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auniverseforgotten · 27 days

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I have read the snippets that you have of the pursuit of diarmuid and grainne au and i love It and was wondering of you had more to share?

Hey, sorry this took so long to reply to, I was waffling on and off about how to go about it! Read more bcus it got long dxfcgh

So for those wondering, the og post is here and it lays out the basics [alongside teatitty's posts that were the main insp I love u Tea], which are essentially that I really can't see The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grainne as a love story, tragic of otherwise, as Diarmuid says no from the very start, and in certain versions he resists as much as he can by making up several reasons why they can't go, such as Fionn having the keys or being unable to pass through a wicker gate, and at least in this one cries over being parted from his people, from the Fianna.

The Pursuit is both a comparatively younger myth and wildly out of character for Fionn, who is most often characterized as a benevolent protector to the people of Ireland, so I do want to note that while I fully understand some people preferring the original mythos Fionn, that's not really what is in this AU. He also isn't there to marry Gráinne.

NOW I DO WANT TO SAY. Thank you so much for your interest and for reaching out, I'm so happy you loved it aaaaaaa!!! ;;w;;

It means a lot to me that you enjoyed my snippets; I really posted it expecting it to just kinda die like most of the last line/sections I do, but several people seemed to really enjoy it and that means a lot to me! ;w; It is a different sort of fic for me, though, and it's one that I'm not overly confident in, so I don't know when, if ever, I would post it. Things also may change from the snippets as I work on it; for example, still trying to decide if Sadhbh is still present in this au, as that throws a lot of stuff off kilter that would have to be redone dfxchvg

That being said I do have a couple other sections! I'm not sure how good they are, but, well.

The attention is typical, at first. Diarmuid knows he cuts a handsome figure and dresses to match it, wearing fine velvet and leather with pearls and diamonds strung through his braid. But the longer it lasts the more uneasy he becomes. He's caught sight of her several times now: the high king’s daughter, Gráinne. His fingers itch to run over his love spot, to make sure it's still covered. Fionn is standing at his side, tall and broad, a far more winsome figure than his own. It's the work of a moment for Diarmuid to step into his shadow and closer to his side; an arm immediately drops around his shoulders, his friend jovial and welcoming. It warms his heart and soothes him all at once. If he stays like this, tucked away into Fionn's shadow, cautious and protective of his dearest friend, of his son and grandson by their sides, nothing will come of it. Inevitably it is noticed. Fionn's arm grows tighter before dropping to allow him to step further back, his smile slightly more strained. They continue to walk together outwardly unchanged; Diarmuid follows in his shadow until Fionn leads them into a sheltered corner, the others continuing on without them. Hands run over Diarmuid's shoulders, his arms, his sides, checking for injuries before coming back to gently cup his face. “What troubles you so?” Diarmuid looks to the side before he can stop himself, chewing his lip as he considers his options. He has never lied to Fionn and he doesn't plan on making it a habit now, but if he tells him the political landscape could face a massive upheaval. Fionn strokes his cheek, expression closed off; it's unlike Diarmuid to be avoidant with him. It’s unlike him to act like this at all. He knows Fionn is worried. “Is it still covered?” He asks, sighing as Fionn immediately runs his thumb over his love spot, a gentle, grounding touch. “Always. What happened?”

So a couple notes here, this is before anything happens but when Diarmuid has already noticed that he's being watched in an unsettling way; he's a Fae, he's beautiful, he's used to being stared at, but not quite like this. He also has a mole, a love spot, that makes women fall in love with him, which some versions of the pursuit imply is the sole reason Gráinne ever even approaches him. So aside from sounding a lot like victim blaming, the love spot in myth is actually on his forehead, and thus easily covered [and almost always covered, it caused him so much grief when it wasn't you think he would leave it in plain sight?] by his hair. Hence the concern here. "Solar how can Fionn's thumb reach-" man is quite literally half giant in mythos shhhhhhh let me have this uwu

Fionn and Diarmuid know each other very well so as soon as it becomes clear Diarmuid is not just stepping closer bcus he doesn't trust certain people around Fionn [unnecessary, Fionn would normally tease him about it] but is in fact uncomfortable it becomes an Immediate Pressing Issue to find out why. From there, not yet written out, it's a struggle of deciding how much Diarmuid wants to tell Fionn [he knows him, he knows if he tells him 'someone has been staring at me in a very unsettling way and I'm uncomfortable' it will become an Issue to be Addressed Immediately.

Next snippet is further along, after Gráinne already put the geis on him and forced him away. Very possibly subject to change, I don't...super love how it's reading now, but I do also like the concept even if I worry it doesn't fit Diarmuid's voice properly.

Diarmuid leaves signs where he can. Small things abandoned in the depths of night when Gráinne is asleep and unknowing, deniable in the light of day should ever she see them. Little pearls and diamonds from his braid, tucked where they will catch the light only if someone is looking for it. Scraps of cloth, a fleck of blood, three hairs caught tangled on a branch; imperceptible signs that will be clear as day to as skilled a hunter as Fionn. Desperate pleas, a trail of a weeping heart. Find me, it cries, fearful as he never before has been, please don’t stop looking. Even though he knows that the best way this could end is for Fionn to let him go. For Diarmuid to let Gráinne take him where she wishes and do what she demands because she is the daughter of the high king and Fionn doing anything in retaliation will only invoke his wrath. If she dies…she can’t die. She can’t. There is no way out. To lay a path, to allow his heart to hope for rescue knowing everything he knows is shameful. More than that, it’s a political nightmare. Gráinne is surely to wed a lord someday, someone far above Diarmuid’s own station, someone chosen to bring further peace and stability. He leaves a fish, uncooked and untouched, when he can. A message, a plea, a promise that he has not done anything untoward, that he will not do anything untoward. It will likely not be enough for her father, nor for her future suitor still yet unnamed. He wants Fionn to find them, to end this, to find a way to break the geis and let him come home. Yet he has to keep Fionn from finding them, because he has never seen his friend so angry. The one time they did speak, swift on the heels of their flight, Fionn was so far gone with rage that Gráinne would dare lay so much as a hand on him that Diarmuid hadn’t known how to calm him. He had barely even had time to draw his lance and intercept the killing blow before it felled Gráinne and threw everything into chaos. He cannot risk Fionn catching up again, not until he finds a way to calm his friend’s fury.

"Solar why would Diarmuid keep Fionn from killing Gráinne that makes no sense he doesn't want to be here at all." So you see. Gráinne is the daughter of the high king of Ireland. Fionn is the 'seventh king of Ireland' [ty Tea I love u Tea]. Aka, there are extreme political ramifications at play, which I lay out via Diarmuid but just for clarity here.

ANYWAY my main concern here is I don't want Diarmuid to come off as like...not quite woobified but like woobified. From a fate background I know that a lot of takes on Diarmuid write him a lot more submissive/subservient which I am not bashing, if that's what people enjoy, good for them!! But that's not the angle I go with Diarmuid at all, and that goes even more for mythos Diarmuid who is strong as fuck and typically able to weasel or fight his way out of situations. It's just that in this one there's a geis upon him that will kill him or otherwise fuck him up if he breaks it, so he is forced into a passive role. ON TOP OF THAT he can still think clearly over the ramifications of harm coming to Gráinne so he Needs to be careful, needs to be polite and repress the urge to fight back, to flinch away.

Included the fish mention because this person mentions reading the pursuit as assigned school reading, and that's where I saw the mention of leaving an uncooked fish to be like heyyyyyy promise there was no funny business okay? It does also mention a 'positive' of Fionn being portrayed in a bad light, that being that it humanizes him, but as said above, I'm stepping around that interpretation of Fionn dfxcvg

ANYWAY I HAVE LIKE. THIRTY versions of the pursuit up rn, two of which I need to actually check out from the internet archive bcus they are book form but hopefully also provide further analysis?

THANK YOU AGAIN SO MUCH FOR YOUR ASK AND INTEREST!!!! I'm sorry I can't give you like a timeline of when it would be done, or if it'll even be posted, but I hope these snippets are enjoyable, at least?

ALSO I KNOW SOMEONE REBLOGGED THE OTHER POST and commented I'M SO SORRY I NEVER GOT BACK TO YOU MY BRAIN IS BAD but thank you so much for reading also!!!!!

#solar screams #solar writes #pursuit au #diarmuid ua duibhne #fionn mac cumhaill #grainne #abusive relationship #that's between diarmuid and grainne #not really a relationship but the behaviors are there so i want ppl to block when they need to

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horseflavor · 2 years

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So Gen5 is out! Let's talk about it- or let's talk about an AU I wanna do for it based on that one calendar picture of Hitch in a sailor outfit lmao. This isn't meant to be anything political and DEFINITELY not meant to be us military propaganda. I just wanna draw fictional horses in nondescript sailor outfits. It ain't that deep bro.

There is no Equestria here in this AU- there never was. The Mane 6 are a legend akin to King Arthur in our real world. They're a fictional story that used real locations and had such an influence that some believe they were real. The landscape in this world- which I guess we'll also call Equestria for convenience- is a mostly oceanic terrain. That means all three societies- earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi, are very nautical oriented. They are also very isolated from each other. Many generations ago, a naval war broke out between the three tribes and never really stopped. This has created a societal norm where all ponies obligatorily serve in the military in youth- some staying in longer than others by choice. Nowadays, the war is mostly cold, with just smaller skirmishes and high tensions. Still, the big wigs don't let down. That doesn't mean there aren't ponies scattered here and there who want to make a difference. We'll get to meet some later on. Support me and see more exclusive art on my Patreon Characters © @hasbro Art & Concepts © HorseCrimes

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could-have-beens · 4 years

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If By Happenstance

Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you.

One of the unfinished WIPs I unearthed recently is what was supposed to be a collection of standalone one-shot AUs, each with a different theme and centered around Tom and Ginny. I never got around to writing the whole series, but I did finish some of it, so I thought I would post it while editing TLoCC.

Fair warning, I haven’t proofread this in two years. Enjoy at your own risk!

"Coward," hissed Ginny. "I can't believe you! After all that talk about being polite and honouring your promises —"

"I stand by what I said," said Harry, with an unrepentant grin.

She glowered. "You're hiding."

"I'm not. You just happen to be in a room full of adoring fans."

Ginny rolled her eyes. She thought her days of humouring Slughorn and attending his get-togethers were over after graduation, but he hadn't stopped badgering her since she started playing for the Harpies. If she had known she was going to be accosted by wide-eyed teenagers and stammering old men, she wouldn't have bothered coming to the party at all.

"You should be the one being pestered by Slughorn," Ginny groused. She plopped herself down gracelessly on the empty chair next to Harry. "I'm just the plus one. You're the one with the bloody invitation."

Harry shrugged, but his eyes were dancing. "I guess Quidditch stars have more clout than us lowly, underpaid Aurors."

"What about the Minister's son?" she teased.

He grimaced, casting a shifty, alarmed look around the room to check if anyone had heard her. "Don't even go there. I'm not supposed to get into fights with old men over politics."

"You could not fight and turn the other cheek," suggested Ginny.

Harry snorted. "I'll do it when you do."

"Well, I don't think Slughorn's noticed you yet, so you're safe for the time being."

"As long as he keeps fawning over Riddle, I'm good."

"Who?"

"My boss." Harry leaned back and discreetly inclined his head toward the center of the room. "The pretty boy with dark hair."

Ginny followed his line of sight and found the man in question, and thought pretty was a massive understatement. Riddle was caught in what looked like a heated discussion with a flustered-looking Slughorn, a stout, bespectacled man, and a tall, stern-looking woman — politicians, the same people Harry had been avoiding since he and Ginny arrived. They were too far for Ginny to hear what they were saying, but she could see that the older man and woman were red with anger, talking a mile a minute, and Slughorn was trying to placate them, only to be cut off at every turn. Riddle, though, looked relaxed and even faintly amused, and he carried himself with all the grace and arrogance of a typical Slytherin. He didn't seem to falter as he spoke, calm and composed even as the man and woman grew more and more irate and Slughorn grew increasingly bemused.

"That's the Head Auror?" said Ginny, incredulous. Riddle couldn't be that much older than her, maybe around Percy's age at most. "He's a bit young, isn't he?"

"No, not the Head Auror," muttered Harry. "Head of the Department."

Her eyes widened. No wonder Slughorn wouldn't leave the guy's side.

She tried to remember if Percy had ever mentioned him. The way her brother rambled on about his job at the Ministry, she didn't doubt that he knew — or, at least, knew of — the other man, being so close in age and a Department Head himself. It wasn't exactly common, having such a high-ranking job in the Ministry at their age.

"I think I've seen him before," mused Ginny. "What did you say his name was?"

"Tom Riddle," said Harry, in a tone that reminded her of how he used to say Malfoy when they were kids — not quite sneering, but heavy with exasperation.

"Tom Riddle? The guy the Prophet keeps calling the next Minister of Magic?"

"That's the one," he grumbled. "The next Minister . . . my mum just got elected and they're already calling him the next Minister. . . ."

"Well, he is cute," she said offhandedly. "Bet that's why. You don't get a lot of handsome men in politics."

Harry stared, brows pulled together as he frowned.

"What?" Ginny raised her hands in mock defense. "I'm just saying. I do have eyes."

"He's a bit of a prat though."

"Is he? I think he seems nice."

His eyes narrowed. "Seems nice or looks nice?"

She nudged his leg with her foot. "They don't have to be mutually exclusive."

"You don't work with the guy."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Well," he said, considering the matter. "He just always seems — I don't know, a bit fake, I guess? Maybe that's just me."

Ginny tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Wasn't he Head Boy? The one before — no, after Percy."

"I think so. Can't say I remember much of him from Hogwarts."

She scoffed. "I don't think you remember much of anything that doesn't involve Ron and Hermione."

"Hey, I remember plenty," Harry protested.

"Like what?"

As if on cue, a Celestina Warbeck song started playing, and there were excited murmurs and sudden exclamations as the guests recognized the music.

"Like how much you love this song," said Harry cheekily. He held out his hand. "Dance with me?"

"Of course," Ginny said, putting her hand in his.

They stood and, without caring whether anyone else was dancing or not, they swayed along to the music slowly, careful to stay along the edges of the dance floor. When the song was over, they returned to their table, off in a nice secluded corner of Slughorn's party. Unfortunately, no more than a minute after, Ginny was swept up into a dance by another guest, and for the next hour, she was approached for pictures, autographs, and more dancing.

To Harry's credit, he didn't leave their table and kept her company throughout it all. Of course, he found the whole thing amusing, and took every chance he got to rib her mercilessly.

"Oh, the price of being famous," said Harry, snickering.

Ginny threw him a withering glare. She was just able to tell him to bugger off before she heard another set of footsteps approaching. Stamping on a smile, she turned around to greet the fan, but was stunned to find herself facing Tom Riddle instead.

At once, Harry straightened. "Good evening, sir."

"Potter," Riddle said, smiling amiably. "Shouldn't you be enjoying the party?"

"I'm enjoying it just fine, sir," said Harry glancing at Ginny for a beat too long. Harry turned back to Riddle, as if suddenly remembering he was there. "Er — Gin, this is Tom Riddle, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Sir, this is —"

"Ginny Weasley," Riddle cut in smoothly, extending his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Ginny blinked, a bit thrown by the sudden weight of his attention, and shook his hand.

"What gave it away?" she said with a wry smile.

Riddle gestured to her hair, chuckling lightly. "You must get that a lot."

"Unfortunately, yeah."

The first notes of the next song began to play, and Ginny realized that Riddle was still holding her hand.

"Would you care to dance?" said Riddle. His dark eyes seemed to glitter in the light.

Ginny cast a questioning look at Harry, who had a pinched expression on his face. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say no, but then he gave a little shrug, his mouth set in a grim line.

"If you want, Gin," he said tightly.

"All right," she said, hesitant, and suddenly Riddle was leading her to the dance floor.

A kind of ripple crossed the room as a few heads turned in their direction, but whether it was because they were looking at Ginny or at Riddle, she wasn't sure. There were more couples dancing now, blocking her view of Harry, and though she tried to look for him, her eyes were drawn to her dancing partner.

Riddle really was quite beautiful up close. Dark hair artfully coiffed, high cheekbones and a strong jaw, lips curled in a crooked smile. It almost hurt to look at him — it was like looking at the sun bouncing off snow.

And yet Ginny found that she couldn't turn away. There was something about his eyes, dark and intense, that seemed almost challenging, as though he was daring her to look away, as though waiting to see if she would bristle under the intensity of his gaze.

His eyes never left hers, even as he bowed low and lifted her hand to his lips.

"A bit forward, isn't it?" said Ginny, raising an eyebrow.

His smile didn't falter. "Is it? I thought it would be romantic."

She snorted. "Romance already? You barely know me."

"But I would like to," he said, lowering his gaze to the floor. "I admit, I've heard all about you, Miss Weasley."

Riddle couldn't quite meet her eyes, and if it had been anyone else, Ginny would have thought he was nervous.

Being coy more like, she thought, as Harry's words rose unbidden. Even if he was shy — but no, he didn't seem the type, and there was something . . . Ginny didn't know what it was, but something about him seemed off. Maybe not fake, like Harry had said, but Riddle had that indefinable air of someone wearing a facade.

Ginny would know — she too had worn her fair share. Or maybe it was just the politician in Riddle shining through, underneath all the charisma and pretty smiles.

He was a good dancer, if nothing else. He was all grace as they glided across the room, his movements effortless and elegant.

"Have you?" she said dully. "Big Quidditch fan, then?"

"Can't stand it, actually. No offense."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "Points for honesty. Why are you dancing with me then?"

Riddle arched an eyebrow. "Do I need a reason?"

