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heartofmortis · 18 days ago

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✶ Lionheart

Chapter One

Robb Stark x (Baratheon/Lannister!) Reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, robb is down bad

note: ignore the reign pilot inspo in the third scene lmfao

word count: 4.1k

tag list: @houseofamidala @madeofstaardust @justmymindandstuff (lmk if you want to be added of removed!)

masterlist

You walked with heavy steps. Your gaze flickered sideways to the Silent Sisters, who stalked around the body of Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. The former Hand of the King. A cold shiver tensed your body as you walked. The air had felt heavy since Lord Arryn passed. Mere days ago, you and Lord Arryn had talked, as you often did. It was no life-changing conversation: you spoke of the weather, how you felt about reaching marriageable age, and what was the last book you read. But it was the last time you spoke before the Hand took ill, wracked by a horrid fever — your mother had the masters flurry around you for two days to make sure you had not been infected. All things die eventually.

Your path led to your mother and uncle — the golden, twin lions — who were also watching the Silent Sisters and Jon Arryn, watching like vultures after their prey. Jaime Lannister’s head raised as you approached, his smile at you made brighter by the gleam of his Kingsguard armour.

“How was the Small Council meeting?” Jaime asked, one hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Dull, as usual,” you admitted. You attended most meetings of the Small Council as your father’s cupbearer, even though Robert Baratheon seldom attended the meetings, and you spent more time listening into the Council’s discussions about the state of the realm than you did offering refreshments. It was your grandfather, Tywin’s suggestion to your father that you attend the meetings. You were just a girl, but you were a princess too. You could not influence what was being said, but you could learn. “They were predicting who is going to be the next Hand of the King.”

Cersei turned from the funeral preparations to look at you. “Who do you think should be Hand?”

“I don’t think my opinion matters. Father told me he is going to ask Lord Stark.”

Your mother chuckled. “A Stark this far south for that long? Northerners never fare well here.”

You caught your uncle looking at the centre of the throne room. “Eddard Stark is an honourable man. He might do a good job.”

“Did your father mention who is following him when he travels to meet with Ned Stark?”

You gave a short laugh. “All of us.”

***

The streets of King’s Landing were bustling with smallfolk. With your blonde hair braided back and a thin cloak over your sky-coloured dress, you ran like a river down the cobbled pathways. Accompanied only by two of your ladies in waiting, you made frequent quiet visits into the capital city. You saw no reason to hold yourself higher than the smallfolk: you were all the same and they had far more need for gold than you did.

You brought yourself to one of the orphanages in the city. The matron on the door graciously gave you entry. There were too many homes for children in King’s Landing — children who had lost their families to sickness, drowning, starvation, or terrible accidents. In the few official visits your family took through the city, you saw too many people left to fend for themselves. It was the least you could to try and help the children into good positions. They deserved good lives, these children were the future. (So were you.) You were a ray of light, a hope for the future. A sign that the smallfolk were not forgotten by all the lords and ladies in the land. Your heart did not crave power and a throne, despite the world you were raised in, instead you laid it with the people. Those trodden into the dirt by people like you — you liked being the exception, though you wished it could stand for more.

With your pockets of gold and sharp mind, you devoted yourself to helping people. You donated to keep the houses running, to keep children safe, and taught them to read and helped them draw, and showed them that someone cared for them. But today’s visit was filled with less joy than usual. If you and your family were to travel North to the seat of House Stark, you did not know if or when you would return home from Winterfell. (You tried to fight the thoughts of leaving people behind, you knew this journey would be good for you.) You had already had help lined up to continue your efforts in the city. It would take weeks to travel to Winterfell, you would be gone for months at the least. You would miss the children greatly — the bright-eyed skinny figures who held your hands and reminded you of your youngest siblings, Myrcella and Tommen.

The children were far from thrilled when you explained your journey to them. Worse, so many of them wanted to join you, to flee the city and take refuge in the cold north — you had no choice but to break their little hearts and tell them they could not go with you.

A brunette girl stuck out her bottom lip. “Why would you go when it is pretty and summer here?”

You scooped the girl onto your lap. “I haven’t much choice, I’m afraid. I’m supposed to marry the future Lord of Winterfell.” (It was all that encouraged you to go. You had not seen Robb Stark in years now, but he was a kind boy and you missed him.)

“But the North is scary!” one child whispered to his friends when you objected to them coming with you. “It’s all big and cold. Man-wolves live there.”

“Why can’t he move south and live here?”

“All their ghosts freeze in the snow and come back as dead ice creatures!”

Children shrieked with fright and intrigue. “Don’t leave, Princess!”

You giggled. “I have visited the North, it is not so bad. It is terribly cold, but there is wonder in it. I promise, no winter monsters will harm any of us. Winter is scary, but it does not last forever. We do not even know if it will arrive soon.”

“But the Long Night lasted a generation!” another boy cried.

“Oh, but that is an old story. Who has been telling you such tales?” You scooped shivering children into your arms, their worries fading from their faces. “None of you have anything to fear.”

***

Dawn arrived with the northern sun trying to claw its way through soft grey clouds. The royal carriage crawled towards Winterfell in such a slow fashion that caused you to grow restless. You were quite tired of these early mornings that had plagued them all for a month. Having already thumbed through the books your Uncle Tyrion had allowed you to borrow for the journey, you could tell anyone everything about Dragonglass but nothing about how to entertain your younger siblings who were even more bored than you were. The evenings were usually easier to sit through, when everyone relaxed after a day’s travel and you could finally source a moment of peace.

You had visited the northern reaches of Westeros before, but only once, when you were ten. You had travelled by yourself, with only guards and ladies-in-waiting by her side — it was the furthest you had ever travelled without your mother. That time, you had taken a boat from King’s Landing to White Harbour, for a quicker journey, and made the unfortunate discovery that you suffered from violent seasickness. Your last experience was part of the reason your family was now making their journey along the Kingsroad instead of quicker paths — your mother had insisted that her eldest daughter's comfort be a top priority — as well as your father’s love of hunting, which had the party taking frequent breaks for expeditions deep into the woods. You would not have minded the hunting trips if your younger brother, Joffrey, had not brought you a rabbit that he had killed and showed you how to skin it for supper. (You had screamed then and eaten nothing but bread and vegetables for two weeks after, even when any other kind of meat was placed in front of you.)

“We’re almost there, I promise,” Cersei Lannister said as she considered the tired expressions across her three children.

You stared out of the window at all the men on their horses. Even though you could not ride, you wanted to be out there with your father, your brother, your uncles. On horseback, you would be able to go anywhere and move at your own pace. But in the carriage, you were stuck. Your mother and two youngest siblings were never bad company as you loved them all so dearly; you almost felt guilty when you dreamed of having your own space again. But when Winterfell finally came into view, your complaints washed from you mind like a summer storm, and you knew the long journey was worth it.

***

Robb Stark stood in line with his family to greet their King and his family. With his father on his left and his twin sister on his right, Robb was the Heir of Winterfell and he needed to prove himself worthy of his place. As stoic and noble as he tried to present himself, Robb could not calm his thunderous heart. He almost trembled with anticipation. The King’s visit to Winterfell was the greatest honour, but it also came with the promise of a new chapter and the return of the spring to his winter.

He tried not to glance sideways at his twin, Alys, as he knew she would take the piss out of his hopeful demeanour in all her annoying and particular ways. And as King Robert rode through the gates with his eldest son and second child, Prince Joffrey, and their Kingsguard and carriages, nothing could dampen Robb's high spirit.

His eyes searched as the riders and carriages poured into the confines of Winterfell, almost completely distracted from the King coming forth to greet Robb’s parents, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell: Eddard and Catelyn Stark. Robb counted the seconds until the formalities would conclude. And then he saw you again. It had been more than five years since Robb had last seen you. More than five years since your fathers had decided their eldest children should marry when they reached better ages.

Dressed in pale pink silk, shining like a sunray, you followed your mother out of the carriage, which could scarcely fit through the gates of Winterfell. Soft as a spring bloom and thrice as sweet, you had always been beautiful. Robb watched as you helped your siblings down from the carriage too, holding your youngest brother under his arms so you could spin him around and make him laugh before setting him down. Your eyes reached Robb's blue, and he tried to look away before you could find him staring at you, but you were too quick. You gave him a bright smile and a small wave — it took everything for Robb to not break into a grin.

Finally, the introductions came to a close. Your fathers went off in the direction of the crypt and the maids and servants snapped back into action to tend to the royal family. As soon as he could move without appearing rude, Robb closed the distance between himself and you. You were ordering the septas and handmaidens to bring your siblings into the castle when he approached (although ordering was too strong a word for the politeness and care you showed your staff). Robb knew others would not be so kind, but this was your unshakable nature. When your siblings were taken care of, you turned to search for Robb and beamed when you found him before you.

Robb bowed. “Your Grace.”

You giggled, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “Please, you don't need to be so formal.”

Though it had been almost six years since you had last breathed the same air, the two of you had not been lax with communication — you and Robb had written to each other almost every month in the years you had been apart. Your first meeting had left both of you hopeful for the future, even though you had only been ten and eleven, but the letters had allowed Robb to truly begin to know you. Neither of you were marrying a stranger, Robb was grateful for that at least.

Robb noticed your fingers fidgeting with the chain around your neck.

“The castle seems bigger than I remember,” you said, staring up at Winterfell with wonder in your eyes. Then you looked at Robb. “And you too, of course.”

Breaking into a short laugh, Robb asked, “Is that such a surprise?”

You shook your head. “I was taller but you were so much faster than me — I hated that.” You giggled. “I felt like I was always chasing after you.”

Robb stretched out a hand to take the bag you had strung over your shoulder, and you allowed him to take it. “You’re staying in your old room, if that’s alright?”

You smiled and nodded, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Of course. As long as you don’t challenge me to a race this time.”

You both laughed and began walking across the courtyard together. Robb grinned. “Don’t hold your breath.”

***

Your room was precisely how you remembered it.

You had last been in Winterfell a moon before your eleventh name day, your trip cut short by your mother’s insistence that her daughter should come back home. Winterfell had enchanted you since the first day you arrived. The castle felt far more homely to you than the Red Keep or Casterly Rock did. But what you truly held envy for was the Stark family. They were far more tight-knit and loyal to their blood than your family had ever been. You held such love for your siblings, sweet Myrcella, little Tommen, even Joffrey — despite his wretched ways, he was still your little brother. You knew your parents held no love for each other, you would have had to be blind or stupid to not see it. The only bonds you possessed that could be akin to the familial bonds that were so strained and lacklustre in your own family, were the friendships you had with your ladies in waiting — four girls you had known since girlhood, four girls you trusted with your life.

When Robb left you to get settled, his presence was quickly replaced by your ladies. You had been surrounded by Erielle Lannister and Alyssa Baratheon, young cousins of your parents’ families, since your siblings had been born. Then came Lana Tyrell, a grandniece of Olenna Tyrell, and Jeyne Westerling, whose family were Lannister bannermen. They busied around you now, helping to unpack your trunks. They were there to serve you, your mother had drilled that into you, but you valued your ladies far more than that.

There were still hours until the welcome feast by the time Erielle finished slipping pins into your carefully styled hair. Lana stood behind you, tying the corset threads of your gold dress securely before sweeping furs over the your shoulders.

Alyssa took your hands. “Let’s explore. It has been half of summer since we’ve last seen snow.”

You grinned. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

You felt ten years old again, chasing around the old stone castle. Last time you visited, your company was far smaller, but now every corridor in Winterfell was flooded with rushing servants and marching guards. It made the castle feel like a grey and colder mirror of the Red Keep, not the northern wonderland you remembered from being a child.

You found your way to the courtyard. Outside, under more eyes, you tense your shoulders. As far as you enjoyed being girlish and running about giggling, Gods forbid your family — or worse, the Starks — saw you acting childish. You had already let your heart guide you the way North, but the time to play was passing. You had been betrothed to Robb Stark since you were ten years old; you would be Lady of Winterfell one day. (It felt far more real now you were standing back in the castle’s walls. At home, in King’s Landing, you could almost forget your fate.) There was a time to be the girl you longed to be, and there was time to be the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms — it was an easy balance to maintain, as long as you remained focused.

Suddenly, Jeyne gave a shriek, the sound muffled by her hands covering her mouth. Your attention snapped to the girl — and where she was looking. Inside the kennels, where Winterfell’s hounds slept, were wolves. Seven darling pups of grey, brown, black and pure white.

“Those aren’t normal wolves,” Alyssa whispered. “But it must be impossible. Direwolves do not live south of the Wall.”

You walked forwards, shaking off the clutches of your friends. In the last letters you and Robb had passed before you and your family began their journey north, Robb had told you pages about the litter of direwolves the Starks had found in the woods. You had not truly believed him until now. A smile rose to your face like the morning sun. The pups were days old when Robb sent his letter describing each of his siblings’ wolves, and soon they would grow bigger than any dog.

The pups played together while Lana tugged on your sleeve and begged you not to get too close.

“I promise they won’t hurt you.”

You and your ladies turned to see Robb approaching them. The afternoon sunlight made his red curls glow. By your lead, the girls curtsied to the heir of Winterfell, and Robb bowed to you. (It had taken two years of writing for you to convince Robb to stop calling you “Your Grace” at the top of every letter.)

“Have you decided which wolf is who?” Robb asked, standing at your side to watch the little wolves.

You nodded. You pointed out Robb’s wolf first. Grey Wind, a smoky grey pup with bright golden eyes. “The others watch him. They follow him like little ones look to their eldest sibling.”

Grinning, Robb bent down on one knee and called Grey Wind to him. The wolf ran over eagerly but paused to consider you. You lowered to be closer to Grey Wind’s height and reached out a hand, which the wolf sniffed at, before licking at you and allowing you to stroke his head.

You could not hide your own grin. “He’s beautiful. They all are.” Grey Wind seemed to understand you and nuzzled against you.

“Are you looking forward to the feast tonight?” Robb asked. Grey Wind ran back to his siblings and Robb took you hand, helping you to your feet.

You gave a shrug. “It will be nice to see your family again, properly. But I’ve never been so fond of feasts.” A red flush painted your cheeks. “I prefer quiet evenings.”

“Then perhaps I will find you later and free you. I’ll find a nicer way for us to spend the night.”

You smiled at his kindness. “Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

Robb mirrored your smile. “I’ll see you later.”

***

The feast was as lively as you had anticipated. It was not the noise and the food that you found wretched, or the company of your siblings, it was the rowdiness that came with alcohol. At the top of the hall, beneath the high table where Lord and Lady Stark hosted your parents, you sat with your three siblings and the Stark children. You made polite conversation with the eldest Stark daughters, Alys — who you were glad to see again — and Sansa, who had been too young to join in your games last time you had visited. It took three quick glasses of sweet wine to begin to dull your senses enough to start to enjoy yourself.

Hours passed and courses of food were devoured, little Tommen tugged on his eldest sister’s sleeve. You looked down at your brother. “Are you alright?”

“Do we have to stay at the feast all night?” the little Prince asked.

You shook your head. “Of course not. We can leave whenever you like.”

“Can we go now then?”

You stood and picked Tommen up under his arms to lift him off the bench.

Myrcella had been sitting on Tommen’s other side. “Can I come too?” she asked, pushing her plate away.

You smiled and reached out for your sister. “Always.”

You kept a tight hold of your brother and sister’s hands as you weaved through Winterfell’s great hall. Past the singing bard, your father and his drunks, and the guards by the door. The cold night air made the Baratheon siblings’ cheeks turn red. Also outside you found Joffrey. You had not seen him slip away from the feast.

“Joff, you should stay inside. You’ll catch your death out here,” you warned. Myrcella and Tommen skipped off in the direction of their guest rooms.

Joffrey gave a bitter laugh. “Always the mother. Good thing you’ve had plenty of practice with those two before Robb Stark gives you your own wolf pack. Are you looking forward to it, sister? To be bedded by a wolf?”

You wondered what could have gone wrong for your brother to turn out so rotten when Myrcella and Tommen had always been so sweet. Whatever it was, you were happy to watch Joffrey saunter away from you. You wished you could wipe that smirk from his face. Gathering the fabric of you skirt in your hands, you raised the hem of your dress off the ground and followed after your youngest siblings.

The three siblings settled in your room. Myrcella and Tommen, in their nightclothes, nestled warm under the blankets of the bed, while you sat the foot of the bed

Myrcella whispered your name. Her emerald eyes glitter in the glow of the smouldering fire you had tried to light. “You won’t leave us forever will you?”

“I would never,” you promised. “I will live here once I marry, but I will visit often. And one day, you two will also marry wonderful people and have your own castles.”

“Can you tell us a story?” Tommen asked, tucked up to his chin in the warm furs. “You’re the best at stories.”

You chuckled. “Then what story would you like to hear tonight?”

***

Robb found you outside, bright as a midnight sun. He watched you walking back towards the great hall from the guest quarters. The clouds had opened to release a gentle fall of snow upon the castle. Robb found himself staring at you again as snowflakes landed in your hair. Six years had not taken the wonder from your eyes as you grinned, twirling alone in the snow. Robb felt as though he was intruding. He turned to leave, to return to the feast and wait for you there, but gravel crunched heavily underfoot and you found him.

You blushed scarlet. Your figure straightened, ever regal. The glow in your eyes dissipated. Disappointment and guilt spread through Robb as ice froze a lake. “I’m sorry,” he spoke quickly to get ahead. “I should not have disturbed you–”

You shook her head, brushing snow out of your tightly wound southern-styled hair. “No, I’m sorry. I was acting improper. It’s just–”

“–Been a long time? I know.” Robb came closer to you and offered you his arm. “You don’t have to hide from me. We can dance in the snow all night if you want to.”

You giggled and took Robb’s arm. “That would be far nicer than spending the rest of the night inside.”

Robb took you in the direction of the godswood, where he knew it would be quietest. “The men are going hunting tomorrow. Would you come with me?”

“Oh.” The pinkness returned to your cheeks. “I cannot ride. I was never taught. My mother thought my skills should be better tuned elsewhere.”

“I could teach you.” Perhaps his tone was too eager. Taryn had not been here a day yet. They entered the woods, there were enough gaps in the dark clouds to allow moonlight to shine through and illuminate the trees.

You smiled — the same smile you had given Grey Wind earlier in the afternoon, the same smile that came in the snowfall. “I would love that. It’s suffocating sometimes to be in the castle, unable to go where I like because I need a carriage to take me around.” You shuddered.

“I won’t keep you caged in,” Robb said. “You’ll be safe and free here at Winterfell. I promise.”

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x oc #robb stark x original female character #robb stark x you #robb stark fic #robb stark fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #game of thrones fic #lionheart

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allwaswell16 · 10 months ago

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F a v o r i t e F i c s O f 2 0 2 3

As an avid One Direction fan fic reader, 2023 has been a truly amazing year for fics! I read so many incredible fics this year, so please check out all my recs for the year here! Below you will find fics that made me cry or cry with laughter. Others brought me comfort during hard times or filled my heart with joy or had me screaming into my pillow in surprise. I share this list with you all not to say that these fics are better than others from this year, but to say thank you to these writers who have left a mark on me with their fics.

To all our fandom's writers, thank you for the gift of your stories! Sending much love to you in the new year!

⚜️ Louis / Harry ⚜️

And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 109k, famous/not famous) For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him? For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart? And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

De amore ex tempore by @persephoneflouwers

(M, 101k, historical) the Middle Ages AU where Harry is a philosopher, whose thoughts happen five centuries too soon and Louis is a painter, whose art happens five centuries too late. & Or: the Time Travel AU where alternate versions of themselves live simultaneously in different realities and their paths collide every time, until somehow, they converge into one.

Gemma's Dad (Could Use A Guy Like Me) by @lululawrence

(NR, 82k, age difference) Louis wasn't planning on getting home and learning that Gemma's dad had gotten the house in the divorce and was dealing with things by focusing on work, the house, and his newly planted garden. It becomes obvious early on that Harry is a bit lost and Gemma is worried about him. To help both of them, Louis is more than happy to help Harry find himself again.

Teach me how to love by @perfectdagger

(E, 70k, one night stand) The one in which Harry is bad at sex and Louis spreads it all over town and to make up for it, decides to help him with no agenda of getting anything from it, but in the end, he ends up getting more than he bargained for.

your memory over me by @shimmeringevil

(E, 64k, exes) The worst heartbreak of Louis’ life walks right back into it when his parents invite their family friends on an all-expenses-paid trip for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Facing a past that he tried to bury long ago, Louis learns that some people have a way of sticking with you even when they’re gone

saw some things on the other side by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 61k, murder mystery) Unfortunately, Louis’ plan doesn’t take into account the fact that instead of writing murder mysteries, he will find himself in one.

and i would search the night sky to find you by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain

(E, 56k, omegaverse) Harry Styles is a high class, well-bred Omega attending Bosworth Academy - a prestigious boarding school looking over the small town on Kinsey. He has his whole life already planned for him, learning his place as the potential mate for an important Alpha, practicing his home making skills, and be obedient above all else.

Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 44k, mystery) Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

Train Tracks and Porcelain by @jaerie

(E, 41k, historical circus au) Shadows were forming into people and things and, there in the middle of it, Louis watched the humongous head of an elephant emerge from a box car right in front of his eyes. Or a Water For Elephants inspired AU

You're Not My Type (still I fall) by Imogenlee / @imogenleewriter

(M, 38k, omegaverse) This is just a bit of rain; it'll blow over. Then Harry will just... well, alright, he isn't entirely sure what to do when the rain stops because he'll still be stuck and lost.

My Other Half Was You by @lululawrence

(NR, 35k, small town au) Four years, seven months, and sixteen days after the day that changed everything, Louis turns a corner and literally runs into the man who just might change it all again.

I Really Like Your Styles: The Baking Advent-ure by @homosociallyyours

(T, 35k, coffee shop) Louis isn't much for frills, and the coffee shop he co-owns with his best friend Liam is evidence of that. Yes, it's got a decent sized, well-kept industrial kitchen, but Louis insists that people come to coffee shops for coffee, not mediocre pastry and plastic wrapped cookies.

You Ain’t Gotta Feel Fear Just Mingle by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 32, coworkers) Harry has been at his dream job for less than three months, and he knows two things for sure; first, his project manager doesn't know what he's doing, and second, someone in the office is apparently pure evil, and no one will tell Harry who it is.

Cowboy Like Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(M, 29k, thief au) Going legit and starting over in a small town was supposed to solve all of Harry’s problems. That was until a string of robberies in wealthy towns brings him face-to-face with his rogue ex-partner and their dicey, unresolved past.

'cause I want you (for the worse and for the better) by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

(NR, 26k, omegaverse) When Louis gets invited along to Anne's wedding, Harry is prepared to let people think whatever they want about their relationship. That's what Louis said -- let people think whatever they want.

what's left of my halo's black by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(E, 22k, fwb) A year after a devastating breakup, Louis is still trying to put himself back together - but getting over a breakup is hard when you work as a wedding planner. Thankfully, his coworker Harry is the most supportive friend Louis could ask for.

'tis the damn season by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 17k, girl direction) Harry returns to her small hometown over the holiday season and starts to think about the road not taken.

Captain Cupid by @2tiedships2

(NR, 15k, omegaverse) the one where Niall enlists his friends to help start a speed dating side hustle. Things don't go as planned... or maybe they do?

It Will Always Be You by @phdmama

(E, 15k, older Larry) If you had told Louis Tomlinson a year ago that he would be celebrating his birthday by kissing the man who is the love of his life on a Church Street park bench in Burlington VT as the snow drifted softly down, he would have told you that you were extremely imaginative.

Eyes on the Horizon by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(E, 12k, age difference) Freshly dumped, recently fired, and about to turn 40, Harry's friends insist on taking him skydiving to cheer him up.

You Light Up the Path by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(T, 12k, mermaid au) Louis Tomlinson left his home in Doncaster as a young man with the intent of making enough money to send it back home to his family and support them however he could. Harry, or so he likes to be called, is the myth and legend himself known as the Staithes Mermaid.

Sex Drunk Suckerpunch by thinlines / @thinlinez

(E, 7k, sugar baby) Sugar Baby Louis did what any sugar baby should avoid doing but (clichely) end up doing anyways, that is, failing for his sugar mama.

Court Wine by @enchantedlandcoffee , red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa

(T, 7k, omegaverse) after a misunderstanding during a scrabble game, Alpha Louis starts courting Omega Harry without the latter being aware of it.

you give me feelings that i adore by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 7k, a/b/o) 5 times Louis scents Harry's things and the 1 time Harry returns the gesture.

