#zhongrin.elementalsupercharge

[kashimos-hajime]

—𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐚𝐥-𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦

summary: he hasn’t dreamed in a long time, but when al-haitham dreamed for the first time after the akademiya coup, he dreamed of you.

WARNINGS: archon quest akasha pulses, the kalpa flame rises spoilers! soulmate au if you squint, swearing, mentions of violence, death, injury, minor self-loathing, plot AND lore heavy, angst, fluff, not poly, happy ending!  pairing: al-haitham x fem!reader, minor kaveh x fem!reader word count: 18.1k grind

a/n: written for the lovely @zhongrin​ and her elemental supercharge collab! it was super fun to work on and really inspired me to love writing again because it was just a breath of fresh air. my entry: dendro + dendro + cryo = permafrost 

here are some important notes for this fic to help with understanding it:

tsaritsa is the former goddess of love. the goddess of flowers was a seelie. king deshret reborn was al-haitham. possibly ooc al-haitham (he’s also deaf!) i made shit up about teleport waypoints and about pretty much all the lore surrounding the three god-kings besides what i glimpsed through some books/theories/etc. i was just like fuck it we ball. 

inspo songs: who is she? - i monster, about you - the 1975, awake from a nightmare - hoyo-mix (i recommend you listen to this one especially during kaveh - chat: craftsmanship)

now on ao3 x

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata - About the Goddess of Flowers

In the place where Padisarahs bloom, two gods speak in the absence of their third. The Lord of Flowers picks these Padisarahs and the Greater Lord watches, entranced in the velvet purple petals that gleam in the sun.

The latter says: “You know the price to be paid if he searches for that divine nail.”

The other says: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t pretend to be a fool. You and I both know that—”

“Rukkhadevata.”

The Dendro Archon is silenced.

At last, the scorned one speaks. She has lost her people, her home. She refuses to die until Celestia is buried beneath her bloodied hands. “There is nothing to be done. Do you think Deshret’s mind sways so easily? He is set on finding the answers he seeks, and I am set on aiding in his endeavours.”

“But you… why? You understand what the Heavenly Principles are capable of, and you still put yourself in their line of fire. Again. Why?”

“Because Deshret asked.”

“I don’t think you understand what he is asking you to do.”

“No? Then, you have no idea of what I am, Rukkhadevata, and you are the one who won’t ever understand.”

Deshret - About the Divine Nail

The sandstorm is brutal, tearing at their clothes, their skin, blinding their eyes and clogging their throats. It had picked up so suddenly, there’d barely been enough time for Deshret to shield her from the first impact before realizing that the storm chaotically revolves around them. Around him. Uncontrollable winds swiping through the eye of a hurricane do not with hold their strength from the Goddess of Flowers, but Deshret, the powerful God-King remains untouched. 

He pulls her in closer to his side. The Goddess of Flowers can barely see straight by the time the divine nail rises to its full height, her withered body barely able to withstand the powerful galeforces that pull at her every which way. 

The divine nail is beautiful, glowing blue, refracting gold, and she can only smile as Deshret beside her raises a hand. He, too, glows, but he glows like the sun, like divinity.

“You’ve done it,” she congratulates through her weeping. The sand burns into her corneas, brands her lungs, but nothing touches her heart, and that is how she knows the reason it is shrivelling in her chest is because she is dying. The god beside her, the one holding her hand, turns, and she can’t help her laugh. “I told you once, though, that you would lose much in this exchange.”

“What?” His hand springs off her wrist, but her body is already disintegrating. It feels like it did when her kind was casted from their old home; her body thinned into a husk of what it used to be. Back then, she had prioritzed saving her mind over every inch of her beauty, yet now… now she doesn’t have the strength to save anything. 

Deshret cannot protect the Goddess of Flowers from a trade conducted by those who rule above gods. “No… no, what is happening? You’re…”

“I hope,” she cuts off cleanly, “that one day, I can love you without any selfish desire. I hope… in another life, another samsara as Rukkhadevata would so fondly call it, I will love you more than you ever loved me.” His eyes widen, and a trembling hand reaches for her face. The Goddess of Flowers smiles. Tilts her head into his palm, and laughs again through the tears that evaporate off her cheeks as soon as they spring off her eyelashes.

He is incinerating to touch—a conduit of swirling sand, an incarnation of the sun. How ironic it is that the hand that once saved her from the sands will be the hand that seals her fate amongst the dunes.

Stepping closer, her flesh burns away when she cradles his face. He is shining so brightly. A brilliant morning star, a genius with a hungry mind, a gluttonous scholar. The God-King of the Desert.

Yet, Deshret does not seem like the god everyone makes him about to be.

Before the Goddess of Flowers, Deshret is nothing more than a man, crying and holding onto her with all his might. 

A soft part of her melts at his expression.

“In all honesty,” she whispers, soft and choked, “I aided you because, in your ambitious vision of the future, I saw the possibility that you could free all of us from the shackles that chain us to the Heavenly Principles. In the end, it was my own selfish nature that led us here, and it is my own doing that marked your path to be one that you will have to walk alone.”

Deshret takes hold of her face, eyes searching, but the goddess withdraws her hands to settle her fingers on his wrists lightly.

“It was not your fault, Deshret.”

“No!” She pulls his wrists away, but he curls his hands into fists, fighting to free himself from her grip. For once, it is impossible, and he lets out a desperate growl, tears glinting upon his cheeks. “Don’t leave me. Don’t… don’t go.”

“Deshret—“

“Stay. Just a little while longer. I will take that divine nail and hammer it into this world, and build you an eternal oasis where I will bring you back to life with the knowledge that spills from its organs.” Lunging forward, his hands find themselves on the sides of her neck, thumbs stretching to trace the lines of her jaw. “I will not lose you. I cannot lose you!”

The ragged storm enflames, the winds grow deafening, loud enough to resemble a constant thunder that echoes in the hollowness of her chest. 

“Don’t worry about that sort of thing, Deshret.” 

Her voice is very weak now. When she swallows, sand shreds her insides and her eyes burn from the strength it’s taking to avoid coughing up iron.

“We will meet again,” she continues. “If Rukkhadevata has a hand in anything, it is the wisdom that pools around all of us, and the knowledge that there will not be an era where we are separated.”

“No, no, don’t go!”

But it falls futilely on deaf ears. The Goddess of Flowers lets go, and steps backward, her knees shaking, her frame swaying from the winds she can no longer fight. 

As soon as her heel tucks into the edge of the unrelenting galeforce, she is ripped away, and the Goddess of Flowers disappears.

Tighnari - Something to Share: Akademiya Days

If one asked Tighnari what he thought of the Artificer of the Akademiya, he would return that inquiry with one of his own:

“Do you mean my thoughts on the Artificer alone, or about her relationship with the Scribe of the Akademiya?”

The truth of the matter is, the Scribe and the Artificer’s history go past colleagues at the Akademiya, past scholars searching for a thesis, for once upon a time, they were students, too.

Paimon isn’t aware of this: “Er… I don’t know. Did they know one another?”

“Al-Haitham wields his practicality like a spear. Nothing could quite faze him or outwit him. Nothing could unsettle him, except for the Artificer. She was a student in his year, but she was a scholar of the Kshahrewar Darshan. They were quite the reliable pair of scholars.” A soft hum. 

“Really? Al-Haitham doesn’t seem like the partner type.”

“He isn’t. I suppose exceptions could be made when it came to her. I met Al-Haitham through the Artificer, actually, when they were working on some sort of prototype translation device for foreigners and she had asked if Sumeru’s scientific names for plants from other nations were derived from their original language.” Tighnari’s ears twitch. “I didn’t know her well back then, but from my brief meetings with her, she was very lively and happy. She didn’t care about the Sages and the politics surrounding the Six Darshans. All she wanted was to study. I think her thesis was to find a way to repair the Teleport Waypoints around Sumeru. It made quite the wave back in our day.”

“The Teleport Waypoints?” Paimon says. “Paimon noticed that they’re guarded by the Corps Of Thirty in Sumeru when in other nations they’re pretty much abandoned.”

“Her hypothesis that they’d been placed by some higher power than the Archons is a banned reference material and only the highest level of scholars are aware of the theory,” Tighnari says, and there’s a far off look in his eyes. “The Corps of Thirty supposedly defend these sites for a historical scholar for the day she comes home, but to be honest,” he adds quieter, “I think they were ordered to defend the Waypoints from the Artificer should she ever return.”

.

Technological advancement in Sumeru had progressed far enough that prototype cochlear implants are, though not a norm, a potential alternative than going through life unaware. The alternative is only made available by the resources of the Akademiya and Al-Haitham’s enrolment there since it’s where he can maintain upkeep with the help of Kshahrewar students who were overseeing this new piece of headgear. 

You are the student assigned ot make sure his top of the line technological headwear didn’t go awry. You spend a lot of time with him, which means, against all odds, the bright, voracious, and laughing sun of the Kshahrewar Darshan has become Al-Haitham’s friend.

He had avoided it at first. Honestly. In the three years they’ve been together as mechanic and project, it took almost a year for Al-Haitham to consider even looking forward to seeing you every Thursday afternoon where you’d fiddle with his settings and write down notes on his condition.

And, yet, when he conceded to the fact that you were a staple to him—a constant in the ever-changing nature of the Akademiya’s cutthroat landscape where scholars dropped at the tip of a hat—he found that he learned more about you in the first month he gave in than he did in the last twelve he resisted. 

Each factoid is like a dash in his head: your thesis is to be about the possibility of repairing the shattered Teleport Waypoints scattered across the nation, and how you’d go about doing it. Your work with Al-Haitham is just a way to investigate how the Akasha terminal and said Teleport Waypoints could work in tandem. Your life goal is for the latter to work on its own some day like it did in ages past and ease travel for those who could not afford to.

“It’s an altruistic thing to do.”

“I’m from Snezhnaya, but I moved here when I was younger.” You’re sitting across from him at the library as you tinker with a device similar to the one on his ears. “I used to go back every summer, but now that I’m at the Akademiya, I haven’t returned because I don’t have time, so the Teleport Waypoints would help with seeing my family more often, too. I’m not all good.”

He doesn’t look up from his book, although above the top of it, he can see your fingers deftly trying to rearrange wires. “Family?”

“Mhm. My father is a researcher here. My mother stayed back home. I grew up in a small hamlet, you know.”

He smiles faintly, flipping a page. “Yes, I know. It’s one of the first things you told me.”

“Oh, well… I didn’t think you’d remember,” you say, and he finally looks up from the pages to find you staring. You don’t look away, and instead, your smile grows as you tilt your head. “You’ve got beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that before, Al-Haitham?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he answers. That’s another thing about you. You always say his name when you speak to him, as if to make sure that he understands you are directing such things to him.

That, and just the way you say his name. Every syllable purposeful, in that voice of yours that edges on melodic. You still have a Snezhnayan accent when you say certain words, including ones of Sumeran origin.

“Well, you do. They’re so beautiful.” Your smile makes your eyes crinkle as you return to your project, and Al-Haitham clears his throat, fighting the red that’s burning his ears. Scratching his jaw, he shakes his head minutely and instead tries to think of anything else.

You like oranges, but have a secret soft spot for peaches. You like reading romance, and you love art. Your father is a member of the Spantamad Darshan, and during his thesis, he travelled back to his homeland and fostered a family, which includes his eldest daughter, you.

The same you he can’t stop thinking of now that he’s stuck on it.

Later, when they begin to pack up their things from the library, in between him slipping a book into his bag and you sliding each tool back into its spot in your case, he asks if you’d like to have dinner with him at Lambad’s Tavern.

“Alright, but I’ll have to drop this off at my work room before I do. I don’t want to damage it,” you answer, tilting your head to your project wrapped in cloth which you’ve carefully nestled into a box.

“That sounds fine. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the tree, then?” he asks and you smile fondly at him, the box in your arms and your bag slung across your shoulder.

“Give me a minute or two,” you say. “I won’t be long.”

Al-Haitham bids you farewell at the entrance to the House of Daena, and you walk off with a bright smile, your figure outlined in a melting sunset gold. There’s not a lot of people outside—most have found shelter in Akademiya buildings or they’re out in the city, trying to maintain a social life as well as a scholar can.

“(Name)!” someone shouts, and Al-Haitham, who’d been walking down the ramp, looks up to see a tall, slim figure bolt past him. Blond hair flashes in the burning orange of dusk as a man runs past, and Al-Haitham twists around to avoid being hit by him as a foul word springs to his tongue.

But then, he realizes what the man had yelled and who the man even is the longer he stares at his retreating back, and Al-Haitham shakes his head.

You won’t be happy with him if he gets into an argument with your childhood best friend of all people.

Kaveh is easy-going, passionate, and empathetic. It is… to say the least, everything Al-Haitham is not. He’s met him once or twice out of pure coincidence, and he’s seen the blond around you more often than not. A part of him dislikes his nature. His whimsical, idealistic view of their future does not fall into line with how Al-Haitham sees it, and borders on idiotic considering that a romantic vision is not feasible in a nation where knowledge seeks to rationalize every existing thing.

The more logical half of him knows that you share all the same traits as Kaveh, and that the real reason behind his disdain is because Kaveh clearly has romantic feelings for you, and you return them.

It isn’t difficult to decipher the nature of your relationship with your “childhood best friend.”

How else would you describe the way his hand wraps around your elbow when other people want your attention and how when he leans to whisper something in your ear, you never fail to laugh and swat at him, your own arm looped through his.

He thinks that sick, logical side of him would pay to see you stumble through your words as you try to explain your relationship with your friend, but he can’t bare to do it. It feels cruel when all you’ve been is patient and kind with him.

“You seem distracted, Al-Haitham,” you intone with concern. You cradle tea in your hands, and cock your head at him, a thoughtful frown playing at your lips. “Is something wrong?”

Blinking, Al-Haitham finds you looking at him with those wonderful and warm eyes, and that logical side of him vanishes—a rat scurrying from the sunlight and back into the dark.

“No. No, I was merely thinking of something,” he dismisses, poking at the food he’s barely touched. The tavern is loud—almost too loud. His head aches with the amount of thoughts that swirl around, clattering in cacophony. It’d been stupid to suggest this place when he’s so tired from studying. Archons, he wants it to stop now. To get up and run, to curl up with a book and a warm fire, to tell them to stop, everyone, please, for the love of the Dendro Archon, shut the fuck up—

You laugh, and set down your cup of tea, reaching over to grab his wrist and squeeze gently, and his world goes quiet. It zeroes in on you, and the softness of your palm betrays the calluses on your fingers, a strange juxtaposition against his wrist.

“I know it’s hard,” you utter teasingly, “but I want you to stop thinking tonight. Nothing about studies, or labs, or anything about any kind of dictionary.” He smiles at that as you stroke your thumb over the back of his hand. “Just you and me, and this food.”

“Duly noted,” he mutters, and you smile again, returning to your own supper. But he cannot. His eyes do not stray, and his shoulders sink into his body, invisible weight sloughing off his skeletal frame.

All Al-Haitham does is watch you eat, rice slipping between two perfect lips, lips he knows, lips he could draw, and he’s not even close to resembling an artist. A mouth he can paint without seeing the reference, eyes closed, asleep, unconscious. A mouth he has dreamed of before, and he wonders just how he can tell you that, now, the reason he can’t stop thinking is because he’s thinking about you.

Collei - About Technology: Lockboxes

“What do you wanna know?” Collie asks brightly. “Oh, this is the Artificer’s seal! How do you have this?”

“We found it in the Balladeer’s chambers. It was addressed to Al-Haitham but we can’t seem to open it.”

“That’s probably because you need his permission to open it. Most of her work is password protected, so I guess that means including this. Top secret stuff. Master Tighnari received a few cases back before I knew him, though they’re still in his quarters.” She sighs. “Apparently, all her work is more valuable than a lot of the stuff the Sages hold, according to Master Tighnari, because she went missing and there is no way to replicate it.”

“I thought Tighnari didn’t know her well,” the Traveler mutters to themself quietly, before asking, louder, “Missing?”

“I don’t know much about what happened, but she went missing five years ago after an expedition went wrong. Apparently, a huge snowstorm overtook the desert and she was swallowed up by the sand. The rest of her team came out fine, but her and some other Spantamad scholar just… died in that snow. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen! So much snow it almost completely covered the sand dunes.”

“That’s strange,” intones Paimon. “It’s so hot and dry here, wouldn’t the snow just melt?”

“It seemed like a freak incident,” Collei agrees, “but the Sages were scrambling to figure out why. The Akademiya was in a flurry that whole season before it died down.” Her eyes fall to the box the Traveler holds again. It has a flat surface, with no keyhole, yet it’s sealed shut, and Collei hums. “Maybe, they’re just blueprints and stuff to keep safe. That’s what Master Tighnari has in his boxes. Or, maybe it’s a secret treasure!”

“It could be,” the Traveler answers. “But I haven’t been able to find Al-Haitham.”

“He’ll show up,” Collie assures confidently. “He always does.”

.

As a member of the Haravatat Darshan, Al-Haitham is capable of speaking nearly every living language in Teyvat and a handful of dead ones. It’s required for him to graduate alongside a well-founded dissertation. He wrote his own on the developing dialects of sign language across the regions, which he recited in front of his professor entirely in sign language.

A bit much, but Al-Haitham is nothing if not thorough.

He already has a reputation in his Darshan to be no nonsense, borderline rude, and a lone wolf, but brilliant, and the future of the Akademiya. A prodigy with no morality of the common sort, Al-Haitham walks the Akademiya grounds knowing that there are few who can shatter the earth beneath his feet. 

If the Sages are right, the current Scribe should be stepping down soon, and he could take that position easily. All access to so many projects would be granted, and he wouldn’t be short on resources for things he’d like to study. It’d also grant him more time to pursue his own endeavours. The desert is sorely understudied, but the rumours of a Divine Knowledge Capsule floating around the black markets, too, piques his interest.

Al-Haitham is a scholar without equal.

“Al-Haitham, there you are.”

Yet… in front of you, he’s nothing more than an awkward boy who doesn’t know what to say.

In the years since they’ve been mere fresh-faced students, you’ve graduated, too. Now, you work as a Dastur, leading expeditions with your father. Al-Haitham’s met him multiple times, but he’s been returning to Snezhnaya recently according to you. You’ve even overtaken some of his smaller projects.