"Generally, yeah. Otherwise I'm gonna think you're out to get me or something. Haven't ruled that out yet, mind you."

He chuckled. "I think I've already told you why."

She grimaced. "Yes . . . romance."

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Well.

There wasn't. Not really. It wasn't like Ginny was seeing anyone, but . . .

She thought of Harry, who had cajoled her into coming to this bloody party, with his too messy hair and his kind eyes. The thought of coming tonight hadn't even crossed her mind until he asked her, and a little part of her had always thought —

Ginny shook her head. No sense in thinking about what-ifs and could-have-beens.

"You said you've heard of me," she said coolly. "Should I be worried?"

"You probably don't remember," said Riddle, "but we were in Horace's club at the same time, back in school."

"Were we?" It was possible. Riddle seemed old enough that they must have been in Hogwarts together at some point, though Ginny would have been too young to attend Slughorn's parties then.

Riddle nodded. "Horace kept inviting me back after I graduated, and I couldn't turn down the chance to see Hogwarts again." He smiled, and again she was taken aback by how unfairly charming he was. "He talked about you a great deal, but we were never formally introduced."

"What a loss for you," said Ginny.

Riddle met her gaze daringly. "I agree."

#ginny weasley #tom riddle #gin n tonic #tom x ginny #fanfic #my fic #fic: if by happenstance #I never published this until now because I thought there wasn't enough tom in the fic #but I'm a little bit in love with this AU #because there's no war and everyone lives!!#and lily evans potter is minister of magic #which means the political landscape of this AU is different #and purebloods don't have as much sway and influence in the government #which means tom has to adjust his strategy #being the power hungry prat that he is #he recognizes that he can't use blood purity to get power #so he probably plays up his background as a muggleborn orphan for sympathy points from the public #yes he's slytherin's heir but it's useless to him politically #so he emphasizes his muggle heritage #talk about his hardship adjusting in the wizarding world #the racism he experienced in slytherin #and the media eats it up #they see him as lily's natural successor because of their backgrounds #so all tom has to do is maintain that image #and come next election he's probably minister #eyyyy this can be its own multichap fic but I'm way too lazy

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makoodlesarchive · 4 years

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when i was young i fell into a river

pairing: kirishima x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: none, really! a bit of angst, a bit of fluff i guess?

notes: hello, it's me, back again with some writing! it's been a long time and i'm very sorry about that, but i've finally gotten around to writing and posting my spirited away au! i'm v stressed with college so this turned out more vent-y than i had originally intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway! thank you all for being so patient with me, i am endlessly grateful for you

The dream is the same as always, comforting in its familiarity.

A salt-scented breeze cools your sweat-soaked brow as you pause behind one of the sliding screen doors, the rice paper windows doing nothing to block out the chatter of the other workers. The bubbling noise of the bathhouse is constant, and the quiet little moments you steal away for yourself in the middle of the working day is the only solitude you’ve gotten since you came here. The work is physically back-breaking, but you know that you’re working towards a goal. It’s just a shame that you can’t remember exactly what that goal is.

One of the other girls calls your name, and you sigh as your unofficial break comes to an end. You slip back into the room, ignoring the way the frog spirits snicker and hold their noses as you pass. They like to complain a lot about your human stench, but it doesn’t stop them from threatening to eat you every time you make a mistake. Fear, you’ve found, is an uncomfortably successful motivator.

The days bleed into one another, full of scrubbing dark wooden floors and the rich earthy scents of the herbal mixes they use in the baths. The spirits that frequent the bathhouse, that once inspired so much awe and fear in your heart, become so commonplace that you hardly spare them a glance anymore. From the cackling masked spirits that always travel in threes to the grinning cat spirits to the sombre, unspeaking river spirits, you only go as far as to offer them a polite bow before scurrying out of their way. They never spare you any attention, anyway -- most of the time, the spirits’ eyes seem to look right through you.

All but one, that is.

He looks to be a boy around your age, but appearances can be deceiving around here. His red eyes are often dull and blank, but even so they have a certain ageless quality about them that no human twelve-year-old could ever possess. His scarlet hair sticks up in gravity-defying spikes, and his skin is as smooth and clear as running water. His face is often stuck in a carefully cultivated blank expression; the only thing about him that doesn’t seem intimidatingly otherworldly are the deep purple shadows under his eyes.

He helped you once, when you first came here. The rare act of kindness had stuck in your head, made even more remarkable in the face of the following weeks and months of harsh work and cruel co-workers. You wonder if he remembers; he doesn’t often look at you, but sometimes when he does you swear you can see a flicker of something in his eyes.

Two of the girls start yelling at each other, arguing heatedly over the way the work is being divided. A foreman appears to break up the fight, but then they both start shouting at him instead. You take the moment of distraction to relax, wincing at the pull of your tired muscles in the back of your neck. All the other girls working at the bath house are older and bigger than you, which means you need to work twice as hard to keep up with them and prove that you’re worth keeping around.

In the brief moment of rest, your eyes are drawn slowly to the corridor, where guests and workers alike bustle past as they travel to the treatment rooms and bathtubs deeper into the bathhouse. As if you’ve conjured him just by thinking about him, the boy stands in the doorway.

You straighten up on instinct, suddenly self-conscious of your sweat-soaked body and dishevelled uniform. He’s not even looking your way, preoccupied with the two girls who are still yelling at the frog foreman. Slowly though, his eyes began to travel the room, and you take a deep breath and hold it as his dull ruby gaze lands on you like a physical weight. You crack a nervous smile, feeling the muscles in your cheeks that have gone unused for weeks ache at the strain, and raise a hand to give him a tiny wave.

For just a moment, that blankness in his face seems to quiver and fall away. He smiles back.

You jolt awake, breathing heavily and coated in a light sheen of sweat. You’ve had the same dream, or some variation of it, regularly ever since you were twelve years old and while it’s become familiar to you, you still find yourself feeling vaguely panicked when you wake up after it, as though you’ve forgotten something very important.

Once your heartbeat has calmed down a little, you pull yourself out of bed and trudge into the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The weak, milky light of dawn filters in through the windows, lighting your apartment up just enough so that you don’t have to turn on a light to make your way around. You take your tea out to the balcony and sit, gazing out at the purplish early morning sky.

Most of the time when you wake up from those dreams you feel blessedly lucky to be living alone with no one to question or bother you, but sometimes you can’t help but be overcome by overwhelming loneliness. The dreams are silly and most of the time they don’t even make any sense, but in the aftermath of them you’re always left with a vague sense of unfulfillment, though you can’t put your finger exactly on what it is you’re missing. You always end up exactly like this; sitting outside on your balcony in the early morning light, drinking tea alone and desperately wishing for something more.

You sigh, and go back inside.

The dream is the same, but different.

The garden is in full bloom, greenery overlaid with bursts of beautiful bright colours. Camellias, rhododendrons, and oleanders wave and shiver gently in the warm breeze, and apple blossoms hang heavily from a nearby tree. The flowering garden is enormous and maze-like, and you have yet to see it in any state other than fully flourishing.

It’s a beautiful place, especially after the hot, cramped working quarters of the bathhouse. You inhale the sweetly fragranced air and feel the knot of tension in your spine unfurl; it feels like the first time that you’ve been able to breathe all week, but that’s not the only reason that you’ve found yourself outside.

At the bottom of the garden, the grass drops off into a sheer drop. The cliff face overlooks a seemingly endless ocean, and you perch a safe distance from the drop before leaning back in the grass. The sky is an almost surreally deep blue and you watch as enormous fluffy clouds float by, looking as though they’ve been painted on a jewel-blue canvas.

It’s not the first time you’ve had this dream, and you know what you’ll see if you keep patiently watching.

It doesn’t take long — it never does. You time your lunch breaks precisely, all so you get to see this sight.

The clear blue sky makes it so much easier to spot the shiny white scales, flashing jewel-bright in the sunlight. The dragon writhes in the sky, streaking through the air like a great serpent caught in the wind. Even from this distance, you can see the knife-like teeth, the great sharp claws that gleam like pyrite, and the twisting horns that erupt from his head like daggers made from calcified bone. He looks deadly, a living weapon that swims through the air like a salmon in open water, but the sight of him makes something settle in your stomach.

You wonder what it would feel like to fall through the air with nothing but the wind to break your fall. You imagine it must feel like freedom.

The dragon flutters through the air, buoyed by the gentle sea breeze. If you didn’t know better, you might almost think that he was showing off — his movements are hypnotic, dreamlike, more like a dance than anything. His scales glow pearlescent in the midday sun, otherworldly and earthly all at once.

You could happily stay and watch him skim through the sky forever, but already the bell is being rung to call all workers back into the bathhouse. You heave a sigh so deep it feels as though your chest is about to crack with the force of it, before hauling yourself to your feet.

Your break is over, and now it’s back to work.

Sometimes you find it difficult to tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake. It feels as though everything is always happening all at once, in the present tense, forever. You don’t get to rest when you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, because the dreams just keep coming and coming. Sometimes you don’t feel like your life is real when you’re awake.

Riding on the train has always been therapeutic, especially at this time of the early morning. The sun rising lazily over the horizon sends milky threads of purple and pink across the cloudy sky, and you cradle your chin in your hand as you gaze out across the moving landscape. You love these little trips, feeling more at home in the creaky, overfull train carriage than you do in your own bedroom sometimes, though you can’t quite work out where that particular feeling comes from.

You know sometimes that stories end with “And then I woke up — it was only a dream”, but in your experience the story simply doesn’t end. You cannot fully wake up without the tail-ends of your dreams clinging to you for the rest of the day, and you never fully sleep. You just dream, dream, dream.

Sighing, you lean your head back against the seat that you’re slumped in. The train carriage is too full, and you were lucky to get a seat in the first place — from your vantage point, you watch as people sway in tandem with the motion of the train. It’s almost hypnotic, how they undulate back and forth with every turn, brushing against each other only to be pulled apart again by the lurching train.

Through the sea of bodies, you catch a man’s eye. It breaks the monotony of the morning commute and your own spiralling thoughts, and your spine straightens unconsciously. He quirks an eyebrow briefly, slightly, in such a way that no one would be able to safely accuse him of having done it.

You look away, startled for no good reason. Do you know him? He feels familiar in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on. The train rattles on, and it takes several long minutes before you work up the nerve to glance the man’s way again. He’s still watching you, but you’re ready for it this time. His attention isn’t such a shock, and you allow your eyes to wander over his face properly.

You must know him, you think. Your eyes track over his features as though they’re winding over a well-worn path, admiring the curve of his nose and the fullness of his lips and the arch of his eyebrows over his intense, watchful eyes.

He smiles at you, and it feels as though you’re sharing a secret from across the crowded train carriage. You smile back — it’s just a small tug of the corners of your mouth, but it’s the most you’ve smiled in months. Longer, maybe.

In the middle of the carriage a woman laughs at something her friend has said and sways backward, blocking your view of the stranger. It feels like a loss.

The train trundles onwards, and the carriage gradually empties out. You watch people step off the train with friends, with their heads ducked low, lost in thought, arguing over the phone, distracted with their book bags. By the time it comes to your stop, the man is gone.

You try not to feel disappointed as you step off the train — it’s silly, after all. You don’t know the man, and whatever you thought you felt as you looked at each other was surely all in your own head. Your head has been awfully full, recently.

As you step off the train you grapple with your bag, side-stepping a businessman who is busy shouting down the phone at some unfortunate coworker. You’re distracted, which is the only reasonable explanation for how long it takes you to realise that the man from the train is standing in front of you.

“Oh.” You blurt, startled. You had already begun to resign yourself to never seeing him again, so you can’t help but feel distinctly caught off guard at the sight of him standing before you. “Hi.”

“Hello.” The man says. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s waiting for — as it is, you get completely distracted by his eyes. You hadn’t noticed on the train, but now that he’s up close you see that they’re a truly unusual deep burgundy. He tilts his head when you remain silent, and bites his lip. Now that you’re really looking, you notice how sharp his teeth are. “You’ve barely changed at all.”

You blink at him. “Er…” You trail off nervously. You don’t recognise him, but you feel like you know him. Clearly, he thinks that he knows you.

“It’s fitting, isn’t it? Meeting again on a train?” He smiles, and it’s an impossibly knowing expression. You don’t think you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a look that intimate in your life, though you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Someone collides hard with your shoulder and you stagger for balance. You only look away from the man for a mere second, but it’s enough; when you look again, he’s gone.

You take to walking. There’s a wooded area behind the town, and you enjoy traipsing idly through the trees. Ancient roots erupt out of the dirt and fan over the ground like hairs, and the moss that covers the trunks of the trees is such a deep green that it almost seems like paint pigment. It’s soothing, being surrounded by nature like this. It reminds you of childhood — the simplicity of being able to jump over tree roots under a canopy of pale green leaves, of being able to leave all your thoughts and stress at the boundary of the forest.

It’s where you come after waking sweat-soaked and disoriented from a dream that clings to you like a burr, where you walk among the ferns and the needle-leaved weeds until you manage to shake the last vestiges of memory from your mind. You need it, especially in the mornings where you wake up with the acrid scent of herbal cleanser stinging in your nose or the bite of hard calluses on your palms from non-existent rough cloths. On mornings like that, you walk and walk until you no longer feel as though you’re more alive in your dreams than you are in reality.

Deep in the forest is a great red facade, painted a flaking, faded red. You wander by it frequently, admiring the overgrown greenery that crawls up the walls like reaching fingers, the mossy stone guardian that stands sentinel amongst the cracked flagstones that lead into the tunnelled entrance. You’ve asked around in the town, curious about what exactly this building was for, but most of the locals either don’t know what building you’re talking about or admit that they’re not sure. One man told you that the facade was built for a theme park in the 90s that had ended up going bust in the recession, and that the building only looked old.

You remain unconvinced on that front. The building has the kind of presence that only very old things have; it feels like it’s watching you.

For the most part, your walks in the forest are peaceful. Recently though, you’ve found yourself plagued by an insistent, irritating sense of deja vu. You don’t know where it’s coming from, and it hits you at the strangest of times — when you’re making tea, or in the bath, or cleaning your apartment, or on the train, or admiring the sky on a cloudless day.

The man from the train is the boy in your dreams. It takes you weeks to come to that realisation. You just wake up in the middle of the night on a random Tuesday, with wide eyes and clammy skin and his name slipping from the forefront of your mind.

It shouldn’t be possible, but once it dawns on you, you’re certain of it.

Even stranger is that once you realise it, it feels as though you see him everywhere. You see flashes of red hair when you’re walking down the street, when you’re grocery shopping, when you’re walking home late at night. It’s only ever the barest glance out of the corner of your eye, just overt enough for you to know it’s him, but subtle enough for you to question yourself immediately after.

One night, you travel to a local city to meet some old school friends. At night, the city seems to pulse. The music from seedy clubs spills out into the neon-lit streets, muffled shouted arguments echoes from alleyways and apartments alike, and the streets are peppered with people either scurrying or stumbling home, with very little variation. Though the perpetually overcast sky hides any trace of the moon or stars, the streetlamps reflect in the ever-present stagnant puddles littering the street, lighting them up in varying shades of sickly yellow.

At night, the city seems alive. Chronically ill and struggling to breathe, maybe, but clinging to life all the same.

The way the neon lights flicker in the gloomy darkness, just barely illuminating the shadows of people hurrying through the streets to get in out of the rain, reminds you of something you can’t quite remember. It sits in the back of your mind like a sour taste, but no matter how much you reach for the memory it remains just out of reach.

You spend most of the night staring out of the steamed up window of the pub, entranced by the sight of the night streets and frustrated by the memories that seem to dangle just out of reach. You know that it doesn’t make for good company, and you feel guilty for that. Your friends don’t seem overly surprised at your detachment. You’ve been drifting away for years, and though tonight was supposed to be all about reconnecting it seems clear that it’s not going to work.

When you eventually stand up to leave, with forced smiles and awkward goodbyes, you can’t help but feel melancholy settle over you like a second skin. As you slip out of the pub and onto the dark streets, the thought crosses your mind that you’re not used to being alone like this. It’s a silly thought, really; you’ve been alone for years. But sometimes, in those liminal moments between waking and sleeping, you swear you can hear the gentle drowsy breaths of dozens of people sleeping all around you, as though you’re surrounded on all sides. On those nights you wake up hot and claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but never feeling lonely.

It is probably your own fault, you reflect as you drift down the sidewalk like a ghost. It’s difficult to make an effort to know people when you feel as though you don’t know yourself. You don’t know how to bridge the distance between yourself and other people. You think sometimes that you’re missing chunks of yourself.

You pass an open shopfront that’s serving street food, and glance briefly in at the kitchen. The cook is illuminated only dimly in the smoky room, standing out as a shadow figure more than anything, and for a split second you could swear that he has six arms. You look away quickly and carry on walking — you don’t want to look again only to be proven wrong. You want to preserve that little second of magic strangeness for as long as you can.

The puddles on the street seem like they’re glowing with the light reflected from the neon streetlamps, and you weave your way carefully around them to avoid getting your feet wet. The night has a strange quality about it, almost as though it’s holding its breath.

Considering the combination of your pensive mood and the expectant air of the evening, you don’t feel surprised at all when you look up from the wet cobblestones to find the man standing only a few feet ahead of you.

He smiles like he’s nervous, his gaze tracking carefully over your face. In his hands, he’s holding flowers. Camellias, you think. It’s the first time since you first saw him on the train that hasn’t been a fleeting glance out of the corner of your eye— he’s here in front of you and he’s real and solid and sturdy. He seems more substantial than the streets around you, than your friends back at the pub had been.

“Do you remember me?” He asks, voice soft as though he’s afraid of the answer.

