#last time i talked about why hes chaotic this time its about the other side
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girl. the honeymoon series. LIVING FOR IT. this is a really like loose request, but could you do like a charity event night? not really sure what to happen but the thought of having to reallllly sell the whole marriage thing to everyone at the event is just quite interesting. thriving rn
❝honeymoon❞
IV. sugar-coating.
parts: previously
plot: an ex corners you, bringing up bad memories. bruce offers you super illegal catharsis.
pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader.
cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce, angst, eventual fluff, reader has a scummy ex, bruce is allowed to be a little bit chaotic as a treat and so are you.
words: 2.8k.
"So. Wayne, huh? How's that going for you?"
You laugh behind your glass, feigning innocence with a light and fluttery "What do you mean?"
Coulson is a family friend, as much yours as he is Bruce's, and even though he's the competition, he treats you and Bruce with as much respect as you could hope for in your line of work. Bonds formed in boarding school tended not to break easily, "It's just... gotta wonder what you did to make it up to him. Last I checked, you didn't even exist to him."
You swallow your champagne, just for something better to do than flinching, "Yeah, well, he found it in his heart to hear me out. Love like that doesn't really go away."
Coulson's eyes narrow for a second. He doesn't fully believe you. In an attempt to steer toward calmer waters, he elbows you in the side, "Must've learned some impressive tricks if it got that skirt-chaser to commit." But calmer didn't mean desirable.
You really don't want to discuss what you and Bruce (don't) do in the bedroom right now, so you steer the conversation a different direction, "And how is your new girlfriend, Coulson?"
He has a lot to say about her. A violinist in the Gotham City Orchestra with two degrees and a tour coming up later this year. He tells you he'll send you and Bruce tickets, tells you that one of the tour dates is in Spain and it will line up with your anniversary next year. The mention of your anniversary makes your stomach knot up a bit; the wedding was still weeks away, and you'd only just gotten on decent speaking terms with Bruce.
If anyone here knew how thin your marriage's facade was, it would be more than an embarrassment. Your mother would waterboard you in your own blood and tears.
It helped that most people didn't have a clue. Sure, there was gossip and the occasional rumor, but it was all for "fun". It never went anywhere, and any whisper that got too big for its britches could be easily stamped out with a little effort.
But Coulson? He was a friend. He'd known you a long time. If anyone were to put weight to a rumor about you and Bruce, it would be him. Which is why you couldn't let him figure you out.
"...For a while there, I swore you and Bruce weren't on speaking terms at all." Your ears catch the last bit of Coulson's rambling, right as he settles into a silent, knowing smile. "Care to catch me up on the rekindling?"
Well, you see, there's this little thing called blackmail- "When the board appointed me as acting CEO, I felt it time to reach out and make amends. It'd been years since we'd even talked, and with him so busy with his projects, we never really saw each other either. I was surprised that he even had the time, so we met up and just talked. About everything. About the company, about his work, about... what happened. It was a little while after the flood, so it just sort of lined up at the right time."
Coulson nods, impressed and seemingly unaware you'd just pulled that out of your ass, "Damn. Near-death experiences really do wonders for the heart. And now you have a wedding coming up." He catches it before you do, the micro-expression of discomfort. You swear his smile gets bigger, "What's that? Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise already?"
"No, sorry. Not trouble. Just stress. Lots of wedding planning and company business at once. I was kind of hoping to get away from it all here, focus my efforts on alleviating others' stresses." You tip your glass in the direction of the giant banner at the entrance that reads, "Hope For Homes: Housing Gotham's Youth One Helping Hand at a Time".
Coulson doesn't take his eyes off you for a second, "Had I known you were ready to settle down, I wouldn't have let Bruce beat me to it."
“I’m sorry?”
Your friend's smile doesn't waver. You feel a chill settling in your chest, a warning that he’d taken control again. You try to casually scan the crowd for Bruce but you find him in deep discussion with some business partners and your stomach twists. He’s turned, he can’t see you. You can’t call for help.
“Ah, you know,” Coulson steps forward, a friendly distance to anyone else, “saw you and Brucie together and just got to thinking about us. You remember, don’t you?” You keep a solid expression, much to his amusement, “Or was I just a step on the ladder too?”
It’s supposed to be a joke. You ought to laugh it off. You do, stiffly, pressing your sweating glass to your inner wrist to ground yourself, “We were… 17. Weren’t we?”
“The first time, yeah.”
“How could I forget?”
“You did always like Bruce better.” Coulson comes closer. He’s close enough now that anyone would think you were just two childhood friends gossiping, reminiscing on your youth and laughing all about it. Coulson keeps up a pretty smile even as your heartbeat accelerates, “Always worried about him. Always running after him. He didn’t even give you the time of day.”
You keep smiling, “He was angry. I understood-“
“Bullshit,” and he says this so loud that a few people turn and look, but with such a joyful expression that they don’t look long, “you were obsessed with the guy! Couldn’t stand the idea of him knowing what you really are.”
Your blood curdles. You know you should correct him, but your jaw is locked tight.
"That's okay. Bruce is... fickle. One day he's in love with you, the next you're a bug on a windshield. You're no bug now, are you?"
Now he's pushing it. The hand that captures your chin is lightly scented with cardamom, what should smell pleasing and sexy and disabling. It should sweep you into familiar arms, whisk you off into a whirlwind affair that gets the whole party talking. It should spark controversy. It should make you excited to ruin your mother's plans.
Your heart pangs as you remember the look on Bruce's face. Standing in the hall, one hand on the door to the library, yours and your mother's faces illuminated in flickering candlelight. You must've looked like a monster to him the way he fled-
You grab his wrist and tug, peppering a laugh in as if this is all just one big joke, "Let go."
Coulson's eyes spark alight, "I like you the way you are. You know what you want."
"I am not a gold-digger."
"But you are. Even if mommy's pulling the strings, you like being pulled. Only someone with something to gain would play along."
He'd looked at you once like you'd hung the sun in the sky, and now you were the devourer of light. You had consumed it, put out its burning devotion in one fell swoop. And then nothing. As if you were nothing before and would never be anything after. You were nothing as he told you, in no uncertain terms-
"Coulson, let go."
"I wouldn't mind, you know. Brucie is too soft for you. My girlfriend, you know, love her to death, pretends she's not in it for the money. People like that? They come into our world and think that we don't see how it changes them. How they're driven by it just like the rest of us are. She thinks she has to prove to me that she's different. You don't have to. You're committed, I respect that. But it doesn't have to be Bruce."
Your hands tremble at your sides. Almost more than you've ever wanted anything in your life, you want to give him a shiner that would put you out of high society. Your dominant hand curls into a fist, delighted by the idea.
You go to bat off the hand that touches your hip, but when your skin meets theirs, you recognize it isn't Coulson's. You feel the coolness of their ring against your sweating palm and almost sag into it, "I leave you alone for one second, and vultures descend." Bruce places a cool, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips hover there as he turns ever so slightly towards your ex. Coulson releases your chin. "Coulson. How's Lydia?"
You shouldn't delight in the way Coulson tightens up as much as you do, "Bruce! Good to see you. She's fantastic. Tour starts later this year. You lovebirds should come."
"It's a shame she couldn't make it."
"Oh, you know how it is. I'm still in good company. Right?" Coulson turns to you, winks. His smile is rigid.
When others are around, Bruce would snap back into a Wayne: all propriety and good will. You take a look at his expression and it is unreadable. There's a faint smile there, but nothing else he gives away. He is studying Coulson quite intensely though. You don't think he's blinked in a minute.
His eyes flicker down in fake-bashfulness, "I should thank you for that. You know once the board starts talking numbers, they can't stop. Not even for a good cause." Coulson nods politely along, half-listening, "You did good seeking this one out instead. I'm sure you've heard more than enough about numbers after this past month."
It was a simple statement. Most of the people in this room had been spending their days stuffed into board meetings for the end of the fiscal quarter, talking about finance, watching the stock market, money and more money... but it was the bit at the end that did it.
Coulson's eye twitches just so. He hesitates on asking but just can't help himself, "How do you mean?"
Bruce's smile takes on a patronizing color, "Oh, the boys and I were just discussing... sorry, I thought... I assumed it was public knowledge by now, forgive me." He laughs, just a touch awkward enough that it looks like he didn't mean to say anything at all. Now Coulson's smile is falling.
Even you are curious.
Coulson crosses his arms, hugging himself, "It was... a minor error reallocating funds. Nothing more. It isn't public knowledge because it's been handled. Who told you about it?"
"Has it? Been handled, I mean."
You glance between the two of them. For the first time since he'd come over, Bruce looks back at you.
Coulson clears his throat, "It has. Anyone saying otherwise must not have anything better to talk about."
Bruce hums. His mouth falls from your temple to your cheek, placing another kiss there, then another behind your ear. The hand on your hip moves to close around your neck, holding you close so not a word slips out of the space between you and him, "Let's go."
You keep your eyes on Coulson's, watching the gentle flicker between annoyance and politeness. You throw in a giggle for good measure, "Sure thing."
Bruce peels back from you, acknowledging Coulson with little more than a nod, "Good seeing you, Coulson. I'd stick around longer but I think I'm gonna steal them home, if you don't mind."
"Not at all! I envy how much you two are obsessed with each other, truly." Coulson sips his champagne and in a bitter tone, shifts his focus to you, "Think on what I said, hm?"
The nerve.
Bruce is whisking you toward the front doors without giving you a moment to respond. He kisses you more, leans into you with an arm thrown around your shoulders and a giddy smile as he sets his barely-touched champagne on a waiter's tray.
It isn't until you two are outside by the curb that you break your silence, "Thank you."
Bruce doesn't fully acknowledge you with his body, even as his arm remains slung about you, helping keep the chill of the night off you. He sends off a message for your driver, "What for?"
That was right. You'd never actually gotten to talk to Bruce about Coulson, "He... he was questioning the marriage. Questioning if you were the right fit for me. Saying that maybe I'd be better off with someone who understands me," you grit the next part out, "the real me."
"And?"
