✦ Rocking By The Seaside

Waiting to C6 Pierro & collect all the Harbingers since 1.1

[rockingbytheseaside]

Masterlist and Art Commission Info

Art Commissions are temporarily CLOSED! Please check the Info Page for information, rules, prices, and how to contact me. Thank you.

Art Commission Info Page (31 May 2026)

If you're here for my writing, art, or just scrolling, proceed further below!

✦ My Writing

Fatui Compilation

✧ How they hold you in bed when sleeping

✧ How you have contrasting personalities but they drop everything for you anyway

✧ You surprise them with terms of endearment in their language

✧ How they dream of you

✧ You cook them their favorite home meal

✧ You invite them to live in your Serenitea Pot

✧ When others try to sabotage your relationship with them

✧ How they comfort you when you wake up from a nightmare + (F!Harbingers edition here)

✧ You help them at work

✧ How they comfort you when you cry

✧ When someone tries to imitate you or take your place

✧ When they secretly have a crush on you

✧ How they take care of you when you overworked yourself

✧ They accidentally call you their spouse

✧ When they are your guardian/teacher figure

✧ You test out a new lipstick

✧ When you are his arch-nemesis

✧ Someone hurt you, and how they take care of the matter

✧ The little gifts they give you

✧ The small things they adore about your body

✧ When you are in a pretend marriage (part I) (part II)

✧ “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

✧ When you wear something of theirs

✧ When they discover you are much stronger than you look

✧ When they love you, but you were never theirs (part I)

✦ Individual One-Shots

Dottore - A Boy Named Heretic / An Endearing Infestation / Dottore taught his youngest segment about you / An Oasis in the Desert of Heretics / Ageless Metamorphosis

Pantalone - Honey and Violetgrass

Neuvillette - Moonlit Tides / Morning Cuddles and Croissants / You are found guilty

Capitano - The Legend of a Faceless Harbinger / The Strong and The Feeble / A dance between the unyielding & the unconquerable

Pierro - I still love you, even though I miss you.

✦ ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴄ6 ᴘɪᴇʀʀᴏ & ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʀʙɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ 1.1 ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟꜱ, ᴏɴʟʏ ʀᴇᴅᴅɪᴛ & ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀʀᴛ. ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀʀᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ ᴏʀ ᴘɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Show (and heart) stealer Pantalone 💸

(he babygirled too hard into my heart, will have to make more pantalone sketches because I need to answer some interesting asks people sent me)

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ mmmm Lizardttore 🦎

[rockingbytheseaside]

Desperately clinging to your fics for comfort at this point LOL

✦ Ageless Metamorphosis

OG Zandik x immortal Reader witnessing him in different stages of life with segments. Reader is gn. Warning: Longer fic idk why I wrote this 

When Zandik was scarcely 18, he sat across from you as a junior Trainee Dastur. 

Tepid sunlight cascaded over an endless sea of book spines, towering rows undulating like hypnotic waves. If the sound of your quill scribbling across the parchment paper were akin to the sound of splashing waves, then Zandik would wish to stay on this shore. You amended his notes, and the junior sat silently, nervously adjusting the golden trims of his emerald uniform when usually vanity meant little to him. However, with you, things were different. 

“I see now why you wanted me to read it,” – you told him. “I believe this outline holds merit. I corrected some basic equations you wrote down, but I can say you're on the right track.”

His hands clench into fists in his lap, knuckles whitening with suppressed excitement. Was it foolish hope, or had you truly begun to believe his work on longevity might stand in defiance of Eleazar itself? Even so, you cautioned him gently, reminding him that the Akademiya’s six cardinal sins were not transgressions his supervisors would overlook: 

“You should've been my supervisor,” – he quickly interjected, arms crossed. “At least, a senior co-author. Are you truly certain you intend to leave after graduation?” 

Alas, your wistful smile confirmed you had already made that decision. 

Though Zandik inclined his head with due respect, the cast of his lowered gaze betrayed how bitterly he cursed fate once more. Had he only belonged to the same academic year as you, he might have shared so much more with you: his scholarly frustrations, sleepless research, the burdens of looming deadlines, and endless debate during field trips amongst the dunes of Deshret’s old kingdom. Lamentably, a young heretic like him could only covet an equal like you. 

You are far more intimidating than he expected. You sat there so calmly, pen moving across parchment like this is just another Tuesday. Yet when you stand back up, offering a gentle tap on his shoulder, Zandik’s face broke into an unfiltered smile he rarely wore in his scholarly career. It transforms his usually intense ruby eyes, rendering him to look exactly what he is – a mere young boy. 

“I'll take your words of encouragement at face value. Otherwise, I hope not all long-lived individuals such as yourself dispense polite encouragement to humor naive mortals?” “Maybe when I reach several centuries of age, Zandik. I am not that ancient yet.” 

When Zandik was 25, you watched him work tirelessly in Dar Al-Shifa’.

With a notebook in hand and chalk in the other, he scribbled tirelessly on the board in front of him. A crease formed on the bridge of his nose, right underneath his glasses. A white medical lab coat has replaced his once-pristine Akademiya uniform. 

"If I adjust the plasma conductivity here... no, this won’t do," – He mutters to himself as he scribbles furiously. Realizing he was far from alone in this room, he felt self-conscious of you watching him after hours again. A habit of yours lately, one he proudly memorized, even when your footsteps were soundless and your breathing undetected. "Oh! You're still here. Great, I will wrap it up to show you my progress."

