#History x Genshin

[historynerdj2]

Others: Any other shower thoughts you get about Genshin?

Me: Inazuma should have access to firearms.

Others: I beg your pardon?

Me: Well, you see, Inazuma is based off Japan, and more specifically Edo era Japan. However, the motifs and plot line of Inazuma is most comparable to a certain extent to the Meiji Restoration.

Both of these are important to consider, as the start of the Edo era (1603) was the ending of the warring states period, where one of the crucial details was the introduction of firearms by the Portuguese.

In game, a whole quest line focuses on the Mikage Furnace, a furnace meant to produce weapons for the Shogunate, with the maintenance done by Fontainian engineers/mechanics. Furthermore, several canons can be found on the islands nearby. This means that Inazuma has the capacity to do so.

Furthermore, theme wise, it makes sense. The plotline follows the Boshin war to a certain extent, between Central clans versus more Southwestern clans (Tenryou Comission vs Sangonomiya Clan/Watatsumi island = Tokugawa Shogunate and loyal clans vs Satsumi and Chosu domains and fellow Imperialist clans), as well as outside interference to a limited extent (Traveler and Fatui = British and French).

While firearms might perhaps be the best way to hint at the concept of eternity leading to stagnation. The war was, ostensibly, a stalemate, so imagine if one side got firearms, either from Fontaine, the Fatui, or domestically made. The other side would then have to make/acquire them as well. Even if Raiden’s eternity was to be maintained, it would be ironic for that eternity to continue through advancing technology.

Finally, I just think it could be sick. Imagine clashes of Tenryou and Resistance forces, and a volley of musket fire comes from the ranks of the Commission side. Or perhaps a lone resistance marksman taking potshots at Kujou clan officers.

Others: … How much thought do you put into this bit?

Left: Historical Japanese picture of Ashigaru gunners aiming their matchlocks

Right: Painting by Giuseppe Rava depicting samurai gunners during the Boshin war

[jay-joy113]

Thinking of getting this in a shirt, should i?

Maybe if it hits 1000 likes ill post it

[tenderfxck]

al haitham is dreaming. he's- he's sure of it.

why else would that secretary he's been harboring some not-so-pure feelings for be bending over right in front of him, her little skirt riding up and over the swell of her ass just enough to see a full show of what cute panties might lay hidden beneath.

except there was nothing under that tight skirt. she. . .

she wasn't wearing anything.

al haitham had the perfect view of two full pussy lips squished so beautifully between the seam of her plush thighs from his desk.

thoughts of planting himself behind her and sliding his cock right into that pretty little cunt almost immediately barged their way into his mind, evicting any other logical thought that may have resided there until this moment. he couldn't possibly look away, liquid heat rushing to his gut at the idea of fucking her doggy-style against the bookshelf she was sorting through right now.

he wasn't sure whether to promote or fire whoever requested those research articles she was now gathering from the large cabinet right in front of his desk. she seems oblivious to al haitham's current ordeal, however. and he was uncertain if she was aware of the revealing position she put herself in. maybe it was just laundry day.

or perhaps, haitham thought, feeling his cock twitch to life even more, she never wears panties. . .

oh, archons.

so now al haitham just has to be patient. he'll sit there, heart hammering away, staring at that tight-looking pussy taunting him from across the room until she's finished her business and takes leave of his office.

he won't breathe a word to her except for a simple request. just for her to close the door on her way out, so as soon as it clicks shut he can pull his cock out and relieve himself of this burning need currently laid weeping against his thigh and straining tight in his pants.

but for now she still sorts through documents, and al haitham will continue burning this sight in his memory to use for many, many lonely nights to come.

[archonsbane]

AND I TRY TO TALK REFINED

The one time Il Dottore speaks to you in another language, the one time he speaks to someone else in another language, and the one time you give him a taste of his own medicine.

pairing. dottore x reader

tags & content warnings. gn!reader. reader is the tsaritsa's child. reader is referred to by they/them. there's one (1) mildly suggestive sentence (and it's in a different language lol).

word count. 2.9k

author's note. so. i'm back from the dead. i have two fics for pantalone and one for diluc, around 8k+ words. (none of them are finished LMFAO) but of course i drop everything for this stupid ass man. the reader here is my tsaritsa���schild!reader, though this takes place before beauty is terror. this is set in the early days of their relationship and the start of dottore’s involvement in the fatui. reader's backstory is also implied here, but not outright stated. also i got inspiration from @fatuismooches lovely headcanons, though i strayed a bit far HAHA. thank you for letting me write this! and thank you to my two lovely delulu friends (you know who you are) bc i suddenly got into the mood to write because of them.  also, what is heavily implied to be the script of khaenri'ah in-game is based on latin, so i headcanon that latin is the language of khaenri'ah. also i had to sneak in a tsh reference lmfao it was too perfect not to. i promise i don't include it in all my fics it just so happens to be perfect for certain situations huhu. also i hope you guys catch all the little details i put in! reader and dottore have always been like this lol the title is from 'talk' by hozier.

You are undoubtedly the worst teacher Dottore has ever had, bar none. 

Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye, leaving him dumbfounded. Your teaching sessions, if they could be called that, are filled with constant interrogations of his life and large infusions of food. Half the time you aren’t even teaching him, you’re simply rambling about whatever it is you ramble about (he’s learned to tune you out, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because he can’t understand what you’re saying). He is truly reconsidering forgoing learning Snezhnayan — at the pace you're going, he might as well take his chances and learn by himself.  

“But Mother said,” you remind him, petulantly, like a small child. Yes, the Tsaritsa commanded him to learn Snezhnayan, and commanded you to teach him, but he is greatly tempted to ask her to send another teacher. It has only been two weeks since your lessons begun and he might truly go mad. Sometimes he thinks this might be the worst thing a divine being has ever inflicted on him.

In truth, he already knows Snezhnayan, but only enough to hold a polite conversation. It is his least favorite of the languages he learned from his teachers in the Akademiya, and anyway, he never quite had a deftness for tongues. He is always most at home working with his hands, destroying and creating physical matter, covered in dust and soot, cracking open the world’s secrets like an egg. But the Tsartisa willed him to learn, and he is nothing if not a scholar. 