You look at him. He's watching cars pass as your eyes prick with tears. "I don't think he understands me at all. He never did."
He appraises you out of the corner of his eye, "Could've told you that years ago."
"You wouldn't even give me the time of day four months ago."
You've got him there. You're shocked to find that he isn't annoyed, or defensive, or even ignoring you. He sucks his teeth and shrugs. Presses the bottom of his shoe into an old cigarette on the sidewalk, snuffing out a flame that had died a long time ago. "You were going to hit him. I saw you." You feel heat crawl up your neck as you remember. "I don't know what he said, but he would've deserved it."
"I... couldn't. You know I couldn't."
Bruce turns up his nose as if he's smelled something foul, "It would've felt good, though."
"Yes."
The two of you wait there, just wobbling in the wind, watching cars go by as music and chatter and people flutter out of the ballroom behind you. You don't know what you're waiting for, but you can indulge yourself once in a while. If Bruce wants to stand on the street with his arm around you doing nothing, then maybe you ought to take the time to do nothing.
A few minutes pass before Bruce releases you, nodding for you to follow him up the street. You do, even confused.
He stops right in front of a bright red convertible, a shiny and expensive thing, parked just far enough out of the way that the music is fainter here. "C'mere," Bruce instructs, walking around the front of the sports car, and you follow him, watching your step lest you fall prey to a puddle, "hold this."
He removes the handkerchief from his front suit pocket and lays it over your open palm, much to your bewilderment. Then, reaching into the inside of his jacket, he drops a batarang into your hand.
"Bruce-!" You instinctively close your hand around the thing to hide it, thankful that his handkerchief kept you from slicing your palm open, "what are you-"
"One tire is a spare. Two is a tow."
"Have you been drinking? Like actually?"
You're startled by the grin he gives you, "If we stand here all night, someone'll catch us."
You go to argue when you recognize something hanging from the car's rear view mirror. A pair of dingy, fuzzy dice. Dice you've seen before in older, just as expensive cars. This is Coulson's car.
You grab Bruce by the arm and turn him to you, "Are you insane?"
"It's better than punching him."
The batarang weighing in your hand feels a little lighter at that.
"Couldn’t stand the idea of him knowing what you really are.”
Who Coulson thought you were wouldn't slash the tires of a backup option. They'd be nice, wait it out, play the game for maximum benefit. Jump ship at the first sign of trouble. They wouldn't risk making enemies. They'd let their mother keep pulling their strings.
You sink the batarang into the first tire's sidewall sharp and quick. If Bruce is curious as to how you know how to slash tires, he doesn't ask. He moves beside you and blocks onlookers from seeing what you're doing. When you move onto the next, the entire left side of the car is beginning to sink toward the ground.
Bruce confiscates the batarang from you and quickly tucks it back into his suit pocket, calmly walking you back down the street to where your ride is waiting.
As he is holding the back door open for you, you turn to look up at him and find your breath catching at the still present grin on his face. You haven't seen him this happy to be alone in your presence in a while. It feels... familiar. He meets your eyes and you're reminded of a younger you. A you that could kiss Bruce with all the bubbling adrenaline in your veins. A Bruce that would let you. A Bruce that thought you hung the sun in the sky.
That grin of his softens but doesn't fully go anywhere. You drink it all in. You don't know when you'll see it again.
Bruce touches the small of your back as a taxi whips by, driving cool air up into your faces and breaking the moment. You indulge in the touch for as long as he lets you.
taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @angxlictexrs @moonlightreader649 @thescarletfang @navs-bhat @yehet-moi-ohorat @bluestuesday
#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne scenarios#bruce wayne fic#bruce wayne#batman x reader#batman scenarios#batman fic#the batman#battinson x reader#battinson#dc#mjwrites#bw; honeymoon
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I think Tom (and all his alts) strive for freedom…
OH ABSOLUTELY
I totally agree!! I think just like- the nature of Tom and his alts (who ofc meta wise were all written after him) is that they’re all dependent people of some kind, usually as the result of their circumstance of existence
Whether that be like in Tom's case because Dianite (or Mianite in Godswap, albiet different dynamic) is the one to grant him reanimated life, making him sort of indebted to him- or Cassell who isn't necessarily bound to his god moreso that he's bound to his creators (Flash and Ianite). Mot also sort of has that tether element to him because Dianite technically also saved his life from the creeper spore infection iirc but I think it makes the principle of freedom a little different to him esp. because it turned into like a business partners to unrequited crush to sorta lovers kinda thing depending on your post canon
All of this translates to me into their kind of devotion as champions, and again how that's like different from Ianitee flavored devotion (based on the guidance of Ianite and trusting in her judgement to lead them the right way so she can keep them safe), or Mianitee flavored devotion (Like knights to a king, similar to Ianitees follow orders for order, kind of follow his principles rather than specific instructions from him). Dianite being Dianite and the elements of chaos being how it is, Dianitee devotion is like being an extension of him, not via principles or guidance but by intent like being mercenaries in service of him while still being tethered in fear of punishment if its not done right. And maybe yknow they don't mind the implications that come with that title (Mot's case, for example) I think that's where that desire for freedom comes for- a want to have an existence that isn't tethered to their god
side note this could not apply as much to Dianite and Cass in Aitheaca because Dianite takes the Ianite role in terms of swapped god positions (and Cass runs off Dianite's guidance in the same way as Jordan would to Ianite) as Flash and Ianite are more similar to Tom and S1 Dia but bear with me xD
So kind of like extrapolating from that- their more specific desires for freedom are all sort of tied to Tom's need for spiritual freedom- I want to like refer to the whole thing of the Thauminomicon-y traits Marsh had mentioned before, and how Tom has 'fabrico', which stands for craft/repair. It connects in the sense of yeah he's a zombie he's stiched back together but. ok hear me out. Who would have stitched him back together? It was implied in an episode of Isles that c!Tom doesn't remember the Minecraft Project- (because they're memories he can't return to, just big empty void in his head), or when he was alive/ill from zombification, but he hadn't died yet. The person that arrives on Mianite with Tucker is that Tom, he is all that chaotic goofy Tom is, but at the same time he's partially someone else's creation, sewn together in intricate ways to be the bringer of chaos for the god he serves- but beyond that? His humanity. At his core, he's human, not someone who'll just take orders blindly and him striving for his freedom from that tether is refusing to deny the things that makes him alive. And I think the other alts like ya said follow suit, in Mot maintaining his humanity regardless of his ailment through choosing to care for Alyssa rather than being just a ruthless chaotic killing machine when Rux!Dia dies or in Aitheaca the way I want to write Cassell as someone who was born as a weapon for Ianite but loves collecting vintage human things and views his innermost self through music. The visual I kind of go to is the idea of Tom literally crafting and repairing the parts of himself that make him feel trapped by breaking them apart, burning it, adding new things when he takes the hands of friends and yeah!! And I think this sort of aspect could also tie into him becoming Mecha Dianite as well in finding freedom by choosing the person he is, and owning it
#idk if this makes any sense this is quite literally a braindump LMAO#i rambled way too long but i needed a distraction from some stuff that sucked today this is an excellent prompt#so i just went ham immediately on whatever brainrot came to mind xD I wasn't gonna go into thaum things but i got reminded of it mid writng#thank you for the ask a ton#mianite#character analysis#mianite godswap#mianite: the tales of aitheaca#tom syndicate#mot screziato#cassell lomorem#Thinking about this is why like. im such a huge fan of characterizations of cTom that go beyond#'im chaotic im evil RAHHH'#because he's a really multifacted character that I think is a lot more interesting#last time i talked about why hes chaotic this time its about the other side#throwing a bit of syndisparklez specifically in the tag#if tom is jordan's homebase#his foundation; jordan acts as a light to tom because he#is where freedom lies- he literally ignores what is laid out and what he may be indebted to to create his own goddess bring her into existe#leading out of those hypothetical boundaries yaknow#idk im normal. im nrrmal#lafakiwi talks#asks#licantropa
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oscar piastri after care
Someone tell me why i have NOT written for op in like YEARS? Guys its a crime
One Lucky Man (OP81)
Summary: After care with OP!
Warnings: insinuations of sex obvi, language, Oscar being lewd
Oscar’s chest heaved up and down as he flopped to the side of Y/n’s body. There was a flush to their faces and sweat clinging to their skin as they turned their heads, smiling softly at each other in the post-sex haze.
“I’d give that a solid 10 out of 10,” Oscar stated, a smirk on his face as he leaned over the mattress and picked his boxers up off the floor, slipping into them and sliding off the bed.
Y/n giggled, “Did you just rate the sex we just had?”
Oscar nodded triumphantly, “Yes, of course, I did. Gotta give credit where credit’s due.”
Y/n, jaw open, scoffed, “I assume you’re referring to crediting yourself.”
His feet stopped him just as he was about to step fully out of the room. He turned around and caught her gaze with a mischievous glint in his, “I did make you come like five times.”
Y/n wasn’t given a chance to respond, Oscar having run down the hall and away from her the moment the sentence left his mouth. She rolled her eyes at his attitude, not genuinely upset seeing as he did make her come five times. When he returned only a few minutes later, in his grasp a granola bar and water, he helped her off the bed.
“Why are you making me leave the cozy bed?” She gave, her hand clutching his as the soreness in her legs threatened a fall to the floor.
He chuckled with a shake of his head, “You have to go to the bathroom, Y/n. Come on, we’re responsible adults, right? Practicing healthy and safe sex, right?”
Y/n grimaced, “Oscar, stop talking like you’re some well educated physician. It’s freaking me out. Plus, we are very much not responsible adults. You just tried to hijack Lando’s car last night and almost crashed it into a pole because you got too excited and hit the gas pedal too hard.”
At the mention of their chaotic dinner with Lando the night before, Oscar let out a guttural laugh. He helped his girlfriend into the bathroom before closing the door, the sound of his chuckles being heard even on the other side of the door.
When she was finished and opened the door back up, Oscar pulled her into his arms again. He laid a kiss in her hair as he dragged her back to bed. Falling onto the heap of blankets, he practically forced the snack and water down her throat.