You watch him fuss and mutter over cellular samples of the recent Eleazar patient. Simply resting your head on your palms, you remained seated by a medical table behind him. Any attempts to convince him that he was way overqualified for this run-down hospital remained futile.  

"If it keeps me afloat, then so be it. And it’s not like I can scavenge better opportunities elsewhere after my expulsion," – Zandik's shoulders tensed slightly, chalk dusting the fingertips of his gloves. "They're building a new wing for experimental treatments. More patients with Eleazar are coming in… This would be the perfect opportunity to experiment on the condition. What do you think?” 

You paid little heed to his pleas. Instead, you busied yourself checking the formulas written on the board here and there. Then, without warning, you turned to stare at him with such profound astonishment: 

“... You wear glasses now.” 

Zandik blinked at you. An embarrassing exhale escaped him, a sound halfway between frustration and affection. He abandoned the chalkboard entirely now, walking over to where you sit – "You're avoiding the topic again, aren’t you? I do not ask you out of whimsy, dear. I want to hear your opinion first and foremost. Always have." 

But both you and Zandik could already guess what you would utter. You knew these parts of rural desert villages. People here do not look kindly upon those who meddle with Eleazar, nor upon anyone who tampers with the ancient Khaenri’ahn machinery buried beneath the sands. To do so was akin to cursed omens. You shook your head: “Do something reckless, and they will exile you like Sumeru city did.”

The young man crossed his arms – “And is concealing your true age and origins from the villagers not equally reckless of you?”

Your eyes widened before your gaze drifted away in solemn silence. Indeed, neither of you was innocent, and the doctor sighed before leaning closer towards you.  

For seven years, since that golden afternoon at the Akademiya, through his exile, to your frequent visits to this remote hospital, the young doctor would gaze at you with an encumbered yearning. His desolation from Sumeru city was his burden alone, yet somehow, you’d return after him to ensure his well-being. Perhaps the shared disdain for the Akademiya’s taboos was what brought you to him as a senior, but to the young man, you were an image of everything he’d hoped to achieve. Was it immortality or change? His brilliant mind couldn’t grasp for an answer. 

"You think I care about exile?" he asked, voice low but intense. "They cast me out once already for pursuing forbidden knowledge. I was hoping that maybe after seven years, you'd see me as more than a puny junior. We can go together, it doesn’t matter where, even in the worst possible outcome. 

Silence followed. 

“... Eh? It's been seven years already?! Since when?!” 

You were helpless despite your seniority, Zandik concluded. 

When Zandik was 35, he proudly bore the title of the 2nd Fatui Harbinger before you. 

The luxurious Fatui facilities dwarfed the desert hospital; his excitement is ever maddening despite the decades. You, however, remained ageless and unchanged beside him. 

"You're looking at phase one of an artificial electrolyte solution," he said eagerly, gesturing to glowing vials on a lab table while you two toured his new laboratory. "Based on Khaenri'ahn bio-tech but adapted for human physiology. This allows for a better preservation of the segments I told you about."

He presented his first progress with confidence. Imitating ancient Khaenriahn alchemy as a framework for creating clones resembling him was a new idea, finally entering experimental phases rather than remaining theoretical. You, in the meantime, wandered the polished floors of his lab, a heavy Fatui coat draped over your shoulders as you read his notes on transferring embodied experiences and memories. 

“Mortality is nothing but a shackle, and for a segment it would be no burden,” – you remember he said. “Why would it be a shackle, Zandik? Immortality is more cursed when a person acquires it. After all, a human mind cannot comprehend so many centuries without any side effects.” “And would you consider your longevity a curse, then?” – He dared you, but you fell silent. 

He leans back against the lab counter, arms crossed as he studies your unchanged face. An eternity of familiarity in this world that keeps moving without you, while everyone you’d know and love would pass and fade away. 

"The segments would gather information from different times and different perspectives. Yet here I am at my height as a Harbinger, feeling more contempt than ever. None of it bears meaning if you're just going to outlive me by centuries."

Once more, you offered him that easy, distant smile: “You have much more to achieve than pursue me throughout centuries. You are a scholar after all, so I can only advise you so much as a senior. Besides, you now look more mature than I am. Had we remained at the Akademiya, most would mistake you for my senior instead.” 

Naturally, a scoff escaped him. Lately, you’ve been using quips about him looking older than you. He hovers close, hand cradles your jaw with careful, gloved hands as if cautious you’d vanish like a mirage in the desert he once fled from.

“If I'm to tear down and spite this decaying world,” – He whispered. “...I can't imagine wanting eternity with anyone but you. Be it through my own flesh or through my segments."

“What if multiple clones of you existed, which one of them would be the closest to the real Zandik?” 

He takes another step closer, close enough now that if either of you breathed deeply, your chests might brush: "Does it matter?”

Burdened with decades of unspoken admiration, the Harbinger leaned in to seal his lips with yours. And tragically for you two, you leaned in. 

Every time that young junior presented his work, he hoped for your approval. Every coffee break, he sat by your side but never touched. That night at the desert hospital, when it hit him that you'd never age like ordinary people, and never see him as an equal in mortal life, it became a condemnation to yearn for you more. It was his unspoken ‘I've loved you since forever’ – except for a mortal, his forever was merely decades, a minuscule blink of an eye for an immortal like you. Still here you were, hands clutching at his coat as you kissed him back. The Harbinger only pushed on with hunger to pour all his unspoken words against your lips, grasping your body flush against him even when pulled away in search of air.