“That’s not any of your responsibility,” he had pointed out in quiet Snezhnayan when he had come across you returning late to the city from an expedition to Avidiya Forest. Mud had ruined your shoes, and you looked up at him, moving to dump your bag on the ground. He had caught it before it could crash to the ground. Your eyes glinted, pleased, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

When his arms wrapped around your waist, you had seemed to melt into his body. Your fingers found purchase in his hair, and your nose dug into his neck as you sighed.

“Well, it’s my father,” you murmur in your mother tongue, strangely beautiful against his skin. It was one of the first languages he challenged himself to learn. You are much more subdued when you speak in the dialect of your homeland, yet no less beautiful. An everlasting snowflake in the middle of a rainforest. “He is most important to me, and I must do what he asks.”

He walked you home that night without you even asking.

Your smile is impossible to refuse, your laughter one of the few sounds that can bring him to a sane state of mind. A scholar without equal means a mind that never sleeps, and when Al-Haitham has enough of it all, he seeks solace in your mouth and your hands; your fingers carding through his hair, your lips whispering against his ear.  

A solace, no doubt, Kaveh receives nightly considering you two live together now on the stipend the Akademiya provides. Al-Haitham’s thoughts have driven him to stay up late on his most exhausted days, wondering what you did when you parted from the dinners they’ve scarcely scheduled and you returned back to that small house you shared with your childhood best friend. 

What do you and Kaveh even do every night anyway? Dinner, and conversations over what? The arts and poetics that Kaveh constantly waxes, whether or not you’re around? 

You plant yourself in front of him to stop in his tracks, and Al-Haitham’s eyes dart from your face to your neck against his will. 

Clear. It’s always clear.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you say.

“Have you?” Flippant. A bag hangs off your shoulders, and a shorter cut of the uniform drapes off your frame. Against his will, his heart sinks. “You look like you’re packed for another expedition.”

“Mhm. I’m going out into the desert for a month, maybe two. There’s a Teleport Waypoint near the Mausoleum of King Deshret that’s been displaying some abnormal levels of energy, so it might be a breakthrough depending on the cause.”

“You think there’s a Ley Line disorder?”

“Or maybe King Deshret’s risen again,” you comment blithely. Al-Haitham’s eyebrows shoot up at your boldness of stating such a blasphemous thing in the centre of Sumeru City, but you don’t seem bothered. “There have always been stranger things. Either way, I want to check it out.”

“I suppose so. Will Kaveh be accompanying you this time?”

“Kaveh? No. No, an architect and an artist has no place in the desert when he could be here.” You avert your gaze and you fight the stuttering in your voice. Al-Haitham bites his tongue. “Scholars from the Spantamad Darshan will be, though, considering the Ley Line aspect of the situation. It’ll be nice to spend time with my father again. He returned just recently, did you know?”

“I was made aware,” he says. He saw your father early yesterday morning, and they’d exchanged words, but you don’t need to know that Al-Haitham speaks to your father on a semi-regular basis. “Well, then, I hope your exploration is fruitful.” 

“Of course it will be. It’s me leading the expedition,” you tease, winking, and he can’t help the small smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth. Your smile softens into a fonder, more genuine one, and you take hold of his hand. In Snezhnayan, you utter: “I wanted to see you before I left.”

“I’m happy that you made that effort to,” he murmurs in the same, inclining his head. You squeeze his fingers, before letting go, and Al-Haitham’s gaze flickers from your eyes to your mouth. It’s still smiling, still warm, still those same lips that have haunted his dreams. He lets out a silent sigh and raises a hand to rest atop your head. In Sumeran again, he says, “I will await your return then, Artificer.”

“What a silly title.” A displeased expression overtakes your face but nonetheless, you clutch his bicep and duck from his hand and begin to make your way past him, trailing your fingers down his forearm. He turns to prolong the contact, his fingers tracing your veins. “Now, I don’t want to go, knowing you’re waiting for me to come back.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” he warns. They are at each other’s fingers, and he curls his digits, locking you in place for only a moment. “I might not be here when you come back.”

“Please,” you snort, but your expression betrays how happy and excited you are. “See you later, Al-Haitham.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” he agrees, and you giggle, waving one last time before turning around fully and running off to wherever you’re needed. Al-Haitham’s smile doesn’t fade as he watches you go. His heart warms whenever he’s near you, and now that you’ll be disappearing for a few months, he’s determined to keep that fire inside him burning low and bright.

He loves you. He knows that very well by now. Loves you without rival, without equal. Very few things can even think to challenge the spot you have in his life, although he is sure he does not have some sort of equivalent seat in your halls of life.

Why would he sit there when you have so many more acquaintances? Better-tempered ones, kinder ones, ones that aren’t ruled by selfish ambition, who actually have the initiative to tell you how they feel because they are not bogged down by the arguably controversial opinion that love is nothing more than an obstacle.

“Al-Haitham, the Grand Sage Azar wishes to speak with you,” an attendant says, and Al-Haitham is forced to look away from you. The scholar frowns at the request, but nonetheless, he follows the man to the House of Daena.

When he returns home from his meeting with the Grand Sage, Al-Haitham wants nothing more than to rip his brain out, strip it clean of memories. For the first time in his life, he curses knowledge, and the consequences it has inflicted on him

But a box sits waiting for him, a note attached to the top of it. By the intricate lock system on the front baring no keyhole, but a scanner that illuminates when Al-Haitham’s finger brushes against the box, he knows who it’s from.

Cyno - About Cold Cases

“The Artificer?” Cyno asks in the dying minutes of the feast in his honour. Crossing his arms over his chest, his brow furrows. “Why do you want to know about her?”

“We heard there’s a lot of mystery surrounding her, but if she’s such an important figure in the Akademiya, why didn’t she ever come back?”

“So you know she’s missing.” Cyno sighs. “I’m not sure if this is information I’m legally allowed to reveal to you as an outsider, but it’s you so I suppose I could make an exception. Her belongings were seized and her quarters were raided after her disappearance five years ago. The Eremites posted around the Teleport Waypoints are to assure that she doesn’t come to tamper with them.”

“Why? Is she a criminal?”

“No. The Sages put a stop to all of her research after it became clear she was extremely close to unlocking the full potential of the Teleport Waypoints. Whether or not it was fear that she would use that knowledge and surpass them is unclear, however she was well-liked by the public. Much of her work during her time was contribution to the public. Improving different aspects of our nation.”

“So, why… do you think the Sages had a hand in her disappearance?” the Traveler asks.

“I had my suspicions during the investigation which were only further supported once I was made the General Mahamatra and granted the ability to investigate past open cases.”

“As the General Mahamatra, you would probably know more about the circumstances surrounding the situation,” mutters Paimon. Cyno’s lips twist into a dismayed scowl.

“It was only the beginning of Azar’s need to retain power in Sumeru.” A resigned exhale. He glances around, but the place the Traveler has led him to is secluded and quiet. “I suggest you never reveal that you are searching for the Artificer to Al-Haitham. Talking about her is… a touchy subject.”

“The reason we wanted to find her is because of this box we found addressed to him.”

“A box?”

“Yeah! It must be something she hid from the matra before she disappeared.” Paimon flies around to the Traveler’s shoulder. “We wanted to ask Al-Haitham to open the box, but he’s been distracted by something else recently.”

Cyno hums, lips twisting into a frown. “From what I remember, the conclusion drawn from the investigation was that a freak snowstorm had caused her and another scholar to go missing. It went on for a month or two past their initial end date, so their resources eventually dried out, especially with being unprepared for that sort of weather. However…”

“What is it?” the Traveler asks.

“Well, why was she and a Spantamad scholar the only ones who went missing? The other members of the expedition emerged from the snowstorm cold but relatively unharmed at Caravan Ribat. Furthermore, there was a great shift in the area surrounding the Teleport Waypoint in front of the Mausoleum of King Deshret, suggesting that the Teleport Waypoint had somehow been used. I’m not quite sure of the efficacy of which it operated, but considering that there was no trace left behind, it’s possible that the snowstorm covered up the Teleport Waypoint tapping into the Ley Lines, and transporting the two scholars into some other place to escape.”

“So, in the end, she was successful in what she was trying to do,” the Traveler muses. “The Teleport Waypoints aren’t effective everywhere in Teyvat, though.”

The General Mahamatra shakes his head. “No, not to my knowledge.”

“Thanks, Cyno. This was a really big help,” the Traveler says, turning. Paimon flies in front of them, her hand scratching at her head. “I should leave you to your celebration. Sorry to bog it down with work.”

“Wait, Traveler. There’s one other thing that you should know. The investigation was preceded by an assignment issued by the Grand Sage to none other than Al-Haitham.”

.

Outside the Mausoleum of King Deshret, an expedition bustles around their camp. Scholars measure the Teleport Waypoint, use devices to take the temperature, and scribble down every observation in a small radius to ensure that the conditions are ideal.

You’ve retreated to your tent. The heat’s getting to you, and you feel exhausted as you set down your tool on your work bench, finger running down another manuscript to make sure everything is perfect.

Snezhnayan catches your ear and you turn around to see your father approaching, the tent flap closing behind him.

“You think it’ll work this time?”

“I’m sure, Papa,” you answer, lifting the core you’d been inspecting. They’ll insert this into the base of the Teleport Waypoint in a few days time once the Spantamad scholars are able to locate the source of destabilization in the Ley Lines. 

Archons willing, the core will be able to detect the Ley Lines running beneath the structure and channel energy back up into the Waypoint, and they’ll be able to go home in a blink of an eye.

There is one thing that you think separates you from the other scholars at the Akademiya, and it is not this groundbreaking technology you’ve crafted with your own hands. 

It is the higher purpose that fuels you to study. Not just for the sake of knowledge, or to find something new, something exciting.

“It’s our last chance. If we fail, the Doctor will have his way with me. I haven’t been useful enough, and he has no patience for people who waste his time. Little Star, I refuse to go back to Snezhnaya alive.”

The Fatui Harbingers. The fingers in your bones feel brittle after toiling for years and years for them to the point where you’re not sure that these hands are your own anymore. Maybe they belong to some unseen mind you don’t even know, but fear all the same.

All your work has only ever been for the Doctor, but maybe… maybe this way you and your dad can somehow find your mother and your siblings, find a secluded corner of this continent and hide from the Doctor for the rest of your days.

“Thank you,” your father murmurs, and you lower the core back into its box. Closing it, it lets out a little beep, and you drum your fingers against the top of the lid, sighing. “Little Star.”

“It’ll be fine,” you whisper, letting out a long breath. It feels like it takes the soul out of you, and you plant your hands against the table, letting your head drop. “We’ll be just fine.” 

A hand settles between your shoulders, and you let your father guide you closer towards him. His chest is warm, and when his arms embrace you, it feels like home. Turning into him fully, you wrap your arms around him and press your cheek against his chest, feeling like a small child again.

“You’ve worked so hard for my sake. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

“The fact that I’ve managed to save your life, Papa, is reason enough to do anything.” You withdraw, and smile at him. He sighs, eyes scanning your face. “The Doctor will be pleased enough by this progress, right? I… it might not be a permanent solution, but he’ll think it’s enough of a relveation that he won’t kill you?”

“Don’t think like that.”

“I can’t help it!”

He flicks your forehead, and you separate, wincing. Rubbing your brow, you send him a glare. 

“That Al-Haitham won’t want you to be so pessimistic.”

“Dad!” Heat flashes over your face, and you whirl around, busying yourself with cleaning up your work bench. Your father laughs, leaning in beside you. “Al-Haitham’s just a friend.”

“I never insinuated anything more than that,” he teases. “But I’m sure you two are closer now than ever.”

“Papa!”

“You ought to stop giving him the wrong impression, if he’s just a friend. Living with Kaveh, playing house,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s going to realize that you and that silly boy are together.”

“We are… not… together.” You could strangle your father. Returning the manuscripts to your own box, you don’t quite close it yet. You’ll still need to do one last check to make sure the winds from the desert haven’t swept anything underneath anything else. “Kaveh and I are just friends. We just like living together.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll never understand then why you don’t pursue Al-Haitham.”

“You don’t have to understand anything,” you complain, exasperated. “Al-Haitham’s not interested in that way with me, Papa. Besides, I don’t have any time to foster a romantic relationship. Save that for when we’re in the clear.”

“Who knows? Maybe he can accompany us.”

“Father!”

“Artificer! The Scribe of the Akademiya has arrived looking for you.”

“The Scribe?” you murmur, frowning. Immediately, all that teasing evaporates like smoke, and your brow furrows. Your father’s expression is identical. “What would Abbas be doing here at his age?” 

“Perhaps there’d been urgent news?”

“They would’ve sent a messenger, wouldn’t they? Or even the General Mahamatra if it’d been serious.” You sigh. “It’d be better if you weren’t in here when I receive him. It could be something bad.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “You can send him in.”

Your father departs, and he chats with whoever is outside, but you can’t let yourself eavesdrop. Your anxiety is biting at your frayed nerves. You haven’t slept well in days.

The day that will seal your fate comes closer and closer, and you can’t think of anything else. Your head hurts, and you grab your canteen, taking a sip and hoping it’ll help with the ache. 

What will you do if the Teleport Waypoint works? Will you leave the Akademiya entirely? The Doctor might ask you to stay, and further develop and streamline the process for whatever plan the Harbinger is creating, but with this technology, you could run. Leave it all behind.

You absently brush your finger over a stick of charcoal. You’ll have time to think about it, you suppose.

The tent flap opens, and you let out a sigh. “Scribe Abbas, I’m surprised you—“

And whatever words you had, whatever had been autopilot motoring off your tongue, die.

“Al-Haitham?” Surprise shoots through your system. Your heart skips a beat when you see him, and that uncomfortable rhythm pounds against your ribs as he smiles faintly at you. He looks the same. Always the same. “What? What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you,” he admits, and you can’t help the silly smile that rises to your face. “I would prefer to speak with you in Snezhnayan. I know that your mother tongue goes unused often. I don’t want to get rusty either.”

“Oh.” That heat comes again to your face in a crashing flood. “Of course,” you comply. “But I don’t understand why you came all this way just to speak with me. Couldn’t it wait? I would’ve been back in the Akademiya in a few weeks.” Your mind scrambling for more words to say, your eyebrows knit together. “Wait. Scribe. You’re the Akademiya’s new Scribe?”

He nods. “Yes. I was promoted last week.”

“That’s excellent news!” you exclaim, coming closer and grabbing him by the wrists. His eyebrows rise but you tug him towards your bedroll. Sitting, you tug him down and tuck your knees beneath you. “Tell me everything. Wait, do you need anything? Food, or water?”

He chuckles, letting his bag slide off his shoulder, and you soak him in again. His beautiful eyes, the sweep of his downy grey hair. It has always reminded you of a dove’s soft breast. Fluffy, and attached to a body that can fly anywhere it’d like.

You card your fingers through that crop of hair fondly, pulling it away from his eyes and brushing the longer bits behind his ear.

“No, I don’t need anything more than your time,” he answers, taking your hand and pulling it back down to rest between them. “I was apparently Azar’s first choice to be the new Scribe. Abbas wanted to retire.”

“He is getting old,” you admit. “But I hadn’t realized. You don’t know how happy I am to hear this, you know.”

“I think I know.” His voice makes your eyes widen. You’d never heard it like that before—so unguarded, so softly spoken. Your eyes dart to his and your chest squeezes at the way he stares at you. Had he always looked at you like that, or is that a desert mirage manifesting itself in your tent?

You smile, letting out a scoff. “You have no idea how much I care about you, Al-Haitham.”

“More than Kaveh?” he asks off-handedly, and you blink. 

“Well, that’s not fair. Kaveh’s my oldest friend.”

“I think it’s more than fair,” he says. “But, I know I’m no rival of his for your affections, so I won’t pursue you on the topic any further.” Arguments build up in your mouth but he only pushes onward: “Are you making headway with the Waypoint? I saw some of the scholars crowding around it but you’re still in here.”

“The Ley Lines have been stable as of today. I was doing some final additions to a device that would activate the Waypoint, so we are,” you say warily. “The new blueprint I drafted before I left seems to be the most promising.”

His eyes drift over to your work bench before he nods. “I see. May I go look?”

“Yes, of course.” Rising together, you’re shocked when he leads the way, their fingers still entwined. Never before have you tempted physical touch for this long. You’re always aware that he’ll be overstimulated, or uncomfortable, or even just not in the mood to be touched, but you guess he’s amiable today, because he lets you sidle in close next to him—close enough that their arms are pressed together.

A sharp tug at your heart makes you sigh. You hadn’t the time to factor him into your future yet. You’ve thought about Kaveh—what he’d do if you left. You’d tell him, of course, where you’d be going. Why. How. You’d explain everything to the blond with the sincerest apology you can front it with.

After all, Kaveh won’t be able to afford the house they live in on his own stipend if you have to leave, and you can’t just leave your truest companion out in the cold like that. 

Kaveh. Your heart aches for him. You love him so much, but it’s never been the way he wanted you to. 

Glancing at the man beside you tracing a finger along your drawings, something inside you wilts. 

“Al-Haitham… I have a favour to ask you,” you speak suddenly. He’s silent, leaning against the work bench. Their hands are still interlaced in beween them, and you look down at his fingers, long and nimble. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, and you swallow.

“You know I don’t believe in favours,” he intones, not taking his eyes off the paper.

“I know, but this is something I have to ask out of our friendship.”

“Alright.”

You let out a breath. “If something happens to me, you’ll take care of Kaveh, won’t you? Give him a home if he needs one.”

“Why should I care about him?” he mutters apathetically and you smack him. His eyes finally meet yours and you glare at him.

“Al-Haitham.”

“Besides, why would anything happen to you?” he continues. “You’re one of the smartest scholars the Akademiya has right now. If you follow their rules, it’s nearly impossible for them to expel you.”

“Well, I know that’s what the Sages think, but there’s just a lot of things that are unpredictable.”

“Like King Deshret resurrecting?” he asks, and you scowl.

“Why do you always remember the things I say?” you complain. He smirks.

“You were the one speaking blasphemy.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter dismissively, and you let go of his hand, moving away, but he grabs your elbow before you can stray far enough. “What?”