“Oscar! Oscar! I’m eating it, goddamn.” She laughed as he shoved it into her hand, wrapper somewhere on the floor from when he’d thrown it over his shoulder.
He smiled widely as she chewed, feeling uneasy as he stared at her eating a random granola bar. They passed the water to each other between sips, kisses being shared in the midst of it all as Oscar sidled up next to her.
He lightly pushed her back down to a lying position, tugging her into his side before pulling the comforter over them. Her head stuffed into the crook of his neck, Oscar laid kisses in her hair. His hands ran up and down her back as he started mindlessly talking to her, “Do you know how beautiful you are? I mean, seriously, when I first introduced you to Lando, he pulled me aside and asked how I had managed to even get your number in the first place. It’s cheesy and you’ve probably heard it from guys millions of times before, but I genuinely don’t think I have seen anyone more beautiful than you. I don’t even think words can describe how beautiful I think you are.”
He felt warmth against his neck. He smiled at the blushing she was enduring in the midst of his words, “I don’t care how many times you try to argue me on this. I will never let you win. You’re just… I don’t know. I just love you a lot.”
Y/n pecked his neck in a kiss, “I love you too.”
Oscar shook his head, “Nah, nah, nah, but I love you more.”
Y/n scoffed, “Oscar, no-”
Oscar interrupted her, “No fucking way, Y/n. I love you more. End of discussion. There is absolutely no way anyone could love anything more than I love you.”
She shrugged, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, baby.”
“You help me sleep at night,” He murmured, another kiss to her hairline. She moved away from his body just enough to stare up at him.
She smiled, “You’re a great boyfriend, you know?”
Now was his turn to blush, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re just, like, a goddess, so you just deserve it.”
Y/n laughed, “Osc, I’m not a goddess, but thanks.”
He kissed her sweetly, “Sure, tell that to the millions of people online who continuously ask how you ended up with me. I’m one lucky man and everyone knows it.”
#mclaren#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#oscar piasstri#oscar pia#oscar piastri fanfiction#oscar piastri imagines#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri x reader#mclaren formula 1
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—𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐦����𝐧𝐞 | 𝐚𝐥-𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦
summary: he hasn’t dreamed in a long time, but when al-haitham dreamed for the first time after the akademiya coup, he dreamed of you.
WARNINGS: archon quest akasha pulses, the kalpa flame rises spoilers! soulmate au if you squint, swearing, mentions of violence, death, injury, minor self-loathing, plot AND lore heavy, angst, fluff, not poly, happy ending!
pairing: al-haitham x fem!reader, minor kaveh x fem!reader
word count: 18.1k grind
a/n: written for the lovely @zhongrin and her elemental supercharge collab! it was super fun to work on and really inspired me to love writing again because it was just a breath of fresh air. my entry: dendro + dendro + cryo = permafrost
here are some important notes for this fic to help with understanding it:
tsaritsa is the former goddess of love. the goddess of flowers was a seelie. king deshret reborn was al-haitham. possibly ooc al-haitham (he’s also deaf!) i made shit up about teleport waypoints and about pretty much all the lore surrounding the three god-kings besides what i glimpsed through some books/theories/etc. i was just like fuck it we ball.
inspo songs: who is she? - i monster, about you - the 1975, awake from a nightmare - hoyo-mix (i recommend you listen to this one especially during kaveh - chat: craftsmanship)
now on ao3 x
Greater Lord Rukkhadevata - About the Goddess of Flowers
In the place where Padisarahs bloom, two gods speak in the absence of their third. The Lord of Flowers picks these Padisarahs and the Greater Lord watches, entranced in the velvet purple petals that gleam in the sun.
The latter says: “You know the price to be paid if he searches for that divine nail.”
The other says: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t pretend to be a fool. You and I both know that—”
“Rukkhadevata.”
The Dendro Archon is silenced.
At last, the scorned one speaks. She has lost her people, her home. She refuses to die until Celestia is buried beneath her bloodied hands. “There is nothing to be done. Do you think Deshret’s mind sways so easily? He is set on finding the answers he seeks, and I am set on aiding in his endeavours.”
“But you… why? You understand what the Heavenly Principles are capable of, and you still put yourself in their line of fire. Again. Why?”
“Because Deshret asked.”
“I don’t think you understand what he is asking you to do.”
“No? Then, you have no idea of what I am, Rukkhadevata, and you are the one who won’t ever understand.”
Deshret - About the Divine Nail
The sandstorm is brutal, tearing at their clothes, their skin, blinding their eyes and clogging their throats. It had picked up so suddenly, there’d barely been enough time for Deshret to shield her from the first impact before realizing that the storm chaotically revolves around them. Around him. Uncontrollable winds swiping through the eye of a hurricane do not with hold their strength from the Goddess of Flowers, but Deshret, the powerful God-King remains untouched.
He pulls her in closer to his side. The Goddess of Flowers can barely see straight by the time the divine nail rises to its full height, her withered body barely able to withstand the powerful galeforces that pull at her every which way.
The divine nail is beautiful, glowing blue, refracting gold, and she can only smile as Deshret beside her raises a hand. He, too, glows, but he glows like the sun, like divinity.
“You’ve done it,” she congratulates through her weeping. The sand burns into her corneas, brands her lungs, but nothing touches her heart, and that is how she knows the reason it is shrivelling in her chest is because she is dying. The god beside her, the one holding her hand, turns, and she can’t help her laugh. “I told you once, though, that you would lose much in this exchange.”
“What?” His hand springs off her wrist, but her body is already disintegrating. It feels like it did when her kind was casted from their old home; her body thinned into a husk of what it used to be. Back then, she had prioritzed saving her mind over every inch of her beauty, yet now… now she doesn’t have the strength to save anything.
Deshret cannot protect the Goddess of Flowers from a trade conducted by those who rule above gods. “No… no, what is happening? You’re…”
“I hope,” she cuts off cleanly, “that one day, I can love you without any selfish desire. I hope… in another life, another samsara as Rukkhadevata would so fondly call it, I will love you more than you ever loved me.” His eyes widen, and a trembling hand reaches for her face. The Goddess of Flowers smiles. Tilts her head into his palm, and laughs again through the tears that evaporate off her cheeks as soon as they spring off her eyelashes.
He is incinerating to touch—a conduit of swirling sand, an incarnation of the sun. How ironic it is that the hand that once saved her from the sands will be the hand that seals her fate amongst the dunes.
Stepping closer, her flesh burns away when she cradles his face. He is shining so brightly. A brilliant morning star, a genius with a hungry mind, a gluttonous scholar. The God-King of the Desert.
Yet, Deshret does not seem like the god everyone makes him about to be.
Before the Goddess of Flowers, Deshret is nothing more than a man, crying and holding onto her with all his might.
A soft part of her melts at his expression.
“In all honesty,” she whispers, soft and choked, “I aided you because, in your ambitious vision of the future, I saw the possibility that you could free all of us from the shackles that chain us to the Heavenly Principles. In the end, it was my own selfish nature that led us here, and it is my own doing that marked your path to be one that you will have to walk alone.”
Deshret takes hold of her face, eyes searching, but the goddess withdraws her hands to settle her fingers on his wrists lightly.
“It was not your fault, Deshret.”
“No!” She pulls his wrists away, but he curls his hands into fists, fighting to free himself from her grip. For once, it is impossible, and he lets out a desperate growl, tears glinting upon his cheeks. “Don’t leave me. Don’t… don’t go.”
“Deshret—“
“Stay. Just a little while longer. I will take that divine nail and hammer it into this world, and build you an eternal oasis where I will bring you back to life with the knowledge that spills from its organs.” Lunging forward, his hands find themselves on the sides of her neck, thumbs stretching to trace the lines of her jaw. “I will not lose you. I cannot lose you!”
The ragged storm enflames, the winds grow deafening, loud enough to resemble a constant thunder that echoes in the hollowness of her chest.
“Don’t worry about that sort of thing, Deshret.”
Her voice is very weak now. When she swallows, sand shreds her insides and her eyes burn from the strength it’s taking to avoid coughing up iron.
“We will meet again,” she continues. “If Rukkhadevata has a hand in anything, it is the wisdom that pools around all of us, and the knowledge that there will not be an era where we are separated.”
“No, no, don’t go!”
But it falls futilely on deaf ears. The Goddess of Flowers lets go, and steps backward, her knees shaking, her frame swaying from the winds she can no longer fight.
As soon as her heel tucks into the edge of the unrelenting galeforce, she is ripped away, and the Goddess of Flowers disappears.
Tighnari - Something to Share: Akademiya Days
If one asked Tighnari what he thought of the Artificer of the Akademiya, he would return that inquiry with one of his own:
“Do you mean my thoughts on the Artificer alone, or about her relationship with the Scribe of the Akademiya?”
The truth of the matter is, the Scribe and the Artificer’s history go past colleagues at the Akademiya, past scholars searching for a thesis, for once upon a time, they were students, too.
Paimon isn’t aware of this: “Er… I don’t know. Did they know one another?”
“Al-Haitham wields his practicality like a spear. Nothing could quite faze him or outwit him. Nothing could unsettle him, except for the Artificer. She was a student in his year, but she was a scholar of the Kshahrewar Darshan. They were quite the reliable pair of scholars.” A soft hum.
“Really? Al-Haitham doesn’t seem like the partner type.”
“He isn’t. I suppose exceptions could be made when it came to her. I met Al-Haitham through the Artificer, actually, when they were working on some sort of prototype translation device for foreigners and she had asked if Sumeru’s scientific names for plants from other nations were derived from their original language.” Tighnari’s ears twitch. “I didn’t know her well back then, but from my brief meetings with her, she was very lively and happy. She didn’t care about the Sages and the politics surrounding the Six Darshans. All she wanted was to study. I think her thesis was to find a way to repair the Teleport Waypoints around Sumeru. It made quite the wave back in our day.”
“The Teleport Waypoints?” Paimon says. “Paimon noticed that they’re guarded by the Corps Of Thirty in Sumeru when in other nations they’re pretty much abandoned.”
