When It's The Right Person But It's The Wrong Time

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Not your chosen one

"I do." No, you really didn't. And as he spatted the same words you knew that he was lying too.

Synopsis: Two Clans, only one goal. Have a Gojo heir and keep them in power. Satoru and you couldn't be more different. You two were raised completely different. While he is reaching for freedom, you can only hope to have a good prison.

Could your marriage ever be a success?

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Contains: strangers to lovers, slow burn, arranged marriage, angst to comfort

Status: ongoing

Author's note: I really don't know when this will be finished, I can be very inconsistent with my writing, so be warned! I try to keep my writing without any grammar mistakes but please have in mind, English isn't my first language!

Not your husband

Contains: arrangement between the clans about your marriage, origin of your marriage, Gojo is a bit of an asshole, traditional trauma

Not fulfilling meals

Contains: Gojo sucks at communicating, first meeting with the higher ups, talking about pregnancy and 'heir', first step towards each other

Not my honeymoon

Contains: the discussion of your honeymoon (who would have guessed?), little argument with Gojo, Gojo tries to be more approaching

Not alone

Contains: a nightmare, Satoru trying to be charismatic, fluff,

Not your letter

Contains: oh oh... Well not out yet.

More will be added...

Ongoing Taglist (I will try to add everyone here, as the series progresses, but I will still tag everyone on every part):

@zoeyflower @bubera974 @ssetsuka @lady-of-blossoms @peqch-pie

@karlaolea @slut-for-fictional-men @tnt-kokoo @gojoscumslut @sillyfreakfanparty

@tbzzluvr

@emi311 @the-number7 @o-ikawaii @doodle-cat16 @yozora7154

@levisfavoriteteashop @roscpctals99 @starlightglimmersworld @manyuyuu

@dahliawarner @aliisinwonderland @lov3vivian @inthedarkshadows000

@haikyuusimpsblog @sheismaryy @asahinasstuff @honeydew-cheesecake

@sanriosatoru @kimsrie @444na0m1 @humongousdreamlandbear

@elitesanjisimp @dummyf @elernity

@s4ikooo1 @roseyposeylemonsquozey @shitforbrainsmal

@mo0nforme @local-mr-frog @lovemiss-vale @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore

@holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @meowforluv @rirk-ke

@certainduckanchor @uknowimdumb @smolbeanzzz @deliciouslydeliciouspenguin

@bloopsstuff @rnriz

Mercy ✤ Xiao

A/N: After months, finally, another platonic angst lands. Are you dearies prepared? :")) Onwards!

✤ Mentions of death, violence, and blood

"Text in this format is a dialogue in flashback."

Words: 11k

Memories.

Oh, the significance they hold.

They say a moment should always be treasured—for that transient second can only be relived once… until it is but a part of the past.

To the unaging, these moments are treasures. Locked away and kept safe in a chamber full of many a different fortune.

To the ‘immortals’, these are but scenes that constitutes only a small percentage of their eternity. They are bound to be remembered, never to be forgotten.

There is beauty in remembering, though.

After all, aren’t happy times meant to be reminisced over in the first place?

Ah… but there also exists, in the parallelism of yin and yang; dark and light, good and evil.

Sanctuary and prison.

Comfort and torment.

Joy and misery.

“Brother,” you call him. Gentle, thoughtful.

Throughout the thousands of years, you have grown to be shrewdly cognizant of these mirrors—these parallels. The warm color of golden irises belies the coldness they hold within as he turns, begrudged.

Unwilling. Almost disdainful.

Unbefitting for someone bound with you by blood.

Ah, these parallels.

“What do you want?” he answers you. Guarded and apathetic.

It looks like you won’t be able to share a meal with him again. You’ll have to try again… later.

How can you not be aware of them?

You smile bitterly, “… Nothing.”

His scowl deepens, “Then leave me be.”

When you both exist as each other’s opposites?

It has been like this ever since the day you have opened your eyes to meet those of his; a pretty gold, warm yet guarded. You don’t share any similar features with him, only the same ichor that runs within.

You can’t say that you’re both particularly close to start with, because you’re not. There is always some sort of rift that divides the plane you’re both standing on, frozen and unmoving.

Still, in spite of the distance between you, animosity never exists.

You can never hate your own kin and based on the junctures when he’s gruffly ascertaining your physique after a nasty fight, he doesn’t hate you, either [right?]

That’s a good thing, no?

From the moment you learned how to fly and balance yourself in the air, he’s been more attentive, almost proud—but you’re not sure. All you can remember is the time he looked so happy.

But that had been millenniums ago and he never really solidified whether he was elated over your self-taught flight or not.

For Xiao never speaks out on his feelings, so you do the same, thinking that it’d only be bothersome and you’d hate to subject trivial things unto him. Not when he’s done so much for you.

“Why are you still here?” the entrance of his voice yanks you from your headspace and you flinch, seeing him glower at you. “And why have you transformed and left your cage?”

He sounds particularly brusque, on the fine line of snapping with aggro. You cannot avoid the second flinch, aware that he doesn’t take kindly when rules meant to keep you safe are broken.

All endeavors to retrieve the courage you’ve brought are successful and you sigh. “I just… well, you’ve been out here for so long.”

I miss you.

Is what you’re trying to say—but you don’t, because he doesn’t like things like that.

All platonic sorts of advances such as mere hugs and touches are avoided and dismissed as a nuisance. He’s always been indifferent to those, but after the War… he’s just become completely against it.

Besides, the two of you aren’t that close to begin with, but after the cataclysm and almost being put in a state of incapacitation, his presence grew more.

How can you not feel as though he’s home, itself?

Xiao’s stare becomes sterner, as though he can’t believe the words spilling from your lips. “Naturally, this is my duty; to protect and remain vigilant. Respites contradict that.”

You swallow thickly, a little peeved that he’s still spouting things about the contract and his duty to Liyue as if the rise of the Liyue Qixing didn’t nullify his contract binding him to Morax.

“Rex Lapis is gone,” you do not stop even when his gaze becomes dangerous, “He has terminated the contracts that bound the Adepti to protect Liyue for its citizens have grown stronger.”

He finally turns your way, and you would’ve been elated that you have gotten his whole attention if not for the ugly cause of it. “I do this out of my own volition.”

“And you don’t think to just… rest? For a while? Liyue can last a day without your watchful eye.” When he directs his sight elsewhere without an answer, you grumble, letting disbelief and annoyance cloud your rationality.

“Everything doesn’t have to be Liyue or that stupid contract—”

It happens in a blink of an eye.

“Watch your tongue.” There’s a huge gust of wind that blows your way with a snappy turn of his head towards your direction and the glow of his eyes have gotten menacing.

“Until this day, I continue to do my duty as reverence to the Archon who saved us. Have you forgotten?”

To this, you fall silent, nibbling on your lips, agitated.

For the record, you haven’t forgotten. How could you?

“He’s the same Archon who showed you mercy and you think to belittle his only remuneration for it?” Xiao all but hisses through gritted teeth, appearing beyond pressed at the implication of the contract being nothing but a nugatory matter worth turning over.

You observe the way his fingers twitch, restrained from clenching into fists in an obvious way to quell his growing anger. That’s right, he’s always so miffed whenever someone talks about the Archon.

An understandable thing, really—but can’t he see where you’re coming from?

You only wanted his time, too.

So even if shame prickles your chest—because the mercy Morax has shown you is not a simple thing and you should be grateful, which you are—you stand your ground.

“I served him, too.” You manage to say through the exacerbating cloud of exhaustion within. “In case you’ve forgotten, brother, I am an Adeptus. I fought for him, too!”

You do not remember much of the fighting, but you do know that you fought for Morax’s side eventually.

Breath starting to hitch and falter, you pause, your shaky hand clinging onto the wooden railings of the balcony to keep yourself upright.

The telling signs of deterioration and death are enough to prompt you to transform into your avian form and rest in the gilded cage, but you don’t.

Not yet.

You exhale, “Was that not enough?”

If your brother has gotten alarmed of your state, then you don’t know—your eyesight is already blurring.

“It never was.” Is his response, cold.

You feel your heart dropping—but deep down, you know that it’s true.

It’s far from being enough.

“After obtaining power that you used to smite the helpless and the dreamless, did you think your measly centuries-long service was enough after he saved you?”

Trapped in the usual harrowing haze brought by the repercussions of that mentioned power, you can feel it starting to pick away at your mind again.