“I was teasing. Of course I’d look out for Kaveh. He might not like that very much, though. I don’t know if you’ve realized, but like others, he can barely stand me.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to become his life partner. I just… I care about him deeply. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him.”

“Fine. I’ll do it,” he acquiesces. “But I won’t do it happily.”

“Oh, shut up. You love to tease him.”

“That is true.”

“Oh, you said you wanted to speak with me, though, Al-Haitham,” you remember. “This can’t be all you wanted to talk about. The promotion’s great and all,” you add hastily as he turns to you fully, frowning, “but a letter would’ve sufficed.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, and you frown. He simply stands there, searches your face for answers you don’t know the questions for, and you’re shocked by the tight pain that screws up his forehead. He smells like the desert and sweat, but you don’t mind it. You’ve grown used to Al-Haitham in all sorts of states—grown used to the space he’s carved into your heart hurting from how swollen it gets in his presence.

You love him so much, too. In the way that he doesn't want you to. The irony is not lost on you, but you don’t know how on earth you’ll survive not seeing him anymore if the homeland keeps you there.

“Al-Haitham,” you whisper as his eyes dip to your mouth and linger there. Your lips tingle, and you swallow, his name trembling the second time it escapes your tongue. “Al-Haitham?”

“Hm?” he hums, gaze finding yours again and you realize that he wanted you to notice him staring. Your mouth runs dry, and he tilts his head, face tender, and sad, if you can trick yourself into believing it. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just… I’m happy to see you. Honestly, I am.”

His eyes are an oasis. “I’m sorry,” he utters softly, and you frown.

Your heart shivers in your throat. “What for?”

You learn only a second later what it is. Soft lips press against your own and your eyes widen in shock as hands cup your jaw, holding you there for a moment longer before pulling away. A horrible blush stains Al-Haitham’s entire face, and he looks away, stepping back with shaking hands.

Your eyes fall to those fingers that had just held you so gently, watch as they roll into quivering fists, and a sharp breath leaves Al-Haitham as your own digits touch your lips.

“What?” It is all you can muster to say.

His ears are bright red as he ducks his head. “That was what I wanted to speak to you about.”

“Well, there wasn’t much speaking,” you stammer, and he looks up at your tone. 

“I apologize. I don’t… know what came over me, but the truth of it is, I came here because I wanted to confess that I’m in love with you before anything else happened between us that could ruin my chances,” he says slowly, deliberately. He clears his throat. “The kiss was… supposed to be what happened after if I had luck on my side.”

“Luck on your side?” you echo.

“If you loved me back,” he clarifies, “which I’m not sure you do.”

There is one thing that you think separates you from the other scholars at the Akademiya, and it is not that you’re the smartest Kshahrewar student they’ve had in years, or that you’re working for the Fatui against your will.

It is that Al-Haitham, against all odds, against reason and logic—the very values of which he has built himself up on—loves you. 

When you told your father you didn’t have the time for romantic relationship, it was not because of that entirely. Your father, after all, had been a scholar who fostered an entirely family on the job, and there are tons of families with members in the Akademiya. It’s hardpress to find someone who doesn’t know of someone in the Akademiya.

It was because you love someone already, and you didn’t want to get your hopes up. And it isn’t Kaveh, as much as you had wished for years and years that it would be. Maybe it would’ve saved them all some heartache.

Oh, but the heart wants what it wants, just as the brain chases what it desires.

“Al-Haitham,” you murmur in a soft breath, “would you kiss me again?”

The Scribe’s—internally, you laugh fondly at the idea that he has that sort of authority—eyes light up, and he approaches you cautiously, his hands flexing and waning. 

When his fingers slide along your jaw, this time you’re ready for it. Your eyes slide shut, your hands find the lapels of a chest you wish you were more familiar with, and when a soft mouth presses against your own waiting lips, you take your time to enjoy it.

Kaveh - Chat: Craftsmanship

Kaveh is a slim, tall man with blond hair. The Traveler doesn’t know him well, but they find him just as he’s about to enter his house whilst they’re looking for Al-Haitham, and he is polite enough to invite them in for tea when they accost him.

“Woah, we’ve never been in Al-Haitham’s house before!”

“I assumed not. We don’t have many guests over,” Kaveh says to Paimon. “Most of the interior decoration was by me.”

“I heard you were an architect.”

“Yes, I still am. The Palace of Alcazarzaray; have you ever seen my magnum opus?” At the Traveler’s nod, he smiles wryly. “I actually just returned from a project in the desert, and coming back to this whole mess in the Akademiya has been disorienting.” He places a tray of tea on the table and sinks down onto his seat. “What did you want to speak to me about?” The Traveler explains briefly, and his eyebrows rise as he raises the mug of tea to his mouth. “You know of the snowstorm? Cyno told you. I see.”

“I’m sorry if it’s a touchy subject.” 

“It’s not. It just reminds me of someone.”

“The Artificer?”

“I… yes. She left Sumeru during that storm years ago.” Kaveh sighs. “We grew up together in the same hamlet. Childhood best friends.”

“Wow! Paimon didn’t know that.”

“You said you were looking for my esteemed roommate,” he prompts dryly. 

“Well, if you know the Artificer well,” the Traveler says, “could you tell us where we could find her, too?”

“What makes you think I would know?”

“You said ‘left Sumeru’ instead of ‘missing.’”

Kaveh looks away, the light in his eyes dimming. “You’re as perceptive as Al-Haitham said you were.” He doesn’t speak for a moment, simply choosing to stare into his tea. 

“Of course I know where she is,” he utters at length. “I loved her with all I ever had. I warranted more than her leaving without a goodbye.” It’s said in a tone that does not offer an opportunity for further dialogue down this route. “Traveler, what do you want?”

“We just want to return this box to Al-Haitham,” Paimon answers as the Traveler procures it. “It was sealed within the Balladeer’s construction chamber, but it looks super important. And a part of Paimon is wondering how it even got there in the first place if she’s gone supposedly missing all these years. If it belongs to her, maybe she could help us. We heard she was studying the Teleport Waypoints and that they’re some sort of… out-of-realm kind of technology? Paimon’s still a bit fuzzy on the details…”

But Kaveh had stopped listening roughly two sentences ago. His gaze fixes on the box in the Traveler’s lap. “It’s hers, you’re sure? You… have her seal?” With an assenting nod, he takes the box gingerly, running his hand over the craftsmanship reverently, and the Traveler averts their gaze in respect. Kaveh’s fingers trace the edge, and he sighs softly, rubbing his temple with the same hand. “She isn’t missing. She returned home to Snezhnaya,” Kaveh answers at length after a hard internal fight, letting his hand drop. The Traveler can see it in the way this great architect clutches onto the box until his knuckles pale, and his breath comes shaking. “There, she worked under who I believe is the Fatui Harbinger, Dottore.”

“The Doctor?” Paimon whispers, horrified. “She was a Fatuus?”

“No, she wouldn’t. Despite those horrid people giving the rest of Snezhnaya a bad name, she was the best person I knew.” Kaveh’s voice softens wistfully. “Her mind far surpassed many of those who call themselves scholars now, but I don’t think any of us realized that she was being blackmailed by the Fatui behind the scenes.”

“That’s awful…” the Traveler murmurs, fists clenched tight in their lap. Kaveh sets the box down tenderly, and he raises his eyes warily to the blonde before him. “So she’s dead? Did the Fatui kill her?”

“No. No, they wouldn’t kill an asset.” At this, the colour drains from Kaveh’s face. “From what I understand… she gave her body to the Doctor’s definition of science in exchange for her father’s life. I only saw her twice since the snowstorm. Once, when she returned to Sumeru City after she departed for her homeland, and once again two years ago, and she was more machine than human.” Guilt, and a heavy tinge of regret seeping into his voice and face. “In other words, I have no idea if she’s still alive.”

“How is that possible? That she could survive all that human testing and not go mad,” the Traveler murmurs, setting down their mug. Their stomach turns over at the scenarios running through their head. “Thank you, Kaveh. Maybe I should leave the box with you, considering Al-Haitham will return, one way or another.”

“I’ll look after it,” he promises. Together, the two rise, and Paimon flies towards the box, inspecting it one last time as if it’ll hold clues they’ve missed. 

The Traveler sighs, and picks up their backpack. “We’ll be off, then. Al-Haitham still has questions we need answered.”

“Questions about…?”

“Well, Cyno told us of an assignment that Al-Haitham was given that sent him into the desert according to his report afterwards, but never about what exactly happened,” Paimon informs. Kaveh stiffens, his jaw clenching and a terrible scowl crosses his face. Flying back to the Traveler, the companion continues, “If Al-Haitham can give us answers about what exactly happened—”

“The Artificer bears a Cryo Vision,” Kaveh interrupts coldly. “And do you know, Traveler, what the Tsartisa used to embody before she was consumed with the vengeance that rules her hand? Her nation?”

The Traveler pauses mid-step, lightning shooting down their leg and freezing them to the ground. The icy anger that overtakes Kaveh’s body, seizes his entire body into a husk of hollow fury plated by brittle wrath, makes the Traveler swallow, arms tensing. The architect has tilted his head away, blond hair curtaining the darkening expression consuming his face. It makes him monstrous, unrecognizable from the amiable man that had been in his spot only seconds before.

For a moment, the Traveler is unsure if they should be the one to speak—to answer a question they’re hesitant to answer. The air cracks but Kaveh saves them from the terrible decision only moments later after a harsh breath, and a soft, bitter laugh. It sits in the Traveler’s throat like sour melon seeds.

“I know Al-Haitham believes that I dislike him because of differences in beliefs, menial things like personality clashes,” he whispers scathingly with an age-old contempt, “but the truth of the matter is, he is the reason my best friend has disappeared, and I won’t ever forgive him for it, no matter how many favours he grants me. I know he doesn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart—it’s because she asked him, and he thinks this is even close to honouring her.”

“Kaveh…” Paimon floats forward, but the Traveler grabs her hand, holding her back. The floating companion looks back at them, but they shake their head.

“Most people see Al-Haitham as someone who’s callous, coldhearted, and dishonest, but I’ve seen him grieve her more plainly than anyone else. He mourns her even now, carries that guilt like a thousand weights without a single complaint. And it infuriates me,” he grits out softly, fists clenched by his sides. He tilts his head back, and inhales shakily. A sharp amber gaze meets the Traveler’s, and Kaveh lets out a short, horrible laugh. “I’m guilty of actually… caring about him despite what he’s done. It’s why I told him a few days ago that she sent me a note that she’d be leaving Port Ormos by the end of the week.”

The Traveler understands, and without another word, they race out the door.

.

The day before they’re supposed to complete their first trial on the Teleport Waypoint had been a lazy one—consisting of well-placed naps on your part so you could be prepared for the long day ahead of you tomorrow. Al-Haitham had been your steady companion through it all, letting you show him around camp and describing your work just in case he wants to report back to the Sages. 

“They’re not concerned, are they?” you had asked, and he had shook your head. Your father also wanted to speak to Al-Haitham, and you had surrendered your partner for anyone else looking for your attention. Penultimate observations of variables were taken. Meals, prayers, and stories were exchanged.

Al-Haitham kissed his name into your neck, your cheek, your lips throughout the day, waking you up from your naps and corralling you to your next one with punctuality only expected of him. You can still feel him even as you bid him farewell that night. 

He frowns, brushing the back of his fingers down your cheek, before taking hold of your jaw and tilting your head towards his lips. It’s a brief kiss, but familiar, and you can’t help but smile into it.

“I’ll see you when I come back?” you murmur against his mouth, and he nods, eyes dark and downcast. He’s not happy about leaving just like you, but there’s something stronger in his stare, the downturn of his mouth that’s occupied him when he thinks you won’t noticed. It feels almost like regret. Pulling back, you take hold of his hand. “Alright, Scribe, lighten up. I’ll be home soon, and we can talk about all of this.” You squeeze his fingers. “I promise.”

“We… we will need to talk,” he insists, and your brow furrows. He brings your hand to his lips with both of his own, and reverently presses a soft kiss to the heel of your palm. “I’m sorry.”

You curl your fingers over his hands and push them down, shaking your head. His somber attitude in the wake of what could be the happiest moment of your life is ruining your mood with a growing bud of worry, but you can’t let him know that. So you paste a smile on your face and simply squeeze him. “Don’t be sorry. Just go.”

His eyes linger, but you only shake your head minutely and he lets out a long exhale, his shoulders falling. That lost little frown still possesses his mouth, and there’s a permanent wrinkle in his brow that must’ve been there for the past few hours. 

He woke up before you, and you’d found him outside sitting by the fire on his own. It’d been a strange scene, and he looked lost in his melancholy—book all but forgotten in his lap, his eyes staring sightlessly into the fire. The sun had barely risen, but now you’re starting to wonder if he slept at all if the puffiness of his eye bags and the lethargy that he’s been trying to hide all day is anything to go by.

A part of you is nervous that it’s because he didn’t want to sleep next to you and had to seek refuge, but you rationalize that when you had called his name, he had returned to you without argument and a kiss to your crown.

The troubled gaze still lingers now, even with the dusk approaching. He had said it’s best if he sets off now so he can get back to the Akademiya and make use of the cooler temperatures. He’ll spend most of this week travelling, and you know he’d rather not miss the beginning of another work week. However, you can’t help but let the thought that there’s more than travelling at night in the desert that bothers him.

You wanted this farewell to be sweet and temporary.

Except now, it feels more and more permanent, and the sweetness of it has suffered for it.

“Al-Haitham, don’t go doing anything irrational or stupid or… unthought of in these last few weeks,” you mutter, and his head raises just as you slither your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. His bag nudges against your side, just another reminder that he’s leaving, before he’s pulling back again, and his hands on your back rub up and down. You sigh and kiss him quickly.

His eyes flutter shut, and he presses his forehead against your own before whispering softly, “I’ll do my best.”

With that, he pulls away, and you grab hold of his hand. Together, they walk out of the tent, and you observe the activities occurring around camp. Most of the scholars are talking and bonding around the fire. Your father’s feeding the Sumpter Beasts, but he’s speaking to another Spantamad scholar you think he’s been taking to as a mentor figure. Rafiq, you remember his name as.

Humming thoughtfully, you let go of Al-Haitham’s hand as Rafiq looks over and you smile. He nods to you, and you note his eyes darting over to your companion, but he doesn’t appear to be watching as they approach.

“Father, Rafiq,” you greet politely. “The Scribe will be leaving our encampment, now.”

“Already? You won’t stay another day?” your father complains, and Al-Haitham has at least the decency to look sheepish as Rafiq quickly finds the Sumpter Beast the Scribe had ridden from Caravan Ribat, saddling the animal quickly as he can despite the low groaning protests.

“Unfortunately, the Akademiya calls,” he answers dryly. “The Scribe has no shortage of work.” Your father frowns, and glances at you, but you shrug. “I hope all goes well tomorrow. With luck, I’ll see you by the end of next week.”

“We’ll have to catch up, one-on-one,” your father says, leaning over nefariously and obviously eyeing you. You cross your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Rafiq returns, rope lead in his hand. You take it, giving the Sumpter Beast a quick pat on hard ridge. It lifts its head into your palm in response, and Rafiq crouches down to feed it an apple. 

“The Sumpter Beast is ready, Scribe,” Rafiq says, rising, and this time when they meet eyes, your eyebrows twitch together at the way Rafiq gulps and glances at you. He must be intimidated. You smile reassuringly as Al-Haitham clips his pack onto the saddle and takes the lead from you. Fingers brushing, you fight the heat rising to your face and the way your smile grows in pleasure.

“Goodbye,” he whispers, and you tilt your head at him. 

“I’ll see you,” you answer. He nods before clasping hands with your father in a firm shake. You can’t help but roll your eyes again but they let go soon enough before Al-Haitham swiftly presses a final kiss to your mouth. You blink, eyes widening, but before you can even question it, he turns to mount the Sumpter Beast with a soft grunt and picking up the reins and flashes you one final (sad) smile. 

You return to your tent, your bedroll feeling suspiciously more empty now that he’s gone. Sighing, you tuck yourself in for a sleep as restful as you can make it and wake up too soon by the hands of the last watch who was instructed to as soon as signs of the sun rising were visible.

You get up and prepare yourself, although the apprehensive feeling in you does not do anything but swell. Walking to your work bench, you go to the box containing all your documents and let it scan once you place your palm atop of it, your Akasha terminal connecting to the device within. With a soft beep, it unlocks.

You’d given one similar to this prototype to Al-Haitham before you left. You smile and wonder if he’s opened it yet. It’s a bit different than yours, only requiring a fingerprint and a connection to his Akasha Terminal rather than a full scan, but you muse if that’s what had prompted him to come here after all this time. Maybe he finally realized the depth of his feelings with such a hard-earned gift.

Presently, you open the box and reach inside. Your smile dissipates as soon as you do. Nothing touches your fingertips except for the bottom of the box, and you lift the lid fully. Empty.

Huh. Maybe your father (the only other person with clearance) had already retrieved the needed documents while you slept. You wouldn’t put it past him to give you just a few more moments of rest. Sighing, you instead pick up the second box which contains the core. Strange he didn’t take this with him, but you dismiss the thought. 

You’re entirely too protective over the device. Besides, this is your moment of crowning glory.

You leave your tent to a frenzy. The sky is not quite clear—a few clouds spot the sky. Your father’s one of the first awake, too, and he’s running a hand through his hair as he takes the temperature of the air and writes it down. Another Spantamad scholar is measuring Ley Line energy through a device puncturing the ground, their Dendro vision winking in the growing light. Placing the box on one of the tables set up near the Waypoint, you sweep your gaze around the site.

You mainly search for the Kshahrewar scholars. As you walk around to make sure everything is going smoothly and if anyone has any questions on the way, you frown when you realize that none of the scholars from your Darshan are present. Approaching your father, you ask him quickly if he’s seen them.

“They’re awake,” he answers distractedly. “Some of them had gotten breakfast. Perhaps they’re still going over their notes.”

“I suppose,” you say doubtfully. They need the entire day to workshop this as effectively as possible and monitor any fluctuations. The entire operation is running late. It’s the only thought that’s ruling your brain as you glance around.

Still, no one. Perhaps you should check on them in their tents, just to make sure…

Before you can move: “Artificer!”