“Her hypothesis that they’d been placed by some higher power than the Archons is a banned reference material and only the highest level of scholars are aware of the theory,” Tighnari says, and there’s a far off look in his eyes. “The Corps of Thirty supposedly defend these sites for a historical scholar for the day she comes home, but to be honest,” he adds quieter, “I think they were ordered to defend the Waypoints from the Artificer should she ever return.”
.
Technological advancement in Sumeru had progressed far enough that prototype cochlear implants are, though not a norm, a potential alternative than going through life unaware. The alternative is only made available by the resources of the Akademiya and Al-Haitham’s enrolment there since it’s where he can maintain upkeep with the help of Kshahrewar students who were overseeing this new piece of headgear.
You are the student assigned ot make sure his top of the line technological headwear didn’t go awry. You spend a lot of time with him, which means, against all odds, the bright, voracious, and laughing sun of the Kshahrewar Darshan has become Al-Haitham’s friend.
He had avoided it at first. Honestly. In the three years they’ve been together as mechanic and project, it took almost a year for Al-Haitham to consider even looking forward to seeing you every Thursday afternoon where you’d fiddle with his settings and write down notes on his condition.
And, yet, when he conceded to the fact that you were a staple to him—a constant in the ever-changing nature of the Akademiya’s cutthroat landscape where scholars dropped at the tip of a hat—he found that he learned more about you in the first month he gave in than he did in the last twelve he resisted.
Each factoid is like a dash in his head: your thesis is to be about the possibility of repairing the shattered Teleport Waypoints scattered across the nation, and how you’d go about doing it. Your work with Al-Haitham is just a way to investigate how the Akasha terminal and said Teleport Waypoints could work in tandem. Your life goal is for the latter to work on its own some day like it did in ages past and ease travel for those who could not afford to.
“It’s an altruistic thing to do.”
“I’m from Snezhnaya, but I moved here when I was younger.” You’re sitting across from him at the library as you tinker with a device similar to the one on his ears. “I used to go back every summer, but now that I’m at the Akademiya, I haven’t returned because I don’t have time, so the Teleport Waypoints would help with seeing my family more often, too. I’m not all good.”
He doesn’t look up from his book, although above the top of it, he can see your fingers deftly trying to rearrange wires. “Family?”
“Mhm. My father is a researcher here. My mother stayed back home. I grew up in a small hamlet, you know.”
He smiles faintly, flipping a page. “Yes, I know. It’s one of the first things you told me.”
“Oh, well… I didn’t think you’d remember,” you say, and he finally looks up from the pages to find you staring. You don’t look away, and instead, your smile grows as you tilt your head. “You’ve got beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that before, Al-Haitham?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he answers. That’s another thing about you. You always say his name when you speak to him, as if to make sure that he understands you are directing such things to him.
That, and just the way you say his name. Every syllable purposeful, in that voice of yours that edges on melodic. You still have a Snezhnayan accent when you say certain words, including ones of Sumeran origin.
“Well, you do. They’re so beautiful.” Your smile makes your eyes crinkle as you return to your project, and Al-Haitham clears his throat, fighting the red that’s burning his ears. Scratching his jaw, he shakes his head minutely and instead tries to think of anything else.
You like oranges, but have a secret soft spot for peaches. You like reading romance, and you love art. Your father is a member of the Spantamad Darshan, and during his thesis, he travelled back to his homeland and fostered a family, which includes his eldest daughter, you.
The same you he can’t stop thinking of now that he’s stuck on it.
Later, when they begin to pack up their things from the library, in between him slipping a book into his bag and you sliding each tool back into its spot in your case, he asks if you’d like to have dinner with him at Lambad’s Tavern.
“Alright, but I’ll have to drop this off at my work room before I do. I don’t want to damage it,” you answer, tilting your head to your project wrapped in cloth which you’ve carefully nestled into a box.
“That sounds fine. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the tree, then?” he asks and you smile fondly at him, the box in your arms and your bag slung across your shoulder.
“Give me a minute or two,” you say. “I won’t be long.”
Al-Haitham bids you farewell at the entrance to the House of Daena, and you walk off with a bright smile, your figure outlined in a melting sunset gold. There’s not a lot of people outside—most have found shelter in Akademiya buildings or they’re out in the city, trying to maintain a social life as well as a scholar can.
“(Name)!” someone shouts, and Al-Haitham, who’d been walking down the ramp, looks up to see a tall, slim figure bolt past him. Blond hair flashes in the burning orange of dusk as a man runs past, and Al-Haitham twists around to avoid being hit by him as a foul word springs to his tongue.
But then, he realizes what the man had yelled and who the man even is the longer he stares at his retreating back, and Al-Haitham shakes his head.
You won’t be happy with him if he gets into an argument with your childhood best friend of all people.
Kaveh is easy-going, passionate, and empathetic. It is… to say the least, everything Al-Haitham is not. He’s met him once or twice out of pure coincidence, and he’s seen the blond around you more often than not. A part of him dislikes his nature. His whimsical, idealistic view of their future does not fall into line with how Al-Haitham sees it, and borders on idiotic considering that a romantic vision is not feasible in a nation where knowledge seeks to rationalize every existing thing.
The more logical half of him knows that you share all the same traits as Kaveh, and that the real reason behind his disdain is because Kaveh clearly has romantic feelings for you, and you return them.
It isn’t difficult to decipher the nature of your relationship with your “childhood best friend.”
How else would you describe the way his hand wraps around your elbow when other people want your attention and how when he leans to whisper something in your ear, you never fail to laugh and swat at him, your own arm looped through his.
He thinks that sick, logical side of him would pay to see you stumble through your words as you try to explain your relationship with your friend, but he can’t bare to do it. It feels cruel when all you’ve been is patient and kind with him.
“You seem distracted, Al-Haitham,” you intone with concern. You cradle tea in your hands, and cock your head at him, a thoughtful frown playing at your lips. “Is something wrong?”
Blinking, Al-Haitham finds you looking at him with those wonderful and warm eyes, and that logical side of him vanishes—a rat scurrying from the sunlight and back into the dark.
“No. No, I was merely thinking of something,” he dismisses, poking at the food he’s barely touched. The tavern is loud—almost too loud. His head aches with the amount of thoughts that swirl around, clattering in cacophony. It’d been stupid to suggest this place when he’s so tired from studying. Archons, he wants it to stop now. To get up and run, to curl up with a book and a warm fire, to tell them to stop, everyone, please, for the love of the Dendro Archon, shut the fuck up—
You laugh, and set down your cup of tea, reaching over to grab his wrist and squeeze gently, and his world goes quiet. It zeroes in on you, and the softness of your palm betrays the calluses on your fingers, a strange juxtaposition against his wrist.
“I know it’s hard,” you utter teasingly, “but I want you to stop thinking tonight. Nothing about studies, or labs, or anything about any kind of dictionary.” He smiles at that as you stroke your thumb over the back of his hand. “Just you and me, and this food.”
“Duly noted,” he mutters, and you smile again, returning to your own supper. But he cannot. His eyes do not stray, and his shoulders sink into his body, invisible weight sloughing off his skeletal frame.
All Al-Haitham does is watch you eat, rice slipping between two perfect lips, lips he knows, lips he could draw, and he’s not even close to resembling an artist. A mouth he can paint without seeing the reference, eyes closed, asleep, unconscious. A mouth he has dreamed of before, and he wonders just how he can tell you that, now, the reason he can’t stop thinking is because he’s thinking about you.
Collei - About Technology: Lockboxes
“What do you wanna know?” Collie asks brightly. “Oh, this is the Artificer’s seal! How do you have this?”
“We found it in the Balladeer’s chambers. It was addressed to Al-Haitham but we can’t seem to open it.”
“That’s probably because you need his permission to open it. Most of her work is password protected, so I guess that means including this. Top secret stuff. Master Tighnari received a few cases back before I knew him, though they’re still in his quarters.” She sighs. “Apparently, all her work is more valuable than a lot of the stuff the Sages hold, according to Master Tighnari, because she went missing and there is no way to replicate it.”
“I thought Tighnari didn’t know her well,” the Traveler mutters to themself quietly, before asking, louder, “Missing?”
“I don’t know much about what happened, but she went missing five years ago after an expedition went wrong. Apparently, a huge snowstorm overtook the desert and she was swallowed up by the sand. The rest of her team came out fine, but her and some other Spantamad scholar just… died in that snow. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen! So much snow it almost completely covered the sand dunes.”
“That’s strange,” intones Paimon. “It’s so hot and dry here, wouldn’t the snow just melt?”
“It seemed like a freak incident,” Collei agrees, “but the Sages were scrambling to figure out why. The Akademiya was in a flurry that whole season before it died down.” Her eyes fall to the box the Traveler holds again. It has a flat surface, with no keyhole, yet it’s sealed shut, and Collei hums. “Maybe, they’re just blueprints and stuff to keep safe. That’s what Master Tighnari has in his boxes. Or, maybe it’s a secret treasure!”
“It could be,” the Traveler answers. “But I haven’t been able to find Al-Haitham.”
“He’ll show up,” Collie assures confidently. “He always does.”
.
As a member of the Haravatat Darshan, Al-Haitham is capable of speaking nearly every living language in Teyvat and a handful of dead ones. It’s required for him to graduate alongside a well-founded dissertation. He wrote his own on the developing dialects of sign language across the regions, which he recited in front of his professor entirely in sign language.
A bit much, but Al-Haitham is nothing if not thorough.
He already has a reputation in his Darshan to be no nonsense, borderline rude, and a lone wolf, but brilliant, and the future of the Akademiya. A prodigy with no morality of the common sort, Al-Haitham walks the Akademiya grounds knowing that there are few who can shatter the earth beneath his feet.
If the Sages are right, the current Scribe should be stepping down soon, and he could take that position easily. All access to so many projects would be granted, and he wouldn’t be short on resources for things he’d like to study. It’d also grant him more time to pursue his own endeavours. The desert is sorely understudied, but the rumours of a Divine Knowledge Capsule floating around the black markets, too, piques his interest.