“But Mother said,” he mocks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He’s learned that you have no convictions about his personality. If anything, you seemed to embrace it. Whereas he dons a respectful — as respectful as he can conjure, anyways — mask with the Jester and the Tsaritsa, it’s… looser, with you. Still, he is careful not to cross the line. He is only allowed this because he amuses you. You've been treating him like some sort of pet to be played with whenever you desire since his coming here. “Your mother also said to teach me how to speak Snezhnayan, but this is the third time you’ve called for snacks in three hours.” 

You flash a lazy glare at him and go back to eating your beloved pastilas. “You require a tremendous amount of effort to teach.” You’ve switched back to speaking the common tongue, obviously for his sake. “You’re a horrible student.” 

“You’re a horrible teacher!” 

You sniff and take another bite of your pastry. “You’re just really bad at learning.” 

For that, you get a glance heavenward. He is tempted to simply throttle you and be done with it. Treason seems like a fair price to pay for shutting you up. But he considers his options and decides that he would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s wrath — it’s too fucking cold here already. Still, greatly offended by this statement, he vents out his anger by cursing at you.

In the language of Sumeru. 

He does not really think of it; his use of his mother tongue has greatly decreased since coming here, but even then, it simply rolls off his tongue as naturally as water flows from a river's mouth.

Your brows shoot up. You open your mouth, pause, and for a moment he fears he is in danger of being exiled or thrown in the dungeon. But then you cock your head to the side. “What does that mean?” You ask. 

An idea unravels in his mind, sparkling with mischief. “It means you’re bad at teaching.” 

You frown. “For some reason, I feel like you’re lying.” 

He curses at you again. Your frown deepens. There is something so satisfying about the way those frustrated lines burrow into your face. When he does it a third time, you actually put down the pastila. 

“What does it mean?” You demand. “You aren’t saying anything bad, are you?” 

It means you’re an insufferable little bastard of mean intelligence and he hopes you fall into a ditch, so yes, he definitely is saying something bad. “It means you’re the most gorgeous, most wonderful person in the world,” he says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables. When you look genuinely taken aback, he lets out a cruel, derisive scoff. “It means you should trust me more.” 

“That seems like a horrible idea.” 

He shrugs and reaches over to take one of the pastilas, light pink with a white, foamy top, vaguely aware that another one of your language lessons has gone considerably off course. Perhaps that was too light a description. It shot in one direction and came speeding back the other way. “Suit yourself, Your Imperial Highness.” 

You smack his hand away, gently. Almost too gently. “Those are mine.” 

He eats it, anyway, and learns many new colorful Snezhnayan curses for it, though he detects no real annoyance in your voice. You ring for another batch of desserts. He counts it as a successful lesson. 

He continues speaking in Sumerian when you're near. It’s the greatest of treasures, seeing you frown and demand to know what he had just uttered in your presence. Sometimes he just says the first phrase that enters his head, most times he insults you and relishes in your clueless blinking. You can't do the same to him — he's been picking up on Snezhnayan at an exponential pace, and he's made sure to memorize all of the insults and swears first. Obviously. It’s his talent for machinations that he prides himself on, but lately, he’s been deriving vicious pleasure from the fact he can speak twenty languages, though it never mattered much to him before. It’s a good, safe outlet for his annoyance whenever you’re near, which you seem to always be, nowadays. 

Even outside the language ‘lessons’ (the word lessons being used extremely lightly) you seem to trail him wherever he goes. Ambushing him in the halls, materializing in the laboratory, and in general trailing him like some attention-starved puppy. He resents it, resents the stars that float through your eyes whenever he enters your view, resents the way you immediately disengage from whatever it was that you were doing to attach yourself to him, all smiles. 

He actively avoids you, but somehow you keep running into him. On purpose or accidentally, he has no idea. He suspects it is the former.

Today is one of those days. You’re by his side, again, chatting happily about… something. He’s trying to tune you out, focusing on the long walk back to his laboratories after a meeting with the Tsaritsa. He needs to do something about that, it’s woefully inconvenient to have to walk a mile every time she calls on him. Some sort of contraption that could go up and down easily would be of great use, and he wouldn’t have to climb so many fucking stairs.

Then — it happens. In your excitement, you bump into some government official accompanied by another, what his role is Dottore does not know and does not care to, but he must be quite high up if he allows himself to glare at you for an instant before it disappears into a cool stare. Or maybe he just has a lot of gall.

"Oh, my apologies sir," you murmur, ducking your head. 

"Quite alright, Your Highness," he says smoothly, "have a good day." He turns his back and starts to mutter to his companion, their heads bent together, completely unaware that with your godly senses and his recent enhancements to his body, you both can hear every word.

"How clumsy," the first man tuts, "what does their mother teach them? She's been too soft on them."

"She lets them run amok doing whatever they please. The other day, they—"

"—yes, I heard. Look at those clothes, aren't they too plain for the heir?"

His companion makes an agreeing noise. "And the company they keep… " 

Dottore doesn't particularly care about what other people think of him, and perhaps if it was only the last sentence that had been uttered he wouldn't have said a word, but the tirade of their complaints makes irritation, absurdly, flare inside him. He whips his head back to their retreating figures, and you throw him a glaring warning, so he clenches his jaw and stays where he is. He isn't one to do nothing, however. 

“Kol khara,” he says to them, viciously. Eat shit. He hears you stifle a sound that might be a laugh and briefly wonders why exactly you would laugh. 

The men turn back around. “Excuse me?” The first one says. 

“Nothing,” he says, curtly, his eyes like sharp daggers, “go on." They throw each other confused glances but say nothing further, going further down the hall until he can no longer see their backs. You both stay in the middle of the now-empty hallway, staring silently off into the distance.

You’ve never been able to contain your curiosity for long. After a good minute of silence, you turn inquisitive eyes on him. He’s been expecting your question.

"What did you say?" You ask.

He shrugs; makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "I know it isn't nothing. It was something bad, right? You've said it to me before.” Clever you, he thinks briefly. Nothing gets past you. When he stays enclosed in icy silence, you press on further, “I won’t be mad. It doesn’t bother me — I think it’s funny. Just tell me.” He has no idea why you would ever think it’s funny. Nonetheless, he stays silent. 

You try again. “Tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“Tell me,” you say again, but this time you slip into the voice of the noble, unshakeable heir to Winter. The two words are a command, and they leave no room for argument. He must follow. 

