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lost-wicked-artist · 4 hours
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the rule of fandoms is that if someone has a character in their url or bio they either understand that character well enough to give a 3 hour unscripted lecture on the subject OR they're really obsessed with their version of that character thats an entirely different made up guy. and theres literally never an in between
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lost-wicked-artist · 4 hours
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at least it's something
story. after a period of living on numbness and melancholy, food just doesn't taste the same. perhaps, someone can help with that.
details. thoma x reader | 1.6k words
viewer discretion advised. this fic touches on mental health
extra. author's note + tags + links
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Your stomach growls and rumbles as you sit quietly at the now empty dining hall of the Kamisato Estate. Lunch was two hours ago, but your soup, plate of poultry with eggs on the side and bowl of rice remain untouched. They look lifeless; pale and grey. You grab onto your utensils, tired of sitting still, and take a bite of each item in front of you. The chicken is still rich in flavour. As you drag the bowl of soup to your mouth, its fragrance hits your nose. The egg, albeit cold, is soft, teeth ripping through its layers like a knife.
The chefs at the Kamisato Estate have cooked a timelessly delicious meal, yet these bursting senses do not reach your brain, and you sigh. Instead of a meal to chow down in delirious gratitude, before you is a reminder of your worse fear.
You are slowly loosing control of the one thing you can control: yourself.
You thought of giving the chefs your unwanted portion, but they’re busy preparing dinner, and seeing their delicious meals unappreciated would discourage them, sprinkling a tad of bitterness into everyone’s food. The last thing you want is your symptoms to spread, so you force yourself to take another bite, except the food runs down your throat wrong in your haste. You never thought it is possible to harbour negative feelings towards a dead animal, its cooked babies, and flavoured soup, but you surprise yourself again.
“There you are!” a voice calls from the entrance of the hall. Thoma walks to your side, taking a spot in the empty seat to your left. “The seniors said they last saw you here. I’m glad I found you.” His eyes glean over your full plates, and his smile weakens with a tinge of sadness. You slink into your chair, guilty, and attempt another bite to cover your struggle with eating.
“You don’t have to put a front for me,” Thoma chides gently, although his unwavering green eyes also encourage you to finish the task you assigned to yourself. When you chew and eventually swallow, his expression softens. “How are you feeling?”
“Horrible,” you confess like a sinner. “Mostly because I want to feel fine, but I don’t, and that only makes it worse.” You place your utensils down.
Lunch was your favourite time of the day, but now you purposefully occupy yourself with menial tasks so you can enter the hall late. It doesn’t help that for the past few days, you were lethargic and unproductive, sleeping late and waking up later, having your colleagues with growing concerns cover your tasks for the day.
Knowing they willingly took it upon themselves to load their shoulders with your weight makes your stomach heavy, but no matter how much you try to lift your head and look at your work with intrepid enthusiasm as you did before, you can’t will that part of you to appear. Something killed it, and the blood splatters are everywhere—from your untouched meals to your desire to stay in bed all day, and the iron taste in your mouth when you hold back your tears at night.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you mumble, ashamed.
Thoma doesn't give you a window to observe his reaction. He stands and stretches.
“I was looking for you to have someone do stretching with. It gets boring doing it alone.” He holds out his hand to you. “Want to do it with me? It’ll be something simple, not too taxing.”
As you’re about to accept his offer, your stomach rumbles in defiance. It softly echoes in the hall, and the missing warmth of your food bursts on your face. “Sorry,” you say out of instinct.
Throwing his head back, Thoma laughs. He sits back down and properly examines your half-bitten food.
“Stretching can wait. Let’s get your stomach filled with something first, and I’ll eat whatever you can’t finish.”
“Are you sure?” you ask, unsure why you did. It’s not like sharing food is uncommon among the workers in the estate. “It’s cold. Still delicious, I guess, but it’s not as nice to eat when it’s warm. And, thinking about it, we shouldn’t be stretching immediately after a meal, so you should go without me.”
“Then we don’t have to do stretching. Let’s do something else.”
“Oh no, you shouldn’t change your schedule because of me. I can help you find someone else to do stretches with. It's really important and you shouldn’t skip them.”
“If it's so important, when was the last time you stretched?” He leans his head into his palm propped by its elbow on the tablet, the tilt of his head giving his smile the illusion of a smirk.
You can’t reply. Maintaining the estate is your utmost priority. You have no memory of loitering the courtyards, enjoying the setting sun while bending and twisting your body in a torturously relaxing activity. All you remember is filling every inch of time with a metre of responsibilities.
“Then,” you say a minute after your silent answer, “can you eat my lunch? I don’t think I’m hungry.” You push your plates and utensils towards him. Shocked or confused or both, he looks at it then looks at you. His smile blends mischief and genuinity, casting a mild giddy spell on you.
“Do you want me to feed you?”
“No?” you sputter. The fact your reply sounds like a question than a statement drags embarrassment from the depths of your soul to your face as heat, and it’s the most you’ve felt other than dread and fear the whole week. “Why would you—What if someone walks into the hall? There’ll be so many unwanted rumours.”
You want to swat at his arm but you’re paralyzed with the situations your brain conjures. If the seniors saw this, they will undoubtedly rebuke you for your childishness. They may even lecture you on your immaturity of not segregating professional and interpersonal time—a total misunderstanding!
Thoma chuckles.
“The rumours are the least of my concerns.” He picks up a spoon and scoops a small portion of rice. “Say ‘ah’, or else I’ll have to play windglider.”
“I’m not a kid!” you resist, this time swatting him with the sudden burst of energy you’ve acquired in your daze of doom dreaming. You aren't going to let your colleagues see you like this when you’re already at your all time low. They were generous to keep their heads low and not criticise your personal failings at work. To catch you playing around with the housekeeper? None of them would be pleased, especially those that might be drawn by his charm because he is very charming. “I thought you’ll eat my leftovers?”
“The remaining after you’ve eaten a bit more,” he corrected, and on cue, a low growl from your stomach squeezes its way into the ambience. “Your stomach obviously doesn’t think it’s full.”
You’re a walking heated pan with how hot your body feels, evaporating every drop of sadness you permitted to flood you the past days, and your defences weaken in embarrassment because when Thoma brings the spoon close to your mouth, you take a bite.
“I’m never going to get over this,” you lament, covering your face with your hands. “I should have just endured the scoldings of the chefs.”
“I heard Chef Tang is not in a good mood today. Something about salt being wasted after an improper delivery.”