Al-Haitham is a scholar without equal.
“Al-Haitham, there you are.”
Yet… in front of you, he’s nothing more than an awkward boy who doesn’t know what to say.
In the years since they’ve been mere fresh-faced students, you’ve graduated, too. Now, you work as a Dastur, leading expeditions with your father. Al-Haitham’s met him multiple times, but he’s been returning to Snezhnaya recently according to you. You’ve even overtaken some of his smaller projects.
“That’s not any of your responsibility,” he had pointed out in quiet Snezhnayan when he had come across you returning late to the city from an expedition to Avidiya Forest. Mud had ruined your shoes, and you looked up at him, moving to dump your bag on the ground. He had caught it before it could crash to the ground. Your eyes glinted, pleased, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
When his arms wrapped around your waist, you had seemed to melt into his body. Your fingers found purchase in his hair, and your nose dug into his neck as you sighed.
“Well, it’s my father,” you murmur in your mother tongue, strangely beautiful against his skin. It was one of the first languages he challenged himself to learn. You are much more subdued when you speak in the dialect of your homeland, yet no less beautiful. An everlasting snowflake in the middle of a rainforest. “He is most important to me, and I must do what he asks.”
He walked you home that night without you even asking.
Your smile is impossible to refuse, your laughter one of the few sounds that can bring him to a sane state of mind. A scholar without equal means a mind that never sleeps, and when Al-Haitham has enough of it all, he seeks solace in your mouth and your hands; your fingers carding through his hair, your lips whispering against his ear.
A solace, no doubt, Kaveh receives nightly considering you two live together now on the stipend the Akademiya provides. Al-Haitham’s thoughts have driven him to stay up late on his most exhausted days, wondering what you did when you parted from the dinners they’ve scarcely scheduled and you returned back to that small house you shared with your childhood best friend.
What do you and Kaveh even do every night anyway? Dinner, and conversations over what? The arts and poetics that Kaveh constantly waxes, whether or not you’re around?
You plant yourself in front of him to stop in his tracks, and Al-Haitham’s eyes dart from your face to your neck against his will.
Clear. It’s always clear.
“I’ve been looking for you,” you say.
“Have you?” Flippant. A bag hangs off your shoulders, and a shorter cut of the uniform drapes off your frame. Against his will, his heart sinks. “You look like you’re packed for another expedition.”
“Mhm. I’m going out into the desert for a month, maybe two. There’s a Teleport Waypoint near the Mausoleum of King Deshret that’s been displaying some abnormal levels of energy, so it might be a breakthrough depending on the cause.”
“You think there’s a Ley Line disorder?”
“Or maybe King Deshret’s risen again,” you comment blithely. Al-Haitham’s eyebrows shoot up at your boldness of stating such a blasphemous thing in the centre of Sumeru City, but you don’t seem bothered. “There have always been stranger things. Either way, I want to check it out.”
“I suppose so. Will Kaveh be accompanying you this time?”
“Kaveh? No. No, an architect and an artist has no place in the desert when he could be here.” You avert your gaze and you fight the stuttering in your voice. Al-Haitham bites his tongue. “Scholars from the Spantamad Darshan will be, though, considering the Ley Line aspect of the situation. It’ll be nice to spend time with my father again. He returned just recently, did you know?”
“I was made aware,” he says. He saw your father early yesterday morning, and they’d exchanged words, but you don’t need to know that Al-Haitham speaks to your father on a semi-regular basis. “Well, then, I hope your exploration is fruitful.”
“Of course it will be. It’s me leading the expedition,” you tease, winking, and he can’t help the small smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth. Your smile softens into a fonder, more genuine one, and you take hold of his hand. In Snezhnayan, you utter: “I wanted to see you before I left.”
“I’m happy that you made that effort to,” he murmurs in the same, inclining his head. You squeeze his fingers, before letting go, and Al-Haitham’s gaze flickers from your eyes to your mouth. It’s still smiling, still warm, still those same lips that have haunted his dreams. He lets out a silent sigh and raises a hand to rest atop your head. In Sumeran again, he says, “I will await your return then, Artificer.”
“What a silly title.” A displeased expression overtakes your face but nonetheless, you clutch his bicep and duck from his hand and begin to make your way past him, trailing your fingers down his forearm. He turns to prolong the contact, his fingers tracing your veins. “Now, I don’t want to go, knowing you’re waiting for me to come back.”
“Don’t get too cocky,” he warns. They are at each other’s fingers, and he curls his digits, locking you in place for only a moment. “I might not be here when you come back.”
“Please,” you snort, but your expression betrays how happy and excited you are. “See you later, Al-Haitham.”
“I’ll be seeing you,” he agrees, and you giggle, waving one last time before turning around fully and running off to wherever you’re needed. Al-Haitham’s smile doesn’t fade as he watches you go. His heart warms whenever he’s near you, and now that you’ll be disappearing for a few months, he’s determined to keep that fire inside him burning low and bright.
He loves you. He knows that very well by now. Loves you without rival, without equal. Very few things can even think to challenge the spot you have in his life, although he is sure he does not have some sort of equivalent seat in your halls of life.
Why would he sit there when you have so many more acquaintances? Better-tempered ones, kinder ones, ones that aren’t ruled by selfish ambition, who actually have the initiative to tell you how they feel because they are not bogged down by the arguably controversial opinion that love is nothing more than an obstacle.
“Al-Haitham, the Grand Sage Azar wishes to speak with you,” an attendant says, and Al-Haitham is forced to look away from you. The scholar frowns at the request, but nonetheless, he follows the man to the House of Daena.
When he returns home from his meeting with the Grand Sage, Al-Haitham wants nothing more than to rip his brain out, strip it clean of memories. For the first time in his life, he curses knowledge, and the consequences it has inflicted on him
But a box sits waiting for him, a note attached to the top of it. By the intricate lock system on the front baring no keyhole, but a scanner that illuminates when Al-Haitham’s finger brushes against the box, he knows who it’s from.
Cyno - About Cold Cases
“The Artificer?” Cyno asks in the dying minutes of the feast in his honour. Crossing his arms over his chest, his brow furrows. “Why do you want to know about her?”
“We heard there’s a lot of mystery surrounding her, but if she’s such an important figure in the Akademiya, why didn’t she ever come back?”
“So you know she’s missing.” Cyno sighs. “I’m not sure if this is information I’m legally allowed to reveal to you as an outsider, but it’s you so I suppose I could make an exception. Her belongings were seized and her quarters were raided after her disappearance five years ago. The Eremites posted around the Teleport Waypoints are to assure that she doesn’t come to tamper with them.”
“Why? Is she a criminal?”
“No. The Sages put a stop to all of her research after it became clear she was extremely close to unlocking the full potential of the Teleport Waypoints. Whether or not it was fear that she would use that knowledge and surpass them is unclear, however she was well-liked by the public. Much of her work during her time was contribution to the public. Improving different aspects of our nation.”
“So, why… do you think the Sages had a hand in her disappearance?” the Traveler asks.
“I had my suspicions during the investigation which were only further supported once I was made the General Mahamatra and granted the ability to investigate past open cases.”
“As the General Mahamatra, you would probably know more about the circumstances surrounding the situation,” mutters Paimon. Cyno’s lips twist into a dismayed scowl.
“It was only the beginning of Azar’s need to retain power in Sumeru.” A resigned exhale. He glances around, but the place the Traveler has led him to is secluded and quiet. “I suggest you never reveal that you are searching for the Artificer to Al-Haitham. Talking about her is… a touchy subject.”
“The reason we wanted to find her is because of this box we found addressed to him.”
“A box?”
“Yeah! It must be something she hid from the matra before she disappeared.” Paimon flies around to the Traveler’s shoulder. “We wanted to ask Al-Haitham to open the box, but he’s been distracted by something else recently.”
Cyno hums, lips twisting into a frown. “From what I remember, the conclusion drawn from the investigation was that a freak snowstorm had caused her and another scholar to go missing. It went on for a month or two past their initial end date, so their resources eventually dried out, especially with being unprepared for that sort of weather. However…”
“What is it?” the Traveler asks.
“Well, why was she and a Spantamad scholar the only ones who went missing? The other members of the expedition emerged from the snowstorm cold but relatively unharmed at Caravan Ribat. Furthermore, there was a great shift in the area surrounding the Teleport Waypoint in front of the Mausoleum of King Deshret, suggesting that the Teleport Waypoint had somehow been used. I’m not quite sure of the efficacy of which it operated, but considering that there was no trace left behind, it’s possible that the snowstorm covered up the Teleport Waypoint tapping into the Ley Lines, and transporting the two scholars into some other place to escape.”
“So, in the end, she was successful in what she was trying to do,” the Traveler muses. “The Teleport Waypoints aren’t effective everywhere in Teyvat, though.”
The General Mahamatra shakes his head. “No, not to my knowledge.”
“Thanks, Cyno. This was a really big help,” the Traveler says, turning. Paimon flies in front of them, her hand scratching at her head. “I should leave you to your celebration. Sorry to bog it down with work.”
“Wait, Traveler. There’s one other thing that you should know. The investigation was preceded by an assignment issued by the Grand Sage to none other than Al-Haitham.”
.
Outside the Mausoleum of King Deshret, an expedition bustles around their camp. Scholars measure the Teleport Waypoint, use devices to take the temperature, and scribble down every observation in a small radius to ensure that the conditions are ideal.
You’ve retreated to your tent. The heat’s getting to you, and you feel exhausted as you set down your tool on your work bench, finger running down another manuscript to make sure everything is perfect.
Snezhnayan catches your ear and you turn around to see your father approaching, the tent flap closing behind him.
“You think it’ll work this time?”
“I’m sure, Papa,” you answer, lifting the core you’d been inspecting. They’ll insert this into the base of the Teleport Waypoint in a few days time once the Spantamad scholars are able to locate the source of destabilization in the Ley Lines.
