Tumgik
#like it's not a bad self aware au
dotster001 · 1 year
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So, I haven't logged into Ayakashi in like 2 1/2 days because I've been too tired (I just woke up and remembered it's been two days since I remembered to take my meds, but I'm sure that's unrelated)
This isn't the first time, and I'm used to getting messages from whoever is on my home screen. Before I got good at weekly missions, it was always Shizuki, and he was offering tea, and then it was Kuya for a while, and he'd tell me to wake him up when I came back.
Right now, Kuro is on my screen because aw just look at him, and 2 1/2 days ago, he sent, "I want to see you again! I'll wait as long as I need to, okay?" And I was like, aw I love you baby, and took a nap.
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The next morning I woke up with a message from Koga, saying, "You didn't come today. Something happen? If you have the time I'd love to see you." Like...sweet bud, but why are you here? Kuro's on my screen? Did he get worried and ask you to talk to me? (Below is Koga for those not in the fandom, but are wondering where this is going)
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Then, LAST NIGHT I got a message from GINNOJO OF ALL PEOPLE! I was like, I love you bud, but you're so shy I wasn't expecting anything from you. He said, "Everyone is worried that you haven't shown up today. We'd be put at ease simply by seeing your face."
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So...like...now I know I screwed up and they are all worried....but also...is this my self aware au? I always thought it would be enstars since Mayoi is always mildly threatening to drag me off, but idk man, these boys got real nervous that I wasn't there.
But like, what do? Do I just show up like, "hey long time no see" or should I bring a peace offering 😂
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bigfatbreak · 19 days
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Birds of a Feather previous / next
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#my art#feralnette au#birds of a feather#long tags#sorry I went apeshit in the tags#LETS SAY IT ALL TOGETHER NOW#I - M - A - G - OOOOOOOOO#its fun drawing marinette's back to Alya and having her appear stout and unstoppable and totally logical#and then you see her face and she's like two seconds from completely snapping and is keeping it together by a thread#as a note just because mari feels very certainly abt smth doesnt mean she's right. feelings can be valid and also irrational#in the throes of grief she decided it was better to be alone than to lose someone again so she started pulling away#and lila made pulling away very very very easy to do#shes also vaguely aware she's being unfair in pinning this on alya which is why she started spinning the drain on cockmoth again#legitimately all the shit that's happened to her wouldn't have been so catastrophic if he was never in the picture and she knows it#but the bitterness of her bestie choosing a fantastic liar over her at the worst of times stiiiiiings#alya's personal timing was bad but lila really took advantage of the fact that marinette had been acting off and weird#she basically clocked marinette as being unstable from SOMETHING and made up a lie about her#knowing she wouldn't have the strength to defend herself#between her social life going tachy bc of lila and losing fu in a way that felt like personhood death marinette was really put on the spot#and alya doing her thing of busting in there and assuming her bias is correct was a terrible combo#essentially marinette is highly unstable and alya is just realizing that#busting in and giving her a lecture when she's slightly hysterical and definitely delirious from exhaustion is NOT the way#to show her she's self sabotaging#cuz thats just gonna make her double down on self sabotaging. bc marinette will not accept that she is also a CHIIIIILD
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m1d-45 · 1 year
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i gobbled and devoured the post imposter things. scrumptious!! but what if poor little xiao man feels guilty for hunting or scarring us in the hunt? and please don’t feel obligated to answer, i know you’re busy
burden to bear
word count: 2.7k
-> warnings: spoilers for liyue archon quest, canon typical violence…. minor body horror? blood mention.
-> gn reader (you/yours)
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay
< masterlist >
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during the hunt itself, xiao is driven by a need to prove himself, pushing past his instinct and the way his karma flares around the one on the throne. he sees it as a way to redeem himself, to finally scrape some of the sin off his hands. it’s a way to prove himself, and one he takes eagerly.
it’s not correct to say he’s blinded by faith, but it’s not exactly wrong either. he definitely feels, subconsciously, that something’s… off, maybe, about his god. perhaps it’s the way his vision always seems to flutter and flare, or the ice in his veins when the command to hunt is given. he feels uneasy, unsettled, finding himself rolling his shoulders and wondering if he needed to add more stretches into his routines. and yet, despite the tension in his shoulders and the twist in his stomach, he kneels, bowing his head with a swear of fealty that goes unanswered.
unacknowledged.
perhaps he had delivered it wrong?
he doesn’t think much of it, quickly dissolving from the throne room and appearing besides the statue of the seven on the west edge of liyue. looking out over jueyun karst, he knows it’s a bit fruitless to start his search there due to the vicinity to the other adepti, but the spires there are tall, filled with wiry bushes and crags of rock that are easier to hide in than may seem at first glance.
he draws his pole arm, spinning it once over his hand before tapping the end to the stone beneath him. he’s not sure why he’s so nervous—is it the fact that this is technically the first order he’s been given? is it the idea of slaughtering somebody so identical to his creator that it nearly fooled morax, who’s been alive longer than he could fathom?
or is it simply the prospect of failure?
xiao grits his teeth and steps off the edge of the floating stone, halting his fall with anemo at nearly the last possible moment.
his feelings meant nothing. orders were given, and he had to follow them.
why else was he there, if he couldn’t?
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it takes him longer than he expected to find you. he’s almost impressed, really, that you managed to evade his searching eyes, that you dodged not only him but the other adepti as well, all without taking refuge in any villages or otherwise civilized areas due to the orders the millelith put out. you hid well, he could attest to that, and though he was the one to find you, it was only on accident.
he was clearing out a group of hilichurls north of the inn. he was surprised so many had settled so close to the statue of the seven, as hilichurls usually avoided concentrated elemental energy, but didn’t think too hard about it. he simply unhooked his mask from his belt, noticing the difference in strength between these hilichurls and the average, and teleported into the middle of the camp.
the first thing he heard was a spotter’s cry. the second was the mitachurls’—archons, there were three—roar as they hefted their weapons. the final one was the intricate chanting of the abyss, but not any incantation he recognized.
he kept himself half in smoke as he danced around the edge of the camp, taking out the archers while he tried to find the abyss mage. he could catch glimpses of hydro bubbles through the walls of the hut, but the steps were covered in frost-
he barely ducked under the swing of a mitachurl’s axe, slashing his spear along its side as he slipped away, darting across the path of one charging with a large stone shield. it clipped his shoulder despite his efforts, pain spiking down his arm, but he didn’t pay attention to the injurh. normally he wouldn’t be this distracted, but two abyss mages and three mitachurls in one camp could only spell bad news. the best he could likely do was to leave and grab back-up, but who? the millelith were busy, morax and the adepti were on their own search…
xiao quickly climbed onto the roof of the hut, jamming his spear between two of the logs to keep grip on the woven roofing. the grass was damp, squishing uber this feet, likely from whatever hydro magic the mage was busy with within it. it likely wasn’t the smartest idea to stand on the roof, but this area of liyue was mostly plains, with little cover from the charging mitachurls. he needed a moment, if only a short one, to hash out a plan to deal with the camp.
the three mitachurls were standing besides the hut, two with shields and one with a crackling axe, electro dancing along the blade. xiao shifted, pivoting around the peak of the hut to move away from that one, the grass roof squishing below his feet.
the mitachurl’s ear twitched.
he shoved himself off the roof just as the mitachurl slammed the flat of its blade onto the roof, the whole shack shaking. electricity swarmed across the waterlogged roofing, reaching the opposite edge just as xiao dropped off it, landing between the other two mitachurls. they didn’t charge, nor attack, their motivations only made clear when the hiss of cryo froze out the lingering moisture in the air in front of him, effectively boxing him in.
the abyss mage swayed in its circle, staff glowing a sharp blue from within its bubble of frost.
