way to wide windows, separated into panes only in conjunction with the white-clothed dining tables and corresponding upholstered booth seats. The silver cutlery gleamed in the light that filtered through lace curtains. Hero would not have been surprised to see a chandelier strung from the roof, made of crystals or something similarly stunning. It looked fit to hold a wedding, complete with a dozen guests all dressed in black tie apparel. Villain himself wore a black suit, dress shoes polished and brown hair gelled down. His face was even freshly shaven. A picture perfect gentleman—the opposite of his true nature.

There appeared to be some type of business taking place—as opposed to this being just a randomly-conspicuous social gathering or a confusingly-disguised heist. A singular black briefcase sat inconspicuously at the feet of a black-haired man. Hero would have thought nothing of it, but it seemed to be the only bag in the room, not to mention that every pair of eyes seemed to be ogling it at every sly opportunity. Deciding that there was no way this was legitimate business if Villain was present, Hero resolved to keep the briefcase out of all of their hands.

Several conversations were taking place around the tables—none of which could Hero hear over the rumbling of the tracks—but Hero was only focused on one specific group.

Villain stood in front of a booth that sat one woman in a pencil-straight maroon dress and one man in a suit with a corresponding maroon tie. Hero watched the fake laughs and twirling forks until Villain leaned in close to make his excuses to his company before he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small carton.

Hero crawled to the back of the roof, careful not to alert the people sipping champagne inside that an uninvited guest was about to crash their party. When he exited the back door of the train to stand on the small platform there, cigarette in hand, Hero pounced.

Villain did not even have a chance to flick open his lighter before Hero was on him, swinging down from the overhang to kick him square in the chest. He was pushed back into the railing, giving Hero enough space to land on the platform and get a hand wrapped over the door handle. Determining this was not the safest place for a fight, Hero swung open the door and rushed inside before Villain had a chance to recover.

They took advantage of the startled and stunned people inside the car and made a beeline for the man with the case. About halfway there, Hero bumped into a woman with braids who consequently spilled her bubbly drink down the front of her expensive-looking pink dress. Hero mouthed their apologies before snatching the case from the floor across the aisle, much to the chagrin of the black-haired man who tried to grab for their arm. Light on their feet, Hero deftly avoided his grip and slid open the door on the other side, which was harder to do than they thought thanks to the weird air pressure between the cars.

A chorus of offended shouts got swallowed by the gap as Hero fought to close the door behind them. From there, Hero would scale the ladder on the back of the container car and make the leap to the truck they had called to pull up alongside the train. At least, that’s what they thought they would do before they reached the top one-handed and raced to the edge of the roof.

When they looked down, they saw there was no truck, and more importantly, there was no road. Here, the tracks were paralleled only by a river. Huh, they must have seriously misjudged the speed of the train.

A quick glance back to the ladder revealed a brown-haired head just about to graze the top.

Well, time for plan B.

There were no tunnels on this route—they checked—so at least Hero didn’t have to worry about being taken out Indiana Jones style as they ran across the box car towards the front of the locomotive. Blessedly, the first chain of freight cars were all the same height and the train had yet to hit a curve. It was easier than expected to step between them.

They kept moving forward, crossing one car after another. Their steps landed on tops from faded orange to blue to grey to brown. After about the tenth container, something changed.

The next car had no roof, instead filled to the top with some type of granules. Deciding that pile looked a little too much like quicksand, Hero elected to chance balancing along the edge of the hopper car for fear of silo-style suffocation. Hero slowed to ensure their steps were true—which was probably a bad move in hindsight—and finally leapt the rest of the way to the thankfully-covered train car waiting ahead.

Just when they were getting back into a rhythm and gaining speed and confidence, Hero reached the tanker section.

The tanker cars stretched out as far as their eyes could see, all black cylinders, sporting rails only in the middle and much wider gaps between them than the previous box cars had. Jumping down onto the first one, Hero ran and grabbed the bar, vaulting over the valve access and heading towards the next. Praying to every god they could think of and making several promises they didn’t plan on keeping, Hero made the leap between the first tanker car and the second. It was an extremely weird feeling, jumping forward on something that was already moving forward with wind resistance pushing you back. Hero had no time to dwell on it though.