“Remember you?” You croak. It feels as though the words are catching inside your throat. “No. But I’ve seen you every night in my dreams for years.”

If that’s the answer he’s expecting, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking at you, your face, your body. You wonder exactly it is that he’s seeing. “These are for you.” He says eventually, holding out the flowers. “I didn’t- I wanted to bring you something, when I saw you again. And I know that you always liked the garden.”

He’s talking as if the places that you’ve dreamed about are real. It doesn’t come as the earth-shattering surprise you might have expected — rather, it feels like a key turning in an old lock. A click, and then a sense of yes, that’s right.

You take the flowers, and clutch them to your chest. They’re a fleshy pink, with a vibrant yellow centre. The petals are as soft as velvet. Holding them feels like holding a safety blanket. “Thank you.” It’s the only thing that you can manage to say right now. Your thoughts are too full, and nothing else makes it out of your mouth.

It’s rather startling, the feelings that bubble up in your chest. It feels like something has just been unlocked, as though you had stored away all this emotion somewhere deep in your ribcage and then forgotten about it only for it to resurface at this precise moment, for this precise person.

“Eijirou.” You croak. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

His whole face brightens, and his eyes sparkle. “Yes. That’s me. You do remember!”

They’re not quite memories, you don’t think. They come in dreamlike flashes — the garden, an ocean, train tracks, the feral snarling of a dragon with sharp teeth, hard work and hot food, friends.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Kirishima is saying, his face open and earnest. “But I told you that I’d come and find you again, remember?”

You do remember, sort of. A flash of a warm hand holding yours, pushing you forward over a boundary between one world and another, and a goodbye whispered behind you that sounds like a promise.

“You saved me.”

Kirishima laughs, though his eyes look a little shiny. “It was the other way around, actually. I would have stayed trapped in that bathhouse forever, if it weren’t for you.”

“The bathhouse.” You murmur, wide-eyed. It was real, real, real.

“Things are different now.” He edges closer to you. He’s large and imposing and taller than you, but he’s hunched slightly in an attempt to make himself unthreatening. “That’s why it took so long for me to come for you. Things were changing. Me and Katsuki run the bathhouse now.”

Katsuki. In your mind's eye you see a boy with wild blond hair and a dangerous look in his eyes, a boy who gives you extra rice when he can manage and takes over parts of your chores when you get so tired that you’re fit to pass out.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He says quietly, and the tide of emotion that you had just barely been holding at bay comes crashing over you. Before the first tear has welled over the edge of your eyelids, Kirishima has stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms. The flowers are crushed between your chests as you cry.

“I didn’t even know what I was waiting for.” You cry into his silk suikan.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m not going to leave again.”

You don’t release your grip on him. You’re not willing to take the chance.

After a moment, Kirishima speaks again. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” You echo, finally pulling away. “Go where?”

“Home.” He says, and he means the bathhouse. He means the spirit world.

“You want me to work for you?”

“I want you to help us run it.” He corrects. The distinction is important for both of you — though the memories are distant, you both know what it feels like to have your names and voices erased so cleanly that it makes you wonder if you ever existed fully at all.

“I don’t know anything about running a bathhouse. Especially not one for spirits.” You say, but Kirishima just laughs.

“You were always a hard worker. You’ll learn as you go. That’s what we’ve all been doing.”

You want to say yes. The word beats in your head like a drum, and you can’t think of a good reason to say no. The bathhouse. Home. The chance to feel real and awake at the same time.

“Okay.” You say on a breath, staring at him with wide eyes. “Stay with me, this time.”

When Kirishima’s face lights up in a smile, it’s the first time that you think you can accurately describe someone as incandescently happy. “Good luck getting rid of me again.”

You laugh, feeling nearly delirious with relief and joy. It’s real. He’s real. He’s come back for you, and now you’re going back with him. You think you should probably feel nervous or hesitant, but this brief encounter has felt more solid and right than the rest of the night spent with distant school-friends made uncomfortable by your silences.

“So, how do we get there?” You ask, but Kirishima just grins at you like you should already know the answer.

The train station is tucked away down an alley just off a busy main shopping district.

“It’s easy to miss if you don’t know exactly where you're going.” Kirishima tells you with a sharp smile, and it’s easy to believe. The red brick building that housed the train station is unmarked, and the trains couldn’t be seen from the main street. The alley itself is home to many curious sights -- paper lanterns bob overhead (though they don’t seem to be suspended by anything in particular), a yellowed flyer from the 1950s advertising Marlboro cigarettes drifts along on what seems to be a breeze despite the noticeable lack of wind, and three magpies sit on a wall wearing little golden timepieces on chains around their necks and caw in time with the ticking.

“Ready to go home?” Kirishima asks quietly. In his hand, two train tickets flutter in a non-existent breeze.

A family of mice scamper past your feet, pulling a miniature suitcase between them. A tall, thin woman wearing a blank white mask assists them onto the train.

You laugh at the whimsy of it all — it feels as though you’ve stepped into a fairytale, into a dream, into your childhood. “Yes,” You grin, “I’m ready.”

Kirishima beams back at you, and holds out a hand to help you onto the train. Finding a seat was easy — despite all the passengers you had seen boarding, the carriage was oddly empty. As soon as you’re seated, you sigh. It feels as though you’re sinking into an old overstuffed armchair, comfortable and familiar. When the whistle blows and the train starts moving, you turn eagerly to watch as the train begins to pick up speed. Within moments, you find that you can barely recognise the landscape blurring past the window — It seems that you’re zooming passed a beautiful sea-view, despite the fact that the city the train station was located in was conspicuously land-locked. You sigh happily and lean against your seat.

You still don’t remember everything about your experience in the spirit world all those years ago, but you think you remember hearing someone telling you “Once you meet someone you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return."

You make eye contact with Eijirou, who smiles back at you so fondly that it nearly hurts to look at. He’s changed so much from the boy in your dreams, in your memories. His eyes are no longer glassy and distant — now they’re shiny and expressive and so bright. His hair is longer too; still spiked and wild, but longer and curling softly over the curve of his neck and shoulders. He’s the boy your remember from all those years ago, but he’s also a man now. Grown, like you have, but smiling at you gently just like you’re ten years old again.

Through the window behind his head, the sunrise begins to bathe the water in delicate pinks and yellows. You’ll wait for as long as you need to for the memories to return, but even if they don’t that’s alright. You can just make new ones.

#this is so cheesy lol but whatever i've been staring at this doc for too long and i want it out of my sight #kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #kirishima eijirou #ghibli au #kirishima eijiro fluff #kirishima x y/n #mha x reader

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ajaxwrites · 3 years

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GENSHIN IMPACT FANFIC REC LIST II

(previous: part i)

Seaglass by Aevas

There was more to the contract than a gnosis and test of Liyue. It seemed like a simple deal five hundred years ago: so long as Morax never had a soulmate, the Tsaritsa would never harm Liyue and she would not get his gnosis. But the moment he gained a soulmate, all that belonged to him was forfeit. He thought the deal left Liyue safe—he'd lived thousands of years without a soulmate. The Tsaritsa would be dead and gone by the time she'd have a chance to collect.

Five hundred years later, Childe appears in Liyue, Zhongli gains a soulmate mark, and everything falls apart.

(The obligatory soulmate AU, featuring a Zhongli with PTSD, an oblivious Childe, and demon-worshipping cultists.)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: I CANNOT BELIEVE I SLEPT ON THIS FIC FOR SO LONG. Read it and I mean it! I admitted initially steered clear of this fic because I wasn’t comforted with a soulmate tartali fic pre-Osial but this fic is actually post-Ostial *facepalm* The writing is phenomenal and Aevas does some beautiful worldbuilding that you typically don’t see in Genshin Impact fics. I love the dynamic between Childe and Zhongli here and the angst is real. The author writes the two as very human characters who makes mistakes, etc. and notably Zhongli struggles with the concept of Childe as his soulmate (who understandably is upset by the rejection when he realizes). They get better though. Also very plotty. A+ writing.

it's a hard rock life for us by reptilianraven

“Ah, no need to worry about that,” Azhdaha waves a dismissive hand. “There is no real Kun Jun. He’s dead.”

A leaf blows past and plaps onto Aether’s face.

“You killed him???” Paimon screeches.

“No,” Azhdaha scrunches his eyebrows. “He was dead when I found him.”

“And you just decided to wear his corpse?” Aether says, leaf still on his face.

He shrugs. “It was free real estate.”

“Azhdaha...” Morax says, sounding vaguely pained.

Or the one where Historia Antiqua Chapter II: No Mere Stone goes a little bit different and Azhdaha gets more time.

He ultimately uses that time to bully Morax into confronting his immortal neuroses, to make Aether and Paimon suffer, and to figure out how to get that ginger boy Morax has his eye on to make a move already.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe, Past Azhdaha/Zhongli

Notes: Very lighthearted, humor-filled fic. Love how Azhdaha is so flippant. Interactions with Zhongli and Childe are pure gold.

if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes by moonlight_mist

Childe has a Weapon problem- specifically, that he can't keep one.

He's too reckless, too wild, and too keen on pushing his Weapon partners past their limits. He's just about ready to give up when he meets Zhongli, a Weapon who just might be the solution- so long as Childe can manage to keep his dick in his pants.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a Soul Eater AU with some college/university AU vibes (?) but you don’t really need to know much about the anime. It’s a cute AU and I love the premise. Light angst but otherwise, it’s a pretty semi-plotty fic. Easter egg Kaeya and Diluc though.

To Kill A God by IlluminanceinTales

In Snezhnaya, they call them sansis—lost souls that have no guidance but themselves. It’s an apt description, given that most of the time, wannabe-Archons have to go through dozens of tests with nothing as their reference, relying solely on their wit and strength and hoping it would be enough. At least, until they survive the end of the whole game—and they might not have to undergo a painful reincarnation which feels like a hundred bones being stitched together again.

On his seventh game, Childe Tartaglia reincarnates this time in the body of a young man.

Damn, he thinks, looking down at his thin body, his slightly calloused fingers. This won’t be good when facing the other Hydro Decisions.

In a world where an Archon's position is not chosen but fought for in games, Childe Tartaglia is a Hydro Decision who's poised to become the next Hydro Archon. Of course, that's only if he survives his seventh reincarnation. All would be so much easier if it weren't for a certain Geo Archon interfering with every possible chance he gets.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Think Hunger Games meet Political Intrigue meet Genshin Impact. Love the premise and world building that’s done. Features overprotective Zhongli and lots of Childe whump. Has one or two supplementary OCs that aren’t really important outside of plot device reasons. Warning for character death tho lmao.

Three's a Family by IlluminanceinTales

Childe finds a kid that looks just like him.

Of course Zhongli wants to keep him.

Or: How a harbinger and an archon accidentally become fathers. The kid is their wingman

Ships: Childe/Zhongli (?)

Notes: Your everyday cute AF kid fic. Fluffy as hell and super cute. Zhongli and Childe get domestic pretty quickly. Xiao gets dubbed a grandfather and begrudgingly plays along. Super wholesome.

in pitch dark i go walking in your landscape by snowbrigade

He glanced down at him, at the silvery scars peeking out from beneath his robe, and at his eyes, properly now. They were the bright blue of high quality noctilucous jade, but he could see it, an underlying darkness.

Zhongli wondered what his eyes betrayed about himself. --

Rex Lapis is dead. Zhongli, formerly known as triad leader Rex Lapis, is a detective investigating his own "death." Childe, also known as Tartaglia of the Fatui mafia, is undercover as an escort looking to kill Rex Lapis- until someone beats him to it, and he wants to know who. Goals intersecting, they form a partnership of ulterior motives.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: There’s like one scene that skews NSFW but otherwise surprisingly not explicit. Really fun AU. Like how the author addresses Childe’s reaction to being stuck with the undercover escort stuff and how the dynamic between the two develops. Pretty plotty so far.

Phantom Lines by iskendaris

“It’s a measure of one’s self, Mr Zhongli.” Childe says. “Maybe you don’t understand it since you work as a consultant, but as an ambassador from the Tsaritsa, as one who fights in her name— this is how I learn to know the measure of myself.” “I understand,” Zhongli says thoughtfully. “It is a warrior’s way, to test one’s strength against the incomparable. To find where one falls short. To find where one has risen to the challenge.”

In which Childe has insomnia, vandalizes public property and runs into a mysterious funeral consultant on his first night in Liyue.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: THE FEELS. I can only describe this as the fic where Zhongli pays Best Boyfriend Ever only to FUCK UP big time (via Gnosis deception). Poor, poor Childe. Look, he gave the boy feelings and then broke him. You can really feel Childe fall in love in this love. He also does mental swooning a lot lmao.

adventitious by Anonymous

It's said the Ley Lines remember all things that happen in this world, from the surface down to the deepest depths... But in the hidden corners where the Gods' gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming.

There's a dormant bud where Kaeya's eye once was. One day, it will bloom. (Never forget: memory is untrustworthy.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: I don’t even know where to start. This is very headcanony and lore-focused. Very much concentrated on Khaenri'ah. The implications of this story is grotesque to say the least (according to this fic, Visions are the literal eyes of the people of Khaenri'ah). Warnings for eye and body horror.

Without Those Dark Memories by StrangeDiamond

Diluc awakens in Stormterror’s Lair with no memories of the past five years. Kaeya is on the trail of a rogue alchemist, with a habit of testing his chemicals on unwilling human subjects. Now, in addition to capturing the criminal, Kaeya has to shake him down for an antidote . . . and deal with an amnesiac Diluc who acts exactly like he did before their brotherhood fell apart. (Standalone Fic.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: This is sort of a classic amnesia fic. I particularly really liked the way that Kaeya was written in this. I feel like the author did a really good job nailing his character and they have a way of capturing the subtle things.

Through the warmth, through the cold by strikedawn

“It’s you!” Paimon shouted with a twirl in mid-air.

“…Excuse me?"

They were drunk. Were they drunk? Was he drunk? Because Kaeya had the feeling his guests had been talking to him for a while now, but none of their words had made any sense whatsoever.

That was, until Venti stepped firmly in front of Kaeya’s desk and set his hands on the top, the better to lean over towards Kaeya and say: “For the end of the Windblume festival, Sir Kaeya Alberich, we’re going to auction a date with you.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Shortword, Kaeya gets auctioned off. Diluc makes impulsive (but good) decisions and scores himself a Date but displays an inability to do Date Planning. Venti deserves a pat on the back. Very sweet.

Hide and Seek by Kiri_Kaitou_Clover

Childe did not expect regaining his memories would bring him such frustration.

He makes the best of the situation by messing with one amber eyed consultant in anyway he can.

A reincarnated storm god wades through life in Liyue, all while screaming about one dragon god's incompetency at being human.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Features Childe as Osial’s very exasperated reincarnation, who gets the joy of discovering that his rival/enemy Morax is not only an idiot but also broke AF. He still falls in love anyway. Contains this golden line:

"Did... did that complete blockhead really use my money in order to get me a gift that basically says that he is proposing to me?!"

(Osial was screaming. When had the other god become like this?! Had he always been like this?!)

Getting that Bread by tzitzimeme

Concubine AU where Zhongli is Emperor, Xiao is an assassin sent to kill him while disguised as a woman in his imperial harem, and the only reason he doesn't actually do it is because he pities Zhongli for being so catastrophically stupid (also Xiao falls in love).

Ships: Zhongli/Xiao

Notes: Like Xiao says, Zhongli is an idiot. Fluff and humor filled. Xiao spends a good 95% of this exasperated by Zhongli’s bullshit.

prayers for a boy by Recluse

The only way to reconciliation is fierce combat!

Hm... Come to think of it, there will be a lot of interesting news to be heard the next time we gather for drinks. Filling in the blanks.

Ships: N/A

Notes: I...don’t really know where to begin with this? It’s exactly what the summary implies...but more? I was tempted to describe this as the fic where Zhongli puts his foot in his mouth but...that’s not exactly write? I feel like this was more of a character study. It explores the aftermath of the Osial Incident and how Zhongli and Childe reconnect. Platonically...though I guess it can be read romantically.

one kind of longing, two places of sorrow by lady_peony

Zhongli's hands rest behind his back, both gloved hands clasping one another. His fingers tighten around one another for the merest moment, before he relaxes his grip.

"There is a tradition in Liyue," Zhongli says, his back still to Childe standing behind him, "of inviting out a companion to a last meal before a farewell."

A pause.

"A tradition?" Childe echoes.

"Yes."

"With a companion?"

"Yes."

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The fic where neither of the two communicate about jackshit but go on a quiet, sad not-date before Childe leaves for Snezhnaya. Childe pulls (? on accident or on purpose, I can not tell) the equivalent of leaving the jacket in the car post-date to get date to call for the second date. Also, the author has a gift for like...writing angst...without writing angst? Like the whole fic is like brimming with everything that the characters aren’t saying but the thoughts aren’t necessarily written out BUT YOU KNOW THOSE DUMBFUCKS ARE JUST LIKE. BRIMMING WITH FEELS?

The People of Liyue by queer_occurrences

But Zhongli whispers, his low voice rooted in the back of Childe’s mind. “Changsun, the merchant, who is never too Mora-enthralled to turn away a needy child. There’s Tiantian—she will allow anyone to join the Adventurer’s Guild—she knows what it is to be desperate.”

Childe ducks away from them and hurries out over the bridge. It’s a warm, sunny day, the kind he would have complained about, whining about his delicate Snezhnayan skin. “It’ll burn, or worse, freckle. Would you still like me if I was freckled?”

Then Zhongli would say, “The people of Liyue will remember your sacrifice.” And he would wrinkle his nose.