Truth or Drink by @kingsofeverything

(M, 6k, exes to lovers) Harry and Louis broke up years ago, and they're seeing each other again for the first time to play Truth or Drink. On camera.

Perfect, For Now by @parmahamlarrie

(T, 4k, omegaverse) Moving to a new city is always hard, being away from home, finding your new community - none of it is easy. Dealing with all of this while being touch deprived is even more difficult.

Unplant by @hellolovers13

(M, 4k, neighbors) Louis should've looked where he was going, then he wouldn't have to desperately try to save a little flower now.

nights like these by localopa / @voulezloux

(G, 3k, angst with a happy ending) you smile at me and say “it’s time to go.” but i don’t feel like going home.

sorry for... by stretchmybones / @lookwhatyoumademelou

(M, 1k, roommates) How else was Harry supposed to apologize properly? He was indeed a stress baker.

Mistletoe Kiss by @neondiamond

(G, 1k, roommates) A little bit of mistletoe is just the thing Louis needed to let his roommate Harry know he’s got quite the crush on him.

Still by downcamethelightning / @downcamethelightnings

(G, 666 words, Halloween) FBI Agent Louis calls Harry to investigate a case believed to have taken place in Harry's own home. Harry is quite familiar with the victim's face.

⚜️ Rare Pairs ⚜️

The Light Out In The Madness (Hold Tight) by @lalalaartje

(E, 46k, Niall/Louis) When Louis ends up with Niall as a roommate after a messy break up with Harry, he considers it truly life saving. They become fast friends and while Louis is sceptical about Niall's idea to start fake dating to take revenge on Harry, it can't be that bad, can it?

neither wanting more, neither asking why (series) by @justanothershadeofblue

(E, 40k, OT5) If Louis is the origin, Zayn the expansion, Liam the complication, Niall the solution, then Harry - Harry's the completion.

Bloom by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 28k, Louis/Liam) In early 1970s Oxford, Detective Sergeant Louis Tomlinson has to deal with the dual pressures of a case that hits too close to home, and the arrival of new colleague Liam Payne.

Jump! by @reminiscingintherain

(M, 15k, Louis/Tommy Longhurst) “I absolutely know what this means, lad,” he replied, his voice gentle and supportive. “The way you’re reacting to being out there? That’s exactly why I chose you for the support slot.” He gave a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve this, okay?”

Cold Spring by @nouies

(E, 8k, Louis/Pedro Pascal) Louis is a coffee shop owner and Pedro is his newest customer.

Chaos by @haztobegood

(M, 100 words, Louis/OMC [bodyguard]) Against the barricade, it’s complete chaos.

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thesensteawitch · 9 months ago

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What Will Your Romantic Life Look Like?

🍁Based on your current energy!🍁

Pick A Pile Reading

(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Hello, Senstea Souls!💕

I am back with another collective reading. This reading is about your future romantic life.

This reading is strictly based on your current energy so take it as it resonates. You can change your future based on your actions + this is a general reading.

💓Book A Reading|My Rate Card|Tip My Blog💓

Pile 1

Tarot cards- The Chariot, Seven of Cups, Two of Cups, Page of Swords, King of Swords, The Moon

Hello, my beautiful pile 1. Your romantic life is going to be very much focused on a dream that you and your partner have for your relationship. Love is not a destination and you both would know that and that's why there will be days in which you would want to experience everything together. You both will somehow be forging towards your destined path (basically your north node) and time will prove to you that you both are soulmates. Number 8 is of significance in this connection. I am seeing “the strength card” too. On your path, the challenges that you will face will only make your bond stronger. It's going to be a one-of-a-kind experience for you. Once in a lifetime to be precise! Not everyone will have the kind of connection that both of you will have with each other. Strong communication will be the foundation of your romantic life with your person. There is going to be a balance between emotions and logic. When you're vulnerable you will be too vulnerable with each other. Some connections only travel in the 3d world but your connection will be of a kind that will be ever-growing and eternally travelling through different dimensions. Your romantic life is going to be very spiritual. Dates will never end, and meetings will never end. The connection will never lose its spark. There is going to be so much you both would want to do with each other that you will end up confused and will find it challenging to bring your life together. But eventually whichever direction you choose to move in you will end up bumping into each other. Because as I said this connection is fated. I am sensing strong water and air sign placements in both of your birth charts. People around you will secretly compete with the kind of connection you guys have with each other. They will wonder, “Is this even real? Does this kind of love even exist in this day and age?” You both will help each other in healing each other's shadow sides. There won't be a single moment when you both don't feel safe with each other. You guys just compliment each other like ketchup and fries, haha! They are meant to be served together. You two will learn a lot. You'll be achieving long-term goals and stability with each other. Buying a home or living together will come later in your life because you two will build everything (by everything I mean every damn thing) together from scratch so it will take time. But you're going to have the kind of life no one can crumble down. No one! You both won't be able to walk away until you both throw each other into eternal glory. And right in that glory, you will never be able to forget each other. You will never forget the karmas that you both healed together. The darkness that you both dealt with each other will hold your glory high above in the astral sky. You both will overcome so many fears together. Wow! It's such a beautiful connection. One is a dove and the other is a dolphin. Both are from different worlds but so pure, so connected. One looks above and the other below and just like that they fall in love. It's one-of-a-kind love. Not everyone will be able to understand it so don't expect the world to understand your love anyway.

If you wish to know how to manifest your soulmate then book a reading with me at $9/₹666 (5 cards pull).

Pile 2

Tarot Cards- Four of Cups, The Lovers, The Magician, The Emperor, Ace of Pentacles, Knight of Wands

Hello, my beautiful pile 2. The first thing that I see in your love is the individualistic nature of you and your partner. You two will be very different from each other yet perfect for each other. There will be a lot of mirroring in your connection. You both will see your reflection in the other. It will shock you, surprise you. One will be sunshine and the other will be midnight rain. The advice you both give to each other will work wonders if you both are willing to see life from each other's perspective. Your romantic life will be quite organised. Doing something new in your connection will scare both of you. Overthinking is what will always prevail. Prioritising emotions can be a problem in your connection. As this reading is based on your current energy I also see choices will be needed to make quite often. These choices will overwhelm both of you but eventually, you'll choose each other and will make things work around the choice you make for each other. The choices you make on an individual level are what is going to bring you together. There will be a lot of risks involved in your connection. One of you may have had difficult relationships in the past so having a heartfelt communication can be a challenge. You two will end up together after going through a lot of tests and trials. The connection will have a lot of passion but it won't be easy. You both will be challenged to get rid of the unnecessary worries in your connection. There will be a healing that you would need to do before the relationship can finally emerge into something beautiful. You both will be devoted to each other and the more devoted you are the more challenges you will face. But all these challenges will act as an opportunity for you to heal the parts of you that can affect your connection negatively. Reminding each other how much you love each other will be crucial in your connection. Your romantic life will begin right after you both have faced your demons and worked on them individually. You both will only think of each other after the storm has settled and there's a comfortable quiet. You both will go to extremes to shower each other will love. I hear, “I belong with you, you belong with me. You're my sweetheart.” You both won't stop loving each other in chaos or storms it's just that you will be forced to help yourself first before loving the other. Your empty cups will fill with time and then it will never run out of love. This connection will bring an end to a never-ending pain/cycle. You both will be afraid to lose each other but also to lose yourself in the process of loving each other. But later on you both will realise the importance of heartfelt communication and your vulnerability will bring trust.

If you wish to know how to manifest your soulmate then book a reading with me at $9/₹666 (5 cards pull).

Pile 3

Tarot Cards- The Emperor, Six of Wands, The Moon, Two of Wands, Two of Swords, Eight of Wands

Hello, my beautiful pile 3. I heard that your connection will be blessed by God. You'll be divinely supported in your romantic journey. I see an exchange of rings, communication and a lot of travel. Some details may get missed because you both fall for each other at first sight. There will be quickness in this connection. A lot will be overlooked and you two may end up marrying each other quite early into dating. Logically it will feel like a wrong move and you both may even question your judgement later on but divinely speaking this is exactly what is supposed to happen. There will be an instant connection between you and your partner. You may even feel caged later on but hear me out. You must be thinking then why would I even end up marrying this person? Well, I don't know the exact answer but I can see that there will be ancestors' support in this marriage. Perhaps, it's the kind of connection where it was a contract that you signed with this person on a soul level. I seriously don't know what your beliefs are pile 3 but this is something I am strongly getting. Like it is meant to go this way. I know I might sound insane. Also, this reading is based on your current energy so take it that way. You do have the power to change your future. The marriage will bring so much happiness to the families. When the love in the air will fade a bit you two will realise that one is trying to keep the peace (who wants to have soulful conversation) and the other is trying to risk their dreams to have a stable married life. And soon you both will speak your heart out to each other and things may go out of hand because of the overwhelming energy. As soon as the conversation puts you both off balance it will bring stability too as you both will understand each other and will provide the safety to work on your dreams. Wow! So that's why you would end up marrying this person. You'll achieve great things with the help and support of each other. You both will show each other the mirror of how powerful you are and how capable you are. And after this what will follow will be victory and generosity. You both will come together to give each other a strong career boon. You may not stay together for a long time but will definitely appreciate the change you both brought into each other's lives.

If you wish to know how to manifest your soulmate then book a reading with me at $9/₹666 (5 cards pull).

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little-diable · 10 months ago

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New Year's Eve with a Stranger - Modern!Tommy Shelby (smut)

So, this is a bit of a self sufficient fic, since I am spending NYE alone in one of my fave countries, I simply had to write this. Nevertheless, please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves and a happy new year! xxx

Summary: The reader planned to spend NYE on her own in another country, but when she crosses paths with a handsome stranger she can't help but give into the way she feels towards him.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, age gap, choking, soft dom!Tommy, but mainly lots of fluff

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (2.8k words)

picture credit to So It Goes Magazine

She kept her eyes focused on the big window, sipping on her hot drink, barely sparing her surroundings any attention. It was still early in the morning, allowing (y/n) to watch the sun rise above the snow covered mountains, making a smile tug on her lips at the beautiful sight.

Yesterday she had found her way to this hotel, checking in with anticipation thumping through her veins, excited for a few days on her own, solo travelling a country she had always loved. And now, as she was eating breakfast in a quiet, cosy room, she felt all too comfortable, knowing that there were no meetings she’d have to attend, nothing but the plans she had made for herself.

“Is this seat taken?” A gruff voice ripped her out of her thoughts, forcing (y/n)’s eyes away from the big windows, focusing on the features of a handsome man. With a soft smile tugging on her lips, she murmured a quiet “No”, watching him sit down. “I hope you don’t mind the disturbance, but I didn’t want to miss out on this view.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I totally get it, it’s breathtaking.” She allowed herself to study the man for a few seconds as she took another sip. His piercingly bright eyes were hidden behind a pair of round glasses, his salt and pepper hair was slightly slicked to one side, exposing his side cut to her curious eyes. He was at least ten years older than her, but she couldn’t help but let her gaze flicker down to his hand, checking for a wedding ring, unable to find one.

“Have you been staying here for longer? I haven’t seen you at breakfast before.” (Y/n) tried to pinpoint his accent, wondering where he was from, and why he had found his way to this very place.

“No, I arrived yesterday. What about you, how long have you been staying here?” The man took a sip of his coffee, piercing eyes momentarily finding hers. A shudder ran down (y/n)’s spine at the intense gaze, wondering if he picked up on the attraction she oh so clearly felt for him, drawn closer without knowing a thing about the man.

“I come here every year, I enjoy the quietness this place offers. Is it your first time here?” An unfamiliar warmth flooded through her at the interest he seemed to find in their interaction, not used to being treated this kindly by a stranger.

“It is, but I am already in love with this place. Are there any things you’d recommend doing around here?” He pondered over her question for a few seconds, gaze focused on the pink and orange sky, painting a picture so beautiful (y/n) had to fight against the need to take a picture of it, holding onto the need to enjoy moments rather than pictures she took in these moments.

“Well, it depends on what you’re looking for, there are some museums you should visit, a few rather hidden book stores you’ll find in some alleys. If you want to, I can take you to some of my favourite ones.” (Y/n) couldn’t stop a surprised expression from tugging on her features, not expecting him to offer some of his time to her.

“I’d love that.”

……

Over the past hours (y/n) had learned that the handsome stranger is called Tommy, and that he lived in Birmingham, a city she had always wanted to visit. He had taken her to the history museum in the morning, followed by some coffee in a small store he seemed to frequent whenever he came to visit this town, already friends with the owner of the store.

He hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, and yet he had won (y/n) over within the first few moments of meeting him. The way Tommy treated her was so unfamiliar to her, she wondered if he was real, filled with kindness, respect, and something glimmering in his eyes that filled her with excitement.

“Didn’t take you for a Dante fan, but I have to say, it fits.” Her whispers left Tommy laughing, thumping through the old copy of Dante’s Inferno he was currently holding in the hands (y/n) found herself staring at way too often. Even though (y/n) tried to focus on the endless rows of old books, her eyes were drawn back to Tommy’s frame at any given chance.

She tried to curse herself for being that interested in a stranger, and yet Tommy didn’t feel like a stranger, he had something familiar to him, something that left her wondering if they had crossed paths in another life. Whatever it was that left her feeling like that, (y/n) didn’t ever want to get rid of this feeling, clinging to it like it was her life vest, protecting her from drowning in uneasy waters she had been stuck in for the past weeks.

“Don’t tell this to anybody, but I can recite most parts of it by heart.” (Y/n) shook her head with a grin tugging on her lips, arms slowly crossing in front of her chest.

“Prove it.” A challenging look was thrown Tommy’s way, watching the man’s tongue kiss his teeth as he tried to stop a smirk from widening on his lips. He turned towards (y/n), leaning against the bookshelf with his hand still holding onto the old copy.

“Midway upon the journey of our life, I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost. Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say, what was this forest savage, rough, and stern, which in the very thought renews the fear. So bitter is it, death is little more; But of the good to treat, which there I found, speak will I of the other things I saw there.” With another laugh bubbling out of (y/n), Tommy stopped reciting, letting go of a laugh himself.

“I have to say, I’m impressed. Do you have any other talents I should know of?” He took a step closer, almost touching her, eyes not daring to break contact with hers once. Both were clearly aware of the buzzing atmosphere that engulfed them, wrapping itself around them.

“Many, but I’d rather you find out about them yourself instead of telling you about them.”

……

The next morning (y/n) found herself in the same spot she had sat in the day before, once again watching the sun rise as she ate breakfast. This time Tommy had joined her at the entrance of the room, pulling her in for a hug, allowing (y/n) to inhale the scent of his expensive cologne.

Their day together had flown by all too quickly, ending with a quick dinner before they had parted ways, leaving (y/n) with a heavy heart. She didn’t know what it was, but yet she had instantly missed him the second Tommy had left her side, promising to meet her again for breakfast the next morning.

“I have some meetings I can’t miss out on today, but if you want to, we can try to catch some auroras tonight.” The smile playing on Tommy’s lips left (y/n)’s heart skipping beats, already filled with excitement at the mere thought of spending some more time with him.

“Absolutely, wait, let me give you my number, so you can just call or text whenever you’re ready.” She was too focused on reaching for her phone to pick up on the warm smile settling on Tommy’s lips, watching the young woman fumble with her phone. There was something swimming in his pupils that was all too unfamiliar, even to Tommy himself, she was doing something to him he hadn’t ever felt before, not wanting to leave her behind for even a minute.

(Y/n) reached her phone out to Tommy, watching him add his contact as she finished her drink. Their fingers touched as he pushed the phone back towards (y/n), making shudders run down her spine like bolts of lighting striking her body.

“If we’re lucky we can catch a few before midnight, so we can come back before the fireworks.” (Y/n) had almost forgotten that today was new year’s eve, a day she had always disliked, not one for drinking, partying, and staying up for endless hours. With a smile shot Tommy’s way she murmured a soft “Sounds good”, hoping that today would be another day she’d remember for months on end.

……

The cold wind teased their limbs, wrapping itself around the two as they were sitting on a bench, cuddled into their jackets with their eyes focused on the dark sky. For the longest time it had been (y/n)’s dream to see the auroras dance on the night sky, green and blue stripes of light that almost drew tears to her eyes.

“Worth the wait, right?” Tommy’s soft voice broke the silence, momentarily forcing her eyes away from the sky. He was sitting close to her, arm touching hers, leaving her feeling all too comfortable around the man.

“Definitely. Thank you for taking me here.” Since her eyes wandered back to the sky, (y/n) didn’t pick up on the way Tommy’s eyes flickered down to her cold hands, giving himself a few seconds to overthink his next move before he slowly interlaced his fingers with hers. Her heart skipped a few beats at the touch, making heat rise in her system, eyes momentarily finding his piercing ones.

Both couldn’t stop their smiles from widening, holding onto one another as the auroras kept dancing in the sky. (Y/n) silently prayed that whoever was listening would freeze the moment, not wanting it to end just there and then, not ready to part from Tommy just yet.

“Do you have any new year’s resolutions?” Once her eyes were drawn back to Tommy’s features, studying the man as she thought about his question, a question she had never spared much attention, not believing in resolutions most would forget about after a week or two.

“No, not really. Sometimes I want to be a bit braver, do a few more things to get me out of my shell, take a few more risks. But that’s about it, what about you?” Her breath hitched in her chest as she watched his gaze flicker down to her lips, for just a second, a second (y/n) undoubtedly picked up on.

“What kind of risks?” (Y/n) didn’t understand what was guiding her body, urged on by the unfamiliar tone of Tommy’s voice, moving closer with her gaze set on his lips. The seconds blurring by felt like minutes, hours even, with her heart racing and her breaths stuttering. Would he pull away? Would he stop her from pressing her lips against his?

But Tommy didn’t pull away, one of his hands found her cold cheek, encouraging (y/n) to close the distance between them, softly kissing Tommy. The touch left her panting, not expecting the kiss to make her feel like this. She had never believed in these cheesy descriptions of clashing teeth, fireworks going off in the distance, but now, as Tommy kissed her breathless, taking over the kiss before she could even try to lead, (y/n) couldn’t help but feel just like other people had always described to her.

They didn’t part as Tommy pulled her into his lap, kissing her beneath the colourful night sky, making them feel as if they were reliving a scene from a movie. Neither of them wanted this moment to end, wanting to stay connected till the end of their time. But with shaking heads and aching lungs they eventually had to part, staring at one another with excitement and anticipation laced in their gazes.

“Take me back to the hotel, Tommy.”

……

She had her back arched off the bed, eyes squeezed shut, hands tugging on Tommy’s hair. The man was settled between her thighs, grinning against her naked skin as he ate her out. Tommy touched her as if they had done this numerous times before, careful enough to pick up on the wordless signs her body was throwing his way, though rough enough to let (y/n) choke on her gasps.

“Fuck, Tommy, feels so good, don’t stop, please.” His chuckles vibrated on her skin, leaving (y/n) whining as she tried to hold on, not wanting to give into the sensation just yet. His fingers fucked her fast, curling against her swollen spot whenever he got the chance to. She was putty in his hand, unable to do anything but give into the pull she felt.

Tommy could tell that she was close, about to fall over the edge with his name burning in the tip of her tongue, with her hands balled into fists, and with her lungs struggling to hold onto any air. He held some kind of magic over her, (y/n) had never felt before.

“Look at me, doll, keep those pretty eyes open for me.” These were the last words (y/n) managed to pick up on before she came. Tommy’s tongue kept lapping at her folds, guiding her through her high with a satisfied smile tugging on his lips. A few praises were murmured against her soft skin, fingers lazily fucking into her for a few more moments before he let go of her.

Within seconds Tommy was towering over her once again, lips caught in a heated kiss. They didn’t part ways as she helped him out of his shirt, nails scratching at his skin as he undid his trousers, needing to feel her naked body pressed against his.

“Are you sure you want this? You can always tell me to stop.” He murmured the words against her skin as he kissed his way down her throat, groaning as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her naked cunt against his dark boxer shorts.

“Fuck me, Tommy.” He didn’t need to be told twice, letting go of her to free his cock, grinning as he felt her wide eyes taking in the sight of his twitching length. (Y/n) watched him roll a condom down his cock, aligning himself with her heat before he wrapped his hand around her throat, keeping (y/n) pressed against the mattress.

The eye contact both held was intense, and yet it had something awfully intimate to it, forcing her heart to skip even more beats. Tommy fucked her rough, not holding back as he added more and more speed to his thrusts, fingers tightening their grip around her throat. Her senses were heightened, wondering how far he’d take it with her, and yet she felt awfully safe with him around, knowing that he wouldn’t hurt her in a way she wouldn’t enjoy.

“Such a desperate girl, begging to be fucked.” A whine left (y/n), a sound that made Tommy chuckle against her lips, feeling powerful with her buried underneath him. His lips met hers in an almost rushed kiss as he fucked her, hips meeting hers with every thrust. “You fit so perfectly around me, as if you were made for me.”

“Just for you, Tommy.” A moan left them in unison as her walls fluttered around him, wordlessly begging for more friction, needing to feel his fingers on her clit to give into the sensation threatening to claw through her. (Y/n) felt herself getting lost in his pupils, wide from the lust thumping through his veins, making them appear darker, more dangerous than the piercing colour she was used to.

Both were close to letting go, wordlessly communicating their every thought, knowing that there was no holding back. Tommy let go of her throat to sneak a hand between them, lifting himself to spit onto her pulsing bundle, rubbing her skin with his warm fingers.

With (y/n)’s fingernails clawed into his skin, she came, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. Tommy kept fucking her, thrusts perfectly positioned to prolonge the intense sensation. He watched her fall apart with a grin, unable to stop himself from kissing her again before he came, groaning against her mouth.

The sound of fireworks going off ripped them out of their trance, unable to stop laughing as their eyes found the window. Wordlessly they watched the colourful lights alight the sky, still connected with their hearts beating in sync.

“Happy new year, Tommy.” His eyes flickered back down to hers, lips meeting (y/n)’s swollen ones before he repeated her words with a grin glued to his features.

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders smut #modern tommy shelby

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sincerelyy-youres · 1 year ago

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Gaze Upon Me (Yandere Nanook × Aeon! Reader)

Sypnosis: The vast oceans of stars in the sky offers many great and terrifying encounters, one of which is when Aeons cross paths with one another. Others devour and others work together, but what if one falls madly in love with the other?

TW: Obssesion, stalking and implied kidnapping. Read at your own risk

You were too stubborn to understand Akivili's warning.

It's not as if it wasn't important that you weren't giving it much thought, but it was the fact that you already convinced yourself that it won't happen. It was already a thousand centuries ago when you first defended the people of "Adlivun" from the raging war declared by their very own emperor. You were weak then, being born just a few years ago from the death of a star system that greatly cherishes perseverance, and as all aeons needs to get a job done, you did your first and very own.

You are the Aeon of Resistance, and people who is opressed and cornered deserves as much as justice that they need to have. You answer to their every call, to their every will to resist, and your greatest regrets is when your own resistance falters, letting the enemy win, letting the opposition lose.

Adlivun is your first and biggest regret.

Being the youngest Aeon back then, you underestimated the power of man. The Emperor's manpower and soldiers were much more than a small group of people that wanted to resist, relying solely on your grace. Before you can even think of a way to save your people, the power of the emperor advances, leaving you hopeless. You left Adlivun in shame that day, the image of mangled bodies of the people that once revered you still fresh in your mind, their dying eyes showing a shade of disappointment.

You ran away far, far away from the accusatory stares that you feel in your back until you bumped into Akivili, The Aeon of Trailblaze, who had just left Adlivun in disbelief. You didn't beg them to let you in, to ask what had become of Adlivun as you left, but nevertheless they took you in, and said you were free to stay with them until you learn to become your own.

It was the first ever recorded interaction in which two aeons traversed the stars together. Perhaps Fuli the Remembrance gazed at the moment, at the interaction, and deemed it worthy of a memory in the garden of recollection. As the two of you traveled together, Akivili told you of what happened to Adlivun, and the fate that might befall of you soon.

"When I arrived there, Adlivun was an absolute resorvoir of chaos. What remains of them were unlucky enough to be in the path of the Aeon of Propagation." They said, their voice expressing disappointment. Akivili had no physical form, and you only see them in a form of a warm light, like a companion in every cold weathered, or rather, in this cold universe's travels. Perhaps in the entirety of their journey, never had they come across to something as cold as the fate of Adlivun.

"I left Adlivun when the resistance fell... perhaps fate recognizes the wishes of the dead." You said, having mixed emotions of the situation. As the Aeon of Resistance, you of course value absolute persistence, but your people, the opposition of Adlivun had long perished. What victory is there to enjoy when the people are dead?