They risked another glance back, confirming their fear that Villain was still in pursuit.

How Villain could keep up a train-top chase dressed in those clothes was anyone’s guess. Hero certainly would’ve ripped a seam by now in such a well-tailored dress pants.

And those shoes.

There was no way a normal pair of dress shoes was getting any traction on top of a tanker car. They must have custom rubber soles or something even grippier. Probably some new material that hadn’t even hit the market yet.

Rich fucker could definitely afford it.

Unfortunately for Hero, they were rather poor and did not have access to state-of-the-art footware, and it took only one misstep to almost go plummeting towards the couplings. Said misstep occurred around the fifth leap.

They caught themselves enough to stumble forward a few more steps onto the cylinder, but were unable to keep their balance with the briefcase throwing them off. They dropped onto their stomach, grappling for a handhold anywhere. They began to slip off the side, fingerless glove not finding enough traction on the side of the smooth metal tank. They couldn’t reach the cap or the ladder to stop their fall with their one free hand, so they used the last of their precious split second to push away from the car and hope it was enough to keep from being crushed beneath the train wheels.

They hit the ground with a series of crunches they hoped were only the gravel around the tracks shifting under their weight. Groaning, they thanked themselves for their choice of attire—covered completely from head to toe—because otherwise they would likely be pulling pebbles out of their skin for weeks. As soon as they were sure they weren’t about to lose life or limb to the roaring train, they looked up just in time to see Villain roll and land—admittedly more gracefully than them—a few dozen feet ahead.

Attempting to pick themselves up, Hero gritted their teeth. Their tuck-and-roll had turned into more of a sprawl-and-tumble. That was definitely going to hurt tomorrow.

That was, assuming they made it to tomorrow, which they realized with a wince was quite a presumption. Villain stalked towards them, seemingly unbothered by the whole falling/jumping-off-a-train thing.

His hair was still slicked back perfectly, but his tie was slightly askew—the only visible sign of the chase Hero could find. It didn’t even look like he was breathing hard—which was ridiculous. Hero’s breaths were heavy enough to blow down a brick house, and they considered themselves to be in pretty good shape.

Putting aside Villain’s infuriating fitness level for later, Hero finally managed to get their feet underneath them and wasted no time turning and running in the opposite direction, briefcase roughed up but still in hand. Either they were miraculously uninjured, or adrenaline was really a hell of a drug. Regardless, they scrambled back up the loose-gravel pile and followed the rails back the way they came, hoping to make it back to the section with the road, which was seeming further and further away the longer they thought about it.

How long had they stayed atop the train?

They really, desperately did not want to look back behind them. Although they couldn’t hear him over the roaring in their ears, Hero knew instinctively that Villain was hot on their tail. Problem was, the road was no where in sight, and there was nowhere else to go. Unless Hero wanted to chance class III rapids with no floatation device—plus, who knew if the case was waterproof—the only things around were wide open grass plains and steep hills peppered with hard-to-scale pine trees. Not to mention the bugs and bears and who knew what else that probably littered the countryside. Hero couldn’t run forever, and for all they knew, Villain could.

This led them to the unfortunate realization that this mission was probably not going to end in success. Maybe they should have thought this through a little more.

That realization was appropriately accompanied by the feeling of something crashing into them from behind. Tumbling onto the tracks for a second time that day, Hero yelped as one of their elbows hit the rail harshly.

Great, another bruise. Or worse.

Rolling quickly onto their back, ready to spring back upright, Hero spotted the culprit lying across the tracks.

A stick.

He threw a stick at them.

Hero cursed themselves for being bested by a glorified twig of all things.

“Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy a good long chase, but surely you must be getting tired by now,” came a voice from behind them that should have been breathless, and Hero cursed that it wasn’t.

They were quickly back on their feet. Their legs were on fire, their elbow throbbed, their skin prickled, and their throat and lungs burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Nope. Not tired at all.

Hero’s lead had dwindled greatly in the time it had taken them to get back up. They knew with painful certainty that they could no longer out run Villain on a straight-away.

Okay, on to plan C.

Hero gathered the last of their energy and dashed off the tracks and down the hill, making a beeline for the river. In front of them, the water churned to the point of opaqueness. Perfect.

