#cuihua

[adorkabletwilightandfriends]

Feeling energized and ready to kite!!

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[luminouslumity]

So I just started this one and I'm really liking it, but this is probably my favorite scene so far! The music, the relief on Xiahou Dan's face when he realizes he isn't alone anymore! It's beautiful! Also, I just really love the energy of the two leads in general.

[nobodys-saviour]

i need more ywy and xhd content like im literally begging i need fanart i need fanfic i need fanvids 🖐️😭 iconic ship i love them

[alhaithams-big-naturals]

I need to make 54 photo frames and No One shall ask questions

[larkspyrr]

chapter i — we could form an attachment (wc. 4.9k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

The Opera Epiclese was almost always a circus — sometimes in the most literal sense of the word. But this event was on another level entirely.

The epicenter of Fontaine's rich history on Erinnyes played host to a menagerie of pastels, frills, cuffs, and nonsense. A sea of nobles and hopefuls swarmed the Court of Fontaine from Marcotte Station all the way to the Fountain of Lucine — a mass of the nation's wealthiest, most ambitious, and most eligible young people, escorted here and there by older family members with varying degrees of investment, twirling and sipping and gossiping.

The jets hidden within the overlapping layers of shallow pools spouted pillars of crystalline water, casting an almost imperceptible mist over the whole courtyard, granting it an ethereal charm and allure not befitting such fatuous rituals. A flood of rainbow roses, lumidouce bells, marcottes, and activated romaritimes bloomed raucously over every inch of the gardens, their aroma thick but not unpleasant, their petals offering a lush natural carpet for the venue — not that there was enough space between the milling crowd to appreciate it. Cuihua trees bursting with bulle fruit lined the perimeter, the little citruses begging to be picked, only protected by the unspoken high society rule that to do so would be unbecoming. A small quartet of violins stood before the fountain itself, playing a light-hearted and airy song to accompany the festivities, though not a soul was paying attention.

A few lucky (or conversely, unlucky) aristocrats may leave the Opera tonight with the promise of approaching nuptials and a happy future. Far more would simply leave with an impending hangover and some gossip on Baron Something-or-Other's latest romantic failings.

You took a dainty sip from your champagne flute. It would be more nauseating if it weren't so entertaining. You and Lady Furina seemed to have that in common — an enduring appreciation for the cyclical drama. You wondered absently if the Archon herself would make an appearance to stir something up. You hoped she would.

All the world's a stage, indeed.

You made your way across the courtyard, the click of your heels on the parquet stone drowned out by the throng; a nearby wide, stone planter in your sights. It would be as good a place as any for you to remain aloof and antisocial but still in sight of your father, who spared you a supervisory glance from where he stood with other noblemen, certainly discussing nothing of importance.

From your new perch, the noise and color and spectacle all were duller, easier to digest. You leaned against the marble and observed the sea of activity, daintily nursing your drink.

You were enjoying the time spent on your own when you heard a soft rustle of fabric to your right — a noise that would have been impossible to catch had you been any closer to the heart of the gathering. You turned in time to see a man you didn't recognize leaning against the same planter as you, looking for all the world as comfortable as if you'd invited him to be there.

You had not.

He didn't seem to belong there — that much was evident — and not just because he was an unfamiliar face. Tall and dark, his icy blue eyes were framed by a rush of thick, dark hair and a thin, crescent scar. Far from his only scar, by the looks of it — a complex network traveled down his neck and disappeared under his collar, intricate enough to rival the meticulous lacework that had cost your father a pretty mora at the boutique — despite your insistence that such costs were wholly unnecessary. The stranger's suit, a well-tailored gray and black ensemble, was partially obscured by a fussy, fur-lined coat. His burgundy tie was ever-so-slightly crooked, making your fingers twitch with the urge to adjust it. A desire no doubt born of the years you had been doing the very same for father.

Even under the warmth of the setting summer sun, he seemed to radiate a chill that brought goosebumps to your exposed arms.

If he'd ever been at an event before this one, there was no way you could have forgotten him. He seemed the type to linger in someone's mind long after he left a room.

He tilted a polite smile down at you.

"Good afternoon, miss," he greeted in a voice altogether too friendly to match his intimidating countenance.

"Charmed," you clipped. You gave him an appraising look, not rushing the path your eyes made up his frame, from the clunky boots, ill-suited for the occasion, to the silver streaks in his hair he didn't seem quite old enough for yet. He had the dignity not to cower under your inspection. "I'm afraid this flowerbed is occupied, sir. Please find your own."

His smile shifted and was clearly meant to look apologetic. You weren't convinced. "I'm afraid I can't."

You lifted a brow. If nothing else, this could be an entertaining interlude from the pomp and circumstance. "And why not?"

He cleared his throat, nodding in the direction of some hedges across the way. You flicked your eyes over discreetly, just in time to catch a head of blonde hair and another of jet curls disappearing behind the greenery, followed by stage whispers that surely they didn't think were quiet. Didn't they?

"You see," he began in a lower tone, clearly having better mastered the art of not being overheard than your spectators. "There is a gaggle of lovely but persistent young women in pursuit of me at this very moment, and I'd very much like to be engaged in conversation with someone else in order to postpone my torment. I'd be in your debt if you could look engrossed in this discussion for just long enough that they lose interest and find someone else to prey upon."

You hummed thoughtfully, watching now ginger curls leaning incautiously from behind the hedge, green eyes landing viciously on you and the interloper before vanishing once more. Just how many girls were hiding behind there?

"Oh?" you said, raising the glass to your lips with a smirk. "Not interested in sampling their scintillating conversation skills? Are you not here in search of a partner?"

"No, I'm not," he responded good-naturedly, running a hand through the artfully tousled sweep of his hair. "I have no intentions to marry at present."

You hmphed, twirling the flute in a gloved hand. "Yet here you are," you said, softly flicking the glass in his general direction, the tiny whirlpool you'd gotten going interrupted. You did not bother to conceal your skepticism. "Tolerating the vagaries of a high society debutante ball. And you'd tell a complete stranger this, because...?"

He leaned in, conspiratorial. "I am here as a matter of obligation only. Politics. Appearances. You understand." He returned back to his former stance, expression neutral, resting lazily against the polished marble. "Let's just say I'm sharp enough to recognize a kindred spirit when I see one."

You could feel yourself reflecting the same curiosity that danced in his eyes against your better judgment. This exchange was turning out to be interesting. "A kindred spirit, is it?"

"Indeed," he said. "Judging by the fact that you are also skulking in this corner and don't seem to have any more interest in mingling at this event than I do."

"I do not 'skulk'," you responded, unamused at his word choice. "And while I'd ask you to separate me from your assumptions, you aren’t incorrect. I'm also here only because it is expected of me."

He looked pleased with himself at your confirmation, and now dealt you the same appraisal you'd previously subjected him to with a calculating stare. You fought the urge to fidget under his evaluation, finding it beyond frustrating to have no idea what he was thinking behind his amicable yet inscrutable exterior. "Is that so? It is not often you see a noble lady uninvested in the affairs of the court."

You bristled, fighting the urge to furrow your eyebrows in a way you'd been told by many etiquette coaches was 'unflattering'. "There are greater aspirations to have beyond being a pretty little thing for some nobleman to set on his trophy shelf. Even for so-called 'noble ladies'."

He laughed then, a short, surprised burst. The sound was rich, reverberating in your bones. "My apologies. Please don't misunderstand, my curiosity tends to get the better of me. Indulge me?"

You sniffed, turning away from him once more to observe the hedge across the path — it seemed quiet enough now that the ladies within must have moved on like he'd hoped they would. Your chin lifted of its own accord as you flicked your eyes back to him. "I'm not interested in discussing my life aspirations with a man who lacks the good manners to even introduce himself first."

His mouth pulled up at one corner. "Are you sure the exchange of such confidential information would be of equal value?"

You held your stance, unfazed. "That will be for me to decide, sir."