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It means I want them to eat shit.” 

A moment of silence passes and Dottore wonders if he should start running. Then, you start to laugh. A small laugh, so small he almost thinks he could cup it in his hands and never let it go. But he recognizes it as different from the laughs you’ve given him before. This one is warm and sweet, conjured from the belly upwards. Summer in a sound. 

He tries very hard not to smile when he says, “you aren’t mad?” 

“No,” you say, still laughing, “I suppose I do deserve it.” He silently agrees. “Anyways, after coming to my defense, I forgive you.” 

He snarls, that sudden irritation reviving itself. “I wasn’t coming to your defense.” 

You shrug, not looking bothered at all. “Fine. Defending yourself and by extension — and complete coincidence — me.” 

He decides it is best not to argue, and listens quietly as you walk with him back to his laboratory, chatting happily away once more. If you notice that over the next few days, his outbursts toward you decrease, you say nothing of it. And if you notice he is insulting other people more in other languages, seemingly for the sole purpose of making you laugh, you say nothing of it, too. 

You’re speaking Sumerian. 

Fluent Sumerian. Rapid-fire Sumerian, without blinking or stumbling over your words. Clean, pure Sumerian, speaking everything with the perfect enunciation of a noble. You don’t notice him behind you, utterly bemused, as you speak to a foreign dignitary from his homeland. The First drags him out of the underground labs from time to time in order to socialize and familiarize himself with the political atmosphere, but Dottore lets you do all the work for him. You engage in polite small talk, though delivered with much more enthusiasm than necessary. But the words are barely intelligible in his head. It isn’t possible that you’ve learned how to speak fluent Sumerian in such a short about of time. He will begrudgingly admit your brightness, small as it is, but even he cannot master a language within a few months. Which means there must only be one conclusion. 

When you notice him, your face morphs into one of surprised panic. Oh. He’s sure his fury is plain to see. It’s at that precise moment the dignitary — Dottore does not see the point in blessings but, Archons bless her — chooses to excuse herself, leaving you open and without a proper excuse to escape with. 

“You can speak Sumerian,” he says, plainly, having immediately taken the empty spot at your side. You take  cautious, half-step backwards. 

You look both amused and slightly abashed. 

He grits his teeth. “For how long?” 

“... since I was five." A pause. You look thoughtful. "Actually, it was your Greater Lord Rukkhadevata who first taught me."

This new piece of information surprises him so much that the flames of his anger are snuffed out, if only for a second. Then they come back raging, and he cannot contain it.

"You knew what I was saying this entire time!" He rages, jabbing an accusing finger at you. You cringe away. "You could understand all of it!"

"Not all of it—" When you see the exasperation that crosses his face, you smile. "Alright. Most of it." 

You begin to walk away, but he furiously follows you. "You lied to me!"

"You were cursing me to my face. I think it's a fair exchange." You shrug with one shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was funny, anyway. Your cluelessness, that is." And then, "you should know, now that you know — I can speak the main languages of each nation." 

"I can too," he says haughtily, raising his chin up at you. 

"Really?" You laugh. "Cubitum eamus?"

"What?"

"Nothing." 

"What does that mean?" He demands, only half aware he's repeating the interaction you once had over a plate of pink and white sweets. He's never heard a language sounding quite like that. Perhaps it could be a dialect, but it doesn't sound similar to any currently existing language. "What language is that?"

You deliver your coup de grâce with such smooth smugness on your face. "It's Khaenri'ahn." The dead language. 

He blinks. Opens his mouth dumbly. And lunges.

As he chases you through the halls, your laughter floats warm and clear in the frigid winter air. You easily outpace him, but perhaps out of pity, you let him catch you and drag you to — well, he doesn't exactly know where he's going, only that he does not want to let you escape his rage. You thrash in his arms like a trapped animal, still controlled by a laughing fit all the while. 

"I hate you," he grumbles later, when you've calmed him with a slice of strawberry cheesecake from the kitchens. He's still quite angry, but not angry enough to not accept your peace offering. "You're horrible."

"So are you." 

A pause, then, "Teach me Khaenri'ahn," he says, leaning forward, a bright idea sparking in his chest. "There's so many texts I have yet to decipher — you have no idea the knowledge I can grasp if you teach me." He thinks of the old Ruin Golems in Sumeru. How hard it was to learn how to control them! But with your help, with your knowledge, he could crack the world open like an egg and watch its secrets spill like yolk. 

"I thought I was a bad teacher."

"Bad is better than none at all."

The utterly offended look that flashes on your face teases a grin from his mouth. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

He thinks he sees the corner of your mouth involuntarily curl upward. You twirl your fork in your fingers, humming thoughtfully. "Why should I?" 

"... For the pleasure of contributing to my research?" The look you give him tells him you're not at all convinced. He continues, "My research that is so very essential to the success of this nation?"

You scoff, but you cannot deny it. He would not be alive if he wasn't useful to Snezhnaya.

"You'll owe me," you tell him. 

He shrugs. "There's worse things in the world. Let's start."

It startles you somewhat. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you have other things to do?" 

You don't. Your language lessons with him already ended when he reached an acceptable mastery over Snezhnayan according to your mother, and he knows that though you have a schedule (mysterious and utterly incomprehensible though it is — not even he has been able to figure it out), you'd drop everything in an instant if something else interests you. Your other engagements are often boring things, too, and the only duty you ever truly commit to are the strange missions your mother sends you on, ones that could go for months on end. He's fairly certain you'll acquiesce to his request.

You pretend to consider it, before shrugging with hardwon carelessness and saying, "Fine."

You're exactly the same. Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye. Half the cheesecake is eaten before you even start on the alphabet, and the journey to that is filled with endless detours that consist of bickering, fighting over the (large) cake, and kicking each other like children under his work table. His intelligence is insulted more times in half an hour than in his entire years of study at the Akademiya.

Dottore decides, with solid determination, after eating the last slice of cake, finally learning the pronunciation of the vowels and consonants, and being on the receiving end of an onslaught of Khaeri’ahn curses he truly cannot understand — which is horribly ironic considering the past few weeks — that he might as well beg the Jester for lessons instead, and no one can do a damn thing about it. He tells this to you, chin up, resolute and unwavering in his declaration. 