“Chef Tang will end up screaming his head off and I’ll be quivering even worse than a bird in its last moments before its cultivator, but at least I don’t often bump into him. Maybe in my effort to avoid him I’ll always finish my meals on time so I never have to personally hand him my dishes for washing.”
“I hope you don’t avoid me after this,” Thoma says, and it’s the softest he’s been since the start. “But, you also wouldn’t want to be facing Chef Tang’s wrath when he’s out of salt. I’m saving you from the worst that can happen.” Thoma holds a spoon with a larger mix of rice, egg and small chunks of meat that he crafted while you ranted. He’s grinning uncontrollably, as if he won the lottery to make fun of you. “Say ‘ah’ again?”
You reluctantly open your mouth.
“Okay, I can feed myself now,” you say, reaching for the spoon. Thoma teasingly doesn’t let go, but on your second tug, he gives it to you properly. 
“And not only that, you’ve got some liveliness to your face now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he notes.
You stare at the food, its saturation slowly draining back. 
Seeing about a third of your food disappear is slightly encouraging, and it is refreshing to feel something other than sharp emptiness. You notice your hands shake as you hold back a sliver of laughter combined with unreleased anguish. Your heart thumps erratically in your chest, demanding to be acknowledged. You can sense the way your chest expands and collides with each breath.
Tears prick the corner of your eyes, and you live through every second your vision goes blurry as well as the way your nose clogs up with snot.
“At least it’s something,” you meekly reply, overwhelmed by these small sensory experiences.
“At least it’s something,” Thoma echoes, watching patiently as you take periodic bites of your lunch while wiping your tears with your free hand. He places his on your head and rustles your hair, grip gentle and reassuring. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?"
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lost-wicked-artist · 4 hours
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at least it's something
story. after a period of living on numbness and melancholy, food just doesn't taste the same. perhaps, someone can help with that.
details. thoma x reader | 1.6k words
viewer discretion advised. this fic touches on mental health
extra. author's note + tags + links
Tumblr media
Your stomach growls and rumbles as you sit quietly at the now empty dining hall of the Kamisato Estate. Lunch was two hours ago, but your soup, plate of poultry with eggs on the side and bowl of rice remain untouched. They look lifeless; pale and grey. You grab onto your utensils, tired of sitting still, and take a bite of each item in front of you. The chicken is still rich in flavour. As you drag the bowl of soup to your mouth, its fragrance hits your nose. The egg, albeit cold, is soft, teeth ripping through its layers like a knife.
The chefs at the Kamisato Estate have cooked a timelessly delicious meal, yet these bursting senses do not reach your brain, and you sigh. Instead of a meal to chow down in delirious gratitude, before you is a reminder of your worse fear.
You are slowly loosing control of the one thing you can control: yourself.
You thought of giving the chefs your unwanted portion, but they’re busy preparing dinner, and seeing their delicious meals unappreciated would discourage them, sprinkling a tad of bitterness into everyone’s food. The last thing you want is your symptoms to spread, so you force yourself to take another bite, except the food runs down your throat wrong in your haste. You never thought it is possible to harbour negative feelings towards a dead animal, its cooked babies, and flavoured soup, but you surprise yourself again.
“There you are!” a voice calls from the entrance of the hall. Thoma walks to your side, taking a spot in the empty seat to your left. “The seniors said they last saw you here. I’m glad I found you.” His eyes glean over your full plates, and his smile weakens with a tinge of sadness. You slink into your chair, guilty, and attempt another bite to cover your struggle with eating.
“You don’t have to put a front for me,” Thoma chides gently, although his unwavering green eyes also encourage you to finish the task you assigned to yourself. When you chew and eventually swallow, his expression softens. “How are you feeling?”
“Horrible,” you confess like a sinner. “Mostly because I want to feel fine, but I don’t, and that only makes it worse.” You place your utensils down.
Lunch was your favourite time of the day, but now you purposefully occupy yourself with menial tasks so you can enter the hall late. It doesn’t help that for the past few days, you were lethargic and unproductive, sleeping late and waking up later, having your colleagues with growing concerns cover your tasks for the day.
Knowing they willingly took it upon themselves to load their shoulders with your weight makes your stomach heavy, but no matter how much you try to lift your head and look at your work with intrepid enthusiasm as you did before, you can’t will that part of you to appear. Something killed it, and the blood splatters are everywhere—from your untouched meals to your desire to stay in bed all day, and the iron taste in your mouth when you hold back your tears at night.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you mumble, ashamed.
Thoma doesn't give you a window to observe his reaction. He stands and stretches.
“I was looking for you to have someone do stretching with. It gets boring doing it alone.” He holds out his hand to you. “Want to do it with me? It’ll be something simple, not too taxing.”
As you’re about to accept his offer, your stomach rumbles in defiance. It softly echoes in the hall, and the missing warmth of your food bursts on your face. “Sorry,” you say out of instinct.
Throwing his head back, Thoma laughs. He sits back down and properly examines your half-bitten food.
“Stretching can wait. Let’s get your stomach filled with something first, and I’ll eat whatever you can’t finish.”
“Are you sure?” you ask, unsure why you did. It’s not like sharing food is uncommon among the workers in the estate. “It’s cold. Still delicious, I guess, but it’s not as nice to eat when it’s warm. And, thinking about it, we shouldn’t be stretching immediately after a meal, so you should go without me.”
“Then we don’t have to do stretching. Let’s do something else.”
“Oh no, you shouldn’t change your schedule because of me. I can help you find someone else to do stretches with. It's really important and you shouldn’t skip them.”
“If it's so important, when was the last time you stretched?” He leans his head into his palm propped by its elbow on the tablet, the tilt of his head giving his smile the illusion of a smirk.
You can’t reply. Maintaining the estate is your utmost priority. You have no memory of loitering the courtyards, enjoying the setting sun while bending and twisting your body in a torturously relaxing activity. All you remember is filling every inch of time with a metre of responsibilities.
“Then,” you say a minute after your silent answer, “can you eat my lunch? I don’t think I’m hungry.” You push your plates and utensils towards him. Shocked or confused or both, he looks at it then looks at you. His smile blends mischief and genuinity, casting a mild giddy spell on you.
“Do you want me to feed you?”
“No?” you sputter. The fact your reply sounds like a question than a statement drags embarrassment from the depths of your soul to your face as heat, and it’s the most you’ve felt other than dread and fear the whole week. “Why would you—What if someone walks into the hall? There’ll be so many unwanted rumours.”