“leave, adeptus,” it hissed, waving its staff in a circle. “you have no place here.”
xiao didn’t reply, instead picking apart his options. he couldn’t do significant damage to the shield mitachurls without utilizing his burst to destroy their shields, but that didn’t cover the mage at all… and he was still wet from the roof, so the mage would be able to freeze him within the time he had drawn in enough anemo energy to wield his mask with any level of efficiency…
he flexed his hand around his polearm. how had he gotten into this situation? his only options were to get lucky or teleport away, but even the latter of those relied on the first.
luck. how useless was he, to rely on luck-?
“‘adeptus’?”
the abyss mage startled at the voice, the cryo it had been swirling dissipating. both he and it turned to the side, to the entrance to the hut, where a figure could be seen just beyond the mitachurl.
his first instinct was that it was his god, and he briefly relaxed under the knowledge that he’d get out of this in mostly one piece.
his second was to recognize the torn clothing and dirt-smeared skin, and realize that you could never be his god.
xiao’s eyes narrowed, his spear twisting towards you faster than the distracted mage could react. you, his target, the one he had been seeking out, were hiding behind the abyss. he should have expected it, in truth, figured out the one known for going against the rules of nature would side with the most unnatural force, but that was not for now.
not now, when he was launched forward by the power of anemo, his spear driving him forward, barely skimming the mitachurl in favor of his true target: you.
your eyes barely had the chance to dart in his direction.
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xiao was, in truth, not the first one to see you.
many villagers had glimpsed you running around the outskirts of their villages, plucking apples and sunsettias off trees and taking mint from their gardens and leaving bundles of sweet flowers behind instead. they’d seen you, face half-covered in a poor mask made of scraps, your clothes that of the haphazard stitches of the hilichurls, which helped you blend into teyvat a bit more at the price of comfort. many had seen you and assumed you were a run of the mill thief, perhaps one taking advantage of the current hunt since the millelith were occupied. they wryly called you clever, warning the traveling merchants about you, the one they glimpsed at inane hours of night.
he wasn’t the first to see you, by far. he was, however, the first to recognize you.
he was the first to lay eyes upon your form and realize the truth, to realize that the blood seeping into your clothes was the color of stars and galaxies, to recognize that your heart beat blue.
the argument could be made that the hilichurls were the first, or perhaps the mages that had taken you in and brought you food, but it was not them that gathered you into their arms and whisked you away in a flash of teal, uncaring of the spike of cryo that drove into their side at the last minute. the hilichurls did not walk with frosted-over limbs, the abyss did not cry with a throat full of ice, calling for assistance in undoing their own crime.
xiao couldn’t decide whether it was lucky or not that baizhu was in the pharmacy, speaking with herbalist gui over the front desk. on one hand, it was best to have the most experienced healer in liyue at your side, but on the other..
“adeptus xiao, what is-…..”
confusion, then anger, then realization, all flashing over his face in an instant before he tilted his head and walked quickly to a back room, xiao following.
he busied himself with picking the ice off his body and clothes, ignoring the shake of his hands and the stench of blood in the room. the mage had pulled you from the point of his spear, but he still hit the side of your stomach, and he could tell it was messy.
knocks sounded at the door but baizhu turned them away sharply, only allowing qiqi to pass him a bowl of lotus seeds. he was focused, changsheng slithering off his shoulders to grab supplies as needed. time seemed to slow to a crawl, like xiao had entered a domain without an exit, filled with the iron smell of blood and the never ending chips of ice he peeled from his skin. it left behind stinging wounds and red marks, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.
what was his brief moment of injury compared to a scar upon his god?
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the moment that baizhu had stopped, all but collapsing into a chair and wiping off his hands with a tired call of ‘it’s done. the foundation will be okay.’ xiao had stood and left, biting his tongue through the protests of both his own body and the doctor.
he’d given changsheng his confession, but he did not wish to stick around and hear his verdict.
weeks later, morax came and visited him at the inn, carrying with him a plate of almond tofu and an apology. xiao leaned against the furthest edge of the balcony, curled around the plate, staying as far as he could from the one with your aura imprinted upon him.
he felt it, when zhongli had first come up the stairs. the shock, then the warmth, the all-encompassing comfort that soothed the pain from the bruising on his shoulder. he felt it, and knew that he did not deserve it.
“it’s not your fault,” zhongli insisted, baritone words colored with unreturned sympathy. “the fake… had fooled us all. even me. i cannot hold your actions against you when i myself would have done the same.”
and maybe that was true. maybe he would have drawn his own weapon, pierced your skin himself, acting on the orders of one who dared to take the place of the divine, but that was irrelevant.
xiao was the one who had hurt you. and it was entirely his fault.
almond tofu, his favorite dish, tasted bitter and sour on his tongue, almost akin to the pain medication that zhongli had made him drink after noticing how cautious he was with his injured arm. he’d made him take the first dose in front of him and swear to take the rest, with a long monologue about taking care of himself tacked on afterwards, but it was for nothing. aside from the first night he had it, xiao hadn’t touched the bottle. it sat on his nightstand, beside a bed he hardly used, taunting him when he returned earlier than usual.
he could take it. there was nothing stopping him from doing so, and he probably should if he wanted to return to his duties quicker. but every time he picked up the glass, thumb tracing over the engravings as he undid the top, he hesitated.
he could take it. he probably should. but did he deserve to?
you were still recovering, possibly still bedridden weeks later. your blood still stained his spear, dripping down to his palms, pale and scarred skin marked further with the blue and purple swirls of his sin. you were still in pain, still healing from a spear to your side, and he was here, reaching for medicine for a sore shoulder?
(it was worse than that. bone had knocked against bone, bruising beneath where muscle could reach. it ached even when he sat as still as possible, dragging him out of every attempt to meditate. the dark purple splotches stretched beyond his clothing, reaching across his back and up his neck, making nearly any action flare the wound. it was far beyond an over-exerted muscle or a particularly tiring day, and yet even the worst nights of his pain were staved off by the memory of having to wash blue off his blade. even as the latch on the bottle was undone, the lip pressed to his, he could never bring himself to drink it)
(even the small droplet of it on the rim, tasting of qingxin extract and violet grass, threatened to make him sick. how dare he?)
yes, it would likely only get him into more trouble were he found out, but he was careful not to be. whenever the wind brought him the heavy presence of geo, zhongli’s familiar footsteps climbing the stairs, he snatched the bottle and emptied it into the stone carving on the balcony, letting the medicine soak into the soil beneath it. it splashed when he was sloppy, the deep purple medicine appearing blue on the stone, sparking a memory that weighed harder on the pit in his stomach.
even as he handed the bottle over to zhongli, his jaw clenched from the strain on his shoulder. the action was stiff, jerky, but evidently smooth enough that it had passed his assessment.
zhongli tucked the bottle away, surprisingly not drawing out a new one.