Hero spotted a boulder on the water’s edge and promptly threw themselves on top of it. Grateful for their knee pads, they clambered up to the highest point. From there, they held the briefcase out over the water and shouted an order for the villain to stop.

Villain halted in the tall grass a dozen feet away, which Hero almost counted as a victory before they spotted the perturbing smirk on his face.

“That’s cute,” he called back, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning back casually.

Adrenaline reserves exhausted, Hero fought to maintain a neutral expression as their knees turned to jelly and they remained greedy for oxygen.

It would be really unfortunate if they fell into the river right now.

“So what’s your plan? Toss your only bargaining chip in the river and hope for the best?” Villain inquired with an air of curiosity, as if this show was amusing to him.

“It’s simple. You leave, and this case lives for you to steal another day,” Hero spoke in what they hoped was a calm and assured voice. They added a pat against the side of the leather casing for good measure.

“I believe the only thief here is you.”

Hero thought Villain ended that correction with a chuckle, but it was honestly hard to hear with the raging river in the immediate background.

“Do you even know what’s in there?” He asked.

Hero, in fact, did not.

“Of course I do. How else would I know you wouldn’t want to risk losing it in a river,” Hero blustered with all the courage they could muster.

“It would be an inconvenience at best. You think I don’t have contingency plans? A tracker, perhaps?” Villain was much better at achieving a tone of nonchalance than Hero.

Hero had no idea if he was bluffing. They didn’t even know if they were bluffing.

Would a tracker even matter if the case got caught under the current? Would they really risk throwing this mysterious bag into the rapids? For all they knew, it could explode. Or poison all the local wildlife. Or something equally catastrophic.

Hero once again found themselves envious of Villain’s calm demeanor. He should have at least been sweating through his starch-white dress shirt by now.

Villain did have a point. Plan C was no where near foolproof.

Hero sized him up.

It’d be hard to hide a weapon in a suit that tight, but then again if it’s truly custom there could be all kinds of hidden pockets-

Who were they kidding, his weapon of choice earlier was a stick.

So no weapon, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t dangerous. If at all possible, Hero would still like to avoid a fight.

“Do you have a counter offer?”

“Yes. Give me the case, and they won’t have to clean your blood off the train pistons,” he replied evenly.

Hero blanched at the visceral image triggered by his statement. They tried to reassure themselves that they were armed, albeit with a measly switchblade and utility knife, and their opponent was most likely not. Plus, in true Obi Wan fashion, they had the literal high ground.

“Like Hell I’m just handing this over,” Hero scoffed as loudly as they could, “You wouldn’t hesitate to tie me to the tracks regardless. You watch too many cartoons, by the way. There are plenty of ways to kill me that don’t involve traumatizing some poor train conductor.”

Hero punctuated their response with an exaggerated eye roll. Unfortunately, what their eyes landed back on was not the smooth stone they expected to see beneath them. Instead, they found themselves staring right at the diamond back of a snake sunning itself on the rock.

They threw their arms up in surprise, which sent a jolt through their hand from their injured elbow. Furthering the series of unfortunate events, this caused Hero to lose their grip on the case. The mystery container went plummeting into the white water, but Hero had more pressing concerns at the moment. They had stumbled back from the legless reptile and subsequently lost their footing. They flailed, about to meet the same fate as the contentious case.

Before they could, however, they were yanked back by the hood of their jacket, and they collided with the hard rock instead of the turbulent water. They were pulled the rest of the way down into the softer grass and, temporarily blinded by the relief of not drowning, they didn’t resist.

“You assume,” came a voice that was unmistakably filtered through gritted teeth, “that I would let you die.”

Realizing they were far from safe after that near-death experience, Hero pushed away from the hands that saved them. It did them no good as they were manhandled to their feet, but they continued to struggle anyway.

“What? Still think you can outrun me? Go ahead. Try.”

He threw them back to the ground, challenge written all over his face as he peered down at them. Hero felt their ankle fold beneath them and swore.

They couldn’t, they knew they couldn’t, but they couldn’t just give up.

Out of options, Hero reached for the switchblade that was clipped to their waistband.

Their hands found nothing but cloth.

Panicked, they looked up towards Villain. They were horrified to find their blade flicked open in his hand.