"I saw the Emperor and his people fight with all their might, but their physique is evidently tired with their previous war." You can almost see Akivili shake their head, "Eventually Tayzzyronth the Propagation defeated what was left of there, and their faction, the Swarm's March, led the final blow"

"I left before Tayzzyronth notices me, but in a distance as I jumped between universes, before I even bumped into you, I saw how Adlivun died...It exploded, then a gold glow emanated from all the debris."

Akivili was quiet after their statement and it made you think. A gold glow emenating from a fallen world means one thing: An Aeon is born. Considering what Adlivun's state is before it died, theres no question what kind of Aeon it was. Destructive, chaotic, always craving of absolute doom, reckless, and wrathful. It was--

"An Aeon is born" said Akivili, after that long silence of what seems of them pondering. "And a path along with them. The path of destruction. They are probably moving and causing chaos everywhere as we speak, and posing a threat, especially to you."

You frowned. "But what do they have to do with me? The emperor won against the resistance and I am not the one who destroyed their homeworld. It is not reasonable for them to come after me." No matter what angle you look at, the path of destruction should not be directed to you, and if by any means it does...

"Had you ever heard of history repeating itself?" Akivili suddenly said, cutting you off of your train of thoughts. "Destruction seeks resistance, not just of absolute infliction of doom. Think of it this way, where is the thrill when everyone just submitted to domination? Something had to resist, and the process of breaking that something into submission, is what true destruction is"

If the path of destruction is directed to you, then you are to resist. But, you still resist the fact that destruction persuing resistance is written in finality. If what destruction seeks is absolute submission, then why go through the long and tedious process of persuing resistance knowing that it won't give in? It is resistance for a reason. If true destruction is breaking something into submission, why not persue a path that manifests the values of submission so the job can be easily done?

You heard Akivili chuckle at you, they had probably noticed that you were so deep in though about their words. Just as you were about to spout a long rebuttal, Akivili spoke, not wanting to argue any longer.

"I see you still resist the possibility, but soon enough you'll understand. Just a warning, though, you may be the Aeon of Resistance, but you can't resist everything."

And with that, Akivili left you on your own. You sat there, pondering over the Aeon's words. How you wished you listened to them before they perished, back then. Their radiant light, how you wished you still see how beautiful it is before it was snatched from you by darkness, holding them at the palm of destruction's hands before ultimately blowing out what was left of their power.

If anything, you should have known better than to question your companion's thoughts. If only you just listened, if only you didn't resist their concise analysations, then you wouldn't have to deal with this abomination of man who chases you althroughout the universe as if you did something unexcusable to him. Then, you wouldn't have to jump to one universe after the other seeking temporary refuge when you lingered too long.

Resistance persevere because it fights for what it was worth fighting for. It was ironic, considering you choose to constantly flee from the oppression, but it was almost understandable. You fled when the resistance of Adlivun fell. So you also constanly fly away when Akivili was killed. Both of which was worth fighting for, and as much as the reality pains you, the truth is that resistance falters when the reason to resist dies.

After all, Akivili...you'd seen them die before your very own eyes. And in which, before the destruction constantly chases after you

This space you were currently in, was a temporary home you'd find yourself residing after barely getting from the Aeon of Destruction. If anything, you yourself doesn't know why he is constantly chasing after you, but you don't intend to find the reason why, and you don't want to satisfy him by giving yourself in.

Even though the will to resist is weak, it will still resist. Even as you felt the weight of his gaze, again, after barely getting away, you'll resist. That gaze that felt like it materializes into a physical form, it was all too familliar, following your every move as you panicked, as you desperately tried to find any hint of his arrival to counter his chase with flight.

He's here

Your focus shifted as you felt his gaze narrow, and along with it was the visions it brings. Your vision blurs, to what was once the stars that fills this desolate space, begins to open a portal of gold. Gold eyes, white braided hair and tanned skin. Deformed arms and gold corruption seeping in between the cracks in his skin, and the sharp, smothering, and somewhat possesive gaze as he looks down at you. He smiled, and it became a terrifying grin as his arms reaches out for you, seeking to trap you inside a make shift, sub-reality prison that only he knew the existence of.

It made you unsettled, but still quick witted enough to avoid his confrontation as he charges towards you. Just in time to get out of his inflicted delirium. You looked at him, and when he realized that he didn't caught you in his arms after all, he went again and charges towards you, and he looks so confident that he will succeed, making you flee towards the nearest possible exit in this space that you once found comfort into, where his prescence wasn't shown.

But your escape was short lived when the exit was apparently blocked by some kind of a Gold barrier, the light of the next space fading away like how a light in the end of the tunnel would be blocked if the tunnel collapsed. Despairingly, you turned around, only to see his face expressing a delirious satisfaction.

Akivili was right. History repeated itself. The emperor defeated the resistance of Adlivun centuries ago and now... you were being captured by the remains of that war. It was humiliating, knowing all you can do is to resist.

Slowly, Nanook's arms reaches out for you, and all you'd ever do was fight his possesive gaze with your wrathful glare. Your power was blocked by some kind of force, One that you cannot exactly root out it's origins, but all you can say is that it was slowly inviting you in a forced slumber, whispering incoherent lullabies and doom, And the last you'd ever seen was his satisfied smile.

Perhaps, the true reason of his unnatural and perplexing obssesion over you was already there, laid out for you, just in the naked eye. It was as simple as Akivili had said it, that Nanook wanted "true destruction". And in true destruction, there was you.

It was too late now, to understand Akivili's warning.

#yandere #yancore #yandere x reader #yanderecore #yandere nanook x reader #nanook #honkai star rail #hsr aeons #aeons #akivili #FINALLY ITS DONE!#excuse me your highness as i'll proceed with jingyuan next #if youre confused the one that blocked reader's powers is a stellaron because apparently nanook is theorized to make stellarons #and he uses the power of the stellaron to his advantage #no beta we are doomed like akivili #sincerelyy youres

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multidimensionalguidance · 5 months ago

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Taurus/Scorpio Insights for June 2024

Let me start of by saying that 3's and 9's seem to be quite relevant for these signs, so if you peep these angel numbers around you, take it as a confirmation that you're definitely on the right path.

Enjoy this month my stubborn beauties, you are heading towards a very meaningful summer. Continue below for your tarot readings.

This messages apply to Taurus/Scorpio risings, Moon, Sun, and even Venus.

Scorpio: Nine of Pentacles, The Chariot, and Three of Cups. Success and Stop from Prism Oracle

June will greet you with a fresh breath of air, Scorpio. After what might have felt like a long storm for these past few months is now finally dissipating into a beautiful clear sky. You will feel very motivated and with plenty of willpower to achieve a lot of things during this month. There is a lot of chances that you'll be having a solo vacation and basking in not just the feeling of abundance, but the material forms of it. Finances will not be an issue for you this month as you will be using your drive towards these matters, so if you're still feeling stuck in the mud money wise, rest assure that things will be resolved. There will also be plenty of celebrations and happiness surrounding your friend circle as well. You will be feeling emotionally supported by your loved ones, and perhaps even expanding your own social network by going out a bit more than often. You're definitely being encouraged to leave behind the hermit energy, and be out in nature or social settings more than ever. Your magnetic and mysterious appeal will be naturally attracting those around you, which can land you into even more abundance during this month. Expect lots of traveling or even getting a new vehicle as well.

The experiences from this months will be confirming every step along the way just how much effort you've put on yourself on the past months, and all the things that you've been able to achieve so far. Even if your current life might not be exactly what you would define as success, remember that this is a feeling after all, and even those who have an abundant material world might lack the feeling of success within them. Sit down to think of all the ways in which you've accomplished small to big goals in your life, and truly feel grateful for them. The universe is inviting you to stop, reflect, and collect your thoughts, perhaps even take a break for a bit. In what ways have you associated a break with stagnancy or laziness? How have you handled your inner world when things slow down a bit or you're put in a position of having to re-direct your path? Slowing down is actually quite necessary for you Scorpio, and that is one of the primary lessons to learn from your sister sign Taurus.

There's also a mention of sadness peeking through on both decks, so its likely that the universe is truly trying to help you let go of anything that you might be holding onto and no longer serves you. Whatever might have been the situation you've previously experienced, there was a lot of grief, guilt, shame, and disappointment surrounding it. As a fixed water sign it is essential for you to release this feelings by experiencing them, and then making your peace with what you can no longer control, such as your past experienced or actions. This month holds a lot of positive transformations for you, and the first step starts with closing certain doors for good. You got this!

Taurus: Nine of Pentacles, Eight of Wands, and Three of Pentacles. Frustration and Happiness from Prism Oracle.

There's truly no denial that you're very connected to your sister sign because despite clearing the deck and shuffling there's still a very similar energy going around for you. You will also be in a state of independence, financial stability, and abundance as well. There will also be plenty of movement during this month and you will definitely receive many good news your way, particularly about work and collaborating with others to achieve your goals. It is finally the time for you to reap your rewards of all the efforts you've given during the beginning of this year. You will feel a strong desire to be more mature and grounded, which will work amazingly for you since earth is your element.

You will see a lot of progress in your life during this month, so stagnancy or delays will not be a thing to deal with. This could be great in one side, but a bit unnerving on the other since you're used to taking slow consistent steps with everything. Remember that we all need a bit of movement and chaos in our lives to keep things interesting. If there are any projects with a team that you've been working on, there will also be a lot of positive results from it. The same goes for investments that you might be making with others to obtain more luxury or comfort into your life.

You will also be traveling be it short or long distance, and it might occur in a rather spontaneous way but you will make not just good memories but meet people who could push you further into financial success. There will be an interesting duality between feeling frustrated when certain things might not go your way, yet feeling content at the end because you'll notice that whatever didn't go the way you expected actually turned out even better. As a fixed sign it can be hard to lose the grip on control, but often times it is precisely recognizing the ways in which we can attain peace and serenity. Surrender to the universe the things that are outside of your control and focus instead on the small delights that are surrounding you all the time.

If something disappoints you see it as an opportunity to find a solution or an better route than what you were trying before. This month will be essential for your growth even if you might not see it yet. Old patterns are staying behind and welcoming a version of you that will make you shine and thrive. You got this!

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watercolourcritters · 6 months ago

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thirty-five

bday comics: thirty-three ; thirty-four

AN: I have an acquired brain injury, and always have a lot of feelings about it on my birthday. This is my third year of drawing yearly birthday comics as a way to reflect on my TBI journey, disability, and where I'm at.

Instagram | Etsy | Tip Jar

[ID copied from alt text: A six-panel comic, depicting scenes painted in greyscale watercolour with text added digitally.

One - The art shows a path through a wooded area. It reads "I'm 35 today. Half-way through this decade, five years into healing. I've been dreading this birthday for weeks."

Two - The path now travels alongside water, and the art is close up, showing the path and a sliver of grass and water in one corner. It reads "There's too much meaning caught in the passage of time, and five years feels heavier than four, three, two. I keep trying to find words about hope and moving forward, but it all feels trite."

Three - The art shows a pond, with reeds at the shore close to the viewer, and fir trees on the other side. It reads "Grief never really leaves, but this year it walks close at my side, naming my losses one by one."

Four - Close up art of reeds and grasses, with cloudy skies behind them, as if looking up through them at the sky. It reads "I love my life, but this still isn't how I wanted it to go. And I'm still learning how to hold love and grief in the same hand."

Five - The view shifts back to the pond, showing a large snapping turtle swimming through the water. It reads "But I can feel the sun on my face, and the grass beneath my feet, and maybe that's enough."

Six - The art shows me, a chubby nonbinary white person with glasses and a curly mullet, sitting at the side of the pond and looking out into the water. My back is to the viewer. It reads "Maybe, some day, this life will be enough."

Each panel has the watermark @ watercolourcritters. The last panel is signed hank graves '24. End ID.]

#brain injury #brain injury comics #concussion #post concussion syndrome #disability #comic #watercolour critters art

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fishnets-fingers · 2 years ago

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Forbidden Hours

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n

a/n - happy first day of 2023! this is my first time writing historical fiction. it’s loosely inspired by a movie, particularly this scene. it’s not historically accurate in the slightest. you can read more about the chola dynasty here. don’t know how many parts this would have but i’m hoping to write more of these two’s dynamic. if you have any ideas, let me know. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!

Word Count - 4.2k (not proofread)

MASTERPOST | PART TWO

….

நிழல். Shadow. That was his nickname among the royal heirs. He was quiet, swift, inconspicuous, and nimble - camouflaging himself in vast rooms and gathering intel. There wasn’t a room in the kingdom he couldn’t weasel himself in; whether that be up on the roof, scaling walls, or hidden in the dark - where candle lights don’t flicker.

Growing up as the son of a British sea merchant, Harry learned that there wasn’t much for a young boy to do in the cramped quarters of the ship. He’d lost his mother the moment he took his first breath. There wasn’t a lot of maternal warmth in his life but that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t loved. He was loved in a different way, his father kept him close during the wuthering nights at sea often pointing out constellations in the night sky to remind him that life had far more in store for him than the fervent passing waves of the sea. But he was also a man that did not believe in making mistakes, so whenever Harry got in trouble, he was asked to scrub the deck floor clean until his hands bled. He learnt his way around a sword from the crewmen. Travelling to different ports of the world also meant learning different forms of combat and gathering information from people of different cultures. Stewing in a ship with ten men for months meant no entertainment, so he began sifting for stories and used their weakness and strengths against them to gain favours.

He docked on Chozhamandalam when he was twenty and was greeted with a red swallowtail flag with a pouncing tiger on it. He grew to love the people of Kaveripattinam - the bustle of the markets, the chortle of the children running about, the welcoming people, and the way art was particularly celebrated in this small port town, and the princess he set his sights on his third day of being docked there. He’s heard of royalty. Lots of royalty. Cruel rulers. Compassionate rulers. Ostentatious rulers. Modest rulers. Heard. But he’s never seen one in the flesh. Until that day.

A crowd gathered near the temple, murmurs of visiting royals spread like wildfire, and when he’d caught wind of it, he couldn’t resist. Ten soldiers walked first clearing the path, two on horses and sheathed swords followed, then came ten men bearing the weight of a palanquin. It wasn’t an ordinary palanquin, this particular one was grandiose, shimmering in gold and stained glass but the insides were draped in silk to obstruct the view of the onlookers. The Queen Mother exited first, greeting the townspeople and that’s when Harry saw her - the Princess Regnant, the one third in line to the throne. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the way her lips curled up in an inviting smile. Harry has seen many a sight in his life but none would compare to the way the royal blue silk saree draped around her body made her skin shimmer; it reminded him of how the first light of the sun would glint and glimmer on the steady ocean water. Her eyes were dark, like the deepest part of the sea where light does not enter. She was adorned in gold, hair piled up into a tall bun that was decorated with jasmine flowers. Their temple visit was brief, the Princess joined her grandmother thanking people for their well wishes before being escorted into the temple premises. It was her eighteenth birthday, so a feast was prepared for everyone in town. As the crowd dissipated to head to the town hall for the royal lunch, Harry lingered wanting to catch sight of the Princess again. He managed to climb a peepal tree that towered over the south entrance of the temple. He saw her again, only this time being told off by the guard as she tried to reach over to pluck a blooming lotus from the temple pond. She huffed in response settling down on the step, so the water lapped at her feet, guiding a tadpole trapped in a water bubble on the lotus pad back into the water.

Three years later, he’d made himself a name in the kingdom. His path stumbled with the Crown Prince a month after arriving. He soon became his confidant, even earning a spot in his army. The Crown Prince, Vikram, was a skilled warrior often going off on conquests under the King’s orders to further expand the country. The youngest Prince, Karthi, was sent to the island of Lanka to study apothecary and healing. And the middle heir, Princess Y/N, was known for her wisdom and strategic wit. She often presided in important meetings with the King and his counsel and implemented many strategies that helped triple the wealth of the dynasty and the well-being of the people. The first battle Harry rode alongside the Crown Prince, he was tasked with bringing home a note sent by the prince to his father detailing his plans on the war spoils to the King. Harry was entrusted with carrying secrets and messages to royalty and trusted members of the Crown. His knack of gathering information also came in handy and now was a spy for the royal heirs three years later.

Soon enough the nickname Shadow was bestowed upon him by Prince Karthi. There wasn’t a single room he couldn’t get into - even the castle. But the tower he was currently scaling was one he never had before - Princess Y/N’s chamber. It was forbidden to talk to her without supervision but in the dark of the night, he supposed it did not matter. His job description came with breaking rules and this particular information needed for her to be in the know sans protocols.

He hitched his leg up over the stone bannister and lurched his torso up to the terrace. Princess Y/N’s tower was away from the main dome of the royal vacation castle and he chalked it up for safety but now standing at her balcony, he understands why. The view was unbelievable - the vast expanse of the ocean was at his feet, calm waters painted silver with the full moon; it also overlooked her personal garden filled with coral jasmine, hibiscus, marigolds, and wildflowers. The ocean breeze carried over the fragrance of the flora straight to her room. It was well known that the princess was an avid gardener; he heard through the grapevine that oftentimes she’d sketch out the garden’s landscape plans and sometimes even join the workers to tend to the flower beds. Princes who came to court her from neighbouring territories would almost always bring a sapling of a flowering plant to gain affection.

One could get used to the view, he thinks, as he leans against the bannister one more time - the sounds of tides crashing over the shore soothe his nerves from his climb up. Being born with the golden spoon ain’t that bad. If the burden of duty came with such lavish living quarters, someone sign me the fuck up, Harry takes in the scenery before him before pushing off from it. His body instinctively makes his way to her, like a moth being drawn to a frame, or in this case a spy being drawn to the lavish canopy bed bathed in the buttery glow of candlelight. He stops in his tracks for the second time by the sight of her, not by the opulent beauty that she radiated when he first laid eyes on her but with fondness.

It’s not the Princess Regnant who’s fast asleep on her bed but Y/N. The same Y/N who bristles every time he’s in the room with her siblings. The same Y/N who straightens up her back and holds her chin up high when he cracks a joke to try and force a smile on her face.The same Y/N who looks away when he catches her eyeing him up as he hands over the sealed scroll sent by one of her brothers. It’s almost as if Harry is seeing her for the first time without any filters - except for the sheer white netted fabric that hangs around. She looks small without all the jewellery and silks. Hair raven and straight and long - longer than what he had anticipated - now that her hair has not been pinned up in a bun or bushed away from her face with intricate braids. She looks vulnerable - almost her age - a twenty one year old with a bare face that is not made up immaculately. She has dark circles under her eyes, and Harry deduces that it’s from reading all the books she has strewn over - opened - beside her on the satin sheets. Her lips are curled downwards; she frowns in her sleep and Harry has to try and fight the urge to reach over and smooth out the crinkle between her eyebrows.

He clears his throat, hoping she’ll wake up before he ends up touching her and landing himself in prison. She twitches in response, her steady deep breaths interrupted by a sharp inhale. He clears his throat again, louder this time, followed by, “Your royal highness.”

Y/N’s eyes flutter open, and she jolts up when she sees a tall figure standing beside her. “Who?” She asks, voice hoarse, eyes darting up over his broad chest.

“It’s me, Princess Y/N,” Harry answers.

“Mr. Styles.” Hand coming over to rub the sleep from her eye. “What are you doing here? In my chamber? You’re not allowed,” she states.

“I apologise, your majesty. I’ve been riding for five hours, ma’am. From the estate in the hills. Couldn’t risk having someone overhearing this for the sake of protocol,” he explains.

“So, was I right?” Y/N questions, shuffling out of her bed. Harry moves behind so she has the space to stand upright. “Are the governors convening?”

She gets no reply, making her flit her eyes up at his jade embers to find him staring at her body. Harry could make out the full curves of her breasts and hips with the flimsy white gown Y/N was wearing. Her nipples pebbled from the cold winds from the sea and peaks out the cotton fabric. She rolls her eyes, and snaps her fingers in front of his face to catch his attention. “I could have your eyes gouged out this instant, Harry Edward Styles! There are guards on the other side of this door.”

“Apologies, Princ-“

“You’re full of apologies tonight, aren’t you?” Y/N folds her arms, shielding her chest from his gaze.

“Sorry, Prin-“

Y/N laughs. “It’s far too late for formalities, Mr. Styles. Plus, they only apply to people who follow protocols and walk in through there,” she cocks her head to the carved wooden door. Considering you broke into my room by climbing my balcony, I reckon you can give it a rest. Call me Y/N.”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Y/N,” he adds. Testing out the way her name rolls out of his mouth. He can’t help the way his dimples carve in his cheeks as the corner of his lips tug upward. I like it, he decides. He likes the way saying her name feels on his tongue, it’s rich and velvety and he wants to keep saying it again and again. “Please call me Harry.”

“Harry, tell me what you saw. Don’t leave out any details,” she orders, walking over to her desk.

Fucking shit, Harry shakes his head. How was he supposed to concentrate when the candles she was lighting only made the silhouette of her body more prominent. She could clearly see the swell of her bum and he’ll bet his entire fortune that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath other than that flimsy gown. He shamelessly lets his eyes rake up over her and his heart flutters when he meets her expenatant eyes, quill hovering over a parchment, urging him to vomit out what he knows.

“Yes. The Hill estate,” he clears his throat. “You’re right. Five governors held a secret meeting at midnight at the Bull temple. You know, the one that was destroyed last monsoon by a landslide.”

Y/N scoffs and lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Of course, they pick the most obvious spot. Were you able to get a good look at who these governors are?”

“Yes. Do you want me to list them out?”

“Please,” she says, writing down each of the names that Harry listed. He walks closer to where she was hunched over, writing. Harry’s not surprised to see the elegance in her script.

“Impressive. Nice handwriting,” he comments.

“Hardly something to be impressed by, Harry.”

“Well, Y/N, it’s better than mine.”

“If you had tutors from all over the world, I’m sure your script will look just as impressive,” she adds.

“Of course.” He nods. “The meeting. The governors are unhappy with the decree to build schools using the tax money they’re collecting.”

“Of course they are,” she mumbles. “They’re all for taxes when they can use it to fatten themselves up but ask them to spend it on the children of their districts, they are suddenly unhappy with the new system implemented.”

“That’s not all.” Harry opens a silver box and pops a date into his mouth.

“Help yourself,” Y/N comments, shaking her head at his lack of etiquette. Harry’s face flushes with pink and he can feel the tips of his ears getting hot.

“It’s a long journey back here,” he tells her, avoiding her eyes in embarrassment and on cue his stomach rumbles.

Y/N eyes soften. “There are fruits in the basket. And here.” She walks over pulling out a glass jar filled with jujubes from the drawer by her bedside and brings it over to him.

“You have gummies in your drawer,” he notes, smirking at the half eaten jar of sugar coated coloured candy.

“I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” she tells him with a shy smile. He props himself on the table and she makes her way to her desk, watching him eat.

“Harry,” she calls out. “You said that’s not all,” she prompts.

“Your Uncle was there,” he tells her quietly, not wanting anyone to hear.

“My Uncle?” She asks, alarmed. “Can’t be.”

“I saw him, Y/N. He came in shrouded in a black cloak. He’s sired an offspring he said. Claimed that his son had a right to the throne. That’s as much as what was said before they dispersed.”

“You’re positive?”

“Are you implying that I’m being dishonest?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Y/N snaps. “I just want you to be sure.”

“I saw him with my own two eyes, Y/N. I was taken aback too. Both Princes speak of him fondly.”

“Seems like there’s a conspiracy afoot,” Y/N says, almost to herself.

“I’ll let Prince Vikaram know immediately,” he informs.

“Don’t. He’s hot headed. God knows he’ll come charging to the capital and stick a knife in my Uncle’s throat. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s below your pay grade, spy. I’ll handle this myself. I’m heading to the capital tomorrow for a meeting with my father and the court. How long would it take for you to sail to Lanka alone?”

“Almost a week,” Harry answers.

“Okay. I want you to set sail to Lanka five days from now. I’ll have a scroll delivered to you at noon by the docks. Hand it over to Karthi. Father will want him back in the capital. Keep mum about this and you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”

Harry nods. “Don’t want gold coins this time. I want a house. Close to the sea. One with space for a yard.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll set sail five days from now to Lanka. It’ll also be nice to pay the old man a visit too.”

“Your father’s there?”

Harry nods.

“How is Merchant Styles? I heard he’s retired” Y/N asks.

“He took to Buddhist teachings. Become a proper monk now,” Harry chuckles.

Y/N laughs, one that’s laced with mockery.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, standing up abandoning the food.

“Nothing,” she gets out between peels of laughter, wiping her the tears that threaten to spill.