It drapes you over in its shadow of death, and you feel yourself losing, but-

“I—”

“Stop being selfish, [Name].” just seeing him walk away—marking the end of another imbroglio—reawakens the fire in your chest. Providing sufficient fortitude for you to exclaim in retaliation.

“I did it for the both of us!” he pauses in place.

Your head splits at the sudden rise of your volume, unused to the chaos like you were centuries past. It almost sends you fainting, but despite your wobbling legs, you stay standing.

His attention once more grasped in the transience of a second, you say again, this time with a voice as feeble as a sickly child.

“… I did it for you, brother.”

Though it ended up being useless.

He doesn’t turn around, even when you are at your most vulnerable; showing a side you haven’t shown to anyone, not even him, until now.

You believe you’ve gotten to him, you believe it has done an impact—that he’ll stay for once.

“I didn’t ask for you to do it.”

But of course, he won’t.

His frigid response, dipped with potent insouciance, almost sends you to your knees in defeat and loss. How can he sound so uncaring? How can he… not care?

Do you really mean so little? Compared to his duties? That he can’t even spare a day?

Xiao begins to vanish in black and turquoise wisps, signs of his teleportation skill at use, and you all but crumble at the sight.

Even with the hazardous threat of total decay, you step forward, wanting to reach out to him but you don’t let go of the railings.

If you do, you will fall. And you have a feeling that he won’t catch you if he did.

“I’ll join you.” Your weak insistence makes him scoff.

“If this is your way of redeeming yourself, then it’s ridiculous.”

His words stab through you like the repercussions of the power you greedily sought for a long time ago. Only, his hurts more—for his cuts through the fiber of your very existence and burns the blood you share with him.

Without looking back at you, he declares.

“You’re now nothing more but a carapace of the warrior you’ve been. You’ve gotten weak, you’re not meant for anything in the battlefield.”

The battlefield; the only place you could have shown your worth and aid. The only place where you can help. But not now, not ever.

Unable to find both the strength and voice to muster a reply, you remain wordless, too busy trying to regain your breathing. Cold sweat runs down the expanse of your temple, dripping down your chin and onto the floorboards that are starting to swarm with black and cyan.

“Leave.” comes his command. “You’re just being absurd, straining yourself this way.”

The balcony gets colder, telling of the lack of his presence. His presence that, albeit perceived as cold, has a vestige of warmth. A trace of who he had been, millenniums ago.

At his disappearance, you allow yourself to succumb to the weakness, dropping to your knees and leaving the form of a human.

It is beyond exhausting to stay in that physique, a vessel often used to fight.

You don’t know what compelled you to appear to him in it—maybe it’s because it’s how you’re usually around him back then? Back when you were untarnished by the corruption of a power so malefic? You don’t know.

The glow of [c] dies down and the world has gotten bigger, as expected given your small avian shape. Decay’s prognosis is thwarted and slow, as it’s always been whenever you take up on your original form.

Your human vessel speeds it up, hence its limited usage.

Aside from approaching your brother today, you can’t remember the last time you’ve been human.

You mean humane, whispers the demon in your head.

A phantasmagoric devil, a remnant of the god you foolishly served. Thinking about her just makes your insides churn.

Dispelling the delusory fiend, you take flight, heading towards the lower and vaster balcony, right at the level where the front desk and Verr is.

Facing the view of Liyue, near the threshold to the interior, hanging by the beams is a cage embellished in gold.

Its elaborate decoration often attracts people, awed at the décor and the little [c] bird inside. You do not mind them, for you are asleep most of the time. They marvel over the intricacy of the aureate cadre, unaware of the salubrious and restorative enchantments set upon the container itself.

Entering the cage with ease, you drop onto soft [c] padding blanketed with mounds of fabric that mimics a bed. Immediately, inside the enclosure, the exhaustion and threat of staying outside is ceased—and serenity fills your whole being.

It’s peaceful, you denote as you’re slowly being brought to a slumber. However, even with the comfort brought by the golden jail, your heart thrums with unease.

Your mind paints the image of your dear brother.

There is a reason why you stay locked up in it, despite it being an actual representation of both a prison and a sanctuary.

You fall asleep with a tear slipping from your closed eye.

It delays the indemnifying declension that was born out of a past desire.

“Lower your stance a little more, feet square on the ground. They direct your movements.”

Kicking his polearm into his grip, he mimics your stance and, with a swift revolve on the terrain, his feet skid with finesse. It sets the foundation of his next course of action, dragging his body to twist with spruce and power at the same time.

You watch it, astounded.

Your awe comes out in a prolonged ‘oh’, succeeded by silent yet rapid claps.

Alatus huffs at it and he looks more uncomfortable than thankful, but the tips of his ears are flushed cerise. He would’ve been teased a ton if you’re not aware of the fact that he dislikes it so much.

Add to that the reason that you aren’t that close to be actually teasing him…

Outside the intrinsic mutualism that acknowledges the other as kin, and outside the days where you both spend it training, your interests with him do not align. So, it’s often a little awkward, in the sense that it feels like you’re in an estranged bond.

Despite it, however, you want to be close to him. Your family.

Your attention is retrieved when you see your polearm being flung your way and you gasp, hurrying to catch it in your arms and—success! Oh, you don’t know what you’d do if you failed to catch your own weapon… the embarrassment.

Alatus nods at you with folded arms, situating himself above a rock a few paces away from his previous place.

“Go. Do it until you perfect it.”

“Eh?”

He means he’ll watch you train? Oh dear, well, all the more to give this your best shot!

Moving your extremities to the proper position you’ve been displayed with a moment ago, you breathe in deeply and clutch the polearm before swinging with a cry.

“Hah!”

You’ve been alive for a millennium, and for ages, you can only recall how you’ve been at your brother’s side and vice versa. The snippets of your childhood are forgotten in the mist within, only being able to reminisce about your first day of flight.

A flight that you shared with him. And that’s where your memory stops.

Throughout the years, you’re never at one place, either. Maybe it’s because of your avian nature—ironic, since you both venture the lands in human forms—but traveling the world comes as an innate purpose.

You enjoy the freedom, and you know your brother does, as well.

Just the simple thought of taking to the skies without anything to lag you by is cathartic, much more if you actually do spread your wings to embrace all that the wind has to offer.

And the skies, always tinctured a marvelous azure, is your home.

You can stare at it from below forever and observe the rolling clouds without ever getting bored. For when the firmament is stroked with the oranges of a sunset and the navy of a night, there is always a new story to tell.

A new chapter to begin with—a new day to look forward to.

Although you don’t fly that much anymore—choosing to walk the earth with your kin—you still look forward to the day you’ll scour it once more. And maybe you can even ask your brother to join you, preferably when you get the courage and stop being so awkward.

Fate has listened to you, it seems.

Because the day do arrive; when you fly in the sky with him. Only, you hoped the reason could’ve been different.

For when you flew, the sky was not a tranquil blue, but a portentous red.

“What was that?”

It’s the first thing you ask when he enters through the curtain of leaves isolating the interior of the cave—your temporary lodgings—from the outside world.

He doesn’t look injured but does appear roughened up like he’s gotten the privilege of being a safe witness to a slaughter.

You kind of don’t even want him to answer, your breath held in as you observe the way he tenses and relaxes, unsure what to do.

He looks uncertain himself—as if he can’t believe what he’s seen or heard. What he says next makes your skin turn pallid.

“War.” His answer is strained, “There’s a war.”

A war—a war.

So suddenly? When Teyvat was at peace all this time?

“We need to leave.” Alatus begins to pace around the cave, mumbling things to himself that you can’t catch. Seeing him this frantic only fuels your own dread.

You are just about to propose leaving that instant when he looks at you with a pointed stare. “I’ll search for routes that aren’t overtaken by battles and warriors. Pack whatever rations we have left.”

“What? That takes no more than a minute! Let me join you after—”

“No.” His tone gets stern, and if it isn’t for the plea in his eyes, you would’ve thought him callous. “Stay here, do you understand me?”

Torn, you nibble on your lip, aggravated at the dilemma.

All you know is that sending him off alone is a risk, even when maybe the war hasn’t reached this place yet. You want to argue with him further, but you also know that it will only use up time that could be spent ascertaining a route out of here.

Dropping your head in your hands, you expel a resigned sigh. “Please be quick.”

He doesn’t say anything, only moving past the drapes of leaves to start what he plans to do.

The moment he’s gone, you get to work, doing as you’re told and gathering whatever little rations you’ve acquired on your journey here. And as expected, it doesn’t take any longer than a minute or two.