“We shouldn’t, you know why,”

He knew. But his gaze hardened with pain of the expected rejection: “Do you regard me as a small blink in your life? Do not pity now, you of all people…”

“No, no,” – you shook your head, forehead pressing against his chest as your shoulder shook. “Don’t act as if I am an untouchable being incapable of understanding love. You know we shouldn’t because I-”

“Because you will outlive me, and it will break us both?”

Your eyes glistened at the thought. The Doctor only drew you closer, his head pressing to the crown of your hair.

“Or… you wish not to meddle with a heretic and let him grow old on his own?”

Thinking about it now, you should've smacked Zandik on the head more often for such words. Instead, you yielded, if only this once, to the desire between you, letting him lift you onto the table as he devoured your breath with a hunger shaped by years of discretion. Just this once, even if it meant your refusal would fracture yet another part of him. 

When Zandik was 80, you watched him create segments from various stages of his life. 

The lab grows ever more fervent with work and experiments. The various fragments of his own becoming have now meticulously embodied his personality and ticks from different thresholds of his life. Through it all, Zandik himself grew older. He may not have achieved immortality to stand beside you as an equal, but you chose to remain as an enduring friend. The day when he was 35, a Harbinger in his prime, you refused him. Not out of antipathy, it was a mutual decision you both agreed to. Would a heretic allow himself to wallow in his own longing till his elderly years? Each Dottore segment will give you a different answer.

Today, a familiar chorus of boisterous chatter spills into his lab. You had arrived for a visit. The youngest of the segments, the 8-year-old little Zandik, runs quickest to cling to your legs. The 18-year-old follows suit, already eager to show you his recent essay and research notes. Perhaps some things never change. “Easy, easy there! One at a time!” – you laugh, holding packed baklava confectionery away from 8’s grabby hands as you greet everyone with little treats from your travels. Even the 65-year-old segment cannot help but play the old charmer when greeting you with a bow of his masked head. 

Old man Zandik will have to reprimand his segments to respect your personal space. What a bunch of flocking children.

“You spoil the youngest too much,” – His voice rasped as he set a cup of coffee for you. Taking his seat opposite, he kept his cane in his grasp. “But I see you are eager to correct 18’s research notes. He says if he can’t get others to advise him, he’ll have you as his supervisor instead.”

You chuckled, a cup in hand.

“Ah, doesn’t it remind you of someone when they were a Trainee Dastur?”

Old man Zandik scoffed. Of course, they inherited his bodily experiences, perhaps even their adoration is part of him. Notably, you no longer looked as intimidating as you had when he remembered you from his youth. Poised as always, you sat ever the same, physically unchanged in posture and youth. Meanwhile, Zandik aged; his hair grew longer, and his skin wasn’t spotless. It’s basic biology; his reflection did not offend him.

“You know, I think you have changed,” – The Harbinger noted.

“...Me? Do we have matching wrinkles at last?!”

“Do not mock me now,” – he shook his begrudgingly, until his weary gaze settled deep into your eyes. “You look different. Your eyes look ever more distant. I assumed it was fatigue in your eyes at first, but you are not one to skip leisurely repose.”

You said nothing. Your gaze was indeed distant, despite the ever-gentle smile.

“Maybe you should get back to wearing glasses, then, because nothing in me has changed. Which, by the way, they looked good on you when you wore them at 25.”

“Hmph, my eyesight is perfect. At least you remember the years now. It’s unlike you.” 

The bickering between the senior and their junior resumed back and forth. Except that by this coffee table, it looked like an old man scolding an ignorant juvenile for being absentminded, while you chuckled and humored him over coffee. 

“Then in that regard, you haven't changed at all despite your years.” – your youthful hand came cradling his wrinkled one. “It's like I'm looking at the same 18-year-old I first met who sat across from me in the Akademiya library.”

The contrast was clear in your shared touch; his skin was now papery with prominent veins against your ageless one. Alas, you refuse to concede that your accumulation of decades had numbed you with inferential grief. He turned his palm upward to intertwine fingers with yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“We didn’t meet at the Akademiya first.”

You blinked in confusion, “Eh? Yes, we did. You shared your outline papers and whatnot. That’s the first time I met you.”

The old man regarded you with a wistful smile, “Hm, are you certain? I recall it differently.” 

“Hey now, don’t pull my leg. We were both Akademiya students, though I was about to graduate when you were still a junior. I know that much for certain!”

“Ah, you are right, you are right. Never mind, perhaps my mind was just wandering.” – Zandik didn’t insist on the topic, softly deriving a different question quickly, "Will I see you tomorrow? The younger clones always ask when their senior advisor is coming by."

“Same time, as usual,” – You stood up. “I need to check on Feofan again since his corneal repair surgery. He seems to be faring well so far. But I will see you tomorrow.”

“Suit yourself.” 

With a quick peck to his temple, you scurried off without further words. His cup of coffee remained untouched till it cooled, while Zandik watched you silently depart. Once again, the heretic would rather let decades go by instead of confessing the unstated. He did not lie - he actually knew you before the Akademiya.

When Zandik was 8, you stumbled upon him as he ran away from a swarm of kids hurling rocks at him. You, of course, don’t remember it, for you never asked for his name then.

