Translation
translation
Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you. (Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)
5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.
Katican.
Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.
When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.
Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.
But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.
You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.
When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.
“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”
“You speak Avgin,” you argue.
“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”
“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”
Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.
You understand him well enough to know that.
“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”
You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.
“I’ll teach you my language as well?”
“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.
You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”
Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.
He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.
“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.
“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.
He hums. “Just one?”
“One per day.”
“Three.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Well, I am a businessman.”
You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.
“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”
“Deal.”
Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.
It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.
Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.
He regrets it almost immediately.
When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.
“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.
“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”
Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?
But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.
There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.
There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.
Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.
Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.
Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.
But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.
When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.
“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.
You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”
“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”
You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”
You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”
“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”
After all, he is the only Avgin left.
It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.
But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.
“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”
Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.
Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.
But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 0 STATUS: Extinct END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE
The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.
He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.
So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.
“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.
“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.
“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”
“You've just reminded me how.”
“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.
“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.
“No, that's so boring.”
“Then let's do your language.”
You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.
“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.
“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”
“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”
You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.
“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”
You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”
And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.
And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.
But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 2 STATUS: Endangered. SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.
He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—
As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.
His throat locks up.
“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”
He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.
“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”
“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”
He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”
“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”
Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.
“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.
It's a feeling he has to kill.
“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”
This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.
The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.
If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?
“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”
You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.
Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.
You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.
But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—
Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.
(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.
It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.
But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.
Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.
His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.
Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.
In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.
Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.
In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.
And he has you. Finally, he has you.
He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)
.
.
.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.
So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.
The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.
This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.
It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.
Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.
I'm sorry for always leaving you.
I'm sorry for making you cry.
I can't bear the thought of losing you.
Freedom would be too lonely without you.
I don't want to hurt you anymore.
I don't want to lie to you anymore.
I missed you.
I want you.
I need you.
I love you.
end
afterword
More Posts from Kazuhareads and Others
— I AM THE GHOST YOU BURIED AWAY.
↷ various genshin x reader
✦ synopsis : and when you look them in the eye, you let yourself crumble and see the loneliness underneath it all. such was the curse of a godless child, of one marked by the stars, of one whose home no longer stands. and they could only hold up their own charades for so long (or in which, they fall for a survivor of khaenri'ah ).
NOTE(S) : characters included ; dainsleif, pierro & zhongli. angst / comfort / no comfort, reader is from khaenri'ah, anger and betrayal, reader has been through a lot, breakups ( zhongli ), attempted choking ( zhongli ), past death / genocide, the reader is lonely give them a hug . NOT PROOFREAD.
# masterlist
&& . dainsleif · ( there is a fury ; he had left you behind )
HE DREAMT OF KHAENRI’AH when he glimpsed you.
Dainsleif rarely sleeps lest the nightmares invade with the malicious whispers of the abyss. The voices always weighed down heavy and hard, quietly picking away at his sanity like termites to wood ( wholly devouring and meticulous ). But this time they were static in the back and the stone road beneath his feet sparked an aching memory he had long let himself forget.
Home, he thinks. Home, where the sun hardly shone but the food was warm and his friends and there was you, an unsure recruit who could barely hold a sword and your “Captain Dainsleif”s were always accompanied by a nervous shake to your words and a determined spark in your eyes.
You never stood a chance in the cataclysm. You never did, but here you were, persistent, stubborn you standing before him with an ashen face corrupted by the abyss. And Dainsleif stares back with a stance that mirrors your tired defeat and he wonders if this was his punishment from divinity.
It was, he thinks, for it was cruelty.
It was cruelty to watch your expression shift to fury, to anger, to feel your hands grip at his cloak as you scream the word “Traitor” into his face. It was cruel to watch you crumble further and further into yourself, to watch your eyes dull as you give in.
He would take your fury and your spite, he would take you tearing his chest open, smoothing his own persistent spark that longs to keep living.
( “You left us — ” you scream. “You left us to die! My friends, my family, our comrades — ” the cry was raw, haunting, visceral, like anguish personified into a single being before it bursts forth from the strain. It was five centuries worth of silence and growing madness. )
He’d let you claw him to pieces. Anything, anything to give you that last shred of peace you deserved. Dainsleif knows he had left you behind, persistent, stubborn you who looked at him once upon the time like he had hung the false moon on the roof of their cavern and brought the stars down to their skyless home.