He never does get around to doing that. 

[fabricdi]

This is my attempt to come up with a new style, it looks neat..

[dragonqueenofice]

A Cloth Flower

Word Count: 630

Summary: Flowers discarded as soon as they bloom, yet love blossoms brighter still (Or, you try and fail to make a bouquet for a budding crush)

notes: i love men who are just a little fucked up

     A red spider lily, born of crimson cloth and wire sits upon your desk. Your hands work to add more petals, forming the flower into the form oh so recognizable. “How many am I gonna need?” You ponder, glancing up and rewinding back the tutorial that’s been playing for around three hours now, and stuck on the same spot for half that time. You weave the next petal into its spot, doubt seeding into your mind as the flower forms alongside. “Does he even like spider lilies?” You ponder, cutting the cloth for another petal as the guide speaks that this is the last step. “He's always haunted by death, why would he want more reminders?”

     So you scrap it, tossing the flower aside like the past three hours meant nothing. The vibrant red lily resting atop the scraps of cloth and projects abandoned as soon as started like a king atop his throne. You feel no remorse, not sparing a glance for the poor flower’s descent as your eyes are on the monitor ahead, fingers typing flowers that mean life and looking through results. 

—

     A peach blossom, born of pastel cloth and wire sits upon your desk. Your hands work to add the last petal to the small flower, forming it into the third of the to-be bouquet. You glance up to the monitor and groan, despising the song that started but not having the energy to change it. Your hands insert in the next petal, your mind not noticing the size of the blossom growing one petal too large as doubt seeds in yet again, “wouldn't he hate a flower about life more?” your mind whispers, hands lowering the flower onto the table with little revere. Knuckles clack against the wood as your thumbs press down on the petals, bending them out of shape, “Haunted by death, yes, but infected with life… What if he hates it? What if he hates me?”

     So you toss them, blossoms fluttering down and resting beside the lily atop scraps of their own, yet another projected abandoned and yet another wasted night. One hand threads fingers through your hair as the other types, painfully slow, flowers that mean love.

—

     “Could you go fetch our dear creative?” Kafka’s honey-sweet voice rings through Blade’s head as his shoes clack against the floor, coming to a stop at your door. He clicks the master key Kafka lent him to your door, pondering for only a second why the Hunters have such high tech doors as it opens. He steps in and the lights come on, illuminating your sleeping form slumped over the desk and the scraps of cloth sprawled around the wood. The cloth, an iris purple in hue is formed into an approximation of a petal, it seems you passed out mid-work. Blade steps towards the desk, stopping beside the chair as his eye is caught by the vibrant flowers left discarded in the trash. He reaches out, curious to feel the silken cloth of the creations you labored over, but his arm disturbs the chair and startles you awake.

     You make eye contact, Blade’s piercing gaze stuck on your eyes as you freeze up like a startled fawn. “...Why are you in my room?” You finally break the deafening silence with whispered words.

     “Kafka wanted you.” He holds out a gloved hand to help you stand, Kafka’s warning to “play nice” echoing in his head as you stand, reluctantly pressing your palm to his for support. Blade doesn’t question that strange feeling that clenches around his heart, seeing your hand clasped over his, and he doesn’t question the arm he offers you for support against your back when you walk. He’s playing nice, a blade doesn’t feel after all.

[dracodoll]

IMAGINE

medical au haikaveh - cath lab edition

kaveh and alhaitham are interventional cardiologists who went to the same medical school. years later, they find themselves working in the same hospital. while alhaitham is kaveh's junior by a few years, he is an extremely skilled doctor and has already made a name for himself in the hospital and surrounding medical community.

all the cath lab staff sense there is something between the two doctors, but can't put their finger on it. turns out, these two handsome, intelligent, and sometimes odd doctors are roommates.

[kkowato]

🕸️🕷️"Good times never last"🕷️🕸️

Определенно стоит посвятить несколько постов ✨🌸Кафке✨🌸

��тому прекрасному персонажу и его истории. Приятно читать и гадать, что же будет дальше, как будет развиваться и открываться ее история😍⏳

Я бы хоть весь блог ей посвятила, честно. Однако, думаю особого места в наших сердцах для нее достаточно, как и того, что для неё всегда будет отдельное местечко на этой странице♾️💞

[nikatapinky]

What happened to Persepolis? Pt.2

[jay-joy113]

Genshin impact.

SMAU AU

Gender neutral reader, loser reader, shut in reader.

Chapter 1, the City of freedom

Welp, guess when your friends tell you to touch grass end get off your "otako games" this is what happens. Well, you aren't sure what happend actually, this morning (2am) you were chilling farming on genshin to help your growing gacha addiction, maybe you should sleep but yknow, hot characters end shiny primos. Anyway, now you are on literal grass, Yes that shit is fuking real grass... are you still on your dirty pijamas? Maybe its a dream you argue with yourself... but then again that pyro slime its a bit too realistic- WAIT- WTF IS THAT DOING HERE?!?!

Now you are "running", yeah, with the " ", because it has been a life time since you actually did that seriusly, maybe you shouldnt have drank no water for 2 days (yummy micro plastics taste better)

At that point you tought to yourself that, "hey, what if im an ISEKAI protagonist end now is my chance to lose my virginity" so when you think the slime is far away enough you try to "awake"?? Your protagonist powers. You do so much force you fart.

You truly are just a huge fuking nerd aren't you? As you try to dig a hole to hide in self pity, an man, Yes an male of your species, have you ever actually talked to one like a normal human being? Anyways, his dark skin end blue eyes, his deep voice end weird pirate patch. Yup, thats Kaeya for sure, now, you *could* go try to talk to the hot ice bitch, try to get a fuking clue you dickhead, or.. try flirting with a fake man or just naruto run the fuck away like the weirdo you are...

[wreedenthusiast]

Round 2!

[fabricdi]

I love them very much!! I couldn't resist and drew.. don't you think they look good together? 😘

[naluwalker]

Yes, I'm here again

Hey, hello, it's me again. Again with more ideas of something I'm not going to write. Again with more Zhongchi, and again with more child rearing. Only this time it's not Naruto.

I want you to understand that while I am neutral towards JK Rowling and all her controversies, the world of Harry Potter is totally different, and the love I have for that series is much more than I can explain.