Turning, you spot a Kshahrewar scholar running towards you. Her brown eyes are wide, and she looks frightened to death as she runs her hands over her braid, tugging a bit hard to be a nervous habit.

“What’s the delay?” you ask irritably. The sun’s burning orange sky stains your corneas even when you close your eyes, and you squint against the rays as Amina skids to a stop before you, her face shining with sweat.

“All our manuscripts, the blueprints for the modifications of the Teleport Waypoint…” she trails off and dread begins to grow like a virus at her expression. The Spantamad scholars nearby pause in their work to watch, and behind, you see the other scholars of your Darshan running up. You are rended to the bone at each of their expressions. “It’s all gone! All our work, our notes, even the most personal things like our diaries have been stolen!”

“What?” your father shouts, storming over. Immediately, your heart drops and a chisel digs into your skull and cracks it in two. Your world goes dark as he continues to interrogate the young scholar, but a buzzing begins to whine in your ears as you stare at Amina who is frantically trying to explain herself. Your focus leaves, and your mind swirls as a flash of green later, your father has seized the poor young woman by the arms and shakes her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

He swears loudly in Snezhnayan. You cannot move. Letting go of the scholar, he turns to look at you, and all the colour has drained from his lips. His eyes are wide, his breathing sharp and rapid against your face. Suddenly all you can see is your father’s eyes—they fill your whole world with their colour, their shrinking, frantic pupils. “Little Star?“

But you can’t speak, because, for some reason, that horrible gut feeling that’s been bothering you since you woke up and found Al-Haitham outside yesterday morning, that tingling sensation that something is wrong, the nagging in your heart… it all returns in full force. Your heart wrenches into a rotten twisted ache and you want to fall to your knees, let the hurt of the stone against your bones distract you from everything else.

And it is not the thought that your father is going to die that first swarms your brain. Not even the second. No, that comes third. 

The first thought is that your father isn’t the one who extracted your papers from your box.

The second is that wish you weren’t smart. Not that you had never joined the Akademiya, no. You wish your brain didn’t work as fast as it does. You wish you didn’t see the whole picture, that you never knew which edges of the puzzle piece aligned perfectly and what slightest adjustment could be made for something to work like a well-oiled cog and handle. You wish you had no intuition, no fine-attuned sense. 

No memory, no heart, no brain. 

No emotions, no human fallibility. 

Humans make mistakes. They’re emotional creatures. You’ve always embraced that that is what makes life very much worth living, but that you has died in a matter of moments. You look out at the desert where, less than twelve hours ago, Al-Haitham disappeared beyond the dunes.

You had left the box open. After he had kissed you, you had spent the rest of the night on your bedroll, just dozing and speaking and rambling about all sorts of things, completely unaware. Unthreatened. It was not even a thought in your head in the heat of his arms. After all, how can someone you ask such stupid (unfailingly human) questions be untrustworthy? How could he ever hurt you? 

“When did you start liking me? Did you know how much I liked you? Yes… Kaveh does have feelings for me, but he understands I could never… I promise. Oh, you thought my feelings were my obvious? As if!”

“Rafiq has disappeared, too. I can only assume that he’s the one who took them. We haven’t seen him since sunrise, but we thought he was just exploring below the bridge,” are the first words that pierce through the dim, blurry fog that has surrounded your brain and sedated you to the point of debatable mental presence.

You blink, and look up. Your father is staring at the scholar who had spoken. A Spantamad scholar who only stares back at his leader with sympathy. All the others have gathered around them, but your movement catches everyone’s eyes. When you lift your head higher to take in those waiting eyes, you cannot help but feel numb.

“We weren’t stolen from,” you finally say at length. Your father returns to your side, his hand clutching onto your elbow, and you meet his eyes dully. “The Akademiya has confiscated all our research. They’re sending a message, loud and clear.”

He understands immediately, and you silently curse him. The hatred is sudden, pitiful, and undeserved, but you can’t help it. Where else could you have gotten your mind from? “No… no… he wouldn’t. He couldn’t do such a thing to… to you, of all people…”

A terrible, overwhelming sensation swarms your body like locusts. Your blood burns with the fury of a thousand suns, and you stand beside this Waypoint outside the buried resting site of a dead god, unable to do anything. Clouds that have gathered above you begin to darken.

Your mind rends at the memories from that night that seems like a lightyear away now. The way he had brushed your arm, the deliberate trailing of his fingers down your shoulder. He had kissed you, touched you, listened to you speak all the while knowing what he was here to do. 

It wasn’t to see you at all. Was it all… 

Was it all some ploy he had to make you a fool? A lovesick, blind fool whose heart is hanging on strings, tugging at every which way Al-Haitham wants it to. He doesn’t know what you’ve sacrificed to make sure that these Teleport Waypoints would work all the way from Snezhnaya to here. How much blood and flesh and sweat and time you’ve given up for the sake of family.

All that drive. All that ambition. All that desire.

Gone, like sand grain in the wind. Never again will you see that speck of nothing

Al-Haitham has made you a failure, and that is one thing you cannot… You cannot stand.

“What happens now, Artificer?” a meek voice asks. You don’t answer immediately and instead push through the crowd and you cannot look away from the dune your lover has disappeared behind. Lover. How stupid of you to think that word could suit your tongue. “If all of our research has been confiscated, I… we can’t just give up, can we?”

“Now?” you echo numbly. The clouds above you begin to swirl into a storm, and you cannot help the incredulous scoff, the noxious feeling of that smile curving your mouth. It’s bitter, and it makes you want to retch your rations onto the dirt as a crack of thunder sounds in the distance.  “Now, I think my father and I must return to our homeland and answer for our failure. The possibility we return is nigh zero.”

“Homeland? But… the rest of us—“

“The rest of you will return safely back to the Akademiya.” A gust of wind sweeps over you, and your eyes burn before it can touch your face. A shuddering exhale leaves your lungs in a death rattle sort of way, and it must mean something. That your heart has withered away and is nothing more in your carcass chest. That in this silence, Al-Haitham has declared you dead to a world he wants to create for himself.

“The rest of you should leave,” you breathe out, shoulders falling. The winds grow stronger as you let your head hang, blink and let the tears fall to the dusty tile beneath your boots. “The expedition is over. You won’t be paid much, so you should do your best to collect your wage before any sort of fees rack up for this expedition.”

“Artificer, there’s a storm—”

“Prepare to leave. You won’t have enough time if you dally around me any longer,” you intone listlessly, watching as the gales pick up the sand around your feet, swirl against your pants, rip at your clothing, and you squeeze your eyes shut, more burning tears streaking down your nose, into your grimacing mouth as you try to hold in the sob that clutches your heart. 

You want to pull your hair out, to scream, to do anything more than just stand here and watch as the work that carries your father’s life is carried farther and farther away.

Then again, Al-Haitham could’ve burnt all your manuscripts. Sunken them into an oasis never to be found again. 

Desecrated your work with something as simple as a flick of his wrist. 

Destroyed your entire life without a care as to what it would mean for you.

Were all those years meaningless to you? You wanted to know. Was your betrayal a price I had to pay for you to ever consider loving me? Or do you not consider this a betrayal at all, but just a trade between two scholars vying for the validation of the ones above us?

Blinding pale blue lighting cracks, and the thunder that follows is deafening as a column of light shoots through the dark storm that gathers over Sumeru’s desert as it did thousands of years ago. Sudden and loud, it sends the scholars scurrying. Your father stumbles back, calling orders in your stead, and you cannot speak. 

Clutching onto the front of your scholar uniform, you pull so hard you feel the threads stretch against your back, and your breath comes short and sharp, lodging into your intercostal spaces. 

Tears stream down your face and your mouth is dry, full of cotton, as you pant for air, bending over and stepping back, trying to find your footing on even ground. Heat blustering all over your face, your heart pounds in your ears and your hearing leaves you the moment you look up, trying to peer through the sandstorm and your tears. Blinking, you let out a low hiccuping sob of pain but even that is cut short by the knife that sinks into your heart.

Fingers splayed across your chest rip the buttons from the seams, tear your uniform apart in an effort to make space for your lungs to move. Running your palms over your face, you let out a raspy shout and clutch onto your scalp, trying to just breathe. The winds buffet against your head, the temperature in the desert sinking lower and lower as the rising sun is swallowed by the storm. 

How you wish you could rip your own brain out by the stem. Give up your body in the name of science, and rid yourself of this infernal contraption they call a heart. What have you done?

Voices inside your head scream louder than anything else: No! No, no, no! This can’t happen to me!

And that is when the third thought blasts into your chest like a gunshot. It leaves a wider hole than it entered through, and the shrapnel lodged in your body poisons everything. Out of every human emotion, it is guilt that tastes the most foul.

Howling squalls scream back at you as your entire world is consumed by this storm that turns white and grey. Flashes of pale blue lighting flicker at the corner of your eye, and you spin around, the shadow of a man making you crumple to your knees. He stands there for a moment, before he is blown away, and your squeeze your eyes shut, baring your teeth in a restrained sob. 

None of it is real.

None of it was ever real.

“Al-Haitham!” you scream in vicious Snezhnayan above the crackling thunder. Your throat tastes like iron. “I will never forgive you!”

You let out a screech that comes from the pits of your soul and it only dies into a loud, unhinged wailing cry that you cannot restrain any longer. Your bones chatter from the sudden onslaught of snow and brutal, slicing winds, but your fingers have numbed to any sort of sensation as you claw at your chest, your throat, pull them into tight fists that cannot do any more. Cannot tinker anymore—invent anymore.

Useless.

How could your father ever think that he was useless when you sit here, unable to do anything to save him?

A flash of lightning blinds you before the entire world pauses. The winds fade into a dull roar, the blazes of the storm cease into muted foggy glimpses of lighting, and the thunder rumbles like a heartbeat. Raising your head, you feel a soft breeze caress your tear-stained cheeks, and in the distance, you hear people screaming. People begging for help.

The world hasn’t stopped for them. Why has it for you? Are you dead? Do you… have the past few minutes been wiped into your mind? Looking up, the black clouds part and you see a moon that should not be visible at this time of day. Snow falls delicately and a pillar of lunar light shoots down through the hole, illuminating each snowflake that fall so slowly, so unhurried in their descent to the earth. 

You raise a hand to the moon peeking through, hoping for some sort of benevolence from the gods, but when you only serve to cover it from your sight, the edges of the round orb spilling between your fingers, you know it’s a stupid endeavour.

This moon is not the tender one it is in Sumeru. It is cold, and judgemental, and silent, and as the storm begins to swell around you once more, you bow your head to the Tsaritsa’s brutal judgement, letting your hand fall. You take hold of it with your other hand, cradling your palms to your chest when something hard meets your fingers. Jerking your head back, you stare blankly at the item that has appeared.

A Cryo Vision rests in the centre of your hands. 

You curl your fingers over it, feeling the newfound power of the element stream through your system. It sings with unbridled fury, as if the Tsartisa herself has wielded your betrayal, crafted it into a sword of permafrost that burns your hands, and you let out a soft breath.

To your surprise, it mists in the quiet, snowy air, and you let out a terrible sob, keeling over this Vision that means that something inside you has broken hard enough that it is worthy of being noticed by the husk of the Goddess of Love. 

That this… this is enough to be seen as other-worldly. As a kin.

A rattling scream echoes across the dunes, empties from your lungs into the remains of a lost civilization. The storm ignites, sending a rippling shockwave through the dunes. The buffeting winds crash into the stone. The snow begins to fall in earnest, and it mounts around you, covering the ruins you’ve studied so intimately. 

Ice spreads in thin spiderwebs from underneath you, crawling over the stone at a lecherously slow pace, and your heart rends. 

Hollows. 

Wilts like a dying flower. 

Crumbles to nothing. 

Disappears in the howling gales of a snowstorm, and for a long time, no one comes to you. 

No one will come.

No one can save you from your fate.

And so the storm rages on, and it will rage on until you feel nothing at all.

Al-Haitham - About Al-Haitham: Love

The only reason he knows you’re in Sumeru is because of Kaveh. The only reason he finds you is because of Kaveh. 

Al-Haitham curses that. Hates it more than anything that he’s in debt to a man who would’ve treated you far better than he did. Kaveh would’ve never betrayed you for the Akademiya. For all the romanticism and idealism Al-Haitham can’t stand, perhaps those are the things that would’ve saved you from ever leaving the safety of the city.

When he first sees you after five years, you are standing on the dock, speaking to the Snezhnayan engineers that must’ve been behind the Balladeer’s chambers and helping them load their ships with their supplies and technology that they must’ve scavenged to bring back to their country. He’s not sure if they’re all Fatui—not sure if you’re one of them, too—but you speak so quietly he cannot hear. They must not be, considering they aren’t arrested by the Dendro Archon’s command nor did they flee with the Doctor.

You’re clad head to toe in Snezhnayan colours, not a drop of green on you, and there’s something new on the harness that crosses in an x at your back when you turn around. It is pinned there, glinting pale blue in the sunlight.

A Vision.

He had never known you to have one. You’re also… bulkier in a way. More muscular, taller. Your hair is cut differently, too, and when you move to lift something that seems much too heavy, you do it with remarkable ease. But it’s you.

He hasn’t dreamed in a long time, but when Al-Haitham dreamed for the first time after the Akademiya coup, he dreamed of you.

“I will be there when you dock,” you say loud enough that Al-Haitham can hear from where he hides at the mouth of the entrance to Wikala Funduq. “The Teleport Waypoint isn’t far from the harbour, and I’ll be able to sort out travelling arrangements before you all arrive. It’s short-notice, so I can’t guarantee the best, but I’ll try my hardest.” 

Peering around, he notes you surrounded by the engineers, but they begin to dissipate a moment later. Some leave the pier, while others board the boats, and you remain there, turning around to look out at the sea, hands planted on your hips.

Al-Haitham seizes his chance.

He walks out of Wikala Funduq, and as soon as his boots touch wood, you turn around.

The most peculiar shade of purple bewitches Al-Haitham. It’s a colour he is certain he’s never seen before, but an itchy part of his brain tags it as something he should be familiar with. A purple he should attribute to something else, something beautiful.

Your lips part, and a soft near-silent sigh escapes you as an entirely concoction of emotions racks through your face. Your eyes are not your own, yet they’re set in your face, and they widen like your eyes used to at the sight of him.

So it must be you. “(Name).”

You stiffen, arms falling limp at your sides, yet he cannot do anything but let out the breath he can’t recall ever holding and forgoing any sort of decorum, any sort of remembrance of who he is in the standing of the Akademiya. He is not the lone wolf scholar, the Akademiya’s Scribe, the Acting Grand Sage.

He is just a boy who is in love with you even now, even still, and his face crumbles into pure relief as he walks towards you in a daze, his feet dragging along the pier. You stare at him warily, and there are Snezhnayan workers who watch. Some even reach for a weapon, but at your barely raised hand, they fall silent.

“Al-Haitham,” you say, measured, soft, shaking, still your voice. You’re trembling in front of him. He is falling apart at the seams. When he nears, he can finally take in your finer details: the unnatural purple of your eyes, the mechanical optical rings of your irises, the way your pupils dilate  and shrink unnaturally as if sizing him up, inspecting him. “How did you know?”

“Kaveh told me,” he answers, and a sharp twinge of pain and betrayal flashes through your eyes before you blink, turning your head away. He’s surprised you haven’t frozen him to death yet, and he tests his luck further by reaching to touch your arm, but you only jerk back with a heavy step.

“How much did he tell you?” you ask roughly, eyes flitting from his fingers to his hand. 

“Nothing. Only that you’re here. That… you were leaving.”

“Did he tell you how he doesn’t even recognize me anymore?”

That silences him for a beat. “No.”

“I see. Well, I suppose you have questions?”

“Aren’t you upset with me?”

“If you’re asking if I’ve forgiven you,” you say, “then no. I haven’t. I won’t ever forgive you.”

“I’m sorry.” This time, when he says it, you understand. You didn’t five years ago, how he kept apologizing. You look away.

“Perhaps we should find somewhere more private,” you suggest quietly. “I don’t have any interest in entertaining your apologies. It’s in the past and we’re both… different people now, so I’ll answer your questions, and then we can see what happens next.”

“Fine.”

“I have a place nearby that we could talk.”

You begin to stride past him, but Al-Haitham, never one in the last five years to have the last word, feels himself act before he can think. “(Name), wait—“

When his fingers stretch to touch your hand, he feels a hard surface where you should be flesh, and your wrist twists unnaturally to free itself from his grasp. His blood runs cold at the way your hand rotates itself back to a more anatomically correct position, and you clutch it with your other gloved hand. 

“Don’t touch me,” you snap. “Just follow me.”

He nods, burning, but he’s not sure with frustration or guilt.

You lead him to a hotel room that’s hidden but overlooking the pier. It’s a small place, but quaint and barely furnished. Picked dry mostly, except for a backpack resting slouched against the wall and some other knick knacks—a pen, a notebook you close as you walk past it.

You pull a chair at the table by the window out and sit down. Al-Haitham can see the water from the glass, and as he approaches, you lean on the table by your elbows and gesture with your hand to the chair across from you. He seats himself, and glances around the place.

“The last five years. Where have you been?” he begins.

“Snezhnaya. When you left, the one thing you didn’t take was the core of the Teleport Waypoint I created. My father and I used it and managed to successfully teleport home.”

“This whole time you were there?”

“Not exactly. I roamed the world for a while. I went to Mondstadt and Fontaine, but that was only a year or two ago.” You look down at your hands. “When we returned, the Doctor had been furious that I lost my research, but he blamed it on my father. He was… technically my supervisor.” As if realizing something: “Though, I don’t suppose you know all of that. With the Fatui blackmailing me, and… and everything.”

“I had gathered as much only recently,” he answers. “I went to the Balladeer’s chambers after he was defeated. I thought I could recognize your work, but… I was unsure.” Swallowing, he shifted uncomfortably. “All these years, I thought you had died in that snowstorm and that it was my fault.”

“Some would say I’ve had a fate worse than death,” you remark, acerbic and unsurprised. “If you had known, do you think you would’ve done what you did?”