“I’m tired…” you whisper after the worst ends. Your fingers were bruised and your knuckles were bleeding. His face feels numb and his mouth tastes of iron. You hunch your shoulders, hands trembling, legs trembling, everything trembling with a sadness he knows too well..
Dainsleif watches you stand and shakily walk away.
He does not stop you.
&& . pierro | the jester · ( the monster he is now ; you won't accept )
& THE JESTER HOLDS HIS OWN secrets in the quiet of his home. The Tasritsa knows them well for she knows all and rest would happily stay in clueless contentment. A man like him lives little for optimism and less for sentiment and what must be disposed of shall be disposed off.
His cards were held close to his chest and his past stays closed off save for the details that he deigns fit to be shared. Pierro was not the man he was before. The cruel optimism he might have held once was but a faint wisp of a memory and his soul was now decrepit.
The Jester holds his secrets and one of them was you. A mechanist from the past, a sentiment despite his beliefs. He remembers moments where he’d find you bent over scattered parts and machinery, caked in oil and ash, when he’d share a cup of coffee over mused ramblings. Pierro remembers his youth and his naivete and a part of him wishes for it once more.
( But then he wakes from his dream. Ignorance was what cost Khaenri’ah. He would never forsake his found knowledge for a meager dream. Never. )
Then he finds you, in the realms of somewhere, alive and alone, wandering beaten paths in a daze. And you recognized him, just as he recognized you, faces that had changed but had not and Pierro’s cheek was cradled by a kind hand for the first time in centuries.
A part of him breaks and it comes coursing out for a split second, a vulnerable gaze, the momentary happiness of seeing someone he cared for, the last few pieces of a burned down legacy, of his memories.
There was a sadness in your eyes when you recognized him for who he was. “You’re not the one I knew all those years ago.” you whisper. “You’ve changed, ████.”
The sound of his old name has him physically recoil. He tugs away from your touch and away from you. His heart closes away and his cards fold to his chest once more. He does not look at the flash of hurt that betrays your features, that lapse of weakness. “So have you.” he replies.
“I have.” you nod. “We all have.”
He knows what it means, that look in your face. He knows why you take a step back. “The fatui…” you whisper and he does not hear any fondness in that singular word. “Either way, I hope…I hope you are happy, ████. “ He was not. He was anything but, yet the quiet anger you stamp down, you smother away, the anger from his years of silence and his choices now brews beneath it all. It was magma pressing up against fragile ground and it was disappointment ( chilling, ice edged disappointment, sharper than any knife he's seen and it pierces his chest violently ).
You bade him farewell. He never sees you again after that.
( Pierro knows. You were always the absent sort, but you were kind. You were kind in a way he could never be.
Pierro knows what you saw in him.
A monster. )
&& . zhongli | rex lapis · ( and fate said ; let the lion fall for the lamb )
HE FINDS YOU across the sea of people, when you look his way. Zhongli meets your gaze and he sees caution and weariness and the years slowly coming up onto the optimism you try to keep together. He sees the stars in your eyes, the last mark of a fallen nation, and it haunts him.
( He half expects them to flood with fury, for you to scream your betrayal, for your hands to wind around his neck and his pulse, slowly cutting away his airflow with the words ‘murderer’ easing out with a broken voice.
“I know you, murderer. I know what you’ve done.” )
You had smiled at him that day. It was amicable and it was bittersweet and Zhongli knew — the moment your lips first touched his, the moment he held your hand, the moment the little things and sweet nothings were whispered in privacy — he lived a lie he deserves little of.
What have his hands seen but blood and ruination and violence and change and growth? What have his hands seen but the death of your people and the silence of a contract? What have his hands seen but the softness of your skin and the tracings of the abyss etched upon it ( a curse, you call it ) and taste the bitter irony of it all?
He was a fool, a man in love, a man who found a piece of treasure so brilliant and so beautiful and he was too enamored to speak up, to savor what he had, to grasp at smoke and desperately wish it holds.
But Zhongli was no liar and the truth had to be told.
“Is this a joke?” you asked him, your smile frozen on your face and a part of him wishes to recant everything if only to nurse at the sting in his heart. He feels the last few moments of serenity bleed away with the impending realization upon glancing upon his hands, the same hands that touched you, now streaked with golden ichor and scales.
Morax, Morax, Morax, the name of a nightmare and the nightmare was him ( this was how the lion fell for the lamb, with whispered lies to hide away its claws and keep the dainty creature close ).
