I have figured out how to open asks. Send me a g/enshin character + snz prompt and I’ll try my best. (will be drabbles, not under #my fics tag as I will not consider them as such - I am still writing long fics but I want to try my hand at this.)
Update!!! I apologize severely to my lovely viewers because I did not know how to make asks anonymous. Now they are!!! Please send more in, they make my day!!! Currently working on some that I hope to release soon!!!! Love you my lieges <3
kazuha — there’s a storm on its way from the east of inazuma. kazuha’s always been sensitive to the weather, but something about this one settles an irritating feeling in his nose that he just can’t seem to get rid of. is this a foreshadowing? (could be pre or post vision hunt decree, whichever you’re comfortable with!)
Hi everyone, Kazuha's my favourite character so obviously he's the one I was going to write for next anyway. Thank you very much for requesting him, I enjoyed this a lot :) Please leave a comment if you enjoyed as it helps me with knowing if I did well or not!
Rainstorm
(Kazuha & friend (unnamed)) (4.4 k words)
As usual, Kazuha knows a storm is coming long before anyone else does.
The acrid sting of lightning mixed with the fresh scent of rain upon saltwater. An unmistakable sensation stirring in his perceptive nose that immediately tells him every last detail of the incoming inclement weather. A sharp sniff of the easterly winds heralds the foreboding forecast.
He thinks nothing of the itch ghosting against the edges of his nasal passages, simply dismissing it with a soft sniffle, a dignified finger against his nostrils. The strong ozone flavor always contrasts so strongly with the gentle hum of precipitation, and tends to awaken a particular tickle in the back of Kazuha’s sensitive nose. That’s not to mention the varying temperatures messing with the delicate balance of his sinuses, nor the cold rain and humidity itself that always invites a sneezing fit or two whenever the storm first makes itself known. It’s still bothersome, though - which is why, with a quiet sigh, he bends his index finger underneath his septum with a gentle rubbing motion.
Rustling sounds beneath him distract Kazuha temporarily from his slight nasal discomfort, and he inclines his head towards his blond companion, a soft smile alighting upon his face. Kazuha’s perched upon a sturdy branch in a tree, above the pile of leaves that they’d slept on, looking out into the breathtaking scenery. The morning truly is a beautiful one, with the rosy dawn’s fingers stretching across peach-coloured clouds, and with birdsong gently caressing the ears, resounding around the forest in which they’d laid to sleep.
“Morning, Kazuha.” A yawn, and the blonde stretches, revelling in the gentle rays of sunshine. Kazuha himself revels in the gentle beauty of his friend, whose boyish features shine in this early light. He fits so well against the forest’s natural glory, with a few stray leaves delicately perched in his pale-golden hair.
His friend turns to him, the pleasant dreams slipping from him slowly, and a questioning expression replaces his sleepy stupor.
“What’s up?” asks the boy who he’d shared a camp with, eyes trained on Kazuha’s twitching nostrils. He, like many others, has clearly learned that the samurai’s nose has never led anyone astray.
Kazuha hates to break his silence, preferring to listen to the song of the forest and the lovely rustle of leaves in the wind, but he finds it pertinent to inform his friend of his discovery. “Storm’s coming,” Kazuha intones, eyes flicking to the east. “We should get moving if we want to stay dry.”
The blonde-haired boy frowns, looking at the clear skies broken only by the leafy canopy that they currently sit beneath. “I believe you, Kazuha, but we probably still got a day before it hits, right? I want to investigate what the townspeople were talking about with the herbs in the forest.”
There had been talk of a very rare medicinal herb, native to this region. If they were to collect it and bring it back to the village, they’d be alright for a while, money-wise. Eating random things in the forest had been, well, fine, but both had begun to crave the foods of their upbringing after long days on the road. “Come on, with your nose, we’re practically set.”
“I know that, but…” Kazuha trails off, finger still pressed to his nostrils, scrunching up his irritated nose with another soft sniff. “I-it’s a strong one, I can feel it.”
He does have to admit that visually, the skies are forecasting a beautifully sunny day, but the sheer itchiness prickling at a particularly sensitive crevice in his nose is screaming that the storm is practically upon them. And - oh, his nose gives a twinge of itchiness, and although the finger digging into his septum has thus far been somewhat effective at staving off the insistent tickle, his nose is no longer so willing to listen - his mouth opens, and his eyes flutter shut, a small gasp the only warning before -
Kazuha wavers, eyes still tightly squeezed shut, as the itch rages on in the back of his nose, the sneezes having dispelled exactly none of the irritation; in fact, they may have just fanned the flames. Previously his nose has been experiencing a slight tickle, which has now erupted into a burning sensation not unlike the feeling of firecrackers’ sparks against skin. Only, his nose is so much more sensitive than normal skin, and the slightest itch is starting to make his nostrils flare erratically, mouth snapping open for more -
“hhyiihh-ESHH-! h-iihhISHH’n! h’AKKshh-!!”
The sneezes are stifled against his finger, harsh against his throat, and yet his poor irritated nose begs for more-! Kazuha has no choice, his helpless sniffle leading almost immediately into an itchy sneeze -
“h-iyAHKSHHn-h’kssh-h’iiHKSHh—!” A brief pause, and the samurai lets out a small sigh, rubbing at his reddened nostrils with the back of his hand. Not very dignified, but at least it’s better than wiping it against his sleeve - something he’s resorted to when his nostrils are streaming and he can’t stop sneezing, but now is, thankfully, not that time.
Worryingly, his nose still itches, the tickle only slightly lessened, still bothering his sensitive nostrils. Kazuha sniffles wetly out of instinct against his hand, keeping it there as he can feel the shadow of a sneeze starting to approach once more.
“Bless you.” His friend’s voice reaches him, but Kazuha shakes his head, his eyes fluttering shut once more as his breaths catch in his throat -
“iih-hiHshh-!! h-ahiSH-! h-ihhhkshh-!!”
A rapid-fire trio of sneezes stifled into the finger jutting into his nostrils, followed by a wet snort-sniffle. Unfortunately that only irritates his nose further and he gasps, nostrils flaring to the size of acorns -
“hih-hiih-hIIHKSHH-! hi-SKHiuu-! hih-h’KSHn-!”
His head is thrown back, hair tossed in the air as he gasps helplessly, lungs spasming - one hand hugs the tree’s trunk while the other catches as many sneezes as possible, “iiiHhiiiTCHH-iiKSSHHIYUH!’kksHIIII-!!” He wavers, breath catching as he’s bent forward, his nose squirming against his palm - “-ihhIHH-hh’-!! h’Kshhyii-! n’kshii-!! h’AKKSHyiii-!!…snff. hi’kshsh-!! ..snffsnff……” A shaky inhale, and despite the itch rattling around in his sinuses he can breathe without falling into a fit. He sniffles again, habitually, and apologetically rubs his nose as he casts his gaze downwards at the other man. The rubbing does not seem to be relieving the tickle, and he can’t stop sniffling in a fruitless attempt to quiet his complaining nostrils.
His companion peers up at him, an affectionate grin reflecting the sunlight. “Better get out of that tree before you sneeze yourself off the branch.”
On another day, Kazuha might have retorted - there’s never any danger of losing his balance, as he’d trained for many years to be as agile as he is now, but the slight teasing tickle keeps his mouth shut for fear of yet another sneeze escaping. Instead he leaps down, landing lightly on his -
The samurai stumbles, taking another step to balance himself from the rough descent, and the other man catches him up by the arm.
Unsteadily, heart beating a bit faster from the unexpected surprise of losing his footing, Kazuha smiles sheepishly at his friend. “Th-thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” His comrade hums, already walking deeper into the forest. “Now c’mon, we gotta get going if we want to beat the storm you were talking about.”
…
A rosy sunrise blossoms into a quiet morning. The birds are not singing their usual fare, and if Kazuha hadn’t already smelt the lightning on the air he would have found their absence alarming. In fact, it is rather unnerving to walk in this strange atmosphere, when all the creatures have scattered or hidden in preparation for the storm; he feels rather vulnerable, out here in the forest, not knowing any good escape routes.
“You’ve been sniffling a lot,” Kazuha’s friend notes, as they cross a stream. “Guess it makes sense, since we’re relying on your nose right now.”
Kazuha himself had not really noticed, so he only hums noncommittally in response. He has to focus in order not to reflexively sniffle after his friend has pointed it out, instead settling with a cautious finger against the sensitive appendage.
His nose has been itching almost non-stop. It’s making the task a thousand times harder than it should be, making tracing a faint leafy scent analogous to pinpointing a specific fragrance in a perfume shop. Every slight sniff and change of scenery fills his nose with sensations that would normally only be slightly tickly, now filling his nose with a magnified itch that he wants badly to clear with a strong sneeze.
“Which way now?” The voice breaks him from his musings and Kazuha blinks, before tilting his head to the side, sniffing softly.
Following the fragile scent is difficult enough when his nose is terribly distracted by an itch teasing, flickering at the back of his nose. Inhaling purposefully sends another tickle against the agonizingly-sensitive reddened rims; a hand flies up against his nostrils, cupping the suddenly-flaring entrances with a weak barrier of protection. A breathless gasp - “-ehh-scuse me-“ a slight wiggle to his ticklish nostrils - “ehehh..!” and he’s past the point of no return as his eyes squeeze shut into his hand - “eeHEHH-KShYiii-!! e-hKSHII!! e-e-hhKSHHIyuu-!! heh-ISHH—!”
A soft moan; Kazuha sniffles against his hand, grimacing slightly at the mess, and the beginnings of congestion that the sneezing hasn’t solved - he can already tell from his own fluttering gasps that his nose isn’t quite finished, and his eyes are shut even before he can open them to see his friend’s questioning gaze -
“-hh.. hi’ihh-!!”
Another wavering gasp, an agonizing pause -
“..ihihh-..”
For a moment Kazuha contemplates picking up a flower and taking a sharp sniff to clear his tickly sinuses by force. Every hitching gasp, torturously teasing at his senses, is making this idea less of an idea and more of a reality.
“-hh-iiiihh-h.!”
He needs the sneeze out now, his nostrils impossibly wide as they suffer from the whims of the tickle.
“iiiihh-h-..!”
Streaming eyes open against the world, and he grasps the stem of a hanging blossom, dangling from vines above, pressing his flaring nostrils into its sweet pollen -
Kazuha does not regret much about his life, but as he hitches desperately, his nostrils trying to violently empty themselves of the fragrance and the storm of pollen currently plaguing them, he counts this amongst the things he wishes he hadn’t -
Burning throughout his nostrils summons a heaving gasp, his lungs bending like jelly to the whims of his sinuses’ attempt to expel the itch and, now, the pollen. Normally the fragrance of flowers already sends Kazuha into a helpless fit; the combination of his debilitating itch, borne from the ominous promise of storm clouds that he can’t quite shake, and this new sharp intake of pure hay-fever torture, is his downfall. His eyes are burning and itching, but that’s nothing compared to the absolute disaster that is currently fluttering at the walls of his extremely sensitive nasal passages like a thousand leaves in a hurricane; he can barely draw air into his lungs fast enough to compensate, the sneezes bursting out in spiraling fits swiftly -
Desperate sneezes against his steepled hands attempt to expel the irritants, his nose’s sensitivities protesting the strength of the invading allergens.
He recovers with a wet sniffle. It seems that the fight against the omnipresent itch has been won, at least for now, as it once again settles into a background drone. On the other hand, the fight against being an absolute mess of snot is one he is not eager to face. It’s time to resort to - Kazuha’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, awkwardly guiding his hands away from the absolute disaster as he peeks over the edge of his sleeve.
“uhhhnn…” another timid sniffle and he hides his dripping nose behind the cloth on his arm. “..Sorry.”
His friend’s smile is one of sympathy; he digs around in his pocket and produces a square of fabric. With one hand he shakes it out and extends it to the samurai. “Here.”
