My Ao3

omg i just read every single one of your works and i’m in love. keep up the amazing work darling!!!!

oh my goodness thank you!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THIS DORK

found my new favorite writer! keep it up x

holy shit that means a lot! thanks! xox

your writing is amazing!!! why aren’t you a bigger account, you deserve it! im jealous

my gooooosh that simply brightened my day! i think i just need to work on staying active haha 💓

they had it planned since the very beginning

I would've stayed for you is such an amazing take on soulmates. I love your style of writing. Where did you get the insperation for each of the tattoos?

thank you!! i wanted to go for something that depends off of one another. if you think about it, the sun helps plants to grow, and throughout the oneshot, tom helps the reader to realize things that they hadn’t before. that’s just my take on it. really, it’s open for interpretation :))

you’re SO sweet ohmygosh!! 🥺 thank you sm!! <33

okay i just want to let you know that your account is absolutely STUNNING!! like i’m in genuine awe omg

❝dear atomicwriter,

aaaaAAAAA!! thank you so much for all the kind words!! you have no idea how much this means to me especially coming from you👉🏻👈🏻 your aesthetic and writing style is such a pleasure to the eyes!!✨

sealed with a kiss,

nikki.❞

I just read Don't You Lose and I legit cried :')

happy to be of service :))

i would’ve stayed for you → t.h

SUMMARY: au! where everyone is born with a small tattoo, and whenever you fall in love with someone, their tattoo appears on your body. tom, who drifted apart from you once his acting career took off, falters during an interview, and its announced that he’s attained someone else’s tattoo. it’s not until tom spontaneously shows up at your doorstep and apologizes profusely that you realized it’s your tattoo that had inked itself onto his skin.

WARNINGS: language. fluff. you strip your shirt off lol. angst (?)

The morning was going by slow, exhaustingly slow. You could say that much. The coffee machine was broken at your workplace and the lack of noise in the office was driving you insane, encouraging the bags under your sleep deprived eyes to induce them to close even just for a few moments. You couldn’t recall the last time you had a decent amount of sleep. Now, your nights were filled with paperwork and news articles that you worked your ass off to write, only to be rejected each time you attempted to present a new idea to your boss. At least there was the ac that froze up the entire office building, your khaki sweater doing nothing to appeal the freezing temperature.

A pair of hands suddenly slapped down onto your desk, making you jump from your chair and bite down on your tongue to hold a spew of words you’d rather not have your boss overhear. A giggle was what brought you to look up at the face of the person that nearly scared you half to death, and a bubble of annoyance manifested on your features as your assistant smiled giddily down at you.

“Yes?”

She leaned down over your desk, whispering excitedly in your ear, “There’s an interview right now.”

Your brows furrowed.

“I don’t get it,” you said flatly.

She sighs loudly, dramatically emphasizing her point of you having no clue what the hell she was talking about.

“Tom Holland,” she drew out, “is doing an interview next door. Like, at this very second.”

The name made you freeze, and you leaned down to pick up the pen that had rolled off your desk to try and dampen the nervousness that itched at your palms.

You nearly choked out the next words, exerting a cough that resembled your discomfort. “This is important, why?”

She gave you a wicked smile, one that was as if she was about to tell you a secret nobody around the globe could know. As if she had done something so unbelievably, she’d want the entire globe to know. “Rumor has it he earned a new tattoo.”

With her words, you subconsciously rubbed the bandaid on your left bicep, covering the markings that ultimately decided your fate. You felt it was stupid, the whole someone falls in love with you and attains your tattoo forever thing. At least, that was your point of view about it. It was just that you found it unfair that something so minuscule could determine what relationships changed for the better or for the worst. And for forever? Wouldn’t it just be better if they’d disappear after your feelings dissipated for that person? You, however, couldn’t fathom the thought of having someone else’s ink punctuated into your skin, and it’s obvious due to the small alignment of swirls that were detailed on the right side of your ribcage. 

“Imagine it though!” She gushed. “Having Tom Holland with your tattoo!”