Tears blurred his vision when he ran. Scratches stung skin until little Zandik collided with your legs by accident. Fallen backward, he remembers lying there sniffling. With a stern bark, you reprimanded the street children and shooed them off. And why would you remember a fleeting encounter where you kneeled by a small kid, checking his scratches and mending him? The little child only stared at you with big ruby eyes that day, shakily explaining what happened.

When Zandik died on his 85th birthday, you didn’t come to visit. 

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Happy 85th Birthday, Zandik

(I have so much to say but also nothing. If I see one more mf say he's dead and won't ever be playable like Capi, then start counting your final hours because I will personally come after you. Including the dottore fans who doom post)

[rockingbytheseaside]

[NO SPOILERS]

✦ Boy do I have a lot to say, and boy did I get a lot of asks today after the pre download. But because version 6.6 is not officially out - I will refrain from posting spoilers, personal discussion or fanart until 6.6 release

Friendly reminder not to spoil for others, too. However, if you wish to share more thoughts and impressions with me to my asks, please do send them. I see what people are messaging me and I feel the same... I simply don't want to reply in case my post spoils some important lore for others. For now, friendly reminder to wait for the actual Genshin AQ and play it.

I may be slow with posting stuff this month due to personal responsibilities, but I will try to come up with something (and stay alive)...

I have too many art and fic ideas and never enough time or energy.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Even if fate was altered, or the Irminsul burned, a certain child will never forget…

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Pants revealed

(Art commissions are back open! pants and shoes study ended up being an excuse to just doodle rich pants McGee)

[rockingbytheseaside]

Dottore on the 6.6 poster with an inverted color filter is...... nakey........

Uh... yeah that checks out

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ FINALLY LURED

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Height difference

[talia-black]

Just rambling about Genshin's Corvids

Living for Pantalone and Dottore being the raven and crow duo.

(Watercolor by Pat Race. It honestly reminded me a bit of @rockingbytheseaside style for a moment which I think is part of the reason I lingered on it)

Saw this image while scrolling the other day. I don't know what it is but it resembles the two so closely. Partially because according to their in-game characteristics and first impressions you would think Dottore would be the raven and Pantalone the crow. Crows are smaller and sleeker, have a very short lifespan, typically found in more urban areas and more associated with the "birds like shiny objects" idea than ravens. Ravens are absolutely massive (about the size of a hawk), live in the wild, and have a lifespan of around 30 years.

But what I found much more interesting is that crows are meant to live in large groups. A lone crow is often a terrible omen ("one for sorrow" if you have ever heard the saying) of bad luck and incoming disaster. Very fitting for our favorite heretic that has been denied family, friendship and belonging his whole life.

Ravens on the other hand are monogamous once they reach maturity. While they will cooperate with other pairs whenever there is food or sharing sleeping areas, the two of them work to defend territory and raise chicks.

We don't know much about Pantalone yet, but I wouldn't be shocked if his family died and his core conflict is an external mirror of Dottore's. Pantalone doesn't have the same hangups as Dottore because he had people who cared about him in his youth, they all just died or fell into misfortune or betrayed him. Dottore on the other hand has never had any kind of positive connection that he was not severely punished for in some way. It is written into his fate that he will forever be misunderstood and resented for his ideas.

Also, now that we know Pantalone uses Varka's model, the size difference is much funnier considering we all thought that Pantalone was going to be twinkish for years.

Now I need a Hybrid AU where hulking Raven-Hybrid Pantalone is introduced to this sad, small, socially stunted Crow-Hybrid Dottore and is just like "That one. That's my life partner" and then spends years trying to court him but Dottore doesn't get the message

[rockingbytheseaside]

It's fascinating how I often thought the opposite, Dottore as the Raven, Pantalone as the crow. But truly, it can go both ways. I love this interpretation sm

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Mom, can we get the Harbingers? We have the Harbingers at home:

(yippee have my whole set at last. Ordered it as a birthday gift for myself, but it came very late. But I won rare Scara in the set. Guess who he replaced...? Dottore. Had to buy him separately. The irony almost killed me)

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Take a breather. Enjoy some Dotties and remember we'll see more of him soon

(Small sneak peek. Thanks to all the lovelies who commissioned me Dottore art recently!)

[rockingbytheseaside]

your user name reminds me of a cafeteria near my school 😭

This has to be interesting. Anon please elaborate if you can.

I wonder how people interpret my username + watermark. I never specifically made art depicting it, as I rarely even draw my pfp OC in the first place, but I mostly wonder how people understand it

[arluene7688]

I'm sick :(

when the female harbingers get sick, how did it happen and how do they react?

inspired by @rockingbytheseaside's one with the male harbingers here

dude I haven't written in too long I feel like all of them are super ooc kill me

Columbina

It was quiet in the Palace garden. Columbina sat on a bench, you laying on her shoulder as you nap.

Well, it was quiet.

"HaCHEW!"

The absurdly loud and violent sneeze that erupted from your beloved caused you to startle and almost fall off the bench... and then came another.

And another...

"Oh, dear... I'm sorry for waking you."

Columbina sniffles and rubs her eyes.

Columbina had caught a cold, unsurprisingly from her unsuited clothes for the cold of Snezhnaya.

Now, as you sit next to her, Columbina has turned into a burrito inside several Fatui coats, her hands that hold a mug of tea sticking out and slightly pink from the breeze.

"No need to apologise, Columbina. How are you going?"

This seemed to be her first experience with sickness.