Kazuha’s free hand accepts the cloth scrap gratefully. “My thanks.” Quickly he pulls it over the bridge of his nose, pressing his hands over it to conceal the mess. He blows his nose, as softly as he can manage, as his friend watches on patiently. When that doesn’t rid his nostrils of the itch he tries again, the sound embarrassingly wet and obnoxious, reminiscent of an ailing horn - yet still woefully weak against the towering foe of nasal irritation. The snot gurgles, wet and sticky, out of his quivering nostrils and into the now-soggy folds of the cloth, and it’s mortifying.
Kazuha could have stood there blowing his nose for hours, trying to dull the blade of itchy torture sharpening its distracting sensation against his nasal passages - yet something tells him that this itching feeling won’t leave him very easily. Self-conscious of the expectant gaze upon him, he inhales deeply, steeling himself to try to search the forest once more.
The samurai’s eyes are watering, yet he still sniffles, nostrils flaring as he tries to catch the scent of the herb, and that’s definitely a mistake right after an attempt of clearing his nose - in rushes a cacophony of starkly contrasting scents, which had formerly been dulled by the congestion plugging his passageways. Layers of horribly strong, torturously tickly fragrances of flowers and leaves and dirt and the looming threat of a storm - dizzying, leaving his mouth snapping open, his face once again ducking into the safety of the cloth -
“-hh’ah-! h-aHH-iSHH!! haHHkSHH!! h’aKKSHHII-!!”
The blonde-haired companion has been trying not to call too much attention to Kazuha’s sniffly dilemma, but at this point the samurai’s suffering is too obvious to ignore. “Do you want to take a break or something?”
“ih-hIHKSH-n! ‘ksshnt-! -snf- N-no, I - hh’AKSh-! snf- I’m a-aaaHHKSHH!h’akSHH-!! I’m, alright-‘kkshh!…-snf..” He blasts his nose into the soggy cloth, turning away from his friend’s worried gaze. After a slight pause to catch his breath, he straightens up, trying to conceal his sniffling in the folds of the pseudo-handkerchief.
Unfortunately, he’s not quite sure where the herbs might be - his nose is certainly very distracted and it’s rather embarrassing to admit. So, holding his breath this time, he walks blindly into the woods where he thinks the scent had been wafting from. As he calls back to his friend, Kazuha has to fight to keep his voice level. “..L-et’s go, th-the skies won’t stay- ihkshh!! snf.. won’t stay-- iiiHHHKSHH-!! ..s-stay clear for long.” (And neither will his sinuses, as he blows his nose again in an effort to trace the herb’s scent once again.)
..
His hand is tightly pressed against his nose, and he squeezes his eyes shut with a quiet stifled fit. “iihKSH! ih-k’shT-! i-i’kSHihh-!!”
He’s far ahead enough of his friend that they’re silent, masked by the sound of rustling leaves. Not so easily hidden is the crimson hue that the rims of his nostrils have taken on, and the steady stream of involuntary sniffles that keep uselessly attempting to rid his sinuses of the annoying itchy feeling.
“You sure this is the right way?” His friend calls, starting to close the distance, because Kazuha’s starting to slow, unable to see through a hazy fog of itchiness and of tears arising from the forceful fits. “I think we might’ve just walked in a circle. Isn’t this where we camped last night?”
Alarmed, Kazuha stops, blinking the bleariness out of his eyes. His heart sinks as his gaze lands upona very familiar tree. “..Yes, this is indeed where we…” A sharp sniffle interrupts him, and wearily he brings his hand up, rubbing at his nose. “..snf-snff.. I’m sorry, friend, I think.. ihhKSHH-! I think I got confused.”
His blond companion tsks, studying the scenery as he strolls over their former campsite. “You’ve sneezed like, what, a hundred times in the last few minutes alone. Is the smell of the storm that distracting?”
The guilt in the samurai’s stomach twists like a sword. Why can’t he stop sneezing? “I r-really am sorry, I didn’t - snff-! - Didn’t expect - snff-! to be so..snf-..” A scrunched up nose points to the source of his problems, yet he soldiers on, voice wavering more and more dangerously; “Th-the i-itch, it - snff-!!.. snf!..sorry, it- snff-!! ihiiihhh-it’s…”
He pauses, a hand raised to hover under his nostrils. He waits, hoping for the irritation to fade - and, to his dismay, the itch proves too overwhelming. His nose scrunches up, a sniffle to dissuade the tickle from spreading fails miserably, and a moment later his hitching gasp completely derails his train of thought. “I-I haftasne-eze…” Kazuha whispers in a rush, an eye already sliding shut even as he fights to keep them open -
His hands are soiled, but he continues to try to sneeze quietly into them - key word being try -
“ii’iIYYEshh!! N’kshh!! h-kSHH-!!h’iKSHh-!!”
“Maybe we should turn back after all…” Kazuha’s friend finally says. His hand settles against Kazuha’s shoulders, which shudder with every badly-stifled sneeze. “We can make it back to the village by nightfall, and I remember the way.”
“N-ot until we- hhAHHSHn-! h’AAHKsh-! until we f-iiHHKSSHHIYUU-!! find the - IHHKSHHyyIU!! th-the her’kshhhiiu-! h’ehYIISHH-!!”
“Kazu, I can’t even understand what you’re saying.” His friend murmurs gently, smoothing loose strands of hair out of the samurai’s face as he jolts forward with a fittish sneeze. As he rears back with another gasp, the man deftly catches the scrunched up nose with his fingers. A frown forms on his fair face as the back of his hand brushes Kazuha’s forehead. “That’s it, we’re going.”
There’s no way he can argue now, incapacitated with an itchy fit burning its way through his nostrils. The boy’s nose quivers, held hostage by his friend’s well-intentioned fingers, yet the sneezes aren’t quite willing to simply wilt away on command; nay, they surge forward, the stifled nature sending sharp pains through Kazuha’s abdomen.
“-iik-shTT-! hi’ikSHH! h’kSHH-t!! h’nkSHh-!!”
A small involuntary whine alerts his friend, who quickly releases the poor, crimson-red abused nostrils - which instantly flare as Kazuha’s face crumples into a desperate expression -
A particularly hard sneeze makes him stumble forward, and Kazuha most definitely would have ended up face-planting, had his friend not been standing there.
“Ok, ok. You’d better sit down.” A steadying hand on his back guides him onto the forest floor. He’s grateful, as he’s terribly dizzy for some reason. But as much as Kazuha wants to thank his friend he can’t, not when his breaths are seized by the urge to expel as much air as possible in the form of helpless sneezes.
He’s too busy gasping to speak in detail, but his message is urgent. Even despite the miasma of hazy scents, the samurai’s senses are filled with the static of lightning. The storm is upon them, and his nostrils are very displeased with the turn in weather. Kazuha pinches his horribly itching nostrils, voice squeaking amidst a flurry of sneezes - “hii’kSh! h’KSHI-! G-guhh-nda -hhAA’ksHH!! h’kSH-! r-rain-nh’akkSHH!!”
The storm chooses that exact moment (right on schedule according to the intensifying tickle in Kazuha’s nose) to materialize above the two, a booming clap of thunder heralding its appearance. Fat raindrops patter onto the leaves above them, wind rushes against heavy branches, and Kazuha’s friend stares upward, muttering a string of curses as the fury of the skies pounds against their backs.
“Shoulda listened to you, huh?” The blonde, now very soggy-haired boy remarks, as he leans closer to his friend, a hand protectively shielding the pre-occupied, red-nosed samurai from the pouring rain. The other hand tugs at his arm, helping him to stand. “C’mon, let’s hurry…”
Kazuha isn’t quite sure what happens next, on account of the fact that his eyes are squeezed shut, and his breaths are stolen by sneeze after sneeze. All he knows is that the world is all dark but his nose and throat are on fire. Through cold and soaking freezing wet he stumbles, depending solely on his friend’s guidance, he shudders from the cold and sprays sneezes indiscriminately into the brush they are crashing through. He’s glad his eyes are shut because he’s pretty certain that he would not be able to walk in a straight line - actually, it’s a miracle he’s still on his feet, thanks mostly to the fact that most of his weight is being supported by his companion.
“Just a little further,” a voice urges, and he can’t quite place who it is. He feels rather strange, and very tired, and very dizzy, and his nose itches badly, so he stifles yet another sneeze into his elbow - “hi’kshh!!”
Their footsteps eventually sound different, as if they are against rock rather than spongy brush, and Kazuha dazedly wonders if they’ve entered a cave, from the way that the noises echo - but that can’t be right. He can’t smell the damp scent of mushrooms and stagnant water, nor the dusty scent of stones. An experimental sniff yields nothing - his nose is entirely too stuffed up for that, and he’s left coughing, his throat burning from the failed attempt at sensing his surroundings. A moment of panic, as if he’d been blinded, fills his crippled senses, but he’s quickly soothed by a comforting hand upon his shoulder. “We’ll stop here.”
Something dry, and soft, is eventually pressed against his nostrils, and Kazuha uses the last of his breath to blow his congested-yet-runny nose into its folds. It helps, somewhat, and with a shuddering breath he can once again open his eyes.
His friend is there, and when he catches sight of Kazuha looking back at him, he exhales with relief. “You alright?”
Kazuha nods, although that hurts his head, and he tries for a weak smile. “Yeah, I-” He realizes that his nose is scrunched up. With a shaky sigh, he pinches at his nose. “...Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I shoulda listened to you when you said it was going to storm in the first place.” The blonde blows steadily into a small stack of sticks, and a fire flickers to life.
The smoke is strong-scented enough that it burns through Kazuha’s congestion, and he pulls away, a sneeze erupting swiftly from his liberated sinuses - “hhyAA-ISHH!! hy-AiISSHIUU-!!” Hurriedly he presses the cloth against his nose, a flush settling on his features.
“Bless you. Times, like, a thousand.”
“Thag you.” Kazuha blows his nose into the fabric. It’s rather ineffective, with the congestion barely budging from his stuffy nostrils, but his head hurts so badly that he doesn’t have the strength to try again. “Where are we..?” It feels strange to ask, to be so disoriented, but he truly has no idea. It is as if someone has stolen his vision, or tied his hands behind his back.
His friend shrugs, his hand in a small patch of peculiar-looking sprouts. “No idea. But these are really annoying.” He pokes at them. “They keep sticking to my clothes. And my hands.” A pause, in which he shakes his fingers free of the clinging vines - he freezes, staring at the plants.
Then he yelps with surprise, holding up a sprig of green leaves. “Wh-hey, this is it! The herb they were talking about!” He holds it up so that the samurai can inspect it, beaming from ear to ear.
The boy sniffles, his abdomen sore from all the stifling, but he forces himself to sniff the sprig - the subtle fragrance fills his nostrils, but his entire nose is so full of itchiness and all sorts of overwhelming smells mixing together and it’s giving him an awful headache at this point - he winces, pinching his aching nostrils as a sneeze sneaks up on him - “h’ksshh-‘ksht-!!” Thankfully the other man has pulled the plant away, eyes widening with recognition, apologizing profusely - “Shit, sorry Kaz-“
The boy shakes his head, mouth already open - “hh’aKKSHHyii! h’kSHH!!...do’t abologize.” A harsh sniffle against the thick congestion - which makes him cough, slightly - and a swipe at his dripping nostrils leaves him in a slightly better position than before (or so he thinks). “..snff….Th-then, we cad-h’aKKSHH-!!h’kSHH!!......snff..” Kazuha rubs at his nose, groaning slightly as it fails to rid his nose of the irritation. “We ca-d..snff..g-go back. We have what we were lookig for..”
Despite his words, he doesn’t really want to move from his position, his entire body feeling as though it had been weighed down. He feels a bit like he’s being crushed at the bottom of the ocean, and the thick congestion and snot running from his nose, forcing him to breathe shallowly through his mouth, makes that a very apt metaphor to his situation. Not helping is the feeling of sand in his throat, which only contributes to the simile. He coughs again, and that sets the world spinning - he has to close his eyes for a brief second.