“With all due respect, Princess. Spit it the fuck out,” he huffs out in annoyance.

“It’s just funny. Your father practises a faith that preaches restraint of the senses as one of its precepts and then there’s you.” She bites down on her bottom lip to stop herself from breaking out into a fit of laughter.

“I don’t quite follow,” he crosses her arms.

“Of course you don’t,” she chuckles, straightening up and tilting her chin up.

“You always do that,” he points out. “Pretend you're better than me. It’s obvious you hate me when I’ve been nothing but friendly.”

“You’re not my friend. You’re Vikram’s friend. And Karthi’s. I don’t know you. And I know for a fact that I’m better than you,” YN's eyebrow raises in arrogance.

“What makes you so sure?” Harry takes a step towards her.

“Because, Harry Styles, you’re the proverbial whore of the town. I don’t go around screwing everything with a pulse,” she smiles arrogantly at him.

“How did you come upon this piece of information?” He asks her.

“News travels fast, especially with handmaidens. So, that’s why it’s funny. Your father practises self-restraint and you are on a mission to contract a venereal disease.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

“It is. That’s what the textbook says: It's a womanly duty to service the man and bear his children. It’s sacred,” she insists, taking a step back.

“I’m surprised for someone with such progressive morals… Your view on pleasure seems archaic,” he takes a step toward her again.

“Books do not lie, spy. They have the whole truth.” She steps back again, bumping into the edge of her teakwood desk, trapping herself.

“What do your precious books say about the way your body sparkles when you reach a satisfying end?” He goads, taking a final step forward and invading her personal space.

“You are forbidden to come this close to me, Harry.” Y/N reminds him in futility. Feeling his hard chest against her, thighs rubbing up against him, she can feel his hard muscles straining against her and his warmth radiate, crawling its way into her skin.

“Call out to the guards then,” he reminds her, dropping his head down to nose at her temple.

“I will,” her voice is feeble. “You’ll be cut into pieces and thrown in the ocean.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he smirks, as his lips circuit down the shell of her ear. “I don’t see you telling me to stop.” His tongue laves at her lobe, teeth coming to clamp down gently and tug.

Y/N squeaks feeling his action go down straight to her core. “I know how to defend myself.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second.” He stops, pulling back to look at her. “You don’t need to fight me,” his voice rings with sincerity. “Just tell me to stop and I will, Y/N.” He looks at her, searching her face for an answer.

“What else?” She murmurs, after a few moments, looking up into his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“What else? Things that haven’t been mentioned in books,” she clarifies.

His eyes shine with mischief as he simpers, dimples dazzling. “Where do I start, Y/N…” he trails off, fully pressing himself against her chest. God, she’s so responsive, he marvels at the way her chest heaves against his, heart stammering a staccato against his own racing heart. She’s soft and warm and she smells heavenly. His lips find its way to the base of her jaw, dragging up and leaving open mouth kisses on her smooth skin. “When you find someone desirable, you feel the heat pool in your belly and spread like wildfire across every nerve ending of your body.” He kisses her cheek, a hand going to intertwine with hers.

“Have you felt that?” He asks, feeling hot puffs of her breath against his neck. Y/N shakes her head. “It’s not very noble to lie, Princess,” he whispers, lips moving against the column of her throat. “I see the way you fuck me with your eyes.”

“I do not-“ her voice cuts off as Harry suckles on her jugular, feeling her hammering pulse underneath his lips. She lets out a whimper that goes straight to his fattening cock. Y/N’s mouth falls open dragging in breaths of fresh air, her free hand bracing against the desk to hold herself upright. “I do not fuck you with my eyes.”

“Really?” He says popping off, his calloused fingers come to caress the agitated spot. He was careful not to leave a hickey but he loved the way her skin turned a baby pink in response to his ministrations. “I guess I must have imagined all those times you looked me up and down?”

“I guess you did, Harry,” her chest heaves as she tries to maintain composure. It wasn’t right to be doing this with Harry. It wasn’t right to be doing this with anyone outside the sanctity of a marital bed but it’s exhilarating, breaking rules. She’s not sure if it’s Harry or it’s just the thrill of doing something that might get her in trouble with her parents. They trust her. Trusted her enough to let her move out of the capital and to the port town with her grandmother because she wishes to live by the beach. And here she was enjoying herself with a plebian. A foreigner. A spy. She met him when she was eighteen as her brother’s friend and he was handsome. Chocolate brown curls, smatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose, a perfect smile, dimples, and an alluring set of mossy green irises. She’s heard stories and rumours of his sexual escapades and as much as she detested hearing those stories, she detested the fact that she’s been comparing the princes who had come to ask for her hand in marriage to him. But all she could think of was how strong his arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

“Stubborn,” he smirks up. “See what you do to me?” He presses his hard cock against her pelvic bone, watching the way her eyes darken as she realises, the sight smirk of hers doesn't go unnoticed by him. “You’ve been driving me insane since the day I saw you on your eighteenth birthday. Went back to my quarters and touched myself to the thought of you,” he confesses. “You’ve been in my dreams ever since.” He cups her cheek, thumb moving back and forth across her lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Harry?” She asks, looking up at him.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” He questions.

She shakes her head. “My handmaidens have kissed the people who were courting them. They told me how to do it and helped me practise on fruit.”

“That so?” He smiles, lips ghosting her Cupid’s bow. “You know kissing is pretty easy, Y/N,” he declares. “But it’s also powerful” he tells her, lips moving against hers. “‘A kiss may ruin a human life.’”

“Oscar Wilde,” she says, recognising his quote, surprised by his knowledge of poetry. She gets on her toes, pulling her intertwined hand out of Harry’s, and running it down his chest, she can feel the way his muscles ripple underneath the fabric of his shirt. Her chest heaves, belly clenching in anticipation as he lowers tilts his head to the side, noses squished and her mouth opens in anticipation.

He presses his forehead against hers savouring the moment. “And I’m sure that if I start kissing you now, Princess… I might never be able to stop,” he tells her, breathing in her intoxicating sweet floral scent. He concedes by kissing her eyelids and he’s fighting the urge to not run his hands down her body and up her thighs to see if she’s wet for him, but he steps away wanting to be respectful.

Y/N can’t hide the disappointment in her face when backs away from her. His hands come to cup her cheeks, smearing a tender kiss on her forehead. “Never met anyone who has me on a chokehold, Y/N,” he confesses. “I shall bid my goodbye.” He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her palm, pressing it to his cheek.

“See you Harry,” she smiles. “You’ll be given the scroll at the docks at noon five days from now,” she informs, standing upright; snapping back into the person she was before being pushed up against the desk by Harry.

“Princess Y/N,” he bows, popping a piece of jujube in his mouth before making his way to her balcony. He gives her a salute one last time before climbing down the tower during forbidden hours, like he always does. But this time, he’s rappelling down the side of the stone structure with butterflies in his tummy.

part two

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles yn #harry styles x you #spy!harry #princess!reader #princess!y/n #one direction #fishnets-fingers #come say hi #please leave tags if you reblog #harry styles angst #forbidden hours

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lorelune · 1 year ago

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part o - part iii

|| diluc ragnvindr x f! reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, fluff, post-trauma || wc: 16.2k || ao3 || masterlist || NEXT →

You return to Mondstadt after many years away, sick, with an feeling that's all-too familiar and unwelcome.

❁ my heart, your song - @firein-thesky ❁

minors & ageless blogs dni

a/n: AH!! here it is :'^) the diluc fic!!!! thank you so much to @itoshisoup for beta reading (along with my non-tumblr pals han & ennis as well!!) this section contains four chapters, separated by partitions. if you'd prefer to read this fic with the chapters/parts separated, it will be posted as such on ao3!

this fic is a collab with the lovely cielo (@firein-thesky)!! our fics share a mostly canon compliant universe :3c give it a read!! it's linked above!!!

...

tags: alcohol use, descriptions of vomiting, reader with chronic injury, reader is referred to as 'little sister' by kaeya (not related), unreliable narrator/reader, soggy soggy SOGGY diluc, protective diluc, diluc and reader were childhood friends to lovers, reader is a healer

PART o: kismet

Once, on one of your several trips to Sumeru, you visited the Akademiya. You only went to poke at dusty books and sit in on a few lectures as a wanderer who liked a good story and a bit of learning. There, you met a scholar whose name didn’t stick with you, from the Rtawahist darshan.

They had the far-off look in their eye of someone who had seen a bit too much, for who they were. You knew that some scholars went mad in their pursuit of knowledge. Saw things that they couldn’t cope with even if they tried. Your new friend looked to be close to such a threshold.

Perhaps, in an act of pity, you took this scholar out for a drink. Or two. Or seven. The exact number of cups and goblets escapes you now. But what you do remember, as you sat together on a terrace high above Yazaha pool, legs swinging, was their ramblings.

“There’s a map of everything, up there.” They gestured wildly to the sky, twinkling and bright, with the moon as company. “Deciphering it... Well. That’s another thing. But it’s there. And if we figure it out, fate will be in our hands to know.”

They continued, stretching their hands to the cosmos above them, as if their fingertips could decipher the orchestration of the Gods with nothing but passion, wine, and will. It was admirable, in your drunken state. Perhaps foolish to your sober mind.

Nonetheless, such an idea stuck with you. Even after you departed from your bygone friend, and continue your wanderings, you think about it. You laid on your bedroll more than once, staring upward, and wondering—

Why did the gods mosaic the sky?

You are just a mortal, how are you to know? You tried not to dwell on that specific thought. The one you find yourself coming back to, in your worst nights—

(If I could read the stars, and foresee a tragedy, is there any way for a calamity to be stopped? If you knew fate’s charted course, the crest of its fortune and the wake of its tragedies— could you circumvent them?)

(Could you have stopped your calamity?)

It was a self-deprecating thought, and it dragged you back to a place and time that was both unpleasant and unnecessary to recall.

There’s no way to change the past, you reminded yourself. You could only move forward. Never back. You only balked at the stars in your weakest moments and pondered such ideas like fate and destiny. You could live in the illusion of carving your own destiny as you traversed Teyvat. One where you wrapped gauze around wounds after the disaster had passed. Heal sullied ground. You could do everything you could to help people. That was enough, you decided early on in your travels.

You’d help people (and avoid the nation Mondstadt). Simple enough.

One foot in front of the other.

PART i: there’s a puzzle we crafted

You’re tired.

So tired.

It’s a merciless type of exhaustion that you rarely, if ever, let yourself slip into. To wander Liyue’s peak and narrow paths in such a condition is dangerous, even if the Millelith and Guild did a decent job keeping settlements of Hilichurls suppressed. In general, you can take down slimes on your own— except when you find yourself this deliriously tired.

Normally, you don’t even bother traveling in this state. You would drag yourself to the nearest village, throw some mora at a layperson and set up shop wherever they had space. Be that an inn, back room, or stable— you aren’t picky. As long as you could rest for a few days, perhaps help out the village in your spare time.

Your most recent wanderings, however, took you far onto the Yaoguang Shoals for several days, and by the time you returned to solid, proper earth, you were desperately low on essentials. Your nearest respite was an old village crawling with Hilichurls. Your next best option would be a miniature expedition onto the shores of Dragonspine and hope the cold wouldn’t kill you before you could find shelter and stoke a fire.

So, you keep going.

All the way past Stonegate and the quarries beyond it. You’re only half-lucid as you wander into Mondstadt for the first time in years.

You roost in an abandoned cottage some ways down the road. Finally resting for the first time in days. Never mind your still-damp bedroll or the structural unsoundness of the ruin. You practically fall to your knees and pass out, given your state.

(Running has made you tired, hasn’t it?)

When you awaken, you ache. (Familiar). You nibble on the last of your rations and it hits you—

You’re back in Mond, aren’t you?

Archons.

You should leave, really. It’s your first thought when you realize where you are. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not even near the city proper, but a panic unfurls in your chest like you’ve been struck. You immediately begin to pack up your things—

Two things hit you then:

One: You’re far lower on supplies than you had thought.

This isn’t a new development, however. It’s just far worse than you thought. You paw at the contents of your bag, realizing that the dried zaytun peaches and jerky you had for breakfast were the last of your rations. The weather had been poor across Liyue in the past weeks, and many of the normal markets you would’ve run into were shuttered because of it. Regardless, you didn’t think you were on your last fucking morsels.

Deep in your bag, all you have is a torn, unusable tarp and a pitiful handful of the crystalline shards you used to purify water.

You don’t even need to look at your medicine kit to know the paltry state it’s in. Far too many empties.

Two: A burning sensation that splits you wide open and threatens to eat you alive.

You barely twist your foot the wrong way. Hardly at all. Regardless, something like liquid electro shoots from the twisted (broken, mutilated—) parts of your right foot, up your thigh, and shakes you down to your bones.

You stumble, using the wall for support and keeping your weight off the injury. It shouldn’t be aggravated this early in the day. You shake it off from your ankle, lowering yourself to the dirt floor to massage out any of the tension and subsequent pain that you can. You’ll be able to walk, surely, but it’s getting harder and harder to deny that the old injury isn’t worsening over time.

You remember, vaguely, hearing tell that there was a skilled healer in Mond once again. Younger, a Vision-bearer in the Church, maybe?

You know enough about the Church of Favonius that they would at least look at your injury, if this half-remembered healer really does exist and is affiliated with them.

You hate that Mondstadt seemed like the best option.

(Later, you’ll realize it’s all a bit like fate, pushing you toward that stupid city.)

You find yourself at a loss, shake your head, and sigh, “... I guess it wouldn’t... really be so bad to visit.”

You’ll just stay for a day or two.

...

Mondstadt’s front gate is so familiar it nearly hurts. The guards have different faces than the ones you remember from your youth. Their demeanor is the same— kind, open, like how people from Mond tend to be. They don’t hound you too much as you pass, and you enter the city without issue.

Midday sun lights Mondstadt proper when you arrive (your journey from the quarries took a bit longer than necessary, considering your route went wide around a particular plot of land that you refused to go near.)

The city bustles with noise and activity. Merchants line the streets, carts and stalls overflowing. Seafoam banners and floral wreaths hang along the stone arches and walls, while garlands of fresh flowers stretch from building to building. The scent of fresh flowers, baking bread, and sweet wine envelopes you.

Windblume, you remember. It is spring, after all.

You hope the crowds of the festival will help you blend in as you meander through the city. You keep your head down, counting cobblestones and being quick with your purchases. Better to get in and out, probably. If you can snag a new tarp and bedroll, you could set up across the bridge for the night, and be gone by morning if you could track down that healer within the afternoon too.

As you walk up the main run of Mond proper, toward the fountain and the smell of warm spiced meat, someone, archons, gasps from behind you and says your name.

(Later, you’ll recall this moment. Perhaps kismet turned on its axis for you to still and—)

You freeze, going stiff. You’d know that voice anywhere. Sweet and teasing, curling down your spine in a way that feels both ambiently flirtatious and horribly familiar.

Part of you screams to ignore her. Let her think she has the wrong person and continue your journey in Mond unimpeded by an old specter. You could be out the gates in a number of hours, if not minutes if you really need to (run, run, run).

But, there’s a temptation. It breathes itself alive, from the back of your mind to the front, entirely unavoidable.

(How long has it been since you’ve seen a familiar face? One that you know instead of just recognizing?)

You turn slowly. “... Hi, Lisa.”

...

And, somehow, you end up in the Knight’s of Favonius headquarters, with a perfectly warm cup of tea in your hands, nestled in a library you hadn’t been inside for nearly a decade. It smells of old parchment and leather. Steam rises from your cup, fragrant with Sumeru rose and Guili cinnamon stick with black tea leaves. You recall the scholars of the Spantamad darshan favored this blend; you shared more than a cup or two during your visits to the Akademiya.

Lisa settles in the seat across from you, with a small box of pastries that look sticky and sweet. Your mouth waters.

“How have you been, dear?” Lisa gives you a soft look. “It’s been so long.”

So long, you add to yourself. Sitting across from Lisa is giving you a gut-twisting sense of deja vu that has your palms sweating.

“I’ve been well,” you say, gently. “Travelling, still.”

“Oh, how exciting.” Lisa smiles and lays her cheek on her palm. “What was your most recent destination?”

You hummed. “I recently went to Natlan’s capital, just for a few months. I ended up staying with a smith who gave me odd jobs in exchange for housing.”

“Oh, wow,” Lisa preens for you. “And before that? I apologize, dear, I’m not caught up with your journeys.”

Ah, the lack of letters.

“I apologize.” You rub your forehead. “I haven’t been writing lately. It’s been... hard to keep track of things, though it’s not an excuse.”

“I would disagree.” She flashes you a sympathetic smile. “You’ve been crisscrossing Teyvat; it makes perfect sense why you would struggle to keep in touch with folks. I’m sure you’ve met plenty of friends on your travels, too. I imagine you have lots to juggle.”

Lisa is partially correct, you suppose.

“You continue to give me so much amnesty— too kind,” you laugh, and lean back in your chair.

Lisa looks a bit wistful as she puts down her cup in exchange for one of the pastries. You recognize the expression on her. You’ve only seen her wear it once before.

“How long are you staying in Mond?” Lisa asks, nodding down to the box. You leave the treats untouched.

“Not long.” You refuse to look at her as you answer, “Just for the day. I needed some supplies and Mondstadt was the most convenient.”

It’s a clinical answer. One you say intentionally, perfectly, so she can’t poke holes in your logic. You hope, pray, she doesn’t push back on your short visit. Any longer, and you might accidentally run into more faces you don’t wish to see. Lisa was tangentially related to... everything, but she was the least obtrusive person you could have run into. Still, you’re in the lion’s den, in the Ordo’s HQ, for a cup of tea, praying that you can slip in and out undetected outside of Lisa.

(It’s easier like this, you tell yourself. You can’t get twisted up in this place again.)

Lisa examines you, tracing you up and down with her gaze in a way that’s horribly disarming. If it was from anyone else, you’d think they were checking you out, especially with the sweet, upward quirk of her lips. But, this is Lisa, and you had forgotten how astute she is.

“Only a day? That’s a shame.” She sighs, sitting back and stirring the tiny spoon perched in her teacup. “It's Windblume. You should stay.”

“I could,” you muse and give her a sympathetic smile. “But, I don’t think it would be wise. It would be better if I got on my way quickly.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How far back would a few days in Mondstadt put you on your travel plans?”

‘Plans’.

You nearly bark out a laugh, but you keep it lodged in your throat.

“Not terribly far, but I... I don’t want to stay, Lisa.” You reach across the table and squeeze her free hand. “It isn’t good for me to linger here.”

The look she gives you breaks your heart. Her brows wilt, her eyes get a little sadder, and she grips your hand unyieldingly. “... Are you sure, sweetheart? I’m sure the Knights could put together some lodging for you—”

She presses, and you hate the feeling of it. You know her kindness is not misplaced, but it makes you roll around in your skin regardless. Archons. You interrupt her with a tight smile, “Truly, Lisa, I am grateful for the offer, but I will be on my way come tomorrow morning. Perhaps another year.”

“Perhaps.”

You sip your tea in silence for a moment. You stew, barely, not at her specifically but circumstance. It boils just underneath your skin, just as it has been since you entered Mond’s border. Speaking to Lisa has only made the feeling grow and burn.

You can’t meet her gaze— you can’t. You can feel it on you regardless. You know you’ll see more pity and maybe that familiar bite of anger she wields so well.

“Why don’t you tell me when and how you got that Vision then?” She nods low, down to your waist. Your dendro Vision hums there, tied to you with a fraying, braided string that desperately needs replacing.

There isn’t a problem with indulging a bit of... this, is there? You’re only sitting to chat. Drinking some tea. You can hunt for that healer and duck out of Mond’s walls by sundown. Easy. You pluck one of the buttery-looking pastries from the box and plop it on your plate.

“Sure, but only if I can get a refill on this tea.” You smile and raise your cup.

...

You lose track of time, talking to Lisa.

You do tell her how you obtained your Vision, and of your subsequent journey through Snezhnaya to its port following your graduation. She tells you some of the new gossip of Ordo Favonius, and that she’s been thinking about picking out a ring to give to Jean (though, she has a hunch the other already has one in mind. Lisa thinks it'll be fun to meddle with whatever precise plan the Acting Grand Master (nice) has in place.)

She continues to pour you tea and push more baked goods onto your plate. You enjoy them, and her company. It’s a rare treat to sit down for so long with nothing more than chatting on your mind.

“How was studying in Snezhnaya?” Lisa asked, eyeing your various bags. “Cold, I imagine?”

“Very.” You grimace, fishing around in your satchel. “But, worth it.”

You pull forth a palm-sized metal insignia. You keep it tucked away, most of the time, only flashing the thing when necessary. You only need legitimacy every so often.

“Oh, wow.” Lisa gawks a bit. “May I see?”

You hand it to her. “Be my guest.”

She studies the metal, running her fingertips along the edges where the different colors meet. Vibrant blues meet greens and whites, with pink and purple flowers cast around the bottom edge. The shape resembles something between a shield and wheel, with each one of its seven portions having some meaning for the institution. They escape you now.

“I’ve heard that the Tselostnyy School is quite the place,” Lisa says. “No one at the Akademiya seemed fond of them, but I imagine it was out of some sort of insecurity.”

You snort. “Probably. Folks at Tselostnyy actually teach healing— not just study the human body for the sake of some academic pursuit. The two schools have opposing goals.”

It was one of the main reasons you declined to apply to the Akademiya at all.

“I’m glad you found a place to study— I know it was hard, after Teacher passed away.” Lisa reaches out as she speaks, going for your hand.

You withdrew your own from the tabletop, hiding it in your lap. “It was. But I managed.”

‘Managed.’

Lisa gives you a look that drips pity. She looks as though she’s going to reply, just as the door to enter the library clicks open.

Your gut drops to the floor and your shoulders stiffen.

“Lisa? Could you proofread this draft for me? I’m afraid I sound too formal again—” It’s Jean, it’s Jean.

It’s her voice, the distantly familiar click of her hard heels against the wood flooring. You bunch the fabric of your trousers in your fist, forcibly reminding yourself to breathe. Jean walks from behind you, rounds the table, stops at Lisa’s side and looks at you.

Jean’s eyes widen.

“Oh, sorry sweetheart— I’m a bit busy with a friend right now,” Lisa says easily, oblivious (seemingly, probably not.) She gestures to you and winks. “I can take a look after lunch, if you can take a break with me.”

Jean says your name— gasping it more or less, tightening her grip on the document in her hands.

“... Hi, Jean.” You give her a little wave. “How have you been?”

It’s bittersweet, the feeling that curls and grows in your chest as she brightens and pulls up a chair next to Lisa. It’s familiar and rotten, all the same.

...

The commotion in the library brings other visitors.

Lisa wears a smitten smile as other knights make their way into the library. Aramia and Flyn— they look older, long grown out of their adolescence and more into their skin. Hertha has crinkles around her eyes that grow tight when she recognizes who you are.

The Spark Knight barrels in the room being lazily chased by—

Kaeya.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

He scoops up the little knight and turns to the tea table, now surrounded by familiar faces, and you can see he has his lips pursed for some sort of teasing quip. Probably at the expense of the Ordo’s acting Grand Master and Librarian.

Then, Kaeya sees you.

You watch his jaw snap shut. Whatever clever thing he had to say dies on his tongue and you watch it. It’s a little satisfying after all this time. You’ll cherish this moment, you think. The split second of confusion, the realization, the shock and— the guilt.

He wipes the expression off his face easily, as if it were never there to begin with. But you’ll revel in his discomfort. Your own little revenge, several years too late.

“Oh, wow—” Kaeya whistles, clicking closer and settling Klee on his hip with a bounce. He says your name almost breathlessly. “Little sister, it’s been quite some time. We’ve missed you.”

“Did you?” You tilt your head. “That’s surprising.”

You hold your tongue. You dig your teeth into the sides of it, forcing yourself quiet. The feeling that’s boiling in your chest won’t be extinguished by verbally thrashing Kaeya in the middle of the Knight’s HQ— but, Archons—

It’s tempting.

“‘Sister’?” The little knight’s nose scrunches. “Mister Kaeya, you said you only had Diluc, who’s only kinda your brother. No sisters!”

“He’s teasing me,” you placate her, voice sweetening. The little knight looks at you with wide eyes, a little awed. “‘Mister Kaeya’ is an old friend of mine, we played together lots when we were little like you.”

An oversimplification, of course. Little Klee doesn’t need to know what happened after the sun-swept days of sword fighting and house ended at the winery. Kaeya’s air quickly fades as Klee squirms down and asks kindly for a hug. You don’t think she can remember you— you only held her once, when she was so small— but you know her kind age and remember so differently from your own.