"I find the stuffiness in my nose uncomfortable. And, my voice sounds strange."

Columbina sniffs and sneezes again.

It was true, Sandrone had been spared the Columbina alarm clock in the mornings as she was unable to sing.

"Don't worry, it will only last a few more days."

You smile and lay back against her.

"Hm... as long as you sing to me instead."

Arlecchino

It seemed like all that running around in the rain on a mission or something had caught up to her.

It was amusing, seeing Arlecchino bark at the youngest children to not play in the rain, with her being sick herself.

"This is quite inconvenient. I had planned on meeting the Iudex of Fontaine to discuss..."

You softly shushed her with a finger to her lips.

"You need a break. I'll make you a hot chocolate, stay right here."

A couple children tug on your sleeve with shining eyes.

"cough, cough... I think I'm sick too!" One declares with a hand over their mouth.

"I'm so cold after being in the rain... May I have a hot chocolate too?" Another pleads.

You and Arlecchino chuckle.

"Yes, yes. Now get yourself dried off before you actually catch a cold!"

"And don't track mud on the carpet!"

Arlecchino leans back into her chair, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

"They shouldn't see me like this. I can work fine in this state." She frowns.

"See you like what? Weak? And I swear to the Archons Arlecchino if you talk about work one more time, I will send a letter to the Tsaritsa requesting sick leave."

Sandrone

You always wondered if a robot like her could get sick, or the equivalent.

Now, you know.

"Sandrone, please lie down while I fix it."

You reach out, exasperated as she dodges your attempts to grab her.

"I a perfectly capable of removing water from my inner systems myself, thank you very much."

She snaps back at you.

"I have far too much work planned to take a break to fix something that isn't a problem!"

However, her declarations are very much contrasted with the stiff way her limbs move, and the sparks flying from the open panel in her back...

oh my Archons, are those sparks?!?

"Sandrone, get back here! There are sparks coming off from you!"

"And I insist, my body is incapable of falling apart from such a simple-"

She falls over.

Contrary to what you both believed, it seems like this will take far longer than a few minutes to fix. Water has somehow leaked into all parts of Sandrone's internal workings, and you need to remove it fast before it actually does any damage.

"Sit still."

If she will cooperate...

Signora

Signora is no stranger to fever, with her powers as the Crimson Witch of Flames bringing its own repercussions.

After what you call overusing her powers, and what Signora calls teaching someone a lesson, you had arrived to a slightly scorched bedchamber. (Hopefully the Tsaritsa won't mind.)

You scan the room, and spot Signora kneeling on the ground behind the bed, and you rush over.

"Signora, are you alright? Did you..." You sigh, touching her hand and feeling her scalding skin. "Come on, let's get you into the bed."

As always, Signora is overcome with a heavy silence, and you try hard not to wish you had been her first love as her eyes search for someone long deceased.

After removing her thick snow coat and tucking her into the bed, you wet a cloth and wipe the sweat from her face before laying it on her forehead.

You're starting to feel the heat too now, and you discard your own coat, highly aware of the little flaming moths now forming in the room.

"Signora, please avoid setting the room on fire-"

You gasp, cut off by a tight grip on your hand adjusting the cloth on her forehead. Signora looks at you through heat-dazed grief, but the moths disappear.

Her mouth opens, and you look away, already anticipating the name that will fall from her lips.

But, as you feel her warm fingers trace circles onto your palm, you instead hear your own name, called out in the midst of her stupor.

You switch out the cloth on her forehead for a fresh one and try not to cry.

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hi hi!!! First off I want to say I loooveee your work and your art is sooo cool

And also If you’re taking requests I was wondering what do you think the harbringers would be like when they’re sick?? Especially if the man fever thing affects them and they’re on their death bed with a mild fever and are in desperate need of tea and a nap but they refuse to acknowledge it until reader forces them to rest :33

Ofc you don’t need to write ts but it’s a funny idea I wanted to share🫶

This is an excellent idea, thank you sm for this lovely ask! I didn’t want to make the same scenario for all the harbinger, so I sat down thinking… wait, can some of them even get sick? From what, even? Anyway, please enjoy: 

✦ When they are sick or hurt, so you take care of them

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia)

Note: mentions of scars and the curse of immortality with some. Sniffles, sneezing.

✧ You weren’t supposed to see this. A moment prior, Pierro stood before you, ever the composed Director in his pristine suit and half-mask. Next, you find him in an unlit room, mask tossed to the ground, and his hands clutching at his face in agony. You wouldn’t have even assumed something was wrong when he courtly excused himself. Yet you always noticed when something troubled his poise. Hence, with the muffled crash of furniture behind a closed door, you forced yourself to intrude upon him.

“Please, you mustn’t perceive me like this,” – he’d plead with you, the light from the hallway cascading onto his hunched form, half of his face mystified by the shadows. 

You stared in horror as veins of deep blues and black seized the other side of his face. Still, you refused to turn away. Instead, your hands rushed to his fallen form, grasping his shoulders with hushed whispers. You got him; he didn’t want you to glimpse at his face, but you got him. Aiding his weight up, you ushered him to the privacy of your shared bedroom.

There he lay upon the bed, left in a half-unbottened blouse and feverish skin. The curse of importality plagued the Jester, his breathing erratic as his brow drawn tight beneath the onslaught of pain. You knew his affliction was silent, perhaps invincible to mere mortals. But it was a ruthless one. It would flare up unbidden in surges of anguish or abyssal scars to mar his skin, sometimes worsening, and sometimes taking root silently. Alas, Pierro had mastered the art of concealment behind pearly suits and gloves after five centuries.