“I think I would’ve been more aware of the consequence.” He shakes his head. “I would’ve been honest, even. When I received the assignment, I thought the worse. Betraying you was an impossible task, but they assured me you wouldn’t be punished, so I followed through with it with utmost secrecy. I thought you’d just come back to the Akademiya, and we’d have a huge fight, and somehow I could convince the Sages to allow you access back to your own work as long as there were restrictions placed.”

“Restrictions? None of my work was ever illegal, though.” Your eyebrows furrow, and Al-Haitham thought you were angry, but you only look at him in a strange, morbid curiosity. You’re only searching for honesty. “Unless…”

“They suspected your father’s loyalties had been swayed. The objective of the assignment was to take your materials away, bring you and your father back, and put you on trial. You would’ve been innocent, but your father…”

“He never did anything wrong.”

“I know that,” he replies coolly, “but Azar saw your father as a threat. Saw you as a threat. You were a public figure with a strong will of your own, inherited from your father. I doubt he could’ve put you under his control. Honestly, if you’d been here, do you think that entire situation with the samsara would’ve gone on as long as it did?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I don’t know much about anything anymore, I think.”

For some reason, and Al-Haitham has weathered many storms before, during, and after their friendship, this is what makes his heart shrivel.

“What do you know?” he asks softly. You peek up at him from underneath your eyelashes, and a tired face stares back at him. 

“I know that I loved you,” you reply. “I don’t know if I still do. Looking at you now makes me feel something, but it’s not a good thing.”

“Do you hate me?” 

“I don’t know. It’s over now. I hated you for a bit,” you allow, “but to be honest, I’m just exhausted. This whole ordeal. The Doctor. I finally have the chance to leave his service. I could, but I have obligations to other people. To be honest, I have a half-baked plan, but I’m not sure if it’ll work.”

“Are you returning home to Snezhnaya?” he asks, afraid to even put himself in this position of wanting something from you again, and you frown. 

“Kaveh insists I stay here to be safe,” you tell him. “He misses me. I miss him. Travelling Teyvat, all I could think about is how much he would appreciate the different types of architecture around the world.” You shrug. “But… he doesn’t really recognize me as a person. It’ll take some time for him to get used to the fact that I’m more machine than human.”

“You’re still you,” he assures immediately and you arch an eyebrow. 

“How do you know?”

“Because you haven’t killed me yet when I deserve punishment for what I did to you so you must have a heart,” Al-Haitham answers steadily. “And I know you could strike me down if you wanted to. Don’t lie to me.”

“Al-Haitham…” Your mouth moves but you don’t speak, and he nods, understanding.

“My opinion shouldn’t matter, but I would like you to stay.” He cringes at even recommending it. “I know I have no right to ask this favour of you.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I thought you didn’t believe in favours.”

“I don’t.”

They sit in silence. You draw your hands towards you on the table. He steeples his fingers and looks out at the port to give himself something to do. The quiet isn’t amiable, but not openly hostile. Al-Haitham never thought he would be able to do this again. To sit across from you had been a long forgotten wish, and he doesn’t want to ruin it now, so he waits for you to start again.

“Did you ever open the box I gave you before I left?” you ask after a while. You’ve been tracing the woodgrain with your finger, and Al-Haitham has been watching you do it. You lift your hand back up and rest your chin in your palm to look out the window.

“I did.” A hard swallow. “How did you find such a collection of journal entries? They must’ve been rare.”

“Ruin diving and desert exploration,” you explain briefly. “At the time, you said you were interested in that catastrophe the oldest historical biographies mentioned, and when I had come across one of the journals detailing first hand experiences of a scholar during that time, I had to find out if there was more I could find and translate. Those six entries were all I could find at the time being.”

“There were more in the House of Daena’s collection. The entire anthology was called A Thousand Nights. A lot has been lost to time, so the rarity of these journals is high,” he says, and at last, you give into a faint smile although you still don’t look at him.

“You found more?”

“Yes, although the ones you gave me are stored safely in the box.”

“Not turning in precious material to the Akademiya? How rebellious, Al-Haitham,” you intone. You finally tilt your head towards him, and your smile has his heart racing. “Al-Haitham, you know of my feelings for you. What about yours?”

“Are you asking if they’ve changed?”

You nod. 

“Why does that matter?”

“I don’t know. Because I doubted it for a very long time. I thought that someone who loved me wouldn’t dare to do the things you did to me, but that’s an idealistic of the world I don’t have anymore. I don’t exactly trust you right now,” you tack on quickly, “but right now is honesty hour, isn’t it?”

“Seems like it.” He thinks on it for a moment. He could very well lie. It’d probably the easier choice for you to not possibly feel obligated in some way to his feelings. You wouldn’t have the burden of knowing that his love is unfaithful, nor would the chance to tempt it be there. 

And you’d believe whatever he says. Whether or not you know it’s the truth, you’d probably force yourself to believe it and he would, too, and they could leave all of this… them, their past, their present, and their potential future, too, in the sand.

Honesty hour. 

Is that what you called it?

“I did love you,” he admits when his moment is up. “I grieved you for a long time. I knew it was my fault that you had died and debated if my cushy job was worth surrendering the one person who could actually stand me and, against all odds, loved me for who I was. Those hours in your camp before I stole the documents made me feel the most helpless I’ve ever felt in my life and I hated it.”

“And now?”

“Now?” He ponders over this. “As soon as Kaveh told me you were here, I ran just to see you myself because I couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to see you when I had the chance. I… you’re not the same. I understand that. I understand my part to play in this, and I know that what I feel should not influence your decisions. I ask that you don’t consider them at all.”

“Al-Haitham…”

“I do love you. I’ve loved you for years, but it feels… longer than that somehow. Maybe I don’t make sense, but even when I couldn’t dream, I could still see you in my sleep.” Your stricken face makes him blink, and he fights the burning in his face and ears by looking down. The tightness in his sternum only aches more. “I don’t want your forgiveness, but I do love you.”

You are quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then, unexpectedly, you say, “There’s a box”—and he jerks his head up, confused “—that I hid in the Balladeer’s chambers. I’m not sure if it’s completely destroyed by now, but only you and I have clearance for it.”

“What’s inside?”

“All the things that reminded me of you in the past five years. Things I wrote about you. Blueprints for your hearing aids. Collectibles I thought you’d like. I don’t know. Just a bit of everything, honestly.” His eyes widen. You don’t seem to notice, or you don’t let it deter you. “When I told you that I wasn’t sure if I loved you still, it’s because I’m trying not to love you. It’s very easy to convince myself I don’t when I never see you. But I see you and I feel disgusted.” 

You chuckle a bit, almost nervous. Al-Haitham isn’t quite sure of what to say. Grasping at straws, he opens his mouth to speak but you shake your head.

“To be honest, I never gave myself a chance to let my love for you die,” you whisper. “The disgust comes from remembering what you did, but it’s so overwhelmed by everything else. The longer I sit talking to you, I just feel like everything’s the same.”

“But it isn’t.”

“It can’t ever be, Al-Haitham” you agree. “But I’m willing to pretend. Just for a little while.” You look down at your hands, and slowly pull your glove off. A plate of silver metal catches the sun rays and Al-Haitham’s heart lodges right up in his throat at the cylindrical fingers that tug at your other glove revealing skin and a hand that he recognizes. “I thought it would be best if you saw it.”

“Does it… feel different?”

“Yes. I don’t… feel much the same way anymore, but most of the work was internal. Injections, a heightened metabolism, tinkered senses. A new leg. My eyes, obviously.” You gesture to your pupils, but they seem more natural the longer Al-Haitham watches. “My Vision gave me even more durability and he couldn’t kill me because of how useful I was to him, but I was the next best thing to a perfect subject.”

“Your father, then?“

“He’s alive. It was either him or me, and I gave myself up in an instant,” you answer. “I don’t regret that much of my life.”

He reaches forward tentatively for your flesh hand, but your mechanical hand comes into contact with him first, warm against his wrist. It’s almost like you’re still alive there, but the texture is too smooth, the edges where the metal plates too sharp to be human, and he looks down at the hand that touches him.

This is who you are now. This is who he’s made you.

“I want to move my family away from Snezhnaya, Al-Haitham,” you tell him in the lowest tone you can muster. Al-Haitham’s eyes meet yours, and a soft, pleading expression has taken over your face. “I know you’re the Acting Grand Sage, and that you have duties to the Akademiya, but—“ and he hears it for what it is.

I want there to be a chance for us.

“I would give you anything I could in a heartbeat,” he swears immediately. “If you need asylum, I’d be more than obliged to grant you your request. I—“ But nothing comes out. What his words cannot say, he hopes the silence can. I love you. I will help you in any way I can. I love you. I miss you. I love you.

I’ll find you.

I love you.

“You have beautiful eyes, Al-Haitham,” you whisper, lifting a hand to his cheek. When metal touches his smooth cheek, his eyes flutter closed, and a soft amused hum leaves his companion. “I think I’ve told you that before, haven’t I?”

Cupping your wrist with his own hand, he turns his face into your palm. It smells like nothing, yet there is a hint of your scent clinging to your sleeve that slowly seeps into his nose. His lips kiss the ticklish part of your hand, and your mechanical hand reacts like your normal flesh one would—your fingers curl against his face, and your thumb strokes underneath his eye.

He smiles. “Yes. Yes, I’m certain you have.”

Buer - About Samsaras

The Traveler reaches Port Ormos by nightfall a few days later. By then, it’s too late and they’re too exhausted to even think about trying to find the man they search for. For all intents and purposes, he could be gone, but it doesn’t hurt to ask around on their way to their room.

They ask the owner of the hotel, Shapur, manning the concierge, who briefly mentions seeing the Acting Grand Sage walking with a woman renting a room in the hotel by the water. She had the most distinct purple eyes. 

Somehow, the Traveler knows that’s who they’re looking for and they take off again with renewed vigour, and leave Paimon in the dust.

They reach the port quickly. It’s mostly empty, but there are two distinct figures sitting by the water speaking. The moon is their only witness, and when the Traveler steps from around a pillar to observe them more clearly, they can see those purple eyes that Shapur mentioned clearer than day. They glow, even at night, and look almost fake. They’ve never seen eyes of a normal mortal glow like hers do.

Then, Al-Haitham, leaning back onto his arms, pushes himself up, and he extends a hand to his companion to help her up. When he turns, his eyes, too, catch the bright moonlight in a flash of golden divinity.

For a moment, time seems to stop, and the Traveler watches as they, holding hands, begin to walk further down the pier.

“This world is an eternal samsara,” someone comments. Spinning around, the Traveler’s eyes widen at Buer walking from a nearby ramp. When had they fallen asleep? She smiles, green eyes wide and innocent. “Just as there are memories of passed family members living in those of the present, gods never truly die. They are reborn when the time is right, and even alike souls can find one another again.”

The Traveler frowns. “What do you mean?”

“They’re happy. Let’s not disturb them,” she says instead, stretching out her hand. The Traveler takes it, and instantly, they are brought back to their room in Shapur Hotel. Paimon has fallen asleep, and the Traveler sits on their bed. Buer perches herself on the table, her feet not quite making it to the chair. 

“When did I fall asleep?”

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t a long time. I just didn’t want to ruin their reconciliation,” she explains. “I don’t remember them well, anymore, but as I’ve read more ancient texts in hopes of… remembering the more important details that have been lost to me, the times I had with King Deshret and the Lord of Flowers come clearer. Together, we were the three God-Kings of Sumeru. It’s unfortunate you were unable to meet them. They seemed to be my greatest friends.”

“They both died ages ago,” the Traveler says, and the knowledge that comes to their mind is stuck in their throat, chained from being freed. Rukkhadevata and the forbidden knowledge. That must be a secret that stays a secret.

Buer giggles. “Died in the loosest sense of the term. Gods don’t truly die. They may be banished, or lose their memories, but their essence is immortal. Even when they seem to be gone, a seed of them will always remain on this planet, seeking the right time and conditions to sprout.”

The Traveler’s spine shoots ramrod straight, and their mouth drops open. “You don’t mean…”

“Although it’s hard to confirm, I find it hard to mistake the similarities between your friend and mine. Deshret has been reborn,” she says, “not resurrected like the Eremites had predicted. As for the Artificer. Her purple eyes, although artificially made, bear a striking resemblance to those Padisarahs of ages past, don’t they?”

“Like the one in Nilou’s dream,” the Traveler realizes, all of it dawning on them like a flood and crashing wave.

Buer nods. “There are very few coincidences in this world. Be happy for them. Their ending in their last lives was not a happy one and they’ve struggled and toiled in this samsara, too, just for the chance to meet again. Even still, they will have to continue to fight these challenges to persevere.” She sighs, looking down at her feet. “Hopefully in the next one life, they can just be born friends and save each other some heartache, and maybe we can be friends again, too.”

“The Goddess of Flowers sacrificed everything for the price of King Deshret’s divine knowledge,” the Traveler points out distantly, their voice soft and wistful. “He drove himself mad because she was gone.”

“There are some events that must repeat on different scales in each samsara,” the Dendro Archon agrees quietly. “A first meeting, a death, a betrayal. I’m happy that my friends have found one another again, even if they don’t remember, but perhaps that is their pinned, pre-determined fateful event that must happen in every samsara. I don’t know. Irminsul’s powers are beyond even my full understanding.”

“They say she disappeared in a storm.” A sharp chill shoots down the Traveler’s spine as Buer hums, nodding. “And she was never seen again.”

“You’re understanding,” she says, delighted. “This time, though, she came back to him, and this time, he knows the knowledge he craves is not worth losing her love.” Buer smiles cheek-to-cheek. “The rest is up to them, now.”

a/n: reblog/comment if you enjoyed! did you catch all the parallels and foreshadowing? there was as much as i could stuff in, from subtle to unsubtle! i read and watched so many theory threads/videos for this and again this was such a fun collab! 

the prompt was to either make the third person (in this kaveh) a love interest or someone who helps the main couple get together, and i thought why not a bit of both. after all, it is kaveh who was al-haitham’s biggest reason not to confess, and also kaveh who told al-haitham where to find you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ heheh thank you for reading!!

#fic: a love immortal such as mine #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #al haitham #al haitham x you #al haitham x reader #al haitham x y/n #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact al haitham #genshin al haitham #my writing

[zhongrin]

weathering

◇ characters ◇ husband!zhongli, baby!xiao

◇ tags ◇ afab!reader, fem!pronouns, mention & implication of pregnancy (reader), children, xiao (tries) to call you “mama”, angst to fluff, heartwarming domestic fluff

◇ a/n ◇ last submission for my ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ϟᴜᴘᴇʀᴄʜᴀʀɢᴇ collab

disclaimer: i don’t have a child, and i won't pretend i know how it feels to have one. this won’t be 100% accurate. however - i have first-hand lived with one and witnessed the calmest person on earth snap from all the stress that is caused by child-rearing, so…

𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑏 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

[ 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ]

you think you and zhongli make for a harmonious couple.

if you were asked to describe your relationship in a word, you would choose ‘steady’. it has always felt as such ever since you were friends, stayed as it is when you started courting each other, throughout your stage of falling in love with each other’s flaws and strengths, and persisted through your engagement and your newlywed stage.

of course, you’ve had fights - from petty ones that make you roll your eyes in exasperation, to bigger ones that made you temporarily move out to your friend’s house for several days to reevaluate your relationship, you had them all. they all ended in the same way, every single time: reconciliation, deep conversations, promises to do better, and tons of affection to make up for the lost time. your relationship is most definitely not perfect, but you’d like to think that it’s healthy and open and, as quoted by your friends, “couple goals”.

but nothing that you’ve experienced so far prepared you for the hectic, sleepless, and insanely stressful life that is being a parent.

and to think you thought pregnancy was the worst. ha ha.

“- he doesn't want to eat, he doesn’t want to see me, he doesn’t want to see you, he doesn’t want his stories, his diaper is clean - i just - i don’t know what to do!”

you had to shout into the phone, seeing as your baby is quite literally screeching his head off in the background, the shrill sound further amplifying your stress headache and breaking your tired heart.

your husband hums in affirmation over the phone, and the background sound of people talking from his side suddenly disappeared. normally, you would have felt bad at interrupting his meetings, especially since you know it’s vital for him to be there, but you’re too far gone at this point - your patience has its limit and it seems like you’ve reached the bottom of the bar.

“calm down, dear.”

“how am i supposed to calm down?! i’ve never seen him throwing this kind of tantrum!! what if - what if something’s wrong - should i go to the doctor? i can’t tell if he has a fever, his whole face is so red and i can’t even touch him because the last time i tried he screamed harder and choked and i was so scared i-”

“[name].”

“i don’t know what to do,” you sob, tears falling down your cheeks, “i can’t do this anymore…”

“of course you can. listen to me, love. everything is going to be okay.”

“will it though?”

“of course. i’m here too. let us tackle this problem together, just like how we always do.”

“….. okay…”

“thank you, dearest. did you try giving him his dragon plushie?”

“he threw it across the living room.”

“hm. strong arms, like his father.”

you sniffle and laugh weakly at his words.

“maybe he missed menogias?”

“their family is on vacation right now,” you wince when xiao throws another one of his soft toys - a limited edition spear gifted by your husband’s friend who runs the biggest toy factory in the whole country - successfully knocking over the untouched bowl of food you made for him before.

another thing to put in the washer, another ruined food, another thing to clean up. wonderful.

“ah, i remember. australia, i believe. i heard it’s magpies season. hopefully they’re staying safe from the birds.”

“who cares about that right no-” you pause.

“….. dear? what’s wrong?” zhongli’s concerned voice snaps your attention back to the phone momentarily.

still keeping your gaze on your son, whose wide golden eyes are also looking straight at you, you whisper into the gadget, as if you’re afraid he’d go back to crying the moment you said something, “he stopped crying.”

“…… xiao?”

the boy blinks and switches his stare at your phone silently, where the voice of his father is addressing him from.

“do you want to talk with daddy?”

his nose scrunches and despite knowing it’s not zhongli’s fault, you snapped at your husband, “no! no he doesn't!!!”

“ah,” another hum, “then, perhaps a keyword… australia? magpie? safe?”

xiao's golden eyes narrow. you whisper a soft ‘no’.

“birds?”

like magic, your son’s expression lights up like a christmas tree. within seconds, he’s waddling towards you, latching onto your leg, teary eyes staring up at you in expectation. you’re sitting still on the dining chair in shock. literally minutes ago he did not want you to touch him at all.