So in pursuit of my love for Harry Potter and my love for Genshin and Zhongchi, I returned to release my brain bugs.

So, it's the spring of 1985 and a new family has moved into Privet Drive. All the housewives in the neighborhood gossip about the beautiful redhead who now lives at 8 Privet Drive and her mysterious husband.

The cheerful woman visits all her neighbors to greet them with a deep red soup casserole, which she claims is a recipe from her homeland, and introduces herself as Ajax.

Ajax happily tells all her gossipy neighbors about her move from Russia, her new job as an elementary school teacher, and her very handsome and charming husband, who is unfortunately stuck at work due to all the paperwork that was delayed due to the move and how a company will not go alone. The mysterious husband seems to be loaded.

Harry is indifferent until he discovers that his new neighbor is also his new math teacher, and that her children will be his classmate.

While Xiao is silent, surly, and has very scary golden eyes, his sister Tao is boisterous, talkative, and very, very creepy. Harry honestly doesn't know what to do with them, especially the girl who makes fun of him and "the woman who follows him everywhere."

One afternoon while escaping from Dudley and his friends he ends up bumping into Xiao and things don't turn out well... For Dudley. Apparently the older brother has no patience for bullies and idiots.

When Aunt Petunia invites her new teacher and her children over to discuss what happened, which is a subtle attempt to make Ajax look like a bad mother to her children while pushing an angry Uncle Vernon around, things don't go according to plan. what was planned. Because when Ajax accepts, Harry meets the most intimidating man he has ever seen in his short life.

Zhongli Huang, Ajax's husband, is tall, handsome and elegant, and together with his wife they form a beautiful picture that makes Petunia and Vernon fail in every way possible. He doesn't seem very impressed with the situation either and spends the evening subtly criticizing the Dursley couple while devoting all his attention to doting on his wife and children. In every stressful situation, Harry accidentally makes his presence known, and without realizing it, gives blackmail ammunition to the vicious redhead like a shark that smells blood.

With a few mild threats, silent blackmail, and a smile like a grave, Harry finds his life looking up when he finds himself moved across the street to a strange but loving family who treat him with more affection than he has received for as long as he can remember. Zhongli and Ajax are strange in every way possible, and Xiao and Tao are just as prone to acting outlandishly, but the way they sink into his life and heart makes things worth it.

The next few years are warm and happy, the Dursleys avoid them like the plague and Dudley can no longer get closer than six feet without some of his new brothers bristling and attacking like very violent cats. He has also discovered things about her new family, like how his parents treat gender more as a mood than as a real biological thing, or how reality seems to break down around his, but they are things that he has gotten used to and decides to do. That it really doesn't matter how strange they are, your family is your family and that's all that matters.

Then he receives a letter and discovers that he is a wizard, and he is not the only one. Xiao looks at the letter envelope as if there was a bomb inside and Tao waves his as he folds it into a pretty crane, mother and father share tea and ignore everything around them in favor of getting lost in each other's gaze while Harry suffers an existential crisis. The next day they are in Diagon Alley.

Harry ends up accepting magic as he has been accepting everything around him for the last few years, some disbelief, a lot of doubt, and what feels like an instinctive resignation that he can't escape his situation. His parents have given him many options, which include Oxford University in the future, so he just accepts the magic, since his parents seem to be on top of everything and don't mind that their three children are going to embark on what they are It is surely your new life in a magical world. Archons, he can't believe that's a real thought.

Thus, Harry embarks on a new journey away from the family home that has been taking care of him since he left the horrible Dursley home, with only the company of his beloved brothers. Or he was, until he finds out that mother, who is now dad, and father, who is now Miss Zhongli, are teachers at his new magical school.

Once again, he resigns himself to what his life has been like for six years and moves on. Meanwhile, neither Hogwarts, nor Vondermort, nor even Dumbledore know what has fallen into their laps: A very battlesexual former herald, his very permissive divine husband, they overly diligent and surly eldest son, and they mischievously chaotic and eccentric youngest daughter.

[haerin1]

꒰ఎ ♡ ໒꒱

as a new tumblr writer , pls send any writing reqs for scara in my inbox !! :3 i'd love to have a few requests to start my writing here and i'll write anything but non sfw works. i love writing especially modern au , smau , fluff , angst and etc.! the scara in my works will be described kind of like his character in game; unfiltered , charming, cunning and possibly a little flirty...

i've been a reader on tumblr for awhile and i haven't been seeing much scara writers around lately (aside from the smut tag) so i wanna indulge more into my delulu and feed the scara fans too through my writing 🙏

[afuckinglittlesunflower]

Congress of Vienna, pre-March and Biedermeier

I have to study for a history exam which is next week so I thought about different methods to get everything into my head. What better way then to let your comfort characters help? This is part 1 of my insert genshin character x reader study session series. This time, it's a Fischl x reader. Also, it's not proof-read.

Enjoy!

With a sigh you got up from your seat. As your seat was right next to the open window, the cool summer breeze was directed at your standing form. Hair flowing gently behind you as you looked outside, smiling. "Tell me, my treasure, have thee also recieved such rahter upsetting news written by none other than the hag of the east, Yae Miko?" Fischl's chirpy voice, which you usually considered as a blessing, took you by utter surprise. Confused enough, you tilted your head slightly as you gazed at your lover. "A message? No, why?", you asked, usure if you even wished to hear the answer. Fischl threw her hands in the air dramatically. She shook her head, blond hair falling graciously over her shoulders. Her green eye, which was not covered by the white eyepatch, looked at you with such intesity it felt as though the world around you fell silent. Fischl crossed her arms over her chest which involuntarily drove your gaze in. The blond haired beauty in front of you was your very own girlfriend after all.

Just as she was about to answer you heard the familiar notification sound of no other app than teams. Oh shit. For a moment you hesitated before taking your phone out of the skirt poket and looked at the new message. "My dear student...", was all you could make out. Laughing, Fischl took your phone and fixated her gaze on the screen. Without any trouble she pressed her thumb on your phone and unlocked it. Although you should be thinking about the text message you had just recieved, you couldn't help but stare at her beautiful, long fingers. The purple nail polish you put on her yesterday did indeed suit a princess like her perfectly.

