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[chichiwritez]

the significance of the number, 3 in tgcf gets me every time.

xie lian's third ascension is when everything changes (for the better)

hua cheng introduces himself as "san lang" when he meets xie lian after his third ascension. "san lang" means "third son." it's the third time, or the third form (his third life, if you will) that hua cheng has met xie lian in.

there are three calamities (if you ignore bai wuxian, and if you still count qi rong as a calamity)

there are multiple trios — xie lian, mu qing, feng xin; shi wudu, he xuan, shi qingxuan; shi wudu, pei ming, ling wen; and so on.

there were thirty three officials who disgraced xie lian; and were consequently destroyed by hua cheng.

hua cheng released three thousand lanterns for xie lian.

he also died three times for xie lian; first as hong hong'er, second as wu ming, and third as the supreme ghost king.

all this information, coupled with the fact that three is considered a lucky number in chinese culture just makes me feel so many emotions

[chichiwritez]

I'm Back!

Hello everyone!! Thank you so much to everyone who's been following along with my content even in my unannounced hiatus! I've finally begun schooling again (hence my rather busy schedule) but I have found that the loss of writing has made it a much bleaker experiences ;-; AND SO!! I will be posting more often!! No guarantees that the upload schedule will be consistent BUT I will be uploading much more frequently!

Thank you very much for all the support! Please look forward to:

A Wanderer-Centric Fanfic (from this post here)

An Alhaitham-Centered Fanfic (Involving Food!)

An Ao3 version of my Psychic! Childe AU (from this post here)

A continuation of my Ao3 Tags shenanigans!

[chichiwritez]

Finally posted the full version on the archive !!

My Partner's A Mic Stand

It is a quiet night in the Sekai. Perhaps that silence is exactly what Toya needs. Let him mourn quietly. This one has been in my drafts since June of last year, so I've decided it's time to finally let this bad boy out into the wild! I'll probably crosspost this on Ao3! Rating: General Audiences Pairing: Meiko & Toya, Unrequited Akitoya

He hears it all first, hears the soft jazz with the whirr of the coffee machine, hears the shuffling of a pair of footsteps the entire group had gotten familiar with, hears the knowing sigh that comes from their lips.

He can feel it too, the sombre air in the usually lively cafe, feel the moon shine through the windows in a delicate caress, feel that empty ache reverberate into his bones.

It is sympathetic.

"Hello, Toya." She says, her voice softer, her words filled with this underlying sense of I know and unadulterated understanding. She’s always been good at this, easily slipping into the role of a caretaker, a shoulder to cry on, a tether to reality.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

No. That's the most obvious answer. He doesn't want to talk about him, at 25, utterly ruined and mussed by something out of his control. No. He does not want to bare himself to her, knowing once he starts talking everything he had wanted to be left unsaid with spill out, and it will be real. The world will acknowledge it in its entirety, and Toya will feel alone.

But also, it’s yes. He wants to talk about it because he feels horrible keeping it all to himself. All the selfish daydreaming, all the unrequited frustration, every single flutter and smile catalogued. It is the preservation of happy memories, the memoirs of a fool's heart. Yes. He wants to talk about it because all Toya has ever done was want and want and want in vain, as if the yearning would suffice.

As if his longing could be enough.

So, Toya avoids looking at her, opting to walk towards the stool nearest the counter with his head glued to his sock-covered feet. He probably looked a mess, unpresentable in his state, like a bumbling teen ridden by pent-up angst. A rage without an outlet, bubbling until it pours over and consumes him completely.

Toya can feel Meiko's eyes on him for a while longer, though he’s still refusing to make eye contact. He knows that her eyes reflect worry, and maybe even pity, and it's all the more reason for him to not look her way. It's as if she was gauging him for his reaction, gauging the depth of this—because there is no proper word to describe what Toya is feeling but a flimsy tacked-on this—and the toll it's put on him.

"Well then, you don't have to, but at least have this. You've probably gone the whole day without filling your stomach with something." She gently shuffles away from the counter, returning with a cup of comfortingly warm coffee, and a plate of cookies.

Toya puts his head up, and finally meets her gaze. He's right about the worry, but there's more to it. He finds himself under the gaze of an empath, as if she can see through the wreckage of his heart. He finds himself rooted in place because it hits him that there was nothing he could hide from Meiko, because her concerned gaze speaks volumes. It's the way she breathes in I understand and breathes out I am here.

Toya quivers.

"I felt it.” Meiko murmurs, sliding the cup towards Toya. “I felt what happened at that moment because your mics flickered away.”