"Very well." He inclined his head, an earnest hand pressed to his chest. "I am Wriothesley, Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

You felt the color leave your face and your fingers go dead cold. This man — the Duke of Meropide, of all things — watched cheerfully as you hurried into polite obeisance. Damn it all. You hadn't exactly been courteous with the man. "Your Grace. The honor is mine."

His eyes still shone with mirth as you straightened. "Please, no need for such formalities. My mistake for — ah, what was it you said?'' he pondered, eyes drifting off in mock thought as you waited, drenched in miserable anticipation. "Right! ‘Not having the good manners to introduce myself first’."

Your cheeks warmed and you forced back a rush of frustration with yourself. "My apologies, I — I meant no disrespect," you said, gathering your composure. "You are not at all what I pictured, Your Grace. I hadn't known you were to attend a society function here on the surface."

"Tragically, society functions below the Fontemer are in short supply," he said sardonically. "And please, don't apologize, it's not often one gets to enjoy a chat with a charming, spirited stranger. What's your name?"

You offer it with another small nod. "My father is the Viscount Vellerot."

As if on cue, you faintly heard your father's voice calling your name from somewhere amidst the hustle and bustle; evidently he'd lapsed in his duty as your chaperone — once again — and had lost track of you. You weren't sure what it was he may want, though; clearly something must have come up to remind him of his purpose at this party. That was generally the way of things.

You tended to prefer being forgotten.

"And that would be him calling for me now," you explained as you pushed yourself from the planter and stepped past him. "This flowerbed is all yours. It was a pleasure to hide from the gaggle of lovely women with you, Your Grace. Good luck avoiding them for the rest of the evening."

He chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. "The pleasure was all mine, my lady," he said. "But don't think I've forgotten our deal. You still owe me an answer."

With a vague smile and a polite curtsy, you disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the duke still leaning against the flowerbed.

Turns out, your father had only wished to introduce you to yet another son of yet another powerful acquaintance of his. His hopeful eyes as he sent the two of you off to dance only made it harder to turn the boy down, even if he were several years your junior and an entitled brat to boot. Your father truly only wanted your happiness, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him his efforts were in vain. This young noble wasn't the first you'd ever had to reject, and you unfortunately very much doubted he'd be the last — though you hoped he would, at least, be the last for that particular soirèe.

It turned out that would not be the case either, but you tried to keep an approximation of optimism anyway.

The one thing more sure than the line of people begging your attention — for want of your dowry and the association with your family, not anything to do with you, mind — was the tidal wave of whispers that had begun to take over the flow of the neverending gossip. It hadn't taken long for the news to spread —

Did you hear? This event has a special guest —

The Duke of Meropide is here? He must finally be looking for a duchess…

Come, Anne, allow me to introduce you to the duke. Fix your gloves, we want to make a good impression. Let me put this flower in your hair — maybe he will ask you for a dance!

Slowly, all the usual chirping melted away into one, resounding sentiment from all corners of the court — the Duke of Meropide is here, and he will be mine.

None of them knew what you did. You did your best to conceal your smile at the knowledge that all their posturing and peacocking was an investment in vain. Just as it was when their artless schemes were directed at you.

Afternoon melted into evening and you'd been idling away the hours, chatting to and dancing with and entertaining people who you didn't have the privilege to inform were wasting their time with you, longing to be anywhere else.

You finally seized enough of an opening to flee the courtyard proper for a moment of respite in a blooming hedge maze, as the gathering at the top of the grand stone steps was dying down and getting ready to migrate to the beautiful, opulent expanse of the Icewind Suite for the evening's grand finale. You found a remote, hidden spot and sat heavily, removing a shoe so you could massage the soles of your aching, overworked feet.

A branch snapped nearby and you whipped your head in its direction, heart thundering, to find the individual responsible for interrupting your moment of rest.

You should have known.

"We meet again," said the duke with a dip of his head.

"We do indeed," you said from where you were seated, letting your foot drop. Even in the dim lighting of the garden, you could see the man looked worn. Delight pulled at your lips at his evident misfortune. "Enjoying your evening?"

He sighed, a long, drawn-out, heartfelt sound. "Can't say that I am," he admitted.

You smiled ruefully. "That makes two of us. These events are nothing if not a test of our constitution." A yawning silence expanded between you and you slipped your heel back on, standing with a small stretch. You brushed down your dress. "I will return to the group. I really shouldn't be seen here with you without my chaperone, Your Grace. It wouldn't be proper."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever get fatigued by these stuffy, outdated rules?"

"Every day," you said wryly. "But the rules still exist, and I have a reputation to uphold. I can't be thought to have been compromised. There are always sharp eyes waiting for someone to slip."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, keen eyes glinting, in a gesture all too calculating for your liking. "Why risk coming out here alone at all?" he asked. "What if a person with bad intentions were to come looking for you? Someone who might wish to 'compromise' you?"

"A person other than you?" you retorted. "All I know of your intentions is that they do not include marriage, yet here you are anyway. Who's to say what your intentions truly are?"

He frowned. "Point taken," he conceded. "Though I assure you, they are nothing untoward. You didn't answer my question."

Your smile was scornful. "Fear not, Your Grace, for I am quite sure no one at this party could present any real physical threat to me. Of course, we are all always subject to the whims of the rumor mill, and I'm afraid that could do much more damage to me than any wealthy man in tights ever could."

His lips twitched in amusement. "Physical?" he remarked. "You grow more intriguing with every word."

"I am quite skilled, sir, both with a sword and without," you replied, a proud tilt to your chin.

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "That brings our deal back to mind. What is it you'd do instead, if not play along with these society games?"

You considered him for a long moment. His curiosity seemed genuine. You saw no reason to lie or disguise the truth. "I'd become a Champion Duelist."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before his smile broadened. "How about that?"

Your eyes narrowed, leaning forward into his space just slightly. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," he assured with a dismissive wave and a light, surprised laugh. "Just caught off guard."

You huffed and leaned back, allowing the remainder of your defensiveness to drain away. "Miss Clorinde is an acquaintance of my father, as it sometimes seems everyone in Fontaine is," you said, dry. "She has been gracious enough to join me in training from time to time. Of course, that will slow considerably during the social season while I trade in my boots for heels and my fencing ripostes for verbal ones."

He looked lost in thought for a moment. "I knew nothing about the aristocracy before receiving my title — it wasn't part of the curriculum for urchins, believe it or not. But in all my studies since, I've never once heard of a member of the inherent nobility leaving their seat for such a role."

"There is a first for all things," you said airily. "I had forgotten you come from, uh, humble beginnings. Your studies must have been quite intensive."

"I do, and they were. They still are. There's a lot about all of this I still find kinda baffling. My 'humble beginnings' are unfortunately part of the reason I have to make appearances this season," he said, tone ringing resentful. "It seems not all of our peers are pleased that a former… commoner with an honorary title is in the position I'm in. There are those interested in incorporating the Fortress as an official Fontainian entity — a government-managed facility. The question of my legitimacy is only helping their case when I haven't participated at court in any formal capacity as Duke."

You pondered his words for a moment. "So the rumors are true? This truly is your first time ever attending a society function?"

He nodded, his nose wrinkling with distaste. "It is, and it seems no amount of reading could have prepared me for it. The Iudex suggested that making a point of looking for a wife of noble birth, genuine or otherwise, might be enough to keep the wolves at bay, at least until the nobility votes to solidify or dissolve the Fortress of Meropide's autonomy, and by extension, my position as its administrator. He said if I wished to sway the vote my way, then I'd have to convince them I belong." He grimaced. "And that I’d have to consider making some sacrifices to do so.”

"I can't say that I'm surprised," you said. "These people value one thing above all else — their own superiority. Anything that threatens that, threatens them. If you were to form a connection with a strong family, the fuss would surely die down. No one wants to be on the bad side of those more powerful than they are."

The duke hummed. "Then Lord Thibeault must think he is very threatened indeed. I've been feeling a bit like a fish quite literally out of water. Would it be improper of me to say I miss my fortress?"

