#would you wander another millennia searching for him

[oseike]

Thinking about that moment on Reincarnators Island where hsy died in front of kdj and then kdj and yjh fought. How in that fight, the Fourth Wall kept getting thicker and thicker...

I think kdj needed that. If the Fourth Wall had thinned there, I think kdj would have truly lost himself to grief and despair, and maybe killed yjh, or maybe killed himself, or maybe both. He was SO distraught. He truly thought hsy was dead. And there was yjh, intent on killing him, so mad at kdj that kdj did not believe he would receive forgiveness or redemption from him (Fruit of Good and Evil definitely twisting him with a lot more guilt than usual). At that moment, kdj was questioning if anything he had done was worth it, if his entire struggle had any meaning. And those were his thoughts while the Fourth Wall was strongly activated! Possibly the thickest it had been outside of when kdj had left the scenarios! Imagine, just imagine how bad things could have been had the Fourth Wall not been there to insulate him. It hurts me to consider.

[singofus]

@ofspvrta plotted a starter with ALETHEIA - the Shrouded Wanderer

This was it, a moment that she had waited millennia for. A moment derived from the calculations, a woman spotted across multiple points. Someone very important to Aletheia herself and what must happen for the fate of the world.

She was not there when this woman, Kassandra she had been told, had initially met Pythagoras - but he had told her about it. Sent a message to her. Aletheia had returned then to Atlantis, waiting here with him until the woman was to return. Though most of the time she left him to his work and just tried to think of the future. Would the Keeper accept her task? What would happen when the Staff was exchanged?

She had tried to prepare Pythagoras for a possibility that he would also not die. But the man seemed content to stay here, or wander in search of another artefact to study. Historical studies had always seemed boring to her, why focus on it when you could make your own history? Why remember those meant to be forgotten, who thought your entire race unimportant and unintelligent. The rebellion was important yet Pythagoras did not seem to want to focus on that much.

When Kassandra returned, Aletheia hid herself away - first physically and then using her pendant artefact. Allowing herself to walk closer and inspect the woman a little more. A warrior, just like she herself had become. She looked strong, seemed strong in mind. With her lineage, and her strength now, Aletheia was hopeful that the Staff would accept her. Calculations were guidances and not set in stone, but everything seemed to have gone right. It should go well.

Then her own words ring out, the message she had recorded in the system after removing all of the recordings once placed. This message being the only thing left if you attempted access. A smile filled her face as she heard herself and the anger in her voice then, remembering the ripples and anger it had caused. It had caused fractures in the minds of some who had reverred the Isu, and in her mind then it was a success. It had alienated her too, but with Atlantis gone she did not care about that. She was fed up of how the rest of the Isu world had embraced their own hubris. She had been making change.

Such memories.

An Aletheia still with such fire in her. Perhaps it was justice that she remained now amongst humans and their society when others had died. A true shame though that humans had then started oppressing one another...

She broke out of her thoughts when Pythagoras because to fight against what needed to happen, her hand reaching to her artefact to reveal herself - yet she paused. Kassandra spoke out, argued back and held her ground. A fight then broke out, and still she stayed hidden. Revealing herself now would only bring distraction, and Kassandra looked as if she didn't need her help. Even with Pythagoras' artefact advantage, Kassandra still took the upper hand. If the Staff entwined with her correctly...nothing would be able to stop the Keeper from her tasks. She smiled to herself as she watched, looking over at Ikaros as he settled beside her - a clever bird as always. She petted him as they both watched the conflict break out.

The Staff was snatched and Aletheia gasped as instantly, Pythagoras began to degrade. So it was just her. Had it not been enough time for him? She was not upset by that, though. Not with how he had just acted. It seemed he was corrupted by this after all, by his own selfish desire to hold all knowledge. An impossible task.

Kassandra stood from the man and Ikaros cawwed at Aletheia, insisting that she reveal herself. Was he excited too for them to meet? A hand gently reached and petted his head before she stood, her hand finally removing her necklace, letting her true form come into view as she slowly approached.

Reaching for her himitation, she pulled off its hood and shifted it behind her shoulders - letting Kassandra see the golden markings on her limbs, joints and face. She couldn't help an excited smile on her face.

"It is done. The Keeper has the Staff. Pythagoras had always been stubborn, but it is a shame he became so corrupted by his own mission in the end. We will work to ensure you do not suffer that same fate." She spoke, her voice recognisable from recordings only just revealed. Would Kassandra remember?

[lorkai]

Can you do barbatos’s reaction to a female s/o after belphagor killed mc

A/N: Gosh, writing angst for Barbatos is so therapeutic, I can't put the feeling into words??? Maybe because he's always so polite and calm and seeing him express some emotion is interesting to me. Anyway it was fun writing this, thanks for requesting sweetie. I took the liberty of leaving the ending open since everyone knows what happened in Chapter 17, I hope you like it.

Entire ages passed without Barbatos having a single companion. His immortality was by far the thing that tormented him the most day after day, unlike other people he didn't find it a blessing. Purposeless immortality was boring and routine was something that bored him to death, solitary, wandering the world in search of what would interweave him enough. Barbatos, not knowing where he came from and not remembering how he was conceived, was there to see empires grow and die, he was there to see honest people and vile people living together in the same place, going on with their meaningless lives, governed by meaningless laws. 

          But with immortality, he also saw greater suffering, he saw war, he felt hunger and cold, he saw broken families crying over tombstones. And then everything gradually faded away, faces were forgotten and names jumped across his tongue without a person to direct them. He was doomed to oblivion and loneliness, until Diavolo came along, and years later, with visions of a better, warmer future, you came to him. You were someone he was sure would hold his heart in your hands and love him every day, you were his sweatheart, his to love, his to care for.

“Barbatos, it’s time to get up.” You said, rubbing his face fondly. Your messy hair was certainly one of his favorite sights, it was funny and he liked to tease you even though he would later help you take care of your hair, but your smile was what had his attention, it was divine and beautiful. It made him gasp just looking at it. He pretended to be sleeping a little longer, trying to imagine the expression you would be making. But his heart stopped when you started filling his face with long, louder kisses, until finally he gave in and hugged your waist. "Good morning darling. Sleep well?"

“Better than that impossible. Having you by my side is the best gift the universe could have given me.” He smiled before placing a simple kiss on your lips and looking up at you, bringing you to lie on his chest once more as the two of you allowed yourselves to stay in bed for another five minutes (or twenty). His heart was pounding madly due to the fact that you were so close to each other, almost as if he'd never been able to get used to the idea that after millennia he finally had someone who understood his jokes and his subtle sarcasm, who understood his mood even when he was as polite as possible and was there to help when things went wrong. “I love you Mc.”

"I love you too, Barb." You whispered, not knowing how your words almost made him cry then and there. Maybe you knew, you were smart after all, and if you knew that, you also knew that the hug you shared after that was just so you wouldn't see his blush and bewildered expression. "I love you forever, my dear demon."

        And there he was again. Alone. If your love had a time limit, if you were going to love him forever like you said then why were you there on the floor, at his feet, dead?

[castilium]

@nuoyaksha

A sprawling land populated by mountains, the glitter of tiny pockets the only signs of civilisation. Within the air, an energy of which she had experienced before flowed — the elements of Teyvat. What land this were, the greens and blues of Mondstadt had been replaced by browns of rockface and the orange of an eve sky. Along dirt trails with no clear indication of which direction to travel, she roamed the earth in search for the source.

Though the mists were indiscreet, to have wandered into Teyvat's dome more than once... was there something the Stars intended for her to witness about this world? Diluc was nowhere to be seen, and this wasn't his homeland, so she doubted it bore any connection to him. In fact, if she were aware, the scene came millennia before the man would be born.

Between ascents, the distant sea collided with the gently burning sky — splitting the horizon between shades of no kindness to one another. The scream of a man tore her sights away, bearing witness to the clumsy scramble of a trio dashing as though their lives were in jeopardy. Considering the remote location and their apparent lack of armaments, it was safe to deduce they'd be easy pickings for monsters in the wild. However, that was not the identity of their pursuer — a sudden trail of Anemo sliced the air, forming the shape of a youth.

The one whom must have served as anchor to the scenery. "—Xiao, is that you?"

[quibbs126]

So some time ago I had made some ideas for a Ninjago reboot, and recently I’ve been trying to work on it again, and I had a new idea for Lloyd and I’m not sure which version would work better

We have the original idea where he’s a normal human who was adopted by Garmadon and later on became part of his ranks, being one of his samurai warriors. However the armor tends to hinder him more than it helps as it’s just too heavy, and when the ninja fight him he’s not that strong, but after something happens and both Wu and Garmadon go missing, he joins the ninja in searching for them, ends up realizing he’s better without the armor and ends up joining the ninja because he just likes them better. He has no powers, up until they’re fighting the Overlord and need the help of the First Spinjitzu Master, so Lloyd offers to be essentially his vessel so he can help them in the real world, and afterwards being left with energy powers as a result of it. Oh also he’s blind in one eye and is missing an arm on the same side/has a prosthetic arm, due to whatever happened that led to him being taken in by Garmadon

The new idea I had was keeping him as Garmadon’s biological son, and he naturally has green/golden power, and also he’s centuries old, despite only looking like a teenager. He had a lot of latent power, and when something happened to Wu and Garmadon (the best I have is that they were turned into statues of some kind?), Lloyd got so distraught that his powers were fully unleashed and he lost control of it, going into his golden Oni form and causing a rampage across Ninjago, the likes of which no one knew how to defeat now that the protectors of the realm are incapacitated. Eventually they were able to stop him by sealing his powers away into four weapons, which creates the Golden Weapons, and him being sealed away somewhere so that he won’t cause any more harm. This becomes known throughout Ninjago as the Tale of the Golden Oni/Master, though in everyone else’s eyes, the Golden Oni was just some villain who took advantage of Wu and Garmadon’s situation; people don’t know who he really was. He does eventually get out, but what happens to him afterwards I’m not sure. He may become an actual antagonist, or he’s been wandering the realm for a while. I’m also not sure whether he wants to regain his powers again. I dunno, I haven’t fleshed it out much yet

So yeah, which one do you think would work better?

Oh yeah and for reference, I should probably explain Wu, Garmadon and FSM in this hypothetical continuity. So Wu and Garmadon are full blooded Dragon and Oni respectively, and they have no biological relation to one another. For countless millennia, the two fought one another across the realms, and one day they eventually came across the primordial Ninjago, still being created by the First Spinjitzu Master. They continue their fighting, only for it to be stopped by the FSM, who’s angry because they won’t let him finish his realm with their constant battling. When the Overlord shows up, the FSM makes them both help him fight the Overlord, and after finding some sort of beauty in this primordial realm, and coming to some level of understanding between one another, the two help and they defeat the Overlord. Afterwards to finish his realm, the FSM has to essentially become one with the realm, and in his stead he makes Wu and Garmadon the protectors of his realm, which they agree to, considering each other something akin to sworn brothers, or at least brothers in arms. One condition he has for them is to not fight each other, at least not at full power. And so that’s what they’ve been doing since. Oh yeah, and the FSM isn’t a Dragon/Oni hybrid. In fact, no one’s quite sure what he is, but he gives off eldritch horror vibes. He also takes on the appearance of a young boy, and even acts like one sometimes too, but he does have his mature moments. The two are honestly terrified of him

[at-thezenith]

dissertation story !

given that this monstrosity was the reason i couldn't work on any original work basically all of last year, i figured that i might as well share part of my dissertation here! it's about a professor who has been given a research grant to write a story, but he is searching for something wholly original (i.e. actually never been done before, which as we all know is impossible). in the process he goes through literary history trying to find the last original idea, and goes...a little crazy. here's the first part! i'd love to know what people think of it :)

The well was utterly dry. Nowadays, the Professor could not stand walking by a bookshop, watching smiling drones try to sell empty books to empty heads. The displays were fly traps designed to lure in poor hapless insects starving for something that looked new.

Instead of walking amongst the drooling troglodytes, the Professor spent his time in his study. Often he would find himself lost for days in the ocean of words, leaving clothes to crisp under the iron, food to burn in the oven. Endless shelves encircled the room in a wooden ring. There was not a sum of money in the world that could part him from his beloved books. Of course, he hadn’t read them all; some were in languages even he couldn’t understand, but he was confident that no-one since the Alexandrian guardians possessed such amounts of knowledge. In his earlier teaching years the room had brought him comfort, when he would read a particularly bright student’s work and panic, eyes darting around for the information that they knew, that he had missed. But he would read the rest of their bungled papers and glance up, the millennia of knowledge smiling down on him.