Toya scans Crase Café, his eyes landing on the table, before returning to Meiko, and her gaze held nothing but concern and something akin to motherly affection even after Toya had grown out of his hoodies and statement tees. In this cafe, where nothing but the silence of the Sekai, the quiet whirr of the coffee machine, the wafting scent of sugar cookies, and the suit that feels too stuffy and small, Toya feel like a bumbling teen all over again.

He sees the mics, the usual pair now a singular one.

“I feel horrible,” Toya whispers, he says it like a eulogy, a wake. It is mourning for someone that isn’t dead, mourning for an idea held together by glue. The first words that leave his lips are visceral, a deep-seated ache.

“I should be happy, obviously. If I really did love him, then I’d be happy he was loved at all, even if that someone isn’t me. But…” He declares it, to the world, to the quiet of the Sekai. He knows, he is aware. He has loved for too long and has been loved back little. He feels a pit form in his stomach, a bottomless ravine that craves more than what he can have. He feels ungrateful.

“I’ve always ever wanted him. It was that or nothing else.”

Selfish. How selfish of him to want more.

He had always loved Akito, content to simply be by his side. He took joy in his company, and that was all Toya should want.

Should. Because Akito is happy, and that is all that matters. Because Akito is still his friend and most trusted partner. Because Akito is, well, Akito. Akito is confident and permanent, he is a constant, unchanging even as the years of double-layered hoodies and baggy jeans bled into loosely fitted polos with unkempt collars and simple shirts.

It is should because it can’t be could, because could implies that he was satisfied with nothing more than just that. As if the ravenous longing hadn’t grown and festered into something he could barely control. As if it hadn’t turned everything inside into a heedless desire.

Because neither should nor could is enough.

In a fantasy, in a whim driven by heart, there are no uncertainties. There is only loving and affectionate idiosyncrasy and a solid, unmoving too. I love you too. I long for you too. I want you too.

Requited. It is a beautiful word, a sweet dream, a fleeting memory.

“I don’t think its selfish to want to be loved.” Meiko supplies. “We give many parts of ourselves in loving, in that regard, it is selfless. You could even say its compassionate.”

“But love only turns selfish when you force that love onto someone else. Not once did you ever do that, right, Toya?”

Toya shakes his head. No. Never, he couldn’t. He wanted and yearned but he had always ever done that in silence. When the bustle of the day makes way for quiet moments between them, cans in their hands and an entire landscape to survey. When they’re tired and the warmth emanating from Akito creeps up his spine and gently reminds him of how absolutely lovely it is to be with him. When they’re aimless, and the only thing Toya can do is watch where Akito’s gaze lands, and finds himself wholly floored by it.

“Still, it hurts,” Toya replies. “Shouldn’t that count for something?”

Meiko gives him a sad smile. “I think you’ve loved enough for it to hurt, and I think that’s simply you being hard on yourself.”

Toya sighs. “Maybe.” He looks down at his now empty plate. Huh. When had he begun eating?

Meiko shoots him a look. It says are you tired? It says we can stop here if you’d like. It says I can wait until you’re ready.

“Want more cookies?” An olive branch. She can take some cookies she left in the back, and give Toya a few minutes to stew to himself. It is where it could end, and Meiko will never divulge whatever they’ve talked about here, on this rather lonely night in Crase Café. It is a parting.

“No, I’m good. I’ll take some coffee though.” He points to the pot on the coffee machine. It’s only a step away from where Meiko is perched.

That is his response. It’s an I want to stay a little while longer. It’s an I enjoy the company you give me.

It’s a thank you.

The mic remains solitary on the table.

[chichiwritez]

My Partner's A Mic Stand

It is a quiet night in the Sekai. Perhaps that silence is exactly what Toya needs. Let him mourn quietly. This one has been in my drafts since June of last year, so I've decided it's time to finally let this bad boy out into the wild! I'll probably crosspost this on Ao3! Rating: General Audiences Pairing: Meiko & Toya, Unrequited Akitoya

He hears it all first, hears the soft jazz with the whirr of the coffee machine, hears the shuffling of a pair of footsteps the entire group had gotten familiar with, hears the knowing sigh that comes from their lips.

He can feel it too, the sombre air in the usually lively cafe, feel the moon shine through the windows in a delicate caress, feel that empty ache reverberate into his bones.

It is sympathetic.

"Hello, Toya." She says, her voice softer, her words filled with this underlying sense of I know and unadulterated understanding. She’s always been good at this, easily slipping into the role of a caretaker, a shoulder to cry on, a tether to reality.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

No. That's the most obvious answer. He doesn't want to talk about him, at 25, utterly ruined and mussed by something out of his control. No. He does not want to bare himself to her, knowing once he starts talking everything he had wanted to be left unsaid with spill out, and it will be real. The world will acknowledge it in its entirety, and Toya will feel alone.

