A/N: Me and some friends ended up discussing how economics and time work in Teyvat for almost 2 hours. Results

A/N: Me and some friends ended up discussing how economics and time work in Teyvat for almost 2 hours. Results were inconclusive.

TW: Implied stalking and noncon

Sometimes you’d notice little things like a drawer being open when you were sure you’d closed it, or an item of clothing vanishing, only to appear back in your closet two days later. You reasoned that it was just a case of you misplacing things. Not remembering. Fatigue. 

Even in the deepest of sleep, sometimes you could swear that there was someone lying next to you, barely able to make out whatever they were rambling about. You could have sworn you felt arms wrapping around your waist, and a face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

One time as you were walking home from the Adventurer’s Guild, a man approached you. His clothes made it clear that he hailed from Snezhnaya, immediately putting you on edge.

“No need to be so weary, I promise I don’t bite!”

He had said, having noticed how hesitant you were to engage with him and the way your shoulders remained tense. He had introduced himself as “Childe”, laughing at the confused look on your face upon hearing the name. His jovial nature put you at ease as you continued to walk home, chatting the whole time.

Looking back, you wish you had paid more attention to the way his hollow eyes would rake up and down your body, gaze like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“Why in the name of Celestia is my damn rent this high?!”

You stared at the piece of paper, wide-eyed, the numbers seared into your mind.

2 million mora in a week.

You began taking on nearly six commissions a day, trudging home at daybreak only to repeat the cycle. After five days, you only had enough to pay a little over half of your rent, even with 100,000 in savings added. Despite all your efforts, you finally began to concede to the fact that this race against time was but a fruitless endeavor. 

After having done a handful of commissions that were oh so conveniently far away from each other, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep.

“Comrade! Long time since I’ve last seen you, hm?”

“Oh, uhm.. yeah.”

You bite back the urge to tell him to go away.

“You’re looking quite rough. You okay?”

“I’ve been working myself to the damn bone to pay my rent and it’s still not enough. Archons, I can’t even move out since I need to stay close to my job and none of the other apartments have open rooms!”

It takes you a minute to realize you’re ranting to a man you don’t even know.

“Sorry for the outburst, I-”

“I can lend you some mora.”

You halt in your tracks. A man you’ve only talked to twice, virtually a stranger, is offering to loan you mora. The more logical part of you is screaming not to accept his generosity, but desperation wins over and you take him up on his offer.

That was two months ago.

His generosity came with a price you never expected to pay–

Yourself.

You naivety landed you where you are now, bent over his desk at the Northland Bank as he pounds into you, muttering archons know what in his native tongue. You hate this, being treated like little more than a hole to fuck, than an object. You hate how he forces pleasure upon you. You hate how he touches you.

You hate him.

Too bad no one cares about what you want.

He never loses. He’ll always get what he wants in the end, no matter what.