When he opens his eyes again, it’s to his friend staring at him as if he’s grown another pair of ears. “Don’t be ridiculous, Kazuha, you can barely stand. Or breathe without sneezing. You’re obviously sick.”
Kazuha stares back. It takes a few seconds for the words to click. “...Sorry?”
His companion nods regretfully, reaching forward tenderly. He can’t suppress a small shudder as the cool hand alights against his forehead. “Yup, I was right - you’re running a fever.” He whistles, pity written all over his face. “Earlier, I thought you were a little warm, and now there’s no doubt. Can’t be fun in a rainstorm.”
Kazuha feels so awful that he doesn’t even have the strength to protest. Instead, he gives a little fluttering sigh, sinking down against his friend’s chest. “Ah. That bight explain… why by dose is so i-hiiihh-!..i-tchy..”
The warmth he’s lying against shakes with a slight chuckle. “Never change, Kazuha.”
albedo, up in dragonspine with a headcold. thinks he can work it off, but the weather isn’t being particularly considerate regarding his current condition.
Dearest Anonymous Writer, I do hope you enjoy this fic I lovingly crafted for you!!! I was OVERJOYED to receive this in my asks and I really really hope you like it!!!!!!! Even though I am bad at writing (especially albedo who may seem ooc, but i tried.) Happy Holidays everyone!
Frostbite
g/enshin snzfic (sick!a/lbedo & k/aeya) (4k ish words)
The frost is extra frosty today.
Even clutching the furry blankets closer to his freezing skin does very little against the cold seeping into his bones; Albedo wraps the covers closer to himself, letting out a small shiver, wholly unwilling to get out of the warm fluffy sheets. At least, for a few more moments…
…
Just a few more moments…
When the ceiling comes into view again, it seems like the room’s gotten even colder, and Albedo’s muscles feel like lead, and his eyelids feel as though an irresistible force, stronger than gravity, is pulling them down.
He has half a mind to close his eyes again and allow sleep to claim him once more.
…
Albedo’s eyes fly open, leaving the world reeling from how quickly light infiltrates his senses, and his mouth opens before he even has the slightest idea why, his mind still slow and stupid from the stupor of dreamless sleep - he’s plunged into darkness once more as quickly as he’d left it, his every thought now devoted to a singular cause - the insane, burning itch that has somehow invaded the very back of his nasal passages -!
“-h-hIH-!”
He wavers, mouth hanging open, nostrils quivering in frustrated anticipation, for just a moment -
“..-h-hiihH-..!”
Before finally, thank the Archons, his nose releases him from the agony - he pitches forward, blanket raised up to catch the messy spray of his sneezes -
“-hIh’ks-Huh-! h’IHKSH-uh-!”
A pause, in which Albedo keeps his eyes squeezed shut, nose still buried in the fur of his blanket, waiting for the itch to summon more exhausting expulsions -
Then the alchemist sighs, a wet sniffle escaping him as he lowers the blank-
“-hiHH’kSHhuu-!”
Startled, he gasps involuntarily, his breaths growing uneven as the itch burns powerfully throughout his nose, which responds with an aching twinge of agonizing sensation pummeling the sensitive insides of his red, twitching nostrils -
“-hiiyyEiiii’kSHhiuu-!! …!”
That sneeze had been particularly wet, and he’s left sniffling furiously, trying to recover his dignity even as his blanket’s hopelessly soiled with the spray of his - oh no, his breath catches as a particularly sharp twinge in his sinuses makes his head rear back, and something tells him that his blanket’s going to be rather worse for the wear after -
“-hhaAHHH’EKkhsh-hIHH’kSShhi-uuuHH-!!”
Hurriedly, before he can sniffle reflexively, he shoves the fur blanket off of himself, all but catapulting himself out of the safe haven of the warm bed, eyes still squeezed shut -
“hhAHh-uhhKKSShhh-!! h’KKShh!!.....”
Albedo swipes at his inflamed nostrils, groaning slightly as he finally has the chance to open his bleary eyes. Ugh.. With a slight sigh he sinks down onto the chair by his desk, a hand rifling through his drawers. He knew he should’ve gotten rid of that fur-blanket ages ago, as it had the tendency to coax a few sneezes out of his sensitive nose every now and again, but he hadn’t exactly expected the itch to be quite so strong so as to wake him up. The alchemist sniffles, fingers finally finding the handkerchief he’d been searching for, and, with a slight sigh, he blows his nose. Perhaps the blanket had accumulated some dust, or something..?
Either way, best not to keep the thing about for now. Albedo sniffles once again, finding it rather irritating how much his nose is running. His throat at this point is starting to ache, which can only be from the chill that’s invaded the entire cave. Hmm.. must’ve been a particularly bad storm.
Albedo frowns, hesitant, as he stares down the offending blanket, its furry exterior evoking a particular itch in the back of his nose. However, the sheer amount of shivering he’s doing is strongly dissuading him from exiting the cave to properly dispose of the thing, and for a few moments he simply clings to his own arms, trying to hide from the pervasive cold.
Oh, not again - his head tilts back, breath catching once more -! Albedo moans quietly, the back of his hand digging at his irritated nostrils, but still he’s helpless to stop the next series of -
A wet sniffle. His nose burns badly. In a rather embarrassing display he blows his nose into the poor, wet handkerchief, and finds barely any relief, as his nostrils ignite with renewed passion.
“Uhh-hhh-! hAAhhHKKHSHHh-!! ha’AKKHShhUH-!!”
As the itch starts to get utterly overwhelming he decides that enough is enough. With one hand pinching hard at his itchy nose, the other holding the blanket as far as possible from his face, Albedo (in a very dignified manner) thrusts the wretched fabric far into the snow.
He breathes a sigh of almost relief, that swiftly becomes a gasp of desperation -!
“-huuuhh-! H-uhh-..!!”
The agonizing seconds stretch longer and longer as his breaths come unevenly.
And yet…!
Every passing moment feels more and more like a letdown, as the itch becomes more of a background hum, as silent as the snowflakes falling onto snowdrifts, yet as present as the chill they bring. Albedo’s hand lowers, taking with it the handkerchief and his spirits. He sniffles, hugging his elbows as he waits patiently, head still tilted upward.
It feels as if an eternity passes with his nose wiggling in the air, nursing the tiny itch until it’s formidable enough for him to finally expel it - and oh, that burns -!
“-hihhh…h-ihh-!”
A small hitching gasp ignites his nasal passages with a brightly burning sensation.
“..h-iihh-…” It’s only a matter of time, he can tell by the way his eyes are starting to water and the way his throat feels scratchy with anticipation. Yet, he is helpless to speed up the process, completely bent to the will of this torturous sneeze, the burning overwhelming his senses -
“…! -h-!! hihhh-..!”
His breaths are ragged, his nose squirming from the sheer irritation of it all, and - he gasps, itch finally freeing him from the agony.
“iiih-iiHIHH-kSHUHH-!!”
That’s odd, he thinks, sniffling and shivering with equal fervor, brow furrowed as he tries to part the mist filling his weary brain, shouldn’t his nose be itching less now that the blanket’s gone…? Indeed, his nose’s itch is only growing in strength with every weak sniff and violent shudder. Irritated and annoyed, he blasts his nose into the handkerchief once more. Maybe the tickle hasn’t run its course yet.
Carefully he removes the handkerchief from his nostrils, wiggling them experimentally; fortunately, despite the fact that his every inhale feels stuffy and uncomfortable, he’s not out right sneezing. It probably was the fur after all -!
Albedo’s nose chooses that moment to twitch powerfully, and his fingers quickly reach up, pinching at his nostrils that are currently whining at him, hoping for some reprieve from the wild itching that is exploding like an overload reaction. As the tickle starts to invade his senses he finds that he cannot possibly ignore such a powerful adversary, and, dignity forgotten for a moment, he gasps - nose frantic for relief -!
“hhAHH-!!! h-aAHHEEKSSHH-!! hAHHESHHUHH-!!” The sneezes burn his throat on the way out and he’s left panting slightly, wincing as his entire head is suddenly spinning and pounding and full of sawdust. Albedo sighs, and his heart sinks as that innocuous breath becomes a slight cough as his throat rebels against him.
Well, there’s no denying it now. He’s sick.
A part of him had known the second he’d woken that morning, what with the slight tickle in the back of his throat, creeping upwards into his nasal passages. Now with the irrefutable evidence, there’s no way Albedo can ignore the facts.
Good thing he can still ignore the symptoms.
Unfortunately, even if Albedo only has a head cold, the outside has a different kind of cold - a much more severe one, at that. A longing gaze turned towards his forlorn bed makes him sorely wish that he hadn’t been so hasty to throw away the warmest blanket that he possessed. Yet a stronger shiver running through his body strongly dissuades him from leaving to retrieve the probably sopping wet and frozen blanket.
Another shiver forces Albedo to his feet, and he stumbles to the fireplace, frozen fingers fumbling with the little firewood he had left. Hands graze against the box’s bottom, and he simply sighs, before tossing the last of the tinder into the hearth.
Normally that’s a sign to go out to fetch more.
Today?
He can barely keep his eyes open long enough to start the fire, fingers barely hanging on to the flint, as his breath shudders weakly in his chest -
He ducks his head into his shoulder, shivering as the itch once again takes control - “hAHkCHUHH-! h-ah-!!”
A pause.
“…hiih…”
The way his breath stutters in his chest is not a very encouraging sign as he wrestles with this fast-fading itch.
“…”
A wet sniffle, disappointment settling into his veins as the urge leaves him hanging, and he wearily turns back to his fire-starting efforts.
Thanks to quite a few attempts, he manages to get a spark fanned into a small flame, and warmth fills Albedo’s veins. A contented sigh.
“…-ihh-!!” His nose suddenly ignites, a spark similarly bursting to life, and he squeezes his eyes shut, aching nose raised into the air -
“..-hihh-..”
The itch fades once more, and his throat complains furiously. These false starts are driving him insane. There’s nothing Albedo can do, however, but blast his nostrils and gunk into the abused handkerchief helplessly.
Ugh.
Illness is such an inconvenience.
There’s still much to do, and just thinking about it makes Albedo’s head spin. He’ll probably be alright, it’s only a little cold. From prior experience, it’ll most likely go away. The worst that this illness would be is an annoyance - although, his next hitching gasp makes him rethink that, as he desperately clears his itchy nose into his poor soggy handkerchief.
Albedo shuffles onto his chair once the warmth is sufficient to stop his whole-body shivers (somewhat, he’s starting to suspect that the origin of some of them are not in fact from the chill outside) - and even though his body flashes with freezing cold every few minutes or so, it’s enough to get him back to work.
With a careful hand guiding tweezers full of elemental dust, Albedo stares at the pan. Combining these two identical materials, borne of different origins, might have a novel effect, given the technique of mixing is precise. As he delicately handles the instruments, laser-focused on the mixture, he sniffles slightly, the itch in his nose omnipresent and omni-annoying. Wisps of smoke seep upwards, twirling in the cold air, and -!
His throat rises up in immediate protest, a scratchy sensation emerging and rearing its head throughout his respiratory system; Albedo stiffens, a hand automatically flying up to his mouth as he sputters a small cough. CLACK! The tweezers clatter to the floor, but his eyes are fluttering with a much larger issue -!
“hi-IHHHKShuuH-! hii-ihKSHhyuh-!!!”
He opens his eyes to find elemental dust swirling all throughout the frosty air, visible against the puff of his breath, sparkling like motes in the sunlight - and this is not a sight he sees for very long, before his eyes squeeze shut again, breath catching in a half-cough half-sneezing expulsion that grates at his chest - “aHIKSSHTYUUhhh-!! hI-AkkSSHiuhh-!! h-yakkSHUHH—!!!!”