“is that not it?”

“i…. no, i think….,” you hurriedly wiped your tears away and abandoned the phone on the table in favor of hoisting the toddler up to your lap, “birds? you…. you want to see the birds?”

xiao blinks one, twice, and then nods.

you sigh in relief as you wiped the tear tracks on his chubby cheeks. zhongli chuckles.

“will you be alright now, my dear?”

“ah…. yes. i think so.”

“alright. skip the cooking for us tonight, i’ll come back early with your favorites. i love y-”

a small sweaty palm punches your phone’s screen, effectively disconnecting the call. you give the young boy an unimpressed look. he looks back at you innocently before starting to suck on his thumb.

your house resides on one of the higher terrains, along with a great view of the lakes and forests in the distance. this, fortunately, means that you have a lot of trees and birds for your little one’s viewing pleasure. the moment you step out onto the balcony of your second story’s bedroom, xiao starts to bounce excitedly within your arms before settling down, eyes transfixed on the group of avians perched by the nearby trees.

“bub?”

“……,” you exhale shakily, chants the name of the deities above inside your head, and gives him a shaky, weak smile, “yes, love. those are birds.”

[ 𝑔𝑒𝑜 ]

your doorbell chimes right as xiao accepted the first mouthful of his dinner. the toddler glares towards the direction of the front door, as if silently saying ‘who dares to disturb my meal’, and you chortle in amusement.

“coming!”

after giving a few pats on top of his dark-colored hair, you’re immediately running towards the front door in record speed, intent to turn away whatever salesman you have on the front steps by slamming the door on their face if you have to, because your baby needs his food, darn it.

cautiously, you squint through the peephole.

the sight makes you frown in bewilderment.

instead of some slimy-looking salesman, outside stood your husband in his immaculate work clothes, waiting to be let in like some kind of a lost puppy.

did he forget his key, perhaps? you chuckle in amusement. knowing how often he forgets his wallet, it’s only a matter of time until he forgets his keys, you suppose. with that in mind, you unlock the latches and open the door, a greeting at the tip of your tongue-

the sweet scent of flowers envelops your scent and the entirety of your sight, and you find yourself staring down at a massive bouquet of flowers, tastefully arranged, all freshly bloomed with no single imperfection on their colorful petals and trimmed stems.

“…… huh?”

zhongli chuckles, finding the lost expression on your face endearing. your hands might have instinctively accepted the gift, but it appears your brain has yet to catch up with your body.

“i’m home, dear.”

“w-welcome home? but what-”

“can’t a husband spoil his wife without any reason every now and then?”

“yes? no? i mean-” you want to hit yourself for stumbling and bumbling around like some kind of a high schooler in love, and the entertained laugh from your husband makes you smile in both embarrassment and the sudden happiness that enveloped your whole being. despite already being married, the follow-up kiss to your cheek makes your heart jump and your grin widen.

“may i come in now, dearest?”

you eye your husband with a huff and arch your eyebrows coyly, “hmm. persuade me.”

zhongli doesn’t even hesitate or look surprised at your antics, merely sporting the same gentle smile as he places a proper kiss on your lips this time. now you’re actually giggling like a high school girl, and yet your partner isn’t even fazed, soft lips tracing your jawline, fingers brushing back your hair-

a loud clatter makes the both of you jump, and you would have been touched by the instinctive hold zhongli immediately has on your arm, if not for the sight of disaster in your peripherals.

xiao has, somehow, reached onto the plate of food you set aside for him, and while you were both reliving your honeymoon dating phase (not that you've ever grown completely out of it, according to your friends), had taken the liberty to try and shove the food onto his mouth with his own hands…. keyword here being ‘try’.

the bowl of food lays sadly on the floor, its content spilled against the white tiles.

within seconds, your son starts crying, and the two of you scramble to tag team the situation; with you tending to xiao and zhongli tending to the flowers and locking up the door.

right. gone were the long relaxing beach walks and uninterrupted sweet moments.

….. and yet, as you’re cleaning up the food spills around the baby chair and catch the sight of your now-husband silently patting a sleepy little boy whose belly is now full of food, you think that this kind of life too, has its own unique moments of happiness.

[ 𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑚𝑜 ]

“maa…”

you feel a tug on your hair and groan.

“mah….?”

your eyes squint, heavy eyelids struggling to open, something within you forces you to push through it. wake up, your instinct says. your brain lags, and it’s so easy to just fall back asleep, but-

“maaaaaa!!!”

you sit up at record speed, vision bleary yet immediately alerted at the piercingly loud noise and familiar voice of your baby. instinctively, your arms gather the smaller body of the toddler despite the exhaustion weighing your whole being.

“mmah.”

“yes, baby. mama’s he-” tiny hands push your cheek away and you frown, feeling a little hurt by the rejection, “okay, okay… what is it, xiao?”

he wrestles away from your hug and points at the vase of flowers sitting on the dining table. though the blooms aren't as fresh as the first day you got them from your beloved, they’re still a magnificent sight. not to mention that the size of the bouquet made you separate the flowers into three big vases, and this was just one of them. you understand that your child might be fascinated with the new additional decor to the house, but you really doubt he could carry the whole thing by himself… plus, that sounds very dangerous.

“no no. let’s find another thing to play with, okay, dear?”

xiao gives you a look and stubbornly points towards the flowers again, now slightly frowning.

“no.”

“mahm!”

you sigh, rubbing your temples in exasperation before standing up to approach the table. your little boy follows right behind you, all the while observing your movements, waiting for you to fetch what he wants.

hesitantly, you hold onto the vase in your arms. they’re big. heavy. made of glass. what if it shatters? what if he grabs one of the flowers and they weren’t pruned properly? what if he accidentally stabs himself in the eye with one of the stems??

you really shouldn’t….

xiao latches insistently on your leg, doe eyes looking up at you in excitement.

“gihb!”

with a defeated sigh, you place back the vase onto the table, take one small flower, and give it to your child. he whines and points back to the arrangement on the table. you reluctantly give him two more flowers, slightly bigger than the previous one.

“no more.”

he holds them in his hands and stares at them for a while.

you think he’s going to ask for more, so you opt to sit down on the floor, grabbing the nearest storybook and patting your lap in an invitation, “now that you have the flowers, why don’t you hold them while mama reads you your book, hmm?”

to your utmost befuddlement, instead of obeying, your son looks up at you and lifts the flowers up, before staring at you expectantly.

you smile through the confusion and accept his offering anyway, and you were about to thank him when he determinedly kicks the book away and climbs onto your lap-

-to place a kiss onto your cheek.

....

........

oh.

“are you-” you choke on your words, already feeling tears gathering in your eyes, “-sweetheart, were you trying to copy your father…?”

xiao frowns, seemingly unable to comprehend why you’re not reacting as he expected…. and decides to kiss your other cheek. only, this makes you tear up even more. and he does not like that.

“maamh….”

“oh no no nono darling i’m sorry, mommy’s not sad, not at all!”

you carelessly wipe your tears away when xiao’s nose scrunches, the first sign of tears already showing in his bright-colored eyes. gently, you pull him into a hug and squish his chubby cheeks, peppering loving kisses all over his face with a chest full of warmth and unimaginable joy. the toddler squeaks and squirms on your hold, but you continue to coddle him with affection, for the happy giggles bubbling from his throat clearly reflect his true feelings.

later that night, you tell your husband about the endearing moment, and he laughs in amusement before asking the boy if he could get a flower too.

he gets a freshly laundered spear toy thrown at his knees.

you’ve never felt so smug in your life.

[ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 ]

weathering - the breaking down or dissolving of rocks and minerals on earth’s surface. or in some cases: a phenomenon where strong gusts of wind eventually shape the valley of rocks to create a beautiful and wondrous sight.

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @niverine | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @clovcly | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #xiao #zhongli x reader #familial!xiao x reader #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #rin writes

[seelestia]

— 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑!

SUMMARY. it isn't easy being a heart catcher, much less when the hearts you caught belonged to the yashiro commissioner and his retainer. [VAPORIZE]

CHARACTERS. kamisato ayato, thoma + GN!reader.

GENRE. fluff, crack-ish, love triangle.

CW. reader is an inazuman noble and is referred to with "mx", not a poly relationship (they have friendly catfights over you), reader just stays unbothered throughout the whole thing.

THOUGHTS. my entry for the elemental supercharge collab by @zhongrin! this turned out so diff from my first draft, but i still hope i did this justice. good luck being sandwiched between these two (you'll need it for your sanity)! <3

✰ masterlist.

As the heir of a respected clan in Inazuma, you were always expected to master many types of talents such as performing a tea ceremony, negotiation, wielding a blade, and more. Catching hearts, however, was never on your list — and not to mention, two of them at the same time.

[ HYDRO | Pillar of Fortitude ]

KAMISATO AYATO is never shy to admit that he finds beauty in your resilience from the start... Or at least, resilience in rejecting his advances, that is.

You're always so professional, always so firm in keeping your composure — but to him, that just adds to your appeal as if you're a locked treasure chest and Ayato is having the time of his life trying to find the right key to you. Needless to say, he seeks enjoyment from trying to crack that mask of yours.

The sweet tone in his voice that has the intent to charm, the glint in his eyes when he looks at you. Just the way he acts when you're around already speaks enough of his fondness for you. It isn't hard to notice; if the Commissioner's mood seems awfully good, that must mean your name is somewhere on the list of visitors that day.

Not to mention, the touches that linger longer than necessary and the excuses that roll off his tongue like second nature just so he can stay close to you. All of these quirks of his just further incite the urge inside you to give him a good knock on the head... if it weren't for the fact that you have a reputation to keep up.

Oh, goodness, there he goes again with that look in his eyes. Have your previous words fallen on deaf ears, you wonder? You place your teacup down with a heavy sigh, "...Lord Kamisato, you are staring."

Ayato smiles, faux innocence shining from his face so naturally like sunlight. He hides his fit of chuckles behind his hand, "Pardon me. It seems I was lost in your eyes again, can you repeat what you were saying just now?"

The frown on your face is clear. A clear as its purpose to become an armor so it can distract the insufferable male from noticing the way you faltered a little and you emphasize, a little, at his words. You huff defeatedly, "Fine, I shall start again."

(...Really, how does he say all that with such a straight face?)

But Ayato knows. He can see how you're itching to chuck an object at him and how badly you want to roll your eyes at his sweetened compliments. Well, he wouldn't go as far as to call himself a true sadist — but maybe, that sight of annoyance on your face only makes him fall for you even harder. Who would've thought the Yashiro Commissioner is someone who enjoys being loathed as his love language? (Does this mean he is also a masochist, then? Albeit, an odd one.)

Seriously, what are you going to do with him? Seeing as you're the current heir to a bloodline that has worked with the Kamisato Clan for generations, it seems there is no avoiding him. The only thing you can do is to curse fate for letting you be born in the same timeline as this brat of a man, probably.

But Ayato certainly stays true to what the gods have gifted him, for he is as suffocating as the properties of his Hydro Vision. Curse him and his pretty face. (...So, you do think he is pleasant on the eyes, after all?)

[ PYRO | Protector From Afar ]

On the other hand, THOMA is almost untrue to the Vision he holds for he is anything but the feeling of a scorching blaze. But he is so passionate, so intent on helping others that you'd understand why he was chosen by such a fiery element — and strangely, his flames are the kind that you wouldn't mind throwing yourself at and you're sure many people agree.

The retainer of the Kamisato Clan is so welcoming, so comforting to the point that just the mere sight of his face is able to lift up your spirits. Like a pat on the shoulder or an unspoken whisper that everything will be alright, whether that be because of his 'fixing' skills or just that bright smile on his lips.

The amount of adoration he has for you is not a well-hidden secret either. Why else would he fumble and fret so much every time you come by? Some may say that it's common sense since you are an important guest, thus it is natural that he wants to treat you well. But that is what others would say and Thoma can speak for himself — and as such, he can say with certainty that he likes you. Or why else would his heart flutter so much when you're around?

Even amidst any sort of rush, he'd still drop anything and everything for you.

In fact, he is very willing to; a fact that he learnt when one day, you came to visit and he wasn't there to greet you per usual. It is only when he was trudging up the steps to the Kamisato Estate after some business in Ritou that he was informed of your presence. And goodness, Thoma has never run so fast before in all his life!

"Mx. [Y/N], when did you get here? Did you wait long? Has anyone prepared tea for you yet? I'm so sorry, I just got back from an errand. Hold on, let me—"

"Relax," you chuckle, shaking your head politely at the genuine panic in his voice. "I arrived merely some moments ago. And no, I told the staff I'd wait for you so you'll be the one to make the tea like always," you state calmly.

You say that so casually... but why does Thoma feel like his heart just skipped a beat and is struggling to catch up? Maybe, his heart is overreacting.

"Oh, y-you did?" He stutters upon hearing your words, as if his breath has been knocked out of his lungs and all he can think about is you. Both of them are true.

"Yes, I did," you affirm with a smile.

Yep, his heart is definitely overreacting and definitely not racing a mile faster.

Gosh, where should he start? He likes how composed you are, how you try to quieten your laughter when all he wants is to hear it clearer, how you smile at him and make him feel so appreciated when he does something for you. Oh, how he really, really likes you; something he has told Taroumaru many times before whenever it is quiet and empty inside Komore Teahouse.

Thoma knows his place as a servant where his status is way lower than you are but still, it doesn't lessen these feelings in his chest... Maybe, he is more than qualified to be called the exact definition of lovesick.

[ VAPORIZE | And thus, chaos ensues. ]

When water meets fire or vice versa, it will result in a mist of vapor; either an engulfing one or a haze that brushes against your skin softly. That is what you know according to the laws of nature, so what in the name of the Shogun is this clashing aura lingering in the air?

You've already grown quite immune to AYATO's teasing and eccentric remarks, so much so that it should be considered a skill of yours now. But for some reason, there are times where he seems more spirited to do his worst than usual and if you connect the dots, the sole factor for this occurrence leads to... THOMA?

It isn't unusual for a commissioner and their retainer to be in one room, but being in the same room as them brings about a whole new meaning. Everything just turns into a domino effect; when you talk, another responds, then the other disagrees. These are the moments when you remember that both Ayato and Thoma don't necessarily see eye to eye at times and thus, here you are, caught in the middle.

"My Lord, I don't think that is a good idea," comes the hesitant plea of a certain blond. The one who sits across from him raises an eyebrow, resting a hand on his chin and sporting a dignified tone.

"I didn't know you had such an interest in politics," the commissioner regards the former with a hum. "Or is it our guest that you're interested in?" Ayato continues, a wide smile too far-fetched to be called harmless chipped onto his lips.

"W-what?! No, no, I just think that we can choose another way to make things easier for Mx. [Y/N] than that one. Doing that would put too much on their plate," Thoma stammers out his reason like a deer caught in the headlights but rather solidifying his defence as intended, he only looks a tad more sillier than before.

How thoughtful of these two to care so much to the point of bickering — but you're very much an independent person who is more than capable of making their own decisions, respectfully.

But these two have been at it for a while now, you muse to yourself as you sip your tea quietly. Should you interrupt or should you enjoy this stand-up comedy show a little bit longer?

"I was already thinking of buying them gifts as my compensation, but you're acting as if I am heartlessly subjecting them to this. I thought you would know me better. I'm quite offended, Thoma."

"My Lord, please—"

Okay, you're going to sip this tea and watch just a little bit longer.

Naturally, you remain on the neutral side like the fence in between two quarreling neighbors. Their squabbles can be very amusing at times, irritating the next, or even both simultaneously. Sometimes, you don't even know the end of it — but what you do know is that neither of them back down easily.

However, there is something you'd like to point out. In most cases involving an employer and employee, the latter would have had no say in any matters that belonged to their master... But as you watch the banter between Ayato and Thoma, this doesn't seem to be the case in the Kamisato Estate and somehow, it warms your heart.

To know that Thoma feels comfortable enough around his employers to be able to express his opinions, to know that both Ayato and Ayaka are the ones who enabled Thoma to feel as such because they don't see him as just a servant. In Inazuma where the value of traditions and honor is important as eternity that the Raiden Shogun chased, it is the type of bond you've never seen before, the type of bond that makes you smile.

Everyone in the Kamisato Estate is so full of surprises, aren't they? ...Though, it might be better if you start discussing business with Ayaka instead of these two from now on. Just to save everyone (and yourself) in this property from their incessant disputes over you.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

✰ TAGLIST: @meimeimeirin @hcikazu @tsuk4sa-yug1 @catcze @semi-orangeapple @yuuki4646 @d-a-r-k-s-w-a-n @daisydkj @omgscaramouche @coquettemaiden @lemontum @herdrops — [ bolded names are unable to be tagged + register here to be a part of my taglist! ]

© SEELESTIA, dec 2022. do not repost, plagiarize, translate nor claim as your own.

#zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #genshin x reader #genshin x you #ayato x reader #ayato x you #thoma x reader #thoma x you #genshin fluff #genshin crack #genshin scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin hcs #genshin drabbles #seelestial.inks

[thesparklingwriter]

@zhongrin | Zhongli + Itto = crystalise

“Gods, demons, vision bearers, the visionless… We’re all the same, really, aren’t we?”

tags: zhongli and itto are fighting for your affections, female reader, it's Lantern Rite but i forgot how it works in canon, reader lives in liyue, literally pure fluff, itto knows Zhongli is an archon

If there’s anything your life doesn’t lack, it’s drama.

Travelling across Teyvat does nothing but provide you with new companions to meet, and oftentimes it also leads to violent clashings of character. You thought you’d seen the worst of it when you accidentally reunited the Ragvindr brothers, but the most dramatic encounter was yet to come. Right now, though, you're enjoying the brief period of peace, as you walk alone through the bustling Liyue streets.

“Hey Sunshine!” Itto creeps up beside you, the smile on his face reflecting the smile blossoming in his heart. Yes, it's taken him a good few days to get to Liyue, and yes, everyone on board the ship really, really really loved beans, but he didn’t really mind. He gets to see you, so the sickness is worth it.

You spin around to see your favourite oni, his long white hair combed and braided to perfection, and his fanged smile wider than you’ve ever seen before.