His own works were not in the study. He never read the published versions, incinerating every copy sent to him. If he read them, he ran the risk of copying himself, and then where would he be?

Washed up, unoriginal. Boring.

The last novel was now ten years old. The Professor’s levity when entering his study had been replaced by a cold shiver, the windows flashing in the daylight like a taunt. The door had remained locked for the past week as he worked up the courage to smell the once-hypnotic scent of old books, run his fingers over the smooth wooden shelves. What madness had possessed him to try again?

The research grant had been too tempting to ignore. Its golden promise distracted him from the red-printed envelopes that piled up at his door. The words ‘FINAL NOTICE’ were stamped onto his retina, and only when he had cut the telephone cord in half did he stop hearing ringing at all hours of the day and night. He had thrown himself into his work, upending his study and brain for any new project, idea, thread of inspiration. He trawled through every myth, legend, epic, ballad, play, novel, poem, fairy-tale, parable, coming up blank every time. Everything he read copied something else, a formula stretched thinner than a hair. He read in French, Italian, Spanish, German, Arabic, Mandarin, Ancient Greek, Latin, even Esperanto when he got desperate. Nothing. Zilch. Zero.

For a week he wandered about his house in a fugue state, discussing his ideas with a bust of Homer as if it were a skull just to imagine another human voice. His work had once satisfied him enough, his soul a smithy, his passions the uncreated masterpieces. To let them be compared to others? Impossible.

And yet, think of the works he had already let loose in the world, directionless without their father. He had allowed opinions to taint him, let them crawl into his skull like maggots, feeding on his brain. Had they succeeded?

He thought of the novels he had written. Drama. Done to death! Crime fiction. One in a thousand million! You could swim in a sea of stoic, suited men frowning over a woman’s corpse.

When he first thought of an idea, its beginnings scratching the back of his mind, he was unsure if it was the first sign of madness or a genuine eureka. He looked back at Homer, along with his other busts of great writers. There was a reason there wasn’t a single modern author in their midst. Who now could audaciously claim that they were equal to the likes of Plato, Callimachus, even—he chuckled drily—Lucian of Samosata? Was he committing the same blasphemy?

But why then did the papers laud him so, endless letters spat through his door singing his praises. One review had called him the modern–day Bard, that didn’t come from nowhere. So maybe it wasn’t arrogant to write something original. He had received the grant money; the Committee thought he was more than capable.

The busts gleamed in the dim glow of his lamps, the only ones he allowed in his study. They were his only audience, sternly reminding him of what he had to live up to.

Well, there was no better time to start than now. Yesterday would have been better—he remembered the teetering piles of red envelopes—but today was just as good.

He wrote by hand; typewriters were slow, beastly things, and computers were not permitted in the study. Once, a colleague had tried to bring his laptop in, and it took three weeks before the Professor could enter the room again. Visitors were promptly banned. He would only write on sheafs of specially-ordered paper. This did make up a good chunk of his expenses, but he disregarded it. Mathematics did not belong in his hallowed hall.

Writing on this paper was a privilege bestowed upon one pen. Black, sleek, engraved silver tip. It had serviced the men in his family for well-nigh a century. These men had left grooves in the sides, dulling the black to soft charcoal grey. No-one had ever set the pen to a manuscript, using it for business deeds, contracts, and the like.

All of that was gone. The accounts had been picked clean: by his dead mother, by his distant siblings, and by him, financing his novels when publishers refused to accept his work. No matter: his work sold well enough to keep himself afloat, and he still had the pen: the weight of three generations in his hand, his grandfather’s initials scratched delicately into the side.

The Professor sat at his desk, pulling some paper towards him. It was mid-morning, sunlight streaming through the windows.

He put pen to paper, and started to write.

At first, the pen flowed elegantly across the paper, happily spilling its inky entrails as the Professor scribbled, stopped, crumpled, scribbled again, tore, scribbled, and eventually sat back, frowning at the midnight-blue words. There was something so…empty in the swirling letters. Saying nothing, taking up valuable space. The beginning words were not hooks but lazy hollers. What was wrong? In the past, he would scribble down prose like it would vanish from his head if he wasn’t careful. Now the words were wisps of smoke, and he was armed with just a net.

He grunted, picking up his pen. Net or not, he would get this down.

The papers began to fly over his shoulder as he scribbled and scratched out words, smudging the ink across the paper. His desk resembled a snowdrift, the flakes crinkling as he wrote. He tried aiming for his bin, but most papers were tossed without direction. One flew with such force that it hit a lampshade, spinning around and sending crazy shadows across the walls. The Professor barely paid attention, scrawling out his latest opening line.

In a hole in the ground there lived…

“Fucking Tolkien!”

He crushed the page in his fist. Around his feet were repetitions, reinventions, lesser copies of famous first lines.

Call me Samuel.

It was a queer, humid spring, when they killed—

There is a fact universally known that a single man—

Distinguished and rotund, Biff Murray came down from the landing—

It was love at first sight.

He couldn’t stand it. He was half-tempted to call up his publishers, to manually examine every single letter for piracy.

And how would he know if he had copied? He had not even read every book in his library. And all the works lost to time, what about those? He supposed only the long-dead authors would know those first lines, but it was the principle of it.

He sighed, looking around the room. The shelves regarded him pityingly but expectantly. They leaned towards him, eager. If they had mouths they would be speaking to him. Perhaps the best time to start reading all his books was now.

Reading them meant he could find something no-one else had written. Something no-one had even considered. He would work his way back through time, starting from the last great novel released, find the last original idea. None of this modern nonsense. Its rude and useless language might corrupt his thoughts.

[boggywitchin]

What You Can Find At A Dig: Chapter 12

---

Armel had to dig deep to find the courage to continue, “My third flaw is I’m absolutely terrified of people leaving me. Sometimes it feels like everyone I love could disappear at any moment and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” He gave a derisive snort, “I also have hard time trusting people for some reason. To trust that they like me for me or.. or that they won’t betray me in some way. I- sorry, this is stupid.” Armel began to shake his head, but Merlin was off his stool and at his side in an instant, a hand pressed against his cheek.

His gaze was unwavering, “It’s not stupid, Arthur. After everything you went through, after everything that happened. Gods, none of it, none of it, was your fault. It was mine, and I’m so so sorry.”

Merlin’s presence was overwhelming; a sudden intensity charged every word, movement, and look. Even the hand pressed against his cheek conveyed a sense of urgency.

Armel wet his lips searching Merlin’s face for an answer, “Who’s Arthur?” 

It was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Armel watched helplessly as Merlin retreated into himself, his eyes becoming unfocused as his hand fell away, looking like he would collapse any second.

“Hey, stay with me Merlin.” One hand caught him around the waist and the other pressed Merlin’s hand back to his cheek. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Look at me Merlin.” When Merlin wouldn’t look at him, Armel tried again but with more authority, “Merlin, look at me.”

Merlin’s eyes were still glazed over and his pupils blown wide, but at least he was looking at him.

He pressed their foreheads together continuing to talk Merlin through whatever memory gripped him. Armel burned with curiosity to know how this Arthur could inspire such love and such agony at the same time. What had happened to Merlin that he could privately smile when he thought of him, but then have a panic attack at the mere utterance of his name? ---

What you can find at a dig (41170 words) by Boggywitchin Chapters: 12/20 Fandom: Merlin (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Armel Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Several other OC, Emrys (Merlin), Armel Griffiths Additional Tags: Archaeology, Camelot, University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Merlin Waiting for Arthur Pendragon's Return (Merlin), Sad boy Merlin, Angst, Gay Sex, Crazy Emrys, college students, Parties, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, dead mom, Slow Burn, soul mates, Wales, Magic, PTSD, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Arthur 'I can fix him' Pendragon, Armel 'I can fix him' Griffiths, OC death, everyone is bi, Marijuana Use Summary: Crazy Old Man Emrys has wandered the Welsh country side for 1500 years hoping that one day Arthur would return to him. When a university archaeology team shows up on Emrys's patch, they have amongst them a young man named Armel Griffiths, who just so happens to look exactly like the Once and Future King. When Emrys learns their site is next to the ruins of Camelot, he joins the team as Merlin in hopes to influence what they find at the dig. But as friendship between Merlin and Armel grows, he has to choose whether he can put a millennia of devotion aside and let himself truly love another or if the risk of heart break is too much.

[thirsty4villains]

Bound | A Loki x Reader Fanfic

Rating: E  

Warnings: Eventual smut, human sacrifice, torture, blood and injury, violence, angst

Tags: sharing a bed, slow burn, eventual romance, fix-it, canon divergence of Avengers Infinity War/Endgame, humor, limited use of Y/N, action and adventure

Summary:

A year has passed since the Snap. As you look to find a fresh start in life, you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. A small cult dedicated to the newly revitalized Norse religion chooses you as a sacrifice with the belief that this will give Thor and the other gods the strength to undo what Thanos has done. What you don't know is that human sacrifices come with a powerful magic — those who are sacrificed become linked with the god they have been given to.

It's been a millennia since a human was sacrificed to one of the gods. You've been bound to Loki.

CHAPTER 7

You blinked in stunned silence as you processed the battle that fizzled out. It was jarring to hear the clanging of sword on dagger and the grunts and shouts of two angered gods and then… nothing. But where did they go? Would Loki find Freya and continue the dispute elsewhere in the realm? You worried for each of their safety.

The day was still young and beautiful, but the idea of going back in the pool to swim didn’t feel right. Some Vikings ventured back up the hill once the danger had passed as you retreated down it and back to the hall. The combination of the minor hike, swimming, and watching such a stressful event left you famished.

After a quick meal, the search for the goddess turned up no luck. She wasn’t to be found in any of the common communal spots. If she was in her room you would never know because there was no answer when you knocked on her door, but she wasn’t the type to sulk after a fight. The whole of the realm was abuzz about the commotion between the two gods, some saying it was the most exciting thing to happen in Folkvangr in the last three hundred years. It was nearing night now, the pink and orange sky dulling into a dark purple.

The realm is small, someone was bound to have seen her or Loki. While you asked around, many said they saw Loki wandering about in quite a mood and they were sure to steer clear of him. There was no mention of bloodshed anywhere. So while neither of the gods were hurt, Freya was still missing in action.

It was times like now that you wished phones were here. Everything is close enough that you could walk or teleport to the person you wanted to speak with, but it was so inconvenient when you didn’t know where to find them. A simple “hey where are you?” text would be a lifesaver.

There are ravens that fly around delivering messages, but they are so rarely needed and you didn’t know how to approach one. You also didn’t want a finger bitten off.

As you wandered down an area of Folkvangr hall you hadn’t yet explored, through a window you saw Loki below. Though you couldn’t see his face, his body language clearly spelled out pissed off. Your next thought was a bad idea, but Loki would know better than anybody where she might have gone.

When you came downstairs and outside, you heard grunts coming from the man who was taking his anger out on some trees outside. You watched one topple over, its weight bringing another tree down that was unfortunate enough to be in its fall path.

You approached Loki from the side. When you finally came in view of his peripherals his head turned to you.

“Leave, human,” he snarled.

“Where’s Freya?” you demanded.

“Freya,” he spat. “Has left Folkvangr.”

You considered what that meant.

“Why? She didn’t get hurt, did she?” you asked.

Loki laughed an angry, spiteful laugh. You took a step back. “No, but don’t fret, she never leaves her realm for long.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“She is fine. Fled to keep her precious Vikings out of harm’s way.”

If what he said was true, you calmed a bit.

“Well, if she’s gone you can find a way to leave, then.”

“Don’t you see, girl? It’s impossible to leave without the wench’s blessing. A year’s research and I am no further along now than I was when I first arrived.” The look on his face was murderous.

“I don’t believe you’ve already given up.”

Loki stalked to you. The fury in his eyes alone could have killed you where you stood. He cocked his head to the side.

“Why do you care?”

“I know what it’s like to feel helpless.”

“I am not helpless,” he hissed.

“No, you’re not. That’s what I’m saying.” You were shaking and you hoped he couldn’t detect it. An angry god was towering over you and he could snap at any second. Why were you doing this?

“You’re not helpless,” you repeated. “You’re one of the smartest people I know, and I’m sorry Freya isn’t helping you. She should let you leave. I would help you if I could.”

“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” he said with gritted teeth.

“You should keep trying. I haven’t given up on my search for a spell to unbind me from you. You shouldn’t give up your search either, especially if what you say about your plan is true.”