His nose is weeping, and a wet snort does nothing but worsen the issue as more dust makes its way into his red, raw throat. The alchemist stumbles; eyes, nose, and throat burning with an unquenchable fire. Feeling against the wall, gasping as his breath leaves him in repeated coughs and sneezes sprayed against his elbow - “hyiIHHUkkSHH-h’KShhhUhh—!!” Albedo’s fingers find the entrance and he nearly faceplants into the snow from how quickly he opens the door, letting the blizzard-strength winds gust into his poor, frozen abode. The pitiful fire extinguishes itself with a spiteful hiss, but Albedo can barely care less as he refills his dust-infested lungs with fresh, freezing cold oxygen -
and that oxygen acts as a catalyst to the horribly irritating reaction blasting around in his nose; distantly, he wonders if this could count as a swirl reaction, before all thoughts leave his fuzzy mind in favour of I NEED TO SNEEZE -!!
He reels in the frosty air, his lungs screaming as the harsh contrast between burning itch and freezing cold stings at his throat and sinuses. Before he can even register the sheer agony, Albedo’s mouth snaps open once more, breaths coming out as half-cough half-hitch abominations as the irritating sensations war with one another -!
The wind is unforgivingly frosty against his poor nose, which protests the sudden temperature change with a violent twitch, and Albedo feels himself falling to pieces even before he has time to draw breath.
The alchemist pants, his throat finally satiated with the desperate expulsions, and quickly he pulls the door shut as the wind bites at his ears and nose and fingers.
Sniffling fervently, and coughing quite a few times as well, he shivers as he turns back into the room. The lab has dropped in temperature once more. Albedo finds that his head is spinning so badly that he can’t bring himself to bother braving the storm for another heap of firewood. Maybe if he worked some more, he’d regain some energy. Furthermore the storm will probably have passed by the time his experiment has completed. At least, that’s what the alchemist tells himself, as he focuses bleary eyes on the table once more, shuddering as the intensified chill presents itself as an icy feeling through his veins.
For a while he simply works, ignoring how his throat curls with pain and how his sniffling keeps messing up the experiment. A shaking hand is no good when he’s working with delicate ashes, and he grits his teeth out of frustration - totally not because they’re chattering, forced together by the harsh chill in the room. His throat feels as though he had swallowed an entire bottle of sand, and the flask of water isn’t doing much to solve that issue.
His head is pounding - very annoying when he’s trying to measure out ingredients that he can’t remember clearly. Albedo grits his teeth, resolving to scribble down what he’d just added to the mixture, even though this would normally be child’s play. His fingers tremble as he writes - 3 g. Anm. Slime. 4.2 g. Crys. Fly.
The alchemist frowns, quill shaking slightly, as he tries to remember whether or not he’d added the fragile resin three seconds ago, and with a slightly frustrated sigh he shoves the concoction into the waste bin, restarting the experiment once more.
…
The ashes swirl into nothingness from a raw sneeze for possibly the fifth time, although truthfully he’s lost count. A soft groan, and his nostrils rebel, red rims expanding as his eyes flutter shut, and his handkerchief finds its way underneath; the feeling of his mouth opening is almost second nature at this point and Albedo gasps, his whole body gripped by the urgency of expelling this itchy sensation…!
“hy-hAHHKSH-hhUUH! h-hAKASSHUiuhh—!”
He rubs at his nostrils with the handkerchief, smothering a few harsh coughs into the fabric, utterly miserable as the congestion forms a pounding headache. He’s driven utterly to distraction by the freezing cold temperatures, which to his dismay have not improved in the slightest; as some semblance of night falls he finds himself clutching at his arms, shivering so violently that it seems his workspace is vibrating. It’s utterly ridiculous to even consider working still at this point, but Albedo is determined -!
His head pounds again, more powerfully this time.
He ignores it.
“You still kicking, Albedo?”
The alchemist in question suddenly starts, dropping the ingredients and groaning as he ruins the process yet again. “O-oh, coming..!” More pressingly, someone’s at the door, so he hurriedly whisks the mess away with a wave of his hand. The world seems to tilt to the side as he stands up too quickly, and for a moment he can only wobble in place, gripping his chair tightly for support as his vision blurs with many colours.
Freezing cold wind enters the room as he peeks out, eyes meeting a blue-haired knight of Favonius.
“Cavalry Captain..?” Albedo’s voice feels rusty from disuse, so he clears his throat slightly into his fist. “What are you d-doing here..?”
What indeed, would compel anyone to go to Dragonspine during the winter, during this awful snowstorm? Albedo can barely keep his eyes open against the frigid winds that are causing him to shake uncontrollably despite the layers he has on, and the head cold isn’t helping matters - letting the icy frost penetrate deep into his bones as his teeth chatter helplessly.
The man simply chuckles, shaking his head. “Did you seriously forget what day it is?” Kaeya’s expression is one of mild amusement.
Bewildered, Albedo glances up at the sky, as if the dark clouds and the blustery snow will tell him anything about the passage of time, and then back at Kaeya’s bemused expression. He strains his throat to be heard above the howling winds, teeth chattering so badly that his words sound unrecognizable. “I’m s-sorry, please remind me. If that’s alright.”
“The Acting Grand Master asked me to ask you if you were going to give us the heatshield potions for the mission anytime soon.”
Albedo’s eyes widen, before he regains his composure. How could he have forgotten? “I-.. I haven’t completed that assignment.” He smothers another cough, thankful that the other hasn’t mentioned it by now. “I can finish it by tomorrow, though.”
Kaeya tilts his head in apparent agreement. “Mind if I stay here, then? I’m supposed to bring the potions back.”
The blonde-haired man nods, though his eyes are distant; he can feel some sort of tickle in the back of his throat, migrating towards his sinuses, and it’s terribly distracting.
“You ok there, Albedo? You’re not looking too hot.” Kaeya’s voice drifts towards him, and vaguely he discerns a concerned expression on the other man’s face.
Albedo opens his mouth to respond, and…
His nose itches so badly, so suddenly, like a sharp feather-blade twisting its way into his nose, and he has to hold his breath, teeth gritted, in order not to sneeze directly onto the other man, and to his great relief, he manages to keep the nigh-inevitable itch from escaping all over Kaeya’s garments…!
“Albedo?”
He blinks, an apology already making its way out of his aching throat. But when he opens his mouth, a raspy cough escapes instead, turning itself swiftly into a burning itch in the back of his nose and throat and instinctively his body attempts to expel the sudden irritation - his hitching coughs spluttering into a - “h-hhaahh-kkshu-uhh-!! h’-AKSH-!! ‘aKsHHHUH—!!”
A firm hand on his shoulder steadies the ailing alchemist. Albedo looks up at what appears to be three spinning copies of the cavalry captain, and he stifles a groan.
“Whoa, there. You alright…?”
Albedo blinks, trying to make sense of the gibberish flowing from the other’s mouth. “Um… Y-yes.” His words do not sound very confident, especially considering that he shivers violently right afterward.
“Try again.” Kaeya lets himself, and a strong gust of frosty wind, into the cave, and as Albedo shudders the knight smoothly slips off his furry scarf, tying it loosely around the blonde-haired man’s shoulders. “Archons, Albedo, you’re burning up.”
“So I am.” The Alchemist’s voice is quiet, eyes rather distant as he leans away from Kaeya’s hand reaching for his forehead. “…O-or perhaps, y-you’re th-the one that’s cold…”
His poor attempt at a joke is interrupted by a quiet curse from the fireplace. “Do you not have any firewood…? In Dragonspine?”
“Did earlier..”
He must’ve sounded rather pitiful, as Kaeya stands up immediately and makes his way to the door. “Stay right here, I’m gonna have to get some more.” Just like that, he’s gone, sending another chill into the room.
Albedo’s attempt to stop him - opening his mouth to protest, has left his own nose protesting, and he stifles a sneeze into his palm - “h-iIIkhshUUH-!” Well, now it’s too late. The wind whistles outside and he has no ability to follow given his current state. Now the only thing he can do is to obey Kaeya’s order to wait.
Albedo listens for all of about three minutes, and that’s mostly because he’s summoning the strength to stand again. As soon as this capability is returned to him, he’s once again sitting at his desk, staring at the elemental dust in his workspace. He definitely has time to finish the potions before Kaeya returns.
He is about to mix everything together when he realizes he needs more flaming flower stamens. The most important ingredient in the potion. The only reason he’s not kicking himself, physically, is that he left some in the storage just a two-minute walk from this lab.
It’ll be a short trip.
Albedo’s opening the door before he can think twice about it.
The biting frost stings at his numb fingers. Albedo’s been shivering nonstop for the whole day so the fact that he’s shivering barely registers.
By the time the shaking gets worse, the path is hidden under layers of snow. His feet sink into the powdered frost, leaving them soaked with cold.
Everything looks so unfamiliar, even though he’d lived here for so long.
It’s another five? Ten? Minutes before Albedo finally admits he’s lost, coughing harshly into the scarf that Kaeya had lent him.
Snow feels like nothing against his already-numb fingers and wet against his knees.
Navigating this is impossible, given that he can’t keep his eyes open for even a moment before the snowflakes catch in his eyelashes, fluttering as his nose compels him to duck forward into frozen hands -
“HH-iIYEESh- h’kSHIeyyUUUh!!!”
He sprays sneezes against the sparkling snow, the sound lost to the howling wind.
Albedo’s eyes are burning with cold and hot and the same time, as they stream with tears from the force of ejecting his tortured lungs via sneezing and coughing -
A warmth upon his shoulder, and he hazily looks up, sky and snow blurring together.
A certain blue-haired Knight of Favonius stares back at him, frightened concern clear in his icy eyes - his lips move, but Albedo doesn’t hear anything over the roar of the blizzard.
He simply melts into the other’s touch, too dizzy and too weak to move on his own, and thankfully the other man supports both their weight against the wind and snow. It feels like forever, struggling against biting cold that burns at his nose and ears and -
Albedo gasps, muffling a coughing fit into his frozen hand, and his nose, offended by the frigid snowflakes, immediately sends a stinging itch through his congested sinuses - he sputters, breathless. “hiIHk-sHuh-!! hikhssh-hiIhkSHHuuh-!!”
The wind lessens and Albedo manages to crack an eye open against frosty air to see Kaeya bracing himself against the snow, protecting them from the brunt of the storm as they continue to shuffle in the direction of Albedo’s abode.
“-hiiIh-! hih-! h-hiIHKHSH! h’ksHUH!” A dizzy sneeze leaves him leaning heavily against Kaeya’s chest, and luckily the Cavalry Captain does not falter. Instead he speeds up, all but dragging his companion into the safety of their shelter.
It’s a single moment of silence after the raging storm outside.
Broken swiftly, a few seconds later.
“What were you thinking?!” Kaeya all but yells, breathless from exertion. “You’re sick! What were you doing outside?”
“I’m used to snow,” Albedo responds, weakly, and his own raspy voice sounds pathetic to himself. “Had to get some ingredients fr-from…” His nose scrunches up and his weak voice trails into nothingness, and he catches Kaeya’s wince of sympathy before his eyes slam shut. “fr-uuuHhkShu! uuhKSHHiyyuu—!!”
A wet sniffle, followed by a few congested coughs, and Albedo moans, involuntarily, from the discomfort.
“Here, I gotcha -”
The next few minutes are a blur, and by the time he regains actual consciousness a fire is roaring in the hearth. He’s wrapped in a blanket. Albedo blinks slowly.
“Th-thank you, Kaeya-”
He sniffles into the blanket.
“Don’t mention it.” The man looks at him sideways, a soft huff of relief escaping. “Do you usually… do this?”
He does not usually catastrophically fail his commissions, so his back stiffens with offense. “N-no, I assure you, I do not tend to forget my tasks-!” Albedo’s voice starts to waver, “...It was… I…”
To his horror, his eyes are watering.
“...I…”
He has no explanation, really, for his failure.
“...I can g-get the potions made by tomorrow, so t-that y-you c-can-h-uHH-!”
Albedo’s arms feel like lead; he can’t raise them in time to cover his nose and mouth, so he instead ducks his head downwards into the blanket, nose burning - “iiIIHIhihksHHUh-i’kHShuh-hiiuuhh-uh-!!”
He raises his head up again, sniffling. “..so th-that.. snff.. you can leave qu-uickl-yiiiSShh-hi’ksSHHuh-!”