You want to swat at his arm but you’re paralyzed with the situations your brain conjures. If the seniors saw this, they will undoubtedly rebuke you for your childishness. They may even lecture you on your immaturity of not segregating professional and interpersonal time—a total misunderstanding!
Thoma chuckles.
“The rumours are the least of my concerns.” He picks up a spoon and scoops a small portion of rice. “Say ‘ah’, or else I’ll have to play windglider.”
“I’m not a kid!” you resist, this time swatting him with the sudden burst of energy you’ve acquired in your daze of doom dreaming. You aren't going to let your colleagues see you like this when you’re already at your all time low. They were generous to keep their heads low and not criticise your personal failings at work. To catch you playing around with the housekeeper? None of them would be pleased, especially those that might be drawn by his charm because he is very charming. “I thought you’ll eat my leftovers?”
“The remaining after you’ve eaten a bit more,” he corrected, and on cue, a low growl from your stomach squeezes its way into the ambience. “Your stomach obviously doesn’t think it’s full.”
You’re a walking heated pan with how hot your body feels, evaporating every drop of sadness you permitted to flood you the past days, and your defences weaken in embarrassment because when Thoma brings the spoon close to your mouth, you take a bite.
“I’m never going to get over this,” you lament, covering your face with your hands. “I should have just endured the scoldings of the chefs.”
“I heard Chef Tang is not in a good mood today. Something about salt being wasted after an improper delivery.”
“Chef Tang will end up screaming his head off and I’ll be quivering even worse than a bird in its last moments before its cultivator, but at least I don’t often bump into him. Maybe in my effort to avoid him I’ll always finish my meals on time so I never have to personally hand him my dishes for washing.”
“I hope you don’t avoid me after this,” Thoma says, and it’s the softest he’s been since the start. “But, you also wouldn’t want to be facing Chef Tang’s wrath when he’s out of salt. I’m saving you from the worst that can happen.” Thoma holds a spoon with a larger mix of rice, egg and small chunks of meat that he crafted while you ranted. He’s grinning uncontrollably, as if he won the lottery to make fun of you. “Say ‘ah’ again?”
You reluctantly open your mouth.
“Okay, I can feed myself now,” you say, reaching for the spoon. Thoma teasingly doesn’t let go, but on your second tug, he gives it to you properly. 
“And not only that, you’ve got some liveliness to your face now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he notes.
You stare at the food, its saturation slowly draining back. 
Seeing about a third of your food disappear is slightly encouraging, and it is refreshing to feel something other than sharp emptiness. You notice your hands shake as you hold back a sliver of laughter combined with unreleased anguish. Your heart thumps erratically in your chest, demanding to be acknowledged. You can sense the way your chest expands and collides with each breath.
Tears prick the corner of your eyes, and you live through every second your vision goes blurry as well as the way your nose clogs up with snot.
“At least it’s something,” you meekly reply, overwhelmed by these small sensory experiences.
“At least it’s something,” Thoma echoes, watching patiently as you take periodic bites of your lunch while wiping your tears with your free hand. He places his on your head and rustles your hair, grip gentle and reassuring. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?"
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lost-wicked-artist · 5 hours
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ready, set, aim
story. venti says confessing is simple, as easy as 1 2 3. you just need to ready, aim, fire.
details. venti / reader | 1.8k words | requested by anonymous & beta'ed by mimikyu + ekolu!! | this was reposted bc i accidentally deleted it oops.
extra. author's note + tags + links | ao3
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“Confessing to your crush is just like shooting an arrow,” Venti says after swallowing a mouthful of wine. It’s the second year you sought his help in exchange for a few drinks. However, since you’re the only student for his love classes this Windblume, he suggested rendezvousing at Angel’s Share in the evening. You were going to take the tab but he said this was just a session of two friends catching up, and he earned a quick buck from performing so he could afford to pay the bill.
As typical of him, he draws an imaginary bowstring, aims, and fires at you, winking to top off the act.
Your heart is shot—it’s not the first time Venti hits bullseye either. He’s chipped your walls with his arrows—unknowingly or not. From a muted life, you think you hear the birth of a melody in your chest. 
Badump.
Badump.
It only plays for him.
“But I don’t know how to shoot an arrow,” you mutter, playing with your frail and smooth hands under the table. They’ve never held a weapon. Years living on the sidelines meant you’ve done nothing.
Barely had a friend, never stayed past midnight, and you’ve never fallen in love. It was too dangerous, too exciting, too anything.
The first time you sang was when Venti invited you from the crowd in front of the fountain. Your performance was horrible, but his vocals miraculously blended with yours, soothed the crowd and salvaged their mora.
You’ve sought him ever since. Stepping out of your comfort zones never felt unfamiliar with him.
“I’m not saying it literally, silly,” Venti jokes as he tips his head back to finish his wine while yours remains untouched. Alcohol might not be what you need when he causes your world to spin, yet the red liquid gleams as he pours himself another glass, catching your curiosity. “Heard of the phrase ‘ready, aim, fire’? Confessing follows these simple steps.”
A laugh slips from your lips. Not only is his analogy cute, it’s funny he claims they’re simple. To his credit, he is a marksman as he is a bard. These things come easier to him than they do to you.
“You never mentioned these steps in your class last year,” you note, swirling the liquid in your glass, observing its deep translucent red that shifts to purple under different angles. It’s like Venti’s eyes that appear blue against the bright sky when he performs, but in seclusion or moonlight, it glows green.
Right now… it’s green. Undoubtedly. A green that reminds you of spring; of new beginnings.
“It’s a love poem writing class, not a love confession class,” Venti quips. “I would have charged double if that was the case. Speaking of lessons… didn’t I grade your poem you submitted last year? We can start with that.”
You blink.
He smirks as he leans forward. Crap. He’s caught you staring.
Flustered, you grab your glass of wine and gulp it down. Your throat burns. How does Venti appreciate its texture? It does give an excuse for the heat accumulating in your body though, you’d give it that.
“It wasn’t a proper love poem…” Carefully, you set your empty glass down. Venti merrily pours more for you. “I was just practising how to use parallels and metaphors.”
“It was a finely written poem. Maybe you should teach me how to write once in a while, hm?”
“No, no…” you shake your head and swallow the portion he poured—he refills it seconds later. “If I was as good as you, I wouldn’t need to ask for help… again.”
There’s a pause.
“I didn’t know you had trouble writing a poem. You only seemed anxious about delivering it,” Venti says.
You nod. Your hand instinctively reaches for your glass without thought. 
“Well, I can’t do both.”
The burning sensation hogs your thoughts from meandering to anything more depressing. Just one more swing of your glass to your lips—your grip tightens, but the glass remains on the table.