“Why are you in town?” Kaeya asks. “I thought I’d never seen you within city limits again. Color me surprised.”

You lock your jaw, as Klee bounds away from you and wrestles her way onto Jean’s lap, “Passing through, is all. I’ll be gone by morning.”

“... So, you’re not staying for Windblume?” Kaeya sits, pouring himself a cup of tea. You think you might hate him. “That’s a shame.”

“I’m not,” you clarify and roll your eyes. “Though everyone is insisting that I do.”

“You really should.” Lisa takes the opening and insists, “It would be lovely to have you.”

Of the group that has congested in the library, you only hear agreement. Jean has a bright look in her eye that makes you shy away.

“I... I really shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Kaeya grins, foxlike. You think he just likes making you squirm.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Jean inquires, setting her chin on her fist.

“Well, no—” There’s always somewhere for you to be. You can’t stay. You shouldn’t even be here now.

“Then, stay.” Eula leans against the doorframe, entered at some point.

You’re being thoroughly peer-pressured, it seems.

“...I’m being bullied into staying for Windblume, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps.” Jean gives you a sheepish grin. “You’re missed, Windblume is just an excuse.”

You ache.

“Stay in the city, enjoy some wine,” Lisa insists. “Catch up with folks. I’d love to see more of you while you’re here. I’m sure you have stories to share of your travels.”’

You barter, “... If I do stay, I need to find a healer. I heard that there’s a skilled one, living in Mond. A Vision holder.”

Jean opens her mouth, but Kaeya speaks first. “Done.”

You consider.

You’re fully aware that your arm is being horribly twisted into staying for Windblume. You know this is unwise. But—

(There’s something to it. Something you can’t admit it to, not aloud, not yet— but being in a room full of people who do not see you as a stranger, but rather an old friend. They know your name, and you know theirs. There’s something to knowing the streets you will walk if you stay. Familiarity is a wretched comfort.)

“If you need lodging, the knights could easily put you up in the dormitories,” Jean offers.

“No, I—” You sigh, scrubbing a hand down your cheeks. “I appreciate the gesture, but if I do stay I’ll camp outside the city.”

“So you’re staying?” Klee’s eyes shine.

“I—”

“In that case, come out for drinks tonight,” Kaeya insists with a sly smile that makes you want to eat glass. “I’ll buy a round.”

“Wait—”

“Angel’s Share does bring out its Windblume vintage tonight—” Lisa says enticingly.

“Absolutely not.” You smack your hand on the table, far louder than you intend.

Kaeya cocks his head, amused. Lisa and Jean share a look, and the rest of the knights look a bit bewildered. You hate to raise your voice, but Archons, this crowd can be pushy.

“I’ll stay. But I’m not going to Angel’s Share.” Never ever again.

Lisa does seem to notice her error in suggesting it and gives you an apologetic smile. She reaches for your hand and squeezes. You feel a bit lighter.

“Diluc won’t be there,” Kaeya states. On the nose. “He doesn’t bartend on weeknights, even during Windblume.”

“... Really?”

“He doesn’t,” Eula corroborates. “I have knowledge as well that he is in the middle of merchant deals with a group from Natlan. There is no reason to think he’d be at Angel’s Share this evening, if that’s your concern.”

You pick at the skin around your nails.

“I’ll think about it.”

(You agree, by the time you leave Ordo HQ. After many other promises of free wine and dancing, you find it hard to refuse. It doesn’t hurt that you confirm with multiple others that Diluc doesn’t bartend on weeknights. That he’s been caught up in business, and hasn’t been in the city much at all.)

...

You had enough mora for a few nights of lodging. You figured that Goth may have even given you a discount, as an old friend of his. Archons know how many times you worked odd jobs for him and his sons, patching up walls and the occasion twisted ankle or jammed finger.

After some searching, you find Goth in one of the many gardens of Mond proper. As happy as he is to see you, he regretfully informs you that he has no free lodging.

“Windblume has booked out all of my short-term properties,” Goth sighs. “Unless you’re looking for a minimum six-month lease, I don’t have any rooms available.”

(Goth explains to you that the goddamn Fatui has rented out the entirety of his hotel... indefinitely? Upfront? Hence the lack of a room.)

You tell him it’s no trouble, wave off his concern. You don’t mind a few more nights of camping. The only allure of an inn or hotel was the possibility of consistently bathing and a soft mattress.

You pick a spot outside of Mondstadt proper to set up your camp. There are many tents already set up— travelers, like yourself, here for the festival. You recognize colors and fabrics from all over Teyvat. It warms something in you, that you aren’t alone in being an outsider here.

(Such a thought feels wrong, because it is, isn’t it? You aren’t an outsider at all. This is your home. The only place you’re not an outsider.)

You struggle to set up your tent, and decide to leave it for later. Wandering around Mond for the afternoon aggravated your injury, and you instead take the time to poke around in your medicine kit for a quick tincture. Something to settle the—

(Burning, screeching pain that tracks up your leg. You’re grateful the other travelers aren’t watching how you collapse against a pile of discarded crates, barely holding back a hiss of pain.)

(It’s getting worse, isn’t it?)

Teacher always said that nothing was harder on sickness and wounds than stress. It was a wisdom you remembered but barely heeded.

You use the dropper and place the tincture under your tongue. It tastes bitter and coats your throat as you swallow.

...

The sun rains gold on Mond as you meander toward the Angel’s Share. Liquid amber that coats the buildings and cobblestones. It’s nostalgic in too many ways, and it makes something behind your ribs ache.

(You’re hit with the distinct urge to run. To turn tail and leave Mondstadt forever, again.)

You shove it down, swallow it whole, and bear it. Bear it. Not forever, just for a few days. You can catch up with some old friends, leave any old scores unsettled and untouched (undisturbed, unthought about—), and depart. Maybe even fix up your foot in the process.

You hesitate outside of Angel’s share.

It looks different than you remember. The door and its frame have been replaced, the door and its frame hardly ached. There’s a message board outside that you can’t recall being there previously. A wreath hangs on the door, woven with blue and white flowers for Windblume.

You want it to be different. You do. Because if things are different, walking into Angel’s Share wouldn’t feel so daunting. You could pretend that this horribly familiar tavern was someplace else entirely. Maybe even delude yourself into thinking that this little building was its own, unique, carved-out square during one of your travels. A fantasy where you’ve never been here before.

(The warmth under your disgust wouldn’t feel so misplaced then.)

You enter.

It’s lively, bustling with patrons of all types with the festival beginning so soon. You recognize clothes and people from all corners of Teyvat, and it comforts you once more. You blend in easily, lingering near the door, and peek at the bar.

Diluc is nowhere to be seen. Another barkeep mans the kegs, barrels, and bottles. You don’t recognize him— which brings you some relief.

It would be easy. To be delusional about this whole thing. That Angel’s Share could be just a tavern in the middle of nowhere and the faces that are around you have no chance of being familiar. You’re in a sea of folks who are travelers, just like, or mostly unfamiliar. You could, couldn’t you? Tell yourself that this isn’t a place where—

(You had your first drink. Learned how to mix cocktails with Crepus. Play fought Diluc and Kaeya in the rafters on the third floor. Where you last saw Diluc—)

You clutch a hand to your chest. Who knew that emotional pain could be so violently physical?

Jean calls your name from across the room, pulling you from your stupor. You meet her eyes, and the smile you force to meet your eyes feels a little more genuine.

With the call of your name, several other patrons look up and gawk for a moment. You get a few more ‘oh hello!’s and ‘I didn’t know you were in town!’ thrown your way and you give them all sheepish smiles. Faces you can’t place very well. Features and familiar expressions mutilated by time and a botched memory. It makes you feel sick to your stomach— archons, and you haven’t even sampled this year’s selection of thousand-wind’s wine, have you?

Jean flashes you a sympathetic look when you finally make it to their table. The table is flushed full— intimidatingly so. The knights have come out tonight. Lisa and Jean cozy up on the same bench seat, while Kaeya (die) and Albedo sit across from the two. You offer the alchemist a timid wave, which he returns in kind. Some of the other knights have spilled out to the tables around you, chattering away with wine-stained lips.

And the night’s still young.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show,” Kaeya practically purrs (choke) and leans closer to you on an elbow. “Were you able to find some lodging for the festival?”

“Yeah, I found something that will work.” It’s not technically a lie. Besides, they don’t need to know where you’re sleeping.

Kaeya raises an eyebrow and Albedo elbows him politely in the ribs. You make a note to buy him a drink later.

“I’ll get this round,” Lisa says, standing and grabbing you by the arm. “My treat. A welcome home present.”

You let her tug you through the crowd.

You end up seated properly at a barstool while Lisa orders. She wove her way through the crowd and up to the bar so easily, like liquid. You hardly have to wait at all before a drink is passed to you across the bar top.

You gulp half the glass down, greedily.

You, notably, have chosen not to cessate from dandelion wine in your absence. It was a rare treat to come across outside of Mond and Liyue, so when you could get your hands on glass, you let yourself partake. Whatever melancholy it brought with it could be tempered with more of it anyways.

It goes down easy— it always does. Thicker than other wines, sweet but bodied, with some type of nutty and berry note to it. You never understood the process of winemaking, despite so many years spent at the winery. When Crepus or Diluc or one of the staff attempted to explain, it all easily went over your head.

The tannins sour your cheeks. You swallow down another mouthful, greedy, and slam down your empty goblet. Lisa looks at you wide-eyed.

“I don’t recall that you were ever much of a drinker,” Lisa remarks as she flags down another glass for you. She sips her own, mischief in her eyes.

You shrug, nodding to the barkeep who fills your cup. “I indulge, occasionally. Forgive me for needing a drink in this environment.”

You gesture to the carousing around you. A lyre and fiddle play in the corner, and you distinctly hear two different bard songs. One is significantly better than the other, and you may have even enjoyed it if you could hear it fully.

Being near the bar forces you to see changes. They’re hard to not notice. The signage behind the bar has changed. An old menu and drink list have been changed out for something sleeker. Paintings and their frames replaced. The glass you’re drinking out must be new, along with the tankards that the barkeep washes whenever he has a free moment.

There are still ghosts in the corners.

“Gods, you look like a wet towel.” Kaeya’s shouts, nearly in your goddamn ear, as he slips into the empty seat next to you. He drapes an arm over your shoulders like you’re old friends and not the byproducts of a dissolved relationship. You think about shrugging his arm off, but decide against it.

You throw back the rest of whatever is in your glass and shout for another.

Kaeya catches your eye for a moment with a nearly unreadable expression. You recognize it (and concur that you need to be far more drunk than you currently are in order to survive the evening.) His brow lays smooth, lips in a not-quite smile, and his posture is a bit too rigid. You know he’s picking you apart, albeit quietly.

The expression disappears a moment later, and he has a new bottle of wine in his hands (“For you, little sister.”) Your cup fills yet again, and you drink.

The world begins to feel fuzzier, easier, and the pain in your foot and leg dulls. God, you try not to indulge in drinking too often (it’s simply a recipe for reliance, given your condition. Regardless, you're a physician who knows better than to turn to the bottle rather than medicine), but you feel the temptation of it occasionally.

It’s an easy friend to indulge in under these circumstances.

One of the bards, the one with loose braids, strikes up a conversation with Kaeya, looping you in with an exchange of introduction. Your cheeks warm when you notice the slur of your words, sipping your cup to disguise any embarrassment. The bard must be drunk, with how much sweet wine he drinks, but he hardly acts it. Poised.

Lisa pats you on your back after your fourth glass, seemingly pitying you in your stupor.

The good bard, at some point, leaves Kaeya’s side. Kaeya’s back to leaning into yours, the furs of his outfit prickling your nose. If you were sober, you’d be spewing curses at him. But in your drunken mind... it was fine. Fine. Maybe the warmth of him against your side wasn’t entirely unwelcome either.

You loosen up, whether you want to or not.

Lisa drags you out of your stool after your fifth drink, to take pulls off a pipe a traveler offers and to dance with her in the main room of the tavern. The bards play a duet now, in tune, though the good bard from earlier carries the performance.

You laugh as she twirls you, dipping you near the floor. Some of the patrons cheer and whistle at the move, and you let loose a giggle that never would’ve left you in your right mind. Her face swims before you. Your insides are warm. Things are okay, maybe. For now.

So, you dance.

You dance with Jean and Kaeya, even dragging Hertha in for a round. Eula refuses, though apologetically. She’s a bit too drunk herself, and Amber insists on staying by her side to nurse her with water and pyro-warmed pets to the back of her neck.

(Do you envy them? Maybe. The skinship of it seems nice. They’re so familiar with each other, even from a distance. So lax and tender with each other even within such a setting. You cannot imagine receiving such treatment.)

Kaeya spins you back to the bar and buys you another glass.

“You dance better than you used to,” he croons in your ear. “even with that dreadful limp of yours.”

You bark out a laugh and punch him in the arm with hardly any force (you’ll regret not making it hurt more, later). “Wow, and here I thought wine curbed your silver tongue.”

“Unlike some, I can hold my liquor just fine.” He shrugs and sips.

You, on the other hand, turn the corner from ‘tipsy’ to ‘blasted’ as you hit the bottom of your goblet. Your stomach churns, spelling a hangover that will rot your stomach and the space between your eyes come the morning. The room doesn’t spin, not quite yet.

You lay your forehead on the bartop.

“Aw, had a bit too much?” Kaeya tsks. “How unfortunate of you, to not know your limits, even after all this time.”

You grumble something unintelligible.

He sets a cold hand on the nape of your neck and your ground yourself on it.

(You can regret it in the morning.)

You have absolutely no idea what time it is, though the tavern is still rowdy. You imagine late, at least near the high moon if not into the early morning. Windblume was a celebration of drinking after all. Angel’s Share stays lively, despite the hour, though the drone of voices and folk songs becomes lost on you as your eyes slip shut.

Amongst the din, there’s a firm thud— the sound of wood on wood. Another sounds just after, though much closer and more shallow. You only make out the sound because of its old familiarity. The sound of the counter flap falling and straining its hinges. It must be one of the only pieces of original hardware from the old Angel’s share— the sound is identical to the one in your memory (maybe, you’re drunk, you may just be nostalgic—)

The barkeep (Charles, he told you his name though you didn’t give him yours) shuffles away, maybe, based on the thump of feet amongst the roar of the tavern. A shift change.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show.” Kaeya’s hand leaves you. You can hear the grin in his voice.

There’s a huff from behind the bar. The clink of a glass. A squeak as it’s dried and shined with a rag.

“Do you think I’m unreliable?”

Your eyes stretch open, wide, in a flash. Horrible, wretched familiarity (with the way a voice can bring you so much anguish and warmth in tandem.) You don’t look up. You stare down at the floorboards, count the grains and notches in the wood. Steady your breathing.

You know that voice.

You look up, slowly, against all better judgment. If you were sober (Archons, if you were fucking sober—) you would’ve turned, held your eyes shut and ran out of the bar without looking back. You would’ve never dared to peak and pull the thread that dangled in front of you.

He’s blurry, but he’s there. A trim waist that leads up to broad shoulders, arms that bulge more than you remember, scarlet hair that falls in waves from a high-tied ribbon. Scarlet eyes, cut and polished like rubies.

It’s Diluc, who meets your gaze for the first time in almost a decade. Just as shocked and wide-eyed as you are.

The glass slips from his hands and shatters.

PART iii: the World (born)

You met Diluc Ragnvindr when you were just children, doing what children do best— playing while the adults talked.

Your parents— traveling merchants— and Crepus Ragnvindr sat down for wine and sweet rum after a lavish supper. Your parents shooed you off. They didn’t need you clinging to their legs while trying to discuss the intricacies of a potential (and lucrative) contract with Dawn Winery and its splendid dandelion wine.

Crepus takes you under his wing a bit, showing your parents to a fine vintage and you to his two boys.

“They like to play in the vineyard this time of day,” Crepus says, a bit wistful. He leads you by the hand. “The crystalflies soar lower when the sun dips beyond the hills, and the fireflies come out.”

You like fireflies.

He shows you out to the courtyard, and you catch sight of two boys scampering around amongst the greenery. Crepus calls them and they both dutifully bound over, the way young boys do, enthusiastic and fast. The one with the pretty blue hair follows the one with the pretty red hair.

Crepus introduces you. Kaeya. Diluc.

Diluc has round cheeks and a soft jaw. He carries baby fat still, pudgy in his arms and legs and round in his belly. His cheeks are flushed with the late summer’s heat and a day of play. He has a brush of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His hair is shorter than it will become, but long enough that you think your mother would envy him.

His eyes widen when he sees you. You’ll never be sure why.

(Kismet turned for him earlier, maybe. All it took was you.)

You spend the evening with your side wedged into Diluc's, watching the lazy flight of anemo crystalflies by the water. You tell the boys about the constellations you know, and make up a few that you don’t. You trace them in the sky with the tip of your pointer finger. You ask to braid Diluc’s hair and he lets you.

Crepus finds you all, just after dusk, dozing as the fireflies begin to dance.

...

Your family visits the winery several times each year. You enjoy the visits immensely. You’ve grown quite close to the Ragnvindr’s, and Kaeya too. You always barrel off your family’s wagon, running ahead of them to greet the boys, who are always waiting for you too.

You play swords with them, though you aren’t any good at it. You always bring them trinkets from wherever you and your family have been. You like to gift Crepus a book or two as well, though you don’t know what they’re about. You choose them based on the covers.

Diluc lights up when you hand him a little shell from Liyue’s shore. You tell him about the cliffs where you found it, and how you’ll go there together some day. You’ll show him the geometric columns of stone that seem to climb all the way to Celestia. You will show him where the sand bars become one with the sea, and how to dig for crabs and shells with your bare hands.

Diluc likes you, you think. He always lets you slip into his room after the manor has fallen asleep. You sit across from one another on the velvet window bench. You hug a pillow while he tells you about how he’ll start training as a knight soon. He holds a vision now— he pats it with pride.

(He tells you how he obtained his vision in your absence. The first time he picked up a sword against an adversary, it appeared to him. It’s a grand thing, brave. He was protecting one of his favorite stray winery kittens from a boar near the edge of the property. He raised his rubber training sword and he was granted Celestia’s blessing.)

You think he’s lovely.

...

The boys start training with Ordo Favonius. They practice with the Gunnhildr girl, the older one, who wears a ribbon in her hair and has eyes like midday sky. She’s a few years older than you, and intimidates you with her maturity, but she’s kind.

The older knights let you watch their training when your family visits. You post up during their drills, watch their forms, their blunders, and their successes. A knight named Varka always takes Diluc aside to teach him how to best wield his vision with his weapon of choice.

(A greatsword. A claymore. It’s almost your size, probably. The one Diluc uses during training is Favonius issued, smithed with their crest near the base of the blade. You know the one he’ll really use. A family relic that Crepus brought up from storage for him— a rectangular blade, metal cast in black and red, with an elaborate furl stretching from the hilt. Crepus asks Diluc to wield it when he’s ready.)

Kaeya offers you his sword, one day, at the end of training. The junior knights soak in their own sweat as you take the blade from Kaeya. The knights make it look so effortless to wield such weaponry. They carry it at the hip like it's an accessory and not carved metal. When you wrap your hand around it, the weight shocks you. You barely heft it up, struggling with the balance of it. The trainees rib you a bit for it, and it makes you blush hot and hard.

Diluc scolds Kaeya, taking the blade from you when it's clear that brandishing it one-handed as intended is close to impossible for you. You feel some relief when Kaeya takes it back and shrugs.

“You won’t have to worry about wielding a weapon like that— ever.” Diluc says on your way home (home, home, home, it’s becoming your home—) that day. “Especially a sword.”

“Why?” You ask.

“I’ll make sure you never have to.”

“Hm... what if I want to?” You try to be cheeky with him.

He gives you a playful shove and you bump into Kaeya. The latter groans and makes a choking sound.

“You don’t,” Diluc replies, flashing you a smile. “If you did, you would’ve played swords with Kaeya and I more when we were little. You always liked to watch.”

“It’s more fun that way!” You hip check him. “It’s interesting to see all of it, rather than participate.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kaeya chimes in. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how weak your arms are.”

He squeezes your bicep and you shriek at him, chasing him ahead down the path. You squabble all the way home (home, home, home), rolling down the hills back into the Winery’s valley. You belly laugh together, tears in your eyes. It’s good.

You only go silent when you notice your family’s wagon, packed and ready for departure, idling in front of the winery.

...

You don’t travel well, you never have.

Your parents had informed Crepus of this during your first visit (“Never well, even when my wife my pregnant— the little thing gave her the hardest time on the road.”) Despite this, you had always meandered with your family on their circuit from Liyue to Mond.

One of your visits to the winery, just around the turn of your childhood to adolescence, you fall ill.

Your parents brush off your complaints upon arrival. Chills, aches, and a cough— “It’s from the rain. Your clothes are still damp.”. Your usually lively arrival was dulled. You barely touched the dinner Crepus provided before retiring to your favored room.

You hate being sick. You hate how your gut churns and you feel so cold, despite the fire one of the maid’s stoked in the big fireplace. You sniffle and snot over the back of your hand, fighting tears. You fall ill so frequently, but it doesn’t make it easier. Even your softest clothes feel scratchy against your tender skin— you feel horribly breakable.

There’s a gentle knock on your door before it opens. Diluc joins you by your bedside, kneeling, watching you with wide ruby eyes.

“My father told me you’re sick,” he says gently. “You don’t look well.”

You give him a wilted look. “It happens.”

“... It shouldn’t,” Diluc says with a conviction that your fever forces you to miss. “He says that you get sick often.”

“I don’t travel well.” You parrot what you heard your parents say a thousand times, to innkeepers and merchant-folk alike. “It’s alright, Diluc. I’ll be well in a few days.”

Your teeth chatter. You bury yourself deeper in the covers.

Diluc looks unconvinced. He disrobes as much as is proper, and asks quietly if he can join you. He’s warm, from his pyro vision, he tells you. He can see how cold you feel.

Whether he had such a vision or not, you would’ve said yes.

You pull away the duvet, inviting Diluc closer. It’s innocent, a sharing of heat. You press your forehead to his chest and he lets his arms fall naturally to your waist. It cages you. It feels safe and warm, and you don’t think you’ve felt that before.

You give him the smallest ‘thank you’, voice burnt and charred with fever. Diluc chases off the chill and embers alike, replaces them with the hearth that he will become to you, and you think that kismet might’ve shifted for you then, too.

...

You leave, a few days later, still sick.

You return, several months later, still sick.

Whatever cold you had during your last visit had metastasized— or so your parents say. They seem moderately unconcerned as they sort through the inventory they’ll be taking for their run.

Crepus doesn’t look convinced.

Diluc helps you inside. You barely hold yourself on two feet, and need to stop and catch your breath several times. Kaeya loops his arm over your neck and Diluc hoists you by the waist, and the two nearly drag you to your room.

A doctor is called, a healer from Mond that knows the Ragnvindr’s well. Diluc and Kaeya stay by your side as the healer draws up tincture and grinds down herbs and oils into a soft balm to slather on your chest.

Diluc lays with you in bed again that night, over the covers, not daring to touch you. You seem so fragile, only half-there in the room with him. He resents your parents horribly for allowing you to carelessly decline in such a state. It shows in the way his expression twists into a scowl whenever they’re within his vicinity.

...

Crepus offers his home to you— no, rather he insists.

You’re still ill, lungs gunky and fever hardly waned, by the time your family deigns it time to leave. They plan to cart you along, never mind your condition. Diluc, if he had less restraint, would’ve cursed them out in the winery’s foyer.

(The wet sound of your breathing. The little whimpers when your fever spiked, signaling that it was time for more of the tincture the healer left behind. The way you balled your fist in his nightshirt during the worst of it.)

Crepus says it’ll be no trouble to house you, for however long you need. You’ve always taken to the winery easily, and clearly need a stable place to recover from your illness. He enjoys taking in a stray or two. One more, especially one he thinks so fondly of and that he knows his boys adore, is simply a blessing, not a burden.

...

Diluc ascends to cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius just around the time that you make a full recovery.

It takes months— for both of you. Diluc patrols and trains with the knights when he’s not by your side. He’s incredibly well-regarded by Mond, beloved by his fellow knights and the townsfolk as well. He has ample support from all around, and his father glows with pride.

(Diluc bears the weight of his father’s expectations well. You don’t even notice Diluc squirm under the pressure of it. It all seems to come naturally to him— being a hero.)