Or: after it all goes down, Childe takes a walk.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The author has a way with perfectly balancing angst with humor in a way that makes you cackle. There’s a lot of feels in this one. Zhongli tries communicating--Childe runs away a lot. There’s a lot of love for Liyue in this one.

cold blooded, warm blooded, hearts all the same by reptilianraven

Teyvat Petting Zoo @tyvtpettingzoo

Well would you look at that! Zhongli, our resident spinytail iguana, has gotten quite cozy with Childe, our new (and very feisty) ginger ferret! Aren’t they adorable all cuddled together like this? 😍😍😍

[Attached image shows a brown spinytail iguana curled up against a ginger ferret. The iguana’s head is nuzzled under the snout of the ferret.]

At the Teyvat Petting Zoo, Zhongli and Childe fall in love.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: ...I promise I’m not weird. This is just super cute. Cross-species love affair? Childe the ferret is very besotted. The internet is confused and the zoo keepers are just done.

a geo archon's guide to the modern era by Erina

“Morax,” Xiao says after Zhongli finishes his retelling of the incident. “He thinks you’re a weirdo.”

“No, don’t say that,” Barbatos snickers. “You’ll give him hope that this is salvageable.” He lowers his voice. “Morax, he thinks you’re a boomer.”

(In which Zhongli hibernates for centuries and wakes up in the modern world)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This took me, I shit you not, FIVE SEPARATE ATTEMPTS to read. Not because it was bad but BECAUSE THE SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT WAS REAL. Like, omg, just reading about Zhongli’s introduction to modernity made me want to dig a hole and die. Super funny though. Do not read in public or you will look like a lunatic. Has a...parallel (?) fic in the same series called buy two get one archon free where Zhongli gets reversed isekai’d into an anime convention.

time flies like an arrow by Erina

He’s tired, tired of the unbreakable loop of watching his loved ones pass on, tired of getting attached only for the connection to be violently ripped away from him. He wonders if the real victors during the Archon War were those who perished, who died long before their godhood turned into a curse that chained them to the land that they were fighting for.

But that is not a problem for Childe to worry about. That is Zhongli’s burden to bear, delivered to him in a pretty package years ago in the form of a gnosis.

His very first contract.

(Zhongli and Childe, across many lifetimes)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a quiet fic. It’s this kind of slice-of-life fic colored by this overpowering sense of love and loss as Zhongli remains immortal and Childe dies and lives and dies and lives for hundreds of lifetimes, but always finds his way back to his geo archon. It’s so lovely but also unbearably sad.

Tartaglia’s Favorite Professor by GreyLiliy

The famed hitman Tartaglia of the Fatui Syndicate spends his days as the charming college student Childe. The two lives remain as separate as possible in order to maintain a flawless cover to keep the authorities off his back and to better serve the Tsaritsa.

However, new intel about a rival syndicate intersects his two lives in a way he could never have predicted.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Mafia AU meet College AU. Childe is somehow both a horny AF college student and murderous hitman. Zhongli gives off major DILF vibes. GreyLily somehow makes this work while also avoiding cringe. Highly recommended!

like a handprint on my heart by fallingintodivinity

“Strictly off-the-record,” Jean says, with a small smile, “I’m really happy to see you and Captain Kaeya getting along again, Master Diluc.”

“We’re not – we’re not getting along,” Diluc tells her, indignant. “We’re working together. Unwillingly, I might add.”

“Yes – oh, yes, of course.”

Diluc stares at Jean suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me?”

Jean clears her throat primly. “I would never.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Super, super cute! Sort of reads like a first date fic except genshin impact style? Writing style is very refreshing!

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfic #fanfic rec #rec list #zhongli/childe #childe/zhongli #tartali #chili #diluc./kaeya #luckae #fanfiction #took a while but i have been steadily reading my way through the fandom #still not all my recs #but you can check my ao3 for what i'm reading lmao

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ao3bronte · 4 years

Photo

when chaos reigns [the sirens come to play]

A Merman AU. (Rated T with some suggestive language.) Now on AO3!

[Prologue]

Covid-19 and covert relationships don’t exactly go hand-in-hand these days, but you really shouldn’t be touching anyone’s hands right now anyway.

…that is, unless you don’t belong to the same species.

Can Merpeople catch Covid-19? That’s debatable, but news doesn’t exactly flow freely from the depths of the South China Sea. Though we know very little about Merpeople and their ways of life, we do know that they rarely interact with humans, preferring to tear down their ships and rip apart their dams and levies in revenge for poisoning the oceans and seas with their human fossil fuels.

But this isn’t a story about environmental politics, or Covid-19 for that matter. This is a story about love and about putting aside differences. In this tale, Marinette discovers that the term ‘scalie’ (ou écailleux, car nous sommes en France) doesn’t always refer to the commonly known adjective to describe fish skin. And Adrien, bless his heart, really does need to put on clothes when he’s not rocking a fish tail despite the fact that he’d much rather be naked (much to Marinette’s mortification). Anyway you slice it, Merpeople and humans simply aren’t supposed to be together — they’ve always been sworn enemies through and through — but no matter what alternate universe we find ourselves in, these two idiots in love will always find each other.

This is, undoubtedly, their story.

[Part 1]

It’s the beginning of March and Tom and Sabine aren’t taking any chances with this whole virus situation. Marinette seems to catch everything — illnesses, hands, the whole nine yards — and they’d already been talking about sending her down to the Cote d’Azur to spend the summer with her grandmother Gina Dupain in order to get away from Paris for a little while. The constant schoolyard bullying from Chloé Bourgeois has dragged Marinette down so many pegs that Sabine is almost relieved to see Macron call off school for the foreseeable future and books both her daughter and her husband a trip to Marseille before the entire country shuts down for good.

Marinette isn’t happy, of course, but what teen would be? Her friends are in Paris! The fashion is in Paris! She doesn’t want to stay in some sleepy little Mediterranean village where nothing ever happens! Do they even have Wi-Fi there?

It’s a valid question. Tom doesn’t actually know, but he chatters enough for the two of them as the high speed train takes them down the rails to the south of France. Marinette’s sulk lightens a little as he pulls pastry after pastry out of his luggage in the hopes of making his daughter smile just a little before dropping her off with his mother — he knows that their relationship is a little strange after Gina’s last visit to Paris but there’s nothing a little quality time together can’t fix.

Petite Befana is one of those places you find on a postcard. Situated just on the edge of France and Italy, the fishing village’s brightly coloured houses gleam in the sunlight, peppered with lemon trees and winding alleys that seem to almost spill out into the sea. The beaches are craggy and feature small grottos and coves of underground caves that glimmer with seaglass when the sun hits them just right, hiding a pocket sized oasis here and there for the adventurous who like to explore at low tide. Gina likes it here because of the Place du Marché, but Tom often wonders as to the real reason why she’s settled in the quaint harbour after years of Eat, Pray, Loving around the entire planet after divorcing his father.

She’s certainly made friends with every woman in town by the looks of it. Along with her veritable swarm of bar-hopping friends, Tom keeps seeing a woman with pointed features and deep black hair with a violent red streak in it pop up on her Facebook page. They always seem to be in the same jazz club, not that Tom is really paying attention; if his mother wants to spend her golden years drinking negronis and dancing with her girlfriends, that’s up to her.

They disembark the train in Marseilles and take a bus to Toulon, then another bus to Petite Befana. Marinette is passed out and drooling on his shoulder by the end of it so Tom does as he always does and hauls her up like a sack of flour through the thick and winding labyrinths of cobblestone streets towards his mother’s apartment. Gina greets them once he eventually finds the place and, after tucking Marinette into the daybed in the guest bedroom, happily guzzles down the proffered beer on the terrasse overlooking the sea.

“I’ll try to come down as often as I can,” Tom assures Gina, not knowing just how bad of a clusterfuck 2020 was about to become. “I’m sure Marinette will come to appreciate all that Petite Befana has to offer.”

“I’ll take her down to the market tomorrow morning,” Gina assures him, patting her son’s beefy forearms. “There’s an older woman who sells the most beautiful fabrics and I already dusted off my old sewing machine. That should keep her busy.”

“Marinette’s never happier when there’s a project to complete,” Tom responds with relief, downing the rest of his Kronenbourg. “I bet she’ll have an entire closet full of clothes by the time the month is out.”

“And it should only take a month or two for this to blow over.” Gina jabs her thumb towards the television as the news of Covid-19 murmurs in the background amid the waves of the Med on the shore. “And then we’ll be back to normal before you know it!”

(...and we all know how that turned out.)

[Part 2]

Covid-19 affects a lot of people in a lot of different ways. Some feel stir crazy. Others enjoy the alone time. But Marinette? Well, she’s been trapped in the harbours of Petit Befana for three weeks now and our aforementioned heroine is already bored out of her skull. She’s made three dresses, four satchels and twenty two scrunchies with the leftover fabric because what else is there to do down here? Luckily, Covid-19 hasn’t quite affected Petite Befana like it has the other regions of France and Marinette is able to go outside at least...not that she wants to.

There are more artisanal bakeries and charcuterie shops in Petite Befana than there are nightclubs and high end boutiques, which is odd for a village so beautifully situated on the coast of southeast France. Gina proudly boasts that her new home is often bypassed by the glitz and glam of Monaco; lavish superyachts and the seemingly endless stream of paparazzi prefer the glamour and uberwealth just west of their little village, leaving its sleepy inhabitants mostly alone to sell their goods to the tourists that stop by for a night on their bicycles and scooters. Marked with the Italian influences of its neighbour, Petit Befana truly is the little-known last stop on the famous Cote d’Azur which makes it an inspiring landscape for Marinette to discover…

...for all of four days.

She’s already so over Covid-19 and, like any teenager, she’s getting more and more annoyed by the day that she can’t hang out with her friends! Why did Maman and Papa send her down here?! All she wants to do is get back to Paris and design! It’s not like there’s anything fun to do here anyway, besides play video games all day in her bedroom; the only places that offer free WiFi are closed and she can only play Animal Crossing for so long before her grandmother insists on making her get some fresh air.

Ugh!

Grumbling under her breath, Marinette pulls on her raincoat and stomps down the laneway from the terrasse towards the sidestreet where her grandmother’s 1920’s bastide-style home resides. From the cobbled alley, Marinette watches the colourful array of fishing boats land their day’s catch right up on the harbourfront and heads down despite the storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

“Bonjour!” A group of older men wave as she makes her way down the ancient steps, the pathway shaded by thick palms and cacti. She pauses just long enough to ask who’s winning their game of socially distanced pétanque before continuing her way through the pines towards the gravel and sand beaches that line the shore.

The seafront is mostly boarded up, much to both Gina’s and Marinette’s disdain. Her grandmother used to spend most of her evenings at the jazz bar La Sirena with her friends, not that Marinette got to meet any of them. The lockdown shuttered pretty much everything the day after she kissed Papa goodbye and settled into her new life for the next month, but with three weeks already stretching into four, Marinette dejectedly wonders if she’ll ever see Paris again.

Passing the last brasserie on the boardwalk, Marinette leaves civilization for the long stretches of barren coastline. There’s all sorts of little inlets and grottos here and there, especially as she gets closer and closer to the Italian border. Unfortunately, it’s only April, which means it’s rainy, generally unpleasant and completely and utterly empty on the beach.

“No one to talk to, nothing to do…” Marinette sighs and tries to kick a piece of driftwood, only to miss it with her foot in true Marinette style. The faux pas — quite literally — sends her screaming and flailing her arms like an octopus on a ceiling fan as she dramatically plummets face first onto the wet, slimy gravel.

She groans and pushes herself up on her hands and knees, wincing as sea-weathered stones dig into her palms and kneecaps. Marinette is, above all, a walking disaster in every sense of the word — sometimes she wonders if the powers that be seek out to deliberately punish her with embarrassing things like this on purpose for their own amusement.

(ಸ_ಸ … *cough* Zag *cough*)

Marinette whimpers as she wipes chunks of seaweed and brownish foam off her cheeks and chin. At least no one was around to see her fall over — thank god — but she’ll still have to do the laundry when she gets home. She’s covered in muck and little bits of oily slime that are sure to stain if she doesn’t wash it out soon. Marinette grimaces as she tries to shake it off of her hands; humans really have done a number on the seas and oceans...like, why is her front so sticky? She glances at some of the garbage on the shore as she sits on her haunches and wonders if the news has it all wrong. Maybe the merpeople taking potshots at rich people on yachts with old cans and plastic sea trash really do have the moral upper hand…

Marinette, being Marinette, would have continued to stare dazed and confused into space well into the afternoon had it not been for the impossibly shiny something or other sparkling in the grotto straight ahead.

[NEXT PART...]

#miraculous ladybug #mermaid au #lovesquare #adrinette #adrienette #Bronte's Mermaid AU #ml

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greatandquestionablecontent · 3 years

Text

Ykatern

(EEK-uh-turn)

Tagging: @thelifestoryofkara who expressed interest and inspired me to do these writeups. @pythagoreanwhump might also be interested? We’ve chatted a bit about Ykatern!

Notable Characters: Gavin, Ari, Garrah (Gavin’s brother), Lin (Gavin’s mom), other members of Gavin’s revolution crew (Liat, Yakovi, Pavril, etc.)

Ykatern has a flag! It’s the only one I’ve made a flag for so far. Behold!

Landscape: Ykatern is north of Cardea, south of Evaree, and west of J’Kyris. Positioned in the mountains, much of the main populated area is extremely dry (a rainshadow desert!), although we also see alpine forests. Their 4th remaining border has no country: to the west are massive, impenetrable mountains that no one has ever crossed and come back to tell the tale. Bonus fun aesthetic fact, Ykaternic buildings tend to be single or double story, rather than tall.

Economically, the country is capitalist, and a handful wealthy families make up a large portion of the political power. Their main exports come from mining, and they import much of their grain and rice since their land is not well suited to large scale agriculture. Recently the government has decided to close the borders as much as possible and be autonomous. This just means it’s harder for poor people to afford many foods. No biggie. Just add a few extra hours to your shift at the factory, or have your sons drop out of school to work full time.

Politics: Ykatern is in the midst of a very tense political time.

Over the past several decades, the government has been leaning further and further into fascism and authoritarianism. Although technically a democracy, the freedom to vote is extremely limited, and you really should just go ahead and vote for who’s already in power.

The Kadra (the police, which are a branch of the military) have been cracking down hard on any signs of treason. While this has not always been the case, it is now quite common for suspected rebels to be publicly executed, imprisoned, and even tortured. Their families may be blacklisted or vanish mysteriously. Freedom of the press, while still technically in their laws, is also getting squashed out. Propaganda abound will tell you that all of the country’s current problems are being caused by rebels and foreign influence.

The revolution itself is not a singular group. There are multiple groups, some with overlapping goals, and some individuals are branded as rebels simply for talking too loudly about unions or offending a particular government official. Generally “politically incorrect” topics likely to get you in trouble are: unions and workers’ rights, immigration and emigration, any talk of welfare programs, displeasure with the government, disapproval of the Kadra.

Culture:

Much of this new generation finds themselves distanced from religion, and the current regime is secular, with little respect for various religious groups. However, that doesn’t mean religion isn’t there! The two main religions in Ykatern are the devotion to the Sun God, which has temples in most cities, and the unnamed folk traditions of the highlands people. Most of what we know about folk traditions comes from Gavin’s mom. Depending on the AU, Ari has vague ties to the Temple of the Sun.

The highlands nomadic spiritual beliefs have some overlap with Cardean spiritual beliefs, as these groups historically intermingled, exchanging ideas and folklore. While on the surface many things may seem different, they have in common a belief in dangerous, hungry spirits of the restless dead. Unlike Cardeans, who do their best to avoid these spirits and believe that nothing can be done for them, highlands traditions incorporate caring for and appeasing these spirits, as well as following proper funerary rituals to ensure that the recently dead can depart peacefully.

Vultures have a strong spiritual association, tracing back to the nomadic highlands groups but now just part of the mainstream culture. With urbanization, vultures have adapted alongside humans, and are commonly found around towns and cities, scavenging. They are treated with respect and for the most part left to their own devices. In some more Northern places, it is still traditional to leave recently deceased out for several days for the vultures to feed on, as this will ensure the vultures guide their spirits to a safe afterlife. Some cities have designated vulture roosting structures.

Most places in Ykatern have a very strong sense of neighborhood community. Your neighbor’s kids are just as much family as your cousins are. The idea of not knowing who lives next door is unheard of, whether you’re in a big city apartment or a remote ranch, whether you hate them or think they’re spying on you. Presumably there are plenty of tight knit neighborhoods elsewhere too that we just don’t get to hear about, but one of the things Gavin most longs for about home is that sense of everybody knowing everybody and wandering in and out of each other’s houses and knowing each other’s business. It’s also one of the things he’s most relieved to get away from when he becomes an urban hermit in Cardea.

In recent times, this “everybody is in everybody’s business” has made things very tense, with people reporting their neighbors for treason and thus also coming to fear their neighbors.

Ykatern has a very heteronormative culture, and deviations from that are generally aggressively ignored. That couldn’t possibly happen here! Especially with J’Kyrish advances in gay and transgender rights, paired with compounding xenophobia, a new attitude among Ykaternic conservatives is that not only is being gay or gender nonconforming unnatural, but it’s also a weird foreign trend, and surely couldn’t have been around until now. Kids these days!

However, pre-urbanization, at least one of the highlands nomadic groups is known to have had a recognized third gender which dealt with the domains of the spirit world and death. This isn’t talked about much now, although Gavin’s mom has mentioned the concept.

It is common in low-income families for young adults to marry as soon as they come of age, and it is expected that they will have children soon afterwards. Women are expected to raise children and tend to household chores, cooking, and healing, while men are expected to work outside the home. Ye olde patriarchal values. Many of the highlands nomadic groups were matriarchal, but those are forgotten days.