“...My poem didn’t feel good enough,” you admit with a sigh. “This is my first time being honest with how I feel.” You press your palm against your forehead. “Plus, I don’t know if he’ll like it. He’s…”
You.
The bard who all of Mondstadt praises. He’s able to command words capable of wrapping people’s eyes with a veil of hope. He’s able to construct tunes that touch someone to the point of tears. Your words, in comparison, will not make a dent to be remembered even if your feelings behind them changed your whole world.
Venti chuckles, tapping on the wooden table. You straighten your back.
“The essence of a poem is the emotions,” he states, voice firm. “Prose is merely wrapping paper. It’s the gift that matters.”
“What if…” you bite your lower lip. “What if the gift isn’t what he wants to receive?” you whisper as if out of breath.
The bar is loud. Hooligans roar and boast of their achievements as laughter bursts from every corner. There’s clanging, banging, and cheering. You barely heard yourself over the wall of noise, which is why you’re surprised Venti reaches for your shaking hands—with a hold so tender—and fosters a smile.
“The only way to know if you’ll hit bullseye is to try.”
He lets go, curious in the wine he barely touched while you’ve at least emptied your’s twice. Embarrassingly, you’re the reason the bottle only has a few sips remaining.
“Are we ready?” Venti asks, practically sparkling. His glass has been emptied and you expected him to drink the bottle clean, but he holds his gaze on you. His smile is dangerously sweet.
“F—for what?” you say.
He gets up from his seat and extends his hand.
“We’re learning how to aim an arrow straight to the heart!”
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Ready.
Venti stands at the plaza, strumming his lyre to the crowd of kids. With the setting sun as his backdrop—dashes of pink, purple, and orange—the stage is spectacular. You’re behind the pillar, occasionally peeking past its structure to catch glimpses of the performer who has captivated his audience. Your grip on your letter tightens.
“When it comes to a confession, you have to catch them at the right time,” Venti instructs as he walks along the night streets of Mondstadt. His shoulders bump into yours whenever you sway, the result of alcohol sloshing inside your stomach.
“And what do you mean by ‘the right time’?”
“When your heart is ready.”
“How will I know?”
“You’re asking me?”
“I’m serious, Venti.”
“Pray tell, why do you seek the answer so earnestly?”
“If I don’t, it’ll haunt me.”
“I think you already have your answer.”
Today is the day.
Aim.
The music fades. An applause follows shortly, mixed with high-pitched cheers. You stroke the letter, anxious. When a kid shouts for an encore, you’re unclear if that’s a blessing to have seconds more to think this through or a curse to stretch the anticipation thin.
“Is there a manual? Do I need to have nice scenery?”
“I quite like when the sun is setting,” he says. 
You let out a soft gasp. “You do? Are confessions nicer at twilight?”
Venti shrugs. “The liminal space between day and night—romantic, don’t you think? But what’s of greater importance is to have you and the person fully present.”
He stops walking to turn and graces you with his ever-changing coloured eyes.
A blurry figure passes. It’s a mother dragging her child away from the plaza. He whines, using his whole body to resist his mother’s pull, but his mum persists. 
Venti should be smelling the surrounding flowers or counting his cash—most importantly, he’ll be alone. If you’re not quick, you’ll miss this moment.
You set your sight on the banks of the statue of Barbatos. 
It’s empty.
“Greetings,” a voice says. 
You bump into the pillar and groan in pain. The person grabs your shoulders, preventing you from stumbling backwards.
You turn and are caught in blue eyes that shine like stars against the darkening sky.
“Venti! You gave me a fright!”
“Sorry,” he giggles before checking you for wounds. His touches leave you in a trance, and a gentle gale strokes your face, its comfort like a hammer crashing the pile of worries you had. The rising moon spotlights him. Maybe it is the trick of moonlight, but the ends of his teal braids glimmer. 
“What’s this?” Venti asks. “Is that a letter?”
You place your hands behind your back, pressing yourself against the pillar.
“Nothing,” you utter.
He places his hands on his hips, unconvinced, and questions again, “Then why are you hiding it?”
“It’s not important.”
He raises an eyebrow, a playful grin stretches across his face. “Not of importance? More reason for me to take a look, don’t you think?”
“Well…” You bite the insides of your cheeks. This was not the plan. You want to burn this letter and bury its ashes so as not a single speck gets found—
“I’m just playing,” he laughs. Your chest lightens, relief the letter isn’t a point of focus anymore. However, edges of his lips pull up, mischief in his eyes. You swallow. “The real question is why are you hiding behind the pillar?”
“I’m not hiding!”
“Then why not join the crowd when I perform? I was heartbroken to see my number 1 fan being so shy… unless… you wanted me all to yourself?”
Your cheeks burn.
“I knew this wouldn’t work.” You stare at the ground, lifting yourself to your toes, preparing to sprint. “I’m sorry, I should—”
Venti grounds you by pressing your shoulders.
“Calm down. I have no clue what’s going on.”
It’s your turn to be in disbelief. 
“Really,” he pats you and that soft breeze returns. “So… why are you behind this pillar?”
A shiver runs down your spine. It’s not from the wind or the stone pillar. It’s from the way his eyes glint, like a pirate towards his treasure. 
You bite your lips and swallow.
“And when that person gives his full attention…” Venti comments, his sentence hanging in the air.
There is only one thing left, and you both know what it is.
Fire.
“I like you.”
After sleepless nights, you found a suitable rhyme. The poem in your hands encapsulated everything you wanted to say unwillingly compressed into 5 stanzas, stitched and glued with emotions, yet nothing could beat these simple words.
(Simple. It rings in your head according to the way Venti said it at the bar.)
You think you see the night sky twinkling in his irises.
His smile grows into a smirk as he leans forward. He tilts his head, and as you stare into the window to his soul, you can’t deny the way his gaze falls to your lips.
Your heart thumps widely—badump, badump, badump, badump.
There it is. The tune your body learnt to hum whenever you’re within his influence. It reaches a crescendo when you close the gap between you and him. Your heart plays a melody you never want to end.
When he pulls away, he whispers into your ear.
“Bullseye.”
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lost-wicked-artist · 5 hours
Text
I really love reading all those genshin fanfics with Fontaine’s characters but sometimes, as a french, I am a bit trigger by the way some people write wrongly some french words… I saw a « Mon chéri » to designate a female reader…
Here a free french lesson:
Mon - is a masculine pronoun
So when you say « Mon chéri » it’s toward a male character
If you want to designate a girl you have to use the female pronoun : Ma
And so the full sentence is « Ma chériE »
Do not forget to put the « E » at the end because it’s a girl for a guy, no need to.