“Albedo. I didn’t mean it like that. You can’t just…” Kaeya sucks in a breath, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Look, how are you going to make anything if you’re half-dead in a snowstorm? Which you were going to be if I hadn’t…”
His voice trails off. “Point is, you have to take care of yourself. You mean a lot to m- people, as a researcher… and as a friend.”
“I’ll take that into c-consideration.” The words have left a peculiar warmth in his chest, which does more for his cold than the fireplace ever could.
Kaeya smiles, holding a handkerchief to Albedo’s scrunched up nostrils. “Well, for right now… Let me take care of you.”
I have figured out how to open asks. Send me a g/enshin character + snz prompt and I’ll try my best. (will be drabbles, not under #my fics tag as I will not consider them as such - I am still writing long fics but I want to try my hand at this.)
Can’t do: anyone from Sumeru / new characters after when I stopped playing regularly as I have not gotten that far in the story.... haha. I got up to Version 2.4 I think. Also, I can’t do NSFW. And I tend to be a bit worse at mondstadt characters...
Sorry, it will probably be very ooc! unless it’s a select few characters I am experienced with. Plus, it may take a while as I am in college and I may close asks at any time / reserve the right to not do one!
g/enshin snzfic (sick!childe & x/iao) (4k ish words)
Childe falls asleep only slowly, laying down in a bed that’s become achingly familiar. It’s been almost a month since the incident with Osial, and he can feel the eyes of everyone in Liyue on him. Well, everyone that matters, anyway - amongst them the adepti, the Qixing, and everyone who’s important enough to know what actually happened that day when the oceans rose against an entire nation.
Zhongli, at least, seems not to take the attack personally, but Childe feels shortsighted by the former archon’s deception. He should have seen it coming, considering how obvious the signs were in retrospect. And he has to admit that he hasn’t been taking the best of care of himself lately, what with trying to endure the superficial niceties and indeed, the people trying to stop him from leaving the harbor. Of course Childe hasn’t missed the way that the Milleleth keep him busy with inane tasks, things that don’t let him even touch his blade. He would have escaped the harbor far before now, if not for his desire to keep things friendly between him and Zhongli - he truly does care about the man (even as his pride stings), and he’s a powerful ally when things come down to it. He also doesn’t want to have Zhongli - apparently master manipulator and former archon?? - as an enemy any longer. (To hell with Signora, there’s no way she holds the best in store for Childe - if he was expected to fail this mission anyway.)
When he finally drifts off, bound to be haunted by nightmares of monstrous shadows again, he feels the beginnings of illness claiming him.
He ignores it.
What does it matter, if he’s just a tool that’s been used?
His purpose has been served. There is no point to being polished.
His heart races. He awakens, groggily, head pounding (as expected), throat sore, not to the caring and impartial expression of Zhongli, but to the not-caring and impartial expression of … someone he’s not acquainted with. They have the same flashy makeup as Zhongli, though, and the same ethereal nature in their golden eyes, even as their short dark-teal hair differs. It’s quite certain that this individual is not of this world.
“Do I know you?” he asks, feeling disoriented as a croaky voice greets him. He disregards the fact that it stings his throat to get the words out. The stranger just stares at him, as if Childe is some sort of fascinating insect.
“You don’t need to.” His voice is quiet, distant. How cryptic.
“Um, you’re the one who showed up in my house,” Childe feels inclined to point out, as consciousness slowly returns to him. Much, much slower than usual. “People don’t tend to take kindly to that.”
“People do not tend to take kindly to those who awaken dead gods and threaten their homeland, either.” The stranger’s voice is light, somehow cordial despite the subject matter. He’s leaning against the doorway, eyes shut, arms folded. Waves of disdain and distrust radiate off the individual who seems to be severely lacking in height.
Childe clears his throat, uncomfortable with how heavy his head feels. The grit in his throat refuses to leave him. “Well, where’s Zhongli?”
That catches the other’s attention. His gaze flits to meet Childe’s evenly. “It does not concern you. Rex Lapis has asked me to watch over you.” Childe is beginning to feel blindsided yet again by that crafty god - he has a babysitter now? And this babysitter clearly dislikes him immensely - it’s clear by his stand-offish nature.
Childe tries a different approach. “Man, what kind of blackmail does Zhongli have on you that made you look after me of all people?”
Suddenly there’s a weapon pointed at his throat - Childe tries not to choke in surprise, because he’s never seen anything move quite so quickly and efficiently - “Do not attempt to understand our relationship. I shall not allow you to sully his good name.” The stranger’s eyes are hardened.
Childe wants to respond in kind, but he suspects he’s quite clearly outmatched at the moment - and suddenly he’s pitching to the side with a sneeze that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back - “huh’gKShTchu-! huhh… huhh’PchShUu!” His desperation sprays the air. Now he’s made aware of a throbbing tickle throughout his nose, one that makes him raise his arm to his nose sheepishly. How he managed to miss this incessant sensation that now plagues him, he doesn’t know - he’s rubbing his nose harshly against his arm, leaving trails of mess on his sleeve. Vaguely, he wonders if he’s making a scene out of himself, but he has to rid himself of this itch before he can care.
A cool hand alights on his forehead, and faintly he wonders if it’s Tonia’s gentle touch, before realizing that the stranger’s piercing golden eyes are fixed on his, expression unreadable. Wordlessly, a handkerchief is pressed into Childe’s hand, which he quickly accepts. It’s a sweet relief to bury his nose in the folds of the cloth, which are quickly dampened by his noisy nose-blowing. “Bless.”
Childe’s guard is up, but he warily responds, “Thanks…?”
The stranger huffs. “Adeptus Xiao.” He picks up a soup bowl that the Harbinger hadn’t even noticed, and, with a carefully neutral expression, guides the spoon into Childe’s mouth that is hanging open from shock. It’s not particularly warm but filling - the taste is bland, although Childe has to admit that the lack of appeal might be because of his congestion. Xiao manages to shovel two spoons of soup into Childe’s system before he manages to stop him.
“Why are you feeding me???” Why indeed, is the adeptus that famously clears the lands of corruption each night, and the same adeptus that is famously known for wanting him dead (as admitted by Zhongli) feeding him like a mother might her child? Surely he’s not so petty to stoop down to poisoning a sick man?
The scowl on Xiao’s face is a nice change. It reflects his reputation - and shows that he’s capable of emotion after all. “Zhongli asked me to watch you. I made soup since you are ill.”
Childe opens his mouth to protest and is met with another spoonful of soup. “Hey -” another mouthful of soup. “Xiao -” More soup. He gives up and decides to just allow the other to feed him, considering that this adeptus is here for his benefit, and he’s clearly too loyal to try anything devious. It’s only pure luck that he doesn’t accidentally spew soup everywhere when the mild irritation in his nose suddenly triples in intensity.
“I - gk!” He swallows hastily before turning to the side, “huH’PscHIEW! huhH’KSHIU-u!” Sniffling, groaning at how it had knocked all the air out of his lungs, leaving his abdomen sore from the sheer force of the desperate sneezes - “ugh..”
He’s not done yet, though, as he soon realizes when the flaming itch in his nose intensifies with his next uncautious breath - he gasps, a hand flying up to his nostrils, which flare synchronously, and unceremoniously those hitching breathes explode into something far more potent, spraying his poor hand with the vestiges of the war currently being fought inside his body -
A wet sniffle follows the wet spray of sneezes, as does a weary sigh, wiping his soiled hand against the covers. He really, really doesn’t care if Xiao finds this display offending, because his head feels so stuffed up and disgusting and a disaster in general, and he can’t bring himself to drag his thoughts to the matter of reputation or cleanliness at the moment.
Dazedly, he sneaks a look at the adeptus, who surprisingly wears the veneer of pity on his neutral features. Maybe he’s familiar with the sensation? Can adepti sneeze at all? Childe’s time to wonder is brief, though, as he sucks in another frantic breath that turns to a bellowed sneeze. “h-hUH’EI’k-sCHU! huh’KchIE’-IU! snf - Archons, sorry… snuck up on me.” With a single finger under his nose he rubs vigorously, but his disobedient nose rebels with a twitch. He cracks open an eye and oh archons, he just sneezed all over the last remaining yaksha -
The yaksha in question looks a bit like a cat whose food bowl had just been upended. His affronted glare is almost enough to send Childe into fight-or-flight mode. Still, and Childe has to applaud him for his patience, Xiao wordlessly hands him a tissue. This time, the intended recipient stubbornly refuses to accept it. He doesn’t really need it, anyway; he didn’t need the help to begin with. He’s a useless weapon, after all, discarded by his master without a second thought, in this godforsaken country many miles from home. This misguided care and attention is wasted on him, and everyone seems to know it except this guy.
It’s a relief when Xiao moves away, expression guarded, when Childe’s nose wriggles with irritation. Perhaps it was a bit of theatrics to revel in the adeptus’ reaction, but his nose really does itch incessantly - “huhh-huUHh’pcSheW!” Humorous, he decides, is the best word for the situation, as he squints through a haze of fuzzy aches and pains at the yaksha’s poorly hidden disgust? sympathy?
The yaksha in question has only a few words of advice. Or is it a command? On his pretty face is a characteristic grimace as he mutters, “If you won’t blow your nose, at least stop sneezing.”
At that, Childe actually does bark out a laugh - which quickly turns into a series of coughs, which spirals into a harsh sneeze - “-h-hUHH-UHSSSHIIYUUU-!”
A wet sniffle, although it’s not as effective now that his nostrils feel clogged up with congestion, thanks to this wonderful illness. “Oh, Almighty Xiao, I will definitely be heeding your command, b-because s-sneezing is something you can totally c-control…”
Despite his words, he’s actually trying not to sneeze, to get the sentence out, but it’s kind of a futile effort, and both of them can see it; so when he pitches forward with another sneeze, neither are surprised.
“-hUUUhhh’UUKKSHHHIiyUUUUHHH-!!”
Actually, Childe is very surprised - his nose meets soft tissue, and as the nostrils tremble dangerously, momentarily too stunned to let out the rest of the sneezing fit, he cracks open an eye, to see Xiao’s dangerous expression as he holds the paper against the Harbinger’s nostrils.
“-X-Xiao- I-uhh-!! UHHHUHHHKKSHIIYUUUuu---!!”
“Not a word,” the Demon-slayer warns, so intimidating, yet right now holding a tissue to a sickly patient’s nose as if he were his mother…! It’s almost too good, almost enough to lift his spirits, but not quite enough to not-sneeze again -
“-uuh’KKSHHiiYYUuuhHH-!! hUHHH-USHHIYUUU--!!”
A silence, broken yet again by a wet sniffle - that’s more of a snort because of the congestion clogging Childe’s sinuses; he groans, nose still within the folds of the tissue, and this time he’s forced to concede. After all, he knows when he’s lost, and so he clears his nose, the tissue flying with the honking nose-blow. The only thing he regrets (other than being shown-up by the Vigilant Yaksha himself) is that his eyes aren’t open to watch Xiao’s expression as he is forced to hold a tissue for a sickly someone blowing their nose.
About Xiao - Childe can’t bring himself to hate him. The Adeptus hasn’t been irrationally rude to him. He’s been perfectly polite, he’s done nothing but treat him kindly (except for the weapon incident??) - all for the sake of Zhongli. He again wonders what happened between Xiao and Zhongli, but it somehow feels too private to intrude. Still, he can sympathize - there’s nothing he won’t do for his Tsaritsa, nor his dear Tonia, or his dear Teucer, or Anthon…
At least he knows his family don’t always see him as worthless. A dark, bitter emotion fills his gut as he considers his own value. Clearly he’s not chosen for his talent, he’s just another expendable pawn in the grand scheme of things…
Childe wants to break things. He wants to hone his skill, slash mindlessly and watch things fall to shreds. Banter with a sparring partner whose steps match his own. Think about something other than his failure for just a moment.
He meets the adeptus’ dispassionate gaze. Suddenly he has an idea.