You clutched at his hand, caressing it. Even when you stayed up all night, planting a palm to his forehead and dipping a soaked towel to aid his temperature, you know it was temporary precautions to a helpless condition. 

“Pierro, dear. I told you not to overdo it if you suspect a flare-up soon. You need rest, I can give you a moment of respite.”

“Do not pity this old fool, a-as he toils… Please, stay with me.”

He didn’t need to utter any further. You just scooted closer to him in bed, the chambers steeped in soothing darkness. You let his head lean onto you, while your hand didn’t shy away from caressing the skin haunted by ancient scars. Your touch - warm, familiar, ever-loving. It was his sole balm against the spasm of this wretched curse. Instead, he closed his eyes and let your touch weave his dreams.

So how does one battle a curse with no cure? You knew it not only suspends the march of age, but it could also seize cognitive functions or erode memories. Thus, you began reciting all the tender memories you had together:

“... Do you recall the first time you invited me to a dance? I was so nervous in front of you. I didn’t even know you were more so than I was that day.”

And still, you continued, reciting everything you two did. Reminiscing about every kiss, every embrace, every date. From the first ones to the least remarkable ones. It didn’t matter what you were speaking about in that hushed tone of yours. You just tried to anchor Pierro’s mind, not to let it succumb to the slow corrosion of his constitution. You need to only speak and hold him.

His breathing gradually calmed down. You watched as his spasms ceased, and eventually, slipping into dreamless slumber. At last, the flare-ups calmed down, and Pierro was resting. A sigh escaped you. Leaning down, you pressed a kiss to his forehead. One day, you swear upon your sword and blood that you’d make the heavens pay the price for the suffering brought upon the one man you hold dear.

✧ You had long been aware of Capitano’s peculiar circumstances regarding his mechanical heart and the curse bestowed upon him by the Heavens. So much so that you are the first to recognize the strain he had borne lately.

“Dear, a word,” – your hand came to grace his shoulder. “Remember to be cautious. We may have a lot of work today, but you are a seasoned Captain, not a rookie. Remember what you carry.”

Such tender tone may ground the Harbinger to not just his duties, but the consequences of carrying souls within his immortal body. But alas, being on dangerous reconnaissance missions sent by Her Majesty means Capitano was first to unsheath his sword at the hint of danger. And when danger stirred, fighting ensued. Fighting leads to injuries.

Though the mission met with success, and the first of the Fatui Harbinger prevailed as ever, it was he who ended up limping in your arms. You caught his taller stature, your mind already working overtime to ascertain the damage. Was he alright? No fatal wounds? Not too close to his heart…?

“I… I apologize, my cherished. You warned me, yet I still pay the price a-all the same,” – Capitano’s voice was hoarse, and it was clear he tried to keep the pain at bay before you. So you softly hushed him, drawing his forearm across your shoulder, and supported him to safety. 

Thus did Capitano come to be bedridden, entrusted wholly to your care.

For a Harbinger of his rank, Capitano does not indulge in servants, for none can witness his true countenance behind the helmet. This privilege goes only to the Captain’s beloved – you. In a quiet bedroom with shut-off curtains, you ensure the helmet is safely discarded by the dresser. Now, all your focus was on patching him up. 

“You must be angry at me,” – he whispered, feeling your gentle touch as you meticulously changed a new bandage around his arm. He lay flat on his back, his black hair tousled on the pillows. “Speak to me, dear. Even if you want to reprimand me, I’d much rather bear your reproach than this silence.”

“Capi, sweetie,” – a huff escaped you. “You know what I will say. You’re immortal, not indestructible. Putting yourself in physical danger further corrodes your body. Your skin is almost entirely marred, and you are at further risk with all the souls you are carrying.” 

Capitano tried to listen; he truly did. But even when your voice carried that hint of stern scolding, busying yourself disinfecting another scab on his skin, he ends up staring at you in hazed adoration. Just his blue, khaeni’rhn pupils following your motion as you fussed and cared for him. Were it not for his lack of a helmet, he’d be able to hide how often he gazes at you with dazed appreciation.

But he did not listen much to what was being said. You muttered something about food and left him resting in bed. Yet solitude was not yet reachable, for new voices now scolded him in his head. Familiar, old voice of weary ghost:

“If you fumble things with them, you would be the biggest idiot in the history of all of Teyvat.” – An old friend, Guthred. Even though he wasn’t physically present, Capitano could still imagine his displeased silhouette within his peripheral vision.

“I… I am aware. No need to scold me on personal matters regarding my love life.”

“No, I will actually. Maybe listen to them instead of having your head in the clouds like a lovesick knight. Do your sweetheart a favor and watch over yourself, Thrain.”

The knight in question had no opportunity to defend himself, because at least a couple of dozen apparitions echoed Guthred’s words. They say voices of the dead torment the living, and the voices of Capitano’s old comrades sure haunted him. Half agreed that he must be grateful and listen to you. The other half echoed their own adoration towards the Captain’s beloved. These restless souls become too brazen when they are denied entry to the Leylines.

“Capi, dear,” – Your return hailed a merciful pause from such voices. In your hands is a silver tray of home-cooked soup and toasted bread. “As promised, I brought food.”