And if you want to designate severate persons:
- You use the pronoun : Mes
You can use it to definite both girls/boys/girls and boys /Any genders together!
BUT
Be careful if you want to say « Mes chéris »
You will need to put the E if it’s a group of girls : « Mes chéries »
If It’s a group of boys and girls do not put the E Because the male win so just write: « Mes chéris »
If you want to use it for the pronoun « Them » feel free use any versions.
Well everything I said works for any genders, and are masculine word so you don’t use the Ma.
To conclude:
MA : Female Pronoun - Use only to designate a female word or person.
Examples: Ma fleur (My flower), Ma princesse (My princess), Ma choupette (My little One? There isn’t a real translation but it’s a sweet french nickname you can say to your lover), Ma moitié (My half), Ma copine(My girlfriend), Ma femme (My wife, My woman)…
The word my Ma moitié works to designate any gender.
MON: Male Pronoun - Use to designate a male word or person. Is the most utilisate!
Examples: Mon coeur (my heart or sweetheart), Mon amour (My love), Mon ange (My angel), Mon bébé (my baby), Mon sucre d’orge (My candy… but it’s like ma choupette doesn’t have a real translation), Mon choupinet (My little one?), Mon copain (My boyfriend), Mon homme/Mon Mari (My man/My husband)
All those words are usable to designate any gender expect for Mon copain/Mon homme/Mon mari
MES: Them pronoun or to designate severate persons or stuffs !
Examples: Mes amours (My loves), Mes princesses (My princess), Mes copains (My boyfriends), Mes copines (My girlfriends)…
Do not forget to put the « S » at the end of each word!
You can also use the word « Petit » (little) between the pronoun and the word, personally I find it a bit more romantic and sweet to use like: Mon petit coeur (My Little heart), Mon petit ange (My little angel), Ma petitE fleur (My little flower), Ma petit(e)-ami(e)(My girfriend/boyfriend), Mon petit sucre d’orge, Mes petits coeurs (My little hearts)…
French is hard to use so if you have any questions or doubts about a french word you want to use while writing please feel free to ask me ! I am always willing to help!
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lost-wicked-artist · 5 hours
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I really love reading all those genshin fanfics with Fontaine’s characters but sometimes, as a french, I am a bit trigger by the way some people write wrongly some french words… I saw a « Mon chéri » to designate a female reader…
Here a free french lesson:
Mon - is a masculine pronoun
So when you say « Mon chéri » it’s toward a male character
If you want to designate a girl you have to use the female pronoun : Ma
And so the full sentence is « Ma chériE »
Do not forget to put the « E » at the end because it’s a girl for a guy, no need to.
And if you want to designate severate persons:
- You use the pronoun : Mes
You can use it to definite both girls/boys/girls and boys /Any genders together!
BUT
Be careful if you want to say « Mes chéris »
You will need to put the E if it’s a group of girls : « Mes chéries »
If It’s a group of boys and girls do not put the E Because the male win so just write: « Mes chéris »
If you want to use it for the pronoun « Them » feel free use any versions.
Well everything I said works for any genders, and are masculine word so you don’t use the Ma.
To conclude:
MA : Female Pronoun - Use only to designate a female word or person.
Examples: Ma fleur (My flower), Ma princesse (My princess), Ma choupette (My little One? There isn’t a real translation but it’s a sweet french nickname you can say to your lover), Ma moitié (My half), Ma copine(My girlfriend), Ma femme (My wife, My woman)…
The word my Ma moitié works to designate any gender.
MON: Male Pronoun - Use to designate a male word or person. Is the most utilisate!
Examples: Mon coeur (my heart or sweetheart), Mon amour (My love), Mon ange (My angel), Mon bébé (my baby), Mon sucre d’orge (My candy… but it’s like ma choupette doesn’t have a real translation), Mon choupinet (My little one?), Mon copain (My boyfriend), Mon homme/Mon Mari (My man/My husband)
All those words are usable to designate any gender expect for Mon copain/Mon homme/Mon mari
MES: Them pronoun or to designate severate persons or stuffs !
Examples: Mes amours (My loves), Mes princesses (My princess), Mes copains (My boyfriends), Mes copines (My girlfriends)…
Do not forget to put the « S » at the end of each word!
You can also use the word « Petit » (little) between the pronoun and the word, personally I find it a bit more romantic and sweet to use like: Mon petit coeur (My Little heart), Mon petit ange (My little angel), Ma petitE fleur (My little flower), Ma petit(e)-ami(e)(My girfriend/boyfriend), Mon petit sucre d’orge, Mes petits coeurs (My little hearts)…
French is hard to use so if you have any questions or doubts about a french word you want to use while writing please feel free to ask me ! I am always willing to help!
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Good Traits Gone Bad
Exploring good traits gone bad in a novel can add depth and complexity to your characters. Here are a few examples of good traits that can take a negative turn:
1. Empathy turning into manipulation: A character with a strong sense of empathy may use it to manipulate others' emotions and gain an advantage.
2. Confidence becoming arrogance: Excessive confidence can lead to arrogance, where a character belittles others and dismisses their opinions.
3. Ambition turning into obsession: A character's ambition can transform into an unhealthy obsession, causing them to prioritize success at any cost, including sacrificing relationships and moral values.
4. Loyalty becoming blind devotion: Initially loyal, a character may become blindly devoted to a cause or person, disregarding their own well-being and critical thinking.
5. Courage turning into recklessness: A character's courage can morph into reckless behavior, endangering themselves and others due to an overestimation of their abilities.
6. Determination becoming stubbornness: Excessive determination can lead to stubbornness, where a character refuses to consider alternative perspectives or change their course of action, even when it's detrimental.
7. Optimism becoming naivety: Unwavering optimism can transform into naivety, causing a character to overlook dangers or be easily deceived.
8. Protectiveness turning into possessiveness: A character's protective nature can evolve into possessiveness, where they become overly controlling and jealous in relationships.
9. Altruism becoming self-neglect: A character's selflessness may lead to neglecting their own needs and well-being, to the point of self-sacrifice and burnout.
10. Honesty becoming brutal bluntness: A character's commitment to honesty can turn into brutal bluntness, hurting others with harsh and tactless remarks.
These examples demonstrate how even admirable traits can have negative consequences when taken to extremes or used improperly. By exploring the complexities of these traits, you can create compelling and multi-dimensional characters in your novel.