Archons willing, the core will be able to detect the Ley Lines running beneath the structure and channel energy back up into the Waypoint, and they’ll be able to go home in a blink of an eye.
There is one thing that you think separates you from the other scholars at the Akademiya, and it is not this groundbreaking technology you’ve crafted with your own hands.
It is the higher purpose that fuels you to study. Not just for the sake of knowledge, or to find something new, something exciting.
“It’s our last chance. If we fail, the Doctor will have his way with me. I haven’t been useful enough, and he has no patience for people who waste his time. Little Star, I refuse to go back to Snezhnaya alive.”
The Fatui Harbingers. The fingers in your bones feel brittle after toiling for years and years for them to the point where you’re not sure that these hands are your own anymore. Maybe they belong to some unseen mind you don’t even know, but fear all the same.
All your work has only ever been for the Doctor, but maybe… maybe this way you and your dad can somehow find your mother and your siblings, find a secluded corner of this continent and hide from the Doctor for the rest of your days.
“Thank you,” your father murmurs, and you lower the core back into its box. Closing it, it lets out a little beep, and you drum your fingers against the top of the lid, sighing. “Little Star.”
“It’ll be fine,” you whisper, letting out a long breath. It feels like it takes the soul out of you, and you plant your hands against the table, letting your head drop. “We’ll be just fine.”
A hand settles between your shoulders, and you let your father guide you closer towards him. His chest is warm, and when his arms embrace you, it feels like home. Turning into him fully, you wrap your arms around him and press your cheek against his chest, feeling like a small child again.
“You’ve worked so hard for my sake. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”
“The fact that I’ve managed to save your life, Papa, is reason enough to do anything.” You withdraw, and smile at him. He sighs, eyes scanning your face. “The Doctor will be pleased enough by this progress, right? I… it might not be a permanent solution, but he’ll think it’s enough of a relveation that he won’t kill you?”
“Don’t think like that.”
“I can’t help it!”
He flicks your forehead, and you separate, wincing. Rubbing your brow, you send him a glare.
“That Al-Haitham won’t want you to be so pessimistic.”
“Dad!” Heat flashes over your face, and you whirl around, busying yourself with cleaning up your work bench. Your father laughs, leaning in beside you. “Al-Haitham’s just a friend.”
“I never insinuated anything more than that,” he teases. “But I’m sure you two are closer now than ever.”
“Papa!”
“You ought to stop giving him the wrong impression, if he’s just a friend. Living with Kaveh, playing house,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s going to realize that you and that silly boy are together.”
“We are… not… together.” You could strangle your father. Returning the manuscripts to your own box, you don’t quite close it yet. You’ll still need to do one last check to make sure the winds from the desert haven’t swept anything underneath anything else. “Kaveh and I are just friends. We just like living together.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll never understand then why you don’t pursue Al-Haitham.”
“You don’t have to understand anything,” you complain, exasperated. “Al-Haitham’s not interested in that way with me, Papa. Besides, I don’t have any time to foster a romantic relationship. Save that for when we’re in the clear.”
“Who knows? Maybe he can accompany us.”
“Father!”
“Artificer! The Scribe of the Akademiya has arrived looking for you.”
“The Scribe?” you murmur, frowning. Immediately, all that teasing evaporates like smoke, and your brow furrows. Your father’s expression is identical. “What would Abbas be doing here at his age?”
“Perhaps there’d been urgent news?”
“They would’ve sent a messenger, wouldn’t they? Or even the General Mahamatra if it’d been serious.” You sigh. “It’d be better if you weren’t in here when I receive him. It could be something bad.”
“Are you sure?”
You nod. “You can send him in.”
Your father departs, and he chats with whoever is outside, but you can’t let yourself eavesdrop. Your anxiety is biting at your frayed nerves. You haven’t slept well in days.
The day that will seal your fate comes closer and closer, and you can’t think of anything else. Your head hurts, and you grab your canteen, taking a sip and hoping it’ll help with the ache.
What will you do if the Teleport Waypoint works? Will you leave the Akademiya entirely? The Doctor might ask you to stay, and further develop and streamline the process for whatever plan the Harbinger is creating, but with this technology, you could run. Leave it all behind.
You absently brush your finger over a stick of charcoal. You’ll have time to think about it, you suppose.
The tent flap opens, and you let out a sigh. “Scribe Abbas, I’m surprised you—“
And whatever words you had, whatever had been autopilot motoring off your tongue, die.
“Al-Haitham?” Surprise shoots through your system. Your heart skips a beat when you see him, and that uncomfortable rhythm pounds against your ribs as he smiles faintly at you. He looks the same. Always the same. “What? What are you doing here?”
“I had to see you,” he admits, and you can’t help the silly smile that rises to your face. “I would prefer to speak with you in Snezhnayan. I know that your mother tongue goes unused often. I don’t want to get rusty either.”
“Oh.” That heat comes again to your face in a crashing flood. “Of course,” you comply. “But I don’t understand why you came all this way just to speak with me. Couldn’t it wait? I would’ve been back in the Akademiya in a few weeks.” Your mind scrambling for more words to say, your eyebrows knit together. “Wait. Scribe. You’re the Akademiya’s new Scribe?”
He nods. “Yes. I was promoted last week.”
“That’s excellent news!” you exclaim, coming closer and grabbing him by the wrists. His eyebrows rise but you tug him towards your bedroll. Sitting, you tug him down and tuck your knees beneath you. “Tell me everything. Wait, do you need anything? Food, or water?”
He chuckles, letting his bag slide off his shoulder, and you soak him in again. His beautiful eyes, the sweep of his downy grey hair. It has always reminded you of a dove’s soft breast. Fluffy, and attached to a body that can fly anywhere it’d like.
You card your fingers through that crop of hair fondly, pulling it away from his eyes and brushing the longer bits behind his ear.
“No, I don’t need anything more than your time,” he answers, taking your hand and pulling it back down to rest between them. “I was apparently Azar’s first choice to be the new Scribe. Abbas wanted to retire.”
“He is getting old,” you admit. “But I hadn’t realized. You don’t know how happy I am to hear this, you know.”
“I think I know.” His voice makes your eyes widen. You’d never heard it like that before—so unguarded, so softly spoken. Your eyes dart to his and your chest squeezes at the way he stares at you. Had he always looked at you like that, or is that a desert mirage manifesting itself in your tent?
You smile, letting out a scoff. “You have no idea how much I care about you, Al-Haitham.”
“More than Kaveh?” he asks off-handedly, and you blink.
“Well, that’s not fair. Kaveh’s my oldest friend.”
“I think it’s more than fair,” he says. “But, I know I’m no rival of his for your affections, so I won’t pursue you on the topic any further.” Arguments build up in your mouth but he only pushes onward: “Are you making headway with the Waypoint? I saw some of the scholars crowding around it but you’re still in here.”
“The Ley Lines have been stable as of today. I was doing some final additions to a device that would activate the Waypoint, so we are,” you say warily. “The new blueprint I drafted before I left seems to be the most promising.”
His eyes drift over to your work bench before he nods. “I see. May I go look?”
“Yes, of course.” Rising together, you’re shocked when he leads the way, their fingers still entwined. Never before have you tempted physical touch for this long. You’re always aware that he’ll be overstimulated, or uncomfortable, or even just not in the mood to be touched, but you guess he’s amiable today, because he lets you sidle in close next to him—close enough that their arms are pressed together.
A sharp tug at your heart makes you sigh. You hadn’t the time to factor him into your future yet. You’ve thought about Kaveh—what he’d do if you left. You’d tell him, of course, where you’d be going. Why. How. You’d explain everything to the blond with the sincerest apology you can front it with.
After all, Kaveh won’t be able to afford the house they live in on his own stipend if you have to leave, and you can’t just leave your truest companion out in the cold like that.
Kaveh. Your heart aches for him. You love him so much, but it’s never been the way he wanted you to.
Glancing at the man beside you tracing a finger along your drawings, something inside you wilts.
“Al-Haitham… I have a favour to ask you,” you speak suddenly. He’s silent, leaning against the work bench. Their hands are still interlaced in beween them, and you look down at his fingers, long and nimble. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, and you swallow.
“You know I don’t believe in favours,” he intones, not taking his eyes off the paper.
“I know, but this is something I have to ask out of our friendship.”
“Alright.”
You let out a breath. “If something happens to me, you’ll take care of Kaveh, won’t you? Give him a home if he needs one.”
“Why should I care about him?” he mutters apathetically and you smack him. His eyes finally meet yours and you glare at him.
“Al-Haitham.”
“Besides, why would anything happen to you?” he continues. “You’re one of the smartest scholars the Akademiya has right now. If you follow their rules, it’s nearly impossible for them to expel you.”
“Well, I know that’s what the Sages think, but there’s just a lot of things that are unpredictable.”
“Like King Deshret resurrecting?” he asks, and you scowl.
“Why do you always remember the things I say?” you complain. He smirks.
“You were the one speaking blasphemy.”
“You’re impossible,” you mutter dismissively, and you let go of his hand, moving away, but he grabs your elbow before you can stray far enough. “What?”
“I was teasing. Of course I’d look out for Kaveh. He might not like that very much, though. I don’t know if you’ve realized, but like others, he can barely stand me.”
“Well, I’m not asking you to become his life partner. I just… I care about him deeply. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him.”
“Fine. I’ll do it,” he acquiesces. “But I won’t do it happily.”
“Oh, shut up. You love to tease him.”
“That is true.”
“Oh, you said you wanted to speak with me, though, Al-Haitham,” you remember. “This can’t be all you wanted to talk about. The promotion’s great and all,” you add hastily as he turns to you fully, frowning, “but a letter would’ve sufficed.”
He doesn’t answer straight away, and you frown. He simply stands there, searches your face for answers you don’t know the questions for, and you’re shocked by the tight pain that screws up his forehead. He smells like the desert and sweat, but you don’t mind it. You’ve grown used to Al-Haitham in all sorts of states—grown used to the space he’s carved into your heart hurting from how swollen it gets in his presence.