Loki had a look like he was piecing you together. He reached his hand out and you froze. It dropped limp to his side.

He spoke for the first time without malice or anger: “Leave me, human,” his voice quiet.

An urge to comfort him in some way overcame you, but in his current mental condition any wrong move might set him off.

“Bye, then,” you muttered out of earshot, and back you returned to Folkvangr hall.

The next morning, unsure what to do with yourself since as far as you knew; magic lessons with Loki were postponed until he got his rage checked. Freya was still gone. You could always try befriending some Vikings, but you envisioned forty different ways that could go wrong. Instead, you decided to swing by the library. You pulled out the book you’d spotted when you first arrived. The Major Houses of Asgard, it was titled. Inside, you read the family histories of the Asgardian royal family. Some entries on notable rulers and members of the family caught your eye but you skimmed most. When you got to the current family, the house of Odin, you read each of their birth dates, their accomplishments, their personality traits.

First came Odin, then Frigga; his wife and Loki’s mother. In her portrait her eyes were kind, her smile warm. Out of instinct you could tell she was a loving woman. After her came Thor, the charismatic god of thunder and one of your favorite Avengers. Loki’s entry as the secondborn was last and included a picture of him as an adult, but considerably younger. His hair was gelled back and barely reached lower than his ears. Each portrait was painted accurately enough that it could easily fool one into thinking it was a photograph. Under Loki’s arm held his golden horned helmet. There was a gleam of pride and happiness in his eyes. The man in the picture was completely different from the man you were getting to know. What happened to turn him so angry and fearsome?

You barely started on the paragraph below when the man in question spoke behind you.

“Reading up on your history?”

You jumped and shut the book out of reflex. The tug in your chest might actually be useful if it warned you of Loki’s presence before he tried to scare you because no matter how many times he did it, it was going to get you every time. Loki raised an eyebrow and the book reopened to the exact page you were on. His hands clasped behind his back, he came closer, trapping you between the table and himself as he looked over your shoulder. His head bent down, inches next to your face to snoop at what you’d been reading.

“Why read a book on my family when I am a primary source on it?”

You scooted away from him so you could breathe. “Because any time I ask you something I’m either teased or I don’t get a straight answer.”

He pointed at his chest. “God of lies.”

You rolled your eyes. You proceeded to ask your questions anyway.

“Are you really a thousand years old?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you here?” you pointed to the portrait of Loki in the book.

He examined it before speaking. “Eight hundred, maybe. I don’t remember.”

You looked between Loki and the portrait of him in the book. He eyed you quizzically. You blushed under his gaze.

“Well?” he said.

“Well what?”

“Something is on your mind, are you going to spit it out?”

You sighed, talking more to the picture than to him, not noticing that you traced your finger over his image on the page as you did so. “You look so happy here.”

Loki quirked an eyebrow. “...And?”

You shut the book. “What happened? You seemed so innocent there.”

“I can assure you I was far from innocent,” he said, a mischievous tone behind his smile.

“You know what I mean.”

He almost sighed. “Not today, human.”

“...And your brother and parents.”

You wanted to say more but you at the mention of them something changed in Loki’s body language. Quickly, you changed subjects.

“Sorry. You said Freya will be back soon?”

“Yes. She never leaves for long. In the meantime, I am spending as much time possible finding out how to leave, ideally before she returns.”

He really is set on leaving, then.

“To Valhalla?”

“Yes.”

You nodded solemnly.

“What?” he asked.

“When you leave, I guess I’ll die, or wither away, or however it works. Before I came here, I just wanted a fresh start. That’s all I wanted. And then this happened.”

Loki’s eyebrows furrowed briefly. “Start over?”

“The Snap. It took my family, my friends. I was miserable.”

You blinked away tears before they had a chance to fall. “I was going to get away from all that and move away from the painful memories. I guess I’m stuck here, and when you leave, whatever comes after that.”

There was silence in the library for a time as your words hung in the air. You expected Loki to pity you or more likely, leave.

He spoke quietly. “Keep searching for the unbinding spell. In the meantime, train with me this afternoon.”

You nodded. When you were sure he was gone, you opened the heavy book back to the page with the entry on Loki. You roamed over the features of a man who had yet to face an unnamed hell.

---

Instead of meeting in the fields just outside the palace, you met Loki in the courtyard. Similar to the garden in that it had trees and bushes of flowers all around, it also had stone benches, statues of people you did not know the identities of, a few tables for eating, and a large space you and Loki could practice some magic.

Instead of teaching you anything new, Loki had you review the spells you have already been taught. Everything went by smoothly, except when you attempted to summon the last of a list of items from thin air.

The last thing to summon was a raven. You had grown rather adept at summoning spells, but as you pictured the bird in your mind you became distracted by the wind blowing papers out of the hands of a woman leaving the courtyard to go back indoors. You realized your mistake at not concentrating too late when a gust of wind whooshed underneath you, propelling you into the air. Recollection of any kind of magic that might save you or cushion your fall went blank. You screamed as you came plummeting down, and rather than colliding with the hard ground of the cement of the courtyard floor, you were caught in Loki’s arms. Bridal style.

Dazed, hair messy, heart pumping, you looked up at the god who was not hiding any aspect of the fact that your blunder amused him. You blushed not only at the fact that he was making fun of you and the words just hadn’t left his mouth yet, but also the fact that he was still holding you. And gingerly at that. He didn’t drop you and let your ass hit the hard floor like you half thought he might.

“I have never seen a summoning spell backfire like that, human. What in the realms were you thinking of?”

You thought about how ridiculous you must have looked right now, and how your screams sounded as you were thrown into the air. Giggles bubbled in your chest. Loki let you have your laugh. Afterward there was silence as the two of you looked at one another while not knowing what to say next. The feel of the bond and butterflies in your stomach from both your fall and the man holding you felt like an adrenaline rush. You wanted to touch his face. For a moment, the way his head hovered so close to yours, you thought he might kiss you.

No, that’s ridiculous.

“Thank you for catching me,” you said, finally remembering your words.

The amusement sapped from his features and he put you back down.

“It was nothing,” he replied.

You had pretty much become accustomed to Loki’s emotional whiplash, but this was just… different. Being mischievous one moment and angry the next, fine, you expected that from him. But now, being mischievous but cold and distant. What was up with him?

You tried your hand at summoning a raven again, this time not allowing outside events to affect you. The dark bird squawked at the pair of you, then flew toward a nearby tree. Loki gave you quiet near-praise or emotionless criticism, which was odd, given he loved to tell you how wrong you were getting it.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, needing some kind of conversation.

“And what is that?”

“If you don’t want to answer, just say you don’t. I’ll understand, just don’t blow up on me.”

Loki quirked an eyebrow, but you took it as a signal to continue.

“Why did you attack Earth?”

“I thought it was obvious. I wanted to rule Midgard.”

“Yes, but why?”

“It’s a long story that I think you’d rather not hear. Old news. Boring, really.”

You sat down on a bench. “I’m sure it’s not.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been getting to know you these past weeks.” You remembered the portrait of young (well, younger) Loki, the Loki with bright eyes who seemed to have a future ahead of him, but you didn’t mention that. “I’m just trying to understand, that’s all. But if you don’t want to, I won’t ask again.”

A moment of quiet passed before Loki began his tale.

“I met Thanos. Met is a generous word. More accurately: he found me and tortured me. When I proved my worth to him he gave me an infinity stone so I could use it to gain him a second one, the Tesseract, the Space Stone. In return I would rule Earth. After that, you know the rest.”

You screwed up your eyebrows. “But what was Earth to you? Why would you even want it?”

“I was never going to be Asgard’s king.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your voice went up an octave. “So you thought you would come and enslave my planet?”

“I was hardly going to rule Jotunheim, the wasteland…” he muttered.

“Jotunheim?” you fumbled with the name.

“I’m Jotun, not Asgardian.”

You gave Loki a look as if you were supposed to know what that means. He looked away in disgust. He crossed his arms before he spoke again.

“I am not Thor’s brother, I am not Odin and Frigga’s son. Not by blood.” He was pained to continue. “For a millennia I was led to believe I was second in line for the throne. Instead I’m a monster, a freak.”

“I don’t understand…”

His hurt was palpable. You knew he had a story. This was deeper than anything you expected. You wanted to understand, you did. What did he mean by freak? Was it his magic? No. Magic was common on Asgard, Loki said so himself. The fact that he was willing to divulge this much information was unanticipated.

“Jotuns,” the god sneered. “Are a race of frost giants. Tall, terrible creatures fueled by greed and hate and violence that live on a planet as unwelcoming as they. Asgardian children are told the stories of the frightening beasts who hate Asgard and its prosperity. I discovered I am the son of the king of those monsters. Odin took me as a child to protect a feeble treaty between the two realms.”

Loki’s eyes appeared glassy. He did not look at you. You weren’t sure if he waited for your response, or if he was stuck somewhere inside himself. Was it safe to pull him back out? The faint rise and fall of his chest was the only indication he was not one of the courtyard’s statues.

You weighed every detail he told you carefully in your mind. Of course, you wouldn’t understand all of it; Asgard was an entirely different world. And Loki, Loki was tangled up in the ugly side of its politics.

The urge to want to comfort him again arose. But words could never undo a lifetime of trauma. The best you could do was try.

“How long did you think you were Asgardian?”

“Centuries,” he uttered.

“Centuries you thought you were Asgardian, but all that time Odin let you grow up believing your own heritage is a race of monsters?”

There was no confirmation by him verbally. You stood up and tentatively placed your hand on his, not caring about how the bond might affect you. Finally, his eyes found their way back to you.

“What did you do?”

“Thor was banished to Earth just before the truth was laid out to me. Odin fell sick and I took the throne. In my rage, I sought to destroy Jotunheim, the world so hated by my people. When Thor returned to Asgard we fought. When Odin finally recovered, I realized I would never be accepted by him. I left.”

You wanted to cry for him.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t even… begin to imagine what that must have been like. What it is like. Your father was cruel to do such a thing to you.”

“Yes, well, I was always his second-favorite. I should have been used to it.”

“Loki…”

Loki wriggled his hand away out of your grasp. He distanced himself from you by taking a step back. You frowned at his words and his sudden reservedness. You thought it was the end of the conversation and maybe even the lesson, but Loki spoke again.

“I may have found a way to leave Folkvangr and get to Valhalla.”

Your frown deepened at his change in subject. There was obviously more, much more, he needed to heal from, but you didn’t press it. The thought of him having found a way to get to the other realm of fallen warriors intrigued you.

“I may require you for it to work,” Loki continued.

“Well, good. I wasn’t going to let you leave while I’m still bonded to you.”

He seemed surprised.

“You really think I was gonna stay here and mope around? If I had to fight you to make you take me with, I would have.”

He almost smiled. “I can kill you easily, but I don’t doubt you would try.”

“Yes, I would try, and I don’t doubt you can kill me,” you grinned. “When are we leaving?”

“Before Freya returns.”

[teyvattherapist]

Hello! Can I request headcanons of Zhongli and Dainsleif with an reader who is a god from another pantheon, not related to celestia or the archons.

Having protected some of khaenri'ahs people from the gods, helping them escape and rebuild, watching over them and protecting them from danger.

Also could the reader maybe be male? Can be gn it's just that there is SO much female stuff out there, would be a nice breath of fresh air

So, I thought this idea was super cool. But I may have not understood the assignment. This is less xReader and more +Reader, if that makes sense? Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this! I actually had a lot of fun writing this idea!

PS, I agree wholeheartedly, and the amount of untagged fem!reader too </3 yikes.

Tags: m!reader/Zhongli, m!reader/Dainsleif, m!reader/Aether, mentions of Khaenri'ah, Zhongli, and Dainsleif spoilers. God!reader

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Khaenri’ah wouldn’t have had any survivors if it hadn’t been for a particular man that seemed unfazed by the battlefield the once prosperous nation of humanity became. Neither Khaenri’ahn nor from Celestia, simply an outlander. Despite showing great fighting prowess and strategic skill, Khaenri’ah had still fallen under the watchful gaze of the man. Of course, this was just a legend, a small rumour only known by the most curious of historians or academics. And even then, it’s debated. With the legacy of Khaenri’ah long gone, all that was left was anecdotal evidence.

Zhongli

-Morax more than likely met you on the battlefield, where he quickly learned you held the marks of the stars, the marks of the Divine. But not the same divinity he and his fellow archons held, no it was a divinity from somewhere else entirely.