By the time two tiny bags are set and prepared to be taken, you are still alone in the cave along with the light through the curtain that’s gradually beginning to decline.

It is sundown.

Soon, night will fall—the time where the dark begins to prey, and consequently, the witching hour when all who is attuned to their powers are stronger.

“Brother!”

Alatus stumbles into the cave, panting with his eyes seemingly unable to focus. His polearm is at the ready, clasped in a gloved hand that tremors every now and then.

He holds out a hand to stop you from touching him.

“Don’t,” he breathes once then lets his weapon vanish into gold dust. “I can take care of myself.”

Oh you don’t doubt that at all, but he’s looking as if he’s a painting of a red sea.

“You’re bleeding!”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Your fusses are dismissed with a shake of his head. “This isn’t my blood.”

That halts you in place, the hand that is about to touch his shoulder pausing in midair. Then, tentatively, you rise your gaze, meeting a golden stare that still looks out of it. You curse, withdrawing your hand and apologizing.

He must still feel shaken up, you shouldn’t intrude his space.

“It’s fine,” Alatus says, voice low yet grim. “Let’s go, now.”

Where, exactly? You wanted to ask as he exits through the drape of leaves once more.

And can we even outrun a war?

You don’t know—you can’t say for sure.

There’s no telling whether there’s even a sanctuary to go to, but you kept your mouth shut, not risking the chance to upset your brother further.

He doesn’t need a burden, not when he’s already doing so much to look after the two of you.

The outside world lacks its usual serenity.

The greens have gotten dull, receptive to the damage being done on the terra. You’ve no doubt that someplace else, the pretty viridescent can no longer be distinguished underneath all the red.

Because of a war.

War. Just even thinking of it makes your skin crawl. You’re afraid.

War results to loss, there’s almost never a winning side—aren’t all victories pyrrhic? You don’t want to engage in one to find out.

The cold wind makes you shiver, fingers suddenly unable to remain still at the nipping fear in your heart. You do not feel good, you don’t feel good at all—it’s as if you are subconsciously aware of an omen.

You hope that whatever it may be, it won’t come your way.

But fate seems to be less merciful. Perhaps it’s because it deems your situation unfair; you are safely avoiding battle, whilst the others are falling left and right.

It dawns like the burning sun, fate’s punishment.

In your travels, eluding the imminence of war, creatures born of twilight have risen from the soil. Their woes and regrets that have morphed into mordant vice are bemoaned, reverbing in the night.

They are creatures you’ve both have no experience in fighting.

And they’re everywhere.

The both of you have successfully fought your way into escaping, but you are far from being unscathed. The gash on your side is huge, calling the need for rest—to hide.

Although a hiding spot has been found, that does not mean that you are entirely in the green light. For some reason, the creatures are prowling everywhere, on the chase for something—or someone—and will not rest upon retrieving it.

It is the sound of their growls that pushes your brother to leave again, much to your protests.

“You’re injured, too.” you insist but he does not budge, eyeing your nasty injury that doesn’t seem to heal no matter the number of days that have passed.

“If I don’t fight, they will find us,” states Alatus, the tone of his voice implying no room for persuasion nor arguments.

You almost claw your hair out as you rise to stand—only to be forcefully laid down again.

You all but raise your voice at it.

“You’re far injured than I am!” your voice stuns him to silence as you point at his body, littered with wounds of various sizes. “I know how to fight, let me go, instead.”

If only you wholeheartedly mean it—because you don’t. You’re afraid.

War—war scares you, and those creatures, they aren’t normal, they reek of evil. You do not want to suffer a fate under their claws, but you can’t just send your brother out there, either.

Alatus looks at himself, assessing the gravity of his injuries—then huffs, in amusement? You can’t tell.

“This is nothing to me.”

He says this, yet you can hear him grunting in the night after he returned bearing double the number of wounds on his figure, hissing from the obvious pain he thought he’d been discreet at hiding.

Is he forgetting who you are?

You may not be that close with him like how normal siblings are meant to be, but you are bound by blood.

You can feel yourself growing faint at the sight of him being so weak, putting himself responsible for the both of you. As if you couldn’t fight.  

No matter how much you tell him to switch, he always seems to have an extra reserve of power to shut you down and depart before you could. He leaves with the rise of each sun and returns when the moon is at its peak, when the shadows overcome the light and are present to mask his presence.

He’s hurting and you’re resonating with his pain. It hurts to see him leak blood.

Is the fighting that bad for him to come home half-dead every single night?

You must help him, you need to help him, what kind of sibling would you be if you don’t? You know how to fight and you’ll be putting that to good use.

But things are easier said than done.

Sparring is different from war, where blood is spilled without a second thought and no such thing as ‘time out’ exists.

Perhaps he’s aware that you’re actually terrified—because even if you can fight, you’re afraid, and it’s that fear that becomes your weakness. Renders you useless.

Maybe he knows that hence why even though he’s grunting in the night, he leaves to keep you safe.

You’re ashamed, you’re guilty, and you’re fearful-

“Brother…”

But nothing scared you the most when one night, Alatus comes inside the alcove barely conscious, looking like an exact picture of the time he came bearing news of war.

The only difference? He’s covered in his own blood.

Getting to work fast, you seize the remaining bandages—that he insisted you use for yourself—and do your best to clean his lacerations.

At some point, you have to sneak out and stealthily gather some water from the nearby pond whilst evading the eyes of those creatures.

They are endless.

Alatus is running a terrible fever that refused to go down even though the days have come and go, shivering even when you’ve thrown bundles of fabric that you’ve ransacked from empty camps.

His wounds are yet to heal, just like yours, the fair skin lost in an ugly shade of violet and yellow.

They aren’t normal at all, instead acting like hexes.

They are painful, but you’re sure as hell that your pain isn’t tantamount to the one your brother feels.

When he doesn’t wake up on the third month, you have learned to cry, shaking in place, away from the war, hidden in a cave where demise will eventually prowl at.

You are mad for a handful of reasons, but above all, you are so, so afraid.

There comes the first stroke of realization; you and Alatus, so, so different from one another.

Perhaps, if you have been as courageous as he, as vigilant and fortified—things could’ve been different. But no, you didn’t insist more, didn’t try to persuade him otherwise.

Look where that has led the two of you.

You can’t believe that it has to take him being in a vegetative state for you to be able to crawl out of that stupid cave and fight for him as he did for you.

You do not know why you were so struck with cowardice—is it because of death? Or the fear of letting him down?

Maybe because he’d think less of you as his kin if you fail, so you never tried?

You wish you had an answer, but it doesn’t arrive.

Even if you pierce your polearm in the chests of those twilight-borne creatures and watch them disperse into ash, you are not delighted with an answer to your fear.

Nor an answer to the remedy that will cure you and him of your supernaturalesque wounds.

Will you both really perish this way? Heavens, you pray not—there’s much to do.

You search for a cure, every day and every night, returning only to your brother’s side when you are too fatigued. You have managed to stay alive and awake, miraculously not falling prey to the enticing slumber that took your kin in its hold.

You hope for a remedy, hope for the day it’ll be discovered—but with each rising moon, your hope dwindles. Everything seems to be set in stone.

Death is the only thing that awaits the two of you at the end of the road.

“You want to help your brother, don’t you?”

Until she came along; your savior.

“What of it? It’s not like you can give me what I wish for.”

She has come to greet you in the middle of the battlefield when another fight has ended and you remain standing. A pyrrhic victory, for in the finale, demise will still come to greet you.

“Let us join forces, my dear. I will give you all that you need.”

She has your attention.

“It’s impossible.” You whisper, for you desire for plenty; for enough courage because until now you are afraid. For enough power so that you can protect your brother, too. “What are you to be able to do that?”

It is too good to be true—and you should’ve been wary, but she emanates such a sincere aura that wants to help.

And how can you deny such a tempting offer, still? How can you overlook the prospect of joining hands with an almighty—

“A god.”

With her—everything can be possible.

The relief you felt when she held your hand and your wounds vanished in an instant—she can cure Alatus, too…!—and the comfort of having a kind god… maybe…

“… Alright.”

“Very well.”

She smiles, raising her hand—so, so cold—to brush against your cheek, wisps of the power you desire being welcomed by your skin, seeping into your body and into your bloodstream.

Your eyes open to the feel of something brushing against your feathers, careful as though they’ll hurt you.

It’s still in the dead of night, but you know that sensation anywhere—that presence, the gentle hold you’ve gotten used to after having to live in a gilded cage.

Brother?

The small of your [c]s peer up, meeting a golden gaze. Xiao stops caressing your little form, the pad of his thumb that has brushed away a cold tear withdrawing.