You see your healer every few days, drink your teas and diligently rest while you recover. The illness sticks in your lungs and you take to reading up on medicinal plants and potential treatments. It gives you some understanding of the remedies that your healer makes for you. Your healer finds you promising, despite your sickly state, and offers you an apprenticeship, if you choose to pursue such a profession.

It’s success after success, a time bathed in thick gold sun that feels as warm as it tastes.

You and Diluc dance at his ascension celebration. He holds you by the waist, clumsy like the young man he is, but you don’t mind. You loop your arms over his shoulders, memorizing the blush that paints his cheeks, and the dimples that carve them. You twirl him under your arm and laugh up to the sun and moon alike. You pull the ribbon from his hair so it unfurls over his shoulder. You run your hands through it without a care.

(Diluc looks at you, when you’re not looking at him, with such a reverence. You can’t see it yet, but it’s a burgeoning thing. Love and devotion caramelized by innocence, by want and need intertwined. He doesn’t know how to say how he feels, not yet; the feelings are still loose and undefined. But smoldering kindling he is.)

...

Crepus offers his home to you, permanently. You have taken to it so well, and his boys— his boys adore you. The staff does. You have so much growing for you in Mond, it seems silly to pack up your belongings small and tight so you can ride out on merchants circuit once more. Only to return sick once more.

You accept, hesitant at first. It’s a scary thing to give up the life you’ve known, even if the one Crepus extends to you is far more comfortable. Your parents have no qualms. You think they enjoyed your absence too much. They seem content to leave you at Dawn Winery, promising to continue their circuit, so you’d see them a few times a year.

It makes something in your ache and cry, but there’s many things to balm it in the manor. A warm fire and Adelinde’s recipes, along with whatever new tarts and sweets Crepus brings home from Mondstadt proper— they all make it easier. Good company too. Kaeya always has new ideas for schemes and little adventures. Crepus brings you gifts and makes sure you’re settling in well to your new space. Diluc is ever-dutifully at your side, whatever the circumstance, and you at his.

You still sneak into Diluc’s room in the late night. You nestle up, side by side, on his plush window bench. You link pinkies and talk about everything.

...

“I thought this one was a bit boring.” You look up to Diluc, backwards, craning your neck. “The love interest was a bit shallow for me.”

“I agree,” Diluc answers from above you. He shuts the book deftly with one hand. “This author’s pieces usually have a bit more depth to them. This one was a bit flat.”

You tend to come to the same conclusion on the stories you share.

The Small Study (ow, ow, ow, ow) is a room most near Crepus’ wing of the manor. It’s exactly as it sounds— a small study. Something Diluc’s mother made sure was constructed for him, prior to her leaving. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line the walls, with a long table slicing the room in two. When you were young, very young, you, Diluc, and Kaeya would sit at the table and write your own stories. Color with paints that Crepus bought for you from Snezhnaya on recycled receipts and old ledgers.

These days, the table is mostly bare and a bit dusty. You use it more than Diluc, though most of your studying with your teacher happens at their cottage, in Mond proper. Diluc and Kaeya have a training room a few doors down, one that Crepus constructed, with mats and straw targets, and more armaments than Ordo Favonius probably knows about.

Most of your time in the Small Study is spent in the corner, tucked close to each other. You have amassed an impressive number of spare sheets, pillows, and blankets, and have constructed what could only be called a nest. You and Diluc take to lounging on it in the mornings and evenings, when you both have the time. You read together. Sometimes you aloud to him, and sometimes him aloud to you.

Diluc’s voice has taken to breaking lately. You find it adorable and can’t help teasing him about it.

“I’ll have to hunt for a new novel at the markets today.” You sigh. The sun is rising above the cliffs, bathing the shelves and columns of dust ichor gold. You throw your hand up, watching the beam soak your skin warm.

Diluc catches your wrist and brings the back of your hand to his lips.

Little things, skinship, he likes. He never says anything much about it, only asks quietly if it's alright that he keeps such proximity to you. You eat it up, his heat, his presence— you want all of it. You’re gluttonous in your youth (you have yet to know starvation.)

“Be careful on patrol today, okay? I’m helping Adelinde make that sweet bread you like before I visit Teacher.” You huff, maneuvering to you’re at his eye level. You tug his cheek, still soft with baby fat. “You better not have any extra bruises when I pick you up today.”

“I’ll try.” He rolls his eyes. “Even if I do, you’ll patch me up, won’t you?”

“I could have Teacher do it,” you huff. “I know you don’t like how rough they can get with you.”

Diluc scoffs, “They don’t like me—”

“They like you plenty—”

You squabble, soft in your chests, because it's all easy and slow. The romance novel gets tucked away into an overflowing shelf, bulging with others that you’ve already finished.

Kaeya is shining his blade in the armory, and you collect him before heading to Mondstadt proper. It’s a routine, each day, one that you enjoy and cling to. You enjoy your training and you feel only pride seeing your boys bud and grow in their strength. You fight, like young ones of your age do, but it's all in jest. Simple. Your squabbles get settled with wrestling by the river or when Crepus intervenes and fathers the three of you.

It’s good and you never want it to end.

...

Diluc grows into himself. He’s gangly in his teen years— long arms and bulging shoulder blades he’s yet to grow into. The pudge he’d had around his belly has disappeared, sucked away by a growth spurt or two. He grows a bit more into his frame, each year closer to adulthood that he gets. Muscle building on muscle.

Teacher says you’re doing well with your studies. You pour over books on medicinal herbs and medical techniques during the day, and watch Teacher heal when patients are around. You become adept enough to see patients on your own, for small injuries.

You fix up Diluc whenever he comes home to you. Cuts. Bruises. The odd fracture or two. He’s the person you ever stitch a wound together for. He doesn’t flinch. So trusting.

...

Crepus gets odd, at some point. You’re almost old enough to be considered an adult. He starts asking you questions you know the answer to, but it seems like he’s seeking something other than the truth. Sentiments that he wants to squeeze out of you, to satiate something in him that you can clearly see, but don’t know how to name.

(He’s a businessman— is it in his nature to be greedy—?)

(Forget. Forget. Forget.)

...

You wish it had stayed so kind and good for longer. You wish you appreciated it more, but you didn’t fully understand the goodness laid before you until it was so brutally ripped away from you.

The night Diluc turns eighteen, your world shatters. Burns. Immolates while you lay drunkenly dozing in a friend's warm bed. You don’t greet the wreckage until you awaken. Alone, drowning and with a new pang in your stomach.

PART iii: the stitch the wound the burning

You instantly slam your hands on the bartop. You whip your head around to Kaeya. He wears a wide, awful grin. So fucking smitten with himself.

You hate him.

“Fuck you,” you snap.

You push up, knocking the bar stool over with a bang. You turn on a heel and run from the tavern. Wordless.

(You run. You should’ve run. You should’ve never come back. Ever.)

You know the display caused enough of a ruckus that Angel’s Share fell nearly silent as you left. You know that your vision shuddered out of your control, sending dendro to liven the flowers around the tavern. It felt sick. To know that the blooms would be wider and more beautiful while you ran. Running, running, running.

Lisa and Jean, maybe, shout your name as you sprint away. You ignore them— you have to. The temptation to turn back and face them drowns in the wine that churns in your stomach. Your breath feels too hot and heavy in your lungs, like lead and steam. You feel like you might die.

(Diluc in the same room as you. Diluc in front of you. Not a ghost, a breathing body. Flesh. He would’ve been a bit too warm, to the touch. You know him to be. He’d grown so much— how much had you missed? Archons, you miss him—)

You barely get out of Mondstadt proper before you bracing yourself on one its outer walls, forcing your finger down your throat, and heaving your guts out onto the high grass. All of the splendid wine you sampled color the ground blood red, surely staining your lips. Tears drip from your lash line. You feel sticky as you draw your fingers from your throat, spit and dribble sliding down your wrist.

You curse and shake.

You wipe your hands down on your trousers and scrub at your lips with the edge of your sleeve. You spit pretty scarlet and nearly hurl again.

The sun has set, and the dark is a comfort. It cloaks you, allowing you to duck easily between shadows and firelight that other travelers warm themselves by. No one looks at you twice. You’re sure you seem like a drunkard, not— Not whatever you are. You drag yourself back to your campsite.

You fall to the ground, drawing up your good leg by the knee and press your forehead to it.

Fuck.

Fuck the healer. Fuck Windblume. Fuck seeing any friends or familiar faces. You discard the plans, crushing them down until you decide they’re not worth it. None of this was worth it. If you’d only ducked in and out of Mondstadt’s market, you wouldn’t have met Lisa. Gotten twisted up with Kaeya. Dared to enter Angel’s Share. Seen Diluc.

You knew the mere sight of him would send you. You knew. You feel foolish. Stupid. If you were a fraction more sober, you would’ve dragged yourself out of self pity and set up camp for the night. Instead you stew. You swallow back dread and bile and clutch your shoulders.

(You always knew this was a risk, coming back here, didn’t you? That’s why you never dared to even get near Mondstadt’s borders. Now you’ve done it.)

You certainly have.

You rub your eyes again, grimacing at the taste in your mouth. Forcing yourself up is a task, especially trying to keep weight off of your (now very) bad foot. You struggle to balance, propping yourself up on a pile of discarded crates and get to work setting up your campsite for the night. You resolve to sleep until dawn, pack up, and be on your way. You’ll head back to Liyue and catch a boat out of the harbor. You’ll go anywhere. Do anything.

(To be far away from here.)

You struggle with your tent and tarp. It’s infinitely harder to set up your sleeping arrangements when you’re hobbling around on one leg. Emptying your stomach of its content has made you lightheaded (or, it's the panic that is thick and porous in your blood. Burrowing into your flesh. Will you even be able to sleep tonight?) You fight to keep your breath steady as you struggle to stake the tarp into the dirt.

Someone says your name from behind you. Breathes it like it's lighter than air, weighted like a gospel.

You turn, for the second time, against better judgment.

Diluc stands above you, wearing the same shocked expression he had in Angel’s Share.

Your lips twist, your brow falls. You feel yourself sink. It’s the same feeling you get in your stomach when you’re put toe-to-toe with an adversary out in the wilderness. It’s the feeling you get when you get a patient a little too late and can’t be sure if you’ll be able to drag them back from the brink.

You breathe his name right back.

“... You’re here,” he says. His voice has evened out. Deeper than you remember, and rougher, but barely.

“I am,” you answer as neutrally as you can. You school your expression and turn back to your tarp. “Please leave.”

Diluc doesn’t answer. He’s frozen above you, so close that you swear you can feel the heat coming off of him.

“Don’t ask me to do that,” Diluc says, like a demand and not a request.

You bristle.

“I’m setting up my camp for the night,” you state plainly. “Then I will be sleeping. I will be gone by dawn tomorrow. I apologize for any disruption I caused at... at Angel’s Share.”

You press your hands over the top of a nail. The iron digs into your palms. You shove at it anyway, until it’s snug against the earth.

“I don’t care about that,” Diluc replies with an edge to his voice that’s unfamiliar. “That’s not of consequence.”

“... Then why are you here?” You crawl across the ground, brace yourself on a crate, and stand. Your weak foot hovers just off the ground. “Why follow me, Diluc? I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You say his name like it's a curse and face him.

(And it’s like coming home.)

(If you had any less of yourself, you would’ve sank into the earth and wept.)

“I don’t,” he says. Arms crossed. Shoulders square. You see him struggle with his words, chewing on the inside of his cheek, just like he used to. “You left so quickly, and Kaeya—”

“Bastard,” you spit.

Diluc muffles a laugh (a full sound so lovely— you used to do anything to hear it). “He didn’t tell you I would be bartending, I’m assuming?”

“He told me, expressly, that you would not be bartending.”

“... It is my tavern. Windblume is the busiest time of the year.” He looks a bit wounded. You can’t tell if you’re imagining it. “Kaeya sent word that Ordo would be at Angel’s Share in full force this evening. My presence was called.”

You scowl, “I realize that now.”

Diluc sighs, deep and hard and full, “You left so quickly, and Kaeya told me you were most likely staying outside of the city. I was... worried.”

You let out a breath through your teeth, maybe a laugh, some unholy thing and you shake your head. You can’t bear to look at him for too long, “Well, I’m fine. Promise. I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Clearly.”

“And you weren’t expecting to see me?”

“No.” Diluc sighs. “I... No. I wasn’t.”

You don’t know what else to say to him.

“Go.” You shoo him off. “I need to finish setting up and get some sleep. Sorry again for causing any trouble.”

You turn away, going to reach for your tent—

Diluc grabs your upper arm. He keeps you steady and upright.

“You didn’t.”

The contact burns. Sears through you like you’re just gossamer and old silk. You tense with it. When did his heat become unfamiliar?

You open your mouth, part your lips just barely, but nothing comes out. Your mind empties.

“Come back to the winery.”

His words cut you from any of your reverie. Your grief forces itself up in plumes, from the base of your spine to the corners of your damp eyes.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You tear away from him.

He lets you go. (You suffocate the part of you that mourns the loss.)

“It’s not safe outside the walls.” He takes a step back. Breathing room. “There’s no lodging available in the city, I’m sure you found.”

“I did, and I’m fine out here, Diluc. I can protect myself just fine.” You pat the dendro Vision on your hip. Your weapon remains unsummoned and out of sight.

“It’s going to rain.” Diluc frowns. “And, your tent is torn.”

He gestures behind you, and sure enough, a massive tear runs through an entire side of your tent. You hadn’t noticed.

(If you will not go where you are supposed to be, perhaps fate will push you there? Align the stars and cosmos just right—)

“I recall that you never enjoyed camping,” Diluc says and it's like a knife to the chest. The idea that he remembers anything about you. “You’ll have a bed for as long as you’d like.”

“Diluc—” You’re near to cursing him out, let the Archons, Celestia and the damn Stars hear it—

“I’m sure Adelinde would love you to see you too.”

Oh.

Oh— Adelinde. When was the last time you sent her a letter? Or read one of hers? You have a stack of them, sealed with purple wax and bound in twine, shoved in your bag. Among your most prized possessions. You’ve hardly let the ink smudge, despite time and condition.

“... She still works for you?”

“Of course.” Diluc’s voice sounds strained.

“Elzer too?” You ask.

“Yes, he’s been at my side since—”

“Since you came back to Mondstadt,” you answer for him. “Since you returned to the winery.”

Elzer had been at your side too, when you were running the winery in Diluc’s absence. Same with Adelinde.

Archons, you miss them.

“I’ll stay at the winery,” you say after a beat. “So I can see them.”

Diluc lets out a sigh, shaky and short. He flexes his hands, open and closed. Relieved. The moment of vulnerability passes.

“Will you be able to walk there with—” He gestures to your foot.

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” You put weight on it, swallowing down any pain. You can bear it.

Diluc offers his arm, and you refuse it, striding past him.

You walk side by side back to Dawn Winery.

...

It does begin to drizzle, eventually. Nothing close to proper rain, but a thick mist that dampens your hair and clothes. The chill of it sinks into you, unpleasant but not unbearable. You cling to the discomfort of it. You and Diluc do not speak to each on the way back, other than the time or two you announce you need a short rest for your foot.

Fatigue hits you as you stumble down the valley paths leading into the winery’s main grounds.

You blame the wine.

The front door looks almost the same, perhaps the wood refinished. Diluc pulls forth a shining brass key (different, than the one that you had during your tenure as ‘master’ of Dawn Winery. That key was thick, old iron. Rusting at its corners. It always felt cold and heavy. An entire year it was tied to you. Tethered to your waist on the very same belt that now holds your vision.)

The lock was replaced.

The interior of the winery is different too, you find. It makes stepping inside less jarring— the floors, once dark, long-planked hardwood, has been redone to intricate patterns of lighter, warm-toned wood. Less candles, more electro-powered fixtures set into the walls and ceiling. The couches look different, brighter and fluffier with fresh cushions. Even the grand carpet that covers the main room, bearing the Ragnvindr crest, appears to have been freshened. Maybe even re-tuffed. It’s generally brighter.

“You’ve... updated things.” Your voice trails off as you shrug off your cloak and hang it on your arm.

Diluc follows your line of sight to a new tapestry on the east-wall. Not of the family crest, but the vineyard. It’s far more ornate than any you remember; you can see the metallic gold weavings shine, even in the lowlight. The tapestry is ringed by paintings, portraits and some landscapes. You recall Crepus commissioning many of them, or creating them himself. There’s a number of new photographs as well.

“I have over the years,” Diluc replies. “It was necessary.”

You hum, pausing. “... I like it. It’s nice.”

It’s nice because it doesn’t feel quite as much like you’re walking into a still-breathing cadaver. You expected to be greeted with an interior you had seared in your memory. Corners you’d still see ghosts in, picture frames that were askew that you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to fix. You know which floorboards were creaky and which windows had the worst draft.

This version of Dawn Winery from your memory doesn’t exist anymore, in any way or facet. What’s left certainly isn’t blank or void, but it’s more unfamiliar than you expected. It smells like rose oil and beeswax rather than cedar and tobacco.

“Master Diluc? You’re back earlier than expected.”

Adelinde breaks you from your stupor.

She looks much the same— the same uniform, though perhaps her hair’s a bit shorter? There’s new wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, sun spots around her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are still kind. They go wide when she sees you, and the mug she’s holding nearly slips from her grip.

Your chest tightens.

She says your name and it’s like you’ve been cut through. Flesh parting around a sharp blade.

“Hi.” Your voice sounds soft and so much more broken than you can accept it is.

“Welcome home.” She smiles, all the way up to her eyes.

If you were a little more weak, perhaps a few months more weathered— you would’ve broken then. You would’ve fallen apart in the foyer of Dawn Winery, drowning and hungry and soaked to the bone in something colder than rain water. You hold yourself together, barely, thin threads wound around you to the point of constricting keep you upright. Sure-footed. Almost-whole.

But, Adelinde knows... doesn’t she? She must. She has an uncanny ability for these things. It’s because she watched you grow, watched your toils and supported you. Mothered you when needed. You counseled and consoled each other, during the worst of it.

It makes you feel less guilty, less ashamed, when you nearly throw yourself at her. You wrap your arms around her shoulders and smother your face in her shoulder.

Adelinde hugs you in kind. She still smells like pine-cleaner and that jasmine perfume she imports. She wraps you, in herself, squeezing so hard you’re afraid she’ll undo the strings binding your heart together.

“H-How have you been?” you ask. Tears sting your eyes.

She strokes the back of your head, through your hair. “I’ve been well. And you?”

You smush your face into her shoulder. You don’t know what to say to her. Instinctual honesty climbs up in your throat— you suppress it.

“I’ve been better,” you say, softly. You hope only she can hear. “Excited to sleep in a real bed. Take a bath.”

Adelinde goes still, slack— then she almost crushes you. You feel her heartbeat and your lip wobbles.

“I’m glad you’re home, then. Let me fetch you a cup of tea. I’ll make sweet bread in the morning.”

“T-That sounds nice. Thank you.”

Diluc, who has been silent and watchful, clears his throat. “They can take whichever room they like.”

“I’ll prepare the west wing guest room.” (Far from your old bedroom.) She whispers to you. “There was a Fontainisian merchant we were hosting— she left all of her luxury skincare and bath supplies here.”

You pull away, narrowing your eyes, “Are you implying something?”

“Not at all.” She gives you a good-natured smile. “They’re yours. Let’s get you settled.”

You nod and she guides you with a hand on your lower back, up the stairs, to the west wing. Diluc has made himself scarce, seemingly disappearing into thin air to the northern wing of the manor. You only half notice.

Archons, you’re tired.

Adelinde helps you settle in. She sets your bag on a vanity stool, shows you a newly renovated bathroom with a tub that could easily fit you and a Rishboland tiger in it. The rest of the details of the room fade. Something stickier and older than fatigue works its way up through your bone marrow, leaving your body as a yawn.

Adelinde gives you a sympathetic smile when she brings you a cup of lavender and chamomile tea.

The world is blurry when you crash into the pillows. They smell like the herbal detergent you suckered Crepus into buying during your teen years. Diluc liked it. Whatever potential revulsion you could have has wilted with your exhaustion. Instead, something warm brews in you. You shove your nose into the silken case. The feeling is good. You don’t mind it.

(Fuck, maybe you even need it.)

...

You sleep for three days.

You don’t mean to, and it’s not continuous. You rise for your promised sweet bread, tea, and a much-need, thorough bath. You’ve spent the past few months using communal bath houses or washing in rivers and lakes, quick and rarely relaxing. You indulge in the massive, stone tub for a private soak that leaves you pruney and smelling like rose oil and Natlani bright grass.

The position of the sun feels arbitrary. You just sleep. Like the fucking dead. No dreams, thank the gods. Thick curtains keep your room dark and you relish every moment. You hadn’t realized how deeply fatigue had woven itself into you. You’d become so acclimated to exhaustion, it only hit you when you finally had a (safe and) quiet place to sleep with no end date.

Adelinde brings an armful of clothes at some point. (“We put these in storage, when you left. I’m sure some still fit.”) Some do, thankfully, and you’re grateful to have more than four garments, especially when they go together. It’s nostalgic to slip into skirts and trousers you haven’t worn in so long, and you decide they’ll suffice. Unideal, but comfortable.

The tiredness is an odd blessing. You feel too blurry and foggy to really pick apart your feelings. All of them. You’re aware of the knot that’s formed somewhere between your ribs and gut (or rather, revealed itself), and you ignore it for as long as you are able to. No one comes to you except Adelinde, who never presses you.

(You don’t know what you would do if she did. Adelinde knows discretion, she knows wounds and scrapes and bruises, and knew yours once. Well and thoroughly. You think she can see all of your ills now too.)

(You’re glad she doesn't pry at you. In your moments between wakefulness and sleep, you tend to dream more loosely. You imagine what you might say to Diluc, had you... the opportunity without damage. What would you say to him? The you that’s mostly a dream screams at him sometimes. Enraged. Sometimes you cry, asking questions that neither your sleeping or waking mind has answers for. They’re not... unfamiliar dreams, but they’re unwelcome. They’re more vivid now that you’re staying in the Winery.)

They feel more real. Diluc is only rooms away at any given time.

(He’s not a specter.)

On the third day, you awake midday to a frantic knock on your door. Adelinde, you assume. Stumbling from bed, and pull on a dressing gown and nothing more, and pull open the heavy oak door—

It’s Diluc. Of course it is. In working trousers and a loose, white top. Dirt stains his knees and the tips of his fingers. Pretty red hair spills from its loose tie, bouncy with a fresh wash. He tenses, when he sees you. Fists balling at his sides and shoulders going rigid.

Your jaw locks and the air in your lungs suddenly feels heavy and too hot. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you gather up the satin of your robe before it has a chance to slip down to the crook of your elbow.

(Just seeing him sends you. Into a rage. Into a fit of grief. The visage of him forces you to reckon with something more awful and sticky and molten than you know what to do with.)

(You wish it was more avoidable.)

You freeze.

Your several days of rest afforded you the time to... ignore Diluc. Hide from him, and the knot that you desperately don’t want to unravel. Despite sleeping in one of his beds and eating his food, you need distance. It feels like you’ll explode if you don’t have it.

“The child of one of the vineyard workers is injured,” Diluc says, maybe a little out of breath. “Can you take a look?”

“Of course,” you reply without hesitation. A hurt child takes precedence over most things.

The child and his mother sit in Diluc’s foyer, you can hear them as you approach. The girl sniffles and clings to her mothers sleeve with one hand, the other limp in her lap. One of her legs splays the wrong way, equally limp.

You approach easily, introducing yourself. The air has an edge of crisis to it, but you wade through it easily. If anything, it’s comfortingly familiar. To be calm and confident in the face of serious injury or illness is often medicine in and of itself.

You set your large, leather-bound caboodle beside you and take to the floor. Your Tselostnyy insignia is pinned to the outside. The mother’s eyes dart to it as she pets over her daughter’s hair, and she relaxes at the sight of it. A qualified stranger, you are.

The mother is younger, someone before your time as the Winery’s temporary master which is a relief. Diluc lingers behind you, watching you work, probably. You attempt not to care.

You scooch forward, on your knees, knitting your fingers together and hover them over your patient. You focus on the spiral of dendro through muscle and bone, reading the injury:

Two clean breaks. Closed fracture of the left ulna. Closed fracture of the left femur.

It’s a miracle that the child isn’t shrieking in her mother’s lap.

“How did you get hurt?” you ask the child directly.

She sniffles. “I f-fell outta’ the big tree by the water. I was trying to climb it.”

Her mother almost scolds her, but you beat her to speaking. “That’s a hard tree to climb. The oaks by the stables are much easier.”