“i am proud of you, and of the progress you have made,” he said, golden eyes softening in the light of dusk. “well done, xiao.”
how strange, he thought, watching him leave, that the very action that made his vision swim with unshed tears was one that was praised.
he wouldn’t complain, of course. he never would. this pain was his to bear, just as the burden of your bloodshed was his to shoulder. he was well aware his pain could never take back yours—though he wished, desperately, that he could move your injury to him. he wanted to be able to take on the physical reminder of his defect, to take the hit of his own spear to spare you from his lapse in judgement. he would take it, take ten times the pain you endured, if only it meant that your skin was free of his scars.
it would be an honor to assist the divine, even at the price of his own life.
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puhpandas · 7 months
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And How Big The Little Things Can Be
(2,196 words)
Evan reminisces over how cold his house feels compared to Gregory's warm one, and gets some help when his emotions over it all get too much to control. Oh, and its also Halloween. 🎃
Evan has always hated the cold.
His father will keep the house at below sixty constantly. Both his father and Michael like it that way. They like the house being so cold it nips at Evan's ears even during Winter.
It's why when Evan first got the chance, he'd used the little amount of money he'd made on his own to buy a couple sweaters. His clothes had already been getting too small because of his growth spurt, but his Father wont take him to buy a new wardrobe until he physically cant fit into them anymore, or he looks ridiculous wearing clothes that rise at his stomach and choke his collar.
His Father had long since convinced their neighbors of his... feelings about the way Evan is. So when Evan had offered to do work to make money when all he had was T-Shirts and tank tops and shorts, they'd jumped at the opportunity to pay him for doing work like a 'real man'.
Since then, the cold had been a little more bearable, even though he has to wear two layers of socks and retreat to his thick comforter after school if he has no business outside.
Autumn has long since arrived, with the leaves turning shades of auburn and yellow, grass yellowing, and Evan's school library having spiderwebs and skeletons decorating its insides. His sweaters have gotten more use since the season started, with the harsh heat finally cooling until theres a pleasant breeze, the feeling of Halloween just around the corner.
But his sweaters cant stop the feeling of always having that chill in his chest when he'd hear a thump come from another place in his house, or when he'd hear a door slam, and that would signal somebody being home.
What a stark contrast that is to where he is now, warm, bundled up, and comfortable.
Hes sitting next to Gregory on that scratchy rug his house has in front of its fireplace, lights dim, the sun having long set, with a fluffy throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders and tucked neatly between his legs. He has only one hand free, just to bring the hot, piping mug of delicious hot chocolate to his mouth.
Fragments of their Halloween costumes are strewn across the floor, half-finished and homemade. It's the night before Halloween, or Halloween Eve as Gregory likes to call it, and they'd both come up with the bright idea of having matching costumes this Halloween.
They'd run around all day, jumping from store to store to gather supplies, since Gregory insisted on making their costumes from scrap. They'd already been tired when Roxy had taken them home, but still persisted and almost completely completed their costumes in one night.
Evan's eyes had been left stuttering and heavy at the end of it, shoulders sagged and body weary, but Evan hadn't felt bad. It's the first time Evans found out there can be a good kind of exhaustion. Where you've spent all day having fun, and still feel the remnants of excitement in your stomach.
They'd chosen the generic Angel, Devil, theme, but Gregory had promised him they'd have plenty of time to get through them all, someday.
It's only Evan's first Halloween since meeting Gregory, and he'd tried not to appear too affected by Gregory's words right in front of him when he'd first said them.
Never has Evan felt so... so excited for Halloween. Usually, its just the perfect opportunity for Michael to grab a one dollar mask at their local Spirit Halloween, and scare the living daylights out of Evan when he'd come back home from a good day, turning it into a worse day, because he wouldn't be able to shake the fear from his chest the rest of the night.
But this year, Evan has Gregory. Evan has people who actually treat Halloween like something fun, to look forward to, and not just as an excuse to scare him. This year, hes going trick or treating with his best friend, his family, and Evan's going to enjoy spending time with them. No looming prescense of Michael, just waiting to strike, or his Father, waiting for any excuse to comment on Evan's nature.
Its the first time he's felt excited for something like this, instead of dreadful. It's the first time Evan's been able to sit comfortably, and think of the coming days as something to look forward to, instead of something uncertain to be scared of.
It's the first time Evan's been warm, comfortable, and content in a long time.
The room is silent; save for the crackling of the fireplace and the soft music Gregory's house always seems to have playing. The only other sound is the general presence of Gregory and Roxy in the room with him.
Which is why when Evan suddenly has a wave of emotion wash over him, Gregory immediately snaps to attention from where he was nodding off when Evan starts crying.
"Evan?" Gregory asks worriedly, letting the blanket fall of his shoulders when he twists his body to face Evan. "Hey, are you okay?"
Evan shakes his head, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "Im-- I'm alright." He sniffs, and looks away when the tears keep coming, hiding his face as much as he can in his blanket covered knees. "Um, dont worry about me, please. I'm okay, I swear."
Despite looking away, Evan can still feel Gregory's hovering, worried presence at his shoulder, and Roxys watchful gaze on him.
"Did something happen?" Gregory asks, spitfiring. "Evan, if somethings wrong, can you tell me? You know I never judge you. This time is no different."
Evan shakes his head, removing his face from the blanket and facing Gregory. "Theres nothing wrong." He promises, and at the look Gregory sends him, he insists. "No, I promise! I-I dont know what's wrong, or... why I'm crying. I was happy just a few moments ago."
Gregory looks as confused as Evan feels. All Evan can do is bring the sleeve of his favorite sweater up to his cheeks and wipe the tears away, even if more follow right after.
Roxy hums, and sets the laptop she had in her lap to the side, sliding off the armchair she was sitting in to sit in front of Gregory and Evan, careful to move the headbands with a halo and devil horns they had been working on out of the way.
"Evan," She starts gently when she settles. "Are you sad right now?"
Evan's eyes widen, and he shakes his head, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. "No! I'm not." He insists. "...Which is why I'm so confused as to why I'm crying."
Roxy just tilts her head, leaning on one arm on the floor. "Okay, then let me ask you this, bud." She starts. "Have you ever cried because you were just so mad, or frustrated?"
Evan only thinks about it for a moment, his head nodding almost immediately, because he doesnt even have to mull that over. Theres been so many times where Evan would just smush his face into his pillow, and scream as loud as he could in his house. Because frustration is an emotion Evan is so used to, when Evan will wonder why Michael hates him so much.
"Yes." Evan says after a moment. "Yes, I have."