"My dear student, due to your rather unfortunate percentage of absences you are required to write an exam in order to recieve a grade in this years history course. In the attachment below you will find the topics of study for the exam. It will be held on June the 19th at 9.35 am. In case questions arise feel free to ask your classmate Xingqui for help! Best regards, Prof. Yae Miko."

Not even the lovely voice of Fischl could save your from your impending doom. "Oh my, it seemes as though you share the same fate as I once more", grinning, your girlfriend slipped your phone in her poket and moved behind you. She swiftly moved her arms around your waist and pressed herself close to you. Her breath tickled your neck as she whispered something in your ear. "Thy shall not waver in the face of terror. For I, Fischl, Prinzessin der Verurteilung, am willing to unergo such horror with you, my most priced treasure."

The soft sound of humming did anything but calm you. Abrubtly, you looked up and found your girlfriend silently focusing on the sheets in front of her. A look full of nothing but concentration was something you deeply admired about her. While you were never able to fully focus on anything, really, she always managed to give it her all. There it came to no surprise that always was on the leaderbord in the top 10. Once more you looked at the neat notes you had written a day prior. Nothing seemed to make sense. "To hell with that. I can't get it into my head no matter how hard I try." You were truly on the verge of giving up as you lied down flat on the comfortable, blue carpet.

Only then did Amy look at you. She smiled as she took your notes in her delicate hands. "Congress of Vienna, pre-March and Biedermeier. Although this much is nothing for the Prinzessing der Verurteilung, I can see how all those things might make one's head spin with utter confusion." She once more opened her mouth so she could explain the topics in their entirety, you stopped her. "My precious Fischl, I love you and everything you do. I love the way you act as well and everytime it makes my heart beat just a bit faster. But please, could you try to explain all this in a more... boring way?" As, in her eyes, your smile was worth a thousand roses, she could not deny anything you asked of her. "You know how after the French Revolution Napoleon became the one in power? He invaded countries and was overall just a despicable human. After a while though, with his inevitable defeat, he was exiled to the island of Saint Helena." Her green eye bore into yours as she silently got up while continuing. "All the representatives of the european countries met up in Vienna from 1814 to 1815 in order to reach an agreement about how to restore Europe."

"In the end, the old order was restored." She strechted her arms above her head, then proceeded to move over to you. She was now above you, both feet standing on either side of your waist. Fischl was looking down at you, smiling. Your eyes moved all across her body, only stopping at the black skirt she was wearing. Her school uniform really did fit her exeptionally well. The black thighs hugged her legs in a way that got your eyes in a trance. With a snap of her fingers your attention was once more on her plumb, rosey lips. "You have to listen if you want to learn something." A nod seemed sufficiant to her as she continued with her monolog. "Throughout the entire congress, the public of Vienna suffered immensely." A questioning look of yours engouraged her to sit down on top of you. Slowly, your hands moved to her waist as to hold her in a loose grip. "The emperor of Austria, Franz the first, spent an immense amount of money on parties, the theatre and anything to do with entertainment."

"Thus, the public suffered as the prices for rent- everything, really- went up. They also had to pay more taxes." Only for a moment, your eyes started to explore her clothed body. You really did not do well on focusing on one thing alone. A slight pat to the cheek made you puff out your cheeks. "I am doing this for you, so you better listen!", despite that, your girlfriend provokingly placed her hands just below your breasts. A grin spread across her face. "In the end, the following was established after the congress. In France, the brother of Ludwig the 16th became king again and the borders of 1789 were reinforced. Austria lost the Netherlands, yet gained Salzburg, Venetia, Lombardy and Dalmatia-", before she could finish your fingers pulled down the rim of her skirt slightly. Softly, you traced the skin underneath. A yelp escaped her pretty lips and the blush was emminent on her face. "Go on, my lovely princess. Continue." Rather than a suggestion, it sounded like an order. "V-very well then", coughing, she avoided holding eyecontact like before. "R-Russia got Finnland and the majority of Poland. Even though the citizens wished for a unified, german nation, their wants were not met. The Habsburgerreich continued to consist of mutible different nations." Your hands came to a halt. You wondered, "What a bunch of assholes." Agreeing, Amy sighed. "The actual winner of all this was none other than Britain as it, once more, became the leading naval power."

Humming in agreement, you continued your light strokes on her exposed skin. It was incredibly soft. "The german-speaking nations formed what was called 'der Deutsche Bund' under the chairmanship of Austria in order to keep inner and outer security. As well as providing each other safety and help if needed. Almost every european country joined the 'Holy Alieance', which was supposed to prevent future wars and keeping the current order." A tight squeeze on your end made her stop talking once more. "Would you please focus on what I'm saying?" Chuckling you said: "Oh but you already have all my attention on you, princess." Red adored her face as she barely managed to stutter the following: "I- You're supposed to- to listen to me!" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Why do all our study sessions end like this?", she mumbled under her breath. Abruptly, your hands left her as you held them up in an apologetic manner. "Sorry, please resume, princess. I do not dare to interrupt you any further." Hestitating, she bit her lip. "I never said- fine."

"The kings and emperors feared revolutions to the point where they tried to surpress it to the extrem. The period of the pre-March was characterized by things like:

Exclusion of the public of political participation.

Extremely tight censorship of newspapers, books, etc.

Strict survailance of schools.

The snitching-system, basically neighbours ranting out their neighbours.

Prohibition of meetings.

They wanted to forbid education from the lower classes.

House searches.

and exploitation and immiseration of bigger groups due to the industrialization."

Huffing, you layed your intertwined hands underneath your head. Fischl moved slightly, her skirt unintentionally riding up her thigh. She leaned back, proping herself up with her arms, which were now resting right behind her feet. Throwing her head back, she exposed her beautiful neck. A sinister looking smile made its way onto your lips. Even though the purple mark andoring her skin was visible, you had to fight the urge to create more. "You know, in Austria that exact system of surpression is deeply connected to the states chancellor Metternich", your statement confused her greately. The look she gave you screamed "How do you know that?" "Believe it or not, but that's one of the only things I remembered from Miko's lessons. What can I say, Metternich is a dumb name." Grinning, you sat up, moving your face close to hers. Although she desperately tried to hide it, the way Fischl gazed at your lips did not go unnoticed. "W-well, good that you know that much...", she probably wanted to sounds confident, yet failed miserably as nothing but a whisper came out. You hummed and then connected your lips. You could feel her smile against you. Fischl wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you in closer. "I love you", she whispered against you time and time again. Cute, you thought. The kiss felt hot, both your lips slowly drying up. No saliva was exchanged, yet the kiss left you both breathess. Resting your head against hers, you closed your eyes. A nap on your lovers lap sounded perfect right now. Fischl moved quickly, pecking your lips one more time before removing herself off you. She stood up, proudly, yet slightly emberassed, putting her hands on her hips.