Happy writing!
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Something I made while dealing with my own stuff and hoping drawing this would pick me up somehow. Maybe it worked.
FT my cat. His name is Mischief
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silly thing
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Ace Trainers
[All comics in order here]
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caught.
Part 1 here
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"taken" style action movie where a man searches for his wife. as he fights baddies in gunfights and hand-to-hand combat, it's slowly revealed that:
his wife hasn't been kidnapped
their marriage is not healthy or functional
this guy isn't rescuing his wife, he's hunting her down
his wife is a crime boss, those are her henchpeople he's fighting in a john-wick bloodbath
the tension builds until, drenched in blood, our protagonist steps forward for the final showdown. he pulls a manila envelope from his bullet-torn jacket and throws it at his wife's feet. he's just spent an entire trilogy biting & killing & maiming....all so he can deliver his shit wife her divorce papers
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saw some cool clothes I wanted to draw! 🖤
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saw some cool clothes I wanted to draw! 🖤
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Pikasitting
[All comics in order here]
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Sibling Rivalry ⚕️Part one
!This is based on the headcanon that Baizhu and Pantalone are brothers! Also this very self indulgent and usually think of my self insert as the traveler so- I'm sorry if that's not your style :] reader is said to have an exposed midriff because I like that style of clothing but it is not indicative of readers sex or pronouns. I do mention greatly about Baizhu's disability but I'm not entirely sure if I did it justice as I'm not really familiar with him, I just find him pretty so if I said anything wrong lmk so I can improve!
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Relationships: Baizhu x traveler!reader
Implied Pantalone x traveler!reader (hes attracted to/infatuated with you sort of?? It's more like he's doing it solely to tease Baizhu but the reader is unsure about him as they don't know who he is but is friendly because he's Baizhu's brother.)
Baizhu and Pantalone are brothers with a strained relationship but still care about one another. Baizhu just has certain boundaries.
I really really like Traveler!reader I'm not sorry
Pronouns used for reader: they/them
This has been in my drafts since forever so forgive me if there are some canon issues lol, I have a stupid mix of what I thought was canon, what is canon, and what is just ???
Also It's been so long since I've written anything I'm sorry if it's cringe or badly paced.
Part One (you're here)
Part Two (to be added)
Imagine that once everything is said and done in the nation of Sumeru you've come back to Liyue for some much needed rest, you trudged your way over the jagged land of the chasm that connects the two nations. With your sore and sunburnt body you end up running into Liyue's best herbalist, Baizhu who is accompanied by little Qiqi. Throughout the months before your trip to Sumeru you found yourself hanging around the eccentric man more and more as word for your future endeavors got around and he had wished to aid in knowledge on what was safe to touch and consume and what to avoid. This lesson turned to several lessons on how to create healing concoctions based on different ailments. You appreciated his help greatly and promised to bring several rare or useful herbs for him to use.
When on the road returning to Liyue, you were surprised to see him so far outside the city however, especially so far off the trail. It wasn't uncommon for him to leave the city but he usually left anything this far out to Qiqi as a precaution due to this condition, he couldn't risk anything if he ended up passing out. If he did go out he usually sticks to the trails most often used by travelers or nearby settlements he could rest at.
You asked him about this, worried about his being and he explains that today he felt capable of retrieving certain herbs he needed and needed to get some fresh air from a visiting relative who was a bit overbearing at times. You nod in understanding, the city coming further into view with the ocean glistening. The sun was at its highest peak at this point and you felt its harsh rays beat down on your exposed back. Your conversation continues on, talking about recent adventures in the dendro nation as Paimon floats about and you hold Qiqi's little hand in your own larger one.
Baizhu talked greatly about his recent endeavors, including a few odd ball patients who he practically had to have dragged into the pharmacy by some of his assistants. He also talked about how he was able to curate some remedies for himself that, while not able to cure his ailment (or achieve his overall goal), help him retain a lot more energy than usual so long as he didn't over exert himself too much. Hence why he's out here with Qiqi gathering some herbs for some clients he had.
You two continue exchanging pleasantries with Changsheng chiming in every once in a while, perched comfortably atop the doctor's shoulders. Baizhu begins to explain the use of the herbs in his bag with you contentedly listening. You both walk into the city through the back trail, the unsteady and steep path putting you into alert for your companions balance. In your focus on Baizhu's safety, you completely neglect your own and nearly slip with the doctor quickly taking hold of you. Despite his weak physicality, he's capable enough to pull you up by the forearm into a safe balanced position before you even hit the ground. He sighs at your clumsiness, a tinge of mirth in his own eyes. He heaves another sigh, a sign of his exertion of energy that's beginning to take a toll. The grip on your forearm moving to a gentle hold of your hand.
"Oh archons I'm so sorry! I should have been looking at where I was going!" You didn't mean to trip the way you did, in trying to help him not exert too much you ended up doing so anyways. He waves off your concern, a mere smile plastered onto his face in response. He continues to urge you forward by placing his free hand onto the small of your back.
"No need, nobody got hurt, it wasn't an issue really, you're not particularly heavy to pick up the way I did, so no need to worry." His voice is chipper as he continues his hold, you don't think to mention it, jotting it down in your mind as him needing to steady himself. A tinge of guilt stirs in your gut because of it. Being a temporary mobility aid for him is the least you can do right now before he could get home and rest properly. You decide to carry out the conversation as normal when you make your way through the city. Ignoring the occasional glance towards your unusual stance from passersby. He takes notice however and raises a silent question, you joke that maybe it's because of the notoriety of his bitter potions. Paimon Snickers from behind you two at the comment, Baizhu feigns offense at this.
"Medicines, not potions and please believe me, if I could make my medicines just as effective and more delightful for people to consume I would, but I cannot risk the medicines effects being nullified by anything that can influence the taste significantly." You laugh at this, missing the way his faux irritation softened at the sound of your laughter, replaced momentarily by adoration.
"I guess that's true... I'd rather take one disgusting dose of medicine that would work rather than small doses of some okay tasting stuff that may not even work..." You muse with a smile, "Especially if you made the medicine. I trust you wouldn't poison me." You chuckle. He shakes his head fondly as Changsheng pokes her head around.
"How insulting, to even suggest such a thing..." Changsheng hisses softly, emphasizing the harsher syllables of her words as she narrows her magenta eyes towards you. Baizhu gently taps her on the top of her head.
"Now now Changsheng, no need to get so defensive... It was a light tease. Don't worry yourself so much." He chides the snake adeptus softly. She flicks her tongue out quickly before coiling herself further. You chuckle at the sight, you know that Changsheng wasn't actually offended and simply wished to give you a hard time.