Roxy just nods, smiling that kind, but also wolfish smile of hers. "Then have you considered the idea that you might be crying because you're so happy?"
That makes Evan pause. He freezes, taking a moment for Roxys words to process as he turns them around in his head.
...It sounds awful when he thinks about it, doesnt it? The idea that he didnt even consider the idea of being happy enough to cry, because all he'd ever known is being mad, or sad enough to cry.
But that's what it is. That's what he reflects on, when for the first time, he's introduced to the idea that maybe, his emotions are just felt times two, and sadness and anger isnt the only thing he can feel intensely.
And also, that hes finally in a place where being so happy he can cry is a possibility. Is a reality.
Gregory must have noticed his intense thinking face, because then he seems to sag in relief, chuckling and shifting to get more comfortable. "So you were just so happy, that you cried?"
Evan doesnt answer for a moment, then finally tears his eyes away from the hole he was burning in the rug to look at Gregory. He nods, at first slowly, then more sure of himself. "Yeah." He sniffs, smiling. "I-I think so, yeah."
"Phew!" Gregory says exaggeratedly. "You had me worried for a second. I was afraid we somehow made you sad, or something."
Evan laughs, too, more tears pricking his eyes and following the tracks down his face, but all he does is wipe them away. "Me too." He says. "I was just confused. Because I'm not really sad around you guys."
Gregory just grins at him and grabs him in a side hug, shaking him slightly, but Roxy just chuckles, and hums again.
"Hang on." She tells them. They pause, glancing at her questioningly. "You two know how I go to the gym every Friday?"
Gregory nods, his hair tickling Evan's cheek, and Evan does too. Evan's been friends with Gregory for multiple months at this point, and he remembers Roxy talking about her weekly errand.
"Well," Roxy begins, smiling and looking pointedly at Evan. "I go to the gym because like you, Evan, I feel my emotions more intensely than other people might. But instead of it being all of them, like you, I just felt angry a lot. And it could get worse, and then I would blow up at people, or cry really hard."
Evan listens intensely, eyes wide. He nods, an invitation for Roxy to keep going, and she keeps that encouraging smile on her face. "It was like that for a long time. From when I was your age, to when I was a teenager. But it was only that way because I hadn't found my outlet yet."
Evan tilts his head. "Outlet?"
"I found out that hitting, or punching things, helps me channel my anger into one place, and let it all out without it affecting me or somebody else in a bad way." Roxy explains. "It helps to know you have a special time and place to let the emotions that build up inside of you out, so when they start to get bad before you're at that special spot, you can control them easier. Save them for when you know you'll be able to let them out."
Evan nods rapidly, soaking up every word. Hes never heard an adult talk about things he struggles with seriously before, let alone somebody who also experiences the same problem, and knows how to help. "So if I punch things, will it help me not cry so much?"
Roxy shakes her head, still smiling. "Probably not, Rockstar." She tells him, but before he can get too disappointed, keeps going. "But, we dont know. Things may not be the same for you the way they are for me, but if you try things out, eventually, you'll find the way that works best for you to let all your emotions out, so you dont blow up or they dont get uncontrollable in places you dont want them to."
Evan smiles, running the words over in his head. It's the first time theres ever been any indication that he can change, not for his family, but for himself. It's the first time Evan's felt like theres light at the end of the tunnel when it comes to his inner turmoil.
"If I could do it, you can too, Evan. My family didnt know how to help, but it was their support along with my friends' that helped me learn how to help myself."
"Well, you got us." Gregory pipes up, voice loud in Evan's ear. Gregory squeezes his shoulders a little tighter, twisting his body to be in Evans field of vision. "I'll help you find what your..." He pauses for a moment. "outlet is. I promise."
Evan smiles, moving to shift his neck to be pressed against Gregory. "Thank you." He says. To both of them. He meets Roxys eyes, and tries to express his gratitude with just his gaze.
Roxy seems to understand, because she just nods at him, as if to say 'I know you'll do great'.
"You should try punching Michael to see if thats your outlet." Gregory says. "I think that's a pretty good idea."
Evan splutters a laugh at that, and he can see Gregory grinning, too.
Evan's eyes are heavy, and sore from crying. Both from the exciting day he just had and from the emotions he just filed through, so when he let's himself lean against Gregory, body weary and cheeks littered with dried tear tracks, Gregory sits strong, and leans back as well.
Evan falls asleep like that, surrounded by warmth in more ways than one.
ao3 link
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chocoenvy · 2 years
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Color me Blue
Vampire!reader x sagau!Tsaritsa(main) Venti, Zhongli (side)
part one
Notes: this makes no sense but it's just some archon/harbinger fluff bc i want it >:D
warnings: mild cult behaviors, fluff, somewhat romantic reader x tsaritsa, flirting
The cold snow of Snezhnaya couldn't dare to compare the sheer iciness of their Queen's eyes. The moment you laid your eyes on her, your entire being prickled with icicles. If you weren't careful you'd join the other lost objects in the snow.
The harbingers - who had led you to the throne room - left your side to join their Queen.
You had your own entourage, though you wouldn't exactly call it that. More like a few capable friends that could travel. It was only a few, not even half of the harbingers, but you were told it'd be unnecessary.
Your hands were sweaty through your gloves, your face heated from embarrassment as you merely stared at the Tsaritsa's admittedly beautiful eyes. You couldn't help glancing at Zhongli and Venti (both of which had insisted to come along despite their hidden archon status), did The Tsaritsa know who they were?
Sense kicked in after a moment of weakness and you lowered yourself to a bow, your lips parting to spout something formal, something you'd heard from a movie or a book before. You had no clue the correct customs but you could pretend and hope you wouldn't be faulted for such a short coming.
To your surprise, the exact opposite happened.
"Rise, your eminence," The Tsaritsa lifted her hand, an... oddly warm smile adorned her lips, "There is no need for formalities here."
You saw a flicker of fangs past her lips and you quietly gasped. You straightened your spine and took a bold step forward, grinning, "Thank you, your majesty, I'm honored. Though if there are no formalities here then I implore you to call me (Name)."
She hummed, a flicker of surprise shot past her eyes, gone as soon as it had appeared, "That's far too informal for someone as lowly as me to call you." Sarcasm dribbled from her words and you practically feel Zhongli bristling in anger, though you weren't bothered.
You put a hand to your chin in mock thought, still grinning ear-to-ear, "Then perhaps you should call me an informal title! Like dear! Or love-"
You were interrupted Childe erupting into laughter, along with a few of the other harbingers and a few of your "retainers". (It was Kazuha and Venti) Honestly though, you were surprised you weren't interrupted by Venti punching you or slapping your mouth shut. Though you supposed he was acting much more tame now that you were in The Tsaritsa's palace. He was just a "lowly bard" in the public's eyes, not to mention he and The Tsaritsa probably didn't have the best relationship considering she ghosted him.
"I never thought you to be so bold...dear," There was a playful glint in her eyes and in her fangs as the corners of her lips tugged upwards, "Then I suppose you'll have to call me a befitting name as well, won't you?" She tilted her head, almost mockingly.