It’s just a slip of the tongue, to be so familiar.

You turn to the child and school a smile on your lips. “I’ll be able to heal your injuries with my Vision. You’ll get some medicine as well, and it needs to be stirred into juice. Do you have a favorite kind?”

The child looks unsure, and her mother answers for her: “She likes apple best.”

“Apple, master of the house.” You wave a hand behind you. “Can you fetch some?”

“Of course,” Diluc answers without missing a beat and you hasten him away.

Knitting your fingers together once more, you begin to work on her injuries. The child is holding up quite well, despite the immense pain she must be in. You work quickly regardless, but keep in mind you do have the luxury of time. There’s no one more broken or more sick just beyond her who needs to be treated as well.

Dendro sews together her bones. Encourages new flesh and muscle to grow where it is needed.

When Diluc returns, you instruct him further, gaze never straying from the knitting bones, “Take the third vial from the right on the top row of oils, will you? Stir half a dropper into the juice and stir for a minute. If you see oil on the top, keep going.”

“What’s the medicine for?” The girl asks.

“Relaxation and sleep,” You reply softly. “This type of healing is very effective, but it takes a lot of energy out of the person who is being healed. You’ll be tired once I’m all done, but you may have trouble resting since your body is still reacting to the shock of your injuries.”

The mother lets out a sigh of relief. Perhaps too wordy of an explanation for a child, but her mother seems grateful for it.

When the child’s healed into proper pieces again, you unknit your fingers and fall back on your heels. Diluc wordlessly passes the goblet of well-mixed apple juice to the child, who shakily gulps it town. The medicine doesn’t have much of a taste, more of an oily texture to it that requires it to be drunk quickly after being mixed. The juice must be from one of Diluc’s best stashes because the child beams after chugging it.

“... That’s it?” She asks.

You nod and crack your knuckles, now stiff. “That’s it.”

“... Nothing else?”

“Nope.” You crack your neck. “Other than the fatigue, but a few extra hours of sleep should remedy that. She’ll be back to normal after a nap.”

“Thank you,” The mother says and your chest feels sticky and warm. “I know that Barbara from the Church has similar skills with her Vision, but I’ve never seen healing like yours. Mondstadt could use a physician like you, you know.”

The feeling goes cold, but you keep your smile. Bear it.

“I’m sure they do.” Teacher’s shoes hadn’t been filled, apparently. And you’d departed to the Tselostnyy School and never returned.

The mother and her child give more thanks before leaving and you keep your facade up until they’re out the door. The girl’s no doubt ruffled still, even with the light sedative. The mother frazzled. The last thing you’d want to do is burden them with your own misplaced ire. They can’t know. They wouldn’t know.

Diluc, however—

He’s been the silent spectator to this whole affair. He idles by the couches and the hearth, arms crossed, still-dirtied from whatever vineyard work he’d been doing prior to fetching you. You’re sure he was working in the fields, heard the child shriek, and rushed to their aid. Typical.

Diluc stares at you like he could immolate you alive.

“You’re incredible.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like the sentence doesn’t implode something in you.

Your fists shake at your sides. “Hardly. It’s just my profession.”

Diluc works his jaw and considers his words. You note the way he looks stumped and lost. It’s not intentional, if you’re being honest— so there’s no harm in enjoying the way he stumbles to speak around you, is there?

(It’s only fair. Diluc had always been so sure-footed and sturdy with his words. To see him flounder now reminds you that he’s changed too. Something in him has paled and been mutilated, just like you. Two wounded. His suffering isn’t what you revel in, but the knowledge that he’s affected. Neither of you came out unscathed and you’ve spent the last years refusing to imagine how Diluc might’ve coped.)

“Will you have tea with me?” Diluc asks, the words ringing off the glass chandelier in minor key. “You don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“I will.”

...

Adelinde kindly brings you both tea, by the hearth and its embers. It’s served with a few small cakes and rounds of steaming sweet bread. Diluc takes his tea just as he did when he was young— a heavy dash of cream and a spoon and a half of sugar (“the half is very important” he had always said). Adeline leaves you a carafe of coffee and shoots you a gentle smile before leaving the two of you be.

You rest on one of the couches, leg pulled up beneath you and blow over the rim of your mug.

Diluc sits adjacent from you, in a resplendent mid-morning sun beam. The chair is high-backed, upholstered with the red and gold pattern of the Ragnvindr clan. He looks regal, like a king from the stories you used to read together. Sunlight halos the frizz in his hair and the dust that shifts around him.

He sits with one heel propped up on the opposite knee, cupping the tea cup from the bottom, unbothered by its heat.

(He’s pretty, just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe more so.)

It makes something in you feel rotten. You pick at your nails and curl over your core.

He glances at you and you look away into the hearth, into the small flames that eat at the last of a birch log.

Having Diluc in front of you is uncomfortable. Maybe worse than uncomfortable, as discomfort is bearable and the sensation crawling up from the back of your throat isn’t. It makes your skin itch and feel too tight. Your palms sweat. Maybe you want to puke.

(It’s dread, or something like it. Like just seeing him put you on a precipice you had convinced yourself didn’t exist.)

“When did you start drinking coffee?” Diluc asks, breaking you from your spiral. “If I recall correctly, you hated it. Too bitter for your palate, or something like that.”

Ah—

“In your absence. In the year I stayed here, when you left.” It’s the truth. “ Lots of paperwork. I got used to the flavor after a while.”

(You used to prefer tea, favoring some black variety that Crepus painstakingly imported from Natlan’s volcanic cliffs. The first time you tried to drink it following his passing, you retched it back into your cup.)

You both shift uncomfortably.

“I see.”

You pretend not to notice the way Diluc’s grip goes white-knuckled for a moment. Your chest feels tight, too tight, and you squirm under your skin.

“I don’t know how to face you,” you blurt out.

(You never thought you would have to.)

Diluc looks away from you, into the fire. “If you don’t wish to ‘face me’, then you don’t have to.”

“Are you suggesting I simply ignore you?”

“If that’s what you would wish to do.”

“That’s not what I asked.” You frown, something burning between your ribs.

Diluc chews on his words for a moment. “Allow me to clarify. I have no expectations of you while you’re staying within the Winery.”

“So, if I simply ate your food and slept in one of your beds, ignoring you, you’d be alright with that?”

“If that’s what you wish, then yes.”

(The answer hurts to hear. You refuse to think about why.)

“Alright.” You take a long sip of your coffee. You’re not sure when your stomach began to ache.

“You’re unsatisfied with that answer,” Diluc guesses.

“Entirely,” you reply. “You’re basing your wants off of mine. It’s bothersome.”

“It’s the truth. As I said—“

“You ‘have no expectations of me’,” you parrot. “Would you truly be satisfied if I didn’t speak to you at all while I’m here?”

Diluc chews the inside of his cheek (a new habit you don’t recognize). “My satisfaction isn’t of consequence.”

“Idiot,” You snap— you don’t mean to. “Of course it is. I don’t want to make this any more unbearable than it already is.”

“Do you think this is unbearable for me?”

“… Yes?” You feel yourself shaking. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

(It’s worse than unbearable. The feeling in your chest is blooming, radiating out into your arms and legs, down to your hands. There’s a buzzing in the base of your skull.)

“I understand that it’s difficult for you to be here,” Diluc grits out. “I do not want to make that any worse by some expectation or assumption you think that I carry. If you wish to enjoy the festival and ignore me, that’s more than fine. If it would be easier for you to stay here and think of me as only some type of… concierge, I wouldn’t resent you for it.”

(You hate it. You hate him. You hate Diluc Ragnvindr endlessly, perhaps. You want to burn Dawn Winery to the ground.)

“Do you really think I could ever think of you as anything other than yourself?” You spit, intending to. “It’s insulting— a fucking affront to think that I could view you in such a way.”

“I don’t know how you view me.” Diluc’s voice wavers with what you can only assume to be anger. “I’m trying to make this easier for you.”

“In what way?!” You stand. “Do you think ignoring you would be easier for me?”

“I am making a well-intended inference based on the fact that you haven’t returned to Mondstadt for years.” Diluc stares at you like he wants to— “I am assuming you’d like to continue to ignore me, given that you’ve never given any indication otherwise.”

“… You’re the one who left first.” You spit the words, like how a sword cuts through air. “You’re the one who left and gave no ‘ indication’ of returning.”

Diluc swallows, thick and hard with a bob of his throat and he rises to his feet. You instinctively take a step back. He opens his mouth, then closes it with a snap of his teeth. The fire cracks and a log loses its structure, tumbling in the hearth with a flurry of embers.

He looks lost for words. You let loose a laugh, something awful and torn that you wish you could stuff back down your throat.

“Nothing to say?”

“It was a long time ago—“

“Ah, it’s irrelevant to you. I see.” Archons, you don’t want this. You should’ve never come back. It can’t be worth it, can it? It feels like your ribs are being broken, one by one.

(How wretched it is, for him to have such a power over you.)

“Don’t twist my words.” Diluc rises, taking a step toward you. “I only meant to say—“

“I am well-aware of what you meant to say.” You want to vomit, maybe. “It was so long ago, so it’s easier, right? If I view you as nothing more than a doorman with a familiar face, and if you view me as a guest to be treated with pleasantries.”

(Let’s forget all the history. Etch a lie onto a slate that’s already been shattered beyond repair.)

Diluc’s expression twists. Your hands shake and you cross them over yourself, wrapping your arms over your own shoulders and squeezing. He looks… hurt. Gutted.

“Do you think me cruel enough to ever think of you in such a way?”

“Yes, actually.” You laugh with a shake of your head. “Not even a letter, Diluc? Couldn’t even spare me a thought, could you?”

(Meanwhile, you clung to the hope that he’d arrive home through the front door of the Winery for months. How many did you sit in front of this very same hearth, wrapped in his old blankets and left-behind clothes and pray to any God who’d listen that Diluc would return?)

The admission guts Diluc. You can see it in his face, the way his expression tears open and he balls his fist and he almost seems to shake with it.

(Despite everything, it hurts to see him hurt.)

You step away, almost toppling into the couch. Diluc catches you by the arm with a lurch and keeps you upright. The contact burns like you’re too close to a roaring fire. You feel singed.

“I can’t forget, Diluc.” You laugh, shudder in his grip and you feel the bits of you fray even further. “I— I don’t know. I’m sorry. I resent you. I hate you. I look at you and I’m struck by the feeling that I’m looking at a ghost.”

You watch Diluc’s jaw lock. “Pot, kettle.”

“Pardon?”

“You left Mond as well, dear.” Diluc says the pet name and then flushes. An old habit, unearthed by sparring. You maybe would swoon if you weren’t feeling light-headed. “You’re a ghost to me as well. Maybe something worse.”

“... Am I? ” you spit, writhing in your skin.

His expression tightens and you see the hurt. A crack. His lip twitches and he stands. He has to look down at you and you feel the height.

“Do you think I haven’t been haunted by you?”

Oh, it’s like being punched in the gut. You’re being flayed, surely, on his great room floor. If you’re not careful, your entrails will spill and you’ll die here. You’re sure.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“You’re impossible,” Diluc says, grip almost bruising. “Do you truly think I’m lying?”

(You don’t.)

You swallow and step away from him. The moment you pull against him, Diluc lets you go, and you stumble back.

(You’re too frayed for this. Burnt. Cinders at a masquerade.)

“I need some time,” you say, fire in your voice is gone. You burn down so easily. “I’m sorry.”

Diluc stays silent for a moment. You can’t be sure what he’s thinking.

“Take all the time you need,” he says, before striding past you to his office. You hear the door nearly slam.

#lore writes #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc reader insert #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnvindr x you

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nanonana39 · 3 months ago

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Language learning – Introductory tips for self taught beginners

Warning, this is a loooong read. Feel free to skip to the TL;DR at the end.

In this post, I will detail a few tips which have helped me (a self taught language hobbyist) with the beginning steps of learning languages such as English, Korean and Japanese. This is not a guide on how to achieve fluency quickly, it is meant to be an introduction to language learning. This is also based on my own experiences; feel free to disagree or correct me.

We will go over these points:

How do I start learning a language?

What should I use? Is an app better than online courses?

Do I learn grammar or vocabulary first?

How much should I study?

Should I practice immersion?

Where do I find resources/books?

I feel frustrated. / I am not learning anything. /This is too hard, maybe it's not for me.

How do I start learning a language?

This is the first thing you will ask yourself when you decide you want to start learning a language. Whether it is for work, for studying, traveling or just for fun, most people feel overwhelmed at the thought of how or where to start.

The truth is that there is no set path to start learning a language, but researching the language before studying can help relieve your worries over it and give you an idea of how to start. Keep in mind that languages which have different alphabets/writing systems (i.e. Japanese, Chinese, Arabic) take longer for a native Germanic/Romance language speaker (i.e. English, French) to learn and achieve fluency, and vice versa, so if you do not have a second language as of yet, consider choosing a Germanic/Romance language as a soft start. I'll detail a suggestion as to where to start in point 3.

What should I use? Is an app better than language courses?

The current language learning app ecosystem is a far cry from what it used to be (yes, I'm talking about Duolingo and Memrise), but they are still your main allies if you have a busy schedule and want to learn a language. However what I've found is that simply tapping away in an app and taking notes isn't enough – sometimes the apps don't explain certain grammar rules, or they're locked behind monthly paywalls. As such, you have to find the answers elsewhere.

Here are some things which will make your life and your studying much easier if you are self taught and on a budget: books on the language (for grammar, you can find PDFs online), language channels (for more thorough and practical explanations, YouTube is the main hub for it), and regular media in the language of your choosing (for vocabulary, it can range from music to series/movies). If you have a friend who speaks the language, or perhaps is learning it with you, that also works. In my opinion, learning is better when you have other people to share it with.

There are also websites such as japanesetest4you.com which compile words and their meanings, just like a dictionary. The one I've mentioned not only displays kanji and its meanings, but also shows its variants in Korean and Chinese. There are many others in this same vein for other languages.

Do I learn grammar or vocabulary first?

When learning a language, most courses and classes will focus on teaching you the grammar and the writing system, which while helpful, can sometimes feel like you are going nowhere, as you know how to build a sentence, but don't have words to form it with, or can't pronounce it correctly. This is a common problem among beginners (and sometimes even more experienced language learners), don't let it discourage you.

A personal example I like to use is: To say "the sky is blue", you have to first learn what the sky is, then learn the color blue, and then learn the structure to be able to say "the sky is blue". Vocabulary is just as important as learning the grammar rules in any language; don't limit yourself to only learning how to write. So the answer is: Build a small vocabulary, learn the grammar, and then apply it in practice. It doesn't have to be correct on the first try, we've all been there. Though people learn in different ways, so perhaps you might feel like the opposite works for you. That's also completely fine.

This is another point where engaging with the language's culture and media outside of classes comes to play. Even watching a TV program during your free time and writing down words is enough, since you're also practicing listening, which is also very important and looked over. Try incorporating pronunciation and listening into your studying routines.

How much should I study?

This is a point of much debate within language learning spaces because there is no answer for it. Some might learn a language in 3 months, others might learn it in 10 years, a few can learn it in 3 weeks. It depends on what language you've chosen and the time you are able to dedicate to the language.

The best tip I can give is: if you can dedicate even just 10-15 minutes of learning each day, you can achieve the results you desire. Of course, you should increase that amount if you're able to in the future, but it's already an effort.

Consider your schedule and refer back to the first point, as the time you'll take to achieve conversational/fluency levels can vary depending on the language you choose.

Should I practice immersion?

The common view of immersion is: "speak the language at every opportunity, only engage with media in that language, and write only in that language". This is what you'll see in some of those "I learned (language) in only 3 months" videos.

Let's be realistic though, no one can start speaking German at all times when they live in the US, or Spanish when they live in France, and you'll only feel more frustrated if you force yourself to watch k-dramas without subtitles and nothing else, expecting to absorb it through osmosis. And also, you only now started learning how to say "the sky is blue".

Immersion comes in many forms, though. If you listen to a song in the language you want to learn and read the lyrics while listening, that counts as immersion. If you write a few phrases describing your day in that language as a dynamic exercise, it also counts as immersion. Immersion is what says on the tin – immersing yourself in the language – but it shouldn't bring you unnecessary stress. Also, contrary to what some might say, I do recommend you use translators, if it helps you associate words with their meanings. Don't just rely on them, though, since Google Translate can be unreliable with certain translations and meanings.

Where do I find resources/books?

This requires digging around, but I recommend you check sites like as WebArchive and YouTube. If you can, buy the books online, or borrow some from your local library. I recommend looking for actual textbooks, mainly because some of them include tidbits about the culture itself, like Genki. If you're on a budget, Reddit has a few threads which recommend apps/books, but be very careful with downloading things from random Google Drives or other file hosting websites.

Tumblr is also a very good place for learning new vocabulary. I see some blogs dedicated to sharing kanji and grammar rules, and it can be good to follow such blogs to build your vocabulary.

I feel frustrated. / I'm not learning anything! / This is too hard, maybe this is not for me.

Rome wasn't built in one day, and you definitely won't learn a language in a month or two if you are someone who is in school or has a job with long working hours. YouTube has made language learning easy, but it also has given the illusion that if you follow X method or study an N number of hours, you'll achieve fluency. That is not the case. It fails to take into account the nature of the language, its grammar rules, the writing systems, and everything else.

You don't realize this, but you definitely didn't learn how to speak in just 3 months when you were a child. Everyone learns differently, some faster than others, some slower, some have more time to study, others don't. Some people have difficulty concentrating and don't know how to make learning more fun. All I can say is: don't give up. As long as you put in some effort, even if it seems insignificant to you, you can achieve your results.

Don't feel obligated to continue learning a language if it is bothering you, though. Remember you can always take a break and come back to it another time. Who knows, maybe even during that break, you'll still be learning new words, and feel more motivated to go back.

TL;DR: Language learning is something which is more accessible now than ever, but you might find yourself confused on where or even how to begin learning a language. The key tip for learning any language is to do research, gather resources, know your own limits and how much dedication, time and energy you can invest into learning, and most important of all, to have fun with it.

I hope this can help some beginners in their journey into language learning. Thank you for reading this far!

#studyblr #language #self taught langblr #langblr #language help #language tips

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mamahersh · 1 year ago

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Mamahersh’s Post-MAG-200 Fanfic Recommendation Mega Thread

@a-mag-a-day

In celebration of us finishing The Magnus Archives (even if I admittedly fell off around S2 and have been mostly lurking since then), I have compiled all of my fave post series fics for your enjoyment! I will be grouping them in some big, general categories, which I’ll list above the read more here. Depending on the size of this post, it might start looking a bit like that “Do you like the sky?” post But I can assure you that I have read all of these and can give them my stamp of approval!

If you finished the series and were wishing for your best boys to finally be happy, then boy howdy do I have some fanfiction for you!

Time Travel

Somewhere Else

AUs

Uncategorized JonMartin Fluff

By these categories, we should hopefully cover all the recommendations I have, and I hope you all find some new fics! (or enjoy rereading fics you haven’t enjoyed in awhile)

TIME TRAVEL

where there’s a will, we make a way by bubonickitten

"So, what does happen if an Eye learns to See within itself?

What happens is this: the Archive Beholds the Watcher – and the Watcher blinks first."

________________________

Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Probably my fave time travel fic in this fandom hands down; it is also currently the longest whilst still unfinished. While I try not to recommend unfinished fics that I am uncertain of their return to activity, this is a big exception and personally I love everything about it! It’s got Jon dealing with trauma through the lens of his speaking only in Statements, Martin being saved from his downward spiral into the Lonely way earlier in S4, Georgie actually sticking around, Basira having a better grasp of the situation and being more understanding about it, and everyone generally sticking close to character while managing to buck parts of the narrative. I cannot recommend this fic enough, and I very likely already did back near the start of S5.

Something’s Different About You Lately by thesnadger

Jonathan Sims has been head archivist for just a few months, but he has memories of holding the position for years. He remembers monsters, and darkness, and the end of the world. Somehow, he'll have to keep everyone safe from what's coming. Meanwhile, his assistants can't understand why their prickly jerk of a boss has gone sappy all of a sudden.

So TMA time travel fics that focus on Jon going back tend to come in two varieties. There’s the “Jon’s mind goes back and replaces himself/inhabits his past self’s body” and then there’s the “Jon physically goes back so there’s two Jons”. The first two on this list are of the first variety, and if I remember right this was one of the first I ever read. However, I recommend this one specifically because this has an amazing ending. Like, it might just be me, but many of the endings in these feel relatively unsatisfying because there’s magically a third option where Jon comes out unscathed while saving his S1 archives crew from the Horrors. For whatever reason, it was incredibly satisfying having a fic that didn’t shy away from the options presented in S4 and S5 and I love how they characterize everyone in this one as well.

100 Seconds to Midnight by starspangledbread

Jon and Martin find themselves back in 2011 after attempting to release the fears from their reality. The world is the same one they left behind, but now something has come back with them. They have a chance to destroy the fears once and for all, but it proves harder than expected. Who knew that the best laid plans could be thwarted by nosy co-workers, office romance, the inevitable learning curve of being a time traveler turned grifter, and the refusal to believe in subtlety?

Did someone say Extinction!Jon? This also is a part of a series, though the true sequel to this one is currently unfinished (though it should eventually be completed and only has one chapter to go). An excellent romp, I definitely recommend if you’re looking for something kinda dark, some comedy, a little OOC, and Martin being able to embrace his crime side in the name of saving the world.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

Written by my fave (and most prolific) JMart author, we have a perfect example of the other kind of time travel fix it fic in the form of Jon physically travelling to the past to try and save the world. As expected by someone I am calling my fave JMart author, we’re going to be getting double dose on the JMart. I highly recommend if you’re looking for something that starts a little bittersweet, but then ends in copious amounts of fluff.

Reverb (Series) by Wolftraps

Undoing the apocalypse would have been enough for Jon, if all his people survived. Without them, Jon's only recourse is making it so it never happened in the first place. He's going to do better this time.

Summary from the first fic in the Reverb series, I highly recommend the first two fics in this series for different reasons. “The Reverb in These Holy Halls” is a great time travel fic that takes some really interesting turns by the end and unlike most fics actually has Jon try to keep Tim safe by keeping him out of the Archives pre-S1. However “Gossip” I recommend if you enjoy those fics formatted to look like official communication of some kind. It’s got people outside the Archives trying to figure out what’s wrong with them during the events of the first fic, and while it would be very confusing to read without the first fic, I’d almost say it’s worth it if you aren’t feeling the tags on the first one. Really fun and entertaining, you can’t go wrong with either one.

The Triumph of Galatea (for Acis is transformed) by TheOestofOCs

Statement of Hazel Rutter.

Jon couldn’t stop reading.

The Fears, however, are a bit more powerful than Jonah gave them credit for. Jon opens the door, but the world can’t hold what’s on the other side.

Time falls through, instead. Past becomes present, and the future is undone.

Statement begins.

Another fic I definitely recommended back at episode 160, but is well worth the second recommendation and/or re-read. Time Travel, but what if Jon could control as well as go into the dreams of the assistants/other Eye aligned people instead of just his victims’ dreams? Very good, even if unfinished, though the author seems likely to finish someday. Check out their other work as well, it’s all very good and has my fave Circus themed fic written to date.

a map of what matters most by gruhukens

“Is that a body,” Tim blurts before he can stop himself, rising to his feet. Martin looks, if possible, even more scared.

“He’s alive!” he hisses, almost defensively. “It’s not - it’s not Gertrude again, I didn’t kill him, he just – I don’t know what happened to him, I just found him in the stacks like this.”

“And you dragged him up here?” Tim says, and then registers several things at once – the build, the hair texture; the little round scars peppering a pair of thin hands and an awfully familiar face. “Wait, is that Jon?”

----

Jon stumbles back into an earlier Archive, looking for a way to fix the world. (Or, mom says it's my turn for the obligatory time travel au)

Directly inspired by CirrusGrey’s fic that I recommended earlier, this is another: Jon travels physically into the past fic. This one though is far more bittersweet than “Yesterday is Here”, but still an excellent read and does a great job at fleshing out the relationships between all the characters.

Saving the Universe: For Dummies by GhostChoir

Finding a man bleeding out in the alleyway was not what Elias wanted to do today. And he certainly didn’t mean to befriend him. But things never did go how he expected.

****** A Post-MAG200 Jon meets a 1970s Elias, an Elias from before he was corrupted by Jonah. Together, the two of them learn to cope with grief, drink more tea than any two people should be able to consume, and commiserate over shitty bosses. Oh, and just for the hell of it, they stop an apocalypse along the way.