"Speaking of medicine, I brought a ton of herbs and plants I found in Sumeru, Master Tighnari helped me pick them." You state eagerly, a smile on your face as Baizhu walks in tandem with you. He smiles softly, adjusting his glasses to be better perched on the bridge of his nose.
"Oh? And you would trust me enough with these? After all, you don't know if I may poison you or not." He jokes with a subtle grin on his face. You give a roll of your eyes as you motion your head to the side.
"Oh please, I doubt any poison you make could kill me." You playfully joke back. This goes on back and forth for a while, all of it being in good humor and light teasing as he subtly grips your hand tighter.
The moment is short lived, however when you arrive towards the stairs leading to Bubu Pharmacy. A stern yet audibly relieved voice breaks through your mirth filled bubble. The expression the doctor held now having a look of exhaustion in its stead. You don't recognize it or the words he's speaking until he descends the stairs towards you both, taking carefully calculated and painfully slow steps.
"Baizhu! I knew you needed to run some errands but you've been gone for hours now and while I understand you're feeling better, you need to be careful, what if you ended up collapsing near a hilichurl camp? I was worried sick-" his scolding is cut short when his gaze towards your companion is turned to you, taking immediate note of Baizhu's obvious hold of your form. A heat of embarrassment rises to your cheeks as you attempt to wriggle into a less awkward position. Your subtle attempt is for naught as the green-haired doctor's hold on your hand tightens with a gentle squeeze. You stand there, stiff as a ramp as the mysterious individual raises his gaze once more. Paimon and Qiqi stand silently behind you, the latter's hand still intertwined with your own.
"Pray tell, may I ask who this may be? You two seem... Close." Baizhu clears his throat as he turns his attention to you, seeming to reluctantly diminish his hold on you he turns to you fully.
"Traveler, this is my brother Pantalone, he's here to visit," You turn to him and wave before turning back to Baizhu, "Pantalone, this is the traveler. They're passing through Liyue for a couple of weeks of rest." His tone is unusually curt with introductions. A huff is heard from behind as two tiny hands plant onto your shoulder and your flying companion is lurched forward slightly.
"HEY! You forgot about Paimon!" You roll your eyes slightly at this, taking a strand of her hair and twirling between the fingers of your now free hand before turning to the pair of brothers.
"And this is Paimon, as you probably could tell." You add as she gives a cheeky grin at this. You can't help but get a strange feeling that you've heard his name somewhere before... But, since this is Baizhu's brother, you didn't want to be rude and just tossed that thought into the back of your mind.
"Hm? Oh so this is the well renowned Traveler? The one who's well known all across Teyvat for their heroic deeds?" Pantalone questions rhetorically as he brings his hand out to shake yours. You can't help but notice the rings adorning his gloves hand, the material looks sleek and expensive. In fact, everything he was wearing seemed to be expensive. You tentatively take his hand and begin to shake his own. What you didn't expect however, was for him to lift your hand to press his lips to your knuckles.
The entire group goes silent, you don't notice the look Baizhu gives him or how Changsheng coils in a way to turn her head away from the display.
"My dear brother here has told me lots about you, but he must have neglected to mention just how lovely you look." He says with a voice as smooth as a spoonful of jade fruit soup...
"O-oh umm... Thanks, I guess? That's very kind of you.." You reply rather awkwardly, pulling your hand back when he lets go. He gives a nod of his head, the gemstones hanging from the chord of his glasses swinging slightly before he straightens up and looks towards Baizhu.
"Well, with introductions out of the way, I have some work to do and the traveler is probably very tired after their journey so we should go ahead and let them go to the inn to rest. Right, Pantalone?" He says, placing his gloved hand onto the exposed region for your back that's still slightly tender from the constant sun exposure. Your face heats up slightly at the contact, especially when one of his fingers curls against the small of your back... His other hand goes to your shoulders and steadily turns you towards the other direction, clearly motioning for you to leave. When you start to walk, he takes Qiqi's small hand as she waves goodbye to you.
You smile softly and sweetly while you wave goodbye to her. Paimon gives you a confused smile as she floats alongside you in her usual manner. You shrug, unsure of what the problem here was. Maybe his brother had crossed an unspoken boundary? You can't really say.
Well, he was right about one thing. You're pretty freaking tired. Both you and Paimon are ready to eat a warm meal and sleep in an actual bed.
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You return the next day, a pep in your step as you approach the pharmacy, carrying a bag of plants you had gathered that you weren't able to give Baizhu yesterday. You were excited to give these to him, you weren't sure if he already had these herbs or had any use for them, but Tighnari was kind enough to help you find them so you hoped that they would at least be of some use!
You enter the pharmacy, your smile widening as you wave to Herbalist Gui "Hey! Good morning, Gui. Do you know where Baizhu is?" You ask as you set the bag down onto the edge of the counter. He smiles as he shakes his head no.
"No, unfortunately he had a house call he needed to attend, I can't say when he'd be back... I'm assuming this is a personal batch for him?" He motions to the bag, which you proudly nod to.
"Mhm! Special delivery all the way from Sumeru! Personally handpicked by yours truly and the Head Forest Watcher of the Avidya Forest!" You state rather proudly as you wave your arm to the bag. Unfortunately, with your luck, your haphazard placement on the counter would result in it being knocked by the force of your arm.
You nearly shout with surprise as your hand darts to reach out and grab it, only to be immediately stopped by someone catching the bag before any of the plants fall out or the glass inside shattering. You heave an inward sigh of relief.
"Oh, thank the archons. Thank you." You say with a slight nervous chuckle.
"Oh it's no problem my dear, it was of no issue for me. Do be more careful in the future however." A voice spoke, a voice bonging to none other than Pantalone. The man smiles the same smile he gave yesterday as he puts the bag flat into the counter rather than the edge where you had placed it previously.
"O-oh um, yeah, my bad. I guess I'm just a bit careless today... Hey uh-, Guilty, could you " You give a sheepish chuckle as you speak, unsure of how you should talk to this stranger. On one hand, he's Baizhu's brother, and you really like Baizhu so you should get along with his brother, right? But on the other hand, something seems.... Off about him. Like there's a small voice in the back of your mind that just screams that you've heard his name from somewhere before.
Herbalist Gui takes the bag full of medicinal herbs, setting them down aside for when Baizhu comes back from his house call later.