You chirp, tiny beak reaching to peck his fingers—in an attempt to bring him back—that moves to leave the birdcage. Why does he retreat every single time?

As if pitying your endeavors, the Yaksha lets his hand stay for a bit longer, allowing you to snuggle in his cupped palm. His touch is always so comforting.

It is one that he barely does, so relish the few seconds of that blessing.

To your dismay, those seconds feel shorter than usual, because he’s drawing his hand back before you can even squeak and vanishing without so much as a goodbye. Your heart drops again.

But you should be used to this.

You should be thankful that he even holds your tiny form whenever he wishes to. But you want him nearby, you want to close the rift that separates you from him. You want to be closer.

He is your only family—and after that bit in the Chasm…. Oh, you don’t even want to think about it.

Pushing the door to the cage open, you stretch your wings out then flew, traveling a short yet exhausting distance to the upper balcony. Xiao already stands there, paying no mind to your arrival as though he has anticipated this.

“What do you want?” he asks as soon as the [c] light has faded and your human form has appeared once more.

His abrasiveness does not deter you—it is the sight of his flesh wounds that do the trick, open and leaking with adeptal blood.

You swallow at the sight of it, being reminded of the state he had been in the early years of the Archon War.

You think that he won’t entertain you if you came up to him with your usual words, so you decide to stray with a tiny white lie.

“Dandelions…” you answer directly, though a little shy. “And cecilias…”

It isn’t a complete lie, per se, for you do miss those exotic flowers.

Though they hail from the foreign nation of Mondstadt, you used to fly to the cliffs and greens of the city of wind to nestle in the breezy floras.

But as you are right now, you are incapable of leaving for too long.

The Yaksha eyes you at the side, nose crinkling in bewilderment. He probably didn’t expect that answer and instead believes it to be a bluff. He isn’t completely wrong, either.

His prolonged silence makes you sigh.

“Stop fighting.” You finally convey the words dying to roll off your tongue, “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I don’t want you to continue suffering more than this.

He answers you immediately with a scoff. “Impossible.”

Of course it is.

“I just want you nearby.” You try a different approach, though you mean the reason all the same. Your voice has gotten softer, a little more shy than usual. “Is that so much to ask for?”

Compared to before, this time, his answer is not instantaneous.

You’re not certain if he’s not speaking because he doesn’t have a response, or because he simply doesn’t want to. He keeps his gaze straight forward, into the nights of Liyue where everything is at peace.

All but you two.

When at long last, he’s finally able to respond, it is not towards your later statement.

“Stop asking for ridiculous things, my war is eternal. There is nothing you can do about it.”

The prick on your chest begins far too sooner than you expected. You still mustn’t have recovered to an acceptable extent.

The growing pain tempts you to revert back, but you don’t, because then, you wouldn’t be able to speak.

“Why can’t you let me help you?” you pry, daring a step forward.

Closer, closer to the rift that divides you both.

“Help?” Xiao’s voice is strangely wistful, but then he shakes his head. “… That’s absurd.”

You do not miss the slight crack in his visage that told you of his vulnerability—the same one you found when he collapsed in your arms after returning bloody and beaten in the War.

How can you turn a blind eye to it?

How can you turn a blind eye to him?

With assurance, you reach your hand out, just like he did to you a while ago. You want to hold him, you want to comfort him—even if he’s at an unending war, you will carry it with him. It’s only natural.

You are siblings.

“Don’t,” Xiao snarls, voice dripping with a threat. “Don’t touch me.”

The pain in your chest squeezes.

“Brother—" you plea, but-

“What we’ve become is inevitable.” The way he said it so monotonously freezes you in shock.

There is not an ounce of guilt in his tone as he highlights the pathetic outcome of your relationship with him after the war.

A war that has strained a bond that was awkward to bloom—where now, there is a division that separates the two of you.

“It cannot be annulled.”

A rift that is impossible to cross over.

You feel your breath leaving you.

“So,” you rub at your eyes, looking away in fear that he’ll catch the glossing of your eyes and deem you weaker than you already are. “You aren’t willing to try to- to fix… this?”

What’s become of us?

Xiao looks at you for the second time that night—and the shadow over his visage makes it difficult to see the expression he wears. But his answer is sufficient enough.

“It is useless to fix what is already broken.”

And just like that—the hope you’ve been attempting to keep alive in your heart shatters, but the gravity of such an impact is caught in a delay.

You are unable to feel it at first, for there is an evident stutter in the process of understanding how far you are from your brother.

It is only when Xiao turns to disappear were you able to feel the extent of his words—the knife that stabs through in order to claw out your heart. It hurts.

You fall to the floor, trembling from exhaustion—literally and emotionally.

The thrum in your chest sends a lump to rise at your throat, firm and telling of the damage your heart has received.

It hurts to think that you are the only one who wants to try and fix the space dividing you from him. It hurts to think that you are the only one who wants to help the other heal.

Gasping for air, you feel the floor with your shaking hands, willing yourself to transform back into the meek and fragile form you’ve always been.

All traces of courage having dispersed the instance you were shot down.

It hurts.

.

.

The following day, you are unable to see Xiao anywhere.

Perhaps he is concealing himself away, or maybe he truly is occupied conquering and purging the land of the obstinacy known as bygone gods.

You do not know—it isn’t like he tells you anything.

Waking up in the cage you call your home, the assumption from last night that you will open your eyes feeling drained and helpless is ostensibly false.

Because although the feeling of being deprived of vitality is true, you do not feel as helpless as you thought you’d be.

Maybe other than blood, stubbornness is what you share with him.

Hence why you decided to take a venture past Wangshu and head into the heart of the harbor, seeking the man you know holds olden wisdom and judgement in all his glory.

It isn’t hard to meet him, given it isn’t a busy day.

It took you great courage to speak up and hold your ground against your brother, but it takes an even bolder heart to meet the eyes of the ex-Archon who at one point held your fate in his hands.

But he appears to have mellowed now—gotten even wiser if that’s possible.

He is surprised to see you, understandably so, but made no such things to send you off, which led to tea being shared in the morning as he listened to your entreaties in silence.

“I see, so you are worried over your brother, still.” He does not sound at all flabbergasted that this is why he’s approached, humming.

You wait for more of his words, biting back the urge to tell him all that he knows that instant. And as if the deity has been attuned to your wishes, he indulges you, setting the teacup down with a clink that sounds within the secluded room in the funeral parlor.

It’s morbidly expedient; to talk in such a place when the crux of the conversation involves history and deaths.

“Do you know why he considers his duty eternal?” Zhongli lifts his stare to meet yours, the action making you swallow and answer a short while after.

“Because of a contract?”

You are aware that he isn’t trying to be intimidating with his stare—it is just that you have grown accustomed to looking into those ambers that once exuded undisputed command.

Although who sits before you now is not the Geo Archon, but someone trying to blend in with the mortals, you cannot see him for the human he tries to be.

“Partially.” He admits though it contradicts the subtle shake of his head. “But there is another reason.”

Another…? Unaware of the subconscious tightening of your fists, you break off the eye contact, moving your sight to the peaceful surface of the hot tea in the cup within your hands.

To be submerged in it will feel relieving—at least then, underwater, everything that you hear will be obscured. A semblance of a sanctuary, to hide from the truth and the answer you fear yet seek all the same.

As though cognizant of your hesitance, the man on the other end of the table keeps quiet, yet still fixates his stare on your person. Waiting to deliver what you came to him for.

And when [c]s strikes against gold, it is set in stone. He answers.

“Sacrifice.”

It shouldn’t be surprising, really; sacrifice, though ruinous and lamentable at best, isn’t considered uncommon in Teyvat.

Sacrifices exist and happen every single day; from the loss of time in order to do something, to the loss of chances and opportunities that could’ve opened a different path, and plenty more.

But for an immortal—sacrifice is far too grave of a word to associate with.

“[Name],” you stiffen at his call, “Do you ever not wonder why he agreed to be a Yaksha? Why most of your memories of the War is entrapped in a fog that refuses to disperse?”

Sacrifice is something that holds meaning and influence over one’s life.

Floundered, you pick away at the handle of the cup. “Because you asked him to?”

You don’t answer his later question, aware that your perfunctory response is sufficient enough to answer both.

He nods. “Yes, but even I had a reason for asking him.”

A reason, so he means that there’s something else other than the superficial invite to be an elite warrior. Another meaning under the agreement to be a Yaksha.