“I don’t have time for this right now-“

“Whoever it is sure is lucky-“

“Amya-“

“I mean, I couldn’t tell you what I’d do to get Tom Holland to have my tattoo.”

“Shouldn’t you be at the fax machine?”

Your drone of words immediately silenced her, and with a nod she left you back in your cubicle, tapping your pen against the polished wood of your desk in contemplation.

For the next few hours, the interview was all the buzz, and you avoided anyone who even thought about mentioning the topic. However, you didn’t know how long you could forestall it, as in 24 hours the interview would be released world wide, and the thought of what was once your childhood best friend falling in love with someone else really took a stab to your gut.

And yet the weight didn’t fall onto you completely until the work day was completed, your computer was shut down, and the rough draft of environmental damage was shoved into the pocket of your backpack. Outside was a madhouse, you realized. Cameras surrounded the building, numerous flashes going off all at once it made your vision blur. You attempted to push through though, muttering excuses left and right to those that trampled into you. Your gaze remained to the ground, not wanting to get involved until you heard someone shout your name through the crowd. Looking up, you saw him, standing by an open door of a yellow taxi cab, eyes pleading in a way that made you not want to look away. In three years, it was the first time you had seen him standing there face to face, just a mere ten feet away. He looked at you as if he wanted to yell your name again, scream obscene apologies at you for the months that he had distanced himself. You didn’t want to look away, you couldn’t, but with hesitance, you did, and the anxious cries of the paparazzi followed you as you rounded the corner of the street.

The next couple of days mirrored the last. Amya, your assistant, had demanded you watch the interview with her the second it had released. You declined, of course, muttering an excuse that it was your lunch break and that was not your ideal way of spending it. The interview, as you imagined, was everywhere. On television, in the trending section of YouTube, and even in the newspaper. Does Tom Holland have a girlfriend? Tom Holland secret lover? Who does the tattoo belong to? You personally thought it was absolutely ridiculous, there were more important events occurring around the world, and sooner or later this whole thing would blow off and it’d just be another celebrity occurrence that everyone would keep on referring to. As of the moment, it was seriously getting in the way of your article, and the enlightenment of exposing your research and opinions were quickly depleting. So you went back to your apartment early, dejected and exhausted, drowning in the hollowness of your present annoyance. There you attempted to type, pulling at your hair and groaning in anguish at the empty word document that seemed to stare menacingly at you. All inspiration was gone, and you sighed defeatedly, your moment of torment cut short by a rhythm of knocks on your front door.

You called for them to wait, brushing back your hair and fanning your flushed face. When you opened it, you stared right into the eyes of the person you had least expected to see. He stood there, unsure, lips upturned slightly in a smile that radiated vulnerability. Your jaw went slack, and all thoughts of your article drained to the back of your mind.

“Shit, uh, come in.”

Tom stepped over the threshold timidly, hands crossed behind his back.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“No,” his voice cracked softly and he cleared his throat, eyes trailing around your apartment. He was either extremely fascinated with the bowl of fruit that sat atop your table, or he just wouldn’t look at you.

You leaned on your kitchen counter top. “So why are you here?”

For a split second you saw confusion flash on his face, and he cleared his throat once more. “Wha-What do you mean?”

You laughed, softly, cocking your head in interest. “Exactly what I just said. What are you doing here? Out of all places, out of all times.”

“I-I need to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Have you seen the interview yet?”

You sighed, almost wanting to laugh at the thought. “No.”

Tom let out a breath, his poster slacking as he seems to turn away from you. Almost in a whisper, you spoke, trailing your finger through the tiles on your kitchen island. “I don’t have to catch up with someone’s life when they won’t even bother to ask me how my day went.”

Tom’s head snaps up, stepping towards the island counter and resting his hands along the edge. You watched as his fingers tightly gripped the ridge.

“I’m sorry.”

“Tom-”

“I never meant to lose contact with you.”

“Then why did you?”

His posture softens, and you can’t help but lean forward, crossing your arms over themselves.