All that said, there are thriving countercultures if you know where to look. Many rebellious groups which already go against the grain are more likely to have openly gay and bisexual people in their midst.

And one of the benefits to gender/sexual deviance being ignored and hush-hushed is that for the most part, it’s not likely to incite violence or direct harassment. Although, if people already think you’re weird and the Kadra come asking around, you might find some fingers pointing…

Notable Foods that grow locally: olives, grapes, dates, figs, wine, goat/chicken/lamb products (for instance goat milk and goat cheese), lots of salt and salty foods.

Language: Ykaternic. Most Ykaternic people are bilingual, also speaking at least a little bit of Tel, and for about a generation (Gavin’s generation give or take), both languages were taught in schools. With the recent attempts to MakeYkaternGreatAgain and weed out foreign influence, Tel is no longer being taught or spoken in schools, and is becoming less popular. All official government media is exclusively in Ykaternic.

#ykatern #worldbuilding #my writing #meta and rambles #the reason ykatern has a flag and no one else does is bc one time for an art class project i made a gavari comic #and i wanted it in the background of one of the panels for symbolism

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writingonesdreams · 2 years

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Hey! Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday! :D

Are there any political structures in place in your world? Royalty? Nobility? Government? Do they affect the narrative? Do they have their own political conflict in the foreground or background of your WIP? If so, tell us a little about it :D

If not, tell us something new about your worldbuilding you've figured out and would like to ramble about :D

From @bloodlessheirbyjacques ✨<3

Hi @bloodlessheirbyjacques thanks for stopping by^^

Honestly, the more I think about Tears of Iron, the more I realize it's a deeply character driven story, where the world itself doesn't play all that much of a big role. Def not the political landscape, age or details about how this futuristic scifi-fantasy works. In a way it's maybe more similar to magical realism. Magic is there, but it's not about how it works, but why and what impact it has on the characters. At the same time, magic is an academic subject, emotional and internal expression and connection to the world and its cultural role and impact do get explored.

I'm usually unsure about how to answer deep world questions. I'm writing fantasy after all, so ofc people are justified to ask about how the world works, what's different, what the new rules are. But through being character-driven as it is, the setting is a backdrop for the interactions and character arcs, for situations and introspection and doesn't get explanations at all. It's just not that kind of story, for which the world is particulary important in itself.

I like creating setting-less stories, which is why it makes me nervous. My AU-ish process basically means throwing characters anywhere and seeing how it affects them, which, at the end, leaves me with many interrelationships drama scenes and very little about the place and time itself.

What I'm currently thinking about are the revelations from reading A little life. That is not fantasy at all, instead being a slice of life literary fiction, where the characters arcs define the plot and the world instead of the plot changing the characters. It's timeless in its lack of references to real life events and the places change a lot all over the world. And you know, I really liked that the setting was just kinda there, changing, providing details for the character feelings, where they were in their lives and where they were going, instead of impacting their decisions themselves.

So maybe this is what Tears of Iron could have too. Placeless and timeless, the scifi elements being there to allow me freedom for the stage and situation I need for character arcs and thematic questions to get explored in the way I'm interested in. It doesn't matter how the world works, because the story zooms in on 5 characters and their little isolated bubble life on the Flying Islands, in the academy, where the lessons, missions and dragons provide the subject of thought, but not the happenings of the story.

It's interesting how knowing more seems to have such freeing effects on me, showing me what's possible, giving me persmission to try it out. Maybe instead of worrying about reality constrictions and hardships, I could have given my OCs jobs that would go with their personalities and vibe and not the percieved year long research on details and improbability. I could give them setting that doesn't get details not relevant to the characters' narrative, plot that isn't driven by antagonists and scenes that are introspective, fluffy and painful instead of actiony and full of showy sensory detail and world, much sooner.

Thanks for the question and I hope this rumbling makes at least a bit sense XD.

#wbw #wip: tears of iron #writeblr #ask

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thelioncourts · 4 years

Note

Do you have capri fic recs for us? :)

this is so late in being answered but, at the time, i hadn’t read a lot of new fic when this was asked. i feel like i have now though so! be prepared!!

Awakening in Arles by toewsyourheart

Damen and Laurent meet. Six years later, they meet again.

Rating: Mature; Word Count: 5953; Warning(s): None

Notes: Canon-Divergent

Keep Your Demons on a Leash by rainydayrambling

Laurent was in a rare mood, insomuch as it could be called a mood at all. He wanted to claw himself out of his skin, tear every scrap of fabric away from him, free himself from the confines of physical reality. Whatever mood that was, this was where he had found himself. Pinned beneath Damen on the bed in his chambers -- a familiar place to be -- still dressed in his shirt and pants, though his jacket had been left somewhere on the other side of the room.

###

Or: Laurent is Big Horny, and he really just wants a solid dicking down. But Damen, being Damen, takes the opportunity to draw things out as long as humanly possible -- and Laurent is very annoyed by this. In a sexy way.

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 6784; Warning(s): None

Notes: UM. so good, so Laurent and Damen. Capri-Canon-Verse.

A ghostly touch by anonymous

When Laurent moves into the cheap apartment that he has rented, he finds that wishes come true in the apartment or something else is living there with him. If he has never been able to speak his desires aloud, then it is good that someone can read his mind and fulfill the desires he never knew he had.

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 16181; Warning(s): Referenced Regent grossness, mildly dubious consent

Notes: ghost!Damen, mystery, ghost sex, even in ghost form damen is a service top, 10/10.

a diadem, cantarella, and a chestnut filly by slutzilla

a collection of events surrounding the wedding and birthday of auguste, son of aleron, king of vere.

Rating: Mature; Word Count: 27514; Warning(s): Very much Regent grossness

Notes: so i read this just last night and i was screaming (into my pillow). the scenes with the regent are pretty explicit, or, at least, they’re more than just a *fade to black*. that being said, damen and laurent’s first interaction as adults is everything. want to read again.

When the sun is on again by pulsivere

"I think," Damianos said softly, "that you have not been treated the way you deserve."

For the first time in his life, Laurent did not know what to say back.

Rating: Mature; Word Count: 43539 (for now!); Warning(s): PTSD, violence

Notes: i don’t normally rec WIPs but this one is just too wonderful not to. i’ve been following it since ch 1 and i am utterly intrigued. there’s a lot of political stuff going on here, like the books, only it’s a universe in which auguste lives (barely, but not because of damen) and laurent, young, is desperate to keep auguste alive and that means honing in on his analytical nature, adopting a cold-tone of indifference, and hoping people underestimate him, much like in canon. please give it a shot, it’s so good.

greek & godly by sweetricebuns

Though he'd never admit it, Laurent absolutely loves post-gym Damen.

(Damen is attractive. Very attractive. Laurent deals.)

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 2631; Warning(s): None

Notes: the AN is literally just like ‘sweaty damen deserves a blowjob’ and they are correct!! it’s a good body worship fic, let me tell you. and damen deserves worshiped.

The Time of the Living by Creberrime

Damen realized Arles would likely awaken some things in him. His mind barely drifted to that place anymore but he just knew those thoughts were still locked somewhere within himself.

He knew.

Damen visits Arles for the first time as a King and faces his own return to some unfriendly landscapes.

Rating: Mature; Word Count: 5768; Warning(s): PTSD

Notes: love exploring damen’s first return to arles. him leaving at the end of capri and thinking about how he’d never have to see this place again was so much; he knew he was returning to akielos or dying. he never thought he’d marry the prince of vere and joint-rule the kingdom. and with all that happened there, it’s a lot. it’s like how i also want to explore damen post-KR and in his father’s chambers and visiting his own chambers after his capture there and --

Just to Sit Outside Your Door by rainydayrambling

Damen is the leader of Akielos, a vigilante group set on bringing down mega-corporations that abuse the people of the city of Delpha. Laurent is the heir to DeVere Corp., one such corporation. When a personal assistant position is listed for Laurent, Akielos steps in to make sure Damen gets the job. But being Laurent's live-in assistant presents challenges Damen never anticipated, and through a series of shared stories, secret missions, and midnight plotting sessions, his feelings for the acerbic heir quickly begin to change.

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 57706; Warning(s): Implied/Reference Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape, Violence

Notes: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! love it when these long fics just pop up and ruin your life in the best kind of way for at least a week. 10/10. damen is so bad at pretending to be anything but a leader.

give a little (get a lot) by liesmyth

“Are you going to apologise?”

Laurent jutted his chin out. “I will,” he said. “If you make me.”

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 3934; Warning(s): little bit of BDSM

Notes: canon-verse, good fucking sex. what more do we need?

we kiss and then by anonymous

“You must enjoy this immensely,” Laurent said, tone breathless but sharp as though to make up for momentary weakness. “Having me all to yourself, sightless and bound for your pleasure, it must be the only way you can get off—”

“Quiet,” Damen said, and Laurent’s throat clicked when he swallowed.

Damen makes a pretty good match for Laurent.

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 3626; Warning(s): Implied/Reference Child Abuse

Notes: modern au. some good good smut. like. good good. best scene is in ch 2. damen makes laurent talk and it’s like taking laurent’s greatest weapon and using it against him.

got no soul to sell by onekingdomonce

A favorite? Ancel didn’t know. Damianos was said to have healthy appetites and a wandering eye, not limiting himself with the lovers he took. Laurent, ever the optimist, saw this as a positive. The lack thereof wasn’t an obstacle; it was a position to be filled.

Or: Laurent sends himself as a slave to Akielos.

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 9084; Warning(s): Dub-Con, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Open Ending

Notes: who isn’t a slut for these AUs? it’s depressing and hot and so Much(TM). if the roles really had been switched like this, i don’t think either of them would have came out alive. so good.

Different by parttimehuman

When Laurent tells Damen to fuck him, Damen says no.

There's a fear inside Laurent that needs to be defeated first, slowly, with countless kisses and worshipping touches, with all the love Damen has to give.

The next time Laurent asks, he will pose the question differently, and Damen won't say no...

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 17037; Warning(s): None

Notes: idk what to say. it’s incredibly good. like, it’s a character study done via smut.

fell in love with a war by uptillthree

His chest is still heaving, rising and falling as though he’s finished a footrace. The garden and the pet ring he’d weathered stoically, because both had looked so different in decor and atmosphere compared to the first time he’d been here, a court remade. He’d been given a throne instead of the floor at Laurent’s feet. Laurent had tucked a white flower behind his ear, playful and careless of propriety.

The whipping post had been the same.

Damen returns to Arles.

Rating: Teen; Word Count: 1160; Warning(s): PTSD

Notes: another ‘damen returning to arles.’ with damen’s lack of introspectiveness, i think he wouldn’t assume arles would have an impact on him upon return, not until he got there.

#captive prince #captive prince fic rec #capri fic rec #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #Anonymous

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phantomato · 3 years

Text

Uber

Nottmort (Tom Riddle/Nott Sr.), Modern Muggle AU, ~2k words

Thanks to @yletylyf for kicking around this idea! Tom drives an Uber in the Bay Area. Thoros & co need a ride.

—

Abraxas and Orion are bickering over luggage in the background when your Uber pulls up. Black, of course, so it’s a Mercedes that will smell a little too much like leather cleaner when you get in, but none of you have ever ridden in an UberX or, god forbid, an Uber Pool, and you’re not about to start.

Your colleagues—never forget, you are not friends, no matter how much time you spend with them—slide into the back seat before you can even begin to help load bags into the trunk. You’re left alone with the driver, and though he offers to help, you haven’t let yourself sink that low as to make this man pile all of your shit in his car while you sit around and watch. And anyway, it feels like the polite thing to do. More than Abraxas or Orion, you’ve been raised to be polite.

So you fold yourself into the front passenger seat, too kind to push the seat all the way back and give yourself the leg room you need even if Orion, behind you, is just 5’8 to your 6’3, and smile at the driver as he confirms your destination.

He’s pretty. You’ve been in a lot of Ubers and you’ve never seen a driver this pretty. Is that classist?, you wonder to yourself, remembering something you read in Vox the other day. Probably. Nevertheless, you’re taken by the curve of his mouth, the sweep of his dark hair, and you throw a smirk over your shoulder at Abraxas who you know must have also noticed.

“Traffic to SFO will be busy,” he says regretfully, and you roll your eyes. Orion refuses to take the early morning flights, unwilling to wake at 3 AM, and you’re always stuck with these long, miserable Uber rides down from the city to the airport. “And Terminal 2—right in the middle of it. There’s construction around those doors, if you haven’t been there—”

“We know,” Orion butts in rudely, shutting up your driver for the few minutes it takes to get out of your neighborhood.

You use those few minutes to swipe through your phone. Email—nothing important. Messages—you clear the notifications. Your Instagram is alight with people reposting the same infographic about voting rights and you make a mental note to kick some money to that non-profit that’s been all over Twitter lately. You close out apps and end up back at Uber, watching your car’s laggy progress through the San Francisco streets. Your driver’s name is Tom, the app informs you. It’s a nice name.

You clear the side streets and Tom offers amenities. “If you want any water, there are bottles in the cooler between the seats,” he calls back to Abraxas and Orion, “and mints in the cup holder. You can adjust the air conditioning if you like, and there’s a charging cable attached to the back of my seat if you need it. Would you like to choose any music?”

“No,” Abraxas says, and whether he means the music or the entire spiel doesn’t really matter, given his withering tone. You look back at him, trying to convey ‘Be nice’ with just your eyebrows, but Abraxas is fussing with his hair and ignoring you.

Tom’s one of the chipper ones, it turns out, because he takes the rejection in stride and shifts to the dreaded personal conversation. “What do you all do for a living?”

“Ah, we invest in companies, mostly start-ups,” you say, trying to avoid—

“Venture capitalists!” Tom guesses, and he’s right but you hate the term and its connotations. So what if you are all white men whose family money has bankrolled tech speculation? It’s what anyone with half a brain would do. You donate, you read the liberal news—at least, you think that’s true for all of you, though Orion was friends with that Republican mayoral candidate and Abraxas’ father sponsors that conservative think-tank and…

Ah, fuck. “Yeah, pretty much,” you agree, hating yourself.

Behind you, Orion digs his AirPods out of his pocket. You hear the snap of the magnetic lid as he closes himself off to the world. Abraxas is slouching, the hem of his third-favorite cashmere cardigan catching on the seat behind him, and you realize that you’re alone in this conversation.

Well, fuck it. If those two pricks are going to make you call the Uber, deal with the reimbursement paperwork, and sit in the front seat, you’re going to talk to the driver and make this car conversation as painful as possible for them.

As if reading your thoughts, Tom does the one thing that guarantees a terrible ride: he pitches his app idea.

“You know, I’m also a software developer,” he says, which is at least more promising than when someone isn’t, “and if I had the kind of funding that companies like yours provide, I would absolutely make this app.” He proceeds to describe something completely inane, the type of exclusive, niche social networking app that hasn’t had legs since before the Trump presidency and you would be content to let him drone on, to let Abraxas keep melting into his own seat and to let Orion channel his anger through a knee driven into the back of yours, but—

But for all that Tom’s idea is stupid, he has the energy of the best pitches you see. His energy is infectious. His eyes light up, he gestures with one hand, and when he stops to take a drink (one of those water bottles with a built-in straw, which you associate with joggers and your lamest employees but which does very different things to you when it’s Tom’s mouth wrapped around the top) you’re transfixed by the wet sheen over his chapped lips.

And so, yes, maybe it’s mostly lust, and maybe this is a sign that you need to download Grindr again, even if only to jerk off to the dick pics you’ll get, but you start to actually talk to him.

“There’s no future in niche social networks,” you say, halting Tom in his tracks. “There will always be new ones, don’t misunderstand me, but the broader landscape is saturated by the top names, and they’ll buy out their competitors if they need to. Perhaps you can topple Tumblr, but that’s not a path to profit. If you want to impact the social market, you need to pinpoint the novel interaction model that you want to offer and make yourself buyable.”

“Buyable,” Tom repeats, like he’s never been interrupted before. He probably hasn’t. The first rule of Ubering around the Bay Area or the Valley is to never engage the app pitches, and Orion has started kicking your seat for your transgression.

“Yes,” you enunciate. “You want to be bought out and brought in at a high level. The giant that eats you may or may not use your idea, but you’ll make a comfortable sum as a consolation prize.” You’ve helped companies through this before. You’re flying out to New York this week in part because one of your investments is considering purchase offers and you want to strategize in-person. The founder is dallying, sending emails about independence and integrity, and Orion will bully him into selling while you and Abraxas negotiate the best terms for the contract.

You can feel Tom’s eyes on you. Abraxas might be calling “Thoros…” from the back seat, and Orion might be attempting to annihilate you with his gaze alone, but you’re smiling at that handsome face behind the wheel and hoping for an accident on the 101.

Unfortunately, you make it through San Bruno without running into more than the usual level of traffic, and Tom’s pulling up to your terminal much sooner than you would like. Abraxas and Orion jump out of the car with uncharacteristic speed when it stops, Orion even moving to stand by the trunk in readiness to take his bags. You delay.

“Do you have a business card?” you ask, when it’s clear Tom’s waiting on you.

He fumbles to pull a wallet from his jeans. You can’t quite get a view of his ass as he does, but that doesn’t stop you from looking.

His card is bent at the corner, printed cheaply, and probably from his last job. You’re pretty sure that company doesn’t exist anymore. Tom taps the phone number. “I can be reached here,” he says smoothly, but his professionalism cracks when he adds, “by call or by… text.”

You know what sort of texts you’d like to receive from him.

Pulling out your own card case, you hand him your card. “Text me,” you say, your voice just this side of appropriate, “any time.”