“Legends say - snf! - that the Vigilant Yaksha is fond of vanquishing demons… And that his skill with the weapon was deadly and - snf, snf - a sight to behold. It is easy to see that the myths are true.”
Xiao flashes him an irritated glance from his position by his bedside. “Don’t believe all that you hear. And please blow your nose.”
(He ignores the adeptus. The only way he’s going to blow his nose is if Xiao personally holds it, even if it’s just because of how funny that had been.) “Well, from one friend to another - snff! - can’t you let me sharpen my blade against yours?”
“I’m not your friend,” the adeptus mutters, eyes eerily devoid of anger. “And I swore not to hurt mortals. Many years ago.” Childe can feel the finality of the words sinking in like pebbles falling through a river.
But Childe’s not a harbinger for nothing. “There’s rumors, you know…” He slowly pulls a vial, decorated with the image of Qinxin out of his sleeve, calculating quickly, “... that the vigilant yaksha has a certain sensitivity… And I think that the people of Liyue would be all too eager to use a different method to offer thanks to the adepti, should someone suggest it -” As he draws out the bottle, Xiao’s expression darkens with recognition.
“You wouldn’t dare.” His eyes are slits, his voice is burning. But best of all, his threats mean nothing.
“So, whaddya say? A friendly spar for my silence?” Childe smirks, his palm unconsciously massaging the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave off the itch.
Xiao’s lost and he knows it, because he’s already approaching the bed and handing him a spear that he’s materialized out of nowhere. Everything spins - not just from the disease wreaking havoc in his head this time - they’re now in the middle of some cloud-like realm, and Childe’s momentarily distracted by how the cotton-soft material holds his weight so readily - and is that just his illness, or is he lightheaded from the altitude?
That’s all he can manage to think before a teal blur starts towards him, and Childe is forced to block the attack. The blows are swift, merciless. No wonder they call him the Bane of All Evil. For a few moments Childe can only defend himself, before the adrenaline of a true fight! the first in ages! kicks in. The adeptus lets out a low snarl, sounding far more animal than human. Truly a worthy opponent - the excitement drowns out those dark thoughts that crept up from his recent endeavor in the harbor.
He’s finally useful, for once, doing the only thing that he can excel at. No one’s there to stop him, tell him how they were tricking him all along. There’s no hidden threat that means that he’s failed before he’s even started.
“Ha! Not bad!” He sniffles, praying that the itch doesn’t worsen. Of course the gods never answer him (except Osial, and the Tsarita, and Zhongli (kind of)) - his nose is burning so badly that his breath hitches with every inhale - “hh-hhuhHHH… huHHHH - oh n-nuhhh-not now - snf!” ARCHONS, it tickles! The warrior finds himself using one hand to wield his polearm, the other pinching his nose as if for dear life (which he might well be doing, considering how swift Xiao’s attacks are).
“Even if you see yourself as a tool, as I do. There is no reason to fight me. You are not my match.” Xiao’s voice is but a whisper louder than the clanging of steel upon steel. “Why do you want to fight? What reason do you have?”
It makes him feel alive. It fills that hole in that chest, that was ripped away, that had fallen swirling into the abyss. Childe doesn’t voice anything, though, instead stifling a frustrated sneeze against the back of his hand. How is he so useless, even now? When he’s supposed to be in his element?
He barely registers what happens next. Childe blames that cotton feeling in his head, the too-bright spinning of the world that always accompanies feverish delirium. Golden eyes widen, lips say something that Childe doesn’t catch, and with a soft OOF! Childe’s ass meets the floor. The clouds shake with explosions, he feels heat against his face that doesn’t originate from his fever. When he looks up he sees 2 ruin guards and a ruin hunter… oh shit - And his vial slips from his grasp, shattering from the impact against deceptively soft clouds. Well fuck.
He’s been tempered by the abyss, pain is no stranger to him. Yet the urge to sneeze - with its fine, barely tickling sensation that fills every orifice of his nose - it’s something he can never get used to. It’s something he has to get used to, right fucking now, because there’s the sting of fire and metal at his back. Childe gasps, and his eyes squeeze shut before he has anything to say about it - and he’s roughly shoved out of the way of the ruin guard’s giant fist. He has no time to celebrate though, because his nose burns far more badly than the missile’s explosion - “a-AHH-HH’KSscH’IEUOO!-! h’uH’PCHIEH-!” His own nose explodes, a short reprieve that serves to wring his throat out raw, and relieves the itch for all of 3 milliseconds. Childe isn’t very concerned about the spray either, even when he notices that his saviour was caught in the mist. Adepti probably can’t get sick, anyway…
But apparently, they can be severely allergic to Qingxin. Xiao curses softly underneath his breath, half-lidded eyes quickly darting towards Childe’s own. He opens his mouth as if to speak but to Childe’s great surprise, the Yaksha turns his head and sneezes into his closed fist - “heh’ksht! h’hxsht-!” And this time it’s Childe yanking the other’s arm, pulling them both out of the path of a stray missile.
Ducked behind a sizable decorative rock, they have a moment to catch their breath. Well - not actually catch their breath, as Xiao is actually losing the air in his lungs to sneezes showered across the cloud-tops. The adeptus’ nose is as red as jueyan chilis; it’s clear that the vial’s contents are too overwhelming for his sensitivities. Looks like the rumours were true. His slight chest heaves with the effort of staving off the itch that licks like flames at his nostrils, his eyelashes flutter like crystal flies as he struggles to keep them open. He looks rather pitiful - a mighty god-like creature, reduced to a barely-coherent, hitching heap by the whims of his nose. “hh-hheeahh… hhhuhhh… hahh-hH’kSHu-’ksCHUU-’xksHUU-!”
If this were another situation, Childe would probably be laughing his ass off at how the great Yaksha sneezes like a kitten, squeaky sneezes escaping after a ridiculous amount of build-up, although the sheer strength of the perfume is probably diminishing the usual amount of hitching gasps in favor of expelling the fragrance as soon as possible. Well, that’s one reason to be thankful for a stuffy nose, Childe supposes, as Xiao gasps again, shut eyes streaming with tears - “-heeh’kShuu-h’kSHuu-!”
This is not the time to laugh, however, as the mechanical sound of grinding gears and motors alerts them to the danger once more. He swears, the world tilting to the side as he staggers to a standing position - and his nose burns as if the missile had found its home in his nasal passages. He barely has a moment to spare to scrunch up the irritated appendage before his face screws up, mouth opening, nostrils flaring together -
The sneezes are so much louder than Xiao’s, such that the ruin guards’ whirring stops for just a moment, as they turn to locate the source of the sound - fuckkkkk.
He sniffles, internally cursing at himself, and flashes a glance to the Yaksha - still incapacitated with an unfortunate sneezing fit - before roughly swiping at his nostrils with his sleeve, ignoring the itch that was annoying and is now utterly unignorable. Childe’s guessing that Xiao’s in no condition to spirit them away from this situation, and furthermore, he’s in no condition to take out 2 ruin guards and a ruin hunter. It hurts to realize that, not only is he a useless weapon, outgrown by his master, but now he’s a weapon that’s not even sharp enough to perform his designated duty…!
He grits his teeth. No time to mope now, not when he’s about to be on the receiving end of a ruin hunter’s heat-seeking missiles. Childe pulls out his bow, hands wavering, because his vision is blurry and he’s least adept with the bow and he’s not useful unless he makes this shot -
Xiao is depending on him.
The ruin guards turn the corner, looming with a shadow over the two, the sound of missiles warming up, the sound of mechanical genius humming as they lock onto their targets -
It’s now or never --!
The string vibrates.
An awful, crunching sound -!
The screeching of metal upon metal, upon cloud.
3 enemies fall.
Their gears make horrible creaking noises as they fold in on themselves, an arrow piercing straight through their cores.
For a few moments, Childe can do nothing but pant, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The sound of smoke pouring out of broken engines, and the stuttering rhythm of stifled sneezes is the only thing remaining from the battlefield.
Wow. Fighting that thing… felt good. So, too, does the sensation of his palm roughly massaging his nose.
Childe sighs with relief, interrupted predictably when his breath catches. He can barely even get out a groan of complaint, when his nose feels as if someone had dropped a flaming flower stamen - burning across his nostrils and forcing his mouth open, “Archons, n-not a-gain- h-h-uHH-hRUUUSHhiuu-!! h-UUShhYYIIIUAAAh-!!”
A tissue against his nose tells him that Xiao’s recovered at least enough to force him to blow his nose. His eyes opening, with extreme effort, as they’re leaking tears of itchy torture, tells him that Xiao is holding a tissue to his own nose, as well. “...Thank you…” Mumbled words, muffled by the tissue, and he can’t help but smile victoriously.
“No problem. Wha- hUUUHHSSHhhiyUUU-!! h’RRSHhiIIYYYYuuhhh-!..snff.. W-what kind of weapon would I be if I couldn’t save a helpless little adeptus like… li-like, hHUUUHHHSSHIIIYUUhh-!!.. Like you..! -hhUUUpTChiiyyahh-!!”
Childe sniffles, preparing for a beating - he does tend to use inflammatory tactics habitually, although now he feels like the pressure building in his aching head won’t be a fair match against the Yaksha’s polearm - but instead, Xiao is facing away from him, sniffling wetly into the palm of his hand. Ha. It’s refreshing to see such a human weakness from a ‘perfect’ creature - Childe’s chest fills with satisfaction. Makes him feel a lot better about his deductive skills, for one. Makes him feel a lot better about his seeming uselessness, too. The most skilled weapon of the adepti, reduced to such a mess…
(Someone who’s as ‘useful’ as Xiao needed help from someone as useless as himself?
Either Childe’s not useless after all, or...
It’s probably the fever talking, but maybe it doesn’t matter how useful or useless he is.
It’s so cheesy, but he smiles despite himself - and then Xiao looks up at him, expression neutral except for the angry flush across his nostrils -)
Childe prepares to be impaled by the very person he had just saved, and he probably would’ve deserved it, after provoking the probably really old and experienced, but most of all extremely dangerous adeptus, but it’s probably worth it to see that expression on his -
Then Xiao makes an unrecognizable sound - was that a laugh? “You have a lot of courage, for a human.” The edges of his lips quirk up ever-so-slightly.
For a moment, Childe is aghast. Did the Conqueror of Demons just smile? At him? Maybe his fever’s gotten worse. Yeah, his fever is definitely worse.
That night, even as his fever rises, Childe fears no nightmares; for his dreams are sweeter than almond tofu.
2k Commission for Kessa! Thank you for always being so patient with me, I really appreciate your kindness ❤️ I hope you enjoy this!
Prompt from here!
—
All things considered, it’s not bad enough to warrant anyone’s concern.
He doesn’t intend to go to Jean about it. Really, it’s just a scratch—a shallow, stinging wound in his shoulder from where the hilichurl had fired the arrow, the skin around it tender and blistered from where the arrow had singed against his skin. He’s already bandaged it, of course, to staunch the bleeding. It should heal in no time.
But when he gets back to Headquarters, Jean insists on seeing him as soon as she catches sight of his bandaged shoulder.
“You took the new recruits somewhere dangerous,” she says to him, both of them standing in her office. She’s unwrapped the bandages he’d put on and she’s currently studying the injury with such disapproval that Kaeya thinks that his pride might have sustained a larger injury than his shoulder.
Kaeya coughs a laugh. “Don’t you think I’d have a bit more to show for if I’d gone somewhere dangerous?”
Jean does not look amused.
Really, despite what people might think of him, Kaeya doesn’t intend to give Jean a bad time. He just thinks this amount of careful scrutiny is unnecessary.
“I took the recruits east of Starsnatch Cliff,” Kaeya says. “You approved the paperwork for it last week. It wasn’t dangerous, but I suppose I got careless.”