“I-I don’t know.” 

“There has to be a reason,” you pushed.

“I couldn’t bare the thought of you being mad at me, I guess.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he quickly cut you off with another plea.

“I think I just thought that if I ignored the issue, it would go away.”

“It clearly didn’t,” you spoke flatly.

“I know but-”

“It clearly made it worse.”

“Yes, I know but-!”

“But what?”

Tom captured his bottom lip between his teeth. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Tom-”

“You never called me once, when I left. You realize that, right?”

You froze. He was right.

“You know, I thought you just needed some time to cool off,” he continued, “I told myself I would give you a few weeks, a month at most, and then I would call you. Because I get it, I understand that leaving suddenly and then blowing our friendship off with a letter was a bad move, and I knew I could do better than that. But when I did, when I finally mustered up the confidence to call you, you had my number blocked and anything else that I could’ve contacted you on.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, sinking in the words. “I guess I just didn’t know how to react.”

“Neither of us did.”

He smiled at you, a toothless, sincere smile, and for a moment, you almost wanted to smile back.

“You could’ve talked to me, you know. I would’ve understood. I knew how important it was to you.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, “I didn’t know how you would take it. If you’d ask me to stay, or if you just wouldn’t care and let me go.”

“You know I wouldn’t do either of those things. I wouldn’t hold you back. I would’ve supported you, Tom, and I still do.”

He doesn’t reply, just runs a hand through his hair, his eyes crinkling at the corners just a bit.

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here to bitch and moan about missing me though,” you said.

“Who says I didn’t?” He countered, leaning forward to match a teasing posture.

“The interview.”

“Right.” His shoulders sink a little. “So you haven’t seen it?”

You shook your head.

“I-I don’t really know how to put this then.”

You leaned forward, encouraging him. He took a breath, as if preparing himself, and he spits out the words in a frenzy.

“Thetattooisyours.”

Your eyebrows crinkled, processing his words. It was like he packed them into a small ball and hurled them across the counter at you.

“What?”

Tom sighed. “You heard about the rumor? About me having another persons tattoo?”

You nodded.

“The tattoo. It’s yours.”

Your chest suddenly felt tight, and there’s a lump that managed to form itself in your throat, making you practically choke out your next words. You know you’re at a crossroads. On one hand, Tom left you. You’re still bitter and hurt and reeling at those few years without him. And yet, you can’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over you. He’s here now, and he’s pouring his heart out to you.

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

“I just need you to understand that this doesn’t have to change anything.” He paused. “Actually, it can, as I would like more than anything to have you back as my best friend.”

You nodded once again, trailing along the side of the counter until you were about three feet away from him.

“I want to see it.”

Tom bobbed his head, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt just by an inch, the trails of black ink becoming visible. You reached up and traced the delicate swirls that formed the shape of a small leaf, feeling him shiver under your caress.

“When?” You asked.

“When I left.” He replied.

You moved back a step, suddenly aware of your proximity. Reaching down to the bottom of your blouse, you begin to unbutton it, working your way up.

“I want to show you something.”

You could nearly hear Tom swallow as you exposed the skin of your chest, moving the fabric of your blouse back to expose the twists and lines that vaguely reflected the outline of the sun.

“That’s-That’s mine.”

He reached forward, unsure, gently running his thumb across the crests of the middle and to the lines that drove outwards.

“It appeared when you left,” you breathed. “I think you leaving was some kind of revelation for the both of us.”

You observed him. His reaction, the uneven tremble of his breaths, the way his pupils dilated when he looked at you. And unexpectedly, on an impulse, you cupped his chin, carefully bringing him down to you, melding your lips together.

Kissing him was like anything you could’ve ever expected and more. It was slow at first, tentative, unaccustomed to each other. Suddenly, your confidence grew, and your back was pressed against the counter. It felt so right, and you grinned against his mouth as his hands slid to your shoulders, warily peeling the shirt down your arms. 

Abruptly, he stopped, fingers brushing against the band aid.

“You hide it?” He asked softly. “Why?”