“Was that supposed to make me jump?” You chuckle as he falls into step beside you.

“What? No. It was supposed to make you smile.” he grins. “And that it did.”

How is anyone not supposed to smile around him? He exudes energy and an optimistic naivety that you’ve not seen in anyone for a long time. His cheerfulness is even more impressive when you knew the things he’d experienced. He’d seen hell in person, but he chose to live every day pretending it didn’t exist.

“How was the trip?" you ask. "I wasn’t expecting you to get here so soon.”

“You knew I was coming?"

“Mmm,” you reply, watching as stalls begin to pop up for the upcoming Lantern Rite—undoubtedly your favourite festival of the year. “You put a sign on the message board saying that Liyue better be ready for The One and Oni Arataki Itto to show them how a real festival is done. I couldn't have missed it.”

Itto laughs heartily. “That means my work was done perfectly, as always. I should thank Shinobu. If I remember.”

“I’ll send her something on your behalf, don’t worry. I’ll grab something from the Lantern Rite stalls.”

“You would? You’re amazing. Seriously.” Itto grins. “So when’s Lantern Rite? Can I come? Do I get to set up a stall or something?”

“You put that message up on the board without even planning anything in advance?” You ask. His response sends you into a fit of giggles—one that pricks the ears of the retired geo archon.

It’s not like he’s jealous. You’re not his property, and never will be. But he is intrigued by this…demon who makes you giggle like that. You’d never laughed so heartily whenever you spent time with him. Maybe he'd get a slight chuckle at him and his antics, but nothing more. Not that he cared.

You didn't even notice you’d walked past the funeral parlour in the midst of your laughter—and you always noticed.

He’s not upset. At all. That would be absurd of him. He’s simply curious. You associate with people from all over Teyvat, a quality of yours that he’s always loved, so he’s not surprised. Either way, he decides to find out who this man is for himself—by bumping into you guys by chance.

“So are you going to let me come or not?” Itto huffs. You’d been talking about the history of the Lantern Rite for so long that he’d nearly forgotten his original question.

“A friend of mine has agreed to take me around this year, so you should definitely come with. He’s great with the history, and he knows where all the good food spots are.” Itto’s steps slow down almost comically.

“I’m going to have to share you?”

“Yes…?”

“Can I at least meet the guy?” he pouts. He came all this way to see you, and he's going to have to share your attention with another guy? He’s not a fan. He’s also not a fan of the creepy old man watching him from across the street, with his fancy jacket and tailored trousers and lean frame. What is he doing, staring at you?

“Sunshine, some weird guy over there is staring at you.” he nudges your side slightly. “You need me to tell him off or something?”

You glance over at the guilty party, who its watching you with an almost forced placidity. “Oh, that’s just my friend. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Itto tilts his head to the side slightly. He knows that in order for someone to get along with him they’d have to be a certain kind of fearless and non-judgemental, but this is something new. Instead of being afraid of the weird dude making eyes at you, you call him your friend?

“Are you sure? I can deal with him if you like. You don’t need to be so chill.”

“Itto, it’s fine.” You grin, taking his hand and dragging him along with you. “Hi Zhongli!”

The man's blank expression breaks into a slight smile. “Hello, yn. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

“How many times have I told you to quit it with the formalities?” you giggle, squeezing his arm.

“Plenty of times.” Zhongli says. He glances at your hand—the one holding Itto’s—and his smile drops imperceptibly. “It’s impolite to not introduce your acquaintances, you know.”

“Hey, old man, don’t stick your big words on me. Me and yn are bona fide buddies. None of this acquaintance business. You make us sound like we work together.” He scowls. Admitting that he and you were friends was kind of…irritating. He liked being your friend, but he wanted more than that. He wanted you to light up his day with that smile of yours all the time. He wanted to you to be his. But he also wanted you to want that—and he doesn’t know where you stand on that front.

“Itto. Manners.” You poke his stomach lightly. “He’s my friend from when I went to visit Inazuma. He may not look it or sound it, but he’s a bit of a cynic.”

“Hmm.” Zhongli hums. “And a demon.”

Itto scowls. “An Oni. Look at the horns.”

“They’re almost shiner than mora. There’s no way I could miss them.” Zhongli retorts. Itto beams, not aware that Zhongli’s comment wasn’t exactly a compliment.

“Thanks, dude. Anyway, Sunshine here says that you’re taking her to the Latern Rite. I myself have an affinity for festivals and music and all that jazz, and she said I could tag along. That alright with you?”

Zhongli hums. “I suppose.” He doesn’t want Itto there. Inviting you to Lantern Rite was his attempt to get you on your own, to talk to you and see whether you share the same feelings, and now it’s been foiled. He can’t even be mad, because the the demon beside you makes you smile. He loves the sound of your laugh, and so, he has to appreciate anyone who makes you do that. “Do you know much about Lantern Rite?”

“Nope. But I am good with festivals. I held a drum-along in Inazuma. The drum was dirt cheap so we made a massive profit. So many people showed up, it was awesome.”

Zhongli raises an eyebrow. “The drum-along? I was told that was a menace to all involved.”

“Li,” You hiss. “Drop it. That’s a sensitive subject.”

“No, no, Sunshine. Let the man speak.” Itto smiles amicably. “I like to know what people are saying about me.”

Zhongli’s eyes flash amber for a second. “I heard nothing else. I do apologise for speaking out of turn, you’re more than welcome to join us tomorrow, Itto. And on that note, would you mind terribly if I stole yn from you?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Itto shrugs. Zhongli nods and turns to walk away.

“Hey Itto,” You grin, chucking your house keys at him. “You know where I live. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll take you out for dinner when I get back.” You wink at him before turning around to catch up with Zhongli. “My treat!”

Itto wants to complain, but you looked so happy at the thought of going out for dinner that he chokes down his disappointment at your being stolen and traipses to your house. How has an old man with creaky knees and a vocabulary straight out of the archon war period managed to fill up your time so thoroughly that you would pick him over Itto?

Zhongli is boring and quiet and judgemental. The sheer opposite of what he is. But at the same time, that makes him the opposite to you, and opposites attract, right? And then he decides to stop himself falling down the self hating wormhole he’s skirting, and makes himself at home in your living room.

“So, Sunshine,” Zhongli chuckles as you walk to the nearest tea shop.

You grin at him, chuckling lightly. “Why did you say it like that?”

“I’m just intrigued by the company you keep,” Zhongli hums. “I never would have expected you to get along so well with a demon.”

“Gods, demons, vision bearers, the visionless… We’re all the same, really, aren’t we?”

“I would argue that gods are a little higher on that pyramid.” He mutters as he pulls out a chair for you to sit on.

“You’re such a jealous little man,” You chuckle. “You can’t even bear to see me with my friend.”

“I am also your friend, and I admit that I often have ulterior motives for wanting to be around you. It’s perfectly natural for me to be suspicious.” he shrugs.