He tries not to shiver. He’s had a headache since yesterday, and the headquarters are always kept cold enough to keep everyone awake in their offices, though today everything feels disproportionately frigid, cold in a way that’s impossible to miss even with the insulation of his Cryo vision.
g/enshin snzfic (sick!x/iao & z/hongli) (4.6k ish words)
The cadence of his breathing is regular, his expression deceptively calm. His heartbeat, though, races faster than his own footsteps splashing against the marsh’s mud. Here the Vanquisher of Demons finds himself, eyes squinting against the rain, in front of the beast illuminated by nothing but flashes of lightning.
Xiao had been chasing this creature for days; with the relentless stirring of evil around the lantern rite, he cannot afford to rest. Respite is not generally his first thought, either, but as he attempts to guide the Primo Geovishap back to its prison beneath the mountains, he catches his mind dwelling on it more and more. The last time he’d slept was… too distant to remember, and memories of undeservedly soft pillows, the feeling of safety when he drifted off, knowing his fellow yaksha, and even Rex Lapis himself, would be watching over him. Adepti rarely need rest, Xiao reminds himself, as he ducks behind a rock and braces himself against a shower of stone. Besides, he’s had nothing but nightmares since his original enslavement, and dreams bring him nothing but agony. He winces when the vishap’s roar pierces his ears, stabbing the beleaguered adeptus’ head like a volley of arrows. Thunder booms as if responding to the king of vishaps.
This Geovishap truly is resilient, much like the element of geo it embodies; but its crown of stone is one of folly, and Xiao intends to banish it back under the ground, where it belongs. Why it has chosen to escape the mountains now, in Liyue’s greatest downpour in several decades, on a day of festival, when the sky is dark from night and from storm, is only natural. The elements work in its favor, guaranteeing that any attempts to thwart the king of vishaps would be accomplished with great effort. However, whether or not it rains heavily throughout this battle does not concern the adeptus, and neither does his pounding headache, the numerous bruises of rock against flesh, the slight tickle in his throat, and the general feeling of malaise that he cannot quite place. No, it does not bother him; the only thing the vigilant yaksha cares about is sealing the monster back where it belongs.
The one thing he can be grateful for is the fact that most mortals seem to have abandoned the area entirely, having flocked to Liyue Harbor for the festivities. Or so he thinks, until Xiao catches a glimpse of floating lights from behind the geovishap and feels a pang of panic stirring in his heart. If the monster were to follow the lanterns’ glow towards the city, disaster would befall the entire population of Liyue, and the adeptus would never forgive himself. (Perhaps he cannot even be grateful for the mortal’s preoccupation.)
With that, Xiao steels his nerves, hand clenching his spear. “Face me!” He growls, raspy voice completely eliminating any chance at intimidation. For one who barely spoke, his voice had always been worn with disuse. The chill and the storm (and the nonstop exertion) did not help. An answering roar from the Primo Geovishap seems almost mocking, and Xiao grits his teeth with frustration. He would have to be more direct to distract the monster. Thus, he gathers his shreds of energy to summon the wind, swinging his polearm dangerously towards his enemy. The first slash connects with a weak point in the geovishap’s impenetrable armor and it shrieks with pain, earning Xiao a note of morbid satisfaction. The next swing is almost routine but suddenly - a burning, desperate, sensation in the back of his nose immediately overwhelms him - he stumbles in his attack, his attention diverted entirely to this new, much more urgent need to sneeze.
It is only thousands of years of honing his survival instinct that allows Xiao to dodge the incoming swipe by the geovishap. The vicious counterattack is unrelenting, taking advantage of the yaksha’s momentary distraction, and he is forced to weave between the missiles of cryo with all the grace of a sopping-wet dog forced to do tricks for days on end. “Demon,” Xiao manages, woozy from the cold frost snaking into his sandals from the elements on the ground. The entrance to the vishap’s den is mere meters away. Perhaps he can lure the vishap in by continuing to dodge the attacks… “Your attempts are usele- ehhhHH…!” He is cut off by his nose’s betrayal, which now jerks his head upward in anticipation for the incoming sneeze.
The tickle had somehow spread to the very back of his nose, where it burst like a flame given a shed of firewood. The Yaksha had always been quite sensitive to physical sensation, and his nose exemplified this; the slightest of irritants delivered to his nostrils had always left him in a torturous, hitching mess. Worse, his sneezes almost never came out directly; they always had their way with him, draining him of energy before they would finally wrestle their way out in quick succession. Quickly, the adeptus squeezes his nose, attempting to assuage the intensifying tickle, and is horrified to realize that it is not an itch that will easily leave his nostrils. In his sneezy haze, Xiao distantly senses the geovishap’s clublike tail spinning towards him, and he only barely dives out of the way, directly into the pond down the hillside.
He curses internally. Never once has he faltered in his step, and here he is, soaked to the bone, drenched in rain and mud. More importantly, though, is the fact that Xiao can barely breathe without his breath catching, his battered body attempting to battle the urge to sneeze and failing miserably.
Still, he puts all his weight on his polearm and shoves himself up. The geovishap’s eyes glint in the lightning’s light, ice running through its veins as it prepares to strike -
“Begone,” Xiao whispers, his voice a wavery wisp of what it once was, but it is enough to summon his last reserves of energy. With a last, faint cry, he thrusts the polearm towards the primo geovishap.
- And the winds answer his call, propelling the king of vishaps into the darkness of the cavern. Its long, deep, trembling roar shatters the night. As quickly as it had emerged, it now returns to its prison. The guardian yaksha scrambles to the entrance and wastes no time in reinforcing the sigils preventing the demon’s escape. A click of satisfaction marks the magic of adepti settling back into their bonds.
.
With a small and exhausted sigh, the adeptus sank to the floor. His knees had given out with the strain of using his vision. Resentment howls in his mind, intensifying his headache by tenfold. For now, the pain is too much for him to even register his nose’s incessant itch.
Then the ground shakes violently. Xiao sits up quickly, too quickly, and feels the world spin around him. Still, he rapidly searches the landscape, and finds no residual enemies. There had been no footsteps, after all; dimly, he realizes that the disturbance is himself, shaking from the cold.
He has to return to the Inn. Sure, he has been through much worse, and the injuries of this battle are nothing to worry about. The devastating tickle in his nose, however, nearly caused him to lose his opening to attack, and this has to be dealt with. (He ignores the part of him demanding sleep and possibly a warm bath. Such physical pleasures are for mortals and those who have not yet lost all capacity to enjoy themselves.)
Xiao begins to concentrate, then hesitates. “I…” The yaksha’s head has grown heavy, fuzzy from the effects of the icy raindrops upon his face. How many days of relentless rain has he endured? He can barely remember his current location, let alone the place he must travel to. There is no way he can accurately arrive at his destination in this condition. Still, he attempts to mutter the spell. “I call upon th-hihhhhh…”
He can’t finish the sentence, because the tickle in his nose has once again dragged him under its influence. Xiao is left panting, barely able to form any thoughts past the desire, no, the need to stop the itching. “hh… huhh…” His golden eyes drift shut, his nose wrinkles up, his head tilts towards the moon, and he prepares for a sneeze…
… that never comes. Slowly, his eyes open again. Xiao lets out a shaky sigh that hitches on its way out, and his icy cold hand harshly massages his tortured nostrils. His nose weakly protests the rough treatment, but the yaksha mentally punishes the useless appendage by rubbing harder. (A foul, squelching sound that would make his nose wrinkle in disgust if it weren’t already wrinkled with itchy desperation.) This grants him a temporary reprieve from hitching hell, and he takes the opportunity to stumble to his feet.
Oh, how the world spins. Cradling his aching head, he pauses to consider his options. Xiao thinks he can just about make it back on foot. No more than 5 seconds later, he amends his thought when the tickle slams into him like the geovishap’s fist, paralyzing him with a series of gasps that leave him with no relief. “Ehhh… hehh…huhhh…huhHHHH…!” Desperate, the adeptus smashes his hand against his face, willing the sneeze into submission against his palm. This time, it does not ebb, instead inflaming the tickle with a newfound passion. “huhh..huhh… ehhhh… hUHhh…! HAHH…!” The universe is most certainly making a joke at his expense. This sneeze has lost Xiao his dignity, as he squeezes his eyes shut in a battle against an invisible enemy. “Hehhhh… hahhhhhh…hAHHHH…!”
A long pause. The tickle has once again receded, this time leaving Xiao with a desperate breathlessness that he deigns to solve by sniffling unproductively. With a last swipe at his nose, the adeptus begins his trek back to Wangshu Inn. Perhaps he can take refuge from the rain under some rocky crevice.
.
Xiao can’t stop shivering. The frost has penetrated straight through to his bone. Raindrops keep stinging his face with cold, making it impossible for him to warm up. In the past, he’d endured snowstorms without so much as flinching, so why now does he feel the elements so strongly? Perhaps it is that accursed freeze reaction wreaking havoc on his slim figure. Or maybe... he is feeling his age? Both ridiculous suggestions that he only entertains because he can’t explain away his sudden onset of weaknesses. Every now and then he can’t help but raise a hand from where it’s instinctively hugging his elbow to conserve heat to aggressively rub his nose. What is going on? He wonders, inwardly cursing the sneeze that won’t release its grip on him. Surely it’s not that he is outgrowing his usefulness to Liyue, like Rex Lapis had mentioned that day. His difficulties against the geovishap can’t be an indication of his waning capabilities, can it? He can’t accept that he is becoming obsolete. Not when so many still depend on him. (Even Rex Lapis, somewhere in the Harbor, can enjoy this day because he fights against the darkness…)
“There is no way you can win,” the voices whisper, always there. “The bell tolls as your karmic debt accumulates. We demand your flesh.”
Listening to dead gods for too long can make one soft in the head. Xiao has long since learned to block out their sweet suggestions, but today he falters. It hurts so much to think.
“What a pity, such a pretty little thing, reduced to a guard-dog. Left outside in the rain, fed nothing but scraps! Think of what a lovely bloodhound you were, Alatus...”
As he continues to walk, feeling his strength wane, he is almost certain that the rain has intensified, and not only because he is currently feeling like a wet rag, the yaksha notices a small outcrop a few meters away. Maybe he shall stay for just a moment? Just as long as it takes for the rain to stop pelting him with the force of a thousand suns. (He spares not a single thought on how pitiful he feels, usually so haughtily immune to the elements. Oh, how much he’d give to be able to put up that dispassionate front once more.) Once Xiao approaches, he pauses only to detect any nearby beings. Satisfied with the results, the yaksha slumps down, against the steady rock. He sits directly in a puddle, which honestly does not change his situation.
Maybe I am unfit to protect Liyue, he thinks quietly. The voices egg him on. Maybe Rex Lapis is right. Maybe I should just give up-
He is interrupted by the agonizing tickle once again. For once he welcomes it, as it distracts him from his thoughts. His eyes squeeze shut of their own accord, tears forming from the sheer desperation. “ehh… heh…” He can’t tell if the wetness on his cheeks is rain or tears. “Damn i-hihhh…!” Xiao sniffles helplessly, knowing full well that the round of hitching won’t amount to an actual sneeze. The sensation is too unbearable to ignore, though, and he groans softly, trying to reduce the burning tickle this time by pinching the bridge of his nose.
Suddenly his eyes snap open. He is on high alert again; the element of geo is grating against his senses. Since Xiao has been fighting the Primo Geovishap for days, he can’t miss even the slightest trace reminiscent of his opponent. This aura is overwhelming, so strong and steady that it reminds the Yaksha of his archon in its completeness. The earth’s call, so dependable and so vast, swallows him up in that moment. (The world is swimming before his eyes, he thinks he can see stars despite the thick thunderclouds.) Even as he stumbles to his feet, Xiao’s stomach drops; this enemy is too strong. There is no way he can defeat one so skilled in the elemental arts -
“Xiao?”
- Then he will have to make his final stand here, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the rain as his witness -
“Xiao!”
- and he can do nothing but hope that Rex Lapis lives a happy life, even as his last yaksha falls -
And there the last Yaksha did fall, his last energy spent.
.