“I don’t exactly like the idea of a tattoo determining one’s relationship with others.” You confided. “I just feel like everything would be so much easier with out it.”

Tom gazed at you with hooded eyes, intertwining his fingers with your own as he rested his forehead against yours. You smiled shyly at him, closing your eyes as you whispered.

“But with you, I don’t want to be strangers anymore.” You paused, taking a breath. “In fact, I think I’d rather ditch the best friends thing.”

He smiled slyly at you, and all fearful thoughts of rejection were whisked away as he glided his lips over yours.

Without warning, you rolled your hips, and Tom faltered, his head falling into the crevice of your neck.

“For the record,” he shuddered, “if you had asked, I would’ve stayed for you.

my teeth in your heart → xiao

00. An Amputated Soul

DESCRIPTION: in liyue, wuwang hill is spoken of as the place where the dead dwell, and there’s a fable that’s oft–repeated among the youth of qingce village. xiao knows this tale, he witnessed it firsthand, and it is as familiar to him as the wind that he coils between his fingers. he does not speak of it much, for who is he to tell it to? all he knows is that the memory is prevalent as the disembodied whispers of karmic debt that call his name.

DISCLAIMER: gender neutral reader. brief mentions of nudity and death. multi-chapter fic.

WORD COUNT: 3k.

It’s a strange sensation.

There’s no pain, just an all-consuming numbness that spreads throughout your entire body. Your fingers flex, although you’re barely able to make sense of their movements. You can only recognize the metronome of your heartbeat as you float wistfully, the blood in your veins roaring so loud that all other sounds fall deaf to your ears. This serenity, a moment free from shouldering the hardships of the world, seems all too foreign for you, although you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

Here, you drift in the endless cosmos, wet and thick. You’re untethered, a lone particle with no sense of gravity in the middle of space. Reality seems discombobulated, and life consists of fractured memories that you’re unable to put together, as if you are missing the puzzle pieces necessary to do so. There’s a heavy pounding in your temples, and the tresses of your hair float around your head like wisps of smoke caught in the moonlight.

It’s when you open your eyes that you realize you can’t breathe. You suddenly become aware that you’re submerged underwater, and the previous tranquility is replaced by a fervent hysteria. Curled up in a fetal position, your bones knock together at the joints, trying for a foothold over the slick crossings of the river floor. Withal, your limbs are constricted by the water reeds, rendering you practically immobile, and your feet sink into the slick, black earthsoup. The surface seems far away from your stricken fingers as you desperately flail them in an attempt to stay afloat.

You can feel your heart pulse sporadically in your teeth, and your spine convulses as you choke on the air that you can’t breathe. In a brief moment of clarity, you retract your arms, beginning to uproot the reeds that confine your body to the riverbed. Determination numbs the burning sensation that coruscates throughout your chest, snuffing out the white-hot sensation that begins to gnaw at your lungs. This newfound electricity swallows you whole, surging through your veins like an incinerator that’s sweltering hot and nuclear-powered. Mud billows up in waves from the floor.

You can taste the acrid tang of death as you bite down on your tongue, and you know it’s coming when your periphery turns white. An abrupt coolness rushes in, igniting a formication along your skin. In mere moments, you realize, you will float like the water reeds, nothing more than flesh and bones ready to decay in the currents. It’s unnerving to realize, it’s unnerving to even think about, and you want to push against the exhaustion that barrels onto your body; to strain for the moonlight that dims above. But your limbs grow heavy, your fingers turn bloated and blue, and your head is spinning, spinning, spinning…

A rough hand clamps down on your shoulders and you’re jerked out of the water before the darkness completely takes over your vision.

You break the surface, coughing and spluttering. Your chest heaves violently, sucking in desperate lungfuls of air that you had previously been so cruelly deprived of. The disturbed water sloshes around as you’re pulled onto the surface of a raft, and you collapse to your knees. Spindly fingers anchor themselves against the dried bamboo stakes, unable to let go until you’re steady once again. Your breath releases in sharp heaves, but it’s there, and that’s all that matters.