Tom visibly swallows and jumps out of the car. You take your time getting up, and if your cashmere sweater—Margaret Howell, not that Elder Statesman piece of shit Abraxas is wearing—ends up in the footwell of Tom’s passenger seat, well, you’ll be back in SF next week, won’t you?

“Thanks for the ride, Tom,” you tell him as you take the handle of your luggage, letting your fingers brush his. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

“Yeah,” he nods, and you don’t care that Abraxas is snorting behind you, he’s been judging you this whole trip and he lost out on a hot guy’s number as a result. “It was…”

“Thoros,” you interrupt him before he can ramble and psych himself out. “My name is Thoros, and I really would like to hear from you.”

Tom looks at you then, and you see him pull together the same sureness that drew you into his initial pitch. “I’ll text you about the app.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it.

—

Bonus:

“You know,” Abraxas drawls as you sit in the United club lounge, gesturing lazily with his overpriced airport Fiji water, “if you tip him too much it’s like you’re paying him for sex.”

Orion looks up from his phone then, removing one earbud for the first time since he put them in. “I’ve paid more for sex with less attractive men.”

“Welcome back,” you say, “I didn’t realize you had paid any attention.”

“Someone would need to not have eyes in order to miss how hot that Uber driver was,” he bites back, returning to his phone.

“Well, I’m tipping him extra anyway,” you announce, confirming Tom’s five-star rating. Should you write a review? Is that too much?

Abraxas, with a grumble, declares, “I’m telling Alecto not to approve this expense.”

—

Bonus bonus:

Your phone buzzes at the end of dinner, the celebratory affair to close the sale which someone had insisted must be at Lilia, even though Abraxas doesn’t eat carbs and you would have preferred to grab a slice at Scarr’s rather than haul out to Williamsburg, anyway.

It’s Tom. Of course it’s Tom—you’ve been texting all week, and between a few late-night flirtations and one very bald statement of interest, you’ve got a date set for when you’re back home. You’re going to Mensho Tokyo, since he lives in the Tenderloin and you live… vaguely around the Tenderloin, at least, you tell people you live there when you want to seem cooler, and Tom is the type of guy that makes you excited to stand in line for hours to get seats. You’re already thinking about whether you might put your arm around him while you’re waiting, and you unlock your phone to see what he’s saying now.

It’s a picture message.

A picture of Tom, wearing your Howell sweater and no pants and oh god oh fuck—

“Was that Uber driver’s dick?” Abraxas whispers, next to you, and you curse your luck. “Remind me to call the next Uber, Jesus Christ.”

#tom riddle #nott sr #nottmort #muggle au

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swordmaid · 4 years

Note

You know if Brienne is related to the Targaryens through Daella or Rhae, her great-great grandmother would be a Dayne, a member of the family who has the Sword of the Morning and the cost of arms featuring a sword and a shooting star.

Also the Dayne coat of arms is purple, which is just red or pink mixed with Blue (Tarth’s coat of arms). I would imagine this might be read to foreshadow Brienne merging both being a Lady (in all senses of the term), a Knight, a mythical hero by as you said in another ask/answer by “bring[ing]...her knightly values into the political landscape” just as she brought many values of Ladyship and Femininity (TM)— compassion, maternal instincts, patience, empathy—into the Knighthood sphere already.

Like the great Marge Simpson, I just think it’s neat that GRRM has intentionally, unintentionally, and theoretically layered all this symbolism involving astronomy and gender roles into Brienne’s story from her association with bears & lions to her confirmed & probable ancestry to Tarth’s sigil & political title. It’s also cool that the moon and sun are usually gendered constructs in mythologies, but which gender the sun and moon depends on the culture.

In Norse and Japanese traditions, the sun is a woman and the moon a man. While in Greek and Aztec ones, the genders switched. So knowing global mythology, it is interesting to see that blurring of and difference in gender and gender roles reflected in Brienne’s character. It’s also interesting to note that Eos, the goddess of the dawn—a period arguably caught between moon and sun—is a woman.

And Astraea—a virgin goddess of innocence, the stars and justice—ascended to the Stars because humanity became too lawless. She plans to return to usher in a new golden age of justice. Because of all this symbolism, it would be fun if Jaime and Brienne end up with 7 daughters both as a shout out to the Seven Sisters Star cluster and that lion prides are mostly female relatives.

To my knowledge, dragons aren’t connected to the heavens. That said, you could say dragons are ‘lightbringers’ because of their fire breath. While and Martin is mostly working out of a western storytelling tradition, dragons are considered rain and aquatic deities and forces in Chinese and Japanese traditions. That could work for Brienne since she is associated with light and water. Anyway, I am now really digging the concept of a Melusine AU

It’s also interesting to consider how lion symbolism coincides with the Lannister siblings. In alchemy, the lion in general seems to symbolize enlightenment, ascension, the keeper of alchemical secrets (I read this on a website so I am not sure how accurate it is) while the red lion symbolizes the final stage of making the philosophers’ stone. This emphasis on wisdom fits Tyrion really well. In Jungian psychology, the lion represents the dangers of being devoured by unconscious desires and

and passions, the Egyptian lion-headed goddess Sekhmet has a blood-lust, and the alchemical green lion eating the sun can represent the consciousness being overcome by violent and frustrated desires, which is very Cersei. For Jaime, the lion means military might, strength, and justice. The Strength Tarot card is usually represented by a woman gently opening a lion’s jaw, representing the strength of compassion & gentleness overcoming physical strength, paralleling Jaime’s journey towards

paralleling Jaime’s journey towards finding new ways to be strong after his maiming and reclaiming his knightly ideals. And the lion’s association with the sun, the moon, and the liminal space between day and night connect him with Brienne’s astronomical symbolism as well as her journey regarding how to be ethical in a world where the lines between lawful and unethical are often blurred.

For all three, the lion represents the “subterranean sun” (gold), pride, royalty, and the dangers of power corrupting when ethical and moral values are missing. I think all three siblings’ stories are connected to leadership and ethics in different ways, which fits into GRRM’s statement about ASOIAF being about Aragorn’s tax policies.

dont have anything else to add to this but wow what’s it like having a big brain. but these are all so interesting to think about though! brienne’s great grandmother being rhae or daella and her having an association with arthur dayne would ALSO be another link to her with the ‘true knights’, and adds more heroic imagery to her character as well as really build up the ‘born for greatness’ trope that i think her character has. and i do agree i dont know if it’s intentional or not but i really like how germ has implemented the duality of her character through the visual and symbolic cues that’s surrounding her. it’s a really Neat way to character build.

#the rest abt the lions i did not know but they were very interesting!! TIL #Anonymous

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river--glass · 4 years

Text

Reylo Fic Recs Long Ass Fics pt 1: Canon Verse & Alternate Canon Verse

Someone asked for fic recs 100K or over. Here they are. See Pt. 2 for Alternate Universe fics. (I haven’t read all of these- my personal comments are in bold)

Force Destiny by EdenWoodsParker. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 749K)

Immediately following the events of The Last Jedi, the battle for the galaxy continues between the First Order and the last of the Resistance. Meanwhile, on opposite sides of the war, Rey and Kylo Ren are forced to face the realities of their bond, their complicated relationship, their loyalty to their causes, and their understanding of the Force. Could their star-crossed connection be tied to the fate of the galaxy?

Landscape With a Blur of Conquerors by diasterisms. (CV, post-TFA, E, 362K)

Tags include: A Sexually Tense Soap Opera of Galactic Proportions; The Trashy Romance Novel I've Always Wanted to Write but with Lightsabers; A Game of Tropes; Arranged Marriage Compliant with Canonverse and EU Lore; Minor Character Death; Angst with a Happy Ending; Babies Ever After ❤️

Bonded by Chridder. (CV, post-TLJ, T, 345K)

This started as a series of one-shots that accidentally turned into a story, focusing on moments when the Force Bond brings Rey and Kylo together and the evolution of their relationship.

Free to Fall by uselessenglishmajor. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 288K)

Obligatory post-TLJ Reylo fic. Started out as a force bond will-they/won't-they, but then the Knights of Ren showed up and things got epic.

Sword of the Jedi (series) by diasterisms. (ACV, T/M, 229K)

"I carry your heart, here with me. I carry it in battle. I carry you.”—- This series is everything canon should have been. The author knows Star Wars. It’s rich in lore and steeped in emotion and it gives us a truly inspired alternative to canon.

All Our Days by voicedimplosives. (ACV, E, 221K)

A Persuasion AU featuring Smuggler Ben and a Rey whose family returned.

Songs of Innocence, Songs of Wisdom by cosmogonika. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 217)

From Innocence to Wisdom there is a long path. Between political plots and old allies and enemies emerging from the past, the new teachings of the Force will unveil ancient hidden secrets. From their interpretation rests the fate of the whole galaxy. Featuring a Ben pain train, bendemption, soulmates, and a shit ton of canon lore. This story had me SHOOK. It’s incredible.

Safe Harbor by ItsALilah. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 193K)

After the ultimate betrayal, Rey flees to the only person she knows she can still (kind of) trust. But as she spends more time with Kylo Ren, she begins to understand just what kind of future he was offering in the Supremacy's Throne Room. She really doesn't hate it. At all.

They Don’t Have a Word for What We Are by andabatae. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 183K)

After Crait, Rey retreats to Jakku to grapple with her past... and her unwelcome attraction to Kylo Ren.

A Handful of Stars by neon heartbeat. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 162K)

Rey thought her choice to leave behind Kylo Ren was final. Kylo Ren thought his decision to seize power was absolute. The Force, however, has other ideas. From Naboo to Coruscant, from chance encounter to Force-vision, from political plotting in the New Republic to a battle in the Graveyard of Alderaan, they meet each other on every field and learn the meaning of bringing balance to the galaxy.

Commemoration by wineandpotatochips. (CV, post-TFA, E, 160K)

Deep Beneath the Light by crysania. (CV, TFA alt-end, E, 155K)

A Ben says yes fic! He takes Han’s hand and joins the resistance. A great fic loaded with Solo family interactions.

Tactical Surrender by destinies. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 155K) A Rey joins Kylo fic.

Sealed to Me by glittergothh. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 152K).

Kylo stares into the pool, at his reflection, the scarred, damaged face that doesn’t even come close to portraying the conflict within. The face of the First Order. He hates it more than he ever has.

Forbidden by koderenn. (ACV, E, 137K). She’s a Jedi, he’s a senator- title says it all.

When the West Wind Moves by lachesisgrimm. (CV, TFA alt-ending, E, 135K)

Within Monsters by AnonymousMink. (ACV, M, 132K).

Sick of her life on Jakku and finally at terms with the fact her parents aren’t coming back for her, Rey decides to take charge of her life and leave Jakku by applying and attaining a job as a technician. Her first assignment finds her aboard The Finalizer where she catches the attention of the Master of the Knights of Ren.

Across the Stars by nite0wl29. (ACV, E, 132K). A Beauty and the Beast AU.

What Happens in Canto Bight by SpaceWaffleHouseTM. (CV, post-TLJ, M, 130K)

Rey wakes up in her Canto Bight hotel room while on a mission for the Resistance unable to remember a thing from the night before, which wouldn't be a problem, if Kylo Ren hadn't woken up beside her and they weren't both wearing rings on their fingers. Waffle really is on a whole different tier of fanfic writing. They’re one of my favorite Reylo writers out there.

Ashes of the Empire by Skyelo_Ren. (CV, TLJ alt-ending, M, 128K) A “she says yes” fic.

Footnotes by Camucia. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 121K)

Prison Break by SpaceWaffleHouseTM. (CV, post-TLJ, M,119K)

You’ll Be The One to Turn by postedbygaslight. (CV, post-TLJ, M, 119K)

Beautiful writing and wonderful storytelling. Very realistic characterization too. Everything IX could have been, but wasn’t.

Same Eyes, Different People by SageMcMae. (ACV, E, 117K)

Snare by CaraRose. (CV, TFA flip-script, E, 116K)

The village is a trap and Kylo escapes to the dessert, where he stumbles upon rey and forces her to help. Trust and their relationship builds. morally grey people and feral Rey

Steady As We Burn by pacificwanderer. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 115K)

This is basically a character study with smut. And it’s perfect.

No Rest For The Wicked by Avdal. (CV, post-TFA, E, 111K)

Everything in Between by Polkadotdotdot. (CV, post-TLJ, 110K)

After Crait, what's left of the Resistance go on the run. With Poe trying to win Rey's already stolen heart and Rey and Ben acting like stubborn fools over joining the other, Leia just wants to know why Rey is talking to herself...and how she ended up in the family way.

The Victory March (series) by ClockworkCrow. (CV, post-TFA, E, 114K (currently) WIP)

This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think by TehanuFromEarthSea. (CV, post-TLJ, E, 107K)

Kylo finds himself alone in space with only a vague plan to find Rey and change her mind. Rey has plenty of time to wonder what she wants as the resistance searches for allies.

Hand of Fate by Sweetestcondition. (CV, TLJ alt-ending, M, 101K)

Rey is offered a choice at the end of Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi. This time, she takes the hand of Kylo Ren, grasping at the chance to transform the First Order from the inside. She hopes to create a Resistance from within, starting with the heart of Ben Solo.

for @scarletvizhlovers

#reylo fanfiction #reylo fic recs #reylo fic rec #rey/ben solo

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relatablegenzwriter · 5 years

Text

30-Day Writing Challenge (for novelists)

this challenge is intended for novel writers who have had a strong novel idea for a while and know their story fairly well, or who have already made a little progress on a novel, and are stuck on it. i’m not an expert so i don’t know how much this is actually going to help you get out of that rut, but the hope is that you’ll spend a month immersing yourself in the world of your story and you’ll get some motivation out of it. i’d suggest taking about 30 minutes (at least) to do each activity, and to do everything completely distraction-free, with your phone in another room and your computer on do not disturb (if you’re writing on a computer). enjoy you nerds.

1. Write out your entire plot, even if you’ve already done it. This will re-familiarize you with your project.

2. Get the basic information on your main character. Write their backstory up until the point where your novel begins, make note of characteristics, and get their basic appearance down. Got multiple main characters? Great! You get to write more. (That’s what you get.) For all characters, make sure you know:

your character’s wants

your character’s values

at least five character flaws

the role your character will play in the story

how you want them to change over the course of the story

optional but recommended: cultural aspects like race or religion, which will help you develop their background and values a lot better.

3. Do some basic worldbuilding: what year is this novel set? Country? Planet? What are some traditions or norms? Is there magic or new technology? What’s up with the government? If your novel is set in our current world, work out the specifics of the characters’ neighborhood, home, city, etc.

4. Without allowing yourself to see any previous versions that may exist, write the opening scene.

5. Do what you did on day 2, except for your antagonist. No clear-cut antagonist? Pick whoever’s closest, or do the prompts for a supporting or minor character.

6. Research day: go through what you’ve already written and highlight everything you wanted to look up later, then spend some time researching it. You’ll probably find out more things that you’ll want to add to the plot.

7. Character day: you’ll have four of these, so divide up your characters accordingly. Do some of the character work you did for your main and antagonist for however many . You can go into less detail if they’re less important, but make sure you still know the six main points that you got to know about the more featured characters.

8. Pick a few parts of your worldbuilding exercise that you want to go more in-depth into (i.e. political systems, technology, cultural traditions) and spend about thirty minutes writing, brainstorming, and researching things to flesh them out. There will be three worldbuilding days, so make sure to save some material for the others!

9. Look through the plot you wrote out and see if you can find any plotholes, concepts you want to flesh out more, or parts that are unclear or missing. Really take some time to understand what the problems are, and come up with some possible solutions. It’s great if you figure out what you want to do, but if you don’t, that’s fine! You still made progress.

10. Without allowing yourself to see any previous versions that may exist, write the ending scene. Spoiler alert: this is going to be really hard. You can try writing a couple contenders, or even outlining a scene if you’re not quite sure where to go. Don’t worry about trying to make it pretty, because it’s not gonna be pretty: you don’t have all the details that you would if you were writing in chronological order.

11. Character day

12. Write your favorite scene. If you have a strong story idea in your head, you most likely know the one: you daydream about it when you wish you were doing something else, it plays like a movie in your head, it’s probably located somewhere around the middle of the book, and you probably haven’t let yourself write it because you “haven’t gotten there yet”. Today’s the day. Go nuts.

13. Rewrite the opening scene from a different character’s perspective. I know this sounds really cliche, but even if it doesn’t give you more insight on the story, it’s fun to do.

14. Worldbuilding day

15. Research day: research new stuff that you hadn’t written last time, plus anything over from the first research day. Not sure what to research? Characters’ cultures, the history of your setting (if in our world), famous fictional worlds, language development… if you sit and think for a little, you’ll figure out something you want to know.

16. Pick a few of your favorite character relationships: romantic, platonic, familial, whatever you want, and spend some time sketching them out. Think about their arcs, how they met (if they’re not related), what they think about each other, how they interact… basically anything you want, as long as you come away knowing more about the relationships between your characters. Also, please make only half (or less) of these romantic! It’s super important to develop the other relationships in the story.

17. Pick up from where you left off in your opening scene and write the next scene. Again, don’t look at any previously existing drafts.

18. Character day

19. Emotion break! Make a list of everything you don’t like about your book. Get all your insecurities out onto the paper, then refute everything you don’t like. If it’s specifics like “I don’t like that x happens”, figure out how to make x not happen. If it’s general doubts like “This has been done before and I’m unoriginal,” refute that too! Everyone doubts their work all the time and I can guarantee that we are all more critical of our own work than others will be. Finish today’s unconventional activity off by writing a list of everything you love about your book.

20. Pick any scene you’ve written for this book, whether it be from this challenge or something you had before, and rewrite it in some form of AU. Change the genre, time period, location, context… you are a god.