But also, it’s yes. He wants to talk about it because he feels horrible keeping it all to himself. All the selfish daydreaming, all the unrequited frustration, every single flutter and smile catalogued. It is the preservation of happy memories, the memoirs of a fool's heart. Yes. He wants to talk about it because all Toya has ever done was want and want and want in vain, as if the yearning would suffice.

As if his longing could be enough.

So, Toya avoids looking at her, opting to walk towards the stool nearest the counter with his head glued to his sock-covered feet. He probably looked a mess, unpresentable in his state, like a bumbling teen ridden by pent-up angst. A rage without an outlet, bubbling until it pours over and consumes him completely.

Toya can feel Meiko's eyes on him for a while longer, though he’s still refusing to make eye contact. He knows that her eyes reflect worry, and maybe even pity, and it's all the more reason for him to not look her way. It's as if she was gauging him for his reaction, gauging the depth of this—because there is no proper word to describe what Toya is feeling but a flimsy tacked-on this—and the toll it's put on him.

"Well then, you don't have to, but at least have this. You've probably gone the whole day without filling your stomach with something." She gently shuffles away from the counter, returning with a cup of comfortingly warm coffee, and a plate of cookies.

Toya puts his head up, and finally meets her gaze. He's right about the worry, but there's more to it. He finds himself under the gaze of an empath, as if she can see through the wreckage of his heart. He finds himself rooted in place because it hits him that there was nothing he could hide from Meiko, because her concerned gaze speaks volumes. It's the way she breathes in I understand and breathes out I am here.

Toya quivers.

"I felt it.” Meiko murmurs, sliding the cup towards Toya. “I felt what happened at that moment because your mics flickered away.”

Toya scans Crase Café, his eyes landing on the table, before returning to Meiko, and her gaze held nothing but concern and something akin to motherly affection even after Toya had grown out of his hoodies and statement tees. In this cafe, where nothing but the silence of the Sekai, the quiet whirr of the coffee machine, the wafting scent of sugar cookies, and the suit that feels too stuffy and small, Toya feel like a bumbling teen all over again.

He sees the mics, the usual pair now a singular one.

“I feel horrible,” Toya whispers, he says it like a eulogy, a wake. It is mourning for someone that isn’t dead, mourning for an idea held together by glue. The first words that leave his lips are visceral, a deep-seated ache.

“I should be happy, obviously. If I really did love him, then I’d be happy he was loved at all, even if that someone isn’t me. But…” He declares it, to the world, to the quiet of the Sekai. He knows, he is aware. He has loved for too long and has been loved back little. He feels a pit form in his stomach, a bottomless ravine that craves more than what he can have. He feels ungrateful.

“I’ve always ever wanted him. It was that or nothing else.”

Selfish. How selfish of him to want more.

He had always loved Akito, content to simply be by his side. He took joy in his company, and that was all Toya should want.

Should. Because Akito is happy, and that is all that matters. Because Akito is still his friend and most trusted partner. Because Akito is, well, Akito. Akito is confident and permanent, he is a constant, unchanging even as the years of double-layered hoodies and baggy jeans bled into loosely fitted polos with unkempt collars and simple shirts.

It is should because it can’t be could, because could implies that he was satisfied with nothing more than just that. As if the ravenous longing hadn’t grown and festered into something he could barely control. As if it hadn’t turned everything inside into a heedless desire.

Because neither should nor could is enough.

In a fantasy, in a whim driven by heart, there are no uncertainties. There is only loving and affectionate idiosyncrasy and a solid, unmoving too. I love you too. I long for you too. I want you too.

Requited. It is a beautiful word, a sweet dream, a fleeting memory.

“I don’t think its selfish to want to be loved.” Meiko supplies. “We give many parts of ourselves in loving, in that regard, it is selfless. You could even say its compassionate.”

“But love only turns selfish when you force that love onto someone else. Not once did you ever do that, right, Toya?”

Toya shakes his head. No. Never, he couldn’t. He wanted and yearned but he had always ever done that in silence. When the bustle of the day makes way for quiet moments between them, cans in their hands and an entire landscape to survey. When they’re tired and the warmth emanating from Akito creeps up his spine and gently reminds him of how absolutely lovely it is to be with him. When they’re aimless, and the only thing Toya can do is watch where Akito’s gaze lands, and finds himself wholly floored by it.

“Still, it hurts,” Toya replies. “Shouldn’t that count for something?”

Meiko gives him a sad smile. “I think you’ve loved enough for it to hurt, and I think that’s simply you being hard on yourself.”

Toya sighs. “Maybe.” He looks down at his now empty plate. Huh. When had he begun eating?

Meiko shoots him a look. It says are you tired? It says we can stop here if you’d like. It says I can wait until you’re ready.