You snorted, unladylike. "He's the ring leader? Lord Thibeault must have far too much time on his hands if he is available to cause as much trouble as he does."

"You're familiar?"

"'Familiar' is one way of putting it. Lord Thibeault is a busybody and a wretch. He can't bear to see anything fresh or interesting shake up his beloved court or upset the status quo he holds so dear."

"So it seems," the duke said thoughtfully, letting a quiet beat pass. "Your aspiration was a pleasant surprise. Thank you for sharing it with me."

"It is only a secret by necessity," you sighed. "Not because I'd like it to be. What was your expectation?"

"I didn't have any expectations,” he said. His mouth curved into a roguish grin. “Never do. That's what makes the wait so good. I love cliffhangers."

You laughed. "I'd hate to have kept you in suspense. Sadly, the endless cycles of dancing and tea and etiquette classes will leave me little time to continue my training over the coming months, so my dream will remain just that: a dream."

"Why do you do it, then?” he asked, cocking his head. “Continue enduring all this nonsense?"

"As I said before, it is my duty,” you said slowly, wilting. A familiar feeling of defeat sank into your bones. “It would set a bad precedent if I didn't. I have two younger sisters and my father is a good man who only wants us to be happy, but he is getting on in years and... well. If I were to dishonor our family by abandoning them before they were situated, I could never forgive myself."

His eyebrows drew together and you could see his gears turning. "That's why you continue to take part?"

"Yes. I just need to somehow find a way to avoid any... obligations until they are in safe, happy situations, and then maybe I can be free. They are only just behind me in years, so it won't be that long. If all goes according to plan, a few years, maybe. Otherwise, as there is no male heir, my sisters would be at the next Viscount Vellerot's mercy when my father passes, whoever he may be once he is named. I will not risk their futures for my own selfishness."

The duke frowned. "I don't think wanting to pursue what would make you happy should be considered selfish."

You shrugged. "Nevertheless, if I want to make sure my sisters are taken care of, I likely will eventually need to secure the hand of a respectable man, my own wishes be damned,” you sighed. “I suppose I just can’t help but to naively hope for something more."

He looked to be lost in thought, arms crossed in front of his chest, tapping a considering finger on his chin, a tap-tap-tap that set your teeth on edge and filled your with a sense of foreboding. His eyes, looking at something far off in the distance, eventually focused back on your own as he came to some hidden conclusion in his mind.

"And what of a duke?" he offered.

You blinked, your mind hurrying to understand the implication of his words, yet failing to do so. "Something on your mind, Your Grace?"

"I have a proposition for you."

You looked at him intently. "And what would that be? This isn't going to be another ill-fated proposal, is it?” you scolded. “I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that."

"Oh, not at all," he said, dangerous eyes holding yours in a vice grip. "We could pretend to form an attachment."

You found yourself temporarily at a loss for words. You heard him, knew the meaning of each word in solitude, but strung together in such a fashion they felt like mismatching puzzle pieces, the completed landscape out of reach. "What do you mean?"

He began to pace in the small clearing, gesturing with his arms as he unfolded the inner workings of his mind. "We are both uninterested in marriage and yet forced to give the impression that we are. I need the lords and ladies of the court to believe I have found my duchess to cement my legitimacy as the duke until we secure the Fortress of Meropide’s autonomy. You need them to believe that you are searching for a respectable husband to maintain your, and by extension, your family's good reputation until your sisters have found happy matches. Who could be more suited to our respective needs than each other?"

"You're suggesting a ruse?" you whispered, scandalized. “Are you crazy?”

"Perfectly sane,” he continued. “What I'm suggesting is that we let the people believe we are precisely what we are — respectably off-the-market."

You began to shake your head in disbelief, wanting to back away but finding your legs refusing to obey your command. "Your proposition is ridiculous."

"It's perfect,” he said with conviction. “What better way is there to keep the wolves at bay than to lower the gates? Plus — you understand more about how to blend into society than I could ever hope to, and let's just say that with my background, I could offer a hand in your training. We can help each other.”

“The season won’t last forever,” you pointed out. "And when autumn comes around?"

"Oh, that’s the beauty of it. We go our separate ways," he said, eyes gleaming like he was telling an inside joke no one in Teyvat other than the two of you could ever understand. "It didn't work out! It happens."

You laughed, incredulous, an unfamiliar feeling beginning to fill your chest.

"There are sure to be reporters for the Steambird here,” he said. “One dance in the Icewind Suite, and you and I will be the cover story of tomorrow's paper. Then, no one will touch us."

You blinked, running through every possible outcome and scenario in your mind, but — steadily, the pros began to outweigh the cons. You could continue your training. You would have to invest significantly less of your time at these Celestia-forsaken events and not sacrifice anything for either yourself or your sisters in the process. A smile crept onto your lips as the feeling in your chest reached a crescendo — it was hope, a happy, buoyant feeling you were always afraid to let yourself feel.

"This really could work, couldn’t it?" you asked softly.

His smile looked truly genuine for the first time that evening as he offered you his arm. "It will work."

Your arm was looped through the duke's as you made your way down the stairs towards the Icewind Suite, the path lined with lit lamp posts and romaritimes and gawking attendees. The hydro blooms were releasing an array of colorful, opalescent bubbles into the cooling night air, making the latest turn of events feel even more surreal than they already did. The usual residents of the Suite were nowhere to be seen, likely decommissioned, their eternal waltz paused so they could make room for the evening's closing event — and some select charades.

The crowd hushed as you stepped past, a wave of quiet rolling downwards, and you could feel the weight of dozens of curious eyes on you. With each step, arm in arm with the duke, it seemed that more and more attention broke away to hone in on you. You wondered vaguely if your father was anywhere among them — you wondered what he thought. You managed to spot Lord Thibeault in the throng — a disapproving scowl pulled at his wizened face.

Finally, the two of you reached the ground, the shimmering sea of polished marble spread out before you, empty but for the reflection of the night sky in its depths. It waited for you, the symbol of a successful evening of new partnerships and futures to be shared. You’d seen many a pair spin upon this floor — never once had it been you. You had never intended for it to ever be you.

All the world’s a stage, after all.

The duke gently shifted your body so that the two of you were facing one another. He bowed, an elegant bending of his knees and lowering of his head, far more graceful than a man who had his history etched into his skin should be capable of. He made it look effortless.

Icy blue seized you as he straightened back up, eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly at the corners. "Might I have this dance?" he asked, holding out a hand.

His mirror, you curtsied, slow and deliberate. You smiled, a small and surreptitious thing, and placed your gloved hand in his. "You may. Don't trip on your feet now, Your Grace. Rule number one for fitting into high society — you must be as graceful and confident in a ballroom as you are on a battlefield."

He pulled you in closer; too close to be strictly proper. "Call me Wriothesley. We want this to be convincing, don’t we?” he murmured into your ear. Another pulse of low whispers spread throughout the spectators as a few more pairs joined you on the Icewind Suite. “And you wound me, my lady. I think you will find my performance to be more than satisfactory.”

You swallowed thickly. "That remains to be seen, Wriothesley. Let's hope you can convince them better than you can me."

The grand ballroom and every last soul within held their breath as the duke placed a rough, scarred hand on the small of your back. You could feel the weight of it through layers of thin lace and silk as you wove your free hand under his arm and anchored it against the back of his broad shoulder. Your fingers on his back felt inexplicably cold, but the rest of your body burned hot. Your heart pounded. Your eyes locked onto his. Time came to a standstill.

“I intend to,” he said.

The music began to play, and you allowed him to lead.

a/n: so here she is!! i am really excited to get into this one, and i know there was a bit borrowed here from bridgerton itself, tho i promise this is where most of the direct similarities will end. i simply wanted to pay homage to where this idea initially came from <;3 hope you all enjoy

i didn't initially plan to have a taglist for this one, but if there are enough requests for one, i'll consider it. if anyone knows of a better way to notify people when i update (besides pointing them to ao3, anyway) im all ears

til next time!