You did not let him hold you. You did not let him speak. It was disgust and agony and betrayal and it was dawning horror ( and a part of you looked upon this man who looked so human and you wondered if this weak vessel, this imitation of a god, would topple from a knife through its heart. The thought stops there and it is met with a voice that hisses and shakes and you realize that despite it all, you still loved this man and the pain only grows ).
“Love…” he whispers.
“Don’t—” you choke out. “Don’t even try.” and your eyes said it all. I know you, murderer, liar. I know who you are, what you’ve done, ripping my heart out of my chest to crush it between your hands. I know. And Zhongli knows this too.
When he wakes the next morning, your side of the bed was empty and the walls felt bare amidst the uncomfortable silence. There was a single Inteyvat resting upon the table and the sunlight reached out for it in longing, its rays casting gold atop wood as the petrified petals crumble between his fingers.
The last of the flower gives way and Zhongli lets the tears fall.
❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;
i was actually pretty excited for this kijuhgfdghjklkjh since this was the first time i ever write pierro and dain and they're just lots of fun ( but my dedication goes to li hehehehe ). but anyway, a reader from khaenri'ah, revel in the pain beg me to stop it but know this : it shall not.
anyway, if you'd like some titbits about the reader's backstories, feel free to send an ask in!
if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!
taglist —@x-zho, @dustofthedailylife, @silentmoths, @ofoceansandtombsanew, @meimeimeirin, @the-travelling-witch, @blinkofink, @thesparklingwriter, @niverine, @genshinboys, @hleb-chan-sky
AINE © 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.
What They Do After Their Breakup with You
Pairing: Honkai Star Rail Men feat. Blade, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Welt Yang, and Sampo x Reader (separately)
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Reader is GN except Jing Yuan’s (unless you don’t mind being called “queen”)
Blade carves your name on his weapon.
If his sword breaks, he’ll just do it again. And again. And again.
He’ll restore it as much as he needs to; until the relationship he had with you is restored too.
The pain courses through his veins whenever he slashes through his enemies, and even more so when he bleeds.
It used to be bearable, but when you left him because of his circumstances, he somehow just feels everything even more.
The sword he has is supposed to be as durable as the weapon he has become. But each time, he wonders why every blade he carved your name on just breaks easily.
Is there really no more hope for you and him?
Dan Heng locks the archives containing information about you.
The trickiest part of being a trailblazer is that all relationships formed in every world need to be transient.
But rare occurrences and outliers happen, and that includes you in Dan Heng’s world.
So when he assigned a password to your data, Dan Heng feels like a part of him is tucked away, not abandoned yet inaccessible at the same time. You’ve become a part of his mystery now, the dark side that no one needs to know about.
Nobody in the Astral Express dares to question the locked portion of the data bank either, because they all know what happened between you and him.
Whenever he can’t go back to sleep after a nightmare, he’ll access your records just to remember what it’s like to be with you. It’s what brings him comfort.
Gepard has a trusted Silvermane guard to keep watch over you.
He can no longer protect you directly, he knows he lost that right after he put his duty before you, so he sends one of his men to provide him with a report of how you’re doing.
The slightest mention of how you’re hurt or, aeons forbid, in danger, he’ll leap into action, trying so hard to be behind the scenes.
But he fails to conceal that fact, and you find out either way.
He acts cold when you do catch him, and in response, he utters scripted lines that all Silvermane guards recite after helping out a Belobog citizen.
You both know it’s ridiculous, but there is now a wall of ice between you and him that is far too difficult to overcome.
Jing Yuan subconsciously protects the queen on his side of the chessboard in every duel.
Yanqing points out he’s supposed to watch the king and Jing Yuan merely chuckles in response. It crushes him inside after he realizes what he’s doing.
“My queen,” he addressed you once as he placed a tender kiss on your knuckles.
You tried to reach out to him countless times after you recovered from your injuries, but he makes it a point to keep avoiding you. He feels like he failed to protect you, and he’s still beating himself up over it even if it happened a century ago.
When he’s alone, Jing Yuan would pick up the queen piece and stare at it, even going as far as cradling it close to his lips, murmuring all of his unspoken apologies. He is most afraid of putting you in danger again, so he has to be contented with the knowledge that you’re safe even if he has to stay away from you.
But who was he kidding, just like the king on his chessboard, he feels defenseless that you’re no longer with him.
After all, what is a king without his queen?
Sampo stops being happy-go-lucky.
He’s flippant most of the time and hardly takes anything seriously, but that is exactly what pushed you away and he was too late to realize it.
Sampo surprised the members of Astral Express and Wildfire when he actually pulls through with his word without any strings attached.
He made a mistake with how he treated you so he now makes it a point to honor every agreement he enters.
He thinks that maybe if you learn of his steadfast behavior from others, you’ll take him back.
Welt creates tons of sketches of you.
He made them before and he’ll continue making them even if you’re no longer together.
Welt tends to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance whenever he comes to his senses after excitedly pulling out his phone with the intention of sending you a photo of his latest sketch.
[This user cannot be reached.]
The automated message glares at him which results in him throwing his phone across his room.
He hopelessly creates scenarios of what he could’ve done to keep you close to him, and he continues to torture himself as he watches the animations of his imagined situations with you.
It’s unlike him to make something of this genre, but at least there is a perfect world where you and he can be together again.
Do not copy, translate, or plagiarize. Reblogs are much appreciated.
Favorite ship dynamics
first loves
Pairing: Kamisato Ayato x fReader Warnings: angst, (slight) hurt/no comfort Word Count: ~2k A/N: apparently tumblr had issues so i'm reposting this!
They say that first loves are the hardest to forget. A face, forever imprinted in your memory with a series of "firsts" forever in the back of your mind. It's a cruel phrase, toxic even, one that snickers in the back of your mind when you see Kamisato Ayato for the first time in years. He looks the same, a knowing smile on his lips, eyes bright with amusement but dancing with secrets, but he's different. He's taller now, with a broader frame, hand moving through the air gracefully as he speaks to Madame Kujou Sara with nothing but elegance dripping from his tone. Everyone around looks at him as if he was a king, a shining star standing before a throne he had just sat at.
And yet, you still see the boy that used to be one of your closest friends as a child. You still see lilac eyes gazing at you with delight as he drags you down the streets of Inazuma City, a bag of Mora bouncing in his hands as he declares that you have to share this next dessert with him. Ayaka pouts from behind you, hands on her hips as she demands that her brother also get her one as well. It’s only a couple seconds of arguing before the eldest gives in, buying two desserts. One for Ayaka, and one for the two of you to share. You’re not quite sure why he doesn’t want one for himself, but Ayato claims that it’s too sweet for him to finish on his own. You don’t question it. After all, you’re just children.
You still see the boy who proudly proclaimed that he was in love with you, offering you a poorly put together bundle of flowers that he declares he made himself. You’re not children at the time, barely adults but still so new to the harsh reality of the political world.
But now, years later, childhood innocence is only a fantasy that you can indulge in when you have time alone, left in your room with nothing but pictures and old trinkets that commemorate a friendship that consumed your youth. You’ve watched as Kamisato Ayato has grown from a boy to a man in just a short number of years, the misfortunes that befell upon his family still lingering in the shadows. You see it in the way he carries himself, head raised and shoulders pulled back, not a single misstep as he strides down the road. Years upon years of reminders and lessons are forever ingrained in his mind but you still notice the small habits he’s kept from childhood, from his anxious fiddling with the collar of his kimono, to the way his eyes brighten when he comes across something as simple as milk tea.
And tonight, the Yashiro Commission hosts a party in honour of the wedding between Hiiragi Chisato and Kujou Kamaji, the couple basking in smiles and congratulations, entertaining an eager crowd as you watch from a little ways away. The spotlight was meant for them, for the people of the high ruling families, where politics were like a game of chess and every little move was based on calculations. With the marriage of two people from the Hiiragi and Kujou clans, people have begun to turn their heads towards the Kamisato clan, eager whispers about the commissioner simmering in the background as offers are made and declined. Said man handles each approach with grace, bowing his head with respect as he forces a chuckle to be heard before sending away another invitation to marriage. He can feel your stare on him, and has caught the way your eyes seem to catch on his figure as you scan the room. Ayato watches the way you make small talk with Thoma and Ayaka, covering your mouth with your fan when his retainer apparently says something outrageously funny that it has you turning away so as to not make a scene. When was the last time you smiled at him like that?
“I apologize, but there’s something I need to take care of.” He offers the man in front of him a quick smile before slipping away, eyes trained on you as he leaves behind his umpteenth marriage offer of the night. Thoma and Ayaka notice him first, the latter darting her eyes between you and her brother before she leans in, her own mouth covered by her fan as she whispers something to you. He watches, almost painfully, when he notices the way you stiffen up and turn towards him. Your smile isn’t as wide, isn’t as bright, isn’t as genuine as he remembers.
“You came.” His words are gentle but the weight of them is made known to you as your eyes trace over his raised brows and parted mouth that begins to curl into a smile. Thoma mumbles something about checking the food, offering his arm to Ayaka who takes it quickly, patting you on the forearm gently before being whisked away to leave you and Ayato to some privacy.
“It would be rude of me to decline an invitation from the Yashiro Commissioner.” You can only watch as his smile wavers at your words, a reminder of the past that begins to claw at your chest now that you’re face to face with him for the first time in years.
He clears his throat and his hand reaches up to fix the collar of his kimono. “Of course, but I hadn’t heard you were back from Liyue, last I heard you were working abroad with the Feiyun Commerce Guild.” He’s lying, not that he’d tell you, that he’d known the moment you arrived back in Inazuma after being away for almost two years. Ayato wants to pinch himself, has it already been two years?
Two years ago you watched as storm clouds began to haze over his vision, Inazuma beginning to be thrown into a political turmoil as rumours of a decree being enacted in disfavour of vision holders began to run through the streets. You had voiced your concerns, not only for the political state of Inazuma and the growing tensions within the Tri-Commissions, but also for Ayato’s wellbeing. It was nothing new to see him engrossed in work, handling multiple tasks at once and slowly but surely, pushing people away under the excuse that he was too busy. The bags under his eyes seemed to pull him down day by day, and when the breaking point finally came, it was poison that spilled from his lips, his words so casually cruel as if he were being honest about your relationship.
---
“You don’t get it, do you?” You swallowed thickly at his words, taken aback by the sharp rise in volume. Ayato’s hands lay flat on the table, holding up his upper body as he leaned forward over his desk, eyes cold and uncaring as he stared back at you. The gift behind your back felt heavy as you sucked in a breath and waited for him to continue.
“I don’t need your help, and I haven’t for awhile now.” He sneered, “Archons, I swear the past few months you haven’t done anything to help. You’re in the way.”
“You don’t mean that.” Despite the hurt that sunk into your chest at his words, you tone was unwavering, pushing back against the stress that was far too evident upon his shoulders. “You’re overworking yourself and taking it out on me, so don’t give me that. You need to take a break, you can’t continue to work yourself to the bone.”
Ayato scoffed, “You’re not the Commissioner, are you? You don’t belong to any of the big three families, so tell me, what do you know about any of this?” His hand swept over the papers in front of him, sheets rustling in protest before settling down in their place.
“If you have nothing better to do than bother me, then leave. I don’t need you here.”
---
Now air feels thickened, clouded with unsaid words and broken promises, a first love washed away through the seasons. He’s older, more mature and understanding, with experiences, good and bad, tucked within his mind. And as he takes in your appearance, the way you hold yourself and stare back at him unflinchingly, he can only wonder what you’ve been up to in Liyue. He can only hear so much from his informants and diplomats that have been stationed in the land of the Geo Archon. The you who entertains friendly conversation during the day is still the same, with a warm smile and open hand ready to help. But behind closed doors will remain unknown to him. But now, away from the crowd of people and the secrets whispered behind decorated fans, it’s just you and Ayato and the bridge of memories that desperately holds you two together.
“You look good.” He allows his eyes to trace down the design of your kimono, a hint of pride shooting through him as he notices that it’s of the same silk he’d given to you on your eighteenth birthday.
“How eloquent of you.” Your tone is dry but he can hear the hidden teasing. It makes his smile grow wider, a little flame of hope sparking in his chest. “I had it made when I returned. After all, I haven’t had the chance to attend a party hosted by the Yashiro Commission since I left.” Your hands smooth down the fine silk, calloused fingers from years of training brushing against the embroidered designs. He looks down at the floor for a moment before smiling bitterly, the memories dancing in his head. His breaking point marked the downfall of it all. Words of affection became whispers in the dark before you had been the one to call things off, wishing him the best through tear clouded eyes and trembling hands. You left on the last day of Spring.
And how ironic it is, that today marks the first day of Spring, with the Sakura blossoms in full bloom and the hint of festivities just around the corner. He takes a breath, gathering whatever’s left of his slipping courage and offers a hand to you. “How about dinner sometime soon? Allow me to properly welcome you back to Inazuma.” He’s a bit late to that welcome, after all, you’d already been in Inazuma for a month, but if this is his chance to mend things, he’d take it in an instant.
“I’m sorry.” His chest squeezes painfully at the words, “But I’m leaving back to Liyue in a matter of days. I still have business with the Feiyun Commerce Guild.”
“Is it someone else?” The words fall out before he can stop himself and he wants to kick himself when you lean away from him, eyes narrowed and mouth downturned.
You scowl and resist the urge to cross your arms over your chest. “So what if it is?” Ayato doesn’t know what to say to that, because what right does he have to barge his way back into your life, offer you dinner and a date as if you’d never left, as if you’d stayed friends over the last couple years.
“It simply piqued my curiosity.” He lies and takes a step back when he catches sight of the way you grip your fan nervously. He takes in the way your fingers pick at the smooth wood, a telltale sign of your anxiety.
“Of course.” You shake your head and step back. Ayato inhales sharply but stops himself from speaking when your lips part. “I should go, there are some things I need to take care of at home, before the night ends. This was a mistake, no, well, I’ve overstayed my welcome. But thank you, Lord Kamisato, for your time. I’m sure we’ll see each other around sometime.” You can’t bring yourself to care about any formalities as you ramble on, offering him half-hearted apologies. And in the end, the Yashiro Commissioner stays silent, just like you were, when he pushed you out of his life.
They say first loves are hard to forget. And Archons above, never has that been more apparent as Kamisato Ayato can only watch as you slip through his fingers once more and blend into the shadows, the click of the door shutting echoing in his mind. He swallows thickly, hands clammy and chest stinging with hurt. Did you have to wear that to walk out of his life?
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3
tw: death, 18+ only: sukuna is very protective over his little wife.
“Woah, she’s hot!”
That was the first comment. SUKUNA knew then he wanted to kill this man.
“Shit, look at her.” The vulgar stranger whistled, his lustful eyes trailing the curves of your body. “I hope I can get five minutes alone with her in the bathroom.”
Sukuna swallowed a sip of his dark liquor.
He and this stranger were the only two individuals at the gathering sitting on the couches instead of mingling with the others. It was the perfect spot for him to keep an eye on you, his sweet little wife, but him alone. This man? Who dared to join Sukuna on the couch and pour himself a shot of whiskey?
He was going to die tonight. Sukuna was certain of it.
Sukuna turned to face one of the bodyguards standing beside the couch — not that Sukuna needed any protection. Silently, he gestured in your direction, and the bodyguard immediately understood Sukuna’s wordless command.
The stranger watched the interaction take place. He watched the guard approach you and guide you over to the sitting area, and he smiled wildly.
“You’re bringing her to me? You’re a good man,” he said.
Sukuna took another sip of his dark liquor.
When you arrived, a kind smile on your face, Sukuna put his glass down on a nearby table and patted his lap twice.
Happily, you took your seat, and his large hand rubbed your hip.
Oh, the man was stunned. Angry.
“Hey, I called dibs on that bitch first,” he spat.
Sukuna watched the corners of your lips fall as the man continued on, on, and on. During his ramble, Sukuna whispered in your ear, “Close your eyes and cover your ears, girl.”
You did as you were told, though it did little to muffle the sound of the gunshot that came seconds later.
The party guests were silent for a moment, but after observing you in Sukuna’s lap, a gun in his hand, and an unfamiliar dead body bleeding out on the couch, they were quick to return to their conversations.
After all, Sukuna owned this building. This party was his. And this wasn’t the first time he had to murder someone on his kindhearted wife’s behalf.
“Hey,” Sukuna, who was aggressive with every other soul except for you, spoke softly. “I’ll cheer you up when we get home, pretty girl.”
With him, that could have meant watching reruns of your favorite show with you, or him sloppily licking at your clit until you came repeatedly.
More than likely both.
had a shitty day and cant sleep because of it, wish moon was here to hypnotize me to sleep aaughg
cha's official rec list!!
i've made a couple rec lists & want to combine them into one!! i'm also adding some new blogs & featuring my amazing mutuals <3
minors dni with these authors!!