Zhongli moves, carrying his cup with him as he takes a seat on the chair next to yours. He then extends his hand for you to take wordlessly and you clench your fists once more, skeptical.

There is a voice in your head advising you not to do it, but you must if you ever want to find out what that reason is.

And when you take his hand, there’s a painful tingle erupting from the tips of your fingers, coursing through your blood, rushing into your mind and opening memories you didn’t know you had until now.

The corrosive decay from the cursed blessing is momentarily abated, bringing about a reel of a familiar yet forgotten tragedy.

That lady on the battlefield—she who is adorned with smiles and wears red as her primary choice of color, is your savior. At least, on the face of it.

When you’ve come to allow her to bless you—and bless you she did—you are instantly healed of your supernatural wounds and there’s no doubt that your brother was, too, because that was what’s agreed on.

You felt the gratifying enchantment of the power you sought, running within your bloodstream and filling you to the brim with a taste of affluent omnipotence.

With that power, you returned to a frantic warrior who’s up on his feet, cured of his afflictions. 

With that power, you have gotten stronger—stronger than you could possibly ever imagine and your fear of the war has dwindled until it is nulled.

With that power, you are able to satiate the desire to keep Alatus safe, as he has done with you.

But that power… you realize, as you stare once more at the familiar sight of fatal wounds on your unconscious kin one night, is still not enough.

So, you cast about for the lady in red once more, and there she is awaiting, again, in the middle of the battlefield. Waiting for you with a knowing smile.

“This power is insufficient.”

“Then foster it.”

“How?”

Dreams. Ambitions, hopes, and wishes.

All those that are created by the heart’s desire, all those that human beings thrive upon to look forward to another day. They are the requisites—they are the ensilages to the development of your blessing.

So, seek them out.

And sought you did.  

When the advent of nightfall has come and all are asleep, you prey upon humans, feeding on their dreams and hopes. Using them to enhance the gift you’ve been given.

It’s fine, right?

After all, you’re doing it to protect your brother. Those humans will understand, it isn’t like they can’t understand the meaning of necessities.

“Don’t you want more?” she had smiled.

You do.

“Then go, my dear.”

So, you went.

Those dreams, so positive and hopeful, they taste delightful. Unbelievably scrumptious, addicting and leaving you craving.

It’s fine, right?

With each delectable dream, you grow powerful. As what’s promised.

Alatus—dear brother—is barely even scathed nowadays. A monster will be cut down before they can even think of harming him. Oh, how overjoyed you are.

Oh, how powerful.

Oh, how fearless—how valiant you’ve become.

This is it, the crescendo of your being.

This is what you’ve been looking for; the missing piece to combat the petty fear of war. Power. It is all that you needed.

It is all that you ever desired. Nothing more, nothing less.

But there lies a fault in the path you’ve chosen.

A fault you realized far too late, when the last vestiges of your moral alignment have come to convey the epiphany that you are being strung along to the whims of the smiling lady.

When you have confronted her about it, barely rational, instead high, drunk, and delirious on the sweet, sweet blessing [curse], you are far too gone.

That power has become strings, threads to puppeteer you the way she wishes to.

You dislike it—but the power… did you really dislike the power?

Salvation is nowhere in sight.

At least, not in the form of –

“Let her go.”

The one you tried so hard to protect.

You can hear his voice by the skin of your teeth, an almost muted decibel. What strikes like drums against your ears, however, is the sardonic simper.

“You’re in no position to make demands, dear.” she hummed, “But I have been waiting for you. Why don’t you say hi to your sister, doesn’t the red make her look prettier?”

Red? What is she talking about? You are barely conscious—not in the sense that you are falling into a slumber, but more like you do not feel… you.

A vignette overlays your blurred sight, only being able to see blobs of colors that you’ve learned to liken to those that you know.

Alatus is a peaceful emerald, opposing the scorching crimson known as the god you’ve once deemed your savior.

“I said free her from your bind before it’s you who’ll be seeing red.” His voice comes out much more austere than you anticipated—you can’t tell.

Another simper resounds in the—where is this? You don’t know anymore.

It’s hard to maintain your focus on them when the whirl of power within is too addicting to overlook. Still, you try to concentrate, albeit with evident complication.

The strain from trying to ignore the catalyzing omnipotence is more painful than it is cathartic, and you begin to hiss and growl away at it. Much like an injured animal.

You feel a hand caress your hair, the touch endearing, though it’s a prima facie act at best. You know that much—though you knew it too late.

“I like my beasts feisty. This one’s power-greedy, which makes it so scrumptious, but you…” the way she paused makes your skin crawl in anxiousness, “That desperation… could be put to good use.”

A brewing presage that, to your horror, comes true.

The moment the blur of red stirs past you, inching closer to the serene green, you’re moving—or you think you’re moving.

Your extremities no longer feel like they are yours, hanging on threads that oscillate only upon the whims of the smiling god.

“What are you doing?” your voice seems far, but you hear yourself, anyway. “This is not within our agreement, you said you’ll—!”

You said you’ll leave him alone!

Immediately, much like the puppet you’ve succumbed to be, a domineering yank slots you back in place, holding you down even if no visible force can be seen doing it.

Oppressive in all its decree, nothing can be done as you are forced to crash to the earth, the very power you beseeched being the one responsible to shackle and render you immobile.

There’s a click of the tongue. “Delicious greed, indeed. The only downside is that she can be so defiant…”

The power within you begins to fester without delay—and though it is heavenly, there is a threshold. Too much, the power is too much, filling you to the brim with the threat of breaking past the limit.

It feels like you are about to explode from the inside out if it keeps up and the burn—oh the burn in your blood- make it stop-

You cling onto the dress of the lady in red, pathetically tugging in apology for acting out. But she does not cease her punishment.

“Why are you turning it away?” she questions, infusing even more of the accursed blessing and causing you to writhe on the ground, “Did you not want power, my dear?”

Are you dying? Is this what it feels like? How funny.

You thought that with power, you can conquer anything—but here you are, overladen and drunk with it, but still, you are afraid. As you’ve always been.

“Stop that this instant!” the demand rings with unfiltered urgency. “[Name]!”

It’s the first time you’ve heard him call for you so alarmed that you’re miraculously able to cling onto the remnants of your consciousness, stubbornly not letting go. Afraid of what might happen if you do.

The blur of red has stopped in front of the green.

It doesn’t take much sagacity for you to know that the god is considering stopping, but of course—

“Be mine, then, just like your sister surrendered herself to me. Then I’ll let her go.”

—As always, with a price too great.

“Brother, don’t- don’t do it.” Thankfully, your voice has not failed you—yet.

I did this to protect you. I did this to keep you safe!

Right? He was the reason you sought power in the first place, you wanted to keep him safe, too—right? So why is it that something inside is telling you that you’re wrong?

No, no, you know your reasons—you did it for him, you did it—

“You swear upon your word.”

—For your brother.

“No, no, wait-!”

“That’s more like it.”

The atmosphere has gotten even colder, dropping to a degree where it feels like ice is biting your skin each and every second.

It contrasts the burn within, the discrepancy of bitter cryo and igneous pyro making it almost impossible to even feel.

You want to scream, you want to defy and demand for him to take his words because under the mercy of this—this god is something you don’t ever want him to face.

But your fates have been led astray, the alignment of stars steering off-course.

There is no turning back the moment you have allowed yourself to be [blessed] cursed.

You feel yourself dropping from the command she has on you, but for some reason…

“There, free from my chains.” It feels as though you are no longer yourself. “And blinded by the strength she so seeks.”

The power is toxic—running like fire in your bloodstream and dousing you in a sensation worse than your psyche being split in half. Yet beyond the concept of pain, there is power.

Power that you sought, power that you desired.

How bad could it be? Pain in exchange for omnipotence.

It is all that you ever wanted—right?

“You said you’ll release her!”

Of course.

“That I did. But greed is blinding. You’re mine now, Alatus.”

It is all that you ever needed.

“Gh—! Let go of me-.. !”

Why did you seek such power in the first place? Ah.

“Snap out of it!”

Oh, you don’t know anymore—but the power is too delicious. It’s too good, it’s too simply wonderful. You feel invincible, like you can seize the world and crush it in your hands.

So you will. And it’ll crumble like dust in your fists, split apart from the blade of your polearm.

Your body has seemingly adapted to the burn, caging the liquid fire within, unaware of its true catastrophic damage. Your sight has since then become clear again, but you feel… weird.

Awake, yet not lucid. All you can feel is the [toxin] ambrosia of potency—of might and inviolability.