[qilingxiong]

Quickly translated this segment for someone earlier this evening, so here, have Fang Duobing coping exceedingly well at having to share Li Lianhua's undivided attention with a small child (JXWLHL Yipin Tomb arc, Chapter 2):

Inside the Xiaoyue Inn, Fang Duobing very stressedly sat and watched Li Lianhua walk back and forth— he was carrying the innkeeper's wife's son, and had been walking around the room for a very long time. If he stopped, the child would let out a howl and start crying. "Is that your son?"

"No." Li Lianhua continued to hold the child, who hadn't grown into anything that could be considered cute, lightly patting his head.

"If he's not your son, then what are you doing humouring him?" Li Lianhua was simply going to drive Fang Duobing insane. "I've already sat here for one shichen. This young master is very busy with lots of things to attend to each day, and I travelled from far away to find you at this little place. As it turns out, you've spent a shichen coaxing someone else's son in front of me."

"Cuihua went out." Li Lianhua pointed out the door. "She left to go buy soy sauce, and her son had no one to look after him..."

"There are so many widows in this world with no one to look after their sons, why don't you just go marry one of them?" Fang Duobing glared at him, pounding a fist down on the table. "I'm telling you now, FoBiBaiShi assigned me a task to complete. It's to do with the Iron-Boned Warrior Wu Guang and the Faceless Killer Murong Wuyan. If you don't come with me to investigate whoever murdered them, then this young master will kill you immediately."

He looked at Li Lianhua threateningly. "Are you coming or not? If you don't, I'll kill you immediately!"

"Wu Guang can die?" Li Lianhua jumped with fright. "Murong Wuyan, too?"

"Even Li Xiangyi and Di Feisheng could die, who are these two people compared to them?" Fang Duobing looked impatiently at the child Li Lianhua was carrying, smacking the table and yelling: "How damn long are you going to keep holding someone else's son?"

[nerd-haitham]

childe - hatefucking

tw: rough sex, Qixing subordinate fem!reader, enemies to lovers!au, hair pulling, face slapping, biting, scratching, cursing, manhandling, degradation, unprotected sex, mentions of breeding, semi-public sex - minors dni or you'll be blocked.

scribe's note: I hate childe so much I'd fuck him senseless.

taglist: @aliceu @suave-ayato

©nerd-haitham, 2023. No reposting allowed. No translations allowed without permission.

"Fucking Qixing bitch."

"S-Snezhnayan asshole."

Childe grips your chin, keeping you trapped between his body and the heavy Cuihua desk of the Northland Bank headquarters, rapidly pumping his cock in and out of your pussy.

"You have some fucking nerve, showing up in here and - fuck- demanding for the Fatui to pay for the harbor damages" his hips thrusting in you violently, each jut throwing another hefty pouch of Mora on the floor, "But you're just a needy little bitch for my dick" he grins right in your face.

You manage to raise your arm, slapping him sharply and making him gasp, giving him zero time to recuperate when you pull his hair, face to face with your seething eyes.

"Just because you're a H-Harbinger doesn't mean you have f-full power in Liyue" you bare your teeth, your nails scratching Childe's muscular back, sinking your pearly whites into his shoulder, making him groan in pain, which morphs into a low moan.

"Well, I definitely have full power over your fucking pussy, bitch" he pins your arms on the desk with his hands, doubling the speed of his thrusts, the squelching noises of your soaked pussy and your shared moans bouncing off the walls of the headquarters - you're sure Childe's subordinates have heard everything at this point.

"What? No snarky remark? Nothing?" he chuckles and traps your wrists above your head, his free hand gripping your chin again.

"C-Childe-"

"Yeah, that's more like it, doll" he purrs against your neck, scraping his teeth against your neck.

"Keep moaning my name like that and I'll be generous enough to send you back to your Lady with your cunt full of my cum - like the other times."

[tamrielic]

pairing – thoma × gn!reader

fandom | media – genshin impact

word count – 1,595・AO3

summary – you’re feeling miserable, and thoma wants to do everything he can to help!

tags﹠warnings – fluff・hurt/comfort・tooth–rotting fluff・thoma is a ray of sunshine・worried thoma・references to depression・reader is depressed・thoma is here to help

originally posted on – 11/12/2022

author’s note (11/12/2022) – i wrote this for one of my closest and most beloved besties because they’ve been going through it lately and struggling with life, and i figured i’d post it on here too just in case it’s able to provide anyone else with comfort! hopefully it’s vague enough in most aspects to do so! also this is my first time even attempting to write thoma so i really hope i did our beloved perfect malewife justice!

The sunset makes the sky appear as though it’s on fire, and you admire the view as you watch the cuihua and aralia leaves flutter through the breeze from the window seat in the room the Kamisato siblings so graciously assigned to you.

Pressing your forehead against the chilled glass, you close your eyes and sigh, your body and mind feeling heavy with fatigue.

You hear the door open and close but don’t bother to turn and look; you know who it is, you’d recognize those footsteps anywhere.

Warm hands come to rest on your shoulders, lightly massaging them as you feel him press a soft kiss to the top of your head in greeting.

“Hi, Thoma,” you murmur, leaning back into him and feeling his warm chest press to your back.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he chuckles, bending over you just enough for you to glimpse his gorgeous green eyes, always full of love for you.

“Done already?” You inquire, surprised that he’s managed to get through all of his usual evening chores and duties so quickly – it wasn’t even dark out yet, and he usually wasn’t finished until after night had fallen.

Thoma hums, nuzzling his face into your hair and breathing you in. “Mhm, I made sure to work extra hard today and hurry so I could be with you.”

Turning to face him instead of the window, you raise an eyebrow at him. “Be with me?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I want to spend time with you?” He questions, meeting your raised brow with one of his own.

“I don’t know, I’ve been kind of a bummer lately,” you shrug, looking down to avoid his gaze.

His ungloved hand grasps your chin, gently tilting your head back up to meet his eyes.

“I disagree, you’ve just been feeling down, but you should know by now that I always want to spend time with you, bummer or not,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours, a small smile on his lips.

You can’t help but to return his smile, reaching up to wrap your arms around him.

“How do you always know what to say, hm?”

“Oh, you know, just having known you for a while… and maybe the fact that I’m ridiculously in love with you, that may help too,” he winks at you, laughing when you scrunch up your nose at him.

His laugh never fails to make you feel warm and fuzzy inside, and your smile grows.

“Hm, I guess that makes sense,” you murmur, eyes shimmering with emotions left unsaid.

Reaching to cradle your face in his hands, he presses a sweet, insistent kiss upon your lips.

“I’m so lucky to be in love with one of the most beautiful and wonderful people in the world, wouldn’t you say?”

Shrugging, you covered his hands with your own. “I’m in love with the most perfect man to ever exist, so who’s really winning here?”

Thoma laughs again, nuzzling his nose against yours and brushing his thumbs across your cheekbones, not commenting on your misty eyes.

“I’m hardly perfect… but I’m glad you think so, sweetheart,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

Inhaling deeply, you slowly stand up, bringing your now clasped hands down between you.

“So did you have plans, or did you just miss me so desperately you needed to hurry?” You tease, tilting your head and trying to hide the small shake in your voice.

Gently walking backwards, guiding you to sit on the plush bed, he brushes your hair out of your face and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I was thinking, if you wanted to, we could cuddle up with some hot tea and read together?”

You nod, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

He smiles softly at you, squeezing your hands before stepping away. “I’ll be right back then, dear.”

It takes every ounce of willpower you have to not start crying as soon as he’s out of sight.

It always gets like this around your birthday, you are always overcome with an intense bout of depression and this year was unfortunately worse than usual.

You scooch back to set up the pillows so you can lean against the headboard comfortably, hugging your knees to your chest as you wait and trying not to get lost in your head.