"Now you, my most precious treasure, shall be questioned by me, Fischl, Prinzessin der Verurteilung! What groups were the emperors terrified of?" She pointed her finger at you, grinning widely. Your mouth fell wide open. Of course you were hoping to... get into some action, so to speak, before continuing your study session. "Are you serious, raven?" Raven, that name always got her blushing. When you were at her place once she introduced you to her loyal servant Oz, a raven. "You- you dare question me?" Shaking your head, smiling amused, you answered her with full on confidance. "The liberals and the national groups." At your answer her eye lit up, rivaling the stars in the sky. Throwing her hands in the air she laughed with great pleasure. Oh yes, studying with your beloved was always worth it. "What did the liberal group, the civilians and workers demand from royalty?" "Political incluence, freedom of individual development, withdrawl of the government and...", you stopped, clearly not remembering the rest. Was there even anything else? "And freedom of economical development as well as freedom of press." The smile she graced you with was worth everything. Oh, how much you loved her.

A knock on your door rudely interuped your alone time. Yet, before either of you could answer your beautiful and elegant white door was thrown open only to reveal a rather tired looking Yoimiya. The red-head had teary eyes, looking absolutely miserable. "Fischl! Nee-san!", she jumped into your arms. And soon, the tears started flowing. Panicking, Amy kneeled down, rubbing your sister's back. "W-what's wrong- I mean, Thy needs to reveal what madness has caused pearls of sadness to rain down on you?" Embracing Yoimiya, you stared at the ink stains on her cheek. "Studying?", you asked her, voice gentle as usual. Due to the ever-flowing river of tears, she could but nod. "Why is history so hard to understand? I *hick* just want to go out and *hick* eat ice cream!", Yoimiya wailed. Ah, of course. Your precious step-sister had gotten sick thanks to you so many times this year, it was no surprise she also had to take an exam in order to pass this year. "Do not fret, my child, for we, the rulers of the Immernachtreich, shall grant you the pleasure of guaidance!" As the tears had tried up, Yoimiya took a look at your lover. "You mean it?"

It was now Tuesday, barely a week left before your exam. "What did the national group demand the emperors to do?", your voice was laced with boredom, the past few days had been nothing but a pain. Unable to spend even a bit of alone time with Amy was hardly berably and neither could you watch your comfort anime. This is what hell must feel like, you thought. "They wanted their very own nations! Which was obviously unthinkable for the multiethnical state Austria", Yoimiya answered with a big grin on her face. For her, the time spent with Amy and you would always be precious, no matter what. Fischl, who sat with her on your lovely carpet smiled proudly. "Indeed, my loyal subject! The entirety of the 19th century was marked by the fight for seperat nations!" "And that, my dear children, is another reason as to why World War 1 broke out", you concluded. "Students and teenagers formed a group called... uhm, what was it again?" The red-head rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "Die allgemeine Deutsche Burschenschaft!" To neither of your surprise, Fischl knew it. She's always been fascinated with the history of your home country, Austria and Germany. "Right! And their goal was to overcome the secession and to gain political influence!" You shook your head, both of them were already much more knowledgeable than you on that matter. What a waste of time. "The scentence of Karlsbad after the Wartburg festival came with even stricter controls", your lover said. Truly a waste of time.

The smell of freshly baked pancakes filled the air as you made your way downstairs. Your parents were off to another 'honeymoon' it seemed. Since the day they married, which was exactly 5 years ago, they left each year for two weeks, giving you absolut freedom. At least that's how it usually went. Not this year though. This year you were plagued by exams thus taking all your precious time for studying. The shirt your best friend, Kuki Shinobu, bought you as a birhtday gift hung loosely around your body. With nothing but the shirt and panties you made your way down the stairs. The lovely sound of humming made its way to your ears as you spotted Amy slightly swaying her hips to the song playing from her phone. Ah, 'Wir', by K.I.Z was what she was listening to. A german song you showed her yesterday. Since Amy met you, her german had gotten a lot better.

The blond turned around, revealing her uncovered face. Although she loved the eyepatch, she refused to wear it while cocking. For what reason, you did not know. It felt wrong to ask her as her entire persona- Fischl- was something incredibly privat. "What does the word 'Biedermeier' mean?" You stopped in your tracks. Staring at her dumbly, not knowing what to say. The ticking clock behind your lover told you the time. "Six am. It is. Six. In the. Morning. I refuse to answer you." Despite your original task of hugging her tightly, you instead moved to the kitchen table and sat down, unlocking your phone and immediately going through twitter. What a despisable app. Huffing, Fischl turned around, continuing to cook. "For you information, it means-" "Submission, being retarded (yeah it actually means that, dont come at me), and philistinism." Without looking at her, you knew she was smiling. "The age of art and lifestyle between 1815 and 1848 is called Biedermeier. Fitting, don't you think, sweet cheeks?" Refusing to look up from your phone you continued. "Considering that they romantisized the life on the countryside to the max. and basically idolised the entire era is just fucking insane. They lived shitty lives."