“Looking for this?” He asked lightly, pausing to study the tip with faux curiosity, “What were you going to do with it? A light jab, perhaps?” Quick as the snake that brought them to this position, Villain pushed the blade into their ribs and pulled it right back out.

Hero choked in disbelief. He didn’t cut deep, but the wound was dangerously close to their lungs.

“A slash? Or two?”

Villain caught Hero once on their upper arm and once on the opposite lower arm with shallow cuts as they attempted to block.

“Maybe something a little more substantial. The kidneys?”

Hero crabbed walked back as best they could, which wasn’t good enough. Villain descended atop them, intent clear in the movement of the blade.

“Shit, dude! What the fuck was in there?!”

Villain stopped and held the knife still. It was pointed at their abdomen, pushing lightly into the cloth of their jacket. He was kneeling beside them, one hand on their shoulder to keep them from moving back.

“So you’re a liar and a thief?” He asked rhetorically. Hero was frozen with terror and exhaustion, hands pushing into their side where the metal had entered. Villain leaned in closer, and Hero heard a whimper leave their own lips involuntarily.

“Maybe you’ll find out when you get it for me,” He nearly whispered.

Hero blinked.

They pulled back slightly as hands grabbed onto their arms. Villain’s expression darkened.

“We’re getting up. Unless you need another reminder?” He questioned, brandishing the knife and holding it lightly to the inside of hero’s thigh. Hero shook their head frantically and allowed themselves to be pulled up onto their feet.

Swallowing the pain from their ankle and the grip on their forearm that crossed over the gash in the fabric of their sleeve, they steeled.

They were going to need so many painkillers later.

…

There was going to be a later, right?

Hero held their gaze on the view of the landscape around them. Where the water hit the rocks and sprayed upwards, they spotted a small rainbow projected onto the vapor.

Hand on the back of their neck, Villain led them away. As Hero limped along, they felt a bit like a misbehaving kitten that had been caught by its mom and dragged back to the litter by its scruff. Embarrassed, injured, and utterly defeated.

Honk Honk (part 2)

[fictionadventurer]

"If the structure of your world ever evaporates, I will still be here."

I think The Q might contain one of the greatest declarations of friendship/love ever.

[b4kuch1n]

crumbs in your bed

transcript

[cometrose]

"Silk Flowers grow in pairs on small red bushes"

Other archon having twins

Zhobgli is suspicious

(Plus the god of eternity saying his story is not yet over)

“~twin where have you been~”

it’s still pretty interesting that Zhongli doesn’t have a ‘twin’

it is very clear one of the main themes of genshin is family especially between that of siblings (twins)

the traveler is the twin and all of the archons -the main characters of their respective regions have “twins”.

Venti has the nameless bard, Ei and Makoto, Nahida and Rukkhadevata, Furina and Focalors. These are characters that look identical but live very different lives.

A core part of each archon is their relationship with their respective twin. Ei struggled to move on after Makoto died, Rukkha was everything Nahida dreamed of being, Focalors made Furina play a part for 500 years. I am unsure of the dynamic of Venti and his bard but it’s pretty easy to assume he gave his life great meaning and considering he looks just like him he never could move or wanted to forget what he looked like.

So the fact Zhongli doesn’t have anybody with that kind of connection is really odd lol. I've complained so many times like “Zhongli!! where is your silly clone!” and he refuses to answer my calls. Rex Lapis is represented by silk flowers but they grow in pairs but where is Rex Lapis’ pair? Where is the moon to his beautiful sun???

Some people argue a more metaphorical twin for Zhongli is Rex Lapis/the Exuvia. The point of the Liyue archon quest was Zhongli stepping down from a role he has had for thousands of years and considering the way he talks about Rex Lapis/geo archon (he always refers to him in third person) I believe Zhongli sees him as a separate person entirely. So losing Rex Lapis was like losing his twin. Casting his exuvia aka body double on a crowd of people and burying Rex Lapis was Zhongli’s conclusion with his “twin”. He ended his reign and made peace with his life.

But at the same time I feel that interpretation is so ehhhh. Like all of the twins we’ve seen were their own person with their own thoughts and feelings. Like yeah furina and focalors were once the same person but that was no longer the case when focalors brought out the scissors and said act woman.