21. Worldbuilding day

22. You know those books that are stories told entirely in poems? You heard me. (Start anywhere you want to, write at least five or however many you can get done in 30 minutes. No one will ever read them, so don’t complain that you’re not a poet.)

23. Find a list of dialogue prompts and pick a few to do with your characters. Want a challenge? Choose two characters at random. (I mean using a generator or drawing names out of a hat. COMPLETELY random.)

24. Pick up from day 16 and write the next scene.

25. Last character day :(

26. Write, or at least, begin, a very short story in your world. Try to include no characters from your actual story. If your novel takes place in our world, focus in on the characters’ neighborhood, time period, workplace, school, etc. This exercise will help you get to know your world through a different perspective. Don’t stress too much about this! It doesn’t have to be very long or even to be finished.

27. Fun day! Pick three of these activities to do with your novel:

Make a playlist about the novel as a whole, or make some character playlists

Design the cover

Cast actors in the film/TV version

Draw: character portraits, scenes, maps, landscapes…

Put together a moodboard for the novel or a character

Write that completely unrealistic scene you love so much but can’t put in the novel for plot reasons

Make memes about your characters

Sit and daydream for a solid 10 minutes about the Vibe of the novel

Anything that falls into a similar category

This is a callout activity for all you ””””””””writers”””””””” who spend more time daydreaming about novel ideas than actually writing. (this is 100% a joke because this is 100% me)

28. Rewrite your opening scene from a different narrator. If you wrote in first person, use third. If you wrote in third, use first. You can also mess with second person if you feel like you have an artist superiority complex and aren’t like other girls.

29. Pick your favorite activity from so far and do it again.

30. List everything that you need to do before you can jump right into the first draft. Then do it.

#writing #writers #writing tips #writing prompts #writing challenge #imma do this too yall #hopefully it actually works oops #my advice posts

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Lan Xichen has a chance encounter with Nie Huaisang and, for once, it goes well.

warning for mentions of canon-typical corporal punishment on a character

The punishment for a lower case of assault is thirty strikes of the discipline rulers on the back. The punishment for not coming forward with a fault with due diligence is also thirty strikes. So is taking advantage of one’s position to commit a crime. Then, because Lan Xichen’s status is special, the total ends up rounded as one hundred strikes, since as future sect leader, the elders feel he ought to behave better than he did and be an example to other juniors.

Although it is not a light punishment to go through, Lan Xichen counts himself lucky. When he explained to his uncle some of what happened with Nie Huaisang, omitting any unnecessary details such as who exactly he kissed by force, he was sure his behaviour would have earned him not just the disciple rulers, but one strike from the disciple whips. He had also been terrified that his punishment would be public, but due to his position and the current political situation, Lan Qiren and the elders had the kindness of dealing with this privately.

When it is over, one of the elders severely orders Lan Xichen not to repeat such shameful behaviour. He is then released from the ancestral hall, and advised to take the rest of the afternoon to reflect on his conduct. So as Lan Xichen walks away, very slowly, his only question is whether he ought to meditate in his room where he is sure not to be disturbed, or in the cold ponds which promises some relief for his pain.

The first one is probably what is expected of him, but the second is immensely tempting and Lan Xichen’s steps start turning in that direction when his path crosses that of Nie Huaisang.

It’s unusual, these days, to find him alone. It is even stranger for him to spot Lan Xichen and not turn around or pretend he didn’t see him. Instead Nie Huaisang, after only some hesitation, walks closer and grins.

“Told you we’d talk before our next meeting,” Nie Huaisang greets him.

“You did. Are you going somewhere, Nie gongzi? I don’t think I’ve often seen you in this part of the Cloud Recesses.”

“I was looking for you, actually. Everyone else has started studying for the finals, so I’m left on my own. I thought we could… chat?”

Lan Xichen pinches his lips. Meeting Nie Huaisang at such a time is really less than ideal when he just wants to rest and meditate, but refusing this offer would be deeply unwise. It's the first time Nie Huaisang has ever sought out his company and Lan Xichen doesn't know how his fiancé would react to being turned down. Badly, if past interactions are to go by.

"I would love to," Lan Xichen replies. "Do you want us to walk together, or may we go somewhere to sit?"

"Well, actually…" Nie Huaisang hesitates, his usual assurance failing him. "Since you've said before… I thought we could go to my cabin and I could show you my paintings?"

There's fear and uncertainty in the younger boy's eyes as he makes his offer. Lan Xichen doesn't notice it, too overwhelmed at being finally offered what he has wanted for months. Suddenly the intense pain in his back isn't such an issue anymore.

“I would love that,” Lan Xichen says.

“I won’t be able to offer you tea,” Nie Huaisang mutters. “We’re not allowed to make it in the cabin anymore since I almost burned it down.”

“You what?”

His confidence slowly returning, Nie Huaisang cackles and, apparently on an impulse, he grabs Lan Xichen by the arm and starts pulling him along. The pace is a little faster than Lan Xichen would really prefer with the current state of his back, but he easily allows it when Nie Huaisang starts babbling about the incident which cost him the right to make tea in his cabin. It’s a convoluted tale, and one that involves the breaking of a number of rules, but it’s still a funny enough story. Nie Huaisang is a little shy at first, but after Lan Xichen chuckles a few times, he gets more exuberant until Lan Xichen is struggling not to laugh when they finally reach the cabin.

“Nie gongzi, I think you’re a menace,” he says as they go in.

“I think so too, thanks!” Nie Huaisang proudly replies. “Well, just… go sit on the sofa, I’ll get my paintings. I mean, if you still want to see them?”

This time Lan Xichen does notice the other boy's uncertainty, which puzzles him. After how many times he's asked, it should be clear that he is very interested in Nie Huaisang’s work.

"I haven't changed my mind," Lan Xichen insists with a smile. "Are we to expect your comrades to join us?"

"No, Jiang xiong is conducting a group study and a lot of people joined since they noticed him and his disciples always get good grades. I think he kind of likes teaching, even if he always grumbles about it."

With great care and a little difficulty, Lan Xichen sits on the sofa and tries to find a position that won't put too much strain on his back. He ends up sitting very stiffly and having to avoid resting against the sofa’s back. When Nie Huaisang joins him on the sofa with a stack of papers in his arms, he immediately notices.

"It's fine, you can get comfortable," Nie Huaisang says with a half grin. "I told you, there won't be anyone to see you, so just relax. You said there's expectations about you but it's just me here, and I already know you're not perfect."

It is not an attack. At least, Lan Xichen thinks it is not intended as such, but it feels like one all the same.

"My back hurts today," he explains. "This is as comfortable as I can get right now."

"Then why agree to come with me if you're in pain?"

"I wanted to see your paintings, of course."

Nie Huaisang is baffled by that declaration, his cheeks colouring a little as he looks away, preferring to focus on the papers he brought.

"Lan gongzi, you're so weird," he mutters. "It's fine, we could do this another day… I'm not so cruel that I'd wish for you to be in pain."

"I'll be in pain whether I'm here or somewhere else," Lan Xichen points out. "At least here, the company is good."

The colour on Nie Huaisang’s face gets more pronounced. To distract from it, he all but shoves his paintings onto Lan Xichen’s lap.

"There, enjoy I guess," he grumbles. "They're not as good as yours for sure, but these are my best ones, I think. Well, the least awful ones, anyway."

Perhaps Lan Xichen should object to such depreciative language. If this happens again, he surely will. Right now though, he is far too excited by finally getting to see his fiancé’s works instead of contenting himself with stolen glances or forgotten studies. It was well worth the long wait. Nie Huaisang has progressed immensely since the rabbits that still hang in Lan Wangji’s bedroom. He may not have gotten good grades in class this year either, but Nie Huaisang’s time in Gusu was put to good use.

When he paints animals, they look ready to leap off the page and go on with their own business. When he paints landscapes, Lan Xichen can almost hear the wind in the trees, the song of the river. Even his portraits, which Lan Xichen would admit are not Nie Huaisang’s strength, are still rather good and capture the personality of the model if not their exact likeness.

Painting after painting, Lan Xichen makes sure to comment on the quality of each work. It’s hardly a conscious decision, he simply cannot look at them and not point out how good each one is. Here and there, a very flustered Nie Huaisang tries to object that this particular work is a little weak, or that another one fails to follow the rules of what makes a good painting even if he personally likes it anyway. Sometimes, Lan Xichen agrees with the criticism, and offers his own opinion on what could be improved. At other times, he has to defend the creation against its creator. Rules are one thing, but beauty can transcend them.

“Lan gongzi, you don’t have to try so hard to get my good opinion,” Nie Huaisang mutters after such a speech. “I’m decent but not great, I know it, so there’s no need…”

“I haven’t said a word I did not mean,” Lan Xichen protests, more amused by his fiancé’s heavy blush than he’d care to admit. Nie Huaisang has been acting so confident and indifferent around him all this year, it’s nice to see him affected by something. “You asked me to be open and honest, and that’s what I’m trying to do.”

Nie Huaisang huffs, and grabs back the painting that sparked this.

“I guess Lan gongzi’s tastes must have changed a lot since last year,” he bitterly remarks. “For you to turn this encouraging…”

“From the first moment I saw one, I’ve thought the world of your paintings,” Lan Xichen objects, glad that nobody except his brother was there the first time he saw one of Nie Huaisang’s works. He’s more than a little ashamed of the way he retracted his good opinion after learning who, exactly, had painted these rabbits, but at least Nie Huaisang wasn’t there for that and it’s a relief.

Nie Huaisang huffs again, his blush calming down at last.

“You discouraged me from pursuing art last year,” he reminds Lan Xichen, “so clearly you didn’t think I was very good at it.”

“Oh. No, that was a different matter,” Lan Xichen says, feeling uncomfortable from more than just the pain in his back. “That was never about your skill. Back then, didn’t I already say the painting you gave Wangji was good?”

“Did you?” Nie Huaisang sneers. “I just remember you telling me that I should drop painting and focus on cultivation. That’s how bad I must have seemed to you, if you thought it was that much of a waste of time.”

Guilt shoots through Lan Xichen’s chest, radiating painfully in his body and making him tense, which in turns pulls on his bruised back. He doesn’t remember his exact words, but he’s sure that he never intended to imply Nie Huaisang was bad at art.

“It wasn’t like that at all,” Lan Xichen sighs. “I really did think you were very good, but I thought… I thought it would be selfish to encourage you.”

Nie Huaisang frowns and wrinkles his nose in disbelief, but he looks a little less angry already.

“Makes no sense. How is it selfish to tell me to do something I like?”

“I thought if I encouraged you, it would be because I would eventually benefit from it since it would ensure we had something in common,” Lan Xichen explains, looking down at the paintings on his lap. “While if I told you to study… everyone around us was talking about your cultivation and how it needed to improve. Frankly, it doesn’t impact me whether you have a high cultivation or not, while it certainly does change things if we have a passion to share. I thought this would be the right thing to say.”

“You discouraged me from art because you thought whatever made both of us miserable would have to be the better path?” Nie Huaisang gasps, definitely more baffled than angry now. “Lan gongzi, your mind is really twisted sometimes. And here I told myself you just thought I was too awful at it to pursue painting anymore...”

“You are excellent at it!” Lan Xichen protests, eyes snapping up toward Nie Huaisang. “Even back then, when I did not want to think well of you, I couldn’t deny that. In fact, it is your skill in painting that first forced me to reconsider what I believed about you. I’m very sorry if I made you doubt your capacity. You are a painter of rare talent.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes open wide at this renewed praise, while his blush returns, more intense than before. He is very cute this way, and Lan Xichen finds that he likes the other boy when he’s flustered, just as much as he likes him when he’s confident and cocky. He wonders if there’s any aspect of Nie Huaisang he wouldn’t like. Aside from his occasional bouts of cruelty… and even those have never been unprovoked, so Lan Xichen can’t fully blame the other boy for that.

“Lan gongzi, you’re really too much!” Nie Huaisang grumbles, slapping his shoulder and shoving him slightly, the way Lan Xichen has seen him do with Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan.

He would be happy to be treated with this sort of easy casualness, but the movement ripples through his back and he can’t help hissing in pain. Nie Huaisang notices and frowns.

“Does your back bother you that much?” he asks. “If you want, I probably have something for the pain, but you should get that checked.”

“I’m quite fine,” Lan Xichen assures him, only for Nie Huaisang to roll his eyes and jump on his feet, dropping the painting back on his lap before striding toward his bed. “Really, there’s no need… why would you even have medication here? All guest disciples are encouraged to seek out…”

“I’m a Nie,” his fiancé grumbles, dropping on his knees and wriggling under his bed to grab something there. Lan Xichen forces himself to look away. “My brother would never let me travel without the adequate necessities. I’ve got money saved aside, talismans, warning flares, and basic medical supplies. I’m sure it’s fine if I give you a few pills though. Ah, right there!” Nie Huaisang triumphantly exclaims, pulling a small, dust covered box from its hiding place. “It should at least make you feel better until you see a healer. But really, Lan gongzi, you’re unreasonable! You should have told me you were this unwell.”

“I’m not feeling so bad,” Lan Xichen replies, wishing he could rise up and go kneel next to Nie Huaisang to make him stop rummaging through his box of medication. A quick attempt at getting up makes it clear that it will take some effort, though, and he prefers to remain sitting for now to avoid giving the other boy any reason to worry. “I was happy you’d want to spend time with me. That’s worth a little discomfort.”

Nie Huaisang looks up from his box, clearly unconvinced.

“You swear you’re fine?”

“Maybe not fine as such,” Lan Xichen concedes with a grimace, “but not so unwell that you need to be fussing over me.”

Shrugging, Nie Huaisang carelessly shoves his box back under the bed and stands once more, dusting his knees.

“It’s your back,” he says in a tone that he implies he would never put up with pain if offered another option. “Hm… it’s almost time for dinner. Do you want to start going now, since you might need to walk slowly, what with your back that really doesn’t hurt at all?”

Nie Huaisang smirks, which Lan Xichen can’t help answering with a smile. It’s not the first time Nie Huaisang teases him, far from it, but it feels like there’s less of a bite to it at the moment. Maybe someday they’ll be able to joke together, or even to laugh. Just thinking of it, Lan Xichen’s heart beats a little faster.

“I don’t mind if we stay here a while longer,” he replies, hoping it isn’t too obvious how eager he is for more time alone with Nie Huaisang. “I really enjoy looking at your paintings.”

Nie Huaisang grimaces playfully, but still saunters closer.

“Lan gongzi, I’ll be honest,” he chuckles. “It’s a little embarrassing for me to sit here while you say all those nice things. If you want, I can bring the ones you’ve not yet seen to our next meeting, and then I can look at yours. It would be a nice way to pass the time, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Lan Xichen replies, ready to agree to anything if he can continue looking at Nie Huaisang’s paintings. “Or perhaps… if you’re still willing, what about another lesson? I’ve tried again to copy your style, but I’m still rather dreadful at it.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyebrows rise high on his face. “You’d still want to? It ended so badly last time… though I suppose that’s my fault. Knowing your brother, I should have expected you were like that about being touched.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head, slowly to avoid putting too much strain on his back.

“That time, I was just surprised. I wasn’t expecting you to help me that way, considering you didn’t like me too much then.”

“Oh, I still don’t,” Nie Huaisang retorts, his good humour dropping like a mask. “Though I dislike you a little less than I used to.”

Hearing that hurts, especially when seeing Nie Huaisang change his countenance from cheerful to disdainful so quickly once more. But since his voice doesn’t appear as venomous as it was all these other times, Lan Xichen decides to remain hopeful. It’s too soon for them to be friends, but he’ll take being hated less.

“I’ll take that as progress, and be content with it. As I said last time, that you’re willing to consider this at all is already more than I expected. And this isn’t me trying too hard!” Lan Xichen adds, recognising the expression on his fiancé’s face. “I mean that.”

“Lan gongzi, you’re just too much,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, grabbing the paintings on his lap and turning his back on Lan Xichen while pretending to put them in order. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Let’s start walking toward the dining halls, I’m starving and you’re going to be slow, I can just tell. Do you need help getting up?”

Lan Xichen carefully shakes his head, but hisses when he tries to leave the sofa. Sitting stiffly for so long did his back no favours. He is still wondering how to maybe ask for Nie Huiasang’s help when the other boy, having unceremoniously dropped his paintings on his bed, returns to his side and casually grabs him by the elbow to pull him on his feet.

“You’re just as stubborn as Da-ge!” he scolds. “He’s the same when he’s hurt, too proud to let anyone give a hand. I’m going to ask again, are you sure you shouldn’t go see someone for that?”

Even through several layers of fabric, Lan Xichen feels as though Nie Huaisang’s hand is burning him. It takes him a few seconds to realise a question was asked, and a few more to decide what to do. His back is killing him, if he’s honest, but the infirmary is much closer to the guest disciples' cabins than the dining halls, and that informs his decision.

“I can bear with it for now, don’t worry. I’ll go to the cold spring after dinner and I should be perfectly well again tomorrow or the day after.”

“So stubborn,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, but he doesn’t release Lan Xichen’s elbow. “Fine, it really is your choice, in the end. But let’s get going. I wonder what they’ll serve tonight? I’m a growing man you know, and all that rabbit food is stunting me. It’s your sect’s fault if I’m still so short, Lan gongzi.”

Lan Xichen chuckles, and doesn’t bother pointing out that it’s a very flimsy way to excuse his height when all Lan cultivators his age, and quite a few younger ones, are taller than Nie Huaisang in spite of never eating anything but ‘rabbit food’.

“There’s nothing wrong with your size,” he says instead as they leave the cabin, Nie Huaisang still holding his arm as if he were an invalid.