The delightful thrum in your chest emanates the blinding power you proceed to be intoxicated in and you feel the bliss of it all as you take to the skies, looking over the carnage and the dreams waiting to be eaten.

You’re hungry, salivating at the simple thought of feeding upon sweet, sweet dreams.

Be mightier, be more powerful… !

[To keep him safe] To be high and drunk with it all is all that you’ve ever wished for.

So you actively chased after it, the insatiability keeping you on edge. It is a chase you are willing to be in for eternity.

Even though there are times when you crashed, the feathers of your wings burning from the overabundance of delicious, delicious power, you keep on chasing.

Sometimes, you think there is someone flying with you—but they do not seek the same thing that you do. How unfortunate, do they not like the taste of being unstoppable?

Sometimes, you think they are trying to talk to you, and though you see their face, you can’t be bothered.

They do not understand you—you are two worlds apart.

One night, when the sun entwined with the moon and painted the latter a luscious red, you came upon an assembly overflowing with hopeful dreams.

Who are you to not be ravenous?

At the center of all the carnage, you giggle, crazed and temporarily satiated. The smile on your face does not drop even when you are lying underneath the golden tip of the Vortex Vanquisher, far too out of it.

You see someone dropping from the skies, rich marigold wings folding to the ground, but you do not pay them any mind. All you can think about is the rich and devastating feel of power.

The polearm presses onto your forehead, then out rings a voice, weighed with nothing but apathy. “So this was that god’s little beast, a piteous avian…”

Familiar, that sensation of spilling blood, it’s familiar. You feel it dribbling on your punctured skin. It is painful, but its degree is far away from the poisonous sinew in your bloodstream.

You do not move as gold spangles beneath the crimson moon, like a harbinger announcing your death to come.

“Receive your punishment.”

“No!”

But it does not come.

“Morax!”

With a gasp, you tear your hand away from the man in question, the vestiges of the past withdrawing along with the action.

He notices your tremors before you do, but makes no move to approach given your frazzled state of mind.

Thunderstruck, you clutch away at your chest, breathing like you’ve ascended out of the murky depths. The conflagration of the curse gives off the impression that it has been resurrected, though you know it only to be an aftereffect of awakening a buried memory.

The curse—that ‘blessing’—is long gone. Its only relic remains in the form of your damaged body, a vessel that could not handle the amount of growing power.

You know that you have done something wrong, but the fact that a consequence made for you was instead taken by your brother—albeit in a different manner—was not known. Until now.

The gaps in your memories are closing and you are a hundred times more exhausted than ever, already on the verge of slipping away if not for Zhongli sliding the teacup forward.

“Drink,” he insists, “It has been enchanted, comprised with what sustains you until today.”

You do so without an ounce of hesitance, sighing in relief at the soothing effect of the deciduous remedy. It will do for now until it is time to return to your ‘sanctuary’.

Looking at Morax now that you are aware of things you weren’t before comes off as difficult, but you endure with pursed lips. Though you are unsure as to how to approach things after being doused with revelations… you will try.  

“You mean to say-” the images of before makes you shudder. “When he became a part of the Yaksha… his karmic debt… his contract…”

Ala—Xiao’s arrival then, when you were about to be dealt with necessary consequence…

The rest of your memories are still hazy, but it doesn’t require a genius to ascertain and piece things together.

Zhongli nods. “He shouldered it for you, to atone for what you did.”

The gravitas he bears—is that coupled with travail, or is your guilty, hopeful conscience making you see things that you want to see?

You know that saying you could’ve done it—atone, serve—instead will only provide an obvious reason as to why they didn’t even consider you doing it.

Morax did not trust you then—and you understand that perfectly.

But your heart still weighs with bitterness, with shame—with guilt that will eternalize itself within.

Yes, you have served Morax anyway, fought in his name despite not recalling the real reason why other than abiding by Xiao’s insistence that you do so. But it is as he said still, your servitude is far from being enough.

You’ve slain upon hundreds, preyed upon thousands, and ruined beings innumerable.

“Because of me…”

He’s unable to be peaceful. Unable to escape the threat of insanity coming from karma. He’s everything that you should be. He bears the opposite that you should’ve been from the start.

You feel small—terrible, awful- hell, nothing can describe how you despise who—what you’ve come to be.

Seeing your reflection in the tea makes you hold your face, wishing to claw and rip it apart if it means getting rid of the unsightly appearance. In your chest rekindles a blaze, but it is no longer the one borne of greed, but of dolor.

Weak like you’ve always been, you are further reduced to a shaking mess of hysteria.

The memory of seeing your brother on the brink of death one too many times when he carried his first name, the blood that was keeping him alive only knowing how to overflow…

“All I wanted was to keep him safe, too.”

How could it all go so damn wrong?

It’s messed up, you’re so messed up, it’s maddening—so infuriating… !

How did you lose yourself so far?

“I’m so sorry, brother,” your whisper is wobbly as you shrink, as if it can erase your existence. “I’m so sorry..”

He can’t even look at you anymore without hurting—yet still, after everything, he is still able to give you, the beast who lost herself in her blessing, undeserving mercy.

“Morax, I beg of you.”

Why is that?

“She’s my little sister.”

Polar opposites, that’s what you both are.

Existing as each other’s parallel, because that’s what you’ve made yourselves to be.

You don’t deserve him—his love and his mercy. For so long, he’s been hurting and it had been because of you. How much does it pain him to see you spiral into someone so twisted?

Oh, sweet heavens, you can’t even envision it all.

Is it worth it? You find yourself asking over and over again.

The transient blessing of power you indulged in, only to drag in the one person you didn’t want to descend with you into madness.

History cannot be rewritten, now, you stand in the aftermath of the dangerous desire you wanted.

You have changed him for the worst.

And you can’t even shoulder his duty, can’t even help him because he’s right; you are now nothing but a shell of who you used to be. You are stuck in a cage that keeps you revitalized, unable to do anything but be idle and it’s contemptible.

Even until now, he is giving you the mercy Morax thought was inappropriate—and you find yourself agreeing with the fact that it is unfitting.

How can you even face him now?

His disappearance is warranted and you will not hold it against him at all. Your very existence inarguably reminds him of all that he went through.

Does he despise you? A possibility.

Perhaps he took mercy upon you—and pleaded for Morax to share his perspective—because you are his only kin. And that it is only necessary to keep you alive.

But beyond the blood that you share with him, you are nothing but a constant memoir of a tragedy that cost him the happiness he could have had.

The truth hurts—much more than the faux, deuced ‘blessing’ you’ve been gifted with in the olden days. And there is nothing to do but accept it for what it is.

The journey back to the inn is a lot more hellacious than ever. Maybe it is because of the additional weight of knowing the truth, but the venture is herculean. The soothing relief of the brewed tea can only last for so long.

When you arrive at the balcony after paying your greetings to the Goldets, the place is empty, devoid of the presence and trace of the kin you’ve subjected to eternal suffering.

A punishment that should’ve been yours.

Feeling yourself wither away but remaining as obstinate as ever, you rise to the roof, nearby the huge branches of the tree upon which you once rested upon whenever you’d accompany the Yaksha.

He is not there.

Still, you can envision him, and just doing so makes you lean onto the wood, heaving. Your pain cannot be quantified, but you are certain that whatever you are feeling now can’t possibly amount to the one that your kin carries.

“Big brother,” you whisper in the wind.

Alatus.

Tears stinging your eyes, you bury your face in your arms, breaking apart. “I’m so sorry, brother, I’m so sorry…”

Zhongli is right; no matter the nobility of your reason for wanting power, you killed for it. And you enjoyed the blessing afterward.

It didn’t matter if it was because you were able to keep him safe while it lasted, the sin lies in how you were delighted despite the lives that you took.

It wasn’t worth it, it so wasn’t worth it.

Now the consequence lies in the form of your beloved brother and the rift that only knows how to distance you farther and farther away.

As if it is sentient, and, knowing you will only bring him more pain, continues to section him far from your touch.

How do you have the face to even be in the same place as he is? You don’t even have the right to call him your brother, for what you did—it’s sinful. It is something that cannot be pardoned.

You cannot be pardoned.

And yet, you ask him for so much. His time? His company? When it is being near you that teethers him to death’s cliff?

How brazen—how unforgivable.

But that needn’t be a source of concern now.

Standing on wobbly feet, you descend to the lower balcony, morphing into the little avian creature you’ve always been.

The gilded cage welcomes you—though it won’t be for long. It’s time to lift a burden off of him, time to take away his very source of distress.