You couldn't help the giggle that escaped your throat, just as you opened your mouth to retort with something stupid, you heard a groan.
"Stars above, get a room!" You recognized the monochrome haired woman with red x's for eyes.
Your laugh could only be described as an evil cackle, akin to a certain little red burny girl in Mondstadt after doing some absolutely heinous acts.
Zhongli was absolutely fuming, you swore you could almost see smoke coming out of his ears. You giggled and lightly smacked him arm, "Cheer up old man." He almost robotically switched up his expression at your words, "You want a nickname too?" You giggled, jokingly.
Zhongli lightheartedly glared at you, "With all due respect your grace, I'm okay." He pushed your hand off of him gently, though there was an amused glint in his eyes.
You giggled, "If you say so..."
You trailed off as you and Venti's eyes met. He clasped his arms around your neck to the point you were practically carrying him, "I'd like a nickname, your grace!"
You snickered at his antics, even more so when you saw how The Tsaritsa glowered down at the bard.
"What a cute little dog you have." The Tsaritsa gave a thin smile, "Perhaps you should teach it not to yap so much."
Venti merely kept grinning cheerfully at The Tsaritsa, though his grip on you ever so slightly tightened.
"Oh, sorry did I say dog? I meant bard."
She didn't mean bard. Though you found it more amusing than offensive. Perhaps you were stupid off the excitement, but all of your nervousness was evaporated at this point.
"The harshest words it seems, comes from the heart that bleeds." Venti smiled innocently.
The temperature in the room noticeably dropped, "A loud bard indeed." The Tsaritsa's gaze pierced deep into Venti's, though he was seemingly unphased. However if you paid close enough attention, you could almost feel a light gust of wind.
You roughly rubbed his head, messing up his hair affectionately, "Calm down, Venti. Last time you tried to have a rap battle with someone she beat you up."
Venti blinked and looked up at you incredulously, silently asking if you really just said that.
You patted his head, gentler this time.
*~
Things had calmed down significantly, and you were in a room with only the archons now, having some tea. Of course, with Zhongli and Venti being undercover you merely said that you chose two of your "retainers" to accompany you with your talk with the Tsaritsa.
"Morax, Benadryl," She hissed Venti's (incorrect) archon name, "It's been a while."
"That it has Miss Tootsie Pop!" Venti flopped down on a couch, taking up the entire space.
You unceremoniously snorted at their banter, "Seems you know who they both are." You mused.
"Considering the fact that I took their gnoses, of course I know them." The Tsaritsa elegantly sat down on a comfy couch, opposite Venti, her long and complex dress falling neatly around her.
"Still upset how my gnosis was taken." Venti pouted, already hanging upside down on the couch so you could sit next to him, "Seriously, Zhongli got to choose, Baal didn't even have her gnosis!" He groaned, "Couldn't you have been any nicer about it!"
The Tsaritsa crossed her legs and arms, an amused smile playing at her lips, "You wouldn't have given it up willingly."
"I might've!" He flailed his limbs comically, "You wouldn't have known, you beat me up as soon as you saw me!"
"I feel Rosalyne was justified in that scenario," The Tsaritsa put a hand on her cheek, "Mondstadt brings bad memories for her you know."
Venti huffed, crossing his arms, "Then why send her in the first place-"
"We didn't come here to bicker, especially in front of their greatness." Zhongli sipped at the tea that had been set out, "The tea is lovely by the way. I remember drinking the tea in Snezhnaya a very long time ago. Much has changed, but the tea is still as good as ever."
"Oh!" You perked up, "Just remembered!" You stood up excitedly, standing in front of the Tsaritsa. You pointed to your mouth, "You have fangs don't you?"
She blinked, surprised, "Ah, I do." She shuffled back, her eyes meeting yours coolly but if you weren't mistaken you could see a bit of embarasment.
You grinned, displaying your canines that were now elongating, "I do too! I'm a vampire!"
"Ah," She faintly smiled, shock coating her beautiful orbs, "I've heard a few things about their graciousness, however I was not aware of this." Her own fangs were on display with her smile.
"Wait- your fangs are bigger than mine!" You giggled, "That's not fair," You lightheartedly commented.
"Apologies your- oh should I be saying dear? I suppose you still have some catching up to do." She teasingly flashed her fangs with a grin.
You glared at her, "How hard do you bite? Where'd you even get those big of teeth from?" You unconsciously put your hand on her face to gently push back her upper lip, "I bet I could bite someone harder than you, or at least better. That's what I was made for after all." You hummed, "Perhaps we could test out our bites on something or someone!"
"Someone?" The Tsaritsa chuckled as you pulled your hand away from her mouth, "And who would be willing... well..." She covered her mouth with her hand in thought, "I'm sure Columbina wouldn't mind."
"I think she'd sooner bite me than I bite her," You chuckled nervously, "Maybe Arlecchino? I wouldn't feel too bad about biting her with all my strength, and I wouldn't fear for my life. Well, not as much as I would with Columbina."
The Tsaritsa
Meanwhile Venti was staring at the two of you, concern and uncertainty painting his features. On one hand, he wanted to offer himself for you to bite, but he did not want the Tsaritsa near him.
Zhongli saw Venti's frown and sighed, "Venti, if I were to give you some wine would you cheer up?"
He did, in fact, cheer up. However he was stuck on your back for the entirety of the night, even while you bit Arlecchino.
The Tsaritsa, sadly, had won.
"I don't get it!" You huffed, staring at the four angry red bite marks on Arlecchino that took over your bite with ease, "Compared to that my bite looks like a little dent! And I'm the vampire! Seriously your jaw unhinged what the hell!"
The Tsaritsa shrugged, a proud grin on her face.
Oddly it seemed that you and Arlecchino were the only ones with sour spirits. The other harbingers (Columbina specifically) were grinning ear to ear (and passing mora amongst themselves, the little bastards). While your "entourage" had somehow coalesced with the harbingers as well. You could've sworn you saw Kazuha give up a sack of mora to the tall dude with glasses. While Venti was drunkenly singing a song by Kazuha's side.
Half delirious and drunk off the atmosphere, in the end you all ended up listening to some of Zhongli's stories while slowly falling asleep (half of you were also tipsy somehow. You all blamed Venti in the morning for all the hangovers).
"By the way, Arlecchino." The woman looked at you curiously, a bandage around the shoulder you and the Tsaritsa had bitten, "Your blood is really tasty." You grinned.
She sighed, a slight red coating her cheeks, "Thank you I guess, your grace."
You yawned, slumping your head against the Tsaritsa's side, "Just call me... (Name)... Knave..."
You passed out before you heard her reply, or the end of Zhongli's story.