[bbyseok]

genshin dragon men : calling him handsome

♡ pairing: zhongli, neuvillette x gn!reader

♡ a/n: this was originally supposed to also have wriothesley, dan heng, blade, and jing yuan, but i ran out of ideas. if you’d like to see something for them, please lemme know lol

———

zhongli — flattery, you swallow me.

the former archon is rather composed in nearly every waking moment you’ve seen him. he carries himself with an aura of calm confidence, whether he’s dealing with business on behalf of the wangsheng funeral parlor or spending his time leisurely alongside you.

he has a way with words; speaking oh so eloquently on a variety of topics.. from today’s weather to the latest tale of liyue’s history he’s been wanting to spew.

zhongli doesn’t get flustered often, if not at all. which makes sense for a man like him. having had many experiences in his six thousand years of life, it’s not really surprising.

but let’s just say that you’re feeling rather.. determined to see what blushing looks like on the funeral consultant. his stoic expressions do nothing to deter the handsomeness of his facial features, but you’re sure you can make him even prettier.

it’s like any other day in liyue harbor: bustling streets full of commerce, clear skies overhead, and calm waves from the sea.

zhongli had proposed to you earlier in the week that you spend a day with him. “i enjoy your company,” he had said without batting an eye and knowing that those words easily had your heart racing, “even if we are simply doing nothing at all.”

you have yet to see him so far, waiting beside a food stall and trying to catch sight of his presence amongst the crowd. you shift on your legs, moving to lean on the stall and crossing your arms. ah, there he is.

dressed in his usual attire of brown, gold, and black, he catches your eye quite easily and begins to approach you. his strides are long and he’s quick to almost reach the spot where you’re standing.

and here’s your chance!

before he can speak and greet you, you take a deep breath, flash up your own smile, and say right as he closes the distance in the most suave voice you can muster, “hi, handsome.”

you’re expecting a reaction of surprise from him, of course. he’s no stranger to compliments, but he’s not used to them as brazen and blunt as this—especially from you.

but you still certainly don’t him to stumble and nearly fall at your feet. zhongli’s footing stutters ever so slightly and he has to regain it as he stands in front of you, clearing his throat with eyes that seem to widen for only a couple of heartbeats.

and you were right: he looks even prettier with the faint pink dusting over his cheeks. it’s barely visible, but it’s there. and it’s there because of you.

frankly, he feels like a silly fool, fumbling like that. even though his current status is one of a mortal, he had stood boldfaced during countless events in the middle of wrath and destruction, and these mere words from you has him acting like some- some teenager!

zhongli clears his throat again, trying to confirm that he hadn’t misheard you. “pardon?” he coughs, amber eyes sparkling with curiosity and a hint of mirth.

your smile is the same as before, tugging at the corner of your lips subtly. “hi, handsome,” you repeat cheekily, speaking as if you just hadn’t witnessed him trip oh so elegantly. you straighten your form so you’re no longer leaning on the stall. “was wondering what was taking you so long.”

his eyes are watching you closely, and he seems to have regained his usual composure, even with the blush still lingering on his cheeks. “ah, i apologize,” he muses, “i failed to realize the time.”

and then, it’s his turn to flatter you. because the feeling is mutual, is it not? your boldness should be repaid. after all, flattery is an exchange that goes both ways.

zhongli grasps your hand within his gloved one, lifting it up to brush his soft lips over your knuckles with delicacy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“a beauty such as you should not have to wait.”

———

neuvillette — oh, how the water stirs.

the chief justice of fontaine is a man of an honorable reputation. your hear nothing but good—and sometimes mysterious—things from the people of the nation.

being an assistant of the iudex, however, does allow you to see other sides to him. while he is strict and stern, almost immovable, in the court, he is also kind and tender to those he seemed fit to receive such treatment from him. (the melusines are a prime example.)

whatever he seems to be doing though.. he nearly always wears almost an emotionless expression on his alluring features.

now, there are many words that you can use to describe neuvillette’s appearance with: ethereal, striking, breathtaking even. but the last thing you want is to overwhelm him and embarrass yourself.

so you’ll start small, you decide. a short and honest compliment because the iudex’s assistant is allowed to compliment him sometimes, right?

today’s routine is quite normal so far—you help sedene and any of the other melusines that have tasks around the palais memoria before preparing to greet neuvillette and help him out with his papers and any other duties.

you can tell he has arrived when everyone takes a look and hushes down; the entrance hall of the palais memoria is usually quiet in ambience but even more so with the chief justice now present.

“good morning, monsieur neuvillette,” you greet him as well as he approaches, and he gives you a polite smile in return, cane stamping on the floor gently.

he says your name softly and shakes his head. “ah, i’ve already told you before. you can simply call me neuvillette— i insist.”

you chuckle in response and nod. first name basis with who is essentially one of the most powerful beings of the nation is nothing short of nervewracking. you don’t let it get to you though, gesturing to the door. “ah, right. sorry. shall we head into your office?”

neuvillette nods and walks. you move to follow him, but there’s a sudden tugging on your clothing and you look to see sedene behind you.

the melusine giggles, perhaps in a knowing way. “monsieur neuvillette seems to be quite fond of you, if i must say!” she says in a hushed voice.

you flush, waving her statement off. “oh, sedene!” despite feeling slightly embarrassed, you’re flustered as well. eventually, you head into neuvillette’s office, hoping he doesn’t notice anything amiss.

you settle into routine easily; briefing him up on any upcoming trials and cases, smaller notifications from the people of fontaine, and of course—situating his seemingly endless stacks of paperwork.

after a while, neuvillette now seated at his desk, he emits a soft sigh and bids you thanks. “thank you. that’ll be all for now.” his ever glistening gaze rests on you. “i do wish you a pleasant rest of your day.”

okay, you can do it. it’ll be fine. just tell him he looks good and leave! why does it seem like his eyes are boring straight into you? they’re unreadable as ever, leaving you to simply wonder what will go through his head when you say what you want to say.

nonetheless, you take a quick, deep breath and go for it. “you look handsome today, neuvillette,” you tell him, a sincere smile tugging at your lips.

he doesn’t say anything, and the brief silence that hangs in the air is nearly startling as he simply continues to stare. you clear your throat quickly and look away. “well, you look handsome every day, but i just wanted to let you know now and well-”

you’re rambling, great. “um, i’ll be taking my leave now, monsieur!” you awkwardly dismiss yourself and hurry out of his office, missing at how the tips of his ear subtly burn with a different shade of color.

you don’t even bother glancing at a curious sedene as you usher your way out of the bulding. oh, archons! how are you going to face him now?

unbeknownst to you, all that is left is the hydro dragon in deep contemplation, papers still completely untouched since your departure.

it is only when sedene enters the room with her clipboard does he stir, and he blinks at her appearance. his brows furrow, still deep in pondering.

“monsieur neuvillette, is everything alright?”

there’s a pause. for a rare moment, the chief justice allows himself to be hesitant and genuinely curious aloud.

“sedene.. am i… handsome?”

(it’s safe to say that for the rest of the day, fontaine has nothing but a sunny sky.)