It’s time to leave.

It’s far from the redemption you seek, incredibly so, but you will still leave. And hopefully, take with you, the past that proceeds to haunt him.

For although you share the same blood, there is no home in a family split asunder from the wrongdoings of one.

There is no home in a family founded in pain and loss. If this is your own punishment, then it is just appropriate; to burn all hopes of ever fixing the bond you desired to have with your brother.

Your selfishness ends now.

With you gone, no longer will there be a vestige of his tribulation’s precursor. Not anymore. It is the least that you can do after so much.

You just hope that after all that you made him go through, he’ll hopefully understand that despite your fall into greed back then, at the start, it was out of the genuine want to protect him, too.

The sky, still painted a rich navy blue, is littered with endless of stars. You wonder if yours is there, having strayed from the alignment it was meant to take.

You hope that after your departure, he’ll still be able to forgive you.

With a grunt, you pluck out a feather from your wing, The [c] lacking the luster it once contained, but that does not matter now, it isn’t like you’re one for appearances, anyway.

That he won’t think anything less of you.

It is the image of your brother that makes your eyes sting as you open your wings.

That he’ll still think of you as his sister—even if you’re far from being the best one.

It is the earnest want to stop him from hurting himself with you nearby that prompts you to take to the skies after so long. Alone, as you should’ve been.

That one day, you’ll get to fly with him again. As you did a long time ago.

Farewell.

When the moon has descended, leaving the expanse of the firmament for the sun to take its place, comes the arrival of a Yaksha.

He drops onto the floorboards of the inn with an exhale, turquoise ribbons that accompanied him in his flight vanishing in the morning wind.

Careful, he stands to his full height and scans his strangely silent environment. The place where the [c]-haired Adeptus often frequents is empty.

She must be resting—and this is what he would’ve believed, had he not realized the change in the atmosphere; the cold. It’s an unsettling kind of cold that makes him furrow his eyebrows.

“[Name]?” he calls out tentatively.

When nothing but the distressing quietude greets him back in all its noisy chorus, he is quick to step down the staircase, heading to where he knows the cage hangs about.

“Xiao!” Verr’s perturbed expression only runs a chill in his spine that he refuses to acknowledge.

Without waiting for her to add something—that is not his priority—he continues to speed towards the place in mind. He comes upon the gilded cage and he stops, breath getting caught in his throat.

Nothing is there, save for the single greying feather of [c].

The sight didn’t need any explaining but fate has its way of rubbing salt in the wound.

Xiao’s breath stutters out the name of his only sibling, whispered in the wind as he takes the feather in his fingers- only for it to crumble away into dust. His hand shakes.

Losing strength, his previously clenched fists slackened.

Out of sight, the dandelions and cecilias in his hands are strewn away, lost in the breeze.

a/n: isn't it sad how a fearful MC just wanted the courage and power to protect big brother, but in the end, she lost herself in the wonders of said power and ended up only hurting the one she wanted to protect? :)) no punishment can redeem her, and, knowing she is the source of pain, she decides to leave.

BUT WAIT- doesn't the cage keep her alive? what will happen now that she left? and big brother came back too late.

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @koi-chairowo @uwu-dreams @yvechu @mininji

The next best thing.

✿ Remember to read part one first! 

❀ Prologue/summary: Desperate to get away from your memory of Scaramouche, you left in search of a new beginning. Can you really escape your past with him as easily as it is ideal?

❀ Pairing(s): Harbinger! Scaramouche x gn! reader

❀ Themes/warnings: Spoilers for Scaramouche’s backstory/main archon quest, mentions of violence, Angst.

❀ Doll’s note: Ahh hello! ( ･∀･)/ Sorry for the wait, but I’m really excited to finally present what I’ve been working on! Some of your replies gave me a good chuckle, they’re really motivating! But seriously, thank you<3

❀ word count: 2.2k

✿ masterlist (not yet posted) ✿ requested by: N/A, original concept 

It’s been around a week since your last encounter with Scaramouche. 

The plentiful amount of time to yourself has allowed you to reflect on all the poor decisions that led you to your current position. Love has truly made you lose sight of who you were and blinded you from your original motives. It was something that you, out of all people, could never have imagined falling victim to.

The passing fields you’re walking through were finally losing their familiarity, as the only thing pushing you to keep on moving is the wish to be somewhere far from a place that reminded you of your shared memories with him. Over time it has been cultivating many mixed emotions, which, although intense, you couldn’t quite identify as good or bad ones. All of it together was becoming incredibly frustrating because feeling so much emotion has always been foreign to you.

Despite your pitiful situation, the archons seemed to do their damn best to send even more troubles your way. You were just oh-so-lucky enough to receive your very own version of typical winter Inazuma weather on your way out, which was somehow even more unforgiving than usual. 

Perhaps as a means to cope with your pain, you were slowly starting to grow numb to hurting. You quickly went from mourning over your loss to seeing red all around you. Every misfortune you experienced throughout your travels was his fault to begin with, it only made sense that the grief gradually seeped in as anger. It was all too overbearing, your sanity was merely hanging on by a thread.

“Mercy… please.. archons… save me….”

It only enraged you further to watch the treasure hoarder before you to plead for mercy after witnessing the brutal deaths of their comrades. He was just like you to Scaramouche, a pathetic resemblance of someone who thought they were special enough to be granted an exception. 

When the glowing ashes of his corpse dissipated away, silence took over in your returning solitude. You thought your mind would finally be relieved of this frustration, for you to be finally feeling something else, anything else after murdering those pitiful people. 

Why has it done absolutely nothing? 

“I thought I heard people yelling here but I don’t seem to see anyone else, are you alright miss?” A male voice spoke out from behind you. 

The man introduced himself as Tighnari, an Avidya Forest Watcher who was in the middle of a research report on the nearby area. The sudden realization that you’ve already made it to Sumeru makes you wonder how you even lasted so long without resting.

“It’s our responsibility to aid travelers in need.” 

He smiled gently as he offered you a hand. You eyed his tall animal ears with a moment’s curiosity before getting up yourself, dusting off your clothes from the debris of your short-lived battle. 

It took quite a bit of unwanted conversation to cover up your deeds, you didn’t want to stir up additional commotion to the situation at hand. Yes, treasure hoarders weren’t the best kind of people but that alone was no justification for being the subject of your wrath.

“I was.. just looking for something to eat.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, it’s been about three days since the time you last ate. Even so, that instance could barely even be referred to as a proper meal because berries aren’t considered the most satiating. 

Tighnari took pity upon your weak appearance and offered to take you back to Gandharva Ville with him. Despite the fact that you didn’t want to follow him at first, you can only ignore your looming exhaustion so many times until your body eventually gives out. You might be tough, but still human nonetheless. With the help of his assistant, he provided you with medical supplies and dinner, which you hesitantly accepted. 

The next two months went by rather slowly. You have begun to live amongst the rest of the people in Gandharva Ville along with Tighnari and Collei, as a forest ranger yourself. It wasn’t a job that made the most out of your vision potential, but you had nothing to use them for anyway. Your past with the Fatui and Scaramouche has been less insistent on plaguing your mind once you settled down in a new environment, it was a pleasant change of pace. Your heart was gathering up its pieces, yet the emptiness you’ve felt before has made its way back into your daily routine. This peaceful way of living would always be infinitely better than the mental torment that he would have put you through.

Anything would be better than that, right?

It wasn’t until you heard his name again, that you have managed to keep your emotions at bay. 

The sages from the Akademiya have come to attempt to convince Tighnari to return to Sumeru city. The prestigious institution took notice of his exceptional intellect and thought of his current position as a waste of his talents as a scholar. It just seemed like a minor inconvenience at first, so you decided to tend to your assigned duties a little earlier.

Just as you were returning to deliver your updated report to Tighnari, the sages were on their way out. You were just about to dismiss their presence when you overheard a familiar name.

“Dr. Dottore needs us to go later tonight, to help with their project with the Balladeer.”

“His name was Scaramouche, right?”

Your report scattered all across the forest path, your trembling fingers unable to hold on to their delicate pages at what you just heard. You could feel your chest begin to heave rapidly as your mind became a jumbled mess. Everything to do with this man should have been behind you, never to reappear in your thoughts again, so why now?

Why?

Why, why, WHY?

You had to find out for what wretched reason the Akademiya was included in a scheme associating with such a painful part of your memory, so you abandoned your original plans to follow them back into the city.

It turns out that the sages have been working together with Dottore in the late stages of developing Scaramouche’s artificial god form. You didn’t know what your plan was before, but it was never your goal to come this close to actually encountering him.