You love him so much, too. In the way that he doesn't want you to. The irony is not lost on you, but you don’t know how on earth you’ll survive not seeing him anymore if the homeland keeps you there.
“Al-Haitham,” you whisper as his eyes dip to your mouth and linger there. Your lips tingle, and you swallow, his name trembling the second time it escapes your tongue. “Al-Haitham?”
“Hm?” he hums, gaze finding yours again and you realize that he wanted you to notice him staring. Your mouth runs dry, and he tilts his head, face tender, and sad, if you can trick yourself into believing it. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I’m just… I’m happy to see you. Honestly, I am.”
His eyes are an oasis. “I’m sorry,” he utters softly, and you frown.
Your heart shivers in your throat. “What for?”
You learn only a second later what it is. Soft lips press against your own and your eyes widen in shock as hands cup your jaw, holding you there for a moment longer before pulling away. A horrible blush stains Al-Haitham’s entire face, and he looks away, stepping back with shaking hands.
Your eyes fall to those fingers that had just held you so gently, watch as they roll into quivering fists, and a sharp breath leaves Al-Haitham as your own digits touch your lips.
“What?” It is all you can muster to say.
His ears are bright red as he ducks his head. “That was what I wanted to speak to you about.”
“Well, there wasn’t much speaking,” you stammer, and he looks up at your tone.
“I apologize. I don’t… know what came over me, but the truth of it is, I came here because I wanted to confess that I’m in love with you before anything else happened between us that could ruin my chances,” he says slowly, deliberately. He clears his throat. “The kiss was… supposed to be what happened after if I had luck on my side.”
“Luck on your side?” you echo.
“If you loved me back,” he clarifies, “which I’m not sure you do.”
There is one thing that you think separates you from the other scholars at the Akademiya, and it is not that you’re the smartest Kshahrewar student they’ve had in years, or that you’re working for the Fatui against your will.
It is that Al-Haitham, against all odds, against reason and logic—the very values of which he has built himself up on—loves you.
When you told your father you didn’t have the time for romantic relationship, it was not because of that entirely. Your father, after all, had been a scholar who fostered an entirely family on the job, and there are tons of families with members in the Akademiya. It’s hardpress to find someone who doesn’t know of someone in the Akademiya.
It was because you love someone already, and you didn’t want to get your hopes up. And it isn’t Kaveh, as much as you had wished for years and years that it would be. Maybe it would’ve saved them all some heartache.
Oh, but the heart wants what it wants, just as the brain chases what it desires.
“Al-Haitham,” you murmur in a soft breath, “would you kiss me again?”
The Scribe’s—internally, you laugh fondly at the idea that he has that sort of authority—eyes light up, and he approaches you cautiously, his hands flexing and waning.
When his fingers slide along your jaw, this time you’re ready for it. Your eyes slide shut, your hands find the lapels of a chest you wish you were more familiar with, and when a soft mouth presses against your own waiting lips, you take your time to enjoy it.
Kaveh - Chat: Craftsmanship
Kaveh is a slim, tall man with blond hair. The Traveler doesn’t know him well, but they find him just as he’s about to enter his house whilst they’re looking for Al-Haitham, and he is polite enough to invite them in for tea when they accost him.
“Woah, we’ve never been in Al-Haitham’s house before!”
“I assumed not. We don’t have many guests over,” Kaveh says to Paimon. “Most of the interior decoration was by me.”
“I heard you were an architect.”
“Yes, I still am. The Palace of Alcazarzaray; have you ever seen my magnum opus?” At the Traveler’s nod, he smiles wryly. “I actually just returned from a project in the desert, and coming back to this whole mess in the Akademiya has been disorienting.” He places a tray of tea on the table and sinks down onto his seat. “What did you want to speak to me about?” The Traveler explains briefly, and his eyebrows rise as he raises the mug of tea to his mouth. “You know of the snowstorm? Cyno told you. I see.”
“I’m sorry if it’s a touchy subject.”
“It’s not. It just reminds me of someone.”
“The Artificer?”
“I… yes. She left Sumeru during that storm years ago.” Kaveh sighs. “We grew up together in the same hamlet. Childhood best friends.”
“Wow! Paimon didn’t know that.”
“You said you were looking for my esteemed roommate,” he prompts dryly.
“Well, if you know the Artificer well,” the Traveler says, “could you tell us where we could find her, too?”
“What makes you think I would know?”
“You said ‘left Sumeru’ instead of ‘missing.’”
Kaveh looks away, the light in his eyes dimming. “You’re as perceptive as Al-Haitham said you were.” He doesn’t speak for a moment, simply choosing to stare into his tea.
“Of course I know where she is,” he utters at length. “I loved her with all I ever had. I warranted more than her leaving without a goodbye.” It’s said in a tone that does not offer an opportunity for further dialogue down this route. “Traveler, what do you want?”
“We just want to return this box to Al-Haitham,” Paimon answers as the Traveler procures it. “It was sealed within the Balladeer’s construction chamber, but it looks super important. And a part of Paimon is wondering how it even got there in the first place if she’s gone supposedly missing all these years. If it belongs to her, maybe she could help us. We heard she was studying the Teleport Waypoints and that they’re some sort of… out-of-realm kind of technology? Paimon’s still a bit fuzzy on the details…”
But Kaveh had stopped listening roughly two sentences ago. His gaze fixes on the box in the Traveler’s lap. “It’s hers, you’re sure? You… have her seal?” With an assenting nod, he takes the box gingerly, running his hand over the craftsmanship reverently, and the Traveler averts their gaze in respect. Kaveh’s fingers trace the edge, and he sighs softly, rubbing his temple with the same hand. “She isn’t missing. She returned home to Snezhnaya,” Kaveh answers at length after a hard internal fight, letting his hand drop. The Traveler can see it in the way this great architect clutches onto the box until his knuckles pale, and his breath comes shaking. “There, she worked under who I believe is the Fatui Harbinger, Dottore.”
“The Doctor?” Paimon whispers, horrified. “She was a Fatuus?”
“No, she wouldn’t. Despite those horrid people giving the rest of Snezhnaya a bad name, she was the best person I knew.” Kaveh’s voice softens wistfully. “Her mind far surpassed many of those who call themselves scholars now, but I don’t think any of us realized that she was being blackmailed by the Fatui behind the scenes.”
“That’s awful…” the Traveler murmurs, fists clenched tight in their lap. Kaveh sets the box down tenderly, and he raises his eyes warily to the blonde before him. “So she’s dead? Did the Fatui kill her?”
“No. No, they wouldn’t kill an asset.” At this, the colour drains from Kaveh’s face. “From what I understand… she gave her body to the Doctor’s definition of science in exchange for her father’s life. I only saw her twice since the snowstorm. Once, when she returned to Sumeru City after she departed for her homeland, and once again two years ago, and she was more machine than human.” Guilt, and a heavy tinge of regret seeping into his voice and face. “In other words, I have no idea if she’s still alive.”
“How is that possible? That she could survive all that human testing and not go mad,” the Traveler murmurs, setting down their mug. Their stomach turns over at the scenarios running through their head. “Thank you, Kaveh. Maybe I should leave the box with you, considering Al-Haitham will return, one way or another.”
“I’ll look after it,” he promises. Together, the two rise, and Paimon flies towards the box, inspecting it one last time as if it’ll hold clues they’ve missed.
The Traveler sighs, and picks up their backpack. “We’ll be off, then. Al-Haitham still has questions we need answered.”
“Questions about…?”
“Well, Cyno told us of an assignment that Al-Haitham was given that sent him into the desert according to his report afterwards, but never about what exactly happened,” Paimon informs. Kaveh stiffens, his jaw clenching and a terrible scowl crosses his face. Flying back to the Traveler, the companion continues, “If Al-Haitham can give us answers about what exactly happened—”
“The Artificer bears a Cryo Vision,” Kaveh interrupts coldly. “And do you know, Traveler, what the Tsartisa used to embody before she was consumed with the vengeance that rules her hand? Her nation?”
The Traveler pauses mid-step, lightning shooting down their leg and freezing them to the ground. The icy anger that overtakes Kaveh’s body, seizes his entire body into a husk of hollow fury plated by brittle wrath, makes the Traveler swallow, arms tensing. The architect has tilted his head away, blond hair curtaining the darkening expression consuming his face. It makes him monstrous, unrecognizable from the amiable man that had been in his spot only seconds before.
For a moment, the Traveler is unsure if they should be the one to speak—to answer a question they’re hesitant to answer. The air cracks but Kaveh saves them from the terrible decision only moments later after a harsh breath, and a soft, bitter laugh. It sits in the Traveler’s throat like sour melon seeds.
“I know Al-Haitham believes that I dislike him because of differences in beliefs, menial things like personality clashes,” he whispers scathingly with an age-old contempt, “but the truth of the matter is, he is the reason my best friend has disappeared, and I won’t ever forgive him for it, no matter how many favours he grants me. I know he doesn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart—it’s because she asked him, and he thinks this is even close to honouring her.”
“Kaveh…” Paimon floats forward, but the Traveler grabs her hand, holding her back. The floating companion looks back at them, but they shake their head.
“Most people see Al-Haitham as someone who’s callous, coldhearted, and dishonest, but I’ve seen him grieve her more plainly than anyone else. He mourns her even now, carries that guilt like a thousand weights without a single complaint. And it infuriates me,” he grits out softly, fists clenched by his sides. He tilts his head back, and inhales shakily. A sharp amber gaze meets the Traveler’s, and Kaveh lets out a short, horrible laugh. “I’m guilty of actually… caring about him despite what he’s done. It’s why I told him a few days ago that she sent me a note that she’d be leaving Port Ormos by the end of the week.”
The Traveler understands, and without another word, they race out the door.
.
The day before they’re supposed to complete their first trial on the Teleport Waypoint had been a lazy one—consisting of well-placed naps on your part so you could be prepared for the long day ahead of you tomorrow. Al-Haitham had been your steady companion through it all, letting you show him around camp and describing your work just in case he wants to report back to the Sages.