When the chill finally seeps into your skin, you see everything in pieces: the shadow of a silhouette in the fading moonlight, dark eyes fraught with concern, and frantic hands thrusting a sheet around your trembling body. Panting hard, you find a certain sense of relief when you cut your eyes to the person who stands by your shivering form. The landscape is blurry before you, and a restless energy hums beneath your skin.

“Are you alright?” the man asks you.

You don’t answer him at first. Instead, you swivel your head around as you take in your surroundings. You’re encircled by calm waters, serene despite their previous menace. Ripples lull the boat, and you follow their path to a shore that doesn’t lie too far from where you are now. You can barely make out the bamboo stalks that extend towards the night sky, framed by the gray cliffs that confine the surrounding land within an alcove of shadows.

“Where are we?” you ask him.

“This is Bishui River.”

The name rings with an unknown sense of familiarity, and you repeat it under your breath.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the man crouches down beside you, “but, what happened to you?”

You wish you could answer him, and when you look down, you notice your hands are shaking. From the frustration of being unable to recall anything or your apparent weakness, you don’t know. It’s like there’s a roadblock in your mind, a screen that reaches from ground to sky that disconnects you from the world around you. Faint sounds plug your ears, memories float across your eyes, and you’re unaware of what you have forgotten. Your past is something hidden, but in this moment you cannot fathom what it might be.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. You ball your hands into fists, knuckles blanching and fingernails digging deep into your palms as you turn to glower at the waters below. A sharp pain lances through your skin, but you don’t release them. All you can do is tell him your name.

“I see,” he hums, and you look towards him, whose cloak reveals a subtle beard of black hair and callous hands - working hands. There are wicker baskets that lie adjacent to his feet, filled with scavenged fish and herbs, carrots and sunsettias. “I stopped using my real name a long time ago. You can just call me Jiangxue.”

Your eyes narrow, but you don’t lose focus. Your nature is to piece this puzzle together: a fisherman out in the dead of night, an unknown land that is strangely familiar, and you, a person composed of seafoam who was pulled to the surface with nothing but a name. You admit that that’s what bewilders you most, but you suck in a breath and push the thought away.

“There’s a village near here. I can take you there if you’d like,” Jiangxue speaks when your silence persists. His eyes glance towards your figure before quickly looking away. A cough catches somewhere between his lungs and his throat. “It consists of amiable folk. You should be able to persuade them into getting you some clothing.”

You look down at his words, and your throat drops to your stomach when you find your bare skin on display. A hypodermic heat rushes to your face, and you wrap the thin sheet tighter around your naked body.

“I … uh … sorry,” you manage to sputter out, bowing your chin down to your chest as if the simple action alone could erase all traces of embarrassment. “I hadn’t realized.”

“It’s no matter,” he affirms, paddling towards the land.

It begins to rain once the raft reaches the shore, and an argentine fluorescence seeps from the sky. The drops plummet from the sky, rapid and ruthless. As you step onto the bank, you find that the mossy ground is damp and sodden, a deep green pigmentation that indicates the fallen rain as a usual occurrence. Jagged stones press uncomfortably into your heels, and you can feel the way the air stills around you.

You don’t understand why these plains seem so disorienting, why the soft susurration of the leaves feel so heavy in your ears. This stupor comes alongside that previous sense of familiarity - an ambient nostalgia for a native land that you yearn to experience once again. There’s an entwining reassurance, distant childhood memories, and the comforts of home. Perhaps one day you will find out why.

When you see the man step off of his raft in an attempt to follow you, you stop him with the shake of your head.

“I’m fine from here on out,” you say before you can even make sense of the words. “I know my way there.”

Skeptical of your proclamation, he raises an eyebrow.

“Dawn will be here soon, you should return to fishing before the world wakes up.”

“You misunderstand,” he says, walking towards you nonetheless. “I do not fish for a living. Neither the process nor the result means much of anything to me.”

“Oh,” you frown. “Is it just a way to pass time, then?”