…

You stepped into the forest cavern, right before where he is held from the information you collected. Do you really want to see him again? Why are you even here?

In spite of the voices in your head, his face etched itself into your mind. You were brimming with emotions, your weakness for the man never left you after all. 

There wasn’t much logic left behind your thoughts, the only force driving your actions being an unreasonable craving. You revealed the hidden entrance by copying the procedure you witnessed Dotorre perform earlier, taking a final deep breath before crossing the threshold. 

Your steps echoed throughout the large chambers of the Joururi Workshop, examining the large pieces of what you assumed were unfinished equipment in their creation of this “artificial god”. The Fatui really does work quickly, you’d at least have to give them credit for their efficiency.

“(y/n)?”

Your heart stopped the moment you heard your name, but not because of how it belonged to you.

“What are you doing here?”

You turned to face the black-haired harbinger, the one that you only ever allowed yourself to remember in your dreams. 

He looked just as gorgeous as before. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash, the sound of thunder hitting the spot where you once were before your reflexes barely preserved your life.

“What a coward you are, showing up before I can even finish my project.”

You hid behind a pile of various mechanical materials, trying to process the fact that Scaramouche was now trying to kill you. It shouldn’t be the most surprising because of how you acted during your last meeting. 

“I guess I should finally pay you back for being so disrespectful, hmm?”

Scaramouche’s laugh was dripping with poison, making your reality now clear.

You were just so sick of it all, you were never going to find peace with the presence of this awful man’s existence in Teyvat. Your suppressed feelings after so long, resurfaced as the same bloodlust you felt the day you met those poor treasure hoarders. 

“I have been dying to see you, Scara.”

You approached him with a smile, the rest of the confrontation was merely a blur.

…

The sword that was given to you on the same day you joined the Fatui, was now pierced through your former superior’s chest. His eyes widened, unsure of how he had ended up being on the losing end of this exchange. After all, he never paid any attention to your abilities, if only he was as observant of you as you were of him back then. You knew of his every blind spot, every little weakness that bought you just an adequate amount of time to pin him right where you wanted him. 

It was an extensive fight where you applied all those years of experience by his side, performing the final accumulation of your feelings as a rendezvous of death. 

I have always been watching you.

You dug your blade further in, causing his legs to give out and collapse to the ground. It was far from what would kill him instantaneously due to his lack of a real heart, but enough to sufficiently incapacitate him.

I have always longed for you.

You kneeled next to him, watching his surprise twisting into rage. Shadows from his hair cast over his face as he gritted his teeth.

But I can’t have you.

“I was so close…”

So I’ll choose the next best thing.

His frame shook when his devastated eyes stared into yours.

“I WAS SO CLOSE DAMNIT, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU HAVE TO RUIN IT?”

He was lashing out at you now, upon the realization that his premature death would ultimately rip him away from what was about to be his godhood. He screamed hateful, terrible, words at you. Yet, you still pitied his helpless state.

He has never been kind to you, barely even grateful for anything you’ve ever managed to accomplish for him.. Yet there were moments when he appeared so lonely. He was like a lost soul craving for something beyond what he felt was even possible, hence his want to reshape a new world.

Tears were streaming down his face, his crying voice now barely above a whisper due to the spreading fatigue. You could tell he no longer had the energy to be angry, and gently held his hand in yours. He wept quietly on the floor, relishing in your comfort within his vulnerable state. 

You were aware of the three betrayals that shaped Scaramouche into the bitter person he was. He suffered being the abandoned subject of his creator, being viewed as if his existence as a monstrosity by the only friend he’s ever made, and the loss of a child he’s come to care for after making unkept promises to one another. You didn’t want him to have nobody in his final moments, despite his flawed pessimism, and no matter how bad he used to treat you.

You both savored the stillness of the Joururi workshop’s solitude, that is until he was the one to break the silence, much to your surprise.

“..Why do you think my creator has yet to get rid of me, to allow me to wander as far out of her grasp as to even become a harbinger?” 

He was now reflecting in deep thought, the focus of his gaze on the intricate ceiling of the domain. It’s like he read your mind.

“…My former friend might have been right, for me to have soon become someone who hurt the lives of so many.”

You didn’t expect him to ever find forgiveness, for him to finally realize that there is more to living creatures than just misery. The hopeful glint in his eyes vastly differed from the characteristics you’ve come to know rather well. 

“…I suppose the boy’s mortality wasn’t necessarily his fault, it was cruel of me to shift the blame for my loss on him.”

He finished his declaration with a small sad chuckle, a genuine one. 

“…hey.. (y/n).”

He called out to you, asking why you continue to remain by his side after his continuous exploitation of your feelings. 

You explained to him that you cannot pick and choose what you feel. Why  people care so much about seemingly unreasonable emotions was something you couldn’t comprehend either. 

This was something only he has been able to have taught you for the first time in your life, but you kept that last part to yourself. His cold fingers gave yours a light squeeze, and your chest tightened at his melancholic expression.

“For my new understanding, I’m eternally grateful to you.”

His chest rose and fell slowly, his trembling gradually coming to a halt.Turns out your efforts have brought him peace, one that he was unable to achieve on his own.

“……Maybe things would be different for us if I was born human too.”

With those words, he used the last of his strength. You felt his hand loosen its grip on yours, as he succumbed to his rest. You’ve helped him move on from his past and achieve his true goal, to see a world that wasn’t just filled with deceit and lies. What a truly bittersweet way for your first love to come to an end.

..But what was in it for me?

A sob escaped your throat as you cradled his unconscious form, hushed cries escalating into painful wails that resounded in the large room. 

You refused to leave his side for hours after, you weren’t ready to part with him just yet. Your reunion was so brief after all.

…

Small taps of footsteps were heard behind you as you came face-to-face with a little, white-haired girl.

“(y/n), right?”

@ 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 | please credit if reposted! ♡

✿ Taglist: @smdroplvr @niasyndrome @shotgunsona @bananapowersrangers @ki–mi​

hihi I saw an anon asked abt the genshin as hentai images, I also saw some fanfict writers doing character as NSFW Twitter link (also an idea, not a request)

you have no idea that i still have to search nsfw accounts on that bird app lmaoo. also not sure if you meant it like this so my apologies in advance if it’s not what you’re expecting

warning: very VERY explicit content if you click the link; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Venti

Making Out

Nipple play

Fingering

Fingering

Mutual Masturbation

Oral

You and Him

Missionary

Missionary

Somnophilia

Venti to you

Basically Venti

Reader to Venti

Bonus: Professor Venti brainrot is back again

Himmel

Thighjob

Another thighjob

More thighs :))

Missionary

Missionary

34+35

Dry Humping

Oral

His Favorite

Another favorite

Facesitting

Bathtub

Inside his head

Reader to Himmel

Kaeya

Car sex

Another car sex

Blowjob

Kaeya to you

Prolly something he likes

Riding him

Doggy style

Fingering

This whole thread

Kaeya to you

Childe

Something Childe would do

Choking + Fingering

Choking + Fucking

Rough sex

Another rough sex

Hair pulling and... rough sex

Slapping your ass

Yandere

Predator/Prey

Diluc

Riding him

Teasing your pussy

This

Bulge

Making out in the bathub

Diluc to you

Diluc to you

Xiao

Squirting

You interrupted his gaming session

You and him :>>

He has a thing for mini skirts

While he’s playing

Reader to Xiao

This

And this

Zhongli

He prolly loves your ass 

Cumming

Passionate sex (pretend there’s no music)

Another sex

Would he love to see this on you?

Cumming on your chest + blowjob

This

Sucking his fingers

Zhongli to you

Zhongli to you

Lingerie

Reblog if you want anons to tell you who they ship you with and why.

Celebrities, other tumblr users, anyone..

REBLOG IF IT IS OKAY TO COME INTO YOUR INBOX AND SAY THE RANDOMEST SHIT I CAN THINK OF BECAUSE I REALLY WANT TO INTERACT WITH YOU.

❗AVOID THESE PEDOPHILES AT ALL COSTS! ❗

I was scrolling through Tumblr and came across a post of KNOWN PEDOPHILES ON TUMBLR (many of which have or want to rape actual children/minors)

THERE ARE ACTUAL PEDOPHILES ON TUMBLR TRYING TO GET IN TOUCH WITH MINORS ON TUMBLR

PLEASE SIGNAL BOOST THIS LIST AND KEEP OUR MINORS SAFE

200731 music bank - wooyoung.