Sooner than you expected, Thoma comes back into the room balancing a tray of tea with one hand and holding a tin of something in the other.

Nodding at the tin, you raise your brows in question.

Smiling sheepishly, he places the tea tray on the side table and shrugs.

“I just figured you might like something sweet, it’s okay if you don’t though!”

Your bottom lip shakes as you are once again hit with how perfect Thoma is, and how you don’t deserve him.

Suddenly there is a weight right beside you, hands holding yours and lifting them up to press soft kisses to your fingers.

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong? Is it the cookies? I’m sorry, I can get you something else, maybe Miss Kamisato–”

“I’m a failure and I don’t deserve you,” you blurt out, choking down a sob as the tears that have been building up all day finally escape and run down your face.

Thoma just stares at you for a brief moment, seemingly processing what you’ve said before he starts shaking his head, frowning.

“What are you talking about, sweetheart? You’re not a failure at all, and of course you deserve me!” He insists, staring into your teary eyes earnestly.

“I just feel like I should be better by now, you know? I’m happy that the Kamisato’s are willing to house me, and it allows us to be together more, but I…” you breathe shakily, staring at your hands that he’s still holding, gripping onto you near desperately at this point.

“I just feel like a burden, a failure. I should be doing something more with my life than just helping keep accounts straight for the trade routes,” you finish, glancing up at him to find him observing you closely.

Thoma takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

“Okay, do you want me to help and reassure you, or do you just need to vent it out?” He asks softly, squeezing your hands in assurance.

You shrug, unable to get more words out through the silent crying.

He nods resolutely, glancing down at your hands and biting his lip before looking back up and meeting your eyes with determination.

“First of all… you’re amazing, and so smart, and you make me feel so proud of you every day for the tiniest things you do,” he murmurs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Secondly, you’re not a burden at all, my lord and lady Kamisato adore you almost as much as I do and love having you here, you’re practically family!”

You’ve fully given up on trying to stop crying, tears running down your hot cheeks as you take shaky breaths to try to calm yourself down, now overwhelmed with both despair and happiness.

“I love you, so much that I feel like I’m going to explode sometimes, and so if you’re unhappy we can look into you doing something different!” He insists, caressing your face with his hands and brushing your tears away as his open, honest eyes captivate you.

“I know it’s a lot, and your feelings are very valid, but we can do our best to figure things out together, if that’s something you’d want?”

Nodding, you can’t help but to let out a watery laugh that causes a gorgeous smile to light up Thoma’s face.

Pulling you close to him, he presses light kisses all over your face, chuckling when you groan.

“Ew, Thoma, I’ve been crying!” You exclaim, gently pushing his face away with one hand, trying to cover up your teary and mildly snotty face with the other in embarrassment.

Shaking his head at you with a fond smile, he reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the box of tissues to hand to you.

Immediately grabbing a bunch and cleaning your face as best you can, you finally look back up at him with a flustered smile.

Moving to press up against you as he leans down and goes back to fluttering kisses across your face with a smitten grin, you can’t help but soak in the tiny declarations of love that he’s pressing to your skin.

Eventually he pulls away after pressing a final kiss to the tip of your nose and tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ears.

Sighing, you lean your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat firmly against your ear.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to practically be on top of him as he rubs your back with one hand and runs his fingers through your hair with the other, beginning to hum a quiet tune.

“The tea’s gonna get cold,” you whisper, nuzzling your head between his neck and shoulder.

Chuckling softly, he doesn’t move. “It’s not a problem, we can stay like this for however long you need, okay?” He murmurs, and you love how you can feel his voice in his chest when he’s got you pressed to him like this.

“Okay,” you reply, eyes drifting closed as you’re lulled to sleep by Thoma’s presence and the release of emotions you just experienced. “I love you.”

You feel him smile from where his face is pressed to the top of your head.

“I love you too, sweetheart, and I always will.”

[gaoau]

慈

uncarved wood note — happy birthday bass word count — 1.2k

next.

from the top of Wangshu Inn, Xiao traces his eyes over rivulets and rocks, the imperfect beauty of nature he sometimes allows himself to indulge in. with a quiet sigh, he looks down at the wooden statue on his lap. although unfinished and broken, with half a beak and splinters he keeps brushing off, it's charming. he's seen birds of this rich, warm auburn color in the wild multiple times. it's truly beautiful, almost a replica that could start chirping in his palms. 

he's the first to admit he lacks knowledge in wood-carving, so he won't speak on what he doesn't know of, but he nonetheless sees the care and expertise this small statue has been made with. unfinished, imperfect, in-between a fallen tree and a soaring bird.

it's the most he deserves.

humanity is fascinating, albeit fragile and fleeting. he's always been quite curious about these creatures, about the undeniable beauty in their drive and senses. something so finite, a whistled tune gone with the wind, half a second of blinking in an abyss of change. Xiao, however, isn't human—he's an animal, a warrior, a weapon, and he would never fault anyone who rightfully uses his capabilities to clean up weeds in a garden.

his thoughts drift as he listens to the rustling leaves blending with the birds' singing. he recalls the look in that human's eyes as they blinked up at him—whether in awe or horror, he's never sure. he was quite surprised to find them so grateful, so eager to grin at him, so nervous and flushed as they insisted he took the statue.

he wonders who or what it was planned to be for. it certainly wasn't for him. it was just a coincidence, merely a roll of the dice which landed him on an open field where they were carving. the statue is his now, having ended up in his possession, because where else would something rough and not worth much find a home if it's not in his hands?

[Name] knows better than to zone out in an open field, and although they would warn their friends to stay alert, they rarely take their own advice. there's no danger, of course, and if something comes, they'll be able to react in time. they don't know how long they've been here, sitting on the grass, carving away at the piece of cuihua wood they've been carrying since their trip to Mondstadt.

judging by the state of the bird coming to life in their hands, it's been well over two hours. as they debate if they should take a break (which they should), they barely manage to catch the sound of an abyss mage approaching. by the time they do react, their movements are sloppy and frantic.

they spring to their feet, hopping away to put some distance between the two. the bird statue they've been steadily chipping away at slips from their fingers and bounces on the grass. they cringe, but they'd rather concern themself with not getting killed for now. disoriented, they ready their stance to fight back.

miraculously, the archons seem to be smiling down on [Name] today. they gawk in awe at the man that steps in before them, swinging his spear in a swift, skillful movement to strike down the threat. the air leaves their lungs in one quiet breath of, "woah…" as they scan the stranger's back, so broad and intimidating. from fungal rot building kaleidoscopes inside tree bark to intoxicatingly fragrant flowers, they have never seen a person so phenomenally beautiful.

not to mention that he just saved them from their own stupidity.

when he turns to assess the damage, [Name] feels their mouth go dry. the sun stares back at them, golden and entrancing in a blank face. once he finds this human is safe and sound, his work here is done and Xiao decides to take his leave. he stops, however, the broken bird statue on the grass catching his eye.

he takes it upon himself to pick it up and hand it back to its maker. they don't budge, far too stunned to even register him stepping closer. "you dropped this," he tries, hoping his voice won't scare them further.

it works. "oh!" [Name] shakes their head to rattle their brain back into consciousness. they almost recoil when they see Xiao expectantly waiting for them to grab the piece of wood. "oh, thank you." their fingers fumble, but they manage to take it, hands trembling.

"it's my job," he replies bluntly, "thanks aren't necessary."

their tongue fumbles, too. "still, though!" they exclaim a little louder than intended. the blood pumping from their pounding heart rushes to their cheeks and neck. it's so warm and the breeze does little to ease their nerves. "thank you. you saved my ass—i mean! you saved me, so… thanks. for saving me."

Xiao barely blinks, quiet. he really doesn't need any thanks. he's only doing what he always has.

at his daunting silence, [Name] hurries to come up with anything. "here." they offer the bird he just handed to them, and it only dawns on them a second too late. it's not only unfinished, but its beak snapped off when they dropped it earlier. they swallow the lump of embarrassment in their throat. "it's… not worth much—" an understatement, "—but as a token of my gratitude. thank you for saving me."

for a moment, Xiao considers that the look in [Name]'s eyes might not be fear and apprehension after all. yes, he admits, he's an animal, but even animals understand kindness and gratitude.

[Name] feels cold sweat running down their forehead and accumulating in their palms. if the ground would swallow them, they'd be forever grateful. they take a step closer to him, almost daring to force the bird into his hands. "i know it's not very pretty as it is and the beak just snapped off and it's not even finished, but please, take it. please."

it feels like he doesn't have much of a choice. Xiao nods his head (and [Name] swears they heard what they think can be called a small hum). when he takes the wooden statue, his fingers grazing over theirs, he catches sight of fading scars littering their skin like badges of knowledge.

his eyes flicker back to theirs. with a small piece of advice to stay alert, he vanishes into a green cloud before [Name] can get another word in. they take a moment to recompose themself, fanning their burning cheeks with their hand. a second longer and they might have forgotten how to breathe.

Xiao never knew wood could be so beautiful, with its intricate ripples unique to each slab. it's curious, he thinks, the same way he finds humans to be so interesting. call it pity, love, compassion, curiosity—he would rather not speak too much on it.

he's willing to come to anyone who seeks his help, that much is true, that much he has been doing for millenia. the bird statue, the gratitude he understands and appreciates, is rough and incomplete—or so he tells himself, because he can't find himself fitting anywhere else. he hides in the gaps of stillness and quietness, afraid that once he steps out, the trees will rot in his presence and no one will ever carve statues out of such intricately beautiful wood again.

[minsarasarahair]

The author sure love CEO character stereotype and both of them are not married before they transmigrated.

In the novel, both Zhang San(his real name, the person behind the tyrant Xiahou Dan) and Lou Zhu are not into social media as well. Lou Zhu is not familiar with internet memes until he transmigrated. He learned later because of boredom and he probably learned it from fellow transmigrators who went missing after he sent them to the palace. Zhang San says he prefer "to get rich quietly". Zhang San stated he has family but no home while Lou Zhu never talk about his family so I just assumed he's a career-oriented guy who's alone or indenpendent all his life before the transmigration.

How did they transmigrated Zhang San = Currently in vacation in his cruise ship and drinking champagne. While playing in his phone, he found the novel because of pop-up ad. Lou Zhu = He forgot to look at traffic lights while crossing the street so a car hit him instantly. Later in extra story, it was revealed that before the incident he defeated his business nemesis over something and this nemesis told him to be careful to vehicles when crossing the street. Implied murder.

Their ships Zhang San & Wang Cuihua = CEO x Employee Lou Zhu & Zuo Yunqi = CEO x Bodyguard

[apopcornkernel]

just one (hold your breath)

[AO3] T, 1.4k words. no warnings apply.

Ningguang/Yelan — An exchange of intelligence between the Tianquan and her topmost spy.

tags: #tension and wanting and the useless repression of desire, #you know the usual poppy fic themes

A knock at the door. “Lady Ningguang.” It’s Baixiao. “A Miss Yelan here to see you.”

Ningguang’s eyes flick up from the report she’s studying, but her expression is passive otherwise. “Enter.”

There’s a murmuring outside the door, and then it opens with grace, the sharp clicking of Yelan’s heels heralding her entrance.

“Miss Yelan.”

Yelan’s smile is oh-so-sly. “Lady Ningguang.”

Behind her, Baixiao has closed the door, but Ningguang maintains her studied indifference for a moment more. Cooly, she says, “What can I do for you?”

“Many, many things.” Yelan’s eyes glitter with amusement. “Although the first would be to properly introduce me to your staff. It is quite humiliating to have to remind them of my name each time.”

Ningguang snorts, abandoning her aloofness at last. “And how are they to remember your name when you, more likely than not, come dressed as a completely different person?”

“It only says something about the incapability of your little ducklings.” Yelan sniffs. “And anyways I own Yanshang Teahouse now. You’d think they’d know me at least.”

“Don’t sulk. And don’t lie either—I know you like the anonymity.”

Yelan rolls her eyes. “Yes, my lady.”

“What do you have for me today, Yelan?”

Yelan grins. “Guess.”

Ningguang sets her papers down and raises an imperious eyebrow.

“...or not,” Yelan mutters. “Fine. Be that way.”

From seemingly nowhere, Yelan produces a narrow sheaf of little slips and hands them over to Ningguang. Ningguang’s gold-wrought nail guards graze Yelan’s fingertips when she grasps for the papers, and Ningguang carefully ignores the shiver that runs through Yelan at the touch.

“Hmm.” Ningguang flips through the crude notes, graciously allowing Yelan time to recompose herself. There is no place for this in the great endeavor of ruling Liyue. “So you did manage to get your hands on proof of Snezhnayan collusion. All signed with their own seals as well. Impressive.”

Ningguang won’t ask how Yelan procured both the documents and the seals. For her peace of mind, and most importantly, for plausible deniability.

Yelan’s smile has returned to its fullest extent of cat-that-ate-the-canary. “Yes. We’ve long suspected that Kandinsky Holdings had a hand in Lu Xiang’s abrupt market domination, and I finally have our evidence. If you give me a little more time, I can make a quick trip to Snezhnaya and dig deeper for ties to the Fatui.”

Ningguang sets the papers down with more force than necessary. Her nails are gouging little indents in the parchment. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

Yelan only laughs. “Relax, sunlight. The Ninth couldn’t even begin to handle me.”

“I am certainly not worried,” Ningguang starts, but Yelan’s already waved her off.

“Your eyes are tight, your jaw is clenched, I could go on—although honestly, I’d rather not tell you more. I like being able to read you so easily.” Yelan rounds her desk, leans her hip against the heavy cuihua edge. “So what will it be? Do I have your authorization or what?”

Ningguang cuts her a look of barely withheld displeasure. “You are well aware that there are official channels for this, yes?”

Yelan huffs. “Oh, please. Since when did we work that way?”

“I just don’t like,” Ningguang says, “you spending so much time in the territory of the enemy. With the enemy. And not one who’s managed to get his hands on your other jade bracelet.”

“Ha.” The smile Yelan gives her is bittersweet. “Well. The things we all sacrifice for this country.”

Some more than most, Ningguang does not say. But she does allow herself to steal a glance at the little copper mirror perched atop her desk, silently mapping out the face that follows her in waking and in sleeping. The copper overlays everything with a gold-brown sheen, but Ningguang can still discern the newly-acquired coat that hangs like mountain snow on Yelan’s shoulders, and the midnight hair that remains resolutely asymmetrical. Yelan brute-forces her way into being fashionable, and she has never ceased to pull it off.

Ningguang blinks, and quite suddenly Yelan is looking back at her through the mirror. No beaten copper surface can stifle those eyes of narrowed, burning jade.

“You know,” Yelan says abruptly, “I never did get back to you about my extra compensation. Hazard pay and all that.”

“You are already paid far higher than the majority of my employees.”

“I am, yes.” Yelan lets a beat of silence pass. Then: “But I’m not after monetary gain.”

Ningguang cannot tear her eyes away from Yelan’s in the mirror. It’s as if she’s being kept in place by some black spell. “Oh?”

“Mm.” Yelan’s hand slides over the low back of her wooden chair, and the shift in position lets her lean closer over Ningguang, whisper into her ear. “There are other ways to reimburse me.”

“Hm,” Ningguang says. “Really.”

“Of course.” Yelan’s fingers touch her chin, tilt Ningguang’s head so that her gaze meets Yelan’s. “You need only ask, my lady.”

“Ask,” Ningguang scoffed. “Me? Ask?”

Yelan shrugged. “I had to at least try.”

“Don’t.”

Yelan smiles, and uses the very tip of her thumb to draw Ningguang’s lower lip down. “We’ll see about that.”

“Nothing of worth will come from this.” Ningguang’s voice is hoarse with all that she denies herself. “You do know this, yes?”

Because Ningguang knows: This way lies only ruin. Ruin upon ruin upon ruin, and the shivering abyss of all that’s been left unsaid between them.

“I do know.” Yelan’s so close that Ningguang can count her lashes. “The difference, Lady Ningguang, is that I am willing to pay the price. Are you?”

Yes, she thinks. “No,” she says.

Yelan lets out a not-quite sigh, hot breath puffing against her lips. “I don’t know what I expected,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

“It’s for your own good.” And mine. But Ningguang has not made any move away. “I have learned that it is best to keep my subordinates at arm’s length.”

“I do think that this is much less than arm’s length, sunlight.”

Ningguang chooses to ignore this, instead focusing on not feeling the rasp of Yelan’s callused thumb brushing her cheek. “Are we finished?”

“Almost.”

“What else is there to—”

Yelan kisses her, hard and fast against the corner of her mouth, and just as quickly retreats backward, wiping at the purple lipstick that’s been smudged out of her lips with the force of the kiss.

“That,” Yelan says. “I’ll consider my hazard pay taken care of.”

Ningguang blinks. Unknowing, her hand has come up to touch her lips. “You...”

“Sorry. It was inappropriate, I know. I won’t do it again.”

Ningguang’s composure almost cracks. That is the exact opposite of what her blood sings for.

“I’ll... I should take my leave now, I suppose.”

“Do that,” Ningguang says numbly. Her mouth still stings with the almost-kiss, prickling with the knowledge that it had been so close.

Yelan hesitates by the door, and Ningguang can tell she doesn’t want to go—this people reading goes both ways, and Yelan’s shoulders are taut, her hand tentative against the door, her eyes begging to be told to stay. “Is there anything else?”

Ningguang should say no. She should turn away, and forget this ever happened.

But—

But she is weakened, her defenses dashed to pieces by Yelan’s surprise kiss. And though she will never beg, this may be the closest she’ll ever come to considering it.

So Ningguang says, throat dry: “There is still the matter of procuring your authorization.”

“Oh,” Yelan says. She looks caught off-guard. As if she didn’t really expect Ningguang to actually say something. “Oh, yes, of course.”

“I have made it clear what I think of the Fatui, and of you involving yourself in their affairs.” Ningguang’s eyes lock onto Yelan’s, and she watches Yelan swallow, the movement of her throat. “I will not be so easily persuaded on this matter. But—”

Hear what I cannot say, Ningguang thinks. Speak what I cannot speak.

For a long, taut moment of silence, Yelan only searches her face, almost desperate. But then at last she must find what she seeks, for her face clears.

Yelan smiles, too bright to be truly wicked.

“Between you and me, sunlight, I’m not above a little bit of bribery and corruption either.”

She stalks over, and Ningguang lets Yelan seize her face to kiss.

[isnt-it-pretty]

WIP #1

Okay, as promised, here is one of my Cyno wips that's unlikely to ever be finished. It's set during Windblume when everybody is in Mondstadt.

Tighcyno/cynonari/whatever you want to call it, ft insomnia and ptsd. Oh also mentioned Cyno & Kaveh and Cyno & Lisa

...

The Goth Hotel was grand, the furniture beautifully carved out of solid cuihua wood and the fabric made from soft linen. It felt milky against his skin, catching on calluses and scars. The red of the sheets reminded him of blood.

They were lucky to get a room during Windblume, let alone two, but Albedo seemed to have some sway with the owner. It made sense, considering he was the Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius. It saved them from having to try and stay with Lisa, which, while Cyno was sure she would have been amenable, wouldn't have been ideal. He and Tighnari could pass as simple friends this way, an illusion he'd rather keep for the time being. It was a measure of safety. Being connected to the General Mahamatra put those he cared for at the greatest risk. He always worried about that.

Mondstadt was louder than Sumeru City, even at night. He didn't know why it surprised him-- it was the city of bards, after all-- but it did. Festival goers celebrated into the early hours of the morning, the sound of Angels Share audible even from this distance. Cyno wondered how Tighnari could stand it with hearing more sensitive than his own, but his partner somehow slept soundly in the large bed, unbothered by the noise or Cyno's absence. 

Cyno couldn't sleep. As much as he wanted to be Cyno the Adventurer, there were things he couldn't leave behind in Sumeru. Dreams haunted his respite like fingernails on flint, memories buzzing just beneath his skin until he wanted nothing more than to claw them free. Insomnia had always been a struggle for him, but with the Akasha no longer harvesting dreams, it left them free to disturb him. The crowds didn't help-- he never liked them, and couldn't help but search shadows and rooftops of adversaries his loved ones might have missed. His anxiety had steadily mounted since disposing of the Grand Sages, paranoia clinging to his thoughts. 

What if one of Azar's allies made a move against them? What if they didn't find all the loyalists inside the Akademiya? What if they went after Collei or Tighnari or Kaveh-

Had he made the right choices? There was no way to know, but when the sky was dark and Cyno couldn't sleep, he went over them, re-examining every scrap of knowledge he had available. It was a futile endeavour, and yet he couldn't stop. 

He scratched his wrist absently as he sat on the window ledge, staring at the darkened streets beyond the glass. Exhaustion called to him, but Cyno's tossing and turning would just wake Tighnari up. It was bad enough his partner hadn't gotten a good rest on the trip here, kept awake by Cyno's inability to sleep. There was no reason to make Tighnari more worried than he already was. 

Things had just been so overwhelming recently. He didn't know how to handle it, and wasn't that shameful? He was the General Mahamatra, and yet his archon had been forced to step in and order him to take time off. 

He hadn't told Tighnari that. Maybe, if he didn't, he could continue this balancing act of pretending everything was fine, that he wasn't falling apart at the seams beneath the weight of his own memories. 

Sometimes, when Cyno closed his eyes, he pictured the Court of Desolation and its endless sands. He pictured Taj's body crushed by rock, swallowed by the desert. Others, he remembered what it was like to be too small to fight back, barely a child pitted against adults who had no fear of harming him, the way his fingers broke as he struggled to block blunted strikes. He remembered Azar, too, the things that could have gone wrong had he not met the Traveler. Tighnari's corpse left to rot in the forest, and Collei once again subjected to the whims of the Doctor. It was enough to make him feel insane, the thoughts cycling in his head until they were barely distinguishable from each other, just a knot in his chest that beat in time with his frantic heart. 

Kaveh noticed, his concern manifesting in sharing cups of coffee at the Pupsa Cafe over cards and the promise of a sympathetic ear. Lisa would, too, as soon as she saw him. His history with these struggles was well known to them both. They had been there for his worst years, when even going to class was a struggle. Bringing him food and studying quietly in his room but commonplace, then. He hadn't been able to handle the cafeteria, or the House of Deana-- too vigilant of the eyes that trailed him, the people who wanted to see him hurt. 

Tighnari didn't press when Cyno avoided the topic, but he knew he was worried. He just didn't know how to explain, how to put his thoughts into words.

[balemouns]

"Father," he begins, clearly holding something behind his back. "Happy birthday to you. I tried to find something that may be of use to you..." Freminet pulls a parchment-wrapped package to his front, about the size of a chocolate box but with more depth. It's held together with twine, a freshly picked Romaritime flower and a dried and pressed glaze lily adorning the string, the pastel pink and blue hues contrasting the otherwise dull brown of the wrapping. In the parchment contains a polished and carved Cuihua wood box, and lifting the lid will reveal a variety of Liyuean specialty tea blends from Chenyu Vale, from his previous travels during the tea festival. "It will go nicely paired with pastries, or with dessert." He remarks, a small smile spreading at the corners of his mouth.