“Precisely that.” And then he smiles, reaching out his hand and placing it on yours. When he retracts, you find a sunsettia placed into the cocoon of your palm, accompanied by a glowing ornament composed of Varunada Lazurite. There’s a delicate swirl–like design imprinted in the middle of the gem, and your breath catches in your throat when you realize what it is: a Hydro Vision. It must have resurfaced alongside you.

You wish to thank him, but you can not find the voice to do so.

“Safe travels,” Jiangxue says. He turns away, only walking a few steps before he pauses entirely. He opens his mouth, and a look crosses his face then as if he doesn’t know what to say.

“Yes?” you ask of him. “What is it?”

He still doesn’t speak, and you watch as he unclips the cloak from around his waist, slipping it off his arms and rolling it within itself. He hands you the bundle of cloth.

“O-Oh,” you stutter, waving your hands in front of you. “I couldn’t possibly. You have given me far too much.”

“You are cold,” is all he says. “Take it.”

“Really, I don’t-”

“I implore you. Please take it.”

There’s something in his voice then, a plea that is all too unfitting for the composed man before you. Unable to fight against his wishes, you timidly reach forward and remove the article from his grasp.

“There should be no monsters to block your path,” Jiangxue says. “He has made sure of it.”

There is nothing to stop the bewilderment that illustrates your face.

“He?” you question, but the fisherman’s back is turned to you. Befuddled, you do not say anything more, and the quietude encroaches in.

Somewhere in the near distance, a bird squalls — the only sound to penetrate the silence. Jiangxue moves back onto his raft, situating a paddle between the calloused texture of his hands. You don’t wait to watch him leave, instead bowing your head in a display of gratitude before pivoting on your heel and weaving through the clotted bamboo.

When you are certain that you are adequately hidden, the soaked-through sheet that had previously found home on your shoulders falls to the floor. You cinch the cloak that Jiangxue gifted you around your body, and the linen cocoons your body heat comfortably. Pocketing your Vision and the sunsettia, you pluck the sheet from off the ground, and begin to walk forward once more.

It’s not a long trek, that much you can recall, but when you reach the edge of the village, you find that the world has flung itself over and a new sun breaks the horizon. It’s a nectarine-sweet sky, mingling above the mountain that cradles the abundant crop lands within its embrace. You cross the bridge over the terraced fields of crops and wildflowers, inching closer to the livening village. It remains peaceful and quiet all the same, even as its occupants begin to stir.

This isn’t a place that receives many guests, that much you can affirm, despite the boundless beauty the land withholds. The rising sun embraces your skin, silky and warm, and even the rough texture of the stairs beneath your feet seems to hold a fount of comfort within themselves. You can hear the hummingbirds philandering with the flowers, their birdsong coming in lulls and bursts. The aromatic hints of Jueyun Chili and Violetgrass invade upon the atmosphere, inspiring a warmth to pool within your stomach.

It’s when you near the top of the stone path that you can make sense of a hunched figure beneath the strung lanterns, still lit despite the day’s arrival. She paces from side to side, graceful in her steps regardless of the aged lines that sculpt her face, on display due to her gray hair tucked in a low bun. As if sensing your presence, she stops, the green of her dress swiveling with her movements as she pivots on her heel to face you.

“My dear,” she calls, as if she has known you all this time. “Welcome to Qingce Village. Why don’t you take a walk with me?”

The elderly lady nods her head towards the courtyard, and there you can see a conglomeration of buildings that frame the square, constructed of wood and bamboo stalks. Fruit stands are tucked into corners, and a little ways down, a water mill sits adjacent to a bridge, converging with the path that leads further up the mountain. From nearby, the sound of a waterfall marginally emerges above the noises of early morning, and a rush of wistfulness overwhelms your entire being.

“Have you been aware that I would come?” you ask as you step beside her. She leads you towards the bridge.

A small smile sets apart her lips. “You must know we have quite the accumulation of spies here.”