A sigh is heard from Pantalone as Gui informs him of Baizhu's departure that morning, "Even when I come all the way from Shnezhnaya to visit him, he never ceases his work, even in his condition... whatever will I do with him?" He sounds exasperated, one arm across his chest with his hand holding up the elbow to his other arm where off he has a tired hand resting on his temple and his eyes closed. You clear your throat, hoping to ease the tension in the room.
"Oh well, that's just how he is. It's a house call so he won't be exerting himself too much, especially with Qiqi with him. He may be a workaholic but he knows better than to strain himself, we should trust he knows what he's doing, right?" You try your best to sound reassuring. The taller man nods at your words.
"I guess that is true, I'm not around very often and he's done just fine without me nagging him around..." He says, although he seems reluctant to say those words. You can't help but relate to the feeling of worrying and fretting over a sibling as well.
"Well, since neither Baizhu nor Qiqi are here, I may as well go and complete today's commissions. Thanks again for grabbing that bag, it would have been a pain if some of the glass broke in it." You express as you turn towards the pharmacy's front entrance.
"Oh? An adventurer as well? Would you mind if I tagged along?" He requests, "It's been a long while since I've seen anyone fight, though quite ironic considering my line of work." His comment is vague but you assume that he's being that way on purpose seeing as it's really not your business about what he does for a living.
"Um.. sure? I mean, it's nothing grand, but yeah, you can tag along.. just be sure to stay out of the way. Is there something you need help with?" You ask, maybe he needed help with a commission he had yet to post? That wasn't fairly uncommon, people often just came up to you due to your notoriety and would offer straight up to pay for services rather than go through the guild which could be a tedious and expensive process depending on your job.
"You could say that... And do not worry, I do not intend to be of any bother..." He reassures, "I would just like to see the famous traveler in action, to see if the rumors of your visionless power over the elements is as true as they say..." He adds.
And with that, you head off... You don't have Paimon floating around you today. She was still practically melted into the sheets when you got up and you didn't wish to disturb her. It's not often you guys find an actual roof to stay under and Paimon was just a little thing, she needs all the rest she's missed since the mess in Sumeru. So you left a note telling her you had left real quick to do some commission work and had left a small bag of mora to get herself something to eat for when she inevitably got hungry.
At some point while going about your commissions, you kind of forget about the looming shadow of the man you just met yesterday lurking behind you. It's not until you're out near the Guili Plains are you reminded as you hear the heels of his boots clicking against the ground in a steady rhythm not too far behind you. You're currently trying to find some lost bags from a careless historian that did not think to check his surroundings before setting up a camp and being chased off by the hostile... "neighbors."
A few hilichurls, maybe a mitachurl or two. It shouldn't be a big deal, even with the extra company. So you continue to look around.
"I imagine that doing this sort of work is quite profitable, yes? Especially with a reputation such as yours?" Pantalone suddenly says out of the blue, his arms crossed elegantly behind his back as though he is simply strolling along the city...
"oh um- yeah, I get by. At least food wise. Some commissions pay more than others based on difficulty." You explain, continuing to go through brush and using your blade to cut the surrounding foliage out of your view before moving onto the next area. You didn't think it to be of relevance that sometimes commissioners would sometimes refuse to pay the other half of their fee.
Depending on the size of the commissions, the Adventures' Guild would allow the commissioner to pay only half upfront so that, if something were to occur to either party, at least the adventurer who completed the commission at least got something and that the commissioner didn't completely lose their money.. But sometimes, a lot of time, you'd find yourself having to exasperatedly explain this novel concept to them as they refuse to 'shell out any more mora for a job I already paid for'... It usually wasn't worth the mora to argue too long.
"Hmm... I can see that. Based on your own size and how much energy and calories you may burn in a single day, I can't imagine that a full meal or the ingredients to make a meal would be only a few handfuls mora... That among other expenses between two people if you were to include that floating fairy from yesterday would begin to add up greatly..."
At this point, he seems to be talking more to himself than to you, with his left hand, which is adorned with rings, being brought to his chin as he contemplates his own words. You can't help but imagine how Paimon would react if she were here right now, probably saying something along the lines of 'Floating fairy?! Paimon is not a floating fairy! Paimon is Paimon!', you can't help but chuckle to yourself and shake your head fondly at the thought.
"Um.... Yeah. I guess..." You really don't know how else you should respond to that, he's right to an extent but you aren't quite sure what you're supposed to make of this conversation. Pantalone simply chuckles.
"I see, have you not considered the potential of working a single job rather than traveling around as you do? From what I hear, you have a wide variety of skills and talents that could be far more lucrative than the fickle stability of the adventurers' guild..." He questions casually.
"oh um, well it's not really about the mora for me, I mean- it is to some degree because I need to feed myself and Paimon... But i also sometimes just take jobs because people are in need." You explain. Pantalone gives you a curious glance, expecting you to elaborate further.
"People in need? How so?" He questions.
"Well, I mean, look at everything going on. Inazuma just opened its borders, Liyue is now governed by humans, Sumeru lost the Akasha terminal and freed Lesser Lord Kusanali... The world is changing and with it, the situations of people change with it." You explain, unsure of how to really say that you just want to make a difference as you search for your sibling.
"Hm... I see, if only everyone thought that way," He started, "Baizhu and I grew up on the... Less fortunate side of the coin toss... Especially when Baizhu's Illness began to surface... Not many wanted to help us," He says as he gazes around, "And yet, even now, he still insists on working himself day in and day out for the sake of others before himself... I guess this need he has to help others from their illnesses stemmed from when mother and father..." He trails off, thinking to himself.
You could immediately tell that the conversation was getting a bit somber just by his expression.
"Hey um, listen, I don't really know you that well and I don't really want to be told anything that Baizhu himself hasn't said." You explain awkwardly. "I don't want him to think I'm trying to snoop into any personal details about his life, he's my friend and I want to respect that."
Pantalone nods, "I guess that makes sense, I guess since Baizhu has detailed so much about you to me through letters that it almost feels like we know one another personally..." He clears his throat after a moment, "As his friend of course."
You nod to yourself as you continue to search. Your eyes scan the ground and brush for any signs of the bags. Eventually, you find items and papers tossed aside, clearly having been discarded by something or someone. You follow the trail, picking up papers, ink bottles, and other equipment as you go. When you believe you've found the end of the trail you decide to draw your sword just in case, you expect to find an animal or a hilichurl... However, you're stopped dead in your tracks at what had actually ransacked the historian's bag.
Please don't repost my work anywhere else ;w; I plan to post this to AO3 once I update it entirely. I'm not sure how many parts there will be.
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