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floorpancakes · 4 months
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pondering the idea of drawing watanuki as luka in the tailor of enbizaka because watanuki doing Girl Horror and being driven mad by jealous misplaced paranoia and murdering a bunch of people because he thinks he's being cheated on then dressing up in all their clothes and then murdering doumeki sounds fun as a detached unrealistic juicy concept treat
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nonbinaryaubrey · 2 years
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imagine if you tried to reconnect with your old friend group after 4 years but then one of your old friends died and the other one moved away. which then ultimately lead to the rest of you dying. and you got trapped in your old friend's dreamworld, meet your other friend who died four years ago and then finding out you are going to lose all of your old memories slowly by being stuck here. would that be fucked up or what?
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exx-bee · 1 year
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au idea doodles :-)
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ofpd · 8 months
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i hate in modern aus when enjolras doesn't have good politics but that's bc 1) it's usually like that bc the people writing it don't have good politics which is annoying and 2) even if it was intentional like. unfortunately i would in fact kind of hate him for it even though hes fictional bc im weak. if i wasnt weak i'd say that people should make him a libertarian more bc that would be really really funny
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astro-b-o-y-d · 1 month
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It's funny to think about Mabel's reaction to finding out just how weird Dipper's home life is in the Grunkle Trap AU. But it's also not like she's got any room to talk when they're doing trivia on everyone in each other's lives and she starts talking about 'Grunkle Stan's old prison buddies! They're one of the reasons we have to move so often!'
Leaving Dipper to stare at her like '...Wait, will I be in danger if we go through with the swap?'
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zeb-z · 5 months
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Umm for the spotify wrapped thing, my lucky number 5?? For like a qsmp character ideally, if you want to ramble about an au u can >:3
send me a number 1-100 for a song and prompt!
Thank you for the ask! :3 I wanted to do something for Bad, because currently he is suffering the consequences of his actions now, but couldn’t quite write smth to fit the vibe of the song, yknow? So how about a bit of Quackity, and a mention of Tilin, in my Star Wars AU?
5 - Consequences - Lovejoy
Quackity’s pulse races in his ears as the cantina door slides open, revealing the Imperial officer he had bumped into an hour before.
He quickly looks back down to his drink, tugging his hood further in front of his face, and makes a point to study the way the condensation fogs up the crystalline glass. Maybe if he ignores him hard enough, through the pure please don’t-notice-me vibes he’s putting out, and the will of the goddamn force, he won’t see him. Like when you close your eyes during hide and seek, and no one else can see you, right?
A hand, calloused and heavy, falls on his shoulder. Shit.
“Come with me, son,” a voice says in his ear, that same thick drawl Quackity had pointedly ignored an hour earlier. “We don’t gotta make a scene.”
There’s a moment of silence, a single moment full of too many options and subsequent consequences, to possibly run through each choice in his head.
He doesn’t want to follow anymore than he had in the first place, when the officer had stopped him, read him out his full government name, and asked if they could chat a while. He doesn’t want to get taken like he knows others have been, behind the doors of that concrete ISB building, to never be seen again. He doesn’t want this Empire loving freak breathing heavy down his neck, holding him down with an oppressive hand.
Ah fuck it, he’s a dead man walking, anyway.
Quackity grabs the officers hand at the same time he stands up, elbowing back with his opposite arm right into the man’s nose. His vision starts to swim with the sudden motion, and he blinks furiously, but somehow still manages to slip out of the Imperial’s grip. He doesn’t stop moving - he can’t - stumbling from there straight to the door and out into the air of Coruscant.
Fuck, he’s not sober enough for this.
He picks a direction and runs, ignoring the shouts behind him. Neon lights blur, the noise of night life and smell of metal and booze only serving to make him nauseous. Adrenaline keeps him moving, past a startled patrol of troopers who barely miss grabbing him, into a maze of side roads and alleys, where he hopes to lose them.
He somehow manages to make it to the hovertrain station, jumping through the doors right as they start to slide closed. His shoulder collides against the opposite wall, hard, and he crumples to the ground.
He groans, hardly noticing the startled looks of the other passengers as he curls up and closes his eyes.
He knew he should have been more careful. Should have found someone better than him to cover his tracks when he had gone snooping. Should have kept a level head when he had found Tilin’s file in the ISB’s records, with a terrifying amount of information locked behind far more secure firewalls. Instead he had panicked, and gone out to drown his sorrows. Their blacked out photo swims behind his eyelids, red bow just peeking out above the box. Classified, classified, classified-
The hovertrain jolts to a stop, and Quackity’s stomach jumps into the back of his throat.
As soon as he felt less like throwing up all over the grimy floors of Coruscant public transportation, he’d figure it out.
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necrothezma · 1 year
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I know I shouldn't give these kinds of people the time of day or any attention but I'm just like ... How do you think like. How do you think like this. what is your thought process of " it's a fictional character so they can't be a child or teenager " like ??? I think they're just trying to defend ns//fw of children because hurr duhh uhhh durr fiction doesn't affect reality I can draw horribly disgusting things of a 14 year old character because it doesn't hurt anyone it's not a REAAL child !!1!!
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m1d-45 · 1 year
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To My Beloved Scholar, Alhaitham.
How have you been, my dear scribe? Taking care of yourself, I hope! It would make me sad if you weren't taking care of your body. I know you are very busy, but make sure you're getting proper food, water, and rest! I'd hate for you to wear yourself out!
I'm sorry I haven't been wishing very often. I very much want to bring you home, but I don't want to take you away from your duties as a scribe. I know how much your work means to you, my dear. You work so hard and put so much effort into everything you do, I'm so proud of you!
When you finally find yourself free from your work, even for just a bit, look to the night sky for me. Don't worry, I'll know when the time is right. I'll send a star to you, and if you feel like you're ready, just reach out. I'll be happy to bring you home, my beloved scholar.
See you soon, dear!
-Icarus
(Attached to the star is a book of myths and legends from another world. There is a lace bookmark, marking a page labeled "The Legend of Icarus". There's a small note that reads, "I chose to borrow this name because I like the story! :)" )
(This is sibling anon btw)
alhaitham looked up from his desk at the bright light at his window, atypical for this time of night. he has to lean back a bit in his chair to see what’s beyond, to see the unnaturally bright stars dropping from the sky. he’s transfixed, for a moment longer than he’d normally be, watching the glittering stars fall. starshowers are typically mostly blue, which is what separates them from regular meteor showers or shooting stars, and this much gold is statistically impossible…
similarly impossible is a star floating down to his window.
yet that’s what happens. a spiky sphere-like star, as wide as a piece of paper is long, bumping against the glass of his window as if upset he hasn’t let it in yet.
alhaitham stands, unlatching the window, and the star slips in the moment the gap is large enough. it floats, and crumbles when he touches it. he hastily shuts his window, clutching at the remnants of the star before the contents can fall too far. a piece of paper slides onto his windowsill, but he caught the book in his hands fine.