A look of confoundment overtakes your features, and before you can request her to explain any further, a muffled chorus of giggles is heard from behind you. When you turn around, three pairs of eyes stare curiously at your form, and petite hands latch onto the edges of the cart that the children hide behind.

“I was not aware that I’d been under surveillance.”

“Outsiders are rather rare here,” the elderly woman muses, turning her head to where you gaze. “Of course, they still have a lot to learn.”

A sense of amusement flutters within your chest.

“Might I inquire as to why you have come?” she asks you.

The question momentarily startles you, although you reason that it is not unexpected. Attempting to grasp at your thoughts, you press your teeth down onto your lip, and all answers that are brought to mind prove insufficient to her question.

She must notice your inner turmoil, because she provides a reassuring expression before speaking: “It is fine if you do not wish to indulge me. We all have things we wish to keep to ourselves.”

“It’s not that. It’s just … how do I put this?” you reply, taking a grounding breath before voicing further. “There are many memories before this morning that have escaped me, including the answer to your inquiry. Although, I do suppose I hoped that I might be able to acquire some assistance here.”

She seems to contemplate your words, and stops walking just before your feet make contact with the bridge. A middle-aged woman appears in your periphery then, raising her hand in greeting to the lady beside you, the other arm slung over a wicker basket that rests on her hip. She must be preparing for a day's worth of field work, you presume.

“I see. Let us go somewhere more private. We will converse there,” she says. “And perhaps we might find you some more suitable clothes.”

She leads you to a building that rests on a wedge below the peak of the mountain. It’s certainly the largest structure of the village, composed of wooden posts and joists to encircle the open space. A shallow pond borders the front entrance, lotus heads and lily pads peaking above its glassy surface. The inside is completely exposed to the external environment, and from here, you can make out the entirety of the village. Nonetheless, being under a roof grants you a gratifying sense of privacy.

With a fragile hand on the small of your back, the lady leads you to a painted screen wall that rests off–center of the building, framed by wooden beams. It’s a picture of the mountain, you promptly recognize, with streaks of orange and blue that appear to glow in the morning light. She gently encourages you behind it, and you don’t realize that there is a set of garments in her other hand before she’s pushing them into your own.

“There is no one around to see,” she says, as if sensing your hesitation, and leaves you to your own.

Once the woman rounds the corner, you make haste in removing the cloak, slipping on the pants that tighten at your waist. The silk laced fabric flares out to brush at your ankles, and the cerulean trimmed edges barely graze upon the ground. The main portion is a dark umber, much like the short sleeved shirt given to you, with stitched decals of ochre and blue. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to bind the fastenings down your chest.

There is no mirror nearby, but you are gently pleased by the choice in fabrics. You run your fingers over the material, feeling the ridges, the needlework, and the cotton–like texture. You know you’re in no position to experience such a luxury at the given moment, but you also have no entitlement to brush off such a thing. Your body hums with gratitude, and you step out from behind the wall.

The elderly lady seems to be equally as pleased, as she sends you a tight–lipped smile. From where her hands are clasped behind your back, she motions towards the chairs that circle the center of the building, fringing on the carmine painted engraving of a flower–like design. You take a seat.

“Might I ask your name?” You are the first to speak.

“You may call me Granny Ruoxin,” she muses. “I do apologize if it isn’t too lively around here, but life is pleasant here, and I hope you find a sense of enjoyment within the village.”

You learn forward, eager. “You mean it? I can stay?”

She nods, and it’s like the Universe has bursted into light. “There is plenty of room. You may stay until you are certain of where your journey will take you.”

A glint from the sun sparks your gaze, and you watch as Granny Ruoxin moves to sit beside you. Her movements are leisurely, hands crossed–hatched with scars reaching down to clasp yours in her own, and you dare to wonder of all the ways in which your life is about to unfold.

hello! i hope you enjoyed this. it’s my first time posting something genshin related on tumblr, so feedback is greatly appreciated. <3

additionally, i am considering making a tag list for this story, so if you are interested please message me!!

also! you can read it here on a03!