Let’s get venti and zhongli out of the way cause they are a little weird from the rest of the seven but we’ve never met “Rex Lapis” and then he doesn’t have a human form like the rest of them. We have talked or at least heard the voices of the “other twin” . We met rukkha, we heard makoto and neuvi let us see focalors.

A big part of the archons is their relationship with their other half but Zhongli’s stories most always focus on someone else-a different god a different entity there is just so little of what we know about him comes from his own mouth.

Besides when you look at the visual symbolism then all the archons are represented by the moon and shadows. They live in the shadows of the "twin" if almost haunted by them. They cannot live up to their glory or they are forced to be someone they are not. These 'twins' are the reason for our archon's (hell even the traveler's) existence and journey, it is why they continue forward until they eventually find new meaning in life.

However Morax is always represented by the sun and light, and you could argue that Zhongli is the moon to Rex Lapis’ sun but if you look as his symbols -his golden eyes, the golden light he uses to save xiao and his interactions with the people of Liyue he still holds that warmth.

Next the big revelation for Zhongli was his relationship with Liyue itself, not himself. We could argue that the existence of "Rex Lapis, The Geo Archon" was intertwined with that relationship but Zhongli's narrative is stepping down and taking his hands off Liyue not any personal struggle. If Liyue had failed his test he would've remained the geo archon for the foreseeable future.

That means, Liyue itself is more of his twin, it is something that plays a huge role in his identity and leaving it behind and moving forward is the core of his arc. It is Liyue that made Zhongli play the part of the geo archon, it is Liyue that made him turn on friend or foe if they were are threat, Liyue and its people are the motivation for everything Rex Lapis did. Morax’s love for his people defined every action that he did as the geo archon.

Long story short ehh if push comes to shove I can accept Zhongli's dragon clone as his twin but I would also argue against it because it doesn’t hold thematic weight that the other twins do!

In the end, we can still safely assume that zhongli’s twin has gone awol but then who are they!!! Each archon has a pair that is meant to parallel the relationship between our travelers Aether and Lumine but where is such a twin???

I've talked so much about Zhongli about everything but Ei mentions in her voice lines that she believes his story isn't anywhere finished. She even talks about him in Zhongli's teaser way back in 2020, "in his long life he has met countless people and shall meet countless more still. As they say: waters change course but mountains move not". Its kind of neat the god of eternity says your story isn't over

I may be a delusional zhongli stan but I don't think it is farfetched to say he is veryyy suspicious. We don't know his true form, we don't know the truth of his contracts, we don't know if he's hiding a twin, and the goddess of eternity herself believes his journey will continue forward.

Could he be missing a twin because he's not from Teyvat? What if he lost his counterpart a long time ago? What if we have simply not met Zhongli's twin and the two of them are separated from each other much like the traveler? I always believed Zhongli kind of crashed into Teyvat like a meteor or shooting star and that's why he's kind of weird but it could be possible that Zhongli's counterpart is just not here either long dead or with a different destiny.

Fun fact to add to Zhongli’s weirdness; Did you know Zhongli and Neuvillette are the only playable characters whose constellations are different from their character quest? Zhongli's constellation is Lapis Dei but his story quest is Historia Antiqua, much like Neuvillette's constellation is Leviathan Judicator but his story quest is called Diluvies. Which is weird cause Venti has the same constellation as Zhongli (Carmen Dei) but Venti's quests line up. Like is it a dragon thing but why?

Then most of the original archons croaked during the cataclysm and Venti went into a coma. How did Zhongli get out of the damn thing unscathed? Why didn't he lose his twin or die and shit?

I know in my soul Zhongli is hiding the secrets of the world in that pretty little head of his. He's just a bum and refuses to share it with the crowd.

[moldy-flowers]

Sakura: It was this day 3 years ago he left...

Naruto: Dont worry, Sakura! I'm sure this time next year we'll have him right back at home.

(Meanwhile)

Sasuke: *Sneezes*

Kabuto: You know Sasuke, they say when you sneeze it means someone's talking about you.

Sasuke: *Repeated sneezing*

Sasuke: OBBsessIVe motherFUCKERS *Sneeze*