“I’m pretending I didn’t hear that.” You smile. “Anyway, what did you want to show me?”

~~~

Allowing Zhongli and itto to come with you to Lantern Rite was a mistake.

Itto wants to check out all the fun stalls, which you want to do. But Zhongli wants to tell you about the history of the festival, which you also want to do. Watching them try to subtly fight for dominance is too funny for you to keep a straight face throughout.

“Oh come on, old man, Why should I listen to you talk when we could be getting street food? Sunshine, what do you want?”

You cover your mouth to try and stop yourself from laughing at Zhongli’s expression. He looks hilarious. The archon is the picture of placidity, the only giveaway that he’s three seconds away from slicing Itto’s prized horns off being the slight clenching of his jaw.

“I’ll take a kebab, please.” You smile. Itto runs off to get you something to snack on and you turn back to Zhongli, whose eyes soften slightly. “You may continue.”

“I’m struggling to understand why you’ve invited both of us,” He hums. “You clearly know our personalities clash. Why subject yourself to this?”

You don’t answer him straight away. You’re not an idiot—you’re aware that both of them like you, and you might even admit to being guilty of egging them on slightly today. But all in all, you enjoy both of their company. Sure, you could separate them, but you're greedy.

“You’re both hilarious.” You reply finally, turning to look back at the sky.

“We both know you’re a lot smarter than you’d like most to believe.” Zhongli pushes. “You’re fully aware of what’s happening here. Why not put us all out of our collective misery?”

“You want to be put out of your misery?” You ask innocently, turning back to face him properly. He hums lightly. “Then fight for it.” Zhongli clenches his jaw slightly, lost for words. Never in his life has he been told what to do in a way that makes him want to obey, but he supposes there's a first time for everything.

Itto returns with the the kebabs and you take them excitedly, gushing over how fresh they were. “How did you get these so quickly?”

“Trick of the trade. I saw a firework stall thingy. Wanna try it out?”

“Sure!” You beam. You look behind you to check if Zhongli is coming along, but’s he’s disappeared, and you let him go. If that’s the kind of man he is, maybe you're better off not bothering. “Let’s go.”

You go around the stalls, dancing with the musicians and trying out all the delicacies on your way to make the fireworks. By the time you make it there, the sun is beginning to set, and Zhongli still isn’t back. You genuinely didn’t think he’d just give up.

“What colour should I pick?” you mutter to yourself. “Oh, I can’t decide. Where’s Ushi? He always has the answers.”

“I left him in Inazuma. He doesn’t like boats very much.”

“I still can’t believe you took a boat. There are teleport waypoints all across Teyvat.”

“Seeing you after such a long time isn’t the same without a gruelling journey to make me miss you more,” He jokes, patting your head lightly. “Anyway, knowing him, he’d probably suggest brown. You know how he is.”

“Then brown it is,” you smile, pouring the relevant chemicals into the tube. You have zero clue how this works, and neither does Itto. He asks the lady at the stall to explain it, but once she starts bringing up chemicals, his eyes glaze over, and you realise he’s just nodding every twenty five seconds. “Thank you!” he says, once she’s finished. “That was super interesting. I understood every word.”

You swipe away the tear that began to form as a result of how hard you were trying to not burst into laughter. He's trying his best, he really is.

“Come on, come on, I want to see how these look in the air.” He takes your hand. “There’s a spot up there.”

You cross your arms, looking up at the big cliff. “Uh uh. No way. I am not walking all the way up there.”

“What? Why? I’ll carry you. C’mon!”

You shake you head. “My feet hurt and I really cannot be asked. And I know you, you’ll fall asleep at some point and then I will have to drag you back down.”

Itto scratches his head, his face taken over by a thought ful expression. “Okay, new idea. I’ll go up there. Set them off, and then come back down.”

“Or you can just leave her with me, and we can partake in an activity that does not involve cliffs.” Zhongli huffs, holding a lantern in each of his hands. Itto looks at him with scathing disdain.

“Not you again! What is it with you and just swooping in to steal my friend?” Itto stomps his foot in frustration, and once again, you find yourself holding back a laugh. He can be so cute sometimes.

“I simply find activities that yn will enjoy. That is all.” Zhongli crosses his arms, the lanterns before him hovering in the air with a faint golden glow—a subtle reminder of the power he holds.

Itto almost pouts. “Yn, were you enjoying yourself with me?”

“I enjoyed myself plenty.” You quip. “But I really don’t want to go up the cliff. Sorry.”

“Hey, no sweat! Don’t apologise.” He roughs your hair up. “I get it.”

“Well, if you’re done being so gracious, yn and I will be on our way.”

“Now, when did she say you could take her?” Itto scowls, crossing his arms. “You do realise she’s like a whole human and everything. Being a demoted god or whatever doesn't give you the right to boss her around.”

“I didn’t expect you to stoop so low as to start throwing insults.” Zhongli sighs. “Be honest with yourself, demon. Did you really—”

“I’m plenty honest! More honest than you and your big fancy words that mean nothing.”

You retreat slightly, watching as the two men argue. Or rather, watching as Itto argues. Zhongli’s face is as passive as ever, retaliating with calmly spoken facts that only seem to infuriate him further.

“Are you going to tell him where to get off?” Itto says to you finally, and you snap out of your own, peaceful, thoughts.

“No.” You sigh. “And frankly, this has gone past the point of being funny. I really just wanted to enjoy my festival with both of you, becasue I enjoy your company. The bickering was kind of entertaining at first, but now it’s just boring. Go home or something. Both of you.”

And with that, you leave them in the dust, making your way back home. You’d been too greedy, you decide. They both deserve better than this weird limbo you’ve left them in. So on your way home, you try to make a decision between the two men. Either would have the decency to accept being your friend, so which would you rather be stuck with?

You can’t make up your mind.

When you get home, you flop onto your bed, leaving your decision to wait until the morning. And whilst your dreams are plagued with the dilemma you face in the real world, you wake up with a beautiful clarity that leaves you feeling bright and cheerful.

You get dressed, ready for another day of Lantern Rite festivities, but as you leave your house, you notice two bouquets of flowers at the front door. One is bright and colourful, full of Inazuman flowers and spilling out of its vase, whilst the other is a lot less vivid and put together with slightly more precision.

You chuckle lightly to yourself as you take one of the vases and display it in your front window. And although you feel bad about the arrangement that you leave seated on your porch, you know it’s a decision that you would have had to make eventually.

a/n i am actually proud of myself for getting this done in time, i actually checked this before(!!) i posted it so if there are any errors someone tell me before rin reblogs and then the incorrect version is left to be seen by the world

i tried to make the ending ambiguous but we all know i chose Zhongli right? cause i picked Zhongli. I don't know about you but Zhongli is my favourite. Literally i love h

#zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #as usual i went slightly off prompt #when i picked characters i forgot that Zhongli's the type to not engage and then randomlyremind you your cat died just to get you to shut u #and itto's the type to argue with a brick wall #anyway i hope this is suitable and not too long #seriously i have not written this much in ages #i am exhausted so goodnight #zhongli fluff #zhongli #itto #itto genshin impact #itto fluff

[zhongrin]

flowering

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham (poly)

◇ tags ◇ minors dni, afab!reader, poly, threesome, pwp, biting & marking, probably ooc zhongli and al haitham, dragon!zhongli (bc of course it is), nicknames (pet, royal highness), slight dacryphilia, teasing, hints of possessive behavior, creampie, overstimulation, just- this is just pure filth okay? s h u s h

◇ a/n ◇ second submission for my ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ϟᴜᴘᴇʀᴄʜᴀʀɢᴇ collab

ngl this was heavily inspired by the dynamics in azeru’s 3p nsfw asmr jshkdhdks

𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑏 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

little purple flowers marking your body make for the loveliest accessories, they think.

with every bite and tender massage of their lips, the small flowers bloom across the span of your bare skin; from your neck all the way down your thighs, wilting lilacs and fresh rose petals painted directly onto the tissue.

no other pieces of jewelry could compare, especially not those cor lapis necklaces and bracelets that the other man would constantly give you. you look better adorned in silver than gold, shine better in green than dull dark browns. al haitham tells this to you constantly, not with words but with actions and gifts rivaling the ex-archon: glittering silver anklets, silky green gowns that hint at the curves of your body, and quill pens from the feather of a hawk.

and like always, zhongli would merely chuckle and smile, musing about how youths are so competitive these days and how nostalgic it is to see someone so desperate, as if they have everything to lose… yet you’re still swamped by his romantic endeavors nonetheless - traditional gentlemanly courtships, flowers, gifts of gold, necklaces with a shiny looking scale that’s unusually large, dark brown layered with golden sheen, pulsing with geo energy as you tilt it under the sun.

despite all this, however, they make a fearsome duo. a team that works out wonderfully, a dynamic that makes you breathless and crave for more. it matters not whether they work together or against each other, for the end result is always, always the same.

truly, barely anything matters when you’re being pinned under zhongli as your trembling fingers try to wrap around al haitham’s cock. the latter's fingers, calloused and rough from wielding swords and pens, smear the tears falling down your eyes in succession as the ex-archon’s cock pounds into your sopping wet cunt from behind. your lips are lolled open, obscene sounds escaping your raw throat, eyes unfocused, brain muddled with pleasure. rationale and embarrassment have long since unfriended you, somewhen along your... third? fourth? orgasm, leaving you to bask in the assaults of pain and pleasure inflicted by your lovers.

a low growl is all the warning you get before zhongli pins you harder onto the bed, grinding deep in your quivering walls as the thick spurts of cum spill into your deepest parts, warming your belly and making you clench more against the throbbing length. his teeth make their home on a spot on your left shoulder, which is already decorated with bruises and hickeys - the sharp fangs of a dragon sinking against the sweaty skin.

“taking it all without complaints... how very nice of you,” the velvety voice is a tad hoarse, the gravelly texture of his voice sending shivers down your spine, “we’ve trained you so well, have we, darling?”

“quit dilly-dallying and switch with me,” your other partner huffs with a gruffer tone, green-red eyes narrowing at the half beast who is still curled on top of you like a dragon protecting its hoard of jewels, “your time was up since a long time ago, old man.”

“my, how generous of you to wait,” zhongli chuckles darkly, unfurling from above you and shushing your whines when you feel his half-hard cock grind against your sensitive pussy as he slides out, “apologies, my stamina is quite above average, you see.”

al haitham grunts in annoyance, though his expression quickly shifts into sheer adoration as soon as he repositions himself to take the lord of geo's place. with a lick of his lips, he presses a warning kiss and a nibble onto your right shoulder, before easily grinding the head of his cock into your leaking hole, the sensation ripping a deep groan from his chest.

“h-haith-am—!”

“hmmm? what?”

like a hawk playing with a mouse, he teases you; never giving you his full length, just rubbing against your outer lips, sliding in but never all the way. just his flushed tip prodding, poking, giving you a taste of what you could have.

“s-stop teasing….! j-jerk!!!”

“oh dear, someone made the royal highness displeased,” zhongli hums, kissing your knuckles.

“you shut up,” al haitham hisses, before affixing his gaze back onto your adorable pouty lips, “and you. what did you just call me?”

your lips part to form the insult, just as your boyfriend slams into you in one thrust. the syllables break into a high-pitched moan, haughty tone melting into needy desperation. your hips, bruised by the fingers previously digging into the flesh, tries to meet his sudden movements.... until he stops, presses your lower half back down, and repeats the teasing grinds on the lips of your pussy.

“i asked, what did you call me?”

“i’m sorry i'm sorry am sorry love, please-”

“that’s what i thought,” al haitham smirks cruelly in satisfaction at your compliance and you barely have the time to admire him when he starts jackhammering into you, his grip adding another set of bruises as he tries to keep your body steady.

your eyes rolls and your back arches, too far lost in pleasure to notice the two pairs of eyes admiring how your body twists and jolts so erotically. how the layer of sweat from your overexertion makes you seem to glimmer and glow, like a mesmerizing crystalfly that captivates their senses, fluttering and asking to be caught. how the spots of cum and the specks of dark lovebites spanning across your skin taunt them to leave more - more marks of ownership, more memory of heated lovemaking, more proof that you’re theirs and only theirs.

the gasps and moans from your lips are akin to a siren’s call to their ears, and it spurs al haitham to relent one grip in favor of playing with your throbbing clit. you’re mewling and trying to escape as soon as he touches the oversensitive bundle of nerves, but zhongli quickly grasps your hands, pinning them in place as he delves in for a kiss; a ploy to keep you in place and to muffle your pretty noises, much to the scribe’s displeasure. though, he makes no move to push the older man away, and instead immerses himself in the tightness of your pussy and the way you clench and gush every time he flicks your clit a certain way. it’s so addicting, the feeling of you around him, that he can’t help but indulge, indulge, indulge.

between a kiss that’s trying to steal your breath away and being ravaged like no tomorrow, the coil in your abdomen snaps, and you jerk against zhongli’s hold, knocking your teeth together as you squeeze your eyes shut. and yet, instead of retreating, your lover doubles down on the kiss, gulping down your cries and screams like they’re the finest aged wine. meanwhile, al haitham buries himself inside you as your cunt spasm around him, getting impossibly wetter with each pulse, with his fingers continuing to help you ride your orgasm in the best way possible. you’re still twitching when he starts moving again - just a few sloppy thrusts as he too reaches his end, spilling more of his seed inside you. your stomach feels hot and full, your legs weak from overexertion, and your breath so ragged it almost hurts to inhale.

with a satisfied groan, the platinum-haired male collapses beside you, trying to catch his breath and admiring your post-orgasm, blissed-out face.

zhongli, on the other hand, has kindly swept his hair back and given you some breathing space, although he’s still looking at you from his original position, a serene smile on his lips. his slender fingers lift your left hand and he places a fleeting kiss on your inner wrist. you give him a weak but appreciative giggle at the gentle display of affection.

the half-dragon hums melodically and moves to press his soft lips onto your palm, then your fingertips. and to your surprise, his lips open, long tongue flicking out to lick a strip from the base of your pinky up to the top.

you yelp as sharp fangs start nibbling on the base of your finger, transfixed at the erotic sight of half-lidded, lust-driven amber eyes staring right into your soul, a slight smirk on his lips as pearly white fangs flashed dangerously under the dimmed light, the pink muscle lewdly circling around your ring finger. it’s hypnotic, almost, and your mouth unconsciously falls agape, a shudder racking your body as the canines start to scratch and nibble and then bite. more tears prick your eyes, and you whine in alarm. zhongli relents, relaxes his jaw, and only then do you see the teeth marks around the base of said finger… it stirs something inside you; a ring of flowers, of promise-

ragged breaths hit your right ear and your eyes squeeze shut as another set of canines assaults your nape, along with a set of fingers still slightly damp with your juices interlocking with your free hand.

“ready for another round?”

“there’s still plenty of canvas space, after all.”

𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑦𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟?

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @niverine | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @clovcly | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #zhongli x reader x al haitham #al haitham x reader x zhongli #minors dni #afab!reader #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #genshin smut #rin writes

[zhongrin]

tsunami

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, childe

◇ tags ◇ yandere, unhealthy relationship, obsessive behavior, not poly - 2 men competing for your attention

◇ a/n ◇ lmao you’re so fucked good luck first submission for my ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ϟᴜᴘᴇʀᴄʜᴀʀɢᴇ collab

𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑏 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

getting caught between these two is akin to getting engulfed in a tsunami - childe being the wave that consumes your whole being, while zhongli is the moving earth plates; the catalyst that pushed the ginger to do so.

it was fine at first. childe’s curiosity makes him wave and calls out to you whenever he bumps into you in the harbor. he makes small talk, discovers something new about you, and leaves you with a smile.

only… after a few times, his questions start getting more and more personal, he starts to intrude on your personal space, and before long whenever you’re just walking down the street, if you feel arms snake around you from behind, you immediately know it’s childe.

zhongli does the same, although at times he would not be opposed to tagging along with you, surveying the market stalls and helping you do your errands. it’s very gentlemanly of him, and he’s always so ever helpful, so of course you would enjoy his company, of course you would willingly spend more time with him, to the point of inviting him over for tea, because you’ve got to repay the man somehow for never failing to help you with things, right?

yes, it’s all fine and dandy until one day, childe spots the two of your together, and it would have been fine if he hadn’t seen how the ex-archon kissed your hand as he excused himself.

and the worst part?

you were giggling, seemingly embarrassed by the gesture, and yet anyone can see that you liked it.

oh.

oh, the hunt’s on.

from thereon, childe treats you like a conquest: lavish gifts begin to flood your doorstep; from pieces of jewelry to exquisite chinas to bouquets of the freshest flowers. he laughs when you try to give them back, and for the first time, he tells you things like how you’re worth all the mora in the whole teyvat. that he just wants to make you happy because you’re important to him.

zhongli gives you a bouquet of flowers when you met him that day, and you sheepishly joke that you don’t have a vase to store them in, since the ones you have are currently housing all the flowers childe has been giving you these past few days.

hm? childe is giving you flowers now?

interesting.

the relationship between zhongli and childe is… up in the air, up until that point. they weren’t exactly friends, yet they were no strangers to each other. they’re not hostile to each other, yet they aren’t exactly the most amiable. their motives and goals differ from each other, and therefore when there are no reasons for them to mingle, they prefer to stay out of each other’s way.

but now, there’s you.

a tiny sprout that childe wishes to shelter and nurture all on his own. the finest gem zhongli wishes to possess and examine in detail. a fleeting butterfly that managed to mesmerize them with the elegant flutter and the intricate patterns of your wings.

beautiful.

hypnotizing.

brittle.

they simply have to compete to entice you to settle onto their palm. surely you would be happier if you were to be put in a garden they’ve made just for you? a space full of your favorite flowers and the only one person who would be able to appreciate your entirety to the fullest?

and if your perfect wings has to become just a little bit imperfect for you to end up in his grasp, then that’s a small price to pay, doesn’t it?

“as someone who's willing to give up the nation he’s built for thousands of years, why don’t you be the gentleman that you are and back off this time, xiansheng?”

“i do not think you understood my actions correctly. never have i ‘given up’ on liyue and its people. in fact, i believe i have never given up anything that managed to catch my eye throughout the course of my life - for you see, i pride myself of having an eye for the most exquisite crafts. whenever i recognize such brilliance, i must add them to my collection. no matter how much it costs.”

𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑠𝑒𝑎, 𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠? 𝑒𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖 𝑖𝑠, 𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈.

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @niverine | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @clovcly | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #rin writes #zhongli #zhongli x reader #childe #tartaglia #ajax #childe x reader #yandere #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge

[zhongrin]

⟦ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ϟᴜᴘᴇʀᴄʜᴀʀɢᴇ ⟧ masterlist

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨 ⟐ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 ⟐ 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬. 🟢 research in progress until ³¹/₃ 2023 🔴 no new research subjects are allowed to be submitted

𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. ❗️minors kindly dni with those marked as 𝐧.𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⛋ please read the 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 of each fic before proceeding.

═ 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 ═

dendro + electro = quicken ⛋ al haitham, cyno ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @taintedsorrcw

hydro + pyro = vaporize ⛋ ayato, thoma ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @/seelestia

dendro + pyro = burning ⛋ al haitham, diluc ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @shayewrites

dendro + electro + dendro = spread ⛋ tighnari, cyno, platonic!collei ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @naraven

geo + geo = crystallize ⛋ zhongli, itto ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @/thesparklingwriter

existing reactions are being studied further...

═ 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 ═

geo + hydro = tsunami ⛋ zhongli, childe ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @/zhongrin

geo + dendro = flowering ⛋ zhongli, al haitham ⛋ 𝐧.𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @/zhongrin

geo + anemo = weathering ⛋ husband!zhongli, child!xiao ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @/zhongrin

pyro + geo = erupt ⛋ thoma, albedo ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @silkjade

geo + hydro + dendro = verdant ⛋ zhongli, childe, dendro!reader ⛋ 𝐧.𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @lychniis

geo + dendro = fortify ⛋ zhongli, al haitham ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @genshinparty

geo + dendro = fortify ⛋ albedo, tighnari ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @genshinparty

geo + dendro + miasma = remain ⛋ zhongli, al haitham, dainsleif ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @genshinparty

pyro + pyro = inferno ⛋ yanfei, hu tao ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @sinhasfluffyheadfur

anemo + anemo = whirlwind ⛋ kazuha, heizou ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @astrxlis

cryo + dendro = evergreen ⛋ platonic!kaeya, platonic!collei ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @mixed-kester

dendro + dendro = overgrowth ⛋ al haitham, platonic!tighnari ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @/kurikurikurisu

dendro + dendro + cryo = permafrost ⛋ al haitham, kaveh ⛋ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ⤞ researcher: @/kashimos-hajime

more reactions are being tested...

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. all rights to all the works involved in this event belong to their respective creators.

#genshin impact #rin writes #genshin impact x reader #rin participates in collabs?! #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge

[zhongrin]

"𝘰𝘩? 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘨... 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘺𝘷𝘢𝘵. 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩?"

ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ϟᴜᴘᴇʀᴄʜᴀʀɢᴇ

◇◆◇ a genshin impact writing collab event based on the concept of ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⟐ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 ⟐ 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚

🗓 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞. none! life happens, and none of us are paid to do this, so might as well have fun doing it!

═ 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 ═꧂

the theme for this collab is 'ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ' - which means, there should be at least two (or three max) characters 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 or 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 to win your affections.

once you choose the elements and characters corresponding to those elements, write something based on that reaction name. you're free to interpret the word as you wish.

now here's the fun part - you're more than welcome to 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧-𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞. be creative! you may call it whatever you want, but it has to make sense! each writer might use different names for the same combination, and that's totally fine :)

𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖. ⟐ hydro + hydro = flood ⟐ geo + geo = cairn ⟐ hydro + pyro + cryo = mist

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰.

𝐬𝐟𝐰 and 𝐧.𝐬𝐟𝐰 works welcome ◆ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 x 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 only ◆ all genres ◆ 𝐟𝐢𝐜 or 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 format ◆ both ��𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 and 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 (or even a 𝐦𝐢𝐱 of both) relationship ok ◆ if it involves a minor, no romance or n.sfw allowed (traveler and venti are not minors from my point of view) ◆ 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 relationship & 𝐚𝐮s are also accepted ◆ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 is welcome, but please remember to tag them properly! ◆ 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 entries accepted, so go wild! ◆ no min/max limit for 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ◆ for writing n.sfw, you need to be 𝟏𝟖+ and have an 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 in your blog!

═ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 ═꧂

① reblog this post (optional but very much appreciated! <3

② send an ask to @zhongrin containing this format:

[element_1] + [element_2] + [element_3](optional) = [reaction_name] [character_1], [character_2], [character_3](optional) sfw/n.sfw

𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖. ⟐ cryo + pyro = melt // kaeya, diluc // n.sfw ⟐ pyro + pyro = arson // diluc, klee (platonic) // sfw ⟐ dendro + hydro + pyro = burgeon // tighnari, childe, thoma // sfw (colors are optional, i'm using them here to give a clearer explanation)

you can send anon asks as long as you mention your writing blog (otherwise i can't tag you!)

③ i will then add + tag your writing blog, along with your prompt into the masterlist.

④ have fun writing your prompt(s)!

⑤ when you've finished writing your piece(s), tag me (@zhongrin) in your work, and use the tag #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge before posting. given some time, i will reblog all the entries in this blog and link your finished work to the masterlist!

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. all rights to all the works involved in this event belong to their respective creators.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #rin participates in collabs?! #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #rin writes

[zhongrin]

noted! thank you ehehe <3 i'm going to take a wild risk (for me) and go with anemo + anemo = whirlwind // kazuha, heizou // sfw

lord help me. i'm still debating on adding scara to this mix but what if he ends up not being anemo KFNDKDNSKS anyways. no scara for now. let's see what comes out of this lmao

boy that sure is a lot of breezes!! if you added in scara or xiao it would be a tornado lmao-

a kazuha and heizou tag team? sounds like it's gonna be a chaos alright skdjflksjdf i can't wait to see it!!! thank you for participating <3 <3

#rin answers #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge

[zhongrin]

Geo + Pyro = Scorch

I have this hc of these elements competing, but they’re so incompatible that there’s barely any reaction because they’re both strong on their own. I’d name it “Scorch” for the lack of a better term because imagine a building burning, it’ll be black but it still stands.

Now just imagine ZHONGLI and DILUC - they’re similar in so many ways. If they were to compete for my affection, I’m gonna be the one losing due to extreme confusion on who to pick lmao Both are reliable, classy gentlemen with refined tastes and effortless elegance. They’re on the serious side, they both have secret identities, and they ensure the safety of their land in their own way. Aside from how one is immortal and one isn’t, the only thing that separates them is that Diluc is rich and Zhongli is moraless - then again it’s Zhongli/Morax who created mora so 😂

They’re also already perfect as rivals because I remember how Zhongli indirectly dissed Diluc once. (I had to search for that specific line and I found it on twt lol) Zhongli once said, “Third-Round Knockout is not for lightweights, like those taverns in Mondstadt. Here, the owner does not take such unorthodox orders as fruit juice.” 😂

Anyway, I just had a brainrot and I had to share it to you. I’m also not writing at the moment. If anyone wants to pick up on this idea though, they are more than welcome to. <3

"a burning building" omg that's such an accurate description sldfjlskjdf will the reader even come out of this alive lol

OH MY GOD I REMEMBER THAT LINE NOW THAT YOU BROUGHT IT UP HDJFJSDJF archons, they must have met in the past then, right? perhaps zhongli visited mond on one of their festivals and that's where they met you, a traveller who also stopped by the city of freedom upon seeing the festivities.... :D

thank you for sharing your brainrot with me despite taking a break from writing at the moment!! i really appreciate it ahhhh <3

this is a very very beautiful concept, if anyone wants to take it then by all means feel free~

#rin answers #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge

[zhongrin]

hello!! i was wondering if i could still join your supercharge collab! it looks super interesting to write for :)

dendro + dendro + cryo = permafrost

al-haitham, kaveh, cryo!reader // sfw

ohohoho al haitham and kaveh duo is always super interesting to see! yeah sure thing <3 welcome to the collab and i'm looking forward to your fic!! :3

#rin answers #rin is having tea with: kashimos-hajime #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge

[zhongrin]

i’m so glad you decided to host the elemental collab!! i am so excited for this like just *insert keyboard smash*

DENDRO + PYRO :: BURN

Alhaitham + Diluc + reader :: (not sure if sfw or nsfw at this time)

(basically diluc and alhaitham vying for reader’s attention without admitting it to the reader or one another, but they all totally see it. little rivalry going on here and i’m living for it. reader “has to choose” which one, but do they really?)

slkdjfsljdfsd hiii shaye!!! glad to see you around for the collab ahhhh i love this combo i can already taste the rivalry going on! no worries, i'll put as sfw for now and you can just let me know if you need it changed! thanks a lot for participating and i'm so excited to see what you're gonna come up with <3

#rin answers #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge

[zhongrin]

rin i sprinted to your ask when I saw this omg i’m so glad you’re doing the event!!!

pyro + geo = erupt // thoma, albedo // sfw

jade!!!! ohohoho yay, an undiscovered reaction! thoma and albedo??? that's such an interesting combo yesss i like this very very much <3 i'll add this in!! ty for participating <3 <3

#rin answers #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge

[zhongrin]

hey rin! Yeah i wanna join the collab

(Damn that was embarrassing)

gotcha!! ah don't be embarrassed, i just wanted to re-clarify!! sorry for misunderstanding lsldfjskldf i'll put it as sfw for now but feel free to bump it up to nsfw anytime :)) ty for your participation <3

#rin answers #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #rin is having tea with: esther 💙

[zhongrin]

Rin hope you have a lovely weekend 😍 And I’m so glad you’re hosting the elemental reactions collab event yourself. It’s a unique and novel idea! I can’t choose who I want to write so I might do them??!

geo + dendro = fortify (Zhongli + Alhaitham of course) and unless you can think of a better name for our hubby duo? 😍

geo + dendro = fortify (Albedo + Tighnari since I’m liking the two scientists vibe)

I know Dainsleif is not a playable character yet and neither do we know what his element does or what it’s called. In one of my other fics I described Dainsleif telekinetic powers as miasma, but since it is your collab is it okay if I write him?

I’m thinking geo + dendro + miasma = remain because I’m picturing the Guili Ruins covered in overgrowth permeated by a starlit haze. No one knows the condition of the ruins but they’re endured for centuries. That kind of metaphor 😂😂If I can’t write non playable character for your collab it’s totally fine! But it will give me a reason to write them 😈

i am having a busy but lovely weekend so far, thank you sweetie!!! i hope you're having an enjoyable weekend so far too!

hsldjflsjdf i love love love all these ideas and i can definitely add all of them if you want to write them all!! <3 <3

fortify sounds great!! here's a secret; i went for 'flowering' for that combo because.... ahem... hickeys = 'flowers' shfshdfhsd oh! i would be very curious to see how you approach the same keyword with two sets of different characters!!

hell yes, you can definitely write for dain!! geo + dendro + miasma... is that gonna be a zhongli, al haitham, and dainsleif? 👀

#rin answers #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge

[zhongrin]

okay, quick question ; if we're taking an elemental reaction with three elements, can i correspon the third element with the reader?

like geo + hydro + dendro makes verdant? with zhongli, childe and a dendro ! user reader? if so then i'll take this one!

oh! interesting... i never thought about that but in principle, it still works bc there are two characters!! so yes, i'll add that to the list ;))

i am hoping this will be fluff bc of the reaction name aaaaaa more zhongli yes <3 <3 <3

#rin answers #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge