#ask-lost-celestia

[ask-shutter-ghost]

I got another commission from @asklostcelestia​!

This was such a fun project to work on! Flat colors and references below the cut :)

Gold Lettering Creator by Flaming Text

Lightning Background Reference

Sunset Background Reference

Cloud Background Reference

[askpokeeosin]

Fan/gift (mainly me fanboying, though!) art of a scene from @asklostcelestia that I like that I wanted to try drawing out!

[ask-a-grumpy-melon]

A couple nightmare night doodles from the stream the other night! Getting close now! Time for spooks and candy!

Twila @wonderheart-replies

Pegasus Spooky Squad @asklostcelestia

Dust Jacket @askashapeshifter

Lucid @asknightspinner

Shutter @ask-shutter-ghost

Rose Moon @askdaisydandfriemly

Summer @ask-summer-epos

[painttasticpony]

@asklostcelestia I had a thought

[unlocktheaskblog]

like i said, it’s short, so it doesn’t have everyone. I just picked out some vines i like and put blogs who i thought would fit to them :> 

 I’ll hopefully be making more in future that’ll be more inclusive if this is received well! 

 If you weren’t featured in this, then it’s nothing against you, like I said, I wanted to keep it short <:> thank yall for taking the time to watch! 

 Blogs in video: @askbananapie @askhugsworthy @ask-narratordoe @ask-jetstream @askalbinopie @darkfiretaimatsu @unlocktheaskblog @asklostcelestia @whirlwindflux @flashtheponyofwind @trixielawyer @ex-king-sombra @the-endless-archive

[ponypuffle]

Hey! Hello! I saw that you have open requests and I would love to ask you something, Rainbow Dash x fem! reader, a pretty unicorn who is Rarity's cousin and went to Ponyville to visit her.

And Rainbow Dash is amazed when she sees her for the first time, a pretty and adorable Canterlot unicorn who likes to see pegasi fly since she has a fascination with wings, and Rainbow takes that point in her favor ;)

Pairing: Rainbow Dash x Fem!Reader

Word Count: idk im on my phone rn so i'll check when i have access to my computer l8r Warning(s): rainbow checks the reader out (idk if that's a warning but to be sure lol) A/N: tbh i gave rainbow too much rizz to the point that she managed to rizz me up from an rd enjoyer to rd simp 😔😔

As a pony who's lived her entire life in Canterlot, you knew for certain it didn't happen as often as most tourists expected, but to each their own. You certainly weren't about to stop them if it meant Canterlot's local businesses profited from their visits.

You loved Canterlot as much as the next pony, but Celestia, was it a lot. Every pony always had something to do and somewhere to be whether it be for business purposes or to simply go to a luxurious outing. Not to mention the overabundance of tourists who clambered to see the next big thing or perhaps their favorite "attraction"; a glimpse at the princess walking out onto her balcony.

All of this to say that you needed a break from Canterlot, even if it was for a moment. Every pony loved to say that Canterlot "has it all", but they all seemed to fail to consider the city's lack of peace. Hence why you reached out to family for help who then reached out to more family until you finally ended up in communications with your cousin, Rarity.

You remembered her well from the playdates and family gatherings you went to as little fillies. Unfortunately with how life goes, you'd lost touch with her. The last time you'd seen her as more than a child was years ago! Truth be told, you were excited to reunite with her. A whole week in Ponyville with your favorite cousin sounded like the perfect remedy to your Canterlot-ailment.

When the day came, you were the first to board the train and the first to exit. The moment you laid your eyes on your cousin, you rushed over with a wide grin. "Rarity! I'm so happy to see you again! Celestia, your mane is to die for! You have to tell me how you get it looking so gorgeous."

"Why, thank you, dear. We'll have plenty of time to discuss mane products soon enough." She giggled before directing your attention towards a pegasus and a little dragon. "In the meantime, these are my friends, Fluttershy and Spike."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry for not introducing myself sooner!" You quickly greeted the two with all the sweetness you could muster as if it would make up for your obliviousness.

The kindness was only reciprocated, much to your relief. Before you could delve into further conversation, Rarity cut in. "I'm sure you must be starving after the train ride. Why don't we go drop off your bags and we can all go out together? My treat."

"That sounds amazing." You agreed, only just realizing that you were too distracted by the trip to think of eating a proper breakfast.

"Splendid! Spike, would you be a dear and help our guest with her bags?" Rarity nodded towards the dragon.

Before you could protest, Spike had eagerly obeyed her request as he took the two travel bags from your magic that held them up. "Thank you, Spike." You smiled softly.

As the four of you walked through town, you couldn't help but be mesmerized by Fluttershy's wings. "Have you ever thought of wearing wing accessories? I saw some amazing jeweled accessories back in Canterlot that I think would look divine on you." You commented.

Rarity overheard you, chiming in with her own praises. "The ones by Nimbus Shop?"

"Yes! The delicacy of the piece would look so darling on you, Fluttershy." You hummed.

Fluttershy blushed under your compliments. "Thank you. I'd love to try it out, but I'm afraid my line of work would only dirty the jewels before I could show them off."

Rarity nodded in agreement. "It's a shame, but I respect her passion for caring for those adorable little critters."

"Oh, perhaps I could pull a few strings and get you both invitations to this garden party out in Canterlot next month. Would that be reason enough to let me buy you those gorgeous wing accessories?" You suggested.

Rarity gasped. "A garden party? Goodness, could you really do that, dear?"

Your cousin's smile was infectious as she tried to hold in her excitement. "Of course! It's no problem at all. Besides, I don't know what kind of pony I'd be if I didn't get to see such beautiful wings enhanced by glittering jewels."

"Oh, that's so kind of you." Fluttershy was beginning to buzz with the same excitement, even it was toned down.

You turned your head to look back at the little dragon behind you. "Would you like to come to the garden party, too? I'm sure they could squeeze in cute baby dragon like you."

Spike began to stutter as if he was shocked that you'd bother to ask. "Are you sure you can get enough tickets?"

"Between just us," You hushed your voice down, "Two of the hosts owe me a huge favor."

Before anypony could respond, a gust of wind swept past you with a pound against the dirt just as you neared the front door of the Carousel Boutique. A blue coated pony with a rainbow mane stood with pride, her wings spread out to frame her form perfectly. The powerful mare found eye-contact with you, but she was quickly directed towards Rarity when she scolded her for the sudden landing.

While they spoke, you crouched down to Spike's level and whispered to him, "I'll just get you that ticket, yeah?"

"Thanks!" He whispered back. "C'mon, I'll show you your room before Rainbow tries to bother us."

Spike led the way around the ponies while you followed suit. You stared at Rainbow in amusement, letting your gaze glide over those strong wings.

Unbeknownst to you, the rainbow pegasus had checked you out, her eyes glazing over your form. You were far out of ear shot when Rarity noticed the way her friend looked at you, gasping loudly. "Rainbow Dash, don't you dare!"

"What? I'm not doing anything!" She held her hooves up, feigning innocence.

When both you and Spike came back out, the rainbow pony was still there with a disgruntled Rarity and a wide-eyed Fluttershy. The pegasus stepped into your view of your cousin with a smirk. She held her hoof out for a hoofshake to which you took. "Rainbow Dash, Ponyville's resident top flier and Wonderbolt."

"Wonderbolt?" Your jaw dropped as you held your hoof to your mouth in shock.

Rainbow chuckled in pride as she flexed her wings. "Yeah, what can I say? I'm just that awesome, y'know?"

Rarity rolled her eyes, sighing in disbelief as she cut in. "Come on, dear. Rainbow Dash is coming along for lunch with us."

Rarity herded you to her side, making sure she was between you and Rainbow, but that didn't stop Rainbow from trying to chat with you. "So, Rarity tells me your her cousin and you're visiting?" She called over through Rarity.

"Oh, yeah. I live over in Canterlot, but Rarity was so kind to let me stay with her as a vacation." You explained, but the separation made it a struggle, just as Rarity intended. She took the opportunity to keep you distracted with conversation, trying to keep Rainbow away. It wasn't that she didn't trust Rainbow, but she worried that if the relationship were to end, the relationship between you and Rarity would be severed, too.

But, Rainbow Dash was determined. When you made it to the restaurant, she dashed towards the seat right by you before Rarity could even touch the chair. "Lucky me, I get to sit by the new girl in town."

"You're lucky? I get to sit next to a Wonderbolt!" Your ears perked up with excitement. "I don't even remember the last time I got to watch a Wonderbolt show."

"You like the Wonderbolts?" Her voice was laced with happiness to know that you found interest in her work.

You nodded eagerly. "Of course! You guys are so talented. I just adore seeing your flight routines."

"Well, maybe I could get you a private showing, sweetheart." Rainbow nearly purred in a low voice, causing your cheeks to heat up at the nickname.

"Or!" Rarity chimed in. "You could take us all to the next performance, no?"

Rainbow snapped her head towards Rarity, glaring at her for disrupting her game. "Yeah... Or, that."

"Wow, that'd be amazing!" You couldn't hide your grin at the prospect of watching the Wonderbolts again.

Rainbow stretched the wing nearest to you out, letting it rest on your back. Your eyes drifted to her muscular wing, skin buzzing in delight at the feeling of her slick feathers. "Think that's amazing? You're getting a VIP ticket and a backstage pass, if you're into that."

Your eyes widened in shock, jaw dropping. You never expected in your wildest dreams you'd be offered such an opportunity. Rainbow had to reach out her hoof to get your mouth to close with a little chuckle. "I'm taking that as a 'yes', then?"

"Most definitely!" Your heart thudded against your chest.

Rainbow glanced at Rarity in triumph for a moment before she met your eyes again. "It's a plan then."

The next showing was thankfully only a few days after you returned from Ponyville. By the end of the week, you'd become good friends with the rest of Rarity's pals. You wanted to offer them to stay over, but your little Canterlot apartment was hardly enough for you and seven friends. Thankfully, Twilight had reassured you that she'd be able to get hotel rooms for everypony.

You'd made plans to meet up at a cafe you frequented to grab a cup of coffee and a few pastries before you went to the Wonderbolts show.

"Wow, I can't believe I've never been here." Twilight said as she sipped her coffee in utter bliss.

"Oh, it was opened a few years back, not long after your coronation actually." You replied, taking a bite of your chocolate croissant.

Rarity pouted. "I guess we've all been too busy to take the time to explore the finer details of Canterlot."

"I'd be happy to show you guys around!" You offered, eyes brightening. "The tourist spots are great, but I know all of Canterlot's hidden gems."

Pinkie Pie lit up. "That'd be amazing! Imagine how many tasty treats I've never even tried!"

The group laughed out loud, agreeing to join in on the insider tour for tomorrow. When breakfast was done, you all made your way to the Wonderbolts Stadium.

The VIP box was luxurious, plush seats in a shaded area that allowed for the perfect view of the performance. Your coat prickled along your legs in excitement at what was to come, and it wasn't for naught.

The moment the Wonderbolts made their entrance, you were entranced. You watched each well practiced maneuver, barely staying in your seat as you leaned in for more.

The show neared its end, much to your dismay, but it didn't stop you from yelling out with a cheer.

Applejack chuckled in amusement. "You sure do love them Wonderbolts, don't 'cha?"

You looked back with a grin. "How could I not? It's just so..." You tried to find the word until it finally clicked. "Exhilarating!"

"Then, let's go say hi to them." Twilight began to lead the way. "I'm sure they'd love to meet one of their biggest fans."

You hopped towards Twilight, nearly mirroring the same energy as Pinkie. At some point, Pinkie took charge with each bounce, so you eagerly followed close behind in anticipation. While you waited outside the locker room, waiting for the Wonderbolts to ready up, Pinkie was happy to tell you all about Rainbow Dash like her famous Sonic Rainboom.

When the doors opened, you could barely keep yourself composed. Your eyes were set on whoever was closest which just so happened to be Spitfire, the poster pony of the Wonderbolts.

"Hey, kid." Spitfire looked at you through her sunglasses. "I'm guessing your Rainbow's new friend?"

You nodded with a big smile, introducing yourself to her. "You have no idea how excited I am to meet you all."

Spitfire chuckled at your enthusiasm. "We've been waiting to meet you, too. Rainbow's been talking up a storm about you."

"She has?" You blushed, briefly glancing towards the rainbow pegasus.

"Non-stop. She tells me you're real interested in the Wonderbolts."

Part of you was glad Spitfire changed the topic, much too nervous to figure out whatever feelings came of the statement. "Yeah, but it's mostly just flying that I'm so intrigued by. All of you are so talented! I can't imagine how much work goes into your performances."

"A unicorn into flying? That's a new one for me." Spitfire commented, stretching out her wing when she noticed you staring at it in wonderment. "But, yeah, we work almost everyday. Wings like this don't come from nothing."

"I imagine so." You stared at the sleek feathers that made up her large wings. It wasn't long before the rest of the Wonderbolts team came to meet you, curious to see who Rainbow Dash was so interested in.

The next day, you went along with the tour as planned. With your friends following behind, you made it from destination to destination, making sure to have fun at each spot. You didn't have much of a plan, simply deciding where to go on a whim, but Pinkie had begged you to go to a little part of Canterlot for the end of the day. When it comes to Pinkie, how could you say no?

To your dismay, Rainbow had to leave early half way through the day. She told you she had Wonderbolts practice which you respected, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't miss her presence. Regardless, the outing went smoothly and you still enjoyed yourself.

When you made it to your final stop made by you, Pinkie Pie led the group to the special location. As you neared further and further into the outskirts of Canterlot, you began to wonder where she wanted to go so badly. Every time you'd ask, she'd say something about how it's a surprise.

By the third time you asked, you decided to just trust her. As you reached the top of a grassy hill not too far from Canterlot, the sun had begun to set, creating a warm glow in the sky.

"Here we are!" Pinkie exclaimed.

You blinked, looking around in confusion. There was nothing in sight except nature. "Pinkie, why are we—"

A gust of wind flew above you, making you look up in the sky. Were those the Wonderbolts? You stood, watching the little performance with the same interest as the day before. You were beginning to wonder if it was somepony's birthday and you were simply not told.

[versadies]

next time (alhaitham x gn!reader)

SALUTATIONS. next time

ADDRESSED. alhaitham (w/gn!reader)

STAMP. in which you feel distant from your lover, who busied himself with the akademiya for reasons you’re unsure of until it’s too late. (loosely based on tightrope from the greatest showman)

CONTENT. angst/no-comfort, spoilers to sumeru archon quest (3.2), neglect, hint of kidnapping, hint of violence, azar is a bad person as always, grammar errors, ooc!alhaitham (this was written b4 3.4 was released)

POST-SCRIPT. alhaitham didnt come home so i decided to post this questionable fic and prolly plan to make a series about him out of pure pettiness. enjoy. (will make a part two soon and its him groveling <33)

LINKS. masterlist \ taglist \ part two

How long has it been since you’ve last been with your lover?

You could hardly recall, and you’re afraid to admit that you’ve given up trying to. Despite residing in Alhaitham’s place for months, it feels as if there’s a wall between you two.

Whether or not it’s Alhaitham’s wall or yours, you could not find a hammer to break it.

It started a month ago – you feel a bit saddened when you realized how long this went on – when he started acting weird.

He started being a little late than usual, staying in his office all day until he realizes that it’s 3 am or such, would only hum in response whenever you say “I love you” to him, refusing to come to bed until he’s done with his work in his office, only taking a few bites of his breakfast that you took time and effort to make for him before rushing out to go to the Akademiya — sometimes he wouldn’t even say his farewells to you — and come back for only Celestia knows when,

And the very thing you noticed most from this recent change: he stopped reaching out to you.

Of course, he’s willing to talk to you when you speak to him first, but his responses were rather short and swift, as though he wanted to get this conversation to be over and do other things.

When you asked Alhaitham why he’s always away these days, he claims he’s been in the Akademiya fixing something, and that was the end of your conversation.

You knew he was lying though.

In reality, he hasn’t actually been as in touch with the Akademiya as he was before due to a “mission” assigned to him by the Grand Sage, something you found out from the General Mahamatra, Cyno.

You understand that your lover had to keep secrets from you as some of his business with the Akademiya are confidential, but you just wished that he took the time to reassure you that this is just him being busy and not something that will go on forever.

“I’ll see you later.” He says, standing up from his seat before coming towards the front door without as much as a goodbye kiss. He always made sure to give you a kiss before he leaves, he claims it’s good luck.

You didn’t utter a response to him, nor did you bother finishing your meal anymore. It seems you’ve lost your touch if you could no longer find yourself eating your favorite dish that you’ve loved for so long.

You’re thankful Kaveh, your dearest best friend and your lover’s roommate, is away in the Akademiya at the moment. If he were still here eating breakfast with you at this very moment, he would’ve noticed the way your form has been trembling ever so slightly from thinking too much of what’s going on between your relationship.

You could already imagine what he’d say if he were here.

“What did that brainless buffoon do again?” Kaveh would say in an angry tone, yet his eyes show concern towards you. “Just say the word and he’ll have to deal with me, I got you.”

Nothing, you’d say. He’s just… far.

So far, so out of reach.

You always tell yourself that Alhaitham’s simply just too busy from his projects in the Akademiya these days – he’s the Scribe after all – but this is Alhaitham, the same man who you’ve worked out with about making time for your relationship and each other’s works, the same man who’d always spare time for you even when he’s as busy as he can be and the one who would always hear you out when you call for him.

He’s a man of many things, but never one who’d ignore his own lover and act as though they’re nothing but a stranger — not without warning in advance about it, that is (which never happened at all, mind you).

You then thought that you must’ve said something that upsets him, but you could hardly recall the last time the two of you had a conflict, nor could you recall what you said that could have offended him. Besides that, he wasn’t one to ignore you for such a reason.

So… what was it? What was the one thing that made your relationship as it is now?

Was it… you?

You accidentally let go of the plate you’re washing as a result of that thought, the sound causes your thoughts to cease for just a moment.

Surely, if there really was something wrong, he’d tell you… right?

You then decided that it’s time for you to try and reach out to him once more and hope that this time he’d listen to you.

The day was nothing but a blur, and fortunate enough, your lover came home early for the first time just as you were about to lie down on your shared bed.

“Alhaitham…?” You called out his name softly, looking at the doorway to see him. “You’re home..”

He glances at your way with an unexplainable look on his face. “Were you expecting me?”

You started fidgeting your fingers nervously. “Can we… Can we talk?” Just this once, please talk to me.

He opens his mouth to say something but immediately stops himself.

“…” He thinks for a moment.

Just as you’re about to ask if there’s something bothering him, he lets out a sigh and turns away from your direction.

“Let’s talk about it next time when I’m… done with my work.”

Your eyes widens for a bit, wanting to ask him to stay–

But he’s busy… He’s too busy with matters that are more important than you. You thought to yourself bitterly, stopping yourself from reaching out to him once more.

There’s always next time… Whenever that may be.

“...Very well. Goodnight, Alhaitham.” You said quietly, tucking yourself in your bed as your back faces his direction. You didn’t notice how he finally looked back at you with a longing look on his face, only to walk away towards his office without another word.

Next time ( Name ). Alhaitham thought with a soft sigh. I’ll come back to you as soon as I get rid of the Akademiya’s schemes.

He just needs time to execute said plan.

–

Currently, everything goes according to plan.

Soon enough, Lesser Lord Kusanali will be free and ( Name ) can be safe when Azar gets punished. Alhaitham thought as Azar continued on talking about how he knew Alhaitham’s plan all along.

“...Heh, you'll see me as a traitor regardless of what I say, no?” The scribe said, crossing his arms. “Even if you impugned me, it would have little effect on you all.”

Azar shakes his head. “You misunderstand. Losing our Scribe would irreparably damage the Akademiya's regular operations and the development of Sumeru's future academic systems…” Something flashes through the Grand Sage’s eyes, his lips twitching upwards. “For that reason, it’s for the best if someone does it on your behalf.”

The scribe almost lost his breath for a second.

He narrowed his eyes. “And what exactly are you implying?”

Azar lets out an amused huff. “You know exactly what I’m implying, scribe.”

The scribe dared not to think of the worst, until the next words that left the Grand Sage’s mouth almost made his facade falter.

“Your lover is quite an exceptional person and fought well for someone who doesn’t wield a vision, but it was all for naught it seems.” He can’t help but chuckle to himself. “It’s just a shame that they have to pay the price for your betrayal.”

“Lover? You have a lover, Alhaitham?” Paimon whispered, shocked at the turn of events. This wasn’t a part of the plan at all!

Meanwhile, Alhaitham slowly starts regretting not taking you with him from the beginning. He should’ve been more attentive, he should’ve warned you about the Akademiya instead of being so focused on the plan to the point where he’s basically neglecting you, he should’ve taken you to Aaru Village instead of leaving you–!

It was only then when Alhaitham realized his mistake.

This mistake isn’t something that’s from the mission, but it involves something that’s more important than this plan,

He made the mistake of unintentionally neglecting you.

Suddenly, he remembers his last conversation with you.

You started fidgeting your fingers nervously. “Can we… Can we talk?”

He opens his mouth to say something but immediately stops himself. He wanted nothing more than to drop everything and listen to what you have to say, but he knew he needed to prioritize the mission to save Lesser Lord Kusanali, not when he has to go back to Aaru Village to talk about the plan with everyone tomorrow.

He lets out a sigh and turns away from your direction. “Let’s talk about it next time when I’m… done with my work.”

If only he knew there wasn’t a next time after that.

Alhaitham tries to compose himself. “You said that I betrayed the Akademiya, but you, Azar... You've betrayed all of Sumeru, betrayed its archon!” He said.

Just you wait, ( Name ). I will make up everything once I come for you, wherever you may be.

Azar remains composed. “Hmph, so flight has turned to fight at long last. Guards!”

The scribe notices how all the guards position themselves, pointing their weapons at him and his allies. He just needs to finish this swiftly so he’ll be able to focus on finding you.

He lets out a deep breath before he begins the next phase of his plan.

I just need to deal with those who dared to lay a hand on you before I find you, ( Name ).

part two

PENPALS. @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @kazu-topia @chiruru @aqualesha @renamichii @mrkamisato @shenhesl0ver @serami00 @serenareiss @hiqhkey @emperatris-rinaka @bystander36 @irisxiel @ladycoleigh @034ven @dear-dairiess @owozi8 @hadesaedes @chiro-chiro-kun @hersscherofyatta @mariusvonhangme @yuzuricebun @hoshikistarlette @solaaresque @crowbird @lordbugs @flowersforayato @headintheclouddd @estelwrld @giyusimpsassemble @irethepotatosblog @moonlightaangel @alice0blog @shotosbrainrot @sniffoat @chihawari @mxsomn @kuni-kuzushii @jiminscarmex @mitsukii14 @nejibot @ylimeprive @sachispet @loreleis-world @sn-owo @starforecasts @someonetookmynamelmao @ceylestia @astrequa @ymikkos @reallysporadicarcade @melodyyamino @dudufodd @somberrock @yevenly @lemontum @nghing

[hihellomy]

Imagine God!Reader who symphathices with Furina and Nahida about them both having to be archons when they werent ready

Imagine God!Reader who created Teyvat as simply an ecosystem without human life at first

Imagine God!Reader who was excited for humans to roam and explore the earth till things started to escalate

Imagine God!Reader who was having a panic attack when the archon war happened because of how much death was happenning,how much peace got lost and they didnt know what to do

Imagine God!Reader who knows that the life the fatui harbingers have now doesnt make up for when they needed help, when they needed them,and yet still get so much love from them

Imagine God!Reader who has finally had enough when their daughter got taken away from them and took the traveler in as their vessel to reunite with her again

Imagine God!Reader who cried whenever they knew that the fights were finally over, because their finally able to repay them back for everything

Imagine God!Reader who was practically screaming at the top of their lugs about how great of an archon Nahida is when she was doubting herself, spiritually hugging her as Nahida felt...a strange but incredable warmth surround her

Imagine God!Reader who after coming to Teyvat kept praising Nahida for how great she rules Sumeru,asking if shes up for some tea with them and Paimon

Imagine God!Reader who was genuanlly considering beating down Celestia themselves after seeing how much pressure is put on Furina for the prophecy

Imagine God!Reader who started giving Furina tips on how to be a better leader from their own experience,besides some of the other ones were either a tyrant or are planning a war on Celestia. Oh, you didnt hear? Oh your not gonna believe what-

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine

notes: finally reader's pov! and YES, theta segment IS webttore! i started making the segment sheet, ill post it at some point sunday or monday so if u want to see it, keep an eye out for it!

THE COLOR PURPLE

“If anyone is to ask, your soulmark has gone black, your thread is severed, and your soulmate is lost to the world. Should anyone find out that your thread leads to the north, all of us will be under suspicion and Her Excellency is not merciful.”

You stood tall, hands clasped behind your back as you stood between your mother and your half-brother, listening to the Hydro Archon’s announcement. It was an abrupt assembly, as they typically had been lately. You had been preparing for bed when the bell rang throughout the massive palace that housed all of the nation’s aristocrats in the center of Fontaine’s capital city.

If you looked up, you would see the moon high in the sky, the stars glittering against the darkness, but you didn’t dare look away from the Hydro Archon or her court officials.

“... for months, we have allowed ourselves to be lenient with the heretics plaguing our capital. We allowed ourselves to be patient, but the time for leniency and patience is over, we must…”

It was an honor to be welcomed into the Hydro Archon’s abode, the chief justice had claimed, but you knew better. It was no honor for the nobles to be forced out of their countryside estates and into the city--it was a means for surveillance, to make sure that the most influential members of Fontaine’s society were not sympathizers to the growing dissent throughout the capital. 

The people were unhappy. The Hydro Archon was becoming more and more severe with her sentencing, more and more strict with her laws. Fontaine prided itself on being the center of culture and arts, but the nation was declining, their energy apparatuses were failing, and their judicial system was becoming corrupt, though no one dared to say it.

The Hydro Archon’s descent had to do with rebellion stirring in the north. You weren’t sure what it was, exactly, you didn’t think anyone really did, but you had heard your grandfather whispering about it vaguely with some of the other court officials--an uprising against the gods, one that she believed would draw the wrath of Celestia down upon all of Teyvat. You thought this might have begun as a noble cause, the Hydro Archon desperate to protect her people and keep Fontaine absolved of conspiring with Snezhnaya, but it was going to become a witch hunt where anyone with any affiliation to Snezhnaya would be found guilty of collusion. 

You felt acutely aware of the thread tied neatly around your thumb, of the soulmark branded in between your shoulder blades--the ones that connected you to a citizen of Snezhnaya and would make your whole family a target should anyone ever learn. 

You thought it was unfair. It was unfair that you had to hide the fact that you had a soulmate. It was unfair that you and your family would be under suspicion if it got out that your soulmate lived in the north. It was unfair that you had to deal with people gossiping about you because of it--because nothing good ever came along with someone that never received their mark. There were a lot of things unfair, you thought to yourself, and while you didn’t have it as bad as some of the civilians living in Fontaine City who had to deal with the Hydro Archon’s forces constantly prowling the streets looking for dissidents, you thought it was rather ironic that everything unfair about your life stemmed from Celestia’s decision to give people soulmates. 

You frowned as your gaze tracked to the side instinctively, looking at where your mother was standing next to you. Behind your mother, your stepfather lingered. You could feel him hovering directly behind her, you could see him out of the corner of your eye, and you couldn’t help the resentment that pooled in your stomach.

Your stepfather. Your mother’s soulmate. The man who had all but turned your life upside down when you were three years old after his arrival in Fontaine.

“... this organization is a blight upon our esteemed nation and court of law, staining the purity of our ideals, defiling our magnificence in the eyes of the divine…”

You tuned the Hydro Archon out as your gaze drifted back down to your own thread. Your soulmate was annoyed with something--you could feel the emotion deep in your gut, muted enough to know that it was not your own. Your soulmate never really felt anything strongly--not sadness, not fear, not anxiety, and certainly not happiness. You weren’t sure you had ever felt them actually happy before. 

They were angry sometimes, though, and annoyed occasionally. It was never overwhelming like you had overheard some of your peers talk about. They said sometimes it felt as if they could feel their soulmate’s emotions more intensely than their own--when they were angry, a burst of joy or excitement from their soulmate could ease their anger, or worse, when they were in a good mood, a surge of anger could have them lashing out at their friends and family for no reason. 

You never experienced any of that, for better or for worse. In fact, for nearly a year after your tenth birthday, the only proof you had that your soulmate was alive was that your mark was still brightly tattooed between your shoulder blades. They did not tug the string back in response to your own goodnight tugs--though you tried not to let it bother you--and you never really felt anything from them, pain nor emotions.

It wasn’t until you learned how to separate their tiny inflections from your own emotions that you had a way of knowing whether or not your soulmate was alive besides the shared mark and thread, but even then it was just… underwhelming. You didn’t know what to expect from your soulmate, which was unfortunate because by your age, most people at least had an idea of their soulmate’s personality through their shared emotions.

“Perhaps, it just means they’re calm,” your nanny, Miss Elyna, had tried to soothe you while you were making yourself upset over it one night. 

“Not feeling anything strongly is not a bad thing,” your father had agreed quietly, “it makes it easier to hide that you have one.”

But you didn’t want to hide, you were sick of hiding--you wanted to go looking for them, you wanted to travel to the frozen wastelands of Snezhnaya, you wanted to wear open-back dresses to show off your mark in hopes that someone had seen the match, you wanted to find them, and you wanted to be with them.

But if you wanted to be with them, it would mean leaving your country behind, leaving your family behind. So much as you might resent your stepfather, you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving your father, your mother, Miss Elyna, or even your half-siblings. Unless the Hydro Archon changed her stance on Snezhnaya, you would be forced into an impossible decision: your blood or your soulmate.

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head. From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of your stepfather, again. Donned in a lavender dress shirt with a fancy watch that once belonged to your mother’s late father, he looked like the image of Fontaine aristocracy despite hailing from the City of Freedom. 

Purple was your favorite color, it was your family’s color, but you hated how it looked draped against your stepfather’s skin. You felt irked again, unable to draw your gaze from the older man. You hated him--you hated how he treated your father, you hated how he treated you, and you hated how he was trying to pit your half-siblings against you. You knew you couldn’t fault your mother for wanting to be with her soulmate, but if this was her soulmate, you couldn’t help but wonder what that might mean about her.

Your throat felt tight as you forced yourself to look away, eyes instead falling on your grandfather standing at the Hydro Archon’s side as she spoke. He was Warden of the Black Cells, the highest security level of Fontaine’s prison--he was one of the Hydro Archon’s most trusted confidants, the one she counted on to make sure her enemies stayed locked deep beneath the lakes of the city. His eyes were sharp as he stared down at the aristocrats standing before him, reminiscent of a predator hunting its prey, waiting for someone to slip up and place themselves under suspicion. He paid particular attention to your stepfather, you couldn’t help but notice, and it made you almost want to giggle. 

The assembly was finally near its end, you could tell from the Hydro Archon’s tone: “... a curfew will be instated to preserve our-”

And then your arm burned--so intense that it took all your self-control to not cry out, somehow both hot and cold at the same time. It was dragging against your skin in even strokes as if branding letters onto you. You bit down hard on your lower lip, hand flying to clutch your forearm and trying not to make a scene. You could feel several pairs of eyes on you, including your mother, half-brother and stepfather… and your grandfather. 

Branding words. 

You felt light-headed as realization began to hit you. 

It was past midnight. 

It was your birthday, and you were fifteen. 

It was the start of the third phase, and the first time that words were shared between soulmates, the pain was excruciating. 

What terrible timing, you thought to yourself as your eyes teared up and your half-brother shifted in front of you once he noticed something was wrong, looking at you with a questioning look that you couldn’t even respond to.

Just as your vision began to go spotty, you caught sight of the words being seared into your skin--the same shade as the soulmark stamped between your shoulder blades, but only visible to you:

Deactivate. 

“Do you think I won’t have you deactivated, Theta?” Dottore asked, voice calm but internally, his anger was rising as he looked down at the report in front of him detailing the near destruction of one of his labs down in southern Mondstadt and along with it, most of the progress that they had made the past six years in stabilizing delusions.

The Theta Segment looked unbothered, staring at Dottore emptily. “You won’t have me deactivated because you don’t have the resources to create a new segment right now. Otherwise you would have replaced Beta already, and you haven’t. Either way, deactivating me wouldn’t have prevented the situation unless you’ve figured out a way to endow segments with prophetic abilities,” Theta said, voice dry and mocking. 

Beta, Dottore inhaled, trying to reign in his temper as it spiked at the reminder of the Beta segment. His head was pounding--he had been dealing with setbacks in his own research, and the Balladeer was being less than forthcoming regarding information about the Abyss and Irminsul. He was losing his patience with it because the only reason Scaramouche was even capable of withstanding the hostile energy in the Abyss was because Dottore had unlocked his latent powers as an Archon’s creation.

He could by all means deactivate Theta, but Theta was right in that he didn’t have the resources to create another segment to replace him. He had all of the physical materials, despite how hard they were to come by, but he lost the connection to Irminsul he had in Snezhaya, drained the sprout of all of its energy, and he needed the connection to Irminsul to create the segments in the mindsets of his past self. There were rumors of other withered sprouts in the ruins of Vindagnyr--he had the Rho and Gamma segments searching through the bitter cold to try to find ways to revitalize the sprouts, but their efforts had been fruitless thus far. 

“Careful,” he warned quietly, looking up from the report to finally look at the Theta Segment, who stiffened a bit at Dottore’s tone. “You’re testing my patience.”

“There was nothing I could’ve done,” Theta’s voice was still sharp, defensive, which Dottore expected of the segment. Theta was the segment created right after his expulsion from the Akademiya--volatile, uncontrollable, always angry and always on edge. He never took well to being told that he did something wrong, Dottore was surprised it had taken him this long to snap.

“If it were Rho or Delta, they would have made the necessary preparation to deal with such a situation,” Dottore countered, reading through all of the reported damages and lost research. He pressed his lips together tightly as he realized that all of their research had been lost. It would set them back over a year, maybe two or three. “Instead, we-”

“Don’t compare me to them,” Theta bristled, hands fisting at his side, teeth clenched so tight that Dottore could practically hear them grinding. “Not to Delta.”

Dottore smiled thinly, “Then do not do things that make me compare you to them,” he said coldly. He leaned back in his seat, placing the papers down. “This was easily preventable, Theta.”

“How was I supposed to know about a stray wyvern nesting in the Mondstadt countryside?” Theta said, aggressive and loud. 

Dottore stared at him, “You research, Theta,” he responded, tone a bit more sharp. “You research the area where you plan to waste hundreds of thousands of mora building one of our labs to make sure that it’s a location conducive to our research. All of the older segments would have known to look into the property and the surrounding land before throwing away our limited mora. If you can’t even bother to make an effort to show a little bit of responsibility, you will be stripped of your independence and sent to the Fontaine border to assist Delta permanently, do you understand?”

“You can’t do that,” Theta hissed. “I’m not a child-”

“No, you’re not. You are a tool,” Dottore interrupted, “and tools do what they were created for and when they are no longer useful, they are disposed of.”

Theta turned to leave, fists balled tight at his side, Dottore spoke up again before he could walk away, “Did I dismiss you?” he asked. Theta stopped but did not turn to face Dottore. “You will go to Sumeru with Lambda. The two of you will work on replacing all of the lost research. You will explain to him the situation and why he is being forced to halt his part of the residue project. You have half a year to replace all of the lost research.”

“Or what?” Theta spit out. 

Dottore did not respond, he figured that was enough of an answer. 

You will be deactivated. 

Theta scoffed, shaking his head—and just like that, Dottore’s temper snapped. His hand shot forward quickly, iron-grip latching around Theta’s wrist as he yanked the segment closer to him, tone low and laced with poison as he leaned forward over the desk, “You have wasted far more resources than you are worth. Time and time again you have proven yourself to be the most useless segment that I’ve created. Tread carefully because your next mistake will be your last, I don’t care enough to replace you.”

Theta ripped his arm out of Dottore’s grasp, taking a step away. His lips were twisted, and his eyes were ablaze with rage, but he didn’t respond this time. 

Dottore looked back down at the desk, shuffling through the papers and looking for the one that he had been trying to get through before Theta had arrived to disrupt his peace.

“Leave,” he ordered, void of emotion as he relaxed back into his chair. “Now, and don’t ever bring up the Beta segment again.”

Theta didn’t say another word as he left the room, closing the door harshly behind him. Dottore let out a sharp exhale, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself down so he could refocus. Instinctually, his gaze drew to his other hand, where the thread was tied snugly around his thumb. 

His soulmate hadn’t tugged the thread tonight. He looked back to the window on the far end of the room, where the sky was dark and the stars shone brightly against the black canvas. He wondered if they had finally given up or if they just hadn’t fallen asleep yet--he wasn’t sure which he would prefer. Usually, he could tell when they fell asleep, but this time he had been distracted by Theta and wasn’t paying attention. 

Tonight would be the start of the third phase. 

He looked over to the side, in the direction of the chart that he had set up. He wouldn’t know the exact time, but it was soon, and he was glad he got Theta out of the room before it began. His thread had shown up in the dead of night ten years ago--he remembered the day very well--and he had dreaded this day ever since it had shown up. The third phase was a violation, a breach of his privacy. He did not want his thoughts being transcribed onto a random person at all, much less when he couldn’t even control what words were being sent to them.

This was when the concept of a soulmate really became an issue. They had already been a personal issue, but now it extended beyond just him. It was an issue for the whole organization because if one wrong word got transferred to them and they mentioned it around the wrong people, it could spell a lot of trouble for the Fatui and their goals. 

He should have gone to the Jester by now. He should have gone to him and told him the situation so they could work to track down his soulmate before it got to this point before it put the Fatui at risk. He didn’t know why he hadn’t yet. Something odd and unfamiliar tugged at his gut, an emotion he couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t from his soulmate, he could feel that much, but he convinced himself it was. 

You haven’t gone to the Jester because you’re going to sever the bond, he reminded himself, and then this would become a nonissue. But it was not as easy as he thought it would be. There was no previous research done into severing a bond between soulmates, there were old folktales but no legit information to back the validity of them. Dottore had a feeling that Irminsul would have answers for him and he found it ironic that the tree seemed to be the root of all of his most recent issues--he had half a mind to burn the thing to the ground when he finally got to it. 

Just as he was going to finally force himself to focus back on the report, he felt it--a searing pain in his left forearm, nothing compared to what he had dealt with before but he hadn’t expected it to be as intense as it was. 

He paused only for a second before rolling up his sleeve.

Purple, the word said, and Dottore couldn’t help but shake his head. He wasn’t sure what he had been anticipating from them, but he supposed that a color was about as predictable as it could get. 

He wondered what they might have gotten from him--it could’ve been anything from his argument with Theta to his thoughts on Irminsul. He hoped that it wasn’t the latter. He felt stressed suddenly, rubbing his temples and letting his eyes slide shut as he tried to figure out what he could do, if there was a way that he could control his thoughts and filter out what they could be receiving from him. 

He didn’t think there was, realistically. He had done a lot of research trying to prepare for this day, and he had come up empty-handed. The only way to prevent his soulmate from receiving words he didn’t want them to receive was to stop thinking about them, and that wasn’t an option. He had work to do, research to complete, and he refused to let them interfere more than they already had. 

Hesitating for a second, he reached for a notebook laid out on the desk next to him, jotting down the word he had received before pushing the notebook out of sight and pushing his soulmate out of mind, returning to the heaps of papers he had to get through before the night was up.

You lounged in the garden, relaxing to the soft scent of lilies beneath the gentle glow of the sunset over the horizon. You could hear a songbird chirping in the distance, people chattering in the streets as they made their way back to their homes before curfew, the quiet hum of the apparatuses set up throughout the garden to keep the flora rich and healthy. It wasn’t raining, for once. You swore that the past two weeks had been nothing but torrential downpour, you’d been trapped inside the library of the palace, spending your time reading old tales of forbidden love and the old gods.  

You didn’t like being in Fontaine City. It was always muggy and ugly outside, it was usually raining, and even when the skies were clear, there was a strange, intense mechanical scent that made your head hurt--the only place free of it was the garden on the roof of the palace, but even then, sometimes the sweetness of the flowers was sickly. You wanted to return to the countryside, to your mother’s family estate near the Snezhnayan border where the air was brisk and fresh, and the grass was lush and green, the thick scent of the wild and the subtle scent of smoke from the estate’s fireplace being the ones most familiar and dear to your heart.

You sighed as you rested your head against the cool stone of the statue you were sitting against, pen tapping steadily against your notebook as your eyes grazed over the past few words that you had received from your soulmate: sever, residue, research, failure. 

You couldn’t make much sense of it, you had thought two years ago that maybe you would finally get to know more about your soulmate now that you were sharing thoughts, but you found yourself at even more of a loss than you were at before. They were a complete mystery to you. They thought words in the old tongue rather often--Theta, Iota, Lambda, and Delta, most frequently but there were others that appeared less often: Kappa, Rho, Gamma, Epsilon, Zeta—and no one really knew the old tongue unless they were an academic or some sort of priest of the dead gods. 

And even the thoughts you received in the common tongue were just strange, and you didn’t even understand half of them. Ever since the start of the third phase, you seemed to spend the majority of your days in the palace’s libraries trying to understand them by looking up the random words that were showing up on your forearm, but somehow, it only left you more confused.

You thought that maybe they were a scholar at Sumeru’s Akademiya who had traveled north for research. Fontaine had its own institute, but it focused on engineering and mechanics, not languages, and students who graduated from the institute typically remained in Fontaine unless they were granted leave to introduce and promote their invention to other nations… and even then, they would never be granted leave to Snezhnaya, but as far as you were aware, the Akademiya did not have such restrictions. 

It would be better for you if that were the case--that way, your soulmate wasn’t a citizen of Snezhnaya, and you didn’t have to worry about being prosecuted by the Hydro Archon for treason.

You hummed to yourself, doodling on the corner of your notebook as you eyed the word that was currently branded against your forearm: dead. It followed the string of words you had received earlier in the day--normally, you only received one word from them a day, two if you were lucky, but since you woke up this morning, you’d gone through five words.

You bit down on your bottom lip, hesitating before you finally noted the word down beneath failure, adding it to the grouping you had made for today. Sever, residue, research, failure, dead. Not foreboding at all, you thought to yourself, trying to put together what it all might mean. You weren’t sure how the first word fit in with the rest, but you figured the other four were all related.

Research into some sort of residue? What residue? Failed in whatever they were doing, something or someone ended up dead.

They didn’t seem distressed about it, so you supposed that no one important to them got hurt or died… or if they did, your soulmate simply did not care… and it kind of worried you that you genuinely did not know them well enough to know which was the case. You sighed, a pout tugging at your lips as you looked away from your notebook and up to the sky. 

There was another storm already rolling in, you could see the dark clouds in the distance. You didn’t know what to think about your soulmate. You got strange words from them, you never felt anything from them sans the occasional annoyance or anger, and they never responded to your tugs when you tried to tell them goodnight. 

You supposed it hurt a bit. Your whole life, you had watched kids your age babbling on, excited about their soulmate. You watched them have invisible flicking competitions that only the two of them could follow--seeing who could flick the thread the most before the other person gave up. You watched the way they reacted to feeling waves of emotions from them. You watched the way they would all giggle and talk about the words they received--figuring out their favorite colors, their favorite foods, what they liked to do and maybe even narrow down to where they might be living. You watched as they blushed and got flustered when it became apparent that their soulmate was thinking of them.

You couldn’t do any of that--not only because your soulmate was from, or lived in, Snezhnaya, so you couldn’t even talk to anyone your age about them but also because you weren’t experiencing any of that with your soulmate anyway. Every time you tried to get them to flick the thread back, you were ignored, and your soulmate never thought about you, the most frequent words you received from them were deactivate, failure, and sever. You didn’t know what deactivate meant, you assumed failure was in regards to whatever research they kept thinking about, and you had no idea what they were trying to sever. 

It was frustrating and upsetting. You just wanted a soulmate that you could be with like your peers, someone to be excited about and look forward to. And you were excited, and you did look forward to eventually meeting them, but you couldn’t help but be a bit bummed and anxious over it all.

Three years. 

You were seventeen now. There were three years left until you and your soulmate entered the fourth and final stage--being able to communicate through the shared thoughts and then you would finally get some answers from them.

“There you are.”

You slammed your notebook shut, eyes wide as your head snapped to the side, gaze falling upon your half-siblings, Elliot and Sylvie, approaching you from behind. You smiled as best as you could, trying to glance around to make sure that their father wasn’t following them.

“He’s busy with mother at a meeting,” Sylvie said quietly, eyes lit up with a sort of mischief that you hadn’t seen in her for quite a bit. “We snuck out.”

She spoke hushed, as if the flowers around them might tell her father what she was saying. You supposed it was possible--you wouldn’t put it past the Hydro Archon and the court officials to install listening devices throughout the city to make sure that no one was conspiring against them. 

“How did you sneak past Miss Elyna?” you asked her as the two of them came to sit cross-legged with you on the ground next to a bed of pretty pink flowers. 

They were almost fourteen years old now. Both of them had been born with their marks, so they and their soulmates would be entering the third phase soon too. They were excited, constantly whispering about what they thought their soulmate would be like. You remembered when you had been like that, bouncing around in bed as you rattled off possibilities to Miss Elyna because you had no one else to talk to about it. 

Now, you only felt a dull sense of disappointment.

“She wasn’t looking, so we snuck out the door and ran,” Elliot told you, a bright smile on his face. You doubted that was the case—Miss Elyna had the senses of a hawk, it was more likely she let them leave because it’s their only chance to spend time with you without their father hovering and dragging them away.

You hated their father. At one point, you had been hopeful. You thought that your mother meeting her soulmate would change little in the way your family worked. Your father was more than happy to step aside and let your mother find solace with her fated, but it wasn’t enough for your stepfather. He wanted your father gone and he wanted your brother to replace you as your mother’s heir, but you had no way of proving it. He hid the rotting carcass he called a personality behind a kind smile and empty eyes that your mother refused to look past.

“Can you tell us what it’s like?” Sylvie whispered, drawing you from your thoughts. Your brow furrowed in confusion, shooting her a questioning look, but Sylvie only looked pointedly down at your notebook.

Your eyes widened, instinctively tucking the notebook closer to your chest. Your lips and mouth felt dry as you stared at your half-siblings, trying to figure out if Sylvie was implying that she knew that you had a soulmate. No one should know—no one besides your father and mother and Miss Elyna. You had worried the day you received your first word from your soulmate would draw suspicion, but your father had brushed any unwanted eyes off by telling them you had been ill.

No one should know, you felt sick and anxious, unsure of how to respond to Sylvie--both of them were looking at you expectantly, excited for an answer. 

“It’s okay,” Elliot said, once he realized how upset you suddenly looked. “We’ve known for a while, we won’t-”

“Elliot! Sylvie, have you seen-” 

It was Miss Elyna, out of breath and on the verge of tears--she cut herself off as soon as she saw you hidden behind the statue. You rose to your feet, concerned, “Miss Ely-”

“It’s your father,” Miss Elyna said, voice choked and wobbly. At once, the world around you shattered. “Come, we must hurry.”

“I suppose I owe you thanks,” a familiar voice murmured, approaching Dottore from behind. He tilted his head to the side, glancing over his shoulder to where his old recruit, now promoted to the Ninth seat as the Fatui’s Regrator, came to a stop next to the column that Dottore was leaning against, waiting for his chance to slip away from the celebrations. 

“Thank me with funding,” Dottore said. “I’ve exhausted all of my resources. I’ll need a significant amount of mora and test subjects to begin research into Archon residue if we want to find a safer alternative to delusions any time soon… which I’m sure you’d be personally vested in and I am not cutting the funding from my own personal projects.”

Pantalone let out a huff of laughter, Dottore was not sure what exactly the new Harbinger found amusing about what he said so he turned to face him, lips flat and eyes void of emotion behind the mask he wore.

“Relax, doctor,” Pantalone said quietly. “I have not forgotten about our original deal. Have you not already seen an increase since my induction into the Fatui?” 

“Not a large enough increase in comparison to the risks I took advocating for you,” Dottore said coldly, looking away from him up to where the Jester was preparing with the Captain for the official inauguration of Pantalone as one of the Eleven Harbingers. “Go, this event has lasted long enough. As soon as all of the official business is over with, I can leave.”

Pantalone did not look pleased, lips pressed together tight as his gaze swept across the large room. All of the higher-ranked members of the Fatui based in Snezhnaya were attending the event--agents trained by Arlecchino, vanguard captains trained by Capitano, even some mages and Mirror Maidens that had gone through La Signora’s strict training regiments lingered around where the Eighth Harbinger was lounging back at one of the tables. She looked just as ready for the night to be over as Dottore was. 

Pantalone looked anxious, only thinly concealed behind an otherwise blank expression, and Dottore supposed he couldn’t blame him. All of the people in this room were the people that had been considered and rejected for the Ninth Seat in favor of him. The Fatui were united, yes, but their loyalty only went so far when the prospect of a promotion was dangled in front of their face. Not a single person in this room would forego the chance of taking out the new Harbinger if it gave them a shot at being one of the Eleven. 

They had tried it with him centuries ago, when Dottore had initially been promoted to Harbinger. The Fatui was a younger organization then, less structured and far more anarchic, and there had been more attempts on his life than he could count. Only one had succeeded, and he had made it so that it could never happen again. 

Now that he had centuries of authority, his moniker inducing fear and respect throughout their ranks for all of his accomplishments, he didn’t have to worry much about greedy, ambitious underlings trying to take off his head and claim his position.

But the Regrator would have more trouble, he noted to himself. 

Something felt odd in his chest--a twinge of anxiety, or fear. It was not his own, and he had been blocking off his segments for the duration of the night so he was not interrupted while at an important event. He could only assume that it was coming from his soulmate. He frowned to himself, eyes darting down to his forearm but it was covered by his sleeve, and he would draw too much attention to himself should he go to check if the word had changed. 

Instead, he forced himself to focus on the situation at hand.

Pantalone was no fighter, his delusion harmed him as much as it helped him--more so than it did to the average person--it tore apart his body from the inside whenever he summoned the volatile energy, and he couldn’t even control the energy yet. He was incompetent with a sword, couldn’t pick up a claymore, and was awkward with a polearm. He was decent with aiming a bow, but that would be useless in a close combat assassination like the ones that would be attempted on him. If he were attacked, the only real defense he had would be that decorative blade strapped to his waist. 

Dottore wondered if it would be worth it to enlist Sandrone in creating a sort of projectile weapon that could be used both in close and ranged combat… but that was not something he was going to waste his own time doing, he would present the option to Pantalone only once Dottore’s funding has been increased significantly.

“Is funding the only thing you want?” Pantalone suddenly asked, voice cryptic in a way that Dottore did not like. He peered at the younger man from the corner of his eye, waiting for him to explain himself. But he didn’t, instead, violet eyes only looked down pointedly at Dottore’s right hand--the hand that his red thread was tied around his thumb. Dottore inhaled, not responding, and finally, Pantalone continued, “I’m just saying, I have other resources, connections… should you need to find something,”

Someone. 

Dottore was livid, he could feel his anger rising, and he could feel that strange anxiety begin to get worse from his soulmate’s end, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that now--was it a taunt? A threat? Or a genuine offer of help? 

Either way, Dottore didn’t like it. No one should know about the thread tied around his thumb. No one should know that he had a soulmate. Did one of the segments let it slip? Did they mention it in public? It was possible, but Dottore doubted it--the younger segments were never around people and the older segments knew better, even Theta. They knew very well that even if they had no interest in meeting their soulmate after all of these years, that if their soulmate died, it would cause irreparable damage to all of them. 

They would not risk it. 

So then how-

“If you’re wondering how… I’m very observant, that’s all,” Pantalone interrupted his thoughts, watching him carefully. “I had to be, considering my lifestyle before you recruited me into the Fatui. Abrupt movements for no apparent reason, flinches, stiffening, sudden jerks… a gaze flickering down just a bit too often… tucking a thumb into your fist--I learned to watch for certain tells to find weak points in my enemies...”

Dottore unfisted his right hand immediately, not moving nor responding even as Pantalone stared at him expectantly, waiting for a response. He felt like a fool, and he hated feeling like a fool. He wanted to say something, make a dry comment about how yes, of course the way he held his hand meant that he had a soulmate, but his lips wouldn’t move and he wasn’t sure if responding would be more damning because Pantalone hadn’t even said the word soulmate yet anyway, only implied it.

“... but we are not enemies, so you need not worry. It’s not something I plan to use against you… just offering some extra resources. If you need them, just let me know,” Pantalone finally said, the heels of his boots clicking against the marble ground as he began to make his way past Dottore toward where Pierro and Capitano were waiting for him. “You know where to find me.”

Damn all of the subordinates looking for a quick promotion, Dottore had half a mind to kill Pantalone himself, right there in front of everybody. His rage was clouding his mind, a wicked storm about to break through the calm facade. He felt like he was young again, the years just after he was kicked out of the Akademiya when he was brewing with uncontrollable fury and a switch that could flip on or off at any given moment with no warning. 

He forced himself to leave. He would deal with the Jester and his complaints about his premature departure later, he was certain that if he remained there any longer, blood would be spilled and all of Dottore’s efforts to get himself more funding would go straight down the drain. 

He couldn’t tell anymore if the anxiety he was feeling was from himself or his soulmate. The corridor around him swayed like he was on a ship sailing through the rough, northern sea. He had been so careful to keep it hidden and the way he positioned his hand gave it away? There was no way. Pantalone had to have been throwing out a wild guess and hoping for confirmation--his only hope was that he had been able to keep his face devoid of the anger that was twisting his insides, that he hadn’t given Pantalone any reason to believe his suspicions had been correct. 

His chest felt tight--like he couldn’t breathe properly, which was ridiculous because he was breathing but it felt like he wasn’t getting enough air to his lungs. He didn’t know what this was. It was not something he had ever felt before, and that meant it had to be coming from them, his soulmate--he cursed himself for giving in to his own bout of emotion, a show of weakness that allowed their emotions to engulf his and he didn’t know how to fix it now that the spiral had begun. 

Unless it wasn’t emotions, and that was why it was so intense.

Were they getting strangled?

It didn’t make any sense, he would be able to feel the hands around their throat, the bruises forming against their skin. 

He leaned against the wall of the corridor he had escaped down, only dimly lit by a candle halfway down the hall--far enough from the event that he shouldn’t have to worry about anyone stumbling upon him while he was like this. He pulled off his mask, pressing a hand hard against his chest, right over where his heart would’ve been. 

Calm down, he wanted to spit out at them, his rage blending with his soulmate’s anxiety and fear. Calm down.

This was not the place. He could hear the Jester speaking in the distance, he could hear the crowds of people applauding dutifully at the official announcement of the Regrator’s position, he could see the shadows of people walking just a bit too close to the side hall for his own comfort. 

He was being overwhelmed, and he had never been overwhelmed by someone before, not like this. His fury was subsiding, being replaced by his soulmate’s intense surge of emotions. He had never felt anything like this before, and he wasn’t sure what it was or how to describe it. It felt as if the walls were closing in around him, as if someone was dragging jagged nails down the inside of his throat, as if his blood had turned into lead—thick and heavy, weighing his whole body down.

He couldn’t even tell what was wrong, he couldn’t tell if the pain was physical or emotional. Was his soulmate dying? Was that it? The thought made his stomach churn, wondering what that would mean for him, if he would become the husk that all widowers became after their mark went black. 

No, he told himself, you are stronger. 

The Captain was able to move on from the death of his soulmate. Dottore had seen the blackened mark himself when the man asked him to fix up his arm after a challenge had gone wrong years ago against one of the ancient gods of the far north. 

Had he moved on? Dottore questioned himself, or was he just a shell of himself, moving on autopilot to bring the divine to their knees before he could join his soulmate in the next life?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whether or not Capitano had been able to move on because Dottore would--he was above man, above mortal. He refused to let something as inconsequential as the death of a stranger inhibit his research, and obstruct him from his goals. He refused to let nearly five hundred years go to waste. 

But he wasn’t sure, no matter how much he insisted to himself that it didn’t matter. He wasn’t confident he would be able to brush it off, and the uncertainty was damning because the thought of his soulmate—who would be no older than sixteen or seventeen now, a year or two older than the Gamma segment—dying such a brutal and untimely death made him sick to his stomach for reasons beyond just selfish ones, reasons that he didn’t dare try to delineate.

Celestia is cruel, he thought to himself as this situation forced him to come to terms with what he had been pushing away for over a decade. Because they were not just a stranger, so much as he tried to convince himself of it. Dottore was a pragmatic man at heart, and he knew himself very well, no matter how much the past twelve years have tested his sense of identity. From the moment he had noticed that thread and felt those childish little tugs, Dottore had formed an attachment to the person on the other side. He was selfish and possessive, and he had never in his life had something that was so fundamentally meant to be his before and he didn’t want the gods to take yet another thing from him--he convinced himself it was more out of pride, out of anger toward Celestia than out of fear. 

He had known it was too good to be true from the start. He knew that the gods would dangle his soulmate in front of his face like meat to a starved dog--it was why he was so intent on finding a way to sever the thread before this could happen. He knew that they would let him get accustomed to their distant presence, they would let him get accustomed to the goodnight tugs and the frequent swells of emotion that he was not capable of feeling on his own. They would even let it get to the point where he was beginning to accept it, noting down all of the words that were transferred to him in hopes to find clues regarding where they were… in hopes of getting to learn more about them—who they were, why they were meant to be his fated. 

He knew that they would let this all happen, and he knew that they would rip it away, and he let himself fall for the trap they had laid out anyway.

Dottore was a fool. He had always been one, but the past decade or so had truly made a comedy of it in the eyes of the divine. 

His fingers fumbled for the buttons on the cuff of his dress shirt, trying to see which words would be branded on his skin for eternity--to see if it would give any sort of hint as to who they were, or where they were, or what happened to them so if the opportunity ever arose, he could deal back tenfold to the person that did this.

Father

He paused, taken aback for a second. Was their father the perpetrator? If that was the case, it might not be all too hard to find the culprit--filicide was considered taboo across all seven nations… but Dottore had a feeling that it wasn’t so simple because him being startled at the word gave him the bit of clarity he needed to compartmentalize and digest all of the stray emotions tearing through him.

It was not physical pain, he realized, trying to pinpoint what exactly it was. He had gotten better at deciphering emotions over the past seven years, but whatever this was, it was still foreign to him. The only consolation he had was that he couldn’t feel his body weakening, he couldn’t feel any physical pain. The thread was still bright and very much connected to him.

And the intensity was fading--albeit at a snail’s pace, but it was fading. It was becoming something heavier, more oppressive, as if the weight of the world was being tossed onto his shoulders.

Grief, he slowly recognized, this must be grief.

Grief. He had never experienced grief before. Not like this. He had mourned failed experiments, he had mourned the loss of his resources, he had mourned wasted time but he had never experienced an emotion like this before.  

He felt relieved knowing that his soulmate was not, in fact, dying, knowing that he didn’t have to stress about figuring out how he was going to move on when Celestia damned all those who had lost their soulmates to desolation, knowing that he would not have to deal with his segments losing their minds over this but at the same time-

“Dottore.”

He was not even able to dwell on his train of thought, forced to try to compose himself as a familiar voice met his ears. Now back in control of himself, getting ahold of the unwelcome emotions still crawling around inside of him, Dottore could focus. He tucked away the feelings deep within him as he straightened, slipping his mask back on and rolling his sleeve down as discreetly as he could. 

He looked over his shoulder to where Brighella was standing several feet away, a glass of wine in his hand, green eyes beady and curious as he spoke, “Is something wrong?”

He spoke with a sort of faux care that made Dottore irrationally annoyed because he knew very well that it was just that--faux. He wanted something. Brighella always wanted something and Dottore wasn’t particularly in the mood to humor him this time, lips twisting down as the man brought it upon himself to draw closer to Dottore. 

“No,” Dottore answered shortly. “Why are you not attending the event?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Brighella’s response was challenging and quick. Dottore raised his eyebrows beneath his mask, not that Brighella could tell, but the other Harbinger quickly grew uncomfortable in the silence, letting out a sheepish laugh, nervous gaze flicking back and forth. “Ha, sorry. I’ve had a few drinks, you know how it gets-”

“I do not,” Dottore said, voice icy as he observed the man.

Dottore had never been particularly good at reading people. He spent more time in his lab than socializing, even during his years at the Akademiya, and the only use he found for humans once he joined the Fatui was utilizing them to make advances in his research. But he could tell something was off, Brighella’s eyes were too sharp--they didn’t have the drunken glaze that they usually did when the man had been drinking.

Was he faking it?

Dottore didn’t think so. Brighella reeked of alcohol, and he seemed off-balanced, and Dottore didn’t think that he could really fake much of anything to anyone, much less to Dottore. He was always skittish and anxious around higher-ranked members of the Harbingers, but something wasn’t sitting right with him. Dottore thought-

“Oh god, I didn’t mean-”

Dottore stared down at his stained clothes, at the red wine seeping through his white dress shirt, sticky against his skin. Dottore’s lips twisted, barely restraining the resurfacing fury and Brighella was panicked, stuttering over his words as he apologized, stumbling over his own feet as he searched for something to use as a cloth or napkin to clean up the mess he had made. 

Dottore only inhaled sharply, turning on his heel and ignoring the calls after him as he made his way down the hall in the direction of his quarters for the night. 

Tonight had been a trainwreck, he thought to himself bitterly. Between Pantalone, his soulmate, and now the drunkard that called himself a Harbinger, Dottore swore he was on the verge of losing his mind. 

Ever since the red thread had appeared on his thumb twelve years ago, he had been losing control. He was losing control of his segments, he was losing control of all of the carefully calculated plans he had created, he was losing control of himself, and tonight was proof enough of that. 

He was done. 

He would figure out a way to sever the damned thread before this got any further. It was too close of a call for comfort--he didn’t know how the death of his soulmate would affect him, and it was a gamble that he wasn’t willing to take. He couldn’t afford to let something like this happen again, especially in public. It made him seem weak in front of those that would use it against him—and Dottore was not weak. He was sick of being strung around like a marionette by the emotions of a child.

And if there was not a way to sever the thread, then he would make a way. 

reblogs appreciated!

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Sagau touched starved reader but you know got trauma so not comfortable with being touched. Like staring like a cat for affection but terrified of being hugged back or things like that

You got it, Anon! Though, I will warn you a little: I'm not going to go too deep into detail with the trauma stuff. It'll be very brief.

Touch Starved! Reader Wanting Hugs From Zhongli, Diluc, and Al-Haitham...With A Twist.

Zhongli

The moment he realizes that you are touched-starved, this old man isn't exactly sure what to do. After all, you got some extreme PTSD going on after the whole "imposter-creator" fiasco.

He does try to approach it as a topic, but since you're weary of (quite literally) everyone and find suspicion in every action, you kind of catch on to his intentions. And Zhongli notices this, but he's still going to take it slow.

"I assure you, Your Grace, I will not push your boundaries lest you are uncomfortable." He's sincere and means every word. To him, this is like signing a contract. He's the God of Contracts, so this is especially important to him. What he says is solid as stone—his dedication to prove that is clear as day.

This man is also very keen—he sees how you look like a touch-starved cat when you want affection, but are too scared to approach and ask. It kind of breaks him, but he doesn't show it because he wants to prove that he's not helping out of pity, but understanding.

In the end, Zhongli will probably be able to be near you, and get in a few (with consent) head peats that you are very well aware of. It's going to take time for you to warm up to him before this guy gets to hug you.

Diluc

This guy probably understands your intense cat-staring the most. He sometimes feels like that after his father passed. He's very unsure and awkward of what to do, if I'm being honest.

After a little while, of course, Diluc feels like he should place the offer out. He feels too awkward and guilty for just noticing you like this and not doing anything about it.

"Your Grace...I hope I'm not crossing any boundaries, but please know that I am willing to offer you any assistance you need." It's only later does he realize you wanted hugs and were too scared to ask for it.

Yeah...he's not exactly that open with his emotions either, so it will definitely be awkward, but he is willing to give it a few tries. Diluc will also be the first to pull back and apologize if he realizes you are in any discomfort.

To say it took a while is only putting it in the simplest form.

Alhaitham

Oho...if you though Diluc was awkward, consider this man. He's more "thinking machine that feels" than like his roommate ("feeling machine that thinks"), so he definitely does not understand the "social cue" that is your cat-stare.

He has done research (aka read books way back in the days and remembered the contents) and understands the mental turmoil you've gone through, so he has gone through the steps of trying to get out of your way, and also try and link you to a therapist. This, of course, kind of fails.

"Your Grace...please get some therapy. It's beneficial for your mental health." Quite literally might drag Tighnari or someone else into this if he can't convince you. This is quite literally out of his expertise.

The entire "I want a hug" cue flies completely over his head, and had it not been for Kaveh (and/or Nahida), he probably wouldn't have realized his mistake.

...Yes, it took what felt like 3 eternities just for him to try and give you affection. Must I say anything else?

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: AND HERE WE ARE! Anon, I am so sorry for taking 30 years to do this, but I have finished it! Boy, I was so tired and stressed these days, but I'm kinda glad I finished this!

For anyone waiting for The Lost Shining God of Celestia Pt. 2, please have some patience—I currently do not have much motivation to work on that series. Instead, feel free to dump requests in my mailbox!

Also—feel free to dump any HSR requests into my mailbox! I want to give them a try :)

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[slickfordain]

𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐊𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐢'𝐚𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝. 💀💀

Male!reader, cult AU, done with everything reader, Unknown God is called Asmoday— Yandere themed, Khaenri’ah lore theory from diff people implied in by yours truly ✨me/Fyu✨. I made male!reader because fuck I lost all my ask inboxes 😭

Nothing could be more terrifying, than the creator himself finding out about the destruction of Khaenri’ah that had the Archons immediately down on their knees. They were horrified, because, most likely the Archons never wanted to destroy it in the first place— it was Celestia! Surely you’d understand!

…

But all you were doing, was chugging down your cola/Pepsi down your throat, your eyebags being visible;; which was easy enough for you to make a bitch resting face. ❝That was my favorite nation… Took me four years, now it’s ruined…❞ You sounded oh-so Godly upsetting, it’s tearing the Archons’ souls at this. ❝Your grace no! We didn’t mean it, I swear!❞ Barbatos was clinging onto your waist, Beelzebul was clinging onto your arm;; and Morax clung onto the other arm, gently trying to make sure you’re not choking from the drink by now.

❝Your grace we promise it wasn’t our doing…!❞

❝Yes!! Listen to the Shogun! It’s Celestia’s doing! That filthy palace, right?! Asmoday deserves a punishment too!❞ Barbatos agreed with the electro Archon’s words, for the first time, as you gave out a huff at their antics. You’re too tired, too exhausted. ❝Jesus… What’s the point in living if my four years creation is already ruined…❞

Just by hearing that made everyone in Teyvat absolutely mortified. Yes, mind you that not only can the Archons hear this;; but everyone around Teyvat. Since you exist, your voice is simply in everyone’s ears;; especially the unknown God’s.

❝And why the fuck is everyone killing the monsters- my babies used to be humans, everything was so normal— what happened when I died??? 💔💔❞

The Archons couldn’t take it anymore, and bursted into … A waterfall. Their eyes were crying out I tell ya.

❝WAAAAAA— OUR GRACE NO!! I DIDN’T KILL ANYONE I SWEAR;; IT’S ALL MORAX’S FAULT!❞

❝Pardon me? I believe the drunken bard was the one who demolished every single men and women who tried running away, and don’t get me started on the Raiden.❞

❝You dare accusing my sister?! Your grace! I’ve always been loyal to eternity and kept my promise! Do not trust these fools, they’re lying about my sister Makoto!❞

Even their crying was spread throughout Teyvat. And never in anyone’s life in Inazuma, had they thought the Raiden Shogun would be so… Whiny and, well, emotional. Especially in Liyue who has never seen Rex Lapis’ Archon form being this emotional as well. Childe was at the brink of choking and almost dying. /real

Snezhnaya was so close to victory if you took their side as well. The more the Archons fought one another for you, this means you’d love them more. And the more you love them— the more you could destroy Celestia with Tsaritsa!! Hold on I think Tsaritsa is going love love crazy with a huge blush—

But in all honesty, this makes Dainsleif so fucking angry. They DARED casually talking and whining to you as if they can order you around to punish someone! As much as he hates Celestia’s guts, your appearance came first. Filthy Archons… He knew he should’ve tried killing them the day Asmoday’s attack went feral over Khaenri’ah…

And as for Kaeya and Albedo, those two were definitely going to grab Venti and attack him like feral men who’d do anything for their divine. You.

Everyone was so unsure of how to feel about the Archons. Killing a nation because of what? Their nature? If Celestia truly did send them off to kill the innocents… Then that meant… They’ve been killing humans this entire time.

Xiangling and other children are definitely going to throw up from the thought of it, as they have to be comforted by other people who gave them a light pat on the back. Even for Xiao, who has been more traumatized for realizing that the robots were also made from Khaenri’ah to not destroy nations, but to destroy the heavenly principles and Celestia. All this time… They’ve tried attacking innocents who didn’t even try bothering them, they bothered them first.

Yeah. Horrified nations is definitely set upon the place. And I think, Aether is going to take his frustration out on the Archons once they get back. Not only did they not help him to find his sister, Aether has been completely lied to!

But no worries… Aether will be helped by you right? You must be so… Soooooo tired of them… He will do anything in your hands, he will obey, if it meant he could be helped by you. He’d be so blessed if that were to be the case.

If his sister leaves him for the Abyss one more fucking time, he wouldn’t blame her— but would give up at this very point seeing that Lumine wouldn’t choose him over Abyss. Nahida was right. She belonged to this world, and he was just a traveller through different dimensions.

But then… Who was he truly, if Lumine was never from his own world from the beginning? Who was he to you?

He has heard about your story, your tales… How you always wore a cloak with designed hood over your head;; how you died by such brutal creatures who tried taking over Teyvat. You were a pretty boy, that he wasn’t going to lie about. You were strong, a bit too strong. You’re too overpowered that you didn’t even need to lift a finger, just say in your head that you wanna delete someone and boom. Deleted. Completely erased.

(And you don’t even fight, 💀 lucky bastard)

No matter… That was not the time to think about, right?

The nations aren’t even sure anymore if they should forgive the Archons. For they have sinned and destroyed your favorite creations, Khaenri’ah and it’s people. There was no way they’d ever get your forgiveness.

Which is a lie because you would forgive them but you will be so frustrated trying to remake Khaenri’ah ahahaha— oh yeah while also beating Celestia up by deleting it.

Also ew I’m stuck in a restaurant

[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!!

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

I don't know if is okay to send question, but i'm curious about something...

Does the Tsaritsa is at reader side? Like, Tsaritsa, not the fatui.

She knows about reader, but can't do nothing to help them, so she slowly would get rid of the fatui.

Like with Lovecraft and Dottore, like, she knew Dottore would go insane, and still let him go to get rid of him.

You know what i mean?

She is get rid of the "bad" fatuis

Unfortunately, Tsaritsa is on Fake Creator's side.

Fake Creator destroyed Celestia, and there is no need for Tsaritsa's rebellion. Before Fake Creator arrived, Tsaritsa expected, that her rebellion will be bloody.

Tsaritsa is grateful for that. She is as loyal to Fake Creator as she can be.

Tsaritsa was the one, who captured Reader. She was the reason for a week full of torture Reader have to go through.

And Tsaritsa is looking for Reader to appear again. She feels guilty because of Reader's disappearance during execution.

Tsaritsa is mad. She has lost two Harbingers (Dottore has lost his mind, Capitano is missing), and Reader wasn't re-captured.

______

A little oneshot about Reader's capture.

Self-Aware! Ivan Goncharov x GN! Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Mentions of drugs and drugging.

______

Ivan never called himself a genus. Yet, he was quite observant.

And he noticed, that you have gained a fear of tea parties.

Before you "went missing", you always joined kids during tea time. Sometimes, you managed to rope other adults into having tea with you and kids.

But, after you've returned, you started avoiding tea parties at all cost.

And, if you agreed to join... You act very strange.

You were sniffing your tea, refused to look away from your cup and plate. Moreover, you take cookies, candies and sandwiches only when you were sure, that others ate them.

Ivan didn't like, what he saw. You hardly spoke about your experience in Teyvat, and Capitano, who was still hold captive, didn't know everything about your "misadventures" in Teyvat.

Ivan was brewing cocoa. A different beverage, a different food.

He hopped, it will help you ease down and answer his questions.

******

You sat between Fyodor and Nikolai, sipping your cocoa. There were a few plates with tartlets on the table. All tartlets have different fillings. Ivan overdid himself.

You took a generous bite from the cheese and spinach tartlet, savoring the flavor.

"Delicious..." spoke you. You were slowly gaining back your feeling of self-worth and stopped always whispering.

Ivan looked at you with a kind smile.

"I am glad, that you liked it, [Y/N]."

You ate the rest of your tartlet, when Ivan spoke again.

"[Y/N], can I ask you something? You can stay silent, if you want to. Why have you become so afraid of a tea parties?"

You froze. One of the most unpleasant memories sank its teeth into your mind. You licked your lips and forced yourself to speak.

"Tsaritsa..."

_______

You silently sat on the opposite side from Tsaritsa, drinking tea she offered you. Cryo Archon found you in a cave, where you were hiding from Snezhnaya people. You feel happy, for the first time in the last three days. Ever since you left Fontaine, your life was in constant danger. You almost died a few times during your stay in Natlan. And, while the boat trip from Natlan to Snezhnaya went surprisingly well (you really liked one of the islands, where you spent a night), Shezhnaya was as unfriendly and dangerous as the rest of Teyvat.

And, finally, you found some help. Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon herself, offered to protect you.

You drank your tea and took another cookie from the plate. You felt sleepy. Your eyelids became heavy. Your mind became foggy.

'why... Tsaritsa wasn't eating or drinking...'

The last thing you have remembered, before loosing consciousness, was Tsaritsa's evil grin.

____

"I woke up in a dungeon... That's how "That week" have started..." You were nested against Nikolai's chest, sitting on his lap, covered with his overcoat. Nikolai squeeze you, while discussing something with Fyodor, Ivan and Alexander. Four of them were speaking very quietly in Russian (or both Russian and Ukrainian in Nikolai's case).

You sighed. BSD Cast were discussing a potential punishment for Teyvat nations in the last few days. You were still hesitant. You don't think you were worth the effort in being avenged.

But, for BSD Cast, you were worth it. And, for Ivan, it was worth to learn more about some... Illegal substances. So he knew what to add to Cryo Archon's tea.

______

Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy

[lolishdes]

❝He Loves me not❞ || Diluc x Reader

✧A/N: NOW THIS IS A HEAVY ONE BABES, I wanted to try something different since I mostly write lovey dovey or smutty stuff. This time I wanted to try making something more on the angsty side. Read the warnings first before proceeding !

Oh! Also, this is part of a Diluc Series I'm cooking up 👀, they are all one shots tho, none of them connect to one another. So expect more Diluc stuff from me !

✧Warning/s: Toxic Marriage, Cheating, Argument gone physical, Smut

✧Synopsis: In a modern AU wherein Diluc and you have an arranged marriage  and though at first you don't have high hopes of this union, you still gave it a chance… oh how regretful you are for such a choice.

✧Word Count: 2.9k words

Minors kindly don't interact!

He was never yours to begin with. From the moment you saw the way he looked at her…you knew you had already lost. 

It was your engagement party and you have invited all of your loved ones to celebrate. Both Diluc and you are currently busy attending and chatting with the guests. Everyone kept complimenting you on how much you're practically glowing that night, that it must be good karma considering how good your life has been going so far. And you couldn't agree more, everything seems so right…so perfect. 

Despite how transactional your engagement with Diluc was, this man has somehow crept into your heart. He was quite intimidating at first yet somehow you knew there was a hint of softness in him. His face would hold indifference yet his touch was warm and gentle. And for that you do not regret saying yes to meeting him. 

You excuse yourself from the group of guests and want to see your soon to be husband. You couldn't seem to find him from the sea of people..strange considering that his red hair always makes him stand out. By the corner you see Rosaria and Kaeya enjoying some drinks and snacks while they converse with one another. You approach them to ask Kaeya where his brother could be.

“Hey Kae, have you seen Diluc anywhere? I can't seem to find him?” Kaeya quirks his eyebrow and puts the wine glass down his lips. “I believe he went that way, by the garden. I saw him going there with Jean.” Jean? Who in Celestia was Jean? Probably one of his relatives you thought. You thanked Kaeya and exited the banquet hall. 

The garden was a little wide but it was easy enough to find your way. You ended up a little deeper into the garden and started hearing faint voices, one of which you could recognize. You don't know why, but your gut feeling told you to keep your mouth shut and approach them quietly. As you approached nearer you peaked at the two people that were hiding behind some grass walls. 

Your heart sank at the sight.

Diluc had one of his arms wrapped around the woman's waist and his other hand found itself on her cheek, tenderly caressing her. His eyes…it's as if he was worshiping the very ground she walked in. And the woman…Jean, looked back at him with the same affections as she smiled at him warmly.

You retreat back to hiding behind the grass walls, yet not leaving just yet. “You're here.” Diluc spoke gently, a hint of joy in his tone. Jean gave a gentle laugh. “Yes I am, in the flesh. and I intend to stay here a little longer.” Although you cannot see what they are doing, you are most definitely sure they just share a kiss after that. Your whole body starts to shake and your eyes are getting blurry from the tears that are threatening to fall down. In that moment you can't seem to speak nor move, you felt powerless, alone and…vulnerable. 

You felt betrayed and yet did nothing about it…months later you were then wed. 

…He didn't even call your name during the wedding night. You know damn well that as he was thrusting himself inside you and kissing you passionately on the lips it wasn't you on his mind…it was her. Those sweet pet names he was giving you? That's all for her. And still you pretended as if you knew nothing of his crimes. As you both reached your climax tears were falling down your eyes. But these weren't because of pure bliss, but it was due to your husband calling out another woman's name silently under his breath while still burried inside you. 

“Oh Jean..”

–––––––––

Fixing yourself in front of your vanity, you applied some gloss on your lips before giving it a pop to really apply the product evenly. You were almost completely dressed up for the party and were satisfied with how you looked in front of the mirror. You gave a satisfied nod to yourself before grabbing the clutch on your bed and heading to the door.

You grabbed your pair of black heels that were inside the shoe cabinet and  bent a bit to wear them ,behind you you could hear footsteps. “And where do you think you're going at this time and hour?” You didn't have to turn around to know who spoke.

“Just going to a birthday celebration, remember my friend Yelan? It's her 29th birthday.” “And where is this party located exactly?” You finished buckling the straps on your heels and stood up properly. “Just at her home, we wanted some space for ourselves and she's going to bring out her best alcohol.” You answered every question he had, but your tone sounded as if you didn't have any time for him. That irritated the red head a bit.

You turn around to face your husband, he was still in his work clothes, The sleeves of his button up were folded up and a few buttons were undone, and his red hair was down. His arms were crossed and he had his default resting bitch face. “Will be home by 10pm, don't worry I won't be drinking too much.” really though, It was unnecessary to tell him all this. In the end he doesn't care where you go, who you go with, or even what time you'll arrive home. It's always been that way. 

He stopped loving you the day she entered back into his life.

“I’ll be heading off now, don't overwork.” 

–––––––––

Driving slowly before coming to a full stop as you arrived at Yelans house. Her house was gorgeous, very modern and yet simplistic, just the way she likes it. You parked your car just outside her house and went for the entrance to ring her doorbell. Yelan shouted “Coming!” from a distance before rushing to open the door for you. “Ah here you are, just in time.” She gave you a quick hug before welcoming her to her home.

Thing is, no one was inside the house other than you and Yelan. She just wanted a simple birthday with her best friend, throwing some grand birthday wasn't really her thing to begin with. And you're more than happy to entertain her. “Gods glad you came! And here I thought I would celebrate this precious day all alone.” She jokingly said as we walked to her mini bar. 

You hopped on to a seat as Yelan went behind the counter to make some drinks. “We both know I would definitely be coming today. It's your birthday after all! Besides, there's not much to do in that house anyways. As much as possible I’d like to get out when given the opportunity.” You rested your cheek on your palm.

Yelan gives a worried look before sighing. “Is he still hooked on…her?” She pushes a drink towards me. I scoffed and took a sip. “Yeah, he is.” Yelan rolled her eyes at that before leaving the counter and sitting beside you. “He left a few weeks ago, saying it was for business purposes…But after his trip I cleaned his bag for his laundry and found some dirty panties in one of the pockets. And obviously this isn't some souvenir he got in some stall.” You took a swing of your drink and finished the whole glass. Yelan sees this and a concerned look is on her face. You wiped any excess alcohol on the corner of your lips and continued.

“The bastard is getting sloppy.” A grim look was on your face as you're telling Yelan all this. Yelan looks at you, dead serious in the eyes. “Y/N, we both know you deserve better than this.” You look at your best friend with somber eyes. "I know, but I just—" "Ah ah stop talking for a moment." Yelan interrupts.

"I know you love him...but don't you think perhaps it's time to face the fact that Diluc doesn't love you? Because if he did, the moment he saw that woman at your engagement party he would be running straight at you, showing to everyone and to her especially that he was already spoken for."

You grip on the glass tighter. Perhaps it's not love that's keeping you in this marriage. Sure you used to love him...but all that love went down the drain the night of your honeymoon. Maybe it's guilt, guilt at the very fact that you allowed for things to get this bad. That when you had the opportunity to stop this torture sooner— you just didn't.

And now that you're married to him, you thought that you might as well finish what you've started...even though it hurts.

“...Thanks Yelan, you're really helping me through this." You gave her a quick hug. "Well anyways enough about my fucked up life, lets talk about you, yeah?” Yelan wiggled her index finger in front of you. “Oh no no no don't you dare change the subject. I'm all ears right now.” 

“What? No! It's your birthday for celestia's sake, I'm not spending your precious day complaining about my marriage!” Yelan places her hand on top of yours. “My dear, I love nothing more than shit talking, so…” She grabs her drink and raises it in front of me. 

“Drink up.”

–––––––––

Time seems to be flying fast as you hadn't realized it was already late at night. Not only that but you drank way past your limit, it would be dangerous to be out and about on the road, so Yelan insisted you'd stay for the night. Not having much of a choice you flopped on the bed and immediately dozed off to sleep.  By the time you woke up it was already 8 in the morning, you groaned as you stretched and sat up from the bed, rays of sunlight finding their way past the curtains. 

You feel the hangover settle in, fortunately it's not that unbearable. You walked down the stairs and to the kitchen there you found breakfast was already made for you and a sticky note just near it. 

‘Gonna go out for a run! Here's some breakfast and a pain reliever, if it's really unbearable don't hesitate to stay a little longer ;D’

- Yelan 

You chuckled reading this before eating the breakfast infront of you. After doing so you freshened up a bit in the bathroom and cleaned up the room you just stayed in. You don't want to be inconsiderate and leave any traces of mess, especially since you're just a guest. After doing everything necessary you locked the door behind you and went to your car. You just remembered you promised Diluc that you'd be home by 10…Ah whatever, he doesn't give a damn anyways. You're even sure that by now he's still rested nicely in his bed. 

While on the road you reflect back to what Yelan said...she's right. That night could have been different, instead of heading back home earlier to cry myself to sleep, I could've celebrated my engagement party to the fullest. Nothing but smiles and joy, with Diluc beside me...proud to be called husband and wife soon...

But that's all a fairy tail. Such delusions are far from the truth and as you reach closer to home you know exactly what you have to do.

Driving back home there wasn't any traffic on sight. Though, considering that it's a Sunday morning, most people are still in their beds resting. 

After parking your car inside the garage you made your way inside your home. You threw your clutch on the couch and made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. But waiting there was your husband as he was eyeing you dangerously. “What happened to being at home at 10?” He takes a sip of his coffee and looks straight at you.

You're in disbelief at his attitude, why should he even give a damn about where you've been. You divert your eyes to one of the cabinets to get a glass. “Yeah about that, I got a little too carried away with the drinks. I couldn't drive properly so I stayed there at Yelans for the night.” You poured yourself a glass of water while still avoiding eye contact. Diluc doesn't seem to like this. “Can you please look at me while talking?” 

You let out a frustrated inhale and just finished your glass of water to just leave, this morning you seem to have little to no patience for Diluc. You start to walk off but Diluc gets up from his chair and follows behind you. “Hey what's going on? Talk to me!” You continue to walk up the stairs ignoring your husband. He grabs your arm and stops you before you could enter the bedroom. “What the hell is your problem? Why aren't you answering me–!” “YOU ARE THE DAMN PROBLEM ‘LUC!”

You finally blew up. After months, even years of holding it in, you finally blew up on his face. You rip your arm off from his grip. “Don't you dare pretend you don't know. Because I know we both fucking know what’s wrong.” Only the sound of heavy breathing can be heard, both of you stood there silently as you spoke in almost a whisper. 

“I can't do this anymore, Luc. It fucking hurts and I can’t stand seeing your selfish lying face–!” “Then why?” Diluc interjects, he looks at you coldly. “Then why did you stay? Why didn't you say anything? If it hurts so fucking much then why did you let all of this happen–!” “Dont you fucking DARE make me the villain here, Ragnvindr!” 

You point a finger towards Diluc, there was no more holding back at this point. “I have foolishly led myself to believe that I might even have a sliver of chance in your heart, but it's clear now that you're only thinking about that whore of a woman!”

“DON’T YOU DARE CALL HER THAT” “WELL AM I FUCKING WRONG? THAT'S WHAT SHE IS IN OUR MARRIAGE, RIGHT? JUST SOME DIRTY SECRET YOU HIDE.” Diluc’s hand suddenly wraps around your throat, pinning you to the wall. His grip is merciless while his eyes only bore rage. He wants to be fucking angry well two can play that game.

“Ohh what's wrong? I thought we were talking this out. Did I hit a nerve?~” You were mocking him, an almost maniac smile was on your face as you're laughing at him. His attempts to shield his woman were ridiculous, he's going so low to the point of physically hurting you. Both of your eyes never left one another, as if challenging the other to look away, but neither of you faltered.

Your grin at him, enjoying the very fact that this time the roles were reversed, this time he was the one who was agitated. 

"I'm done playing pretend, so why don't you do the same." Despite how hard it was to speak, you still had some bite in you.

A vein could practically pop from Dilucs head from how angry he is, he looks at you with pure hatred– as if you are the most vile thing he has ever seen. He inches closer at you, doing his best to intimidate you more. Both of you could practically feel each other's breath– it’s hot and heavy. There were no words being exchanged yet Diluc’s eyes somehow found themselves down to your lips, they were red and plump.

You were about to agitate him a little more when suddenly his lips crashed onto yours harshly. Without thinking you accepted the kiss, his hand was still on your throat but you wouldn't have his hand in any other place. His free hand wandered down to your ass and gave it a firm squeeze, pulling you closer to him. 

–––––––––

Clothes were scattered all over the floor, hands were wandering and groping everywhere. There were no signs of stopping or slowing down. At one point you found yourself on top of Diluc, straddling him and taking control instead. “Nice view, is this what she saw 2 weeks ago, hm?” You mock him, his hands are then on your hips as he forces you to push yourself deeper into him. “Shut your mouth and just keep moving.” You only go faster and deeper, Diluc groans beneath you.

While riding him you're playing with yourself to help you reach your climax faster. Diluc watches the view before him, and as much as he wants to deny it but you look fucking hot right now. All angry yet horny at the same time. 

You comb some hair out of your face and look down at Diluc, you can see that he's close, but so were you. As you quicken your pace  you grab a hold of his face and force him to look at you “When you fucking cum I want you to scream my name, for once in your damn life call out the name of the woman that made you feel good.”

Diluc scoffs at this, “In your fucking dreams.” You hum in disappointment and slow down your pace. “If you don't, then I'm leaving you here with your cock still hard.” The red head groaned at this and grips on his hips a little tighter. “Fuck– fine fine!” You smile down at him. “That's better~” Quickening your pace, both of you continue to moan and pant out in pleasure, removing every single edge and hatred from 2 hours ago. 

“Oh god I’m close!” Your thrusts are getting sloppier by the second, desperate for that release. On the other hand Diluc is panting beneath you as he looks at how you're taking him in so well. “Y/N I’m close too– Shit!” You grip onto his bare shoulders as you're about to cum. “Oh god I’m coming !” Shutting your eyes as you release, Diluc gives a strong thrust upwards as he releases his load inside of you. 

–––––––––

It was already 3 in the morning as you got up from the bed. Diluc was still fast asleep, but this was the perfect moment to start packing up your necessary things and head out to the door. You’ll file for a divorce later, but for now… 

You look down at the red head as he is sleeping peacefully. You remove the ring off your finger, the ring that felt so heavy and ingrained into your skin. You can finally lift that weight. 

You head to the bathroom and get ready to leave. 

Alternative Ending

©All content belongs to lolishdes 2022. Please refrain from reposting (reblogs are appreciated !).

[yuyan]

To my darling

A/n: Merry Christmas and have a happy new year! I hope you enjoy it @pavo-ocell-me! This was a very fun event that I loved taking part in @2023gisecretsanta

Pairing: Lyney x gn!reader

Tags: Pure fluff! Modern au, implied school/college setting, penpals, pre-established relationship, reader is learning French, where reader lives doesn't have snow, one curse word just one ^^

"Take intermediate French they said. You'll be fine they said," you muttered to no one in particular as you read the Google translation over and over again. "My French teacher is going to kill me."

You rubbed your eyes, peeking out of makeshift pillow your arms made. Standing tall at the front of the class with a booming voice was your French teacher. She held a small, clear glass jar with folded bits of paper inside in one hand while placing a stack of letters on her lectern with her other.

"Speaking with natives is an excellent and necessary way to develop your language skills (unlike this soon to be 30 minute speech) so due to the cancellation of the exchange program for this year and the long dragged on meeting, we have decided to give you all pen pals!" she announced. Her arms held a wide stance, awaiting for something you were unaware of.

Some whispers and small squeals echoed through the lecture hall. Others groaned and put their head on the desk, waiting for celestia, perhaps even an archon to take them. You did neither.

"I wish I could turn back time," you sighed. After contemplating for an hour whether your teacher would ever find out that you used Google translate to write half your letter or not, you started handwriting it on a stack of fancy paper you really shouldn't have been able to afford. "Shell never know. It's not like he can tell her anyways."

As you dragged your pen along the piece of paper, you remembered the speech about how necessary this was, the small piece of paper you pulled out of the bag and the letter that came with it. With a small smile playing on your lips, you signed off and stuck the small paper that read "lyney" just below your name with a paper rainbow rose you made yourself. It had its imperfections but it's similarity to the fresh ones he sent you left you content.

"Oh my god why did he reply so fast?" you asked yourself. Not even 3 days later and you received another letter from lyney. You traced the grooves of the red wax seal made you shiver. He wouldn't ever know you used google translate right? With pursed lips, you opened it. Perfume immediately muddled your senses as you opened up the envelope. Your peers hadn't even sent their first letter, let alone receive their second.

As you skimmed over the letter, you took down some notes like where he's from–which was so uncessary–what he likes to do and some of his contact details. You hummed, giving yourself imaginary pats on the back for reading a whole three sentences before typing the other two paragraphs into Google translate. You really needed to switch classes, desperately.

It was only then you spotted that a sentence in french came out the same in the translation. "You really shouldn't be using Google translate for these letters," written at the very bottom. Well fuck.

"You are friends with your penpal? Well that's lovely (name)," your French teacher clapped with bright sparkles in her eyes. It blinded you for a second and you had to look away before you lost the ability to see forever.

Instagram

(potato_name):lyney sent a reel.

(potato_name):lyney sent a picture.

(potato_name):lyney sent you a mes...

I didn't use Google translate for this one. Are you proud of me? You wrote at the bottom before slipping the letter into its envelope and sealing it with the new wax stamp set you bought recently.

You rushed back home. You winced at the clatter of your laptop in your bag hitting the floor, deciding it was a problem for future you. Ripping open the envelope and skimming through the letter, you read at the very bottom 'I am proud of anything you do, mon Cheri."

A smile broke out onto your lips as you neatly kept it away in a small box your mother got you from Fontaine when you were little. The small box was made of white marble with gold outlining its edges and gathering in a few swirls in the middle where the golden clasp rested.

The Sun shone brightly despite it being the middle of December. Rays of Sunlight squeezed through your closed curtains and you wondered if it was snowing in Fontaine right now. Did Lyney like playing in the snow?

Letters became less and less frequent as your peers lost motivation in writing long drawn out of paragraphs with nothing but small talk. A year and a half had passed yet your teacher held a strong morale despite the head of languages not enforcing this penpals program anymore. Even they must have gotten tired of the back and forth.

A few days until Christmas holidays. Opening your phone, you checked to see if lyney had texted you anything. Nothing...

Your eyes kept glossing over your texts from Friday 11am. Its been a week. Pictures of him and his two siblings who added you back on Instagram. Even Lynette had texted you today, showing some new tea she bought from inazuma last week.

Lynette

My brother has been writing non-stop for the past few days. Are you guys still doing the penpals thing?

You

No, maybe he is writing to someone else?

Your stomach dropped as you reread your message. "Writing to someone else...I need fresh air." You took your phone and wallet and headed out the door.

"Where are you going?" your roomate called out but you were already heading to the lift. You ran your fingers through your hair, pushing it out of your face with a sigh. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter but this is the fifth time you've checked your phone this morning and its been a week with only a read tag.

"I seriously need to ban myself from my phone."

Lynette

Oh...nevermind. I'll ask him then.

Sent Friday 10 : 39am

"The christmas carnival was so much funner this year," your friend said, laughing. Then one hiccup escaped from her mouth. And then another one. Until you and your other friend bursted out laughing. "Not funny!"

"Yeah yeah. I still can't believe (Name) won that plushie from that shooting stall," your other friend said. He tossed another chip in his mouth, after finally calming down from his laughter.

"I'm surprised too. Those games are typically so rigged, I mean did you see the look on the owner's face though?" you said.

Holding up the little classic brown teddy bear, you admired it at all angles. Its red bow had a little bell hanging from the centre, jingling as you walked.

Its silly smile matched yours and then you noticed it. The small teddy's bowtie resembled the one Lyney wore in one of the pictures he sent. And the small envelope the size of your palm that the teddy held was a real one made of paper.

"(Name)? Whats wrong?"

"Nothing! I just realised my parents wanted me back at 10 and well its 11 so I have to go," you said with a bright smile, "Bye!"

"You live in a dorm though?" your friend countered, "(Name)!" But you were already walking out of the festival gates.

Picking out the small envelope, you brushed your thumb over the grooves of the wax seal. The same wax seal that you used for the last letter you sent. Did he really get the same stamp?

A mini rainbow rose fell out. The vibrant colours provided a stark contrast to the humid summer night. One letter. Five words. I love you, Mon cheri.

Your eyes widened and you nearly dropped the letter, fumbling with it for a bit. Taking in the cool nighttime breeze, you looked up only to see the person you hadn't talk to in a week standing only a few metres away from you.

Lyney held a bouquet of vibrant rainbow roses in one hand and the other behind his back.

"How are you..?" You took as step back, your gaze falling to the floor then back up at him again.

"I told you I'm a magician in one of my letters didn't I?" Lyney started, "I would appear anywhere if it was to be with you."

[gallantys]

Hi! First, English isn't my native language, please let me know about any grammar mistake. Second, this is supposed to be a Gn!reader, but I'm used of writing male!reader stuff, so please don't consider any pronoun if not gender neutral ones. This is only a... test- let's see how it will go and maybe I will keep writing it.

Sky of Lies

huh... these mortals...how adorable

Aren't you angry about this?

As long they keep up with the heavenly principles, why would I?

People of Fontaine was overjoyed to have the creator choosing their nation to reside in, the creator was different than expected. They seems tired, yet he still somewhat kind

Creator was definelly a quiet person, not really giving attention to any of their acolytes, they assumed they were tired and still weak for waking up of their slumb. Obsessed over a "key" that no one ever heard about, schoolers and adventures all around the whole Teyvat, mostly Akademiya's tried to discover about this mysterious key. Nahida even tried to look about it at Irmsul, while she could see that it existed, she couldn't see clearly what it was about. She could only see flashes of the creator in a place that looks like Celestia, the blurry image of them look at her direction, as if they can see her even if it happen thousands years ago... then Irmsul reject her power.

When the creator knew about it, they got frustrated cursing Celestia through their breath and rudely saying to Nahida to leave.

When the traveler finally see the creator, they were at Neuvillette's office as Creator was again asking if they had any progress about the investigation. Aether can't brush off the unsetting feeling, Paimon was strangely quiet, Aether and the Creator look at each other, Creator's eyes widens slightly..

Creator: Traveler! Finally! Have you possible heard of the key?

Paimon: Paimon don't remember seeing about it in our adventures

Creator: Maybe before it?

Paimon: Hm.. but Traveler dont remember nothing before he found Paimon, oh oh! and his sister too! Paimon wonders how this key looks like, your grace?

Creator: I dont know for sure, when i fell in my slumber, Celestia took it away and changed it. Im not sure anymore

Aether's expression was serious, yet he kept quiet... Paimon was answering for him. Neuvillette frowns was not noticeable... strange... Traveler was only silent when he was being used as a vessel for fhe Creator... but why would Aether be silent while talking to the Creator themselves... Paimon was different too, but Neuvillette couldnt point exactly what or why.

Neuvillette: Your grace, people all around Teyvat are searching. I'm sure we soon will be able to give what you search for.

Paimon: Why do you need this... "key" creator?

They keep silent for some seconds then finally answer:

To restore what was long lost...