Now for a change of pace: What if Jon time travels to the time of early Gertrude and Elias pre-Jonafying? A very good fic is what! While it’s been awhile since I read this, I do remember it’s quite good and deserves a chance. Note: this is NOT Jonathan/Elias, so my apologies if you were looking for that, but it is two very lonely men getting to just have a reliable friend in times of trouble.

A Little Game of Cat and Mouse by Paptato

“Jonah Magnus.” The cloudy silhouette snarled as it’s hand clamped tightly around Jonah's ascot. That was indeed his name, but Jonah couldn’t begin to fathom what he did to have it spat out with such hatred.

But nonetheless, Jonah was a gentleman and he would kindly address the angry figure as politely as possible, “Yes, and you are?”

“What?” The form spluttered as it slowly came into focus. Ah, yes. That probably wasn’t the proper response to being held at gunpoint by a random stranger. Must have been the blow to his head.

(Or in which Jonathan Sims goes back in time and tries to pull a Terminator, but fails and Jonah Magnus finds a new mystery to solve.)

This is that Jonah Magnus/Jonathan Sims enemies to lovers fic your friends warn you about in a good way. It’s not done, but I think it’s still being updated very slowly. Even if all I ever read is the currently released 11 chapters, I will consider it my one exception to my dislike of Jonah/Jon. As you can probably guess by the description, it’s a time travel fix it where Jon gets shunted back in time to when Jonah was still very human and still trying to figure out the Fears. The Web keeps Jon from explaining his circumstances or anything to do with Jonah’s future in particular, but this is a good thing and they both get to learn how to be more human in a world that previously was very antagonistic to those goals. It’s got a heavy dose of comedy, plenty of romantic tension, and lots of both surprising and unsurprising cameos. If you enjoy Dracula Daily, you’ll probably enjoy this imho.

Déjà Vu by CirrusGrey

Sasha remembers being unmade. Tim remembers being Unknown. Jon and Martin remember being unwound. All of them think they're the only one. -------- The S1 crew wakes up in the past with memories up till the moment they died.

So, here’s another one that’s got quite the spin on it. As you can see from the description, this one is where S1 crew all get their minds sent back in time to the time right around Jon’s first statement if I remember right. Another CirrusGrey fic, so it heavily leans on JonMartin, but otherwise it’s a wonderful exploration of the four S1 characters and ends on a very hopeful note!

oh my darling, just a moment of your time by IceEckos12

The Institute is visited by a pair of time travelers, and Jon has an important question for Tim.

Have you ever had a oneshot that just kinda guts you unexpectedly? While this might not do this for everyone, this is an amazing oneshot that gets right the point. I love it a lot, because of all of the fics where future and past meet each other, it very rarely if ever is addressed that past Jon was a douche. Or well it is but past Jon doesn’t necessarily have a character moment from it. Here he does, and despite the briefness of the fic, the author does an amazing job of giving Jon and Tim a moment while making an almost critique of the TMA time travel genre. Highly, highly recommend, and it won’t overstay it’s welcome if it doesn’t end up being your thing.

The Severing of Webs by chlodobird

After Jon kills the world, he travels back in time. Once there, he gets ready to change the future, to save his Assistants, and to watch as everyone learns to hate him again.

Unfortunately, the tapes wrap around him like a fly caught in a Web—he can't move. He's trapped reliving the original timeline, stuck acting out his past actions like an actor rehearsing his lines.

Sasha will die. Tim will die. Martin—

(Jon screams inside his mind, and someone hears him. Fate is not as immutable as he fears.)

This one is a brand new one! While basically all of the others on the list have been out/updating for over a year at this point; this lengthy oneshot just released this month. tbh, very excellent, which is why it has made the list. Also, quite the twist on the usual premise, where being sent back into his head is actually a bad thing this time. Ends with a giant pile of fluff, but who would I be if all my time travel recommendations were not also fix-its?

Somewhere Else

it will be this, always by bluejayblueskies

Jon coughed again, and blood stained his lips and blood stained Martin’s hands where they pressed against Jon’s back and blood stained the floor beneath them and help, they needed help.

Martin doesn’t remember shouting. He barely remembers the faces that had surrounded them, wide-eyed and terrified, all utterly unfamiliar.

Jon and Martin wake up somewhere else. Jon begins a slow path toward physical recovery, and several important, long-put-off conversations are had as they begin to navigate a new world that they hadn’t thought they’d be alive to see.

So, I’m sure you all have gathered that I have qualms with how much disparity there is between canon and fanon Jmart. This fic is painful, but is the most in character depiction of post 200 JMart fallout I have ever read. The ending is very cathartic, and takes a “realistic” approach to what happens to Jon and Martin as they begin to navigate their relationship after they both had betrayed each other so thoroughly in the leadup and culmination of MAG 200. If you don’t want them immediately making up, this is the fic for you. They get there, but by all that is good do they take their sweet time getting there.

Out There, Somewhere by Artyphex

"I'm sorry, you were found alone."

Jon survived the apocalypse and now will go to the end of this new, unfamiliar world to find Martin again.

So I think I’m just getting all the angsty ones out of the way first lol. Another slow burn, this fic is Jon’s recovery in the new reality while he also searches for what happened to Martin. Since I don’t post the tags, I will say this ones does feature “Eventual Happy Ending”, and I do promise that both Jon and Martin made it to the new reality and lived. But Jon and Martin both get to pine and cope for a while before that happy ending tag comes into play. It’s incredibly well done and explores their characters really well. Personally, I kinda enjoyed the Reddit saga because people mistaking Jon’s pleas for Martin as an ARG is very typical internet and 100% I would have bought into that at age 13.

Of course I need a therapist. I need ten therapists, working round the clock building me a bionic coping mechanism. We have the technology. by MartinKBlackwoodESQ

A story set somewhere else.

I’mma be real with you all, if I believed that characters could write and publish their own fanfiction, I would be halfway convinced the name is accurate. All joking aside however, this is a “crack treated seriously” fic but with characterization so on point I can consistently hear the voice actors when I read this. Admittedly, it’s made easier by it being written in transcript formatting, but if you’re looking for a hilarious time where TMA is suddenly is turned into a buddy cop adventure where Jon and Martin go to a universe where the Fears hadn’t been till their arrival, and they have doubles that already exist there who are living fairly normal lives till the TMA Jon and Martin crash land into their reality... Well this fic is one I cannot recommend highly enough. It also has a sequel, and it is also well worth the read, even if it appears to be on a bit of a break in it’s updates.

Worlds like phyllo pastry by neworld

After episode 200 Jon finds himself alone in a world very much like the one he left but fractionally different. It's so similar he finds versions of his former friends existing happily in the world. Unfortunately they have never met him in this universe and have no idea who he is.

This one’s unfinished, but personally it’s well worth the read as is. Not sure how I feel about the most recent chapter, but the story up till that point is a really fun spin on “Jon and Martin get shunted to a new reality” where Jon learns how to feed in a way that doesn’t cause problems facilitated by the new reality, and re-meets all the people who he lost till this point and has a very silly antagonistic relationship with his alternate self. While fic might be more of a guilty pleasure, it still is written in such a way that I would rank it high enough for this disorganized list.

Death Is The Easy Way Out by traveller19

After having killed Jonah Magnus and ended the Change, Jon and Martin should finally be able to rest. Rest, however, proves impossible when Jon falls ill. What's more, he begins having vivid dreams of their dead friends - Tim, trapped in the destroyed Archives, and Sasha, trapped outside of them. As Jon's condition quickly worsens and the line between dream and reality begins to blur, love is all he and Martin have to hold on to, because hope is a dangerous thing.

Did someone say sickfic??? But for real, this fic has an amazing balance between an A plot and a B plot, and keeps both at the right level of tension throughout. While this is a sickfic heavy one, it also features Tim and Sasha as ghosts trying desperately not to be. There’s also a lovely sequel and plenty of fluff by the end, but this is a rough ride. ALSO, if you or a loved one had covid / any respiratory illness that caused them to be hospitalized with pneumonia and it could be trigging to read incredibly on the nose descriptions of that experience, this fic is not for you. Or very cathartic. :/

Castaways by CirrusGrey

Welcome to the Castaway Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing a safe and secure landing to those lost souls banished from their home worlds by the influence of Fear.

If you wanted saccharine JMart in a new reality where they get therapy and meet old friends from different realities, this series of (mostly) one shots is for you! As you’ve probably come to expect when I suggest CirrusGrey, the writing is fantastic, the ship dynamics are exemplary, and the character are on point. There is so much to say about this series, but mostly, if you want Jon and Martin healing and then settling together and becoming the stereotypical married couple, then this is it. It’s not done, but it is wrapping up, and I hope you all if you haven’t seen this yet enjoy it as much as I do. And for those long time readers who have been reading it longer than I’ve been in the fandom, here’s your friendly reminder that it exists.

Do Before I Die by SupposedToBeWriting

Somewhere Else, Jon can't seem to shake the strange apathy that now plagues his life. Everything reminds Martin of the end of the world. For a change of pace, he and Martin rent a campervan and go on a road trip. Their mission? To fulfill the 'bucket list' Martin made when he was eighteen and lonely. Jon's looking forward to the beach.

Jon and Martin go on a Road Trip accross Britain. It’s just a wholesome and hurt/comfort as it describes. An excellent romp, and the character studies are wonderful. The Planetarium still sticks with me.

ours is a distant shore (series) by pantsoflobster

“If they ever found out about us, we could make things really complicated for them," Jon said. Martin gave a thoughtful hum and then a loaded pause before he said, “Or simpler.” “What?” “We could, you know…” Martin then made mischievous eyes at him in lieu of expanding. “What?” Jon said, thoroughly lost. “Wouldn’t it be a bit fun to sort of... nudge them in the right direction?”

Months after they arrive Somewhere Else, Jon sees himself in the shop.

Summary is from the first fic in the series, this is a fun little romp for those who hated Martin’s defeatism over his and Jon’s relationship in MAG199 and want to see what would happen if instead he accidentally kick started an alternate version and his and Jon’s relationship Somewhere Else. It’s all very silly, tho the last fic does lean more into the hurt/comfort tag than the previous two. Over all though, if you’re looking for a little crack, a lot of fluff, and Jon and Martin being silly this is a good time.

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do by GentlemanCrow

“Yeah well, god knows why, but he thinks you hung the moon, so you might try treating him at the very least like a human being once in a while.”

It was such a small thing. Small words for a small feeling cloaked in a chintzy veneer of idiomatic dismissal. A trembling little bird cupped in his scarred and battered hands and smothered. Or so he thought. Sometimes trembling little birds turn out to be phoenixes, and those who looked to someone else to hang the comfort of a wise, silvery moon in the sky already have the hammer and the picture wire at the ready.

As far as Jon was concerned, the moon only rose on their Somewhere Else because Martin deigned to pull the strings every night, not him.

This is another one of those JMart Somewhere Else fics masquerading as a Safehouse fic that made me want to cry. It’s just, so wonderful, and once again we have themes of healing, but this time through getting a hobby and sharing it with your significant other. The writing is lovely and really gives off the stuffy academic musings I would expect being in Jon’s head (which we are for the duration of this fic) but adds a layer that I didn’t realized I needed till I read it.

On Errantry by ZaliaChimera

Somewhere Else, Jon and Martin discover that their new home has a very special sort of guardian, and Jon seeks judgement from an unexpected source.

They do say that cats purring can heal...

A cute one shot that deals with Jon’s lingering guilt from S5; this is a wonderful tale from Somewhere Else featuring a giant Cat, Martin being supportive, and Jon trying to reconcile his second chance. Very sweet and fluffy, guaranteed!

Lost, Unfound, But Not Forgotten by Elynn

They didn’t find bodies. Or anything pointing to where they may have gone. In the center of the rubble, what Georgie assumed to have once been the top of the tower, was a puddle of dried, crusted blood, and the outline of bodies in the dust and scorch marks. And she knew that wherever the Fears had gone, Jon and Martin had gone with them. The last victims, snuffed and dragged away with them. --- In the weeks after the Eye-pocolypse, Georgie Barker begins the painful process of mourning her best friend.

So, I know I’m very focused on Jon, but I have one fic of Georgie here that’s 10/10. Post 200, Georgie and Melanie eventually goes to clean out Daisy’s cabin of Jon and Martin’s things for Basira (or something like that) and Georgie finds a journal of Jon’s that he kept whilst there. It’s just as bittersweet as you’d imagine, but it’s fantastically cathartic to read and in our MAG 200 feels, this is a good one for closure.

Not Quite Somewhere Else by hawkfurze

Or you can find it on Tumblr HERE

A special entry to finish out this section, I have a long running comic from Tumblr user @hawkfurze who made a TMA x Infinity Train crossover. While I had not watched the show previously (only seen the trailer/pilot from back before it got picked up by CN), the comic is still easy to understand and explains the Infinity Train parts in such a way as to not need any prior knowledge. I highly recommend this comic for anyone who wants a visual treat delving into the relationship and psyches of Jon and Martin as they try to escape into the next reality.

AUs

Two Graves by SupposedToBeWriting

Jon sends the fears far from Earth and flees London, leaving the others to assume the worst. He settles in a small village and opts to live there quietly until he dies, a self-imposed penance. This plan is foiled when the first former Avatar shows up - and Jon realizes that every domain-keeper in the apocalypse still has some faint connection to him.

After a year of being a shoulder to cry on for confused and distraught former Avatars, Jon leads a moderately happy life. He has a flourishing garden, a cat, and some company. All of that comes crashing around his ears (or his head) when a familiar face shows up to his cabin, demanding answers.

This fic is in my top 5 fics of TMA fandom. No contest. It has some of the best healing from MAG 200 for Jon and Martin and tbh the world I’ve seen. It’s got that incredible hurt/comfort and the ending makes me cry tears of joy every time I read it. If you read any JMart fic on this list, please read this one if you can only read one. While I was tempted to put this in a different category, this seemed like the best place to put it.

What Comes After by Mornrandir

More than a year after the apocalypse, the world is starting to move on. Georgie, Melanie, and Basira have learned to move on and get back to living their lives. Then Martin reappears- without Jon- and they have to learn to begin again.

A series based around the initial above description, each entry in the series follows the healing of first Martin, then Jon, then both of them together. While I am a Jon-centric woman, if you are of a more Martin-centric leaning, this first fic in the series should scratch that itch. The final entry is very sweet, and the second definitely has a unique reason as to why Jon shows up so late to the after-Fears party.

The Watcher’s Cows by lenioia

He still remembers the first cup of tea Martin brought him. That’s where it began, not with the dog incident. A sweet and strong blend, reasons for appearance unknown, how could it taste so good, also unknown. Jon stares at what will be the last cup between them. His miserable parting gift. Where it’ll end.

Alt Mag 200, or in a slightly kinder universe which differs by exactly one cup of tea, Martin is the one who switches plan last minute, and Jon’s last half-backed scheme, for once, works.

An AU splitting off MAG 199/200, where Jon’s plan actually happens, but instead of it being quite so bleak he finds a new path with the help of Martin. I know the original ending of the series is probably the most hopeful one realistically, but we all enjoy our fixits here, so this is a really sappy “by the power of love” Jon and Martin save the universe and still get to live in it AU. Highly highly recommend, and it finished within the last 8 months, so it’s “on the newer side” as it were. If you haven’t read it, give it a shot, and if you’ve read it and it’s been awhile now’s a good time to read it again.

The Eyespot Chronicles (series) by SupposedToBeWriting

To Martin Blackwood's surprise, he wakes up in the ruins of the Magnus Institute. He thought he would be dead. The world is back to normal, the Entities are gone, and everyone realizes that it's finally over. The only sticking point is that Jon isn't exactly the Jon that went into the apocalypse. Never one to give up, Martin is determined to make a life for himself and his boyfriend. Even if he is a giant moth.

Summary taken from the first in the series, this trilogy of fics covers Jon and Martin’s attempts at healing in a world that remembers what happened. The first fic focuses entirely on Martin’s struggles, the second on Jon’s, and the 3rd (as you might guess) focuses on them both. The series is excellent, and if you’ve got the fortitude for canon-typical emotional constipation after having just experienced MAG-200 it’s well worth the read.

Another Guest for Mr. Spider by Dribbledscribbles

Jon isn't eating his statements like he should.

Mr. Spider doesn't like it.

Written in transcript format, this AU considers the idea of what if the Web was more hands on it it’s approach to getting Jon to Become more monstrous; or at least not starve himself out. Incredible read, you need an AO3 account though. But I have never been that spooked by a Statement or encounter before I read this fic. If you DO NOT like spiders on you or in your mouth and you don’t like reading about it either, potentially hold off on this fic, or at least skip from where Mr. Spider says “Open your mouth. Do not move.” to when he says “Wash it down with this. Now.” But yeah if you didn’t get enough spider trauma from canon, this fic gives it in spades! (And if you want Mr. Spider getting his comeuppance, you get that too ;) )

Illicio by ThatOneGirlBehindYou

As the new Archivist debates between life and death, the Eye ponders on what to offer him in order to avoid an encore of the unfortunate situation with his predecessor.

-----

Gerard Keay opens his eyes at what feels like fuck-ass in the morning, inside a room with far too little space and far too much dust.

A long form AU of what if Gerry Keay was brought back by the Eye to convince Jon to stay on team Monster if you will. Goes all the way through MAG-200, has some great twists and turns, and manages to turn into an “Everyone Lives AU” as well. While it is currently updating, it’s updating every week on Saturday till it finishes, and she only has 2 chapters left. If you’ve managed to never read this, now is certainly the time for it! It is Jon/Gerry/Martin, so if that’s not your exact cup of tea I’d still say give it a shot.

we should ride this wave to shore by ClarionGlass

“archives research & statement envestigation” Timothy Stoker renamed the group “drinks drinks drinks” Timothy Stoker changed Sasha James’s nickname to saucy sash Timothy Stoker changed Martin Blackwood’s nickname to martini kart Timothy Stoker changed his nickname to stonked stonked: so how bout it lads saucy sash: oh god. A TMA group chat fic where the worst problems they have to deal with start with "h" and end with "angovers"

Right, I don’t tend to read chat fics, I’m going to be honest with you all. I have two exceptions and this is one of them. It goes interesting places, the characters are not completely OOC, if it they are at least it’s consistent OOC and not in a grating way. But in all seriousness, I recommend this because of how it ties in with MAG 160 and 200; as well as how the sequel deals with canon S5. The sequel isn’t finished and is slow to update, but I am still recommending at the very least the first one. It’s a good romp and I highly recommend.

Ask an Exec: How to Navigate Cultish Colleagues, Soul-Stealing Bosses, and the End of the World at Work by shinyopals

I've recently been unexpectedly promoted to lead a department in my organisation, wrote the anonymous emailer.

As there was no one working here when I arrived, my manager, who is head of the organisation, had promised me the choice of my own assistants. However, without warning, he simply presented me with an additional assistant. This new assistant’s first act on his first day was to let a dog into the office. It took several hours to catch and clean up after this dog and it has only been downhill from there. I admit I'm not entirely sure what to do with this assistant now I'm stuck with him. I'm hoping you have some advice?

Kind regards, New Manager

Abigail Bailey runs a successful management advice blog. One frequent contributor is from a workplace with some... issues.

While this isn’t quite an AU and is basically canon compliant, I’m putting it here because it’s a “what if Jon was an avid seeker of advice on a management advice blog?” AU. It’s beautifully formatted, and features very in character interactions. If you are a sucker for the TMA trope: how do normal people react to the weirdness at the Institute, then this is a great fic for you. I know it’s probably one of the most popular things to have hit the Jonathan Sims tag on AO3 in recent months, but this is just me reminding you all it exists and well worth the re-read.

JMart Fluff

Author CirrusGrey

Literally anything by them. I think I probably recommend them every time I talk about JMart, but I think on AO3 they are both the most prolific and one of the best writers for the tag. Pick almost any fic they’ve written for TMA and it’s probably JMart. There’s too many fics of their’s to recommend, so I’ll just link you straight to their profile and you can go swimming from there lol.

Jon’s Moving Castle by IceEckos12

Martin Blackwood may not have a perfect life, but he does have a good one. That is, until a series of magical encounters leave him with an unfortunate curse. Out of other options, he goes to the wizard who lives in the moving castle for aid.

Life never goes how he intends it to, though.

Basically Howl’s Moving Castle, but with a TMA spin. You don’t need to have seen the movie to understand what’s going on, and honestly while it sticks fairly close to the movie, it doesn’t stick so close that it feels constrained by it in places where it wouldn’t make sense in the AU they’ve set up. It’s a very sweet JMart fic with a satisfying conclusion.

The 101 Kidnappings of Jonathan Sims (and Other Inconveniences) by beetlejoos

Martin Blackwood never applies for a job at the Magnus Institute. The universe seems determined that he meets Jonathan Sims anyway. But is it Fate, or something more sinister, that keeps bringing the two of them together?

Right, this mostly crack treated seriously. It’s got hurt/comfort, but it’s fairly light hearted throughout. As one could guess by the title and description, Jon is repeatedly kidnapped and brought to wherever Martin is living/working at the time. While it’s not done yet, and not on a schedule, the chapters that are out thus far are well worth the read. That and there’s some cute fan art for it that’s linked to in the end notes. But I recommend this because it’s got that vibe of S1 Jon meets S1 Martin outside of the Institute and romance (eventually) happens. Very fun read if you haven’t read it yet.

i think we’re alone now + alone-verse (series) by milliganopen

Just a couple of guys breaking into a basement. What could go wrong?

Getting trapped in your apartment with your boss, that's what.

Season 1 re-imagined if Jon and Martin had been trapped by Jane Prentiss together.

Initially I recommended this back when we had hit MAG039/022 because it was a great AU to Martin’s Statement where Jon also gets trapped in Martin’s apartment during Martin’s no good very bad 2 weeks of worm siege. HOWEVER, the author has since continued this series and is slowly working their way through canon one season/fic at a time. They’re currently on S3, and I am definitely keeping an eye on it for whenever the next update happens. If you haven’t had the time to check it out, it’s got some very good JMart moments, and their relationship manages to move faster than a glacier.

Fate, or Something by HermaeusMora

"You can't be serious." Jonathan Sims raises his eyes at last to properly look at Georgie, expecting her to laugh and make some quip about finally getting him to put the damn book down, at least.

"Well, I am," she shoots back.

He sets his book aside and turns fully towards her, betrayal clear on his face. "A blind date, really?"

Jon makes the frankly terrible decision to go on a blind date with one Martin Blackwood. Fate ensues. AU where Jon and Georgie are still friends, Georgie likes finding dates for her friends, Martin doesn't work at the institute, and everyone is just a bit happier while canon spooky stuff goes on in the background. Takes place juuust barely pre-canon in the beginning but catches up quickly. Inspired as usual by the wonderful conversations with my friend RavenXavier/somuchbetterthanthat.

A fun AU that challenges the idea that Jon and Martin are incompatible a la MAG199. Excellently done and well worth the time to check it out.

Diary by luftballoons99

Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.

or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.

A bit of a bittersweet mostly fluff oneshot focused on Jon and Martin having a night in at the Safehouse and talking about good things from their pasts. (Warning, the sequel is rated E(xplicit) for a reason, so I am only recommending Diary. Both are stand alone however.)

Weaving My Heartstrings by arms_full_of_hyacinths

At least he was someone. Someone who could deal with the spiders. That was probably the source of the nerves unspooling like magnetic tape to fill Jon’s stomach with buzzing static butterflies.

Yes, Martin was much bigger than a spider. He was probably the kind of person who cupped them in his hands and talked to them as he walked them out into the garden, which shouldn’t be giving Jon a burst of warm feeling at all, since his preferred method of spider disposal was simply to squash them on sight.

Martin likes Jon almost as much as Jon hates spiders. When a statement from an institute employee sends them spiraling into the center of a complicated web, they'll need to rely on each other if they want to make it out alive.

Bit of an odd suggestion to close us out, but this one is a fun almost episodic plot about an original Statement and the shenanigans Jon and Martin get into trying to research it. It’s very good, features some very on point S1 Jon and Martin along with a bit of a fast forward on their relationship throughout.

And with that, I’ve probably overstayed my welcome lol. I hope you found something new to read! If not, I at least hope that you had fun rereading some old faves. This has taken me a day or two to compile and format, so I hope you all enjoy in whatever capacity that ends up being! Happy end of A Mag A Day, and it was a joy walking alongside you all. Congrats to A MAG A Day blog owners on all your hard work for the last ~210 days and with this post I wish you all a very fond farewell.

#a mag a day #the magnus archives #mag 200 #tma fic rec #fic rec #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #georgie #melanie

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