Zhongli does not consider himself one prone to panic. He usually has some way of tempering his emotions; after all, being steadfast is one of his strengths, one of his tenets. Guizhong had always told him, with a gentle expression and teasing voice, that he should work on controlling his fiery spirit if he were to become a suitable archon. And so he did, year after year, even after she had too-soon left the world. Striving to become as worldly and as wise as she was, remained a focus of his life.
All of that went out the window when he, on a whim, excused himself from the Lantern Rite festivities to see the one who they were honouring himself, and was greeted not by the sight of his vigilant yaksha, but a husk of an adeptus that barely managed to stand before collapsing.
The ones he spent the festival with are quite disappointed to see him go, and he is grateful that his mortal companions care. “At least take an umbrella,” Childe intones, holding it over his head as lightning strikes in the distance. The former archon inclines his head in thanks, before setting off into the endless rain.
He starts to believe something is wrong when he senses the tracks of the primo geovishap, many kilometers from where it should be. The tracks are old, dulled by the rain, and somewhat buried beneath the waves of resentment that can only mean one thing.
“Xiao?” Zhongli asks, worried, as he approaches the source of the karmic aura. It’s an outcrop of rock, and he can barely make out a figure beneath it, lifting their head towards him. Tendrils of dark miasma, howling whispers of old gods that have been dead for centuries, surround him. The rain obscures his vision, but Zhongli can still tell that it’s his dearest yaksha -
and said yaksha crumples suddenly to his knees. Zhongli’s heart stops.
“Xiao!”
Umbrella forgotten, he rushes with impossible speed, with adrenaline that he hasn’t felt since the archon war, and catches the slight adeptus in his arms. Zhongli’s throat is so blocked with fear that he can’t possibly make a sound now. Xiao is so pale, his slim hands so cold, his aura flooding with unrestrained resentment. He looks so close to death. Zhongli sweeps the wet hair out of his face and oh, he can’t possibly think the adeptus is dead, what with the burning heat that lies beneath his skin. Xiao needs medical attention now.
The former archon wastes no time bringing the two of them into his abode. He cannot bring the vanquisher of demons to any mortal place, not when Xiao is leaking resentment like a broken teapot. Zhongli immediately strips the younger adeptus down in a tub and draws a warm bath, hoping to cure the frost brought about by the accursed storm.
“Oh, Xiao, what happened to you…”
The aforementioned adeptus stirs in the bath, crying out ever-so-softly, obviously facing pain. It twists a knife into Zhongli’s heart.
(Seeing Xiao like this reminds Zhongli of why he has the power to shield, to heal. He could never imagine, could never face the idea of losing his loved ones, without being able to at least try to prevent it. And now he feels so powerless against the invisible foe that Xiao faces. He is angry that he could not have seen the signs earlier… He is angry that he never tried to reach out earlier, even though tact is never his strong suit.)
(His heart hurts from thinking about how long Xiao has been bearing this burden.)
.
Xiao awakens to the indescribably urgent need to sneeze. Only after his nose registers this incessant whine, do the pounding headache and bone-chilling cold make themselves known. It feels as though he has been flattened by a geovishap, perhaps even the primo geovishap itself; he is certain that someone has strewn feathers throughout his nasal passages, as each breath nearly causes him to flinch with discomfort. Still, he is confused, for he seems to recall his last moments against a strong opponent... And of course, his physical (damage?? can it be called that?) condition does not make any sense at all. Disgruntled, the adeptus attempts to sit up, only to be stopped by the spinning of the room.
At least it is a recognizable room. Many centuries have passed since Xiao has last visited, but the tea tray upon the dresser, and the bamboo shoots arranged just-so - a clear indication of an expert feng-shui master - are so achingly familiar. The pale beige swatch of wall contrasts elegant wooden floors. There is no wondering whose room he is currently in, although he cannot yet shake the fog in his mind to understand how he got here.
“You’re awake.” Xiao would recognize that voice anywhere. It soothes him with the knowledge that everything will be ok. Today it’s tinted with heavy relief. The owner of the voice sits just as gracefully as ever, his unforgettable amber eyes full of concern. His normally luxurious earth-brown locks are disheveled, untamed by the comb. He looks positively royal… and this heartbroken expression is (almost) the most emotion that Xiao has ever seen on his usually serene and stoic face. (It can never compare to the emotion from when she passed on.) After a few moments of drinking in the sight of his master, it occurs to the adeptus that he has to respond.
“I am,” Xiao affirms quietly, unable to manage anything louder. His throat is raw from screaming. “Rex Lapis, please forgive this one-hh….”
He uses the antiquated term for the former archon, who dismisses it (the adeptus is clearly feverish). Instead, Zhongli softly replies, “There is nothing to forgive. Xiao,” he pauses, brows knit together with worry. Clearly he is staring at the yaksha, whose predicament is displayed plainly for all to see. “Xiao?” He asks, clearly not comprehending that the adeptus in question is an absolute hitching mess. Xiao wishes he could melt under his archon’s gaze, but everything is secondary to his nose’s suffering.
“hh… huhh… hah.. hah hah-hh…!” Now that it’s not raining, Xiao is certain that the tears streaming down his cheeks aren’t rainwater. He catches Zhongli’s now-knowing look and immediately flushes with embarrassment, without realizing that the fever and the itchy nose combined already make him seem red enough. “heh..hahH…!” he squirms, hating the complete helplessness that sneezes bring him. The adeptus grits his teeth, struggling against the urge for just a moment. The room seems to hold its breath with him, and he exhales with a breathless sigh. Wearily, Xiao opens his eyes and addresses the now-very-concerned adeptus that sits next to him. “M-my lord, excuse this one. I cannot s-seem to - huhHH.. - control my troublesome functions.”
“Xiao, you never have to apologize. Not to me.” Zhongli’s expression is full of grief. Xiao doesn’t understand why. The prime adeptus reaches forward and wipes away the tear tracks. He ignores the burning beneath his fingertips. “I should be the one apologizing to you, I never realized how badly you had been… I shouldn’t have left you to fend for yourself.” The god ignores Xiao’s protests, instead laying a wet towel on his head. The yaksha lets out a sigh of relief despite himself. “For now, focus on getting better. You are very ill.”
Ill?
He hasn’t even considered it.
...though it would explain a lot.
“My lord, I am capable of anything you request -” Xiao sniffles, somewhat diminishing the strength of his protests. Even to him his words sound slurred, tired. “I- hahHH…!”
His poor abused nostrils flare against his will, and his body disobeys him as he tilts his head up towards the heavens, seeking relief from the torturous itch that now affects his whole nose, reddened with the irritation. From the most sensitive regions in the back of his nose, to the tauntingly irritated tip, the tickle spares no luxury. Xiao’s whole face feels like it is on fire, and his only defense is to wait out this wave of misery. His only desire is for the sneeze to release itself from its vice grip. It is just out of reach - !
He wrinkles his nose and sniffles. The air from each sharp inhale ignites the sensitive walls of his nose and he can only sniffle more, desperate to coax this sneeze out (and desperate to hide the mess he is becoming by surreptitiously facing away from the other adeptus).
Zhongli waits patiently, but the sheer torture he witnesses seems to be too much to bear; with a flourish, gloved hands reveal a handkerchief that he presses against his yaksha’s nose. “Blow for me.”
Embarrassed, and with no small amount of desperation, Xiao obeys. He winces at the disgusting sound, but the pressure relieved is euphoric. Almost immediately, the tickle worsens, and Xiao recoils rapidly. “hh… hehH… HiiHH……!” his nose twitches frantically, trying to rid itself of this insatiable itch. He presses his wrist to his nose, the place where his nostrils flare. “I-hiHH..! hhaAHHH..!-hafta sneeze…eEHHH…!”
Finally, finally sweet relief comes.
“heH’ksHh! h-H’tsH! haHH’tSChh-h!!” With each burst he jolts forward, the back of his hand catching each sneeze. They bring the slightest relief to Xiao’s ravaged nose, before he rears back with the rest of his sneezing fit. “h-H’ikSHt!! hhi-IhH’iiksHt! hahHH’kSHU..!!” He feels lightheaded from the force of his sneezes, but his nose is still itching so fiercely. A slight moan escapes him, for all his worldly experience he is still so, so susceptible to the slightest tickle. “huhh.. huhHH…. huH’tkSh-hT!! huh’ksH!” How undignified. He can barely bring himself to look the other adeptus in the eyes.
The slight lull allows Zhongli to rub comforting circles into the yaksha’s back, earning him a half-lidded gaze of appreciation. “T-tha-heY’ksHh-h!” A subdued sniffle. “Thak you.”
Thoughtfully carding his hands through soft tufts of black hair, (which causes the yaksha to close his eyes, peacefully reveling in the sensation) Zhongli finally decides to discuss that which he had thought about for the last few hours. He pours a healing draught out and offers it to the other adeptus, who drinks it as if it is his lifeline. The god busies himself by wiping the other’s fever-red face. He takes extra care around the red-tipped nose, which automatically scrunches up in response. “Xiao, it hurts me to see you in such pain.” Zhongli starts, sympathetically wincing as the other pathetically attempts to stave off another sneeze. “When I found you in the marsh…”
I thought you were dead, went unsaid. They both hear it anyways. They both think of the ones they’d lost.
“... I just wish you’d care for yourself as much as I care for you.”
Xiao is quiet, save for the occasional sniffle. “The adebti hab do role in Liyue. Y-you said it yourself.” He twists his head away, frustrated, as another sneeze takes him by surprise. “hrrHH’tSCHt!!”
“The adepti do have a role,” Zhongli counters, perfect eyebrow raised as he notices Xiao’s pronunciation, (he is going to have to ask Baizhu for another remedy) “and it is up to you to figure that out. For thousands of years I have struggled with this journey, and now you must walk that path yourself.” He frowns. “Xiao, are you quite alright?”
The other nods quickly, eyes half-lidded. “Th-this one uderstads...” Xiao flushes when Zhongli’s disbelieving stare settles on him. He amends, “I deed to sdeeze...”
He is rewarded for his honesty with the novel sensation of Zhongli’s fingers upon his nose. Somehow he thinks that the god knows him too well, for the slightest flick upwards sends his nose tumbling down from its precarious precipice. “hh-hAh’kcTHIU...! he-hH’Tsch-h! h-’kSH-t!”
The next time he manages to open his eyes, he swears he can see his master’s fond smile. “It is not up to you to face enemies alone, suffer on behalf of thousands, and stay silent. That may be how it was, but I do not desire for you to be alone. And you shall not be alone, not even when the skies turn red with vengeance, nor when all enemies unite against us.”
The Vigilant Yaksha’s eyes are glistening, this time not from his current affliction. (Maybe a little - “huH-SHu! hh-heH’kkshIEW!!”) He nods wordlessly, only beginning to comprehend Zhongli’s words. Still... “Thed will you...” He hesitates. Facing down demons many times his size leaves him with less trembly fear in his hands than this simple request. Maybe he should not ask, but this awful headcold gives him some kind of supernatural recklessness. Xiao trails off, his voice barely audible, “... will you sday...”
Adepti’s sharp ears hear all, and Zhongli catches the meaning. The poor thing probably hasn’t been free of nightmares for centuries. The loose ball of anger at himself, at the world’s injustices, dissipates entirely as the former archon tenderly lowers the ailing adeptus into bed. Perhaps this lecture can wait for another time. “I will stay forever, if it comforts you.”
The adeptus sniffles gently, sleepily rubbing his nose. And now Xiao’s eyes are fluttering shut, his delicate features peaceful as he drifts off into a blissful, wonderful dream.
Zhongli once again brushes dark-teal hair out of his face, gazing at the fever flushed cheeks of his most loyal guardian, his dearest friend. “Bless you.”
Given the recommendations I’ve seen on tumblr, I feel like the kink community has expanded over the past few years and I’m curious how many of us there are now. So, if you’d like to help satisfy my curiosity, or if you just want more visibility so sneeze ppl can find your blog, please reblog this. If you’re cool with it, also put in the tags what year you started your blog.