"oh?" ... it's as much a greeting as an indicator of piqued curiosity -- freminet finding something that he thought would be of use to her doesn't come as a surprise, compared to something that was best to be shared ( as lynette had decided upon ) or something sentimental ( as lyney had offered ). perhaps it says something about these three children, understated and innate -- the way they give gifts on her birthday are all unique. as he implies something about the contents before she's opened it, arlecchino takes that as permission to open in front of him -- only confirmed by the slightest smile, slightly expectant. "let's see what's inside, then."

ashen fingers trace over the careful wood carvings after the paper has been taken away, appreciative and understanding of what the carvings signify. "have you traveled to chenyu vale recently then, freminet? I've heard it's quite beautiful... and some of the vendors there have quite the sale on teas... we may not be able to bring lynette home again if she heard of such a thing." a small laugh, and a momentary smile returned -- "thank you. I'll be sure to... brew these properly." and not just toss on hot water haphazardly like she sometimes did to undeserving bags of fine tea.

[theleetoalerandalertoalee]

This was a request from a while ago and I’m so sorry @m3li0das I seriously forgot abt it man😭

Anyway I know this is probably kinda short but I’ll remake it some other day I just didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer since I felt baddd

Lee!Kaeya x Ler!Albedo

“Hmm, the indigenous flora of Wolvedom…surely, this has to do with the elemental energy from Andrius, but why does it create these wolfhooks?”

The Cavalry Captain tosses his lucky coin in the air as he speaks, “possibly it’s the same answer as to why cuihua trees in Inazuma grows lavender melon and sunsettias in the mainland of Teyvat.”

“Perhaps, Kaeya, perhaps.”

“Then the real question is, why does it take the form it does, right? Electro is manifested in a purple color, hence the hue of lavender melon…so, if this is caused by Andrius, why is it not a cyan or a blue color? Since the wolf lord controls cryo and is immune to anemo.”

“Well, I don’t think it has to do with the color of the berry itself, but the way it is perceived by the native inhabitants. Wolves lack the cones for viewing colors, for they only have two. They can only see yellow and blue, not any other color.”

“So, what are you implying, Albedo?”

“When it rains, familiar scents in the air are washed out, making it difficult for wolves to find their way back to their den. With the purple contrast of the berry, wolves see them as blue against the landscape of yellow. Using the fallen wolfhooks as markers, they can find their way back to their home.”

“That was quick, as expected.”

“Yes, so I will collect some wolfhooks as samples.”

“Very well.”

Albedo gathers some berries and seals them in a bag, “there, we may return to the crafting bench in Mondstadt City. I still have to visit Klee before I head all the way back to Dragonspine, either way.”

“Is that all you needed me for? A shame,” said Kaeya, “I thought the party wasn’t going to end so soon, after all, you invited me to come.”

“Hmm, now that you mention it, I could use a test subject, but I thought after what happened last time…you’d decline.”

“Nonsense, I’d always be happy to help.”

“Oh? Are you sure?”

Kaeya nods, walking towards the alchemist, “what do you need?”

“Well, these hooks are quite peculiar. I’d like to test them.”

“How so?”

“I’d like to see how they react to human skin, since it’s already evident they are prone to getting caught in fur.”

“True. Well, go ahead.”

Albedo picks a berry out of the bag of collected samples.

“Ready? It’ll be very quick.”

“Ready when you are.”

“Good.”

Albedo softly drags the hook of the berry along the rim of Kaeya’s ear. The Cavalry Captain smiles softly, the sensation creating goosebumps along Kaeya’s skin.

“Hm, it’s very sharp, yet not at this strength. Interesting,” says Albedo.

“It’s…not painful, no…hehe.”

“What does it feel like?”

“It…it feels like…the writing end of a quill.”

“Oh, does it?”

Albedo moves the wolfhook to behind Kaeya’s ear, “how is this then?”

Kaeya jerks his head to the side, “hehehe- the same just more…ah, more…”

“More ticklish?”

“Yes- hehehehe.”

“Fascinating.”

Albedo moves the rigid berry down to Kaeya’s neck, and the Cavalry Captain flinches.

“Oh? Are you alright?”

“Yes, it’s just a bit rough.”

“Hm…why is that the case?”

“Well it’s not tingly like a fingernail. It’s sharp like an Abyss Mage’s icicle.”

“Surface texture, of course.”

Albedo puts the berry back in the bag of samples, “in that case, may I try something else?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Mhm.”

Albedo drags his fingernails up and down Kaeya’s neck, “how is this?”

“Aha…hahaha…much less harsh than the wolfhook, yes.”

“Hm, I suppose I’ll have to add microscope work to my experiment.”

“Hehehe- why?”

Albedo looks up at the giggling man, “it’s like the difference between getting a papercut and being cut with a knife. The knife cut will hurt less, because the surface is microscopically smooth. The papercut will hurt more, because the surface is rough and rigid.”

“Hehehe, smart.”

“Thank you,” Albedo ceases his experiment, “I know what I must do now. I appreciate your help, Kaeya.”

“Anytime, shall we head to the city?”

“Yes, let’s.”

Kaeya bows playfully, “allow me to personally escort you back.”

“You’re too kind.”

[delusionaid]

starter for @maquiscursed | Xiao

As the groups wander off to explore the venue and get ready for their walks, Venti discreetly excuses himself from the stage and slips away while Hu Tao is distracted. Overall, it's a pleasant experience to co-host such a merry gathering with her and her skill in poetry is indeed something noteworthy; nonetheless, he is aware of her ever-watchful eye and the spark of knowing that he first saw in her gaze during Lantern Rite. Too much is tied to his true identity for her to get confirmation of it just yet, secrets that aren't all his own to tell, so he keeps his moments alone with her sparse and playfully redirects every question that strays from the land of poetry and song.

The wind carries him up a nearby hill, a grassy patch beneath a Cuihua tree just out of sight of the event stage below. Xiao is nowhere to be seen but Venti can feel his presence, senses that he's still near and close enough to hear him if he speaks - or plays music, a language shared between them more often in recent times. Placing his lyre in his lap he plucks at the strings, creating a random melody that popped into his head a moment ago at the sight of a butterfly bouncing on the south wind's warm breath.

It's not until a flicker of lights and shadows in the corner of his eye appears that he stops, fingers stilling on the lyre. "Do you like the poems you've heard so far?" he asks and lifts his gaze up to the tree above them. From beneath the leaves shine with a golden halo where the sun falls on them. "Mmmh, I wonder~ would you be a great help to either team if you decided to join them? Liyue has so many forms of poems, even I need to refresh my knowledge and skill! It's quite different from the ballads and rhymes in Mondstadt."

Eventually Venti's head turns and he offers the yaksha at his side a bright smile. "It's fun to read the riddles they put up on the stage - would you like to look at them? We could even do a challenge and see who's faster at guessing them! Ehehe."

[qilyns]

@alatusatlas    said   ...   it’s  only  in  my  head , but  it’s  not  gonna  change.

there is no way around the simple truth that she hasn't been a particularly good friend to him in recent years ... but this recognition does very little to blunt the sharp sting of shame that she rightfully suffers in his company – beyond the mere startle that comes with having her senses attune to the miasma of karmic debt that swirls around him, unsettling and incorporeal. it's entirely unfair on her end, and yet ... when xiao is the one who reaches across the distance between them, with a passing remark or silent greeting when their paths cross, she can't help but to wonder if the centennial rift between them may yet be mended. a sliver of hope, perhaps equally unendurable.

the small – talk doesn't feel so small over such a vast distance. a simple are you alright and i hope you've been well to open the floodgates of familiarity.

" it's no small matter if it occupies your thoughts. " is a reminder xiao definitely doesn't need to hear, and certainly not from her – but years among humans have not made ganyu any more proficient at speaking with the directness necessary of such a troubling subject as each other's well – being. still, here in the marshes, far from the crowds in the city and under the protective shade of a great cuihua trees, there's no one around to impress. he must know she's trying, same as she knows the toll it takes for him to be in anyone's company – " while i understand that it might not ease your burdens to simply talk, if anything is troubling you ... i'd like to help, if there's anything i can do. "

meaning to listen, if not to talk. she owes him that much, at least.