All the voices inside Capitano’s heart cheered. You couldn’t see or gleam at them, but they all beamed at your return and loving care. The Harbinger was grateful you could not witness your ghostly fans, for he could not possess the mental capacity to explain how they acted as matchmakers before he persuaded you romantically.

He really has to get better for your sake, and to quell the snarky voices of these ghosts. 

✧ Il Dottore, a man of science. A scholar who defied the laws of physical restrictions. Anything his once-mortal body lacked would be improved upon by newer segments. Something as trifling as a cold or flu is beneath his scientific pursuits. So why is your beloved, brilliant scholar, confined to bed, unable to lift his head without getting dizzy? 

Motion sickness. 

Perhaps some things are so genetically encoded within a person’s biology that even Il Dottore may overlook them. In his student days, young Zandik was still a mortal boy who yearned for the forbidden knowledge of ancient Khaneri’ahn technology. There is nothing unusual about being motion sick when forced into rapid head movements or when vision is disrupted. Yet the dizziness he experienced when he first tried to manually control that colossal Ruin Guard in the desert was inhumane. The vertigo had been so merciless that the poor boy spent hours groveling on the floor, ready to puke.

Surely now, as a Harbinger, he has conquered something so minute as motion sickness? 

You were there when you witnessed Dottore devise the artificial moon marrow. To possess and control one means to control the gravitational pull and laws of physics. This was all part of his future mission before heading to Nod-krai. So imagine the astonishment when, one second, you see Dottore successfully levitate and physically command space, and the other, he is on the ground, pale and wordless.

“Ah, it’s working! So an artificial moon marrow is no different than… Dear? Hello, are you okay?”

Oh no, he is on his knees, hunched down. Was he about to throw up? 

After a quick moment of panic, alarm, confusion, and utter laughter, the mad doctor ended up being the patient for the day. He rested in bed, his arm thrown over his eyes as he grumbled in discomfort.

“This is intolerable. Outrageous! A scholar like me, managing to build and wield an artificial moon marrow to bend nature’s laws into our favor… and my obstacle of the day is motion sickness? How utterly pathetic.” 

“Every experiment invites obstacles and variables,” – You chuckled, setting some medicine and a glass of water on the table beside him. “I’d say you were successful. Far better to test this artificial moon marrow before you accidentally humiliate yourself amidst your evil, scholarly speech.”

“I am glad you are having fun imagining that, darling.” 

The doctor was already chafing under the indignity in front of you, but your chuckles were one of sympathy, not mockery. You don’t ever remember seeing Dottore so afflicted with any illness. Alas, here he was, in bed, if not grumbling then half pouting in dissatisfaction. It was an endearing sight; you couldn’t help but dote on him. 

“You already provided me with dimenhydrinate.” – The Harbinger concluded warily, already trying to get up too abruptly from bed. “It should start taking effect soon, I can return to wor-”

“Sit your ass down,”

He indeed sat his gluteus maximus back down. 

Getting up so proudly proved ill-advised, for another wave of nausea washed over him. When you tucked the covers around him, you cautiously checked whether physical touch would make him more dizzy. Dottore, intrinsically, guided your palm on his forehead to stay.

“I know your patience is thin where work is concerned, but sit this one through. The medicine will take effect soon, and as you know, it has a sedating effect. So maybe sleep a little, and your nausea will finally go away.”

“... Whichever new segment I’ll create, I will erase this humiliating oversight in the future.”

“I am sure you will, Dottore. Shall I leave you to your rest?”

The doctor grumbled again, unwilling to relinquish your hand. A plain no; your proximity is his medication. The solitude of this bedroom afforded a moment of respite, away from scientific research and discussion of future missions in Nod-krai. Instead, you entertained him with idle precautions on what not to eat or drink when struggling with swirling visions. Yet when you turned to glance upon him, you found Dottore already asleep.

The medicine was effective. He looked oddly peaceful in such a state.

 ✧ Scaramouche is a puppet, carved and perfected from ancient Irmunsul branches. An artificial humanoid cannot contract mortal ailments. And why would he? Would a being free from the toils of human flesh be capable of even getting sick just for the sake of mock authenticity?

Today, the two of you learned that he can, when his first sneeze ever escaped his mouth.

It happened again. Another sneeze. Shortly after, achoo… For the first time in his long life, the Balladeer was sick with fever, tormented by a stuffy nose. The cause? Neither of you could figure it out for several days. You had Scaramouche resting in a warm futon, a set of tissues sat aside for him, and a hot cup of barley tea.

“I-is this how you struggle whenever you get ill? How can you even tolerate…t-this,” – he sneezed again, his head dipping to hide under the covers. You heard his muffled sniffles. “This has to be a twisted joke. This constant discomfort underneath my skin is unbearable.”

“It’s okay, Scara. I am not even sure what this could be from,” – You patted his covered form. “We didn’t bring any new food to say it’s an allergy. You can’t even get cold in the traditional sense. And you were fine a couple of days ago. What happened?”

“Well, I sure wish to know what happened as well. I physically can’t get allergies or get sick like other people, remember?”

Another sneeze. You decided to make him another proper cup of tea, with extra lemon and ginger as a home remedy. House duties and dinner were left in your care, your mind clocking how the Harbinger was taking this sickness badly, not because of the physical affliction that naturally comes with being ill, but because he simply never experienced it like a regular human. 