“Hush, I’m complaining, don’t start being sensible, I shan’t bear with it,” Nie Huaisang retorts, sticking his tongue at him. “Horrible rabbit food, I say! I shall perish of hunger. Already, I am wasting away.”

They walk slowly towards the dining halls, and reach them just as the bell for dinner rings. Now that there are more people around them, Lan Xichen feels somewhat self conscious about the way Nie Huaisang holds on to his elbow, but since his fiancé (now complaining about the weather in Gusu) finds no issues with being seen this way, Lan Xichen does his best to act unaffected as well. It does get difficult to keep a straight face when his eyes meet those of his stunned uncle, but thankfully the malaise doesn’t last since at the same time, Nie Huaisang spots his friends.

“Jin-xiong, you went to study with Jiang-xiong as well?” Nie Huaisang exclaims, dropping Lan Xichen’s arm and rushing toward his friends. “Betrayal! Since when can the two of you even be in the same room without having an argument? If I had known, I’d have come as well!”

“And that’s why we didn’t tell you,” Jin Zixuan retorts. “It’s impossible to study when you’re around, and some of us would like to pass, thanks.”

The two start getting into a playful argument until Jiang Cheng, never the most patient person around, gets tired and drags them both to sit down so they can eat. Lan Xichen watches them, and is amused enough that he doesn’t even mind having been abandoned so quickly. He did get to have Nie Huaisang to himself for a long while after all, longer than they’ve ever been together so far, and it is no small feat that they didn’t even have a single argument that whole time.

Lan Xichen takes the victories he can get.

#xisang #jau writes #this and the next two chapters are intended to be quiet moment so welp enjoy while it lasts!#it's boys learning to get along at last!!#worst engagement au

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epochofbelief · 4 years

Text

Breath Control, Chapter Nine

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

Elriel and Feysand

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Please enjoy!

Masterlist Link

NINE

~~~Elain~~~

I watched the landscape crawl past the windows of my car. The steering wheel was slightly damp beneath my fingers. Six enormous trucks in the fast lane blew past me, one by one, as I maintained my steady course in the right lane.

It had been awhile since my last first date. Since my last date, to be honest. What would we talk about? What if I had nothing interesting to say? All I did, all day long, was bake or garden or study for my classes. Or hang out with my sister. That was it. As soon as I saw him in person, Azriel would realize how boring I really was.

Another truck blew past me just as I slowed the car down even more in order to turn in to my destination. It wasn’t a fast food place, like I’d anticipated, even though it was right off the highway.

It was a picnic spot. Trees lined the dirt road I had pulled onto, going back about a mile. Lights had been strung along the trees, guiding my way down the road. I had no idea how they were powered out here in the middle of nowhere, but the effect was appreciated. They looked really beautiful, lighting up the cloudy day. Hopefully it didn’t rain, but it looked awfully dark to the east of me. I pulled into a parking spot where the tree line ended.

And there he was.

Luckily the fall had been mild so far. It was a beautiful seventy degrees still, the leaves in various shades of red and orange. Azriel had claimed a picnic table beneath one of them. A blanket was spread on top of the table and he sat upon it, disregarding the surrounding benches entirely.

I took a deep breath. Grabbed my purse, although I obviously wouldn’t need it since we weren’t at an actual restaurant. Pushing my car door shut behind me, I stood there next to the car. Just go, Elain, go, walk. Okay now. He’s gonna see you and think you’re weird or staring at him. Come on…

Damn. He’d spotted me. His face broke into an enormous grin, totally unrestrained, as I looked at him. I definitely looked stupid, lingering here next to my car.

He jumped off the picnic table and strode toward me. Finally, my legs decided to work and I inched my way in his direction.

“Elain.”

“Azriel.” Despite myself, I smiled. Were my cheeks bright red right now? He was just standing there, looking perfect, staring down at me. How’d he manage to look so good in a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt, black converse on his feet? His hair was slightly disheveled, which only served to make him cuter.

“You look really nice.”

I was definitely blushing. I wore a skirt that hit just above mid-thigh, black and white gingham. My white blouse was tucked into it.

“Thank you. Matching shoes,” I added, knocking my black converse high-tops boldly against his. Or at least, it seemed bold in my mind. Hold your horses, Elain! Shoe on shoe contact in the first five seconds of the date! Nesta would be laughing at me right now. I scowled. I could do this. I’d had boyfriends before.

“So… What is this place?” I asked him as he led me over to the picnic table.

“Just this random place Rhys and I discovered on our many drives around the state. Back in high school, we’d spend whole days just roaming the highways Don’t ask me why. We had nothing else to do.”

“It’s beautiful,” I told him.

He smiled. “I brought food. I hope you like sandwiches, cuz that’s about the only thing I know how to make.”

“Sandwiches are perfect. I wish I’d known this was a picnic! I could have brought something.”

He shook his head, and pulled out a picnic basket from below the table. I took a seat on top of it as he started doling out sandwiches, little tupperware containers full of adorably cut berries and apples, and a couple of sparkling waters. “No, no. First date, my treat.”

He hopped up onto the table beside me. We were silent for a few moments and I became very aware of the large possibility for awkwardness that existed for the next hour, or at least until we finished the meal.

“How was your drive?”

“Easy. Yours?”

“Same.” He took an enormous bite of his sandwich. “Please, eat.”

I took a bite myself. “Wow,” I said, my mouth still full. Then I nearly died of embarrassment for forgetting my manners. First Date 101: don’t talk with your mouth full. I swallowed, cheeks burning. With my luck, my face would melt off by the end of the date, I was blushing so much already. “This is amazing.”

“Please,” he said. “It’s just a sandwich.”

“I mean it.”

“Thanks.”

Silence again, but this time it was more comfortable.

“So how is it having Feyre and Rhys around you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, focusing on my shoes. I was pretty sure none of Feyre and Rhys’s friends yet knew they’d been having illicit sleepovers under my father’s roof.

He raised his eyebrows. “Elain.”

I sighed. “They spend all day making moon eyes at each other. But don’t tell them I told you! Feyre would kill me.”

He held up his hands. “I would never betray you like that. Scout’s honor.” He leaned forward. “But it is sickening, right?”

A giggle escaped me. “God, YES it is. Wherever I go, there they are making out on the tennis court, or sneaking around the house, or just staring at each other while we’re all in the living room watching a movie. It was a relief when they left for Rhys’s dad’s house.”

“Yeah, Cass and I had a bet going on when they’d bite the bullet and get together. I won, just so you know.”

I gave him a high five. “Congratulations. What do you win?”

“He’s buying drinks next time we go out.”

“Oh. Sounds fun.”

Silence again. “You could come with us, if you wanted. Next time we go out. I know it might not be your scene…”

True. I hadn’t been out since Greyson and I had been dating at Mortal U. He hadn’t been a big fan of it and had usually gotten pretty jealous when random guys in bars so much as looked at me. But I’d already gone on my first date since that time…. Who says I couldn’t go out and have some fun, make more friends?

“I would like that,” I said.

After that, conversation flowed freely. Azriel told me about his friend group, and I even asked him how he thought Feyre was doing since her breakup. I told him about my hobbies, and school. And when we reached the point where I thought we’d have no more concrete facts about our lives to share, we continued to discuss politics, morals, love, all sorts of random things. Most of the topics we agreed on, and the ones that we had different opinions about were fun to debate. The entire time, though, I kept glancing at the sky. It was getting darker and darker, the clouds rolling in overhead.

Azriel noticed where my gaze continued to go. “Ah, that. I’ve tried to ignore it but I think it’s going to storm… We should probably go.”

He’d said what I had been reluctant to acknowledge for the past half hour as the clouds rolled in. We exchanged a couple of pleasantries, he asked to see me again (I agreed), and moments later I found myself in the front seat of my car as the sky opened up and a torrential downpour unleashed itself on the dirt road. Azriel was in front of me, already a quarter of the way closer to the highway. I tried to pull out of my parking spot, but the car wouldn’t move. I tried again, and could feel the wheels spinning against the muddy ground.

I was stuck.

I lunged for my phone and dialed Azriel’s number. He didn’t answer. His phone was probably on silent or something after our date. I called again. No answer. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I could barely see his taillights receding down the road, so I did the only other thing I could think of. I opened my car door. Enormous raindrops battered me instantly. I was soaked through in a matter of minutes. But if I wanted to get out of this muddy parking lot any time soon, Azriel was my only shot. I ran down the road, waving my hands. “Hey!” I screamed. But he turned right and his truck disappeared.

Soaked, my converse now a lovely shade of mud-brown, my white blouse sticking to my skin. I turned to trudge back through the mud to shelter in my car.

Two sharp beeps came from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and through the rain, saw Azriel’s truck turn back onto the little dirt road. Thank goodness. I nearly started crying in relief. How he’d known to turn back, I had no idea. It was so dark, the rain so thick, that the string lights along the trees did nothing to illuminate the road. Lightning flashed. I decided to get back in my car until Azriel could make his way down the now treacherous dirt road, but I barely made it one step before my foot sank deep into the mud and I fell, hard.

I heard a door slam behind me and warm hands hooked themselves beneath my shoulders, lifting me off of my hands and knees and out of the hole. Without thinking, I threw my arms around him, pulling him tightly to me under the rainy sky.

“Are you okay?” Azriel shouted, his arms, at first hanging at his sides, coming around to hug me closer to him. Thunder crashed and I jumped.

I nodded. “Thank you!”

He smiled, despite the rain and mud that was now nearly covering both of us. His eyes dropped for just a second, and I looked down at myself. Ah, yes. The white shirt. Now very obviously see-through.

“My car is stuck!” I said, trying to cover up the awkwardness of the moment.

He glanced behind him. “Get in mine!”

I followed him and he insisted on holding the passenger door open for me, letting the rain continue to bombard him as I climbed in. He raced around the front of the truck and jumped in.

We sat there for a moment, each of us breathing heavily.

“You’re all wet and muddy now,” I said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t apologize. You needed help.”

“Thank you.”

He turned around and brandished a large overcoat at me. “This is all I have, but it will have to do until the rain stops and I can try to get your car out.”

I repeated my thanks and covered myself with the coat.

He turned on some music, and we settled back in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the heat on full blast. Then a Metallica song came on.

“No,” I said. “No way. Don’t tell me you choose to listen to this.”

“What?” He said. “Rhys got me into it.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Feyre warned me about Rhys’s music tastes. Just my luck, I’d end up with somebody with an equally painful selection of music.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ah, so you’ve ‘ended up with me’, have you?”

“Uhhh… I mean, I didn’t mean it like that. I just--”

“Elain.”

“Yes?”

“Ending up with you sounds wonderful.”

-----------------------------------

~~~FEYRE~~~

Rhys was noticeably uncomfortable. We’d been swimming and played some tennis in his father’s backyard that afternoon, and he’d been preoccupied the entire time. I understood that his ex was now living in his house--I couldn’t even imagine living with Tamlin while we’d been together, much less now that we were broken up--but I didn’t know why he didn’t just talk to me about it. Plus, we were only staying tonight and tomorrow night, then heading back to school on Sunday. We hadn’t even seen Amarantha since meeting her that morning.

She wasn’t present for the tense dinner I’d eaten with Rhys and his dad, either. The father and son had been civil, I would grant them that. However, Mr. Night didn’t make much of an effort to get to know me, which I found a little odd, considering I was staying in his house. Rhys had made many attempts to discuss my major, my hobbies, my swim career. Mr. Night would just nod, say, “That’s nice,” and fall into silence again. Rhys kept shooting me apologetic glances, but I just shook my head.

I was so lucky to have my dad. Sure, we’d had a rocky past. But he’d made an effort to give me a comfortable place to live, an effort to get to know my boyfriend. Mr. Night went to no such lengths, and I didn’t blame Rhys for it, or even his father. I just felt sorry for him that he didn’t know how to love his son.

Later that night, Rhys and I returned to his room. I was ready to collapse into bed and perhaps binge something on Rhys’s enormous flat screen TV. I turned to suggest this plan to Rhys, but halted when I saw his face.

“What are you plotting?”

He grinned. “Well… Some of my old high school friends are having a party tonight. They do it every school vacation. I don’t normally go, but under the stressful circumstances…” His face darkened imperceptibly. I knew he meant the stress of his psychotic ex-girlfriend currently living in his house. And I would go out to party with him if it would make him feel better. It might be fun to let loose with Rhys by my side.

I smiled back at him.

“Well, Ms. Archeron. Allow me to take you out on the town tonight.”

--------

I scrounged up the best party clothes I could find in what I had packed—a black cropped tank top and a jean skirt, black Vans and some silver jewelry. When I emerged from the bathroom, the room was empty.

“Rhys?” He stepped out of his closet that was mostly empty despite its size.

“Feyre—wow. You look amazing. Ravishing. Dare I say it? Hot.”

“Shut up, you’re going to make me blush. You don’t look too bad yourself.” Indeed, his jeans and t-shirt were simple but he looked good.

“Allow me to escort you out through the window,” he said.

“Your dad wouldn’t approve of us leaving?”

He shrugged. “I’d rather not take my chances. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Discussing it isn’t worth it.”

He led me over to the window. I followed after him and nearly slipped off the roof. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m in a boot, and you’re the one who’s about to slip off the roof?”

“Shut up.”

“Well please be careful. I like your face the way it is.” He shimmied down the tree next to the roof and I followed suit.

As I hopped down beside him, proud that I hadn’t fallen out of it, he hastily covered up a wicked grin.

I cocked my head.

“Just admiring the view from below,” he said innocently.

“Shut up,” I said again. But he grabbed my waist and pulled me against him.

“Remind me. Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight, Feyre darling?”

I put my hands on his shoulders. “I don’t believe you did.”

He kissed my forehead, then both of my cheeks. “Well then let me tell you again. You look absolutely, positively gorgeous tonight, Feyre.”

I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before I kissed him full on the mouth, my arms sliding up around his neck. I started to think we wouldn’t get farther than his lawn tonight when a bang issued from inside the house. We jumped apart.

“Let’s save the making out for when we’re too drunk to make it home tonight.” He took my hand and started leading me through the shadows to the street.

One Uber ride later, I found myself outside of a club called The Temple. Rhys whisked me inside without a word. We stepped directly into a cavernous room, the walls, ceiling, and floors painted a stark black. Strobe lights pulsed from every corner in time with the pounding music. The place was already packed full of college and high school aged people. Rhys pulled me over to the bar. A moment later, he handed me two shots.

“To the people who look at the stars and wish!” He shouted over the music.

I grinned, no idea where that particular outburst came from. “To the stars who listen and the dreams that are answered!” I shouted back.

We clinked our drinks and I downed both of them, one after the other. Rhys turned back to the bar.

“Feyre!” A voice shouted from behind me.

“Mor! What are you doing here?!”

“I live here, silly!” She was heavily intoxicated, I could tell. But I was overjoyed to see her. Mor--my friend. Warmth spread through me at the reminder that I had such a friend at school. She seized my wrist. “Bye, Rhys!” Two seconds later I was in the center of the dance floor. I’d only had two shots but with Mor, but I had no trouble loosening up and giving myself to the music. In the midst of all the writhing, dancing bodies, I raised my arms and joined the dance.

Rhys joined us a few moments later, passing me a drink. I downed half of it and, surprising myself at my boldness, got as close to him as I could.

And so we danced.

Hours, or maybe just minutes later, I stumbled off the dance floor and into a seat at the bar. Mor joined me and ordered us both another drink, despite my protests. We sat there, sipping our vodka tonics, breathing heavily and recovering from all the dancing and drinking we had been participating in. I reached the bottom of my vodka tonic and looked around.

“Where’s Rhys?” I asked.

Mor tossed her plastic cup behind her. “He was right behind us, I thought,” she said, already inching closer to the dance floor. I could see a couple of her old high school friends (I’d met them briefly while in the throng of dancing drunk people) already beckoning for her to rejoin them.

“Go,” I told her, giving her a little push. “I’ll find him!”

She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek and disappeared.

The world spinning around me, faceless males grabbing my ass as I pushed through the crowd, I worked my way all around the bar surrounding the enormous black room and the crowd of bodies filling it. I didn’t see Rhys anywhere, and I had been positive he had followed Mor and me off the dance floor.

I stumbled a bit as I turned to check the hallway by the bathrooms. That would be the only place inside the bar that he could still be, unless he’d been pulled back into the crowd.

The hallway to the bathroom was long. Several doors were placed in the walls at various increments. The bathrooms were located at the very end, right next to the doors that led to a smoking porch that was currently crowded with people. I hadn’t known the porch existed, so perhaps Rhys was out there, although I knew he didn’t smoke. Smoking while trying to be a Division I swimmer was a bit of a challenge…

I stepped out onto the porch. He was nowhere. Finally, I decided to check the alleyway. Men shouted at me from the porch, asking me to join them but I ignored them. I tried to walk as directly as I could in order to appear more sober than I actually was. I was about to turn the corner of the fence to peek into the alleyway when I heard him.

“--have to do this right now?” I heard his voice say.

I was about to turn the corner when the voice that answered him caused me to stop short.

“Why do this later when now is the perfect time?” Amarantha’s smooth voice issued from beyond the fence.

I heard Rhys sigh. I felt bad for listening, but I wanted to know what was going on. And Rhys had been rather tight-lipped about what went down between him and Amarantha that caused her to key his car, etc, etc.

“This is the last time, okay?” he said, sounding defeated. “And then you’re going to forget about this.”

Amarantha didn’t answer, so she must have nodded. Because the next thing I heard caused my heart to sink from my throat, where it had lodged as I’d listened to their conversation, through my chest and directly into the pit of my stomach.

He was kissing her. And not lightly.

I couldn’t hear another second of this.

I ran.

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