@saekogun !! the college au! with yan! venti & xiao has me on the floor it's so well written and fleshed out 😍 this is the college au masterpost check it out!! and this one: the royal au! LET ME TELL YOU THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER!! the characters, the time frame, the slight compliance to the in game lore 🤤😍 every character is so well written i only have praise @qierxing ugh i can't pick favorites i'd recommend everything on this blog!! their recent albedo fic though ... check it out :)
@blzzrdstryr super talented ahhhh!! i love their beidou post & their fairytale au is the best thing i've ever read tbh! the character profiles are here!!
@albedosangel if you like dc it would almost be an insult not to read arias work!! this post ... i really like it :)
@darkkteaz their albedo series immaculate!! and this is arguably one of my favorite childe fics :)
@snailsgoingdowntown this yan! diluc is arguably one of my all time favorites
@yes-ter-night not very active :( but their latest twins fic & school au ... yeah 😍
@khaenruin this legit fueled all my kaeya thirsts ... syl is so talented TT
@dovesgrave ... moaning so loud their art style has me bouncing off the walls like a feral animal!! their thoughts!! the childe multiverse!! this xiao art!?!?! this albedo?!?!?? you better go hype them up >:)
@masuchist ... i could write a whole essay on how amazing my mutual is but i don't have the space </3 their touch it, my tail! (1,2) posts are so well written & a pleasure to read!!
@vampyuric seok is so talented ahhhhhh!!! all of their childe posts are amazing TT but their childe & dottore roommate post has a special place in my heart
@amosthirst screaming & sobbing amos is so talented ahhhh TT i love all their work i don't know what to recommend </3 the bastardized men post though ... drools
@cinnamonest super dark ( like really dark content ) but super yummy: their xiao camgirl and albedo idol darling posts are so good!! ( dove's art is inspired by these!! )
@bye-bye-sunbird spoil of war series ... drools; literally everything on this blog is phenomenal!!
@lacrimariums dark content; love their xiao & zhongli fics!! not very active but they are my favorite gender-neutral blog!!
@ddarker-dreams when i see first contract posts i always get super excited!! they're literally the face & icon of yan! genshin tumblr >:)
@galair not only is their art gorgeous but their writing is sooo good omg how does it feel to be so talented TT my favorite scaramouche post rn ... and the way they draw the lumine & aether has me barking!!
@yandere-romanticaa their entire blog is great :) i appreciate them being mutifandom so be sure to check out more than just their genshin posts!! ana is so sweet too TT
@schwarmerisch kaeya <3 ... this is ... so good & the way they write him is so perfect!!
@merakiui speaking of sweet you should check out their bittersweet xiao series!! i get excited when i see the series on my feed!! mera is so talented ahhhhh!!!
@yunahosk their yan! zhongli fic is well written!! they haven't been super active but their posts are amazing! @lovesickloverboys sentinent yan! genshin characters ... drools
@aerosiderwrites this diluc fic ... so yummy 🤤
@lazywriters-blog their yan! childe fics are so well written & full of emotion // also not very active :( @tri3tri their childe fics ohhhh he's so irritating and they capture him so well!!
@seakicker no thoughts only their mermaid childe & incubus childe :)
@imalwaystiredzzz their zhongli series?! it's so good!!
@after-witch this scara fic ... actual chills; the build up was phenomenal & i loved reading every single sentence!!
@tartagliadevotee their thoma fic literally has me drooling in more than one place >:)
twitter links | jjk
amab for all links ! disclaimer im poc, but only could find these links,send me with more nsfw twt accs, if you'd rather more variety. highly requested and includes both sub and dom amab reader.
a.n ;; its been like 4 months n these captions i made r taking me out I'm so sorry u had to see this
to see links you must log into your twt acc.
toji
link - this w / toji link - bathroom with toji link - showing him who's in charge | sub toji link - passionate kissing with toji
gojo
link - "keep it down, suguru's sleepin' in the next room." link / link - he fucks you in the car link - his valentines gift | sub gojo link - he's pretty with the blindfold on | sub gojo
nanami
link - he fucks you with the toy he found link - treating him while he types up an email link - he takes his time with you
link - he rides you | sub nanami
geto
link - fucking your throat link - this link / link - in the back of the car link - fucking him silly | sub geto
[ID in ALT]
terrible, terrible self-preservation instincts
SATORU GOJO Jujutsu Kaisen Season 2 Episode 4
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trying to empress myself is very hard, but I like the process Tony • 26 y.o. lawyer, have Cyno vibes of bad jokes, Al-Haitam's seriousness and grumble like Tighnary God, have mercy on me and lemme calm down on my imposter syndrome
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