So he’d accept your cup of tea with lemon and ginger, he’d listen to your comforting words that this unfortunately happens, he’d see you change covers and fuss when he could barely move. Were it not for his humility of being so physically weakened, he would have been guilty of being useless when you fussed over him. You even humbly refused to share a room with him, in hopes of letting him get a wink of sleep undisturbed.

“...I am feeling better. Stay here.”

He did not look any better. But with a lowered gaze, hand holding onto you, this weakness truly made him yearn not for medication and homemade remedies, but your touch. You knelt and gently guided his head onto your lap.

“You do so much for me. I hate this state. I hate that you have to see me like that,”

“But Scara, you often took care of me when I got sick myself. Nothing wrong with that. If anything, you saw the worst of me when I am tired and limp as a veggie.”

But he shook his head with a sniffle. This was different, and the Harbinger had to endure this experience like any organic being. Though if it got him extra caresses of your caring hands and soothing words, he did not mind your pity.

“Now, I am limp as a veggie here.” 

“Hm… A limp lavender melon. But a cute one.”

✧ Oh no, Pantalone had worked himself into illness and been struck with a common cold. Does the wealthiest man in Teyvat take it with dignity and let himself rest for a couple of days? If dignity means being the whiniest, clingiest baby you could ever witness, then that is precisely what he shall be.

Sniffling into a tissue, the regrator treated his bedridden state as if it were prison, lamenting audibly: “I do not want to be confined to this room for days. Sweetie, darling, my miracle life savior, please don’t leave to sleep in the spare bedroom. Can you not stay the night with me?”

“Well, dear, we spoke about this.” – You took your pillow in your arms, “you’re sick, and I would rather not catch it myself. Besides, a sick person needs their own quiet and peace. Either I disturb your sleep, or you wake me up with a sneeze.” 

“What a puny, pathetic state… Can’t cuddle with my darling. Can’t come and kiss them. Instead, I have to sleep in our bed alone with all this space. What is this punishment for?” 

He had to be so dramatic. A common cold would trouble him for scarcely more than a few days, and Pantalone was ordinarily meticulous in all matters of health. Yet, in the rare moments that he does get sick, he has to announce it every five minutes.

“Oooh, the agony.” sniffle, “If only I had a beautiful darling to pity me.”

“My throat is sore. If only someone would cook me a delicious home-cooked noodle soup. The kind that only my beloved knows how to make properly. That would cure me in minutes.”

“A day of me being sick is millions of Mora squandered when I could be working. And if I remain sick and do not bring in the money, my darling would think I am incompetent and leave me!”

Such theatrics were becoming insufferable as Pantalone’s soliloquys echoed in the whole hallway for an audience of one. But you came with a genius plan. With an overly saccharine smile and a bowl of home-cooked noodle soup, you came back to the bedroom and treated him with extra sweet words:

“Why, how could I leave my baby so sick and lonely. Here you go, Pantalone. Your favorite noodle soup.”

“Darling, you’re an angel! It’s the perfect remedy.”

“But alas, I confess myself troubled. You’ve already taken your medicine and been treated with home-made remedies. If things continue to be so bad, I’ll have to call our dear friend Dottore to treat you. He’s a doctor, he will know what to do.”

Pantalone bolted up in bed – “...Don’t. Do not even dare.” 

“I already contacted him. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

That was all you needed to say. Somehow, Pantalone was already feeling much better by the next day and had healed quite amicably without the necessity of any hahahehehohos. 

✧ Tartaglia had already suffered a lousy day. Dealing with any unruly subordinates was rare, but when needed, the eleventh of the Fatui Harbinger could be stern to put his people in place. Then, his mission in the outskirts of Snezhnaya was far from smooth. Dealing with the lingering Wild Hunt that made it from Nod-krai didn’t take a few minutes. To make matters worse, the weather was far harsher than usual.

Safe to say, by the time Tartaglia made it home, he felt sick and tired. 

When he made it safely into the humble doors of your shared abode, he made no mention of it. He greeted you in his customary tender manner, and you embraced him lovingly in return. However, you caught onto his slumped shoulder. His usually vivid smile felt forced, and instead of entering home with endless stories of today’s events, Childe only showered and stayed in bed to rest. 

You didn’t push him to speak. Sometimes, solitude is required to rejuvenate the mind.

The young Harbinger did not notice how you turned off the lights in the room, for he was already fast asleep. His body felt sore, and the painful lump in his throat did not allow him to sleep for long. As he tossed in bed, he felt a familiar hand on his forehead, beckoning him back to reality:

“Ajax…? Ajax, dear. You have a slight fever,”

He opened his eyes, and you sat on a chair beside him. On the nightstand, a delicious waft of homemade soup steamed into the air. A bowl of vegetable bullion with extra leeks. In his sickly state, Childe only glanced at you quietly.

“I had a hunch you’ll get sick with the way you got back home. Here, can you sit up? Dinner is ready.”

The Harbinger made no allusions to his state, his troubles, or irritation; you simply knew already. Even when he pushed himself upright, his ginger hair tousled and his temperament diminished from feeling sick, you still smiled at him so fondly. Forget hot meals, maybe this temperature was caused by your warmth? 

“There, there. I’ll look in our medicine cabinet to find something for your-... Ah, Ajax, are you crying? Sweetie!”

He simply sat and ate his dinner, sniffing. He loved you so much for reading him like an open book, yet his condition made him all the more pathetic. He’d have to wait and get better if he wanted to kiss you in appreciation.