…a book?
it’s plain, a simple hardback with the words ‘legends and mythos’ scrawled across the front in embossed cursive. there’s a bookmark in it, surprisingly, and when he opens it he’s taken to the beginning of a chapter.
the note makes him pause, but he ultimately decides to set it aside. it’s only when he picks up the paper from his windowsill that it makes sense anyway.
his first response is to frown. who would call him their ‘beloved’? ‘dear’? who knew him by name and asked him to take care of himself, who sent messages through-… stars…
…ah.
he’s thankful there’s nobody to see him behave so foolishly- he chalks it up to the late night, to the lack of rest (proven to decrease cognitive function in a variety of animals, including humans) and the peculiarity of the situation. so he starts again, reading your letter with less the mind of a cynic and more one of a follower.
and when you call him your beloved for the second time, he manages to smile, eyes locking on the borrowed name.
when the time comes, he wonders, will he know the one that’s yours?
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mejomonster · 2 years
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I just realized my reader target audience is like. Likes horror but mostly just for the action/metaphor/fantasy elements of it all, mostly coming for the hurt/comfort and healing. So yes similar to the dmbj audience probably
#rant#djdjj i just. realized my not super niche weilan au#is definitely in the horror genre#like. its not gonna be that scary? but i saw a mermaid movie once where#the mermaid ate ppl on a ship and was the main monster and Character#and that 1 deeply affects how i tend to write mermaids and imagine them#2 thats kinda my take on Many fantasy things tbh like#i have an oc universe called The Blank Files and like. theres not a lot of genuinely evil dangerous ppl#but there is a lot of fantasy creatures doing whats Normal for them but terrifying for others#its very much like. idk if u view#a wolf or a lion as scary. theres this hangup in the narrative about it cause fantasy creatures are aware like humans#of their own morality. the same way a human who defends themselves in a fight or runs for their life#is aware of their own values and capacity for violence to survive. so like. if a lion was aware it would fight another lion to protect its#family. ans that lion contemplated the morality of it. if a lion felt bad for eating a zebra sometimrs. but was like what else am i gonna#eat. its not depicted so much as horror as just like. very human questions of self Projected onto what we consider monsters#like if a mermaid were a real flesh eating animal? it would just be doing what humans do#to whatever its prey is. but because it would be smart like a human. would it feel bad if it ate other things as smart as it?#its very Jennifers Body or Ginger Snaps type horror. in that its not so much scary#as it is the mundane fears we have turned into a Fantastical situation#which The Lost Tomb Reboot did Well and i very much love#in fact most of my fave rhings do it. like Love and Redemption with demons.#and usually i jusr use the horror/fantasy as a way for ppl to be on an adventure (action) as a backdrop for#them to figure stuff out about themselves and heal amd support each other#which now that i write that. is very similar to Guardian dramas approacj#which partly explains why its an absolute fave drama of mine lpl
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chocoenvy · 2 years
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An Unaware Drunkard
Piece of shit vampire!reader x Yandere!Darling & Tsaritsa
notes: once again Eros has infected me with his wonderful brainrots. I wanted to add more to this but I wasn't sure how to continue so I'm just letting it out there, if a part two is requested I might make one >:D (also highkey stole the nicknames from @/nicebonescomrade bc they put "little love" in a fic once and i haven't been the same since/pos)
Warnings: Reader is a bad person, blood, mutilation, manipulation, kidnapping, implied(?) drugging, very yandere everyone in this relationship sucks literally
It wasn’t a bad thing.
That’s what they’d repeated to you over and over again, and it’s what you’d slowly come to believe.
That sitting complacent and useless on their laps wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, it was a good thing. You were safe and well cared for and completely dependent on the two.
And yet as you did your usual routine of sitting on one of their laps, useless and ignoring the jealous glares around you, you urged for something. It stirred within your stomach uncomfortably until it got to your chest and then your throat.
The Tsaritsa looked down upon your form, “Hm? Are you hungry, little love?” She tilted your chin up with her hand, much larger than your own.
You didn’t even have to answer her, you didn’t think you could. Your eyes were slits, fangs elongated until they were poking your bottom lip, and your nails sharp enough to tear human skin to shreds.
“Oh dear,” The Tsaritsa frowned, already moving her wrist up to her lips, her own fangs- much larger than yours- peeking out behind her lips, “You should’ve said something.”
Her fangs dug into her skin and you were already mindlessly grabbing her wrist to quench the undying thirst in your undead heart. She merely giggled as you drank from her wrist, your fangs digging into her skin though never breaking it.
“Hm,” Tsaritsa wiped the blood off your lips after you’d pulled away, “You drank much more than usual…” You hummed, nuzzling into her soft fur coat. “Perhaps you’re craving Darling’s blood…” She mused to herself.
Perhaps you were, as the craving deep in your chest still ate away at your thoughts hungrily until the only thing you were thinking about was tearing someone apart just like you used to do before Darling and the Tsaritsa borderline kidnapped you.
…ah.
It clicked in your head what was missing. It wasn’t a craving for blood per say, but a more selfish desire. The same one that got you trapped in this grandiose palace as a lapdog.
The desire to hunt.
Because in your eyes, humans were puny little things. Cute, fun to chase, and exquisite in taste. Honestly you never thought you’d be the lapdog, you thought it’d perhaps be something similar to your parents. That you’d find a cute little human and have “mercy” on them by taking them in as your partner.
How cruel of the world to turn your expectations on their head. Because in two gods’ eyes, you were puny, weak and helpless and adorable.
You couldn’t even break their skin to feed from them - and only them as they had told you, because you deserve only the best blood. You had no power here and no freedom.
Your nails dug into the Tsaritsa’s arm.
She giggled, “Getting sick of me already? Do you miss Darling that much?”
You didn’t say anything, a small growl exiting your lips as you bit down on her arm. With the humans in those villages, a bite of this force would have them screeching, their legs buckling from under them as they begged you for mercy.
How you longed to hear her scream in pain.
She merely grabbed your slightly pointed ear with her clawed hands and tugged on it, digging her nails ever so slightly into the skin there,“Come then, little love,” She sighed, but her smile never faltered, “If you miss them so much let me take you to them.”
You let go of her arm - angry at the minimal marks you had left - and met her eyes with a furious glare.
She wasn’t phased in the slightest, and picked you up with ease. Although it wasn’t in the slightest way romantic as she grabbed you by your collar, picking you off her lap so she could stand. Then she had you sit on her arm as she carried you to wherever Darling was.
You wrapped your arms around her neck to stabilize yourself (and even if you hated her guts, her coat was soft as hell and you were getting some desperately needed affection out of this). Darling wasn’t too far away - they never were - and the Tsaritsa plopped you on their lap.
“They missed you, I think they’re hungry.” Her smile was sickening, ruining your appetite.
You bit into Darling hatefully, putting your all into making them feel just an ounce of the pain and frustration you felt everyday living with them. You knew they’d make you feed on them either way, so you decided you might as well get your frustrations out before you became completely useless after drinking their blood.
The chuckle that escaped Darling’s throat made your stomach churn, “Looks like the little lamb,” Your fangs dug even deeper into them, “Is starving.”
They tugged you away from their shoulder, and you growled at the fact there wasn’t even a mark there.
Darling brandished their neck to the Tsaritsa and she gently bit down on the skin. Even her large and sharp fangs - ones that rivaled Morax’s own dragon teeth - struggled to break her skin. But they did, and she pulled away, spots of golden ichor on her lips.
Darling brought your head back towards their neck, a silent command for you to drink and like a dog, you obeyed.
The effects of their blood impacted you almost immediately. Your mind being covered in fog, uncaring of what they were saying or doing. You barely even registered their hand rubbing your back or brushing through your hair.
Ichor would kill a human, you and they knew that, but it seemed for you - who thrived off of blood - it had the opposite effect. And they used that knowledge to the very best of their ability. They were well aware of your bitterness towards them, your resistance, the way you’d constantly bite, hit and scratch at them. There was no fondness in your eyes, they both knew you wanted their blood to spill until there was nothing of them left. They knew that when you sucked their blood up eagerly, it was partly because of the addicting effects it had on your body, but also because you wanted to suck them dry. Until their bodies were unmoving for the rest of time.
That was your justification for why you were greedily sucking up Darling’s blood. You could at least pretend you weren’t severely addicted to the sheen golden liquid, that you were doing it in the hopes of finally murdering them. Even though you knew full well that it was just a fantasy. That even though you dreamed of their lifeless body and dead eyes that wouldn’t meet yours so condescending, you knew it’d never happen.
They’d always be there throughout your immortal life, haunting you just as you had haunted the people of Snezhnaya. Though at least they got the sweet release of death, you had no break from the constant pain of being seen as less than. No one was afraid of you, everyone thought you were just a pretty dog to look at to stare at. The rabid animal that the Tsaritsa and Darling had tamed.
You drank until you were forcibly removed, your fangs still bared and a growl still in your throat. Darling’s smile had bile tickling the back of your throat as they situated you on their lap once again, the wound on their neck sealing up quicker than it’d been bit into. Their hands weaved their way through your hair, playing with your fingers and whatever other part of you they wanted to.
You were motionless, your nose buried in their neck and eyes glazed over. You gently breathed in their expensive perfume, the aftertaste of ichor on your tongue, and the world faded away.
As usual you woke up in the dead of night, a habit practically burned into your soul and you thanked whatever merciful gods that Darling and the Tsaritsa weren’t forcing you to break it. Though you could feel your body pressed up against the Tsaritsa’s, her cold body temperature digging into your bones. Then there was Darling, directly behind you. Their warm lips right next to your ear but not a single breath fell upon your skin, their chest didn’t rise or fall.
With a sigh, you gently sat up in the bed, your head spinning. Darling’s arms - that were previously wrapped around you possessively - followed you up. Their hand resting on your waist before falling down to your thigh to rest there.
They were awake.
When were they not really? They merely laid with you and the Tsaritsa in bed and pretended they needed rest so they could keep their ever watchful gaze on you. Still, as you slipped to the end of the bed they didn’t stop you. Your bare feet touched the icy ground of the Zapolyarny palace, but no chill traveled up your spine. Your heart didn’t stutter with the realization of the freezing cold, and you didn’t immediately jump back into the bed, into the warm arms of Darling.
Because you were dead. Because you were a monster. And monsters want to terrorize and have power. You were no different.
You exited the room, you could feel Darling’s golden gaze locked onto your form like a cat ready to pounce on their prey. If you looked back at them, you’d be able to see their eyes clearer than day and the sickening grin that never seemed to leave their face when you were around.
You ignored all of it and stepped out of the room. The cold halls empty, the wind whirring in the background, almost as an omen for the night ahead.
A grin slid onto your face, your fangs peeking out from behind your lips. You always liked bad omens.
You disregarded the neatly laid halls in front of you and opted instead to jump out the nearest window. Not like the fall would kill you (if Dottore’s weird ass experiments and his newfound obsession with wooden stakes and the church of Mondstadt hadn’t killed you yet, nothing could), and you fell down gracefully into the snow. You stretched your limbs, the pops and cracks most definitely not something a normal human would find comfort in. In fact, if a human were to stretch their limbs like this they’d break. You knew, you’d done it to them before.
Still, after a few months (years? You sure hoped it wasn’t years.) of being domesticated your body had tightened up. You weren’t as nimble as you were when you were running away from the Fatui everyday, dodging and getting hit with literal bullets. Back then you also hadn’t drunk this much blood, much less ichor. Which no doubt had some affect on your mental and physical state.
But you didn’t care as you raced through the snow, the cold freezing over whatever was left of your heart from the centuries you’ve roamed and terrorized Teyvat. There were little tracks in the heavy snow, and you could hardly sniff out any prey, but that was fine with you. You weren’t hunting to eat, you were hunting for fun. The ultimate sin of a predator to a prey, to toy with them. To make their life a game, even more so with the intelligence of the human race.
Though you didn’t care. As you said, you didn’t have a heart and there was no room in heaven for a blood sucking monster such as yourself. So you didn’t care about sin, you only cared about having fun. And the most fun you’d get was from finally being back in control of a life. Not necessarily your life, but a life nonetheless.
That’s when you heard it among the howling winds. The sound of bustle, the late night outings before going back home. You bared your teeth in a grin and darted towards the noise. The moment your eyes landed on a human, their heart beating in their chest, your mind went blank.
In the end, you barely remembered what happened. All you knew was that their blood was disgusting, compared to the luxurious ichor you were fed daily, regular human blood now tasted like garbage. Even still, you didn’t stop. Red blood decorated your face, stained your hands crimson, practically covered you from head to toe as you relished in the fact that finally finally when you bit down on someone with all your force they’d scream.
Granted, no longer did their limb tear off when you bit on it. You were getting weaker, and the thought caused a chilling cold to overcome you. Though the cold realization didn’t last as you granted a different kind of high compared to the one Darling’s blood gave to you.
Your grin was maddened and the sound of men, women, and children alike screaming for their lives brought an immense amount of joy to you. The adrenaline coursing through you was enough to get drunk on even with the taste of their blood no longer bringing any satisfaction. At least in this moment you were, in some sense, free. You could control something now, and that was how many limbs all these people lost.
However, in your maddened state, you failed to hear the steps behind you. Or perhaps they had masked their steps or something of the sort. Either way, it was too late when you felt a harsh fist grab your hair and pull you into the chest of a sweet-smelling god.
“Looks like you’ve been having fun, hm?” You felt their grin and teeth on your ear.
A whine escaped your throat and you thrashed wildly, clawing at them, biting them, bashing your head against theirs, kicking, screaming and cursing. None of it worked as they tore the skin off their wrist and shoved it in your face.
“Drink.” There wasn’t any room for argument but you still tried to make room as they pressed it right up against your lips.
You drew your lips back in a snarl, but the sweet smell invaded your senses until before you knew it you were desperately sucking on their wrist. And god was it so much better than the regular blood red you’d been drowning yourself in. You couldn’t stop yourself from drinking, even whenever Darling’s grip went lax. You held their wrist up to your lips and drank until you didn’t even know what you were doing. You didn’t notice that you weren’t standing anymore or that you were being moved. All you knew was that their blood was truly divine until eventually your mind slipped away and your body shut down to sleep.
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nzap-85 · 2 years
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wish i could just block everyone that engages with the self aware gen/shin thing </3
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