“Want more cookies?” An olive branch. She can take some cookies she left in the back, and give Toya a few minutes to stew to himself. It is where it could end, and Meiko will never divulge whatever they’ve talked about here, on this rather lonely night in Crase Café. It is a parting.

“No, I’m good. I’ll take some coffee though.” He points to the pot on the coffee machine. It’s only a step away from where Meiko is perched.

That is his response. It’s an I want to stay a little while longer. It’s an I enjoy the company you give me.

It’s a thank you.

The mic remains solitary on the table.

[chichiwritez]

You, who fell from grace

I'm back from my writing hiatus because I live for Nahida and Wanderer so here's a bit of what I have as of the moment !

Pairing: None (Just Wanderer and Nahida being a funky dynamic duo)

Prompt: Found Family, and the concept of living in a world that has forgotten you.

“You know, I’ve said it plenty of times already, but as one who knows of your past, it might placate you to find an outlet for your grievances” Nahida states matter-of-factly, but not accusatory. She places a pot of tea before them, the scent wafting in the air. It’s bitter, exactly how he enjoys it. It’s a careful invitation.

“That’s quite a sugarcoated way of getting me to divulge my secrets.” He replies, curt as per usual. “Forget it. It doesn’t concern you, Buer.”

She is silent, for a few, pouring tea for them both. “I told you to call me Nahida.”

She procures herself a jar of candied nuts. “Besides, there is no secret here but your own opinion and beliefs, Wanderer. I’m simply advising you to clear your mind.”

“I’d rather not. Truly.” He replies, downing the cup’s contents with little flourish.

“How pedantic of you.” She jests. She sips the tea to taste, and finds herself puckering. She plops a candied nut into her mouth. It amuses him, how she seems so innocent.

“Now you’re just patronizing me.”

“I’m really not.” She sits on her swing, her movements childlike. She digs into the candied nuts with vigor, her eyes lighting up. “You’re seeking revenge for the sins the Doctor has committed, but how can you wage war against him when you haven’t even made peace with yourself?”

She shoots him a knowing look. She knows––of course she does––that she’s gotten to the core of his frustrations. He, with memories of a life simply wandering, clashing with memories of a life of grief and strife. He has reconciled it, yet he still cannot seem to fully grasp at it. He was empty in his wandering, just as he was in his false godhood.

Ambition. Curiousity. Desire.

All this, yet he was still undeniably empty.

“Alright. I’ll bite. What do you want me to do?” He remarks blandly. Just this once, he’ll let himself be swept away by her highborn whims.

Nahida smiles. The glint in her eyes tells the Wanderer that she had something up her sleeve from the start. She won, and she positively glimmers, in her cloak of diaphanous exalted divinity. “Hehe. I’m glad you’ve loosened up, because I think I have just the thing.”

[chichiwritez]

twitter beeplep dump

[chichiwritez]

more twitter tgcf dump...a little saucy anything uncensored is on patreon

[chichiwritez]

fafa doods ^^

[chichiwritez]

dumping a bunch of sylvix doodles together why not

[chichiwritez]

stay strong sakyo

[chichiwritez]

pov: you fell into a hole in sumeru and the doggo boys find you

[chichiwritez]

Psychic! Childe Fic

Childe can interact with ghosts, and it becomes a pretty big problem. Made with Zhongchi in mind, cuz I've had this brainworm since May. A sneak peek into a future multichapter fic on my AO3!

The shaking, inconsolable crowd gasps and wails in ripples as Ajax returns to Childe's side. It's gotten way too loud for poor Childe, who could hear both the dead and the living cry out in abject horror at the death of their god.

Ajax glides through the crowd and back to the balcony Childe had perched himself onto. The younger's lips are pressed into a thin line, his figure shaken, yet not terrified. “So, umm...Rex Lapis is probably not dead.” He clicks his tongue. “N-O-T. Fake corpse and all that jazz~” He sasses, moving his head and arms in a motion that does not give the effect he thinks he’s projecting. 

Rex Lapis, whose large ass worm-like body lay helpless on the ground. Morax, who had fought against foes worse than bad weather. The Geo Archon, whose spears of stone changed the course of history, whose authority oozed and influence ran further than any other Archon's

What sort of sick, twisted joke is this?

Childe squeezes his palms together in an attempt to keep his cool. He levels a pointed look at the teenage ghost, the younger awaiting his response, and curses.

“Well shit.”

"Language." Skirk hisses beside them.

[chichiwritez]

different routes, different outcomes

[chichiwritez]

angry and sad dimitris

[chichiwritez]

in which Byleth wears her hair up, and Dimitri’s heart is not cooperating with him. 

He says “yes” to the combat training, only to be defeated in 4 seconds, because he can’t concentrate😅

[chichiwritez]

just a regular museum selfie

[chichiwritez]