-Caught up in his surprise is how you were able to best him for the time being, allowing some of Khaen’riah’s people to escape. All in all, their escape hadn’t seemed important in the grand scheme of things. Khaenri’ah had fallen, nonetheless.

-He was no longer Morax, God of Geo and Contracts. He was Zhongli, funeral consultant. And it was in Liyue Harbour under such ‘disguise’ did he once more run into the unnamed God.

Amber eyes searched the crowd of Liyue Harbour, the market stalls near the docks were particularly busy with that year’s Lantern Rite upon them. A man immediately caught the watchful eyes of one Zhongli. A man dressed in odd garb in front of a stall, holding a trinket up for a better look at the small item. The former archon drew closer, doing his best not to draw attention, he was curious, really. So familiar and yet such a distant memory.

A crowd of tourists blocked his eyes for just a moment, and the figure at the stall was gone. Zhongli figured he must have been seen approaching, he had half a mind to return to where he was. Turning on his heel, he stepped when he came face to face with a far too familiar face. “Hello again, Rex Lapis, I believe it is in Liyue?” Your voice was quiet, perhaps not to attract the attention of the people around you both.

You still carried the marks of stars from distant lands, divinity that did not belong to Celestia. Just as you had all those centuries ago. “I tend to go by Zhongli.” His polite correction was responded to with a curt nod. You were much friendlier off of the battlefield, that much was a given. A voice called his name and he turned his head to look for the Traveler who had called out for him. He lifted his hand to them, head turning back to where you had been. Though, you were no longer there.

Dainsleif

-He hadn’t personally met you all those centuries ago. He’d seen you, yes. Watched you as you did your best to save the people of his nation from turning into monsters that would become the Abyss Order.

-Cursed with immortality, cursed to wander, cursed with a corruption he did not understand at the time. Dainsleif never did seek out the people he had failed when they escaped. So it was years before he saw you again.

-He had watched from afar occasionally, watched the survivors well.. Survive. Flourish under new identities set up by this unidentified God, flourish with the aid of the very type of person they should have been scared of.

-But that was years ago now.

Dainsleif inhaled sharply when somebody ran directly into his back, digging his heel into the ground to avoid staggering. “Apologies! I was lost in thought.” A rather chipper voice that sounded somewhat familiar, another fragmented memory that prevented him from placing names.. But not the face this time. Dainsleif’s eyes narrowed at your face, your attire, your general mannerisms. You flashed him a knowing smile before you turned to disappear once more through the crowded streets of Fontaine.

The boughkeeper grabbed your elbow before you could go, an unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. Did you know him, too? The people of Fontaine paid no mind as they moved around you two and in that moment, there were only two in all of Teyvat. A Khaen’riahn who witnessed the fall of a nation, and the only God willing to extend his hand. “Who are you?” He decides to ask, blue eyes betraying nothing more than a long forgotten lineage.

You tilt your head at him, eyes flicking to where he held your arm and he released you. His gloved hand fell to his side with the consequence that you may leave without giving him any answers. “I am known by many names across worlds. Here, though, I am simply the God of Fate.” His blond brows furrow at your words and you respond with a bow of your head. Dainsleif could only watch as you disappeared into the crowd without another word, your cloak flowing behind you. A cloak weaved with the threads of fate themselves.

BONUS - Aether

“You only come in times of great catastrophe.”

You look up from the book you had gotten engrossed in, sitting beneath a tree in one of the forests of Sumeru. You place your bookmark into the book, setting the item down in your lap as the blond man you had known once in a previous life sat down in front of you. “For the most part, this is true.” You respond, words simple, tone sombre. His usual companion was nowhere to be seen and you wondered if he had specifically sought you out.

Golden eyes look up at you, a millennia of experiences hidden behind a boyish face. You adjust your cloak, the black and gold threaded fabric falling over the back of the rock you had taken up as a chair. “What is the God of Fate doing in Teyvat?” His voice wasn’t accusatory or hostile by any means. After your last meeting in a previous world, you had learned he was no threat and he had learned that neither were you.

You held a gloved hand up, a leaf drifting down from the tree having caught your attention. “The threads of fate change like tides. The possibilities for Teyvat are endless and I am here to record the outcomes.” Aether seems satisfied with the answer as he sits back, elbows and forearms resting in the grass and holding him up. “Are you enjoying Teyvat so far, Aether? I believe we last met in..”

You hummed for a moment and the blond traveler chuckled at the momentary forgetfulness that could befall somebody who had recorded it all. “Tamriel. I didn’t fancy that place, that’s for sure. Teyvat is much better than that I suppose.” Aether looked around the two of you, the solitary forest you had taken an interest in. “The people here are interesting, much different from the ones I’m used to, but it isn’t bad!”

It was your turn to laugh.

[lavandermin]

if all stars fell at once (1) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 3k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warning | eventual smut

The memory comes clear as the crystalline waters at the harbor. That day when rain poured mercilessly upon the land— the boy in a mask whose body trembled under an invisible burden. You remember the dark splotches on his body being washed away by downpour.

Blood.

Polearm supporting his body as it heaved, his face slowly turned to face you as an ominous dark mist accumulated around him. And when you blinked, it was as if he was never there; replaced by rain.

Whether it was the haze of sleepless nights getting to you or reality, you still had yet to know. Curiosity was fresh in your mind. His presence… though brief, held immense power and a tainted aura; enough to instill fear in the hearts of any who witnessed them. But you stood there, unwavering and eyes alight with awe and curiosity despite the rain that hailed mercilessly around you.

Weeks continued, and the image of the boy remained somewhere in your subconscious. Days came and went as your mind remained hazed, clouded with the fleeting memory.

The dark clouds overhead brought in strong winds; a sign of a storm rolling in. The laundry hanging outside would surely be swept away at this rate. Quick on your feet, you hurriedly pulled them off the clotheslines. Yet despite your efforts, a couple handkerchiefs you had embroidered were blown away by a harsh gust of wind.

“Ah…!” Despite your attempt, the wind plucked them out of reach. All you could do was helplessly watch as they were carried by devious winds further down the mountain.

Those were for… Ah, I guess I’ll have to redo those, you pondered anxiously. If they were all to be delivered in 3 days, you would have to stay up fairly late just to finish replacing them.

The candle light cracked and flickered as night crept over Liyue. No use stalling. With a sullen crack of your neck, you shut the windows and got to work. The relentless rain was your sole company as you worked through embroidering the replacements well into the night. Despite the nimbleness of experienced hands, numbness settled in after hours of working tirelessly to replace the delicately embroidered handkerchiefs. And with patterns and threads so intricate, they weren’t something you could rush.

The moon came and went that night, having accompanied you behind the storming clouds as it rained and ceased. Yet, late the next day when you returned from running errands, there upon your open windowsill were two neatly folded handkerchiefs safely held in place by a beautiful stone. You examined them— with no doubt, the ones that were swept away.

And as a breeze picked up once more, you didn’t dare look back but hoped the wind would carry your words to the deserving.

“Thank you.”

:

.

.

That was the first time in over a millennia that Xiao was thanked by a mortal for one of his many silent deeds.

———

Soft colors of fading blue and powdery orange iced the sky with the setting sun. You reminisced past memories fondly as you picked a few herbs from your personal garden. The day was slowly dwindling to a lethargic end, but the land ceased to fall into rest to savor most of what the day had to offer.

“Do you remember that, Adeptus Xiao?” you asked with a fond smile. It was met with silence for a moment before a voice spoke up from the roof of your house.

“So, you knew I was here. Mortals truly are something I cannot understand,” he clicked his tongue, shifting to get comfortable where he rested comfortably on your roof. “Or perhaps, it’s that our ties are too strong. Curious…” He pondered to himself, brows slightly furrowed as he contemplated.

With a stretch of your back you stood up, basket in hand. “I know my grandmother’s home is rather quiet here in Qingce Village, so I’ve noticed the roof has become a favorite spot of yours,” you observed with a small shrug he couldn’t see. “Call it a hunch.”

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Xiao knew your guess was right. With your home tucked furthest away at the top of the village, there were seldom any onlookers in the tranquil area. A perfect, stress-free corner for him to visit.

With a huff and trained grace, he hopped off the roof on playful winds and followed you indoors. There was still a cautious air about him but never the same as when you first met him all those months ago.

It seemed like you understood him more than he understood you sometimes, and it puzzled him to no end. Mortals were usually more predictable; working in routine and habits as he had seen of the many centuries that passed. Or… at least he thought. It was no secret that he found mortals to be indecipherable.

In the small kitchen, he was presented with an enticing dish that you laid out; his favorite, no doubt. “Here. I’m heading out to the harbor to run some last minute errands, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like,” you reassured him with a smile. “Thank you for keeping me company today.”

At your genuine, radiant smile, Xiao couldn’t help but avert his gaze shyly. Truthfully, it always caught him off guard to be thanked for such trivial things that were somehow meaningful to you.

Before you reached the front door, Xiao called out after you. “If you are out late, summon me— call my name. I will guide you safely home.” With firm reassurance, he held your gaze under piercing amber. “Promise me this. Do not be reckless.”

There was no fighting the grin that lit up your face. “You worry for me, Adeptus?” you teasingly prodded, and placed a quick peck on his cheek. “How unexpectedly cute of you.”

At the gesture, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his composure returned. Pensively, he folded his arms across his chest, and you swore he could practically be pouting.

“The safety of Liyue is my duty as an adeptus. As a tool to be used, and nothing more.”

There was a brief sorrow reflected in your eyes, and before Xiao had a chance to address it, you were hurriedly giving your final goodbyes with your usual warm energy.

“I promise I’ll be safe.”

Left to himself, he accepted your gifted offering of almond tofu. I love the way your eyes practically sparkle when you take that first bite, you once teased.

The memory picked up the thrumming in his chest— uncertainty accompanied by rose-dusted cheeks.

With each delicate bite, his mind upheld more questions. The feelings that burst subtly in his chest— what were they? He searched his heart for answers to describe it. Peace of mind? Loneliness?

As many times as his mind decided to go through the same painful cycle of thoughts, ultimately he was left with more questions than when he started. There were no answers within him.

Such as the moon replaces the sun and the days dwindle into night, he too would let it be for now.

And as the sun slowly retreated more and more behind mountains and thin clouds, Xiao couldn’t help but wonder why he continued to keep near you. A tie foraged with a mortal that strangely did not instill the overwhelming need to leave.

Even the room he was in caused no discomfort or suffocation. The cycle started once again as he wondered, why? He often resided at Wangshu Inn, but never in a room. The rooftop high above any wandering souls was his claimed accommodation. The balcony just below that was seldom used by guests was the only other space he occupied there— eyes able to survey the land from a higher vantage point.

However, here in this small shelter you called home there was none of that, yet he stayed. Curiously, his eyes wandered the room to take in the oddities and trinkets that were used as decorum. The bookshelf across the room posed with great importance, and as he approached it he took in the vast collection of books and small items that decorated some empty sections.

Gloved fingers grazed over the elegant, gold-foil titles of some of the books. Some he has partially read before, or listened to you read aloud while he rested on your lap under the large tree outside.

He found himself plucking one out tentatively, flipping through some pages of a thick storybook with worn corners. Another book from the shelf— a thin book of floral poems and sonnets. His mind idly worked to put together what these books could possibly say about you.

After neatly putting another book away, a small glint caught his eyes. Toward the end of one of the shelf rows was a pile of three books with a precious stone sitting atop them.

Ah, the cor lapis stone he had used when he silently returned the two missing handkerchiefs to you many moons ago. An unknown feeling settled in his chest, warm & persistent. It flourished— euphoric, almost, and not too unpleasant. He wondered if it was somehow related to similar chest pains he’d dealt with. Could he really call it ‘pain’ if it wasn’t truly hurting him? The feeling was foreign and he was utterly clueless.

He moved the stone to check the book underneath, flipping through the pages curiously. Amber eyes indifferently skimmed through a page his finger landed on, curious to what contents the vague title held.

A romantic novel from the looks of it.

The words were needlessly descriptive, the dialogue a little confusing to understand. Such flowery language was a bit bold and the more he read, the more the imagery they tried to paint became vivid in his mind and—

Xiao quickly shut the book, his face warm as he neatly returned the book to its rightful place. Well, it was an interesting book to have in your possession, to say the least. He didn’t have much experience with what it described, but the erotic imagery the dialogue described still left his face a little flushed and brows furrowed as he huffed in indignance at his flustered state.

Mortals do such things? Well, he knew they did, but he was never one to look into it more since he had no reason to.

He had no experience in such intimate matters, nor did he pay much interest in them with his hands usually full on a daily basis. Yet, somehow the thought of you now caused a swirl of emotions inexperienced by him before. Or rather, if he did, he no longer remembered. New questions piled up in his mind.

He shook his head, practically wincing at the odd sensations that kicked him low in the gut as the heat rising high on his cheeks subsided.

“How bothersome,” Xiao muttered to himself with a sigh.

On that same train of thought, he glanced out the window. The sun was merely a whisper that remained as it tucked itself farther behind mountains and dipped below the horizon.

Gloved hands momentarily clenched by his sides, flexing to ease the small seed of doubt. Mortals were unpredictable and reckless, that much he was aware of. With a sigh he watched as the sky over Liyue settled into the tranquility of night.

Though night had fallen, there was still no sign of you returning.

And so, Xiao set off on his usual routine. Out he ventured to vanquish the scattered hotspots of evil activity that surfaced. Be it from subdued gods or his own karma, Xiao relentlessly made quick work of any and all evil.

It was his eternal duty, as bound by contract from the Geo Archon himself—this he knew. If anyone should have witnessed his swiftness as he worked solemnly, they would’ve noticed how he worked just a little harder to clear out any evil nearing your usual route home.

The moon rose high in the sky, a dusty blue as it cast soft light over Xiao’s masked form. His polearm jabbed into the ground and dissipated along with the yaksha mask he donned for battle. The roads that led back to Qingce Village were all cleared, yet still no sign of you.

Approaching the marsh under blue moonlight, his gloved hands created ripples in the calm surface. The reflection of his concerned eyes stared right back at him through the tumultuous ripples that distorted his reflection over playful waters.

Under the watchful eye of the moon, Xiao diligently washed away the impurities that remained on him from battle. Clear waters surrounding him became murky before clearing once again as the blood and grime was carried further down with the current. Xiao closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask under the moonlight, taking in the rare moment of tranquility.

And then it rang out, soft and clear like a wind chime dancing with the gentle breeze.

Adeptus Xiao.

Shrouded by darkness, he answered your summons. As the thin veil of dark entity surrounding him dispersed, he found himself next to a bridge. The waterfall behind him brought a refreshing breeze, and just beyond him he could see Bubu Pharmacy below as well as the harbor.

“You called,” Xiao inquired. “It’s fairly late.”

He wasn’t here to admonish you, though it sounded very much like it. With a playful grin, you smiled up at him from where you sat on the grass next to the bridge.

The way you carried yourself without a care in the world— it was almost endearing how you looked up at him with such fondness.

“Can I ask why you’re here of all places?”

Your nimble fingers continued their work on the flowers you had in your lap, and you almost looked away bashfully. “I wanted to gaze at the stars for a bit,” you admitted sheepishly. “I finished my errands earlier, but then I ran into Mister Zhongli from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and, well… The conversation went on for a while and we ended up here.”

Silently, Xiao took a seat next to you, eyeing the handful of glaze lilies that softly glowed on your lap.

“What did you talk about?” he inquired to fill the silence. He delicately twirled one of the glaze lilies between his gloved fingers.

“Oh… this and that,” you shrugged.

Xiao hummed in response, not wanting to pry into the conversation, until he felt the softness of petals brushing his forehead.

“Mister Zhongli… he showed me how to make this.” There was hesitation in your downcast eyes, and you peered up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you like it?”

“A crown of… glaze lilies,” Xiao noted slowly. Their soft fragrance was delicate and sweet, like the gentle presence of the moon. It reminded him of you. “I’m unfamiliar with mortal customs of exchanges. Is it an adeptal offering?”

You blinked, taken by surprise at the question before sputtering out in a fit of giggles.

“Oh– No, no! This is what we call a gift.”

Xiao furrowed his brows, taking in this vague description. “Hm… I see. What meaning does this gift have?”

You perched your chin on your finger, contemplating. The only ‘gifts’ adepti were familiar with were the offerings that few who went before them brought. Usually, an offering entailed the bargaining of a mortal’s wants and desires to come true. Selfish, wishes he was all too familiar with hearing often.

“Gifts are given to people you consider special,” you started. “To those people who are important to you, usually you put extra effort into the gift. Handmade gifts as well… embody special significance since they hold all the feelings poured into them to be given to your special person.”

The chirps of crickets and running water soothed over the momentary silence as he took in your explanation. Mortal customs were more emotionally driven than he once thought.

“I see. Then,” Xiao delicately tucked the glaze lily he held into your hair. “This is my small offering.”

The rose that dusted your cheeks as your grin lit up your features, it bloomed his chest with that foreign warmth. The weight of reciprocating the gesture without a second thought— he had just openly admitted to considering you a special person. It felt… right.

In the lateness of the cool night, you both sat side by side looking out at the display of glittering stars. He felt as your pulse would briefly quicken under his gloved hand whenever you stole a quick glance at him, and he would offer a gentle squeeze of reassurance in response. Curious, this human next to him— and yet he found himself enraptured by your simple presence.

Across the endless sky, you halted what you were idly chatting about as a speckle of light shot across the sky.

“A falling star… There’s rumors that making a wish on them will help it come true.” Xiao hummed in response, eyes closed in peaceful tranquility. “Hm…”

You pulled your knees closer to you as you contemplated your wish. Xiao watched you with one eye open, observing the way your features subtly scrunched up as you profoundly debated within you what your wish would be.

“So.”

“So?”

“What did you wish for?” Xiao asked quietly.

Mortal desires were usually the same. Wealth, power, lavish items— these wishes Xiao had heard of many times before. Yet—

“I wished…,” you scratched your cheek sheepishly. “I wished for a restful sleep.”

Your cheeks were quick to flush a deep crimson as you heard what sounded like a chuckle next to you. It dawned on you that you had never heard Xiao laugh until now. It was melodic, innocent.

“D-Don’t laugh!” you halfheartedly admonished with a playful huff. “Well, then— What’s your wish, Xiao?”

He pondered for a moment, closed his eyes and spoke soft as the flitting breeze.

“I wish to get to know you better.”

Perhaps he didn’t have all the right words at that moment, but he was bound to discover them sooner or later. Somehow, he was sure you would be the light that guided him the right way to go about these foreign feelings— feelings he was sure weren’t malignant, so he allowed them to persist.

These unsorted feelings for you... they weren’t getting in the way of anything. They were harmless, until proven otherwise.

[janshu]

Once In A Millennia...P1.

Summary: A thousand years ago you were married to the Sukuna, a mortal man with the power of a god. Bound to him, his "death" leads you to wander the world alone, against all odds. However...his spirit remains and was resurrected by an unknown boy...

Word Count: 1k-ish.

Warnings: Gn!reader, mentions of a past life & family arranging a marriage.

The days had begun to blur into one incoherent mess.

That wasn't too out of the ordinary. You couldn't be expected to remember every moment of every day, not when you had several lifetime's floating around between your synapses. The mundane and monotonous would naturally be forgotten to make room for the impactful and important memories. The one's you hold onto like your life depends on it and maybe in some way it did, life was mysterious in its ways.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that you had seen everything. Every advancement in every field from science to medicine, going from horse-drawn-buggies to vehicles and letters to text messages. Safe to say that nothing was a surprise anymore. What was life's great surprise now? In a thousand years you had seen and experienced everything, from the divine to the depraved.

Life had begun easy. Being only the child of simple country folk who took pride in their work, worshipping the gods in their own special way, you were given more freedom than most in your childhood. Father and Mother had let you wander the secret places of the village until the sun set and dinner was ready, fed and ready for bed you'd lay down on the comfortable cot they had purchased with the earnings from that season's harvest to let you dream the night away. Until he came, that fateful day where your parents made the decision to sacrifice you to the warlord baring down on their home and land. The ultimatum that sealed your fate was simple: you or them and being the pragmatic people they were chose themselves to save.

Now hundreds of years later you weren't sure you should curse or bless them for their decision because that choice set you on the path to where you are now, browsing the morning market like the days of old with the luxuries of the modern age.

That's when you were made aware of it. The creeping cold of being watched, of being found. The inescapable reality of a person exhaling their hot breath against the back of your neck at an angle your neck simply could not turn towards. The feel of a large palm bearing its weight against the curve of your spine with the addition of three more to various hand-holds across the expanse of your body.

"Have you been well, my sweet spouse? The years haven't been kind to you, have they?"

The deep chuckle of a man thoroughly sadistic in the uncaring manner of which they dispatch those he deems maggots, a man changed, a curse upon the world.

Your husband: Sukuna Ryōmen.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten. Wouldn't it be a pity if you've forgotten your husband?"

And when you understandably twist your head around to venture a guess why he of all beings was behind you at a random stall? There was no one. Not the copious amounts of people shopping for their meal ingredients, not even the shopkeepers or the one that was impatiently waiting for you to purchase that fruit and strangely enough: no husband in sight.

An odd hallucination perhaps?

You were being followed, very conspicuously might I add. Clearly they thought themselves to be a master spy by the way they hid behind dumpsters, peeked around poles and made themselves the most obvious person in the ocean of people. Pure lunacy or a power move you weren't sure of yet, the garment they wore a dead giveaway to their intentions. The deep navy uniforms of the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. A sorcerer and not a good one if their sneaking skills alluded to their abilities.

Far more inconspicuously you took a look at the figure with the reflection of a shop's window pane. A young man, average, pink undercut and overall nondescript but there was something familiar about his aura. A sinister darkness that was foreign in his kind features. That couldn't be natural. Sepia shaded orbs trained on your figure with a burning intensity that would set your soul on fire with its pinpoint directness. The more important matter was why a sorcerer was following you. To your knowledge they believed Sukuna was a myth and your marriage to him had been forgotten in the past seven hundred years so was it superstition that led him to follow you? Or did you have a curse attached to you and he was doing his job?

Odd, to say the least.

"Excuse me? Uhh, hello? Uhm..'scuse me."

A hand clamped down on your shoulder from the opposite direction you had been watching the sorcerer. Turning back around what did you find? The very same magic user you had been spying. How did he move so quickly? That was a split moment and he was behind you. How did he manage that?

"Yes?" You responded, face rather devoid of emotions while taking a closer inspection at the sorcerer. Upon closer look he was indeed a boy, in the middle of his teen years at the most yet experience had aged his soul considerably. The windows of his eyes closer to that of a wizened old monk rather than a bright-eyed pubescent teenager. The oddest feature that stood out were the dark tattoo's across the bottom edges of his eye sockets, rather distinguished against the otherwise blank face. Fashion statements got stranger and stranger with each passing century.

The boy appeared to have a goal in mind as his eyes searched your face, your eyes and the windows to your soul. Whatever he was looking for either wasn't there or he kept the discovery to himself because after his hand was removed he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "Oops, sorry! Thought you were someone else."

"No harm done, honest mistake."

Without another word the sorcerer boy turned on his heel and retreated in the direction he came from. How he had managed to double back and come from your blind spot was still a mystery, there must've been more than meets the eye on that boy.

Yuji Itadori returned to the First Year dorm hall and slid the door closed behind him as he entered. It was late, much later than when he was expected to be in bed and resting. If anyone had noticed his absence then he'd be in a world of pain. What could be worse than the punishment's Gojo could think up? Well, there was one thing. That tattooed psychopath using his body as a vessel. Whoever that person was had set him off. The control he originally thought he had on the cursed spirit had hung by a thread, a battle on who got to control his body raging on. It was a stalemate, mostly. He had control over the vast majority of his facilities but that uppy bastard had gotten his hand in the metaphorical doorway and pried himself into the driver's sleg. Taking over his legs and waltzing up to them and without a plan. They were lucky he had regained himself right as he touched them, what would've happened if he hadn't? There were moments he went on and on about slaughtering women and children like maggots but was the sight of them enough to cause a sudden bloody rampage? Apparently so.

The transition to phase into the mindscape that kept Sukuna contained was seamless. As if he had walked to another section of a home, could be considered as easy as breathing but whenever he was there it was not because he went willingly. He was summoned.

On the pinnacle of the mountain of bones, perched upon on the throne, Yuji noticed there was a crazed grin on the very man's face. Revealing the pearly whites amidst his bloody gums, eyes wide as he leaned forward. Not looking at his host, quite the opposite but something beyond him. Shoulders cloaked in a white robe rose and fell in time with his maniacal giggles, gleeful and relieved. It would be perturbing if he wasn't used to the grating sound by now. The reason why he was laughing was the disconcerting subject.

"Ahh, there you are, dearest spouse. How long will it take until you return to me?"

[orobaxi]

dominant zhongli & a reader who’s been unintentionally busy — headcanons. requested by the lovely @xiaoisms. nsfw txt utc, dfab (yet gender neutral) reader.

⠀ 

⠀ 

the last time he felt this strongly for someone was… how long had it been since she passed…? well, that doesn’t matter now – he has you, after all. however, he’s gone millennia without loving or being truly loved, so his lack of romantic & emotional prowess is almost expected.

from his abnormally stiff hugs that took months to finally become truly relaxed & comfortable to stumbling over his words when you smile at him; it’s quite adorable to see the six-thousand-year-old archon in such a terribly lovesick state. at first glance, though, you wouldn’t expect him to have a darker, possessive side to him. 

he secretly loathes the fact that you’re spending far more time adventuring than you are with him, & his mind constantly wanders to the worst possible outcomes. for example, he knows you would never cheat on him, yet the thought lingers in the back of his mind whenever you aren’t around. while zhongli knows these thoughts are irrational, he can never seem to stop them, & they occasionally completely overwhelm him. right now is one such time.

& that’s how you found yourself lying on the mattress, your wrists pinned above your head as he towered over your shaking form. his amber eyes shone with an array of indistinguishable emotions, yet the rest of his face was almost expressionless. you suppose he’s become talented at concealing his true emotions from the millennia he’s spent as the geo archon… 

a sudden “ahem” forced you out of your thoughts, & your gaze snapped up to meet his intense one as his grip on your wrists tightened further. “i can’t help but feel as if you’re… unsatisfied with me. do i need to prove my love for you, [y/n]?” he hummed a bit too calmly, moving one of his hands to brush against your ribcage. “why would you th–” “did you think that i wouldn’t notice your sudden fondness for adventuring? leaving me alone for days on end with little explanation, coming home to give me a quick hug & kiss before you leave me again? surely you don’t take me for that much of a fool, dearest,” he abruptly pinched your nipple, letting out a small chuckle upon hearing your surprised squeak, “is there something happening between us? or, should i say, between you & someone else?”

the moment he noticed your confusion, he almost began to feel bad about what he was going to do to you. peppering your face with light kisses, he quietly asked if you were alright with this before he continued any further.

after you gave your consent, he gave you a small smile & let your wrists free before he positioned himself between your legs. forcing your thighs apart with his calloused hands as your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, languid kisses trailing over your cunt through your underwear.

as he ripped off your underwear, you silently cursed yourself for spending so much mora on them – in your defense, though, you didn’t know that he could act this way. a surprised gasp left your lips & your grip on his hair tightened as he began to swirl his tongue around your clit in a clockwise motion. occasionally, he’d stop to lightly suck on it instead, quietly moaning for you in the interim. soon, though, he moved one of your thighs to sit on his shoulder so he had a free hand to further pleasure you with.

the amount of care & love he was giving you was oddly suspicious, especially considering that he was interrogating you earlier. however, you found those thoughts slowly escaping you as he inserted two fingers inside of you – it was amazing that he was able to maintain the same steady pace on your clit while his fingers ravaged you in search of your g-spot. 

& when he finally found it, you came almost immediately – legs shaking & thighs squeezing his head, pulling his hair to force him closer to you, & repeatedly moaning his name… it’d normally be a heavenly sight for the man. however, his further plans for you entailed a sexually broken side of you, & he couldn’t fucking wait to see you in such a state.

as he wiped the excess cum off of his face, you noticed his uncharacteristically devilish smirk – & that he still had almost all of his clothes on. with a gentle tug at his coat, though, he quickly removed it – throwing it across the room with reckless abandon, & his undershirt soon followed… 

pounding into you, one hand gently wrapped around your neck while the other toyed with your clit. overstimulated tears rolling down your cheeks as you spasmed around his cock for the third– or was it fourth?– time in a row. hickies scattered along your collarbone & chest, placed there so that you’d be reminded of this night whenever you changed or bathed for the next week or so; surprisingly tender kisses placed along your jawline as his pace increased. your fingernails raking up his back, damn near lacerating him in the process; moaning his name & begging him to give you a break because it’s too much, but both of you knew that if you really needed him to stop, you would’ve said the safeword by now.

squeezing your neck, growling out an almost inaudible “who do you belong to?” voice quivering as you answered, hands gently wrapped around his wrist. “good, good. say it again,” he hummed, pace slowing once more – & you knew that he was aware that you were on the brink of yet another orgasm, & that he was doing this to ensure your compliance. who were you to deny an archon?

“i belong to you zh–zhongli, please–! fuck, please– i’m yours, i’m yours! please!” “please what, darling? i’m afraid that i’m not sure what you want.” “please don’t stop– please, please– i need to cum, please–!” “hmm. you don’t need to, [y/n],” he groaned as he felt you tighten around him once more, & he increased his pace again, “i think you deserve it, though. go on, love. cum for me.”

& as you came for the final time, so did he. moaning & panting your name as he emptied himself inside of you, quietly praising you & giving you passionate kisses all the while.

[altagraye]

The Bid part 1 (ABO)

The Bid (A/B/O):

Ari Levinson (Alpha) x Eurydice Sideris (Omega, OFC)

TW!: dark themes, human trafficking, sexual themes, eventual smut, religious themes (Jewish), pagan themes, implied elements of torture, 1980s (or my best attempt), drugs, mafia themes, elements of past torture, religious persecution, strangers to lovers, Satanic panic, cussing, abo dynamics.

Summary:

After accomplishing the impossible, Ari Levinson left the promised land and went to the land of the free. He settled in Boston. He went to a football game on the good graces of the mayor of Boston (Charles Blackwood) , and discovered sinister happenings that seemed much too familiar to him. 

Characters:

Ari Levinson (Portrayed by Chris Evans, as seen in the film Red Sea Diving Resort)

Eurydice Sideris (Portrayed by Emmy Rossum, as seen in various titles but mostly the TV series Shameless)

Charles Blackwood (Portrayed by Sebastian Stan)

Esperanza Domingo (Portrayed by Michelle Rodriguez)

Author’s note: sorry this one is short. I know it is different. And I don't intend to offend anyone! I hope this is interesting enough for my readers. Message me if you are confused about anything. I apologize in advance for accuracy errors.

The Bid

Part 1: The Pure One

1982, Boston, Massachusetts:

Eurydice Sideris:

They dolled me up, made sure they covered up the bruises, put me in a skimpy dress and drugged me. They made sure to accentuate my scent too. How? Well that was a mystery, but I’m far from home. I could barely remember what or where home was but I remember the sea. The melodies that the waves made as they crashed onto the shore. During all of this chaos, I held onto the sea, and the one born from the ocean foam. That Aphrodite herself had kept me hanging on, kept me safe, at least safer than the others. 

My feet were unsteady in these high heels. They dragged me up when I stumbled and hit me more, only in places that weren’t visible. Out of my entire faith, the soulmates legend is the one thing I didn't believe in. At least until I was face to face with an Alpha, the one I was staring at now. He looked like he lived life on the edge. He didn’t belong there, at least not next to the other Alpha who looked like they were acquaintances. 

He was striking and even more so his scent. When the aroma flew through my lungs, it felt like freedom. What a strange thing to feel. Freedom had been taken from me for so long and now it was gawking at me, drinking me in with hungry blue eyes. It was then that I realized Aphrodite had answered my prayers. She was somewhere there in this Alpha’s eyes. That unmistakable color of the sea and the voracious and primal yearning. 

All this time, just when I began to lose faith, to crumble. This tiny silent moment had tears dampening your eyes. I knew and he knew at that moment the two had found the other half. The millennia of wandering the Earth generation after generation, searching for my half was finally complete. How cruel though to be dragged through the mud to get to you, my Alpha. 

“Starting price is 10.” yelled out one man. Ten dollars!? What am I? Chopped liver? I didn’t spend five years in the shithole to get sold for 2 Abraham Lincoln's.  The Alpha turned to his friend, confused. I caught more of his scent just then. Noticing how his aroma deepened, taking note of the dry wine. His nicely dressed friend chuckled at whatever conversation they were having. Your Alphas eyes widened and he chewed on the inside of his cheek, contemplating. The price must have been much higher than I initially thought.

“30!” yelled a man from the back. The gavel rose slightly, waiting for its sentence. Once its sharp cry would ring out, I’d be officially sold. Please, please, Aphrodite! Let me be with my true love. 

“50!” said another Alpha. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch. 

“100!” said a closer voice.

“200!” said the last voice, desperation seeping from his lips.

 “200, that’s 200. Anyone else for a higher wage? 200. Going once. 200. Going twice, that’s 200 folks! Sold! To the Alpha standing in the middle row.” The auctioneer announced. My lips trembled with fear.  The gavel struck, its sharp sound ringing in your ear. One tear fell, ruining the make up they had hastily thrown on. 

I opened my eyes slowly to see him. The one meant for you. The soul Zeus himself had separated my own from all those years ago. He was panting, like he was unsure the outcome had really happened. It happened so fast like instinct had taken over. 

A different Alpha took my arm, gripping it tight, being sure to dig his nails into my tender flesh. The man set me down in the seat next to the stranger who’d just bought me. The stranger took notice of this and gave him a look and a growl that could have killed. He paid no more attention to the worthless piece of shit than was necessary. 

He unbuttoned his denim shirt and took it off, draping it over my shoulders, filled with goosebumps. He was wearing another shirt under it, he wasn’t naked, but just from the look of him, I wanted to invest in that endeavor. 

“I’m Ari. You’re safe now, Omega.” he whispered in my ear as he clothed me. His breath was warm and melted the cold air stinging my skin. He held out his hand, resting it on the arm of the seat. I took it, feeling its strong muscles underneath and the calloused skin on its surface. I almost forgot to breathe. Leaning in, locks of my long brunette hair falling into my face.

“It’s Eurydice. Unless you’d like me to call you Alpha instead of Ari.”  I had to test the waters, throw in a curve ball of my own. Something to let him know I meant business. My own name was so foreign falling off my rose tinted lips. Those fuckers made me forget who I was. Given me a number instead, stamped it high on my neck. It was another form of humiliation. A tactic to degrade me to dehumanize me. If anyone would claim me, they’d see the mark. Number 394. They covered it up of course. Can’t have imperfections on Selling Night during halftime at the football game. It was an odd place to be sold in the first place but for the mob it was perfect. It was all done in the VIP rooms, where it was less conspicuous and ‘Megas like me could be bought at a pretty penny. It happened once every three months. 

Most Omegas didn’t make it this far in five years. Some of them died after three. I honestly don’t know how I got to this point, but I felt something close to happiness at that moment. 

He smirked. “Eurydice is a beautiful name.” His voice was sweet molasses to my ears. At first I didn't feel comfortable resting my head on his shoulder. But with the high from whatever drug they gave me wearing off, I didn’t care about much else other than sleep.

I hesitantly set my head down. His shoulder is firm with muscle yet so comforting, so right. Ari gripped my hand back, his thumb nonchalantly stroking my skin. I sighed, content and whiplashed from the events of today. I’ve been on edge for the past five years. I never knew I needed this kind of sleep. One where I didn't have to worry about a rut-crazed Alpha having their way with me in the middle of the night. This was the first day of the rest of my life. As with the Phoenix, I felt like I'd risen from ashes.

End part 1.- part 2 to be written soon.

Taglist:

@imaginedreamwrite​

@starshipsofstarlord​

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust | 5 - culmination

🔖 [first] [prev] [next]

🔖 a/n - aaah some stuff finally starts going down in this chapter, thanks y'all for staying patient through the last four chapters. please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for updates! enjoy!

—

  “Admittedly,” Zhongli sighed, “I may have gone a little overboard with the food.”

   You both peered at the carnage leftover from your feast, the table strewn with at least half of the meal left.

   “Are you full?” Zhongli inquired. He wasn’t smiling, but there was unmistakeable amusement in his voice. You nodded — a few minutes ago, you’d felt like you could have eaten everything on the table, but the physical limits of your stomach betrayed you. “Very well. Let’s clean up, then I will show you around the house. How does that sound?”

   It still took you by surprise, each time he asked you for your opinion. “It sounds good, Mr. Zhongli.”

—

   The first time you touched him was as he handed you one of the plates, as you thumbed over the intricate blue-white markings and felt your fingers brush.  You didn’t know it then, but it would not be the last.

   He was wearing his gloves, and so it was really leather that you’d touched, but it was electrifying all the same. You winced, searching his features for any displeasure. It was not your place to so much as gaze upon a noble of  half his status without permission, let alone touch — you’d been taught that lesson, quickly and very early on.

   “Please take this to the kitchen,” he requested, as though nothing had happened. You obeyed with slow, deliberate steps, squashing even any thoughts of dropping the fine china. Gingerly — how in Celestia was even the inside of his fridge elegant? — you set it down, closed the door and almost jumped out of your skin. He was standing right behind you, arms crossed as he studied you, features unreadable.

   “Tell me a little about yourself, Hansi.”

   Small talk? Or a test? Surely, certainly, he wasn’t genuinely curious? You felt naked under his probing gaze, still clad in that plain white dress. Had it really only been a day since you’d met Zhongli? Every second with him seemed to stretch over the length of a millennia. Instinctively, your hands wandered to your chest, feeling for your Vision. Wasn’t there. Wouldn’t help you even if it was.

   I grew up in a shithole with a dozen other people. I stole, robbed, dredged myself through life, you imagined yourself saying to him, just to get sold to a nobleman who thinks I’m too stupid to understand his intentions. 

   By the way, three nights ago, Rex Lapis smoked up something real good and gave me a Geo Vision I don’t know how to use.

   “There is nothing to know about me,” you said, instead, “save that I am bound to you in loyal servitude, and that I will do as you please, Mr. Zhongli.“

   “Hm.” Zhongli hummed, a low echo. His golden gaze rend you through Then, rather abruptly, he said, “Let’s begin the house tour, shall we?”

   Somehow, his curtness stung. Had you said something wrong? What you’d said — that was the textbook response you were meant to give, no? Regardless, you nodded your obedience, swallowing the fear you felt, as always, at his displeasure.

—

   You almost expected there to be a dungeon of some sort hidden behind one of the doors, some skulls, maybe a poor chained up Hilichurl or two.

   What you didn’t expect was so many rocks. 

   And paintings. And scrolls, and trinkets, and jewelry, arranged carefully upon display stands in each room. You remembered how cluttered the drawers were that you hid your Vision in. In the daylight, now that your mind wasn’t clouded with as much fear and fatigue, you were realizing just how much stuff Zhongli owned.

    (Vaguely, it brought to mind images of dragons — the billowing, fire-breathing, treasure-hoarding creatures you’d read about in one of the many storybooks you’d stolen. You shook that image out of your head. Zhongli was plenty intimidating, even without a set of horns and fangs.)

   “—and this is the bathroom,” Zhongli said, pushing open the door. The bathroom, on its own, was bigger than the shack you’d shared with four other families growing up. In the middle of the room, the dark marble floor gave way to a large, circular bathtub — it looked a little like a pool. “You are free to use it, and anything in it, whenever you’d like.”

   The idea of a hot bath was heaven, but you were a hundred percent certain that your current state — dirt-caked fingernails and unkempt hair and all — was all that was keeping you safe. If you got nice and clean, who was to say what he would decide to do to you?

   No, you would avoid taking a bath as long as you could.

   Zhongli closed the door, and hesitated. “Hmm. There is less than I thought to show you,” he admitted. “These other rooms are simply full of items I’ve collected over the years, and I’m sure they would bore you.“

   “It would be my pleasure to hear more about them,” you said, quickly. You wanted to keep him talking; as long as he was talking, he was doing nothing else. Besides, you found yourself growing more and more intrigued about Zhongli — only so that you could read him better, you promised yourself.

   “Well, then far be it from me to deny you your pleasure,” he said. “What would you like to know more about?”

   You glanced around, gaze landing on a small, glass standing display case. Two gemstones sat side by side in it, both a rich, translucent gold — like his eyes, you thought. “What are those?”

   “Cor Lapis,” he said, and you heard a hint of something in his voice. Pride? “They were a gift, from someone close to me.”

   “Are they worth a lot? They’re so pretty.” You bit your lip. They were probably worth more than the average Liyue merchant would ever earn. Pretty? Really?

   “In terms of Mora, yes, they are worth no small amount,” Zhongli replied. “However, their value far surpasses material currency, for these are prime Cor Lapis samples from Mount Hulao.”

   “Hulao... in Jueyun Karst?” You’d heard the rumors that floated between drunk fishermen and merchants, of the dangers of the mountain, of those who entered and came back changed. You had never put much stock in them — drunk men would say just about anything.

   “Yes. And as I’m sure you know, Jueyun Karst is a dangerous place to venture into, without the proper precautions.”

   “Dangerous… even for you?” You glanced at the Vision hanging off his waist. You couldn’t imagine a situation where Zhongli would ever be forced to break that collected facade of his.

   “For any human.”

   You found yourself enjoying the light conversation — you couldn’t remember the last time you’d spoken to another person like this. “Who gave you these?” You tried to smile, and it came easier than you expected. “They must have been really nice, to give away something so expensive.”

   Immediately, you regret opening your mouth. Zhongli’s eyes darkened, and his face fell visibly.

   “Yes. She… was certainly very kind,” he said, quietly. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but didn't. Couldn’t.

   Was? You wanted to kick yourself. Of course you’d manage to bring up his dead friend in your first real conversation with him. The next seconds of silence were almost unbearable. Finally, you spoke up with the first thing that popped into your head. “So, you like rocks?”

   By the Archon, weren’t you on a roll today.

   You were pleasantly baffled to hear him chuckle, a deep, throaty rumble from the depths of his chest. “Yes, one could say that I am fond of them.” He said, amidst soft laughter. “And you?”

   “I don’t know much about them,” you admitted, “but the ones you have are beautiful, Mr. Zhongli.” So was his laugh.

   “Is that so?” He asked, the previous conversation seemingly forgotten, as he strode over to a case across the room, “perhaps you will find these to your fancy as well — these pieces of Noctilucuous Jade were mined from the deepest mines of the Mingyun...“

—

   By the time Zhongli had finished regaling you about his rock collection, the sky outside had become a smear of pink and orange, the sun drifting barely over the horizon. You hadn’t even noticed the time — Zhongli simply had the kind of voice that demanded wholehearted attention.

   “I seem to have gotten carried away again,” Zhongli smiled. Was it just you, or were his smiles coming more frequently? “Thank you for being such a good listener, Hansi.”

   You nodded in response, not quite sure what to say to that. The praise had a strange, warm feeling spreading through your chest.

   “All that’s left of the house is the library upstairs,” he paused, the tacit question clear on his lips.

   You froze. Ever since you started stealing to survive, you’d made a point to sell everything that couldn’t be eaten. Jewelry, hairpins, no matter how pretty, no matter how much your heart ached to put them on, went straight to the pawn store. But you could never sell books. You couldn’t bear to give up the worlds within them, the promises that one day you would be able to live as freely as the heroes of those stories.

   So you stole. First from Wanwen bookstore, then when the owner learned to watch for your grubby hands, from bags and pockets and homes. You devoured them like hot meals, kept them under the floorboards of your corner, read them out loud to the kids who lived with you, read them till the dirt from your fingers had smeared the words to unrecognition.

   You wanted to see Zhongli’s library, so badly that it hurt.

   But to tell him this would be to admit to him that you’d stolen those books, that you taught yourself a skill that someone of your social class didn’t deserve to learn. Something you weren’t worthy of.

   “I can’t read anyway,” you lied.

   “I see,” Zhongli said. “Then, shall we go and get some dinner? Are you feeling well enough to make a trip to Liyue Harbor? I know the most splendid restaurant.”

—

   You thought that things were going relatively well, that you were doing a fine job of squashing the unease and distrust of Zhongli that still gnawed at the corners of your mind. You were giddily excited, even, to be going to a restaurant for the first time.

   So, as you two arrived at the outskirts of Liyue, close enough to hear the bustle of nightlife, you certainly weren’t expecting the sudden wave of emotions that knocked you clean off your feet.

   It had started small — the unrelenting reminder of how out of place you would look at the restaurant. How out of place you would look in public, next to Zhongli in all his regality. Then: how out of place you truly were — how absurd of you to have started warming up to Zhongli when you knew, with every fiber of your being, what all men like him wanted; when you knew that one day he would grow impatient of waiting for you to offer it.

   If you took his dinner, his food, his kindness, what would you begin to owe him?

    Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe. The bile that rose through your throat was hot and bitter, and you doubled over and retched noisily into the nearest bush. Vaguely, you could hear Zhongli’s exclamation and his footsteps approaching, but you couldn’t stop until your stomach was empty once again.

   You flinched violently at his light touch on your shoulder. “Hansi,” he said, and you were baffled at how genuine his concern sounded, “what happened? What’s wrong?”

   “I don’t know,” you whispered, and it was true. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

   “Please don’t apologize. Can you stand?” Zhongli asked, voice low and soothing. “Let’s get you home.”

   You nodded. “I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”

   “Nonsense, your health is infinitely more important.” He said. “Do you think that you can walk?”

   Once again, you nodded. You let him lead you home.

—

   When you reached the front door of the house, Zhongli’s hand on your shoulder firm and gentle, something had begun — deep in your heart — to fester. The fear, the confusion, the things that had fallen into place but didn’t quite fit together — it had all been boiling too long, too hot. 

   “Mr. Zhongli.” You said, as you stepped through the door, once again greeted by a warm gust of air. 

   “Yes, Hansi?” He asked, close behind. His hand on your shoulder was suddenly heavy, and hot. You shrugged it off, whipping around to stare him in the eyes.

   “Please, just— do whatever you’re planning to do to me.” You said, knowing that if you lost your momentum now you would never get it back.

   “I beg your pardon?”

   “I’m not a child. We both know what I'm here for. When I lived on the streets, two pieces Mora would have earned any nobleman a night -- let alone... however much you’ve spent.” You were vaguely aware of how many lines you were crossing with each word, but there was no stopping the words flowing from your lips now. You could feel your heart thrashing against your chest, anger warming your bones. 

   “We both know that I have nowhere to run, no way to defend myself, so just DO it already. Be cruel, hit me, whatever, do your thing so that I can stop holding my Archon-damned breath and waiting for the inevitable. What exactly are your intentions with me, sir?”

   You paused to catch your breath, and the horror set in suddenly. Your temper had always been the bane of your well-being — you just had to let it get the best of you, every time, didn’t you? Why couldn’t you have just bided your time and waited for his patience to run out later rather than sooner?

   Zhongli stayed silent, face pulled into a frown as though he was pondering over your words. Time seemed to slow into a viscous fluid, drowning you in its wake. You glanced down the hallway at your room.

   If he raised his hand against you, would you be able to make it to your room? Would you be able to grab your Geo Vision before he caught you, and would you even be able to use it against him, against the years of experience he’s had with his? You knew the answer to all of those questions: a resounding no.

   Would he let you live if you apologized? You opened your mouth to beg.

   “My intentions with you...” he said, brow pulled down over heavy lids. “Hm. It seems that I must apologize.”

   You let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding. For the umpteenth time since your meeting with Zhongli, you wondered: What?

   “I have been trying to let you acclimate to your new life at your own pace, whilst moving on from your old.” Zhongli’s pursed lips were the only sign of discomfort in his composed features. “I did not know that such concerns were going through your head, though I should have seen that your seeming lack of fear was but a facade from your incredibly strong character.”

   In the corner of your eye, you saw your hands trembling. You tried to get them to stop. They would not.

   Zhongli swept on. “The circumstances of our meeting are... unfortunate. In time, you will understand my intentions in orchestrating our meeting, but for now -- you have been put in a very uncomfortable situation. I am remiss for not having acknowledged this much earlier.”

   What?

   Zhongli cleared his throat. “Hansi, please listen to me. While you are under my roof, I will never lift a finger to cause you any harm, physically or otherwise. And for as long as you are a part of my household, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are never again touched by hunger, frost, hardship. That you will never be subject to the kind of fear that’s making you tremble,” he reached out slowly and took your hand, “like this.” 

   He had done all the speaking, but it was you who had lost the breath from your lungs. Each of his words was a low rumble, earthquakes in their own right. You didn’t know if you believed him, but you so badly, badly wanted to, with every inch of your shaking body.

   “I do not expect you to believe me, right now,” he said, as though reading your mind. He let go of your hand, and it fell back to your side, still shaking. “However, you will soon come to learn that I never break my word.”

   You were beginning to see why Rex Lapis had chosen to grace this man with a Vision. He commanded — no, demanded — your attention, your respect, your trust, your entire being. There was more to him than the rich, lonely nobleman he seemed to be; in that moment, you had never been more sure of it.

   “Is there anything else you would like to ask me, Hansi?” Zhongli asked.

   You shook your head, mutely. There were a lot of things you wanted to say to that, but the swollen words stuck in your throat. “Thank you, Mr. Zhongli,” you said, and hoped he heard everything behind it. 

  Tomorrow morning, you supposed, it’d be alright if you had that bath.

[pumpkinpatchkid]

Late Night Stories

Pairing: Lucifer x G!Neutral Reader

Rating: G (soft fluff)

Warnings: Mentions of death (possible spoilers if you don’t know what happened to Lilith)

Your stomach churned as you felt your D.D.D vibrate in your pocket once again. It felt like the thousandth time today – most likely another congratulatory text on your one hundredth day in Devildom. You knew you should be happy about it, the stay, the opportunity for the exchange, the people you’ve met… But the gut-wrenching hole within your body prevented that. You wanted to go home. Even for just a day. You sighed and put your head in your hands as the lesson dragged on. The last one of the day… Then maybe I can talk to Lucifer.

 You took a deep breath and straightened yourself in your chair, fighting off the blush at the thought of the first demon brother and attempted to busy yourself with note taking. With only a few lines written and your head a blur, the bell finally signalled the end of class, and the day in RAD. Jumping from your seat and haphazardly throwing your belongings into your bag, you practically sprinted from the building.

 Your walk home was the same as usual. Quiet, peaceful and-

“Yo!! Y/N! Slow down, ya damn human!” You heard Mammon call from behind you. You sighed heavily and slowed to a stop and Mammon ran up panting from behind you.

 “Mammon, why’re you so out of breath?” You asked, tilting your head and quirking your eyebrow. Mammon blushed heavily and avoided eye contact, muttering something about ‘dumb human curiosity’ under his breath.

 “I-It’s not like I was trying to catch up with ya okay? Just drop it, ‘kay?” He huffed and grabbed your arm, before joining you on your journey back to the House of Lamentation.

 “Say, Mammon?” You looked over at him after a little while of silence. He hummed and glanced at you in acknowledgement.

 “You... You don’t know if Lucifer is coming home earlier today, do you?” You asked, looking at your feet. Mammon let out a growl at your question.

 “Why would I care where he is? Probably off hiding my precious baby Goldie again.” He pouted and stopped talking, most likely overrun with fantasies about his beloved credit card. You rolled your eyes to yourself. Should’ve known Mammon wouldn’t be any help.

 You both reached home pretty quickly, glad that the now awkward silence was broken as you entered the building. Mammon mentioned getting ready for something and you waved your hand to him before making your way to the kitchen. Unsurprisingly Beel was raiding the fridge, and nearly jumped out of his skin when you brushed past him to get yourself a glass of water.

 “Welcome back, Y/N!” Beel greeted after swallowing a mouthful of who knew what. You smiled slightly at the sweet demon before you and took a sip of your beverage. A slight frown made its way onto the fiery haired male and he tilted his head.

 “Is everything okay? Are you hungry?” He asked. You couldn’t help but giggle quietly and shake your head.

 “I’m fine, Beel. I just need to talk to Lucifer is all. Do you know when he’ll be back?” You asked softly, tracing your finger around the rim of the glass in your other hand. His shoulders slumped, as if disappointed and shrugged.

 “Sorry, Y/N, I’m not sure...” He responded quietly, earning a sincere nod and a smile from you. You patted his arm reassuringly and reached up to ruffle his hair a little.

 “Thank you anyway, Bub. I’m going to take a nap, school was exhausting. I’ll see you later, okay?” You smiled before turning to exit the room.  He bid his farewells as you ascended the stairwell to your room, and you let out a heavy sigh as you shut the door. You slipped out of the RAD uniform and into your sleepwear before collapsing on your bed, nuzzling into the pillows, taking no time at all to drift into a dreamless sleep.

 By the time you woke up, it was darker than black outside your window. You grumbled to yourself and rubbed your eyes, sitting up and looking at your clock. 3:01AM. You groaned internally once again before standing up and stretching. Surely Lucifer has to be home by now…

 You made your way through the lengthy halls to Lucifer’s room and knocked quietly. You heard nothing and after a brief hesitation you knocked once again, a little louder than before. Nothing again. Where on earth could he be?

 You wandered the house in search for the man in question to no avail. You ran your hands through your hair and rubbed your face, about to give up, until a little lightbulb in your head went off. You walked quietly to the stairs of the crypt before pausing. It’s better than nothing, I suppose… You took a deep breath before taking a shaky step down the flight into the dungeon like room beneath the house.

 Candles were lit down the staircase, and throughout the vast room, you’d noticed as you reached the bottom. You looked around the room to spot a tall figure in dark clothing stood by Lilith’s makeshift resting place. Lucifer…

 He straightened his body, signalling he’d noticed your presence, but didn’t move from his spot. You approached him silently and stood next to him.

 “It’s not like you to be up this late, Y/N.” He spoke softly, eyes never leaving the intricately carved stone before him.

 “I just miss home, is all… I’d like to go back soon, just for a day.” You answered honestly, your eyes joining his in the same spot – you knew how he felt about his little sister, and with what he had confessed to you and the rest of the brothers, burdened himself with an inhuman amount of guilt for it. He nodded wordlessly and a thick silence fell over the pair of you. You both stayed like that for perhaps an hour, although it was nice. Comforting, even.

 “Where I’m from… It’s a little village…” You spoke softly, as if not to startle the demon.

 “It was built generations ago, by a stunning young woman. She always helped where she could as the village grew. She learned to cook the most amazing foods for those who weren’t fortunate enough to have meals on the table that night. She learned to heal those who weren’t fortunate enough so seek medical care. She was truly the purest being in that village. She learned how to cut wood and farm to help people lacking in manpower. She took care of children for those who were too busy attempting to provide for their family. There was a young man, new to the village who fell for her beauty, inside and out. She fell for him too.” You looked over at Lucifer, who seemed to have a glint in his eye – you knew he was listening.

 “They married not long after and started a family of their own. He took it upon himself to aid her in protecting and caring for the village and made sure to spare plenty of time for his children. Everybody loved and praised her. Nobody ever said anything bad about her. It stayed that way until she was too old and frail to continue. When her time came, she was surrounded by her loving husband, children and grandchildren, all by her bedside. The village gathered around her house to say goodbye to the woman they adored and cherished… She died peacefully with a heart full of love. At her funeral they erected a statue of her. They did it so that she’d live forever in the hearts of the villagers, so they wouldn’t forget how they prospered. We still talk about her and celebrate her life to this day…” You finished softly.

 “Why’re you telling me this?” Lucifer asked, just as soft. After building your courage throughout the story, you slipped your hand into his.

 “Lilith.” You whispered. “Her name was Lilith.”

 The grip Lucifer hand on your hand tightened, and you felt his body begin to tremble against your own. You felt your heart break with each tear that silently rolled down Lucifer’s pale cheeks and opened your mouth to comfort him. Before anything came out, however, your vision was clouded in black, and a pair of long arms encircled you. Lucifer clung to you as he buried his head into the crook of your neck, allowing his tears to fall freely for the first time in millennia, and for the first time ever in front of someone else. You simply pulled him impossibly closer, running a hand through his raven locks and pressed your face close to his, your other hand rubbing his back soothingly. He gripped at the back of your nightwear as if he were a child clinging to his mother, and his sobs wracked his body, even though they remained silent. You moved your hand from his hair to rest at the nape of his neck and the hand on his back moved to rub small circles on his broad shoulders. Under any other circumstance, you wouldn’t have ever wanted this to end – the Avatar of Pride was showing you his vulnerable side, seeking comfort in you…

 His tears gradually dried, and his shaking frame steadied again, but it seemed Lucifer felt the same way, still holding you close with his head buried into the juncture of your neck. You smiled softly at the heat of his breath steadily fanning across your exposed skin, but instantly flushed a rich pink as a pair of soft lips replaced his breath. Lucifer just… k-kissed me?! Pulled away ever so slightly to take a look at him when he bowed his head to place another kiss on your cheek.

 “Thank you, Y/N.” He whispered, before kissing your nose. Has crying made him lose his mind? What is going on?! Your mouth opened and shut, a few syllables being stammered, but you just couldn’t find the right words.

 “Thank you for letting me know she was still the good person myself and my brothers loved…” He whispered, face still mere inches away from your own. Your heart melted at his thanks and you nodded softly.

 “I love that about you, always knowing the right things to say… And will continue to love you for as long as I can, and thanks for tonight.” He spoke soft and sweet to you, his eyes full of sincerity, as he stroked a strand of hair out of your face. He really means it? He loves me?...

 “L-Lucifer, I…” You started, but he cut you off with his own lips. They were unusually soft, and the kiss was tender, rendering you unable to do anything but melt into the affection and return the feelings, more than happily and with a newfound confidence. Lucifer was the first to pull away, gazing down at you with a sparkle in his glassy eyes.

 “Come. Stay with me tonight. We can get up early to speak with Diavolo of a day trip back to your home.” He smiled and slipped together your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours. It was your turn for your eyes to fill with tears, accepting his hold and followed after him to the stairs.

 “I shall be coming with you, of course. I’d like to pay my respects.” He smiled softly as he led you to his room for the night. You lit up at the proposal and nodded, stopping the pair of you before you opened the door.

 “I’d want nothing more.” You whispered, before reaching up and pressing a soft kiss of your own onto his lips.

 Maybe it’s not so bad here after all.

[kushielsmercy]

Were you clamoring for a Witcher creation myth? Read on AO3 (G):

In the beginning, God creates.

They create in the middle too, and in the end. He’s a creator, that’s what she does.

The thing is, their last billion world’s had been perfect... too perfect.  After a few millennia the praise gets tedious and one could only give so many lectures on optimal astral frequency design.

Maybe she should have been a punisher instead.

The Continent is an experiment of sorts. A test run of a new concept they’ve been playing with. Can perfect balance exist in a universe where every individual object is unbalanced? Can the sum be greater than the parts?

(The answer is yes, but that’s the final version. This is the rough draft.)

It’s been so long since she toyed with evil that they forgot it’s pungent taste. Within a few thousand years the balance is all wrong; good limps while evil runs.

Well, perfection takes time. He has plenty of that. She turns away from the draft and back to the drawing board.

She forgets to take all of themselves with him. It’s such a minor thing, a single drop of holy essence breathed on the wind.  Nothing that can do any real harm. By the time they realize her mistake it’s not worth the effort to search back through their old world’s and open up the discarded draft.

The humans discover magic.

Insignificant things to a God, no more than petty parlor tricks. But the scales tilt one degree.

The humans should destroy themselves in the next thousand years. God leaves the program to finish on it’s own, it’s not worth the effort to close it.

The magic changes that.

With flakes of God in their fingertips mages do more than their allotted share of evil.

But others, unexpectedly, do more than their share of good.

That’s all it takes.

Evil, pungent and sharp, pushes on. But good plants itself deeper than it should have, slowly healing salted ground.

God’s mistake lasts longer than planned.

The decades turn to centuries, the centuries to millennia. The Continent doesn’t delete but expands, slowly pushing beyond its intended bounds.

God didn’t account for that. Didn’t leave enough space. The misshaped universe runs into another.

The next world over is a playground of horrors, the creator had decided they must truly understand the dark before trying again to find its balance. So monsters pour into the failed creation, gnashing their teeth at the light.

(God has moved on to other projects long ago. She doesn’t notice)

The dark should have won then, the scales firmly tipped.  But God forgot - his deepest purpose is to exist.

The mage’s don’t forget. They don’t remember either, but they know in the core of their bones that they must live. Any price is worth paying.

Is it evil to sacrifice some in exchange for all?  The scholars who’ll later debate forget that they were first born.

Humanity needs something stronger, faster, better.

They need something good.

The mages knew that God had it all wrong. Good and evil can’t be balanced for they are intertwined. The monster’s can never be slayed without the shrieks of children and the stench of death.  A small evil for a greater good.

(God made mistakes. It’s no surprise that those with his breath do too.)

(Or maybe they didn’t. They were right, in the end they produced something good.)

Of course, evil continues to spread - passed from long talons to wandering hands. But now golden eyes bring light to the dark and poisoned blood waters the grass.

The balance shifts one degree further. Good wins one battle more.

God’s calculations were wrong - the artist’s mistake was actually the masterpiece. Any creator can snap together a perfect world. But making people want to fight for it?

It’s too bad he had turned away long ego. It would have been his crowning glory.

Her forgotten universe hobbles on.