“They’re not concerned, are they?” you had asked, and he had shook your head. Your father also wanted to speak to Al-Haitham, and you had surrendered your partner for anyone else looking for your attention. Penultimate observations of variables were taken. Meals, prayers, and stories were exchanged.
Al-Haitham kissed his name into your neck, your cheek, your lips throughout the day, waking you up from your naps and corralling you to your next one with punctuality only expected of him. You can still feel him even as you bid him farewell that night.
He frowns, brushing the back of his fingers down your cheek, before taking hold of your jaw and tilting your head towards his lips. It’s a brief kiss, but familiar, and you can’t help but smile into it.
“I’ll see you when I come back?” you murmur against his mouth, and he nods, eyes dark and downcast. He’s not happy about leaving just like you, but there’s something stronger in his stare, the downturn of his mouth that’s occupied him when he thinks you won’t noticed. It feels almost like regret. Pulling back, you take hold of his hand. “Alright, Scribe, lighten up. I’ll be home soon, and we can talk about all of this.” You squeeze his fingers. “I promise.”
“We… we will need to talk,” he insists, and your brow furrows. He brings your hand to his lips with both of his own, and reverently presses a soft kiss to the heel of your palm. “I’m sorry.”
You curl your fingers over his hands and push them down, shaking your head. His somber attitude in the wake of what could be the happiest moment of your life is ruining your mood with a growing bud of worry, but you can’t let him know that. So you paste a smile on your face and simply squeeze him. “Don’t be sorry. Just go.”
His eyes linger, but you only shake your head minutely and he lets out a long exhale, his shoulders falling. That lost little frown still possesses his mouth, and there’s a permanent wrinkle in his brow that must’ve been there for the past few hours.
He woke up before you, and you’d found him outside sitting by the fire on his own. It’d been a strange scene, and he looked lost in his melancholy—book all but forgotten in his lap, his eyes staring sightlessly into the fire. The sun had barely risen, but now you’re starting to wonder if he slept at all if the puffiness of his eye bags and the lethargy that he’s been trying to hide all day is anything to go by.
A part of you is nervous that it’s because he didn’t want to sleep next to you and had to seek refuge, but you rationalize that when you had called his name, he had returned to you without argument and a kiss to your crown.
The troubled gaze still lingers now, even with the dusk approaching. He had said it’s best if he sets off now so he can get back to the Akademiya and make use of the cooler temperatures. He’ll spend most of this week travelling, and you know he’d rather not miss the beginning of another work week. However, you can’t help but let the thought that there’s more than travelling at night in the desert that bothers him.
You wanted this farewell to be sweet and temporary.
Except now, it feels more and more permanent, and the sweetness of it has suffered for it.
“Al-Haitham, don’t go doing anything irrational or stupid or… unthought of in these last few weeks,” you mutter, and his head raises just as you slither your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. His bag nudges against your side, just another reminder that he’s leaving, before he’s pulling back again, and his hands on your back rub up and down. You sigh and kiss him quickly.
His eyes flutter shut, and he presses his forehead against your own before whispering softly, “I’ll do my best.”
With that, he pulls away, and you grab hold of his hand. Together, they walk out of the tent, and you observe the activities occurring around camp. Most of the scholars are talking and bonding around the fire. Your father’s feeding the Sumpter Beasts, but he’s speaking to another Spantamad scholar you think he’s been taking to as a mentor figure. Rafiq, you remember his name as.
Humming thoughtfully, you let go of Al-Haitham’s hand as Rafiq looks over and you smile. He nods to you, and you note his eyes darting over to your companion, but he doesn’t appear to be watching as they approach.
“Father, Rafiq,” you greet politely. “The Scribe will be leaving our encampment, now.”
“Already? You won’t stay another day?” your father complains, and Al-Haitham has at least the decency to look sheepish as Rafiq quickly finds the Sumpter Beast the Scribe had ridden from Caravan Ribat, saddling the animal quickly as he can despite the low groaning protests.
“Unfortunately, the Akademiya calls,” he answers dryly. “The Scribe has no shortage of work.” Your father frowns, and glances at you, but you shrug. “I hope all goes well tomorrow. With luck, I’ll see you by the end of next week.”
“We’ll have to catch up, one-on-one,” your father says, leaning over nefariously and obviously eyeing you. You cross your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Rafiq returns, rope lead in his hand. You take it, giving the Sumpter Beast a quick pat on hard ridge. It lifts its head into your palm in response, and Rafiq crouches down to feed it an apple.
“The Sumpter Beast is ready, Scribe,” Rafiq says, rising, and this time when they meet eyes, your eyebrows twitch together at the way Rafiq gulps and glances at you. He must be intimidated. You smile reassuringly as Al-Haitham clips his pack onto the saddle and takes the lead from you. Fingers brushing, you fight the heat rising to your face and the way your smile grows in pleasure.
“Goodbye,” he whispers, and you tilt your head at him.
“I’ll see you,” you answer. He nods before clasping hands with your father in a firm shake. You can’t help but roll your eyes again but they let go soon enough before Al-Haitham swiftly presses a final kiss to your mouth. You blink, eyes widening, but before you can even question it, he turns to mount the Sumpter Beast with a soft grunt and picking up the reins and flashes you one final (sad) smile.
You return to your tent, your bedroll feeling suspiciously more empty now that he’s gone. Sighing, you tuck yourself in for a sleep as restful as you can make it and wake up too soon by the hands of the last watch who was instructed to as soon as signs of the sun rising were visible.
You get up and prepare yourself, although the apprehensive feeling in you does not do anything but swell. Walking to your work bench, you go to the box containing all your documents and let it scan once you place your palm atop of it, your Akasha terminal connecting to the device within. With a soft beep, it unlocks.
You’d given one similar to this prototype to Al-Haitham before you left. You smile and wonder if he’s opened it yet. It’s a bit different than yours, only requiring a fingerprint and a connection to his Akasha Terminal rather than a full scan, but you muse if that’s what had prompted him to come here after all this time. Maybe he finally realized the depth of his feelings with such a hard-earned gift.
Presently, you open the box and reach inside. Your smile dissipates as soon as you do. Nothing touches your fingertips except for the bottom of the box, and you lift the lid fully. Empty.
Huh. Maybe your father (the only other person with clearance) had already retrieved the needed documents while you slept. You wouldn’t put it past him to give you just a few more moments of rest. Sighing, you instead pick up the second box which contains the core. Strange he didn’t take this with him, but you dismiss the thought.
You’re entirely too protective over the device. Besides, this is your moment of crowning glory.
You leave your tent to a frenzy. The sky is not quite clear—a few clouds spot the sky. Your father’s one of the first awake, too, and he’s running a hand through his hair as he takes the temperature of the air and writes it down. Another Spantamad scholar is measuring Ley Line energy through a device puncturing the ground, their Dendro vision winking in the growing light. Placing the box on one of the tables set up near the Waypoint, you sweep your gaze around the site.
You mainly search for the Kshahrewar scholars. As you walk around to make sure everything is going smoothly and if anyone has any questions on the way, you frown when you realize that none of the scholars from your Darshan are present. Approaching your father, you ask him quickly if he’s seen them.
“They’re awake,” he answers distractedly. “Some of them had gotten breakfast. Perhaps they’re still going over their notes.”
“I suppose,” you say doubtfully. They need the entire day to workshop this as effectively as possible and monitor any fluctuations. The entire operation is running late. It’s the only thought that’s ruling your brain as you glance around.
Still, no one. Perhaps you should check on them in their tents, just to make sure…
Before you can move: “Artificer!”
Turning, you spot a Kshahrewar scholar running towards you. Her brown eyes are wide, and she looks frightened to death as she runs her hands over her braid, tugging a bit hard to be a nervous habit.
“What’s the delay?” you ask irritably. The sun’s burning orange sky stains your corneas even when you close your eyes, and you squint against the rays as Amina skids to a stop before you, her face shining with sweat.
“All our manuscripts, the blueprints for the modifications of the Teleport Waypoint…” she trails off and dread begins to grow like a virus at her expression. The Spantamad scholars nearby pause in their work to watch, and behind, you see the other scholars of your Darshan running up. You are rended to the bone at each of their expressions. “It’s all gone! All our work, our notes, even the most personal things like our diaries have been stolen!”
“What?” your father shouts, storming over. Immediately, your heart drops and a chisel digs into your skull and cracks it in two. Your world goes dark as he continues to interrogate the young scholar, but a buzzing begins to whine in your ears as you stare at Amina who is frantically trying to explain herself. Your focus leaves, and your mind swirls as a flash of green later, your father has seized the poor young woman by the arms and shakes her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
He swears loudly in Snezhnayan. You cannot move. Letting go of the scholar, he turns to look at you, and all the colour has drained from his lips. His eyes are wide, his breathing sharp and rapid against your face. Suddenly all you can see is your father’s eyes—they fill your whole world with their colour, their shrinking, frantic pupils. “Little Star?“
But you can’t speak, because, for some reason, that horrible gut feeling that’s been bothering you since you woke up and found Al-Haitham outside yesterday morning, that tingling sensation that something is wrong, the nagging in your heart… it all returns in full force. Your heart wrenches into a rotten twisted ache and you want to fall to your knees, let the hurt of the stone against your bones distract you from everything else.
And it is not the thought that your father is going to die that first swarms your brain. Not even the second. No, that comes third.
The first thought is that your father isn’t the one who extracted your papers from your box.
The second is that wish you weren’t smart. Not that you had never joined the Akademiya, no. You wish your brain didn’t work as fast as it does. You wish you didn’t see the whole picture, that you never knew which edges of the puzzle piece aligned perfectly and what slightest adjustment could be made for something to work like a well-oiled cog and handle. You wish you had no intuition, no fine-attuned sense.
No memory, no heart, no brain.
No emotions, no human fallibility.
Humans make mistakes. They’re emotional creatures. You’ve always embraced that that is what makes life very much worth living, but that you has died in a matter of moments. You look out at the desert where, less than twelve hours ago, Al-Haitham disappeared beyond the dunes.
You had left the box open. After he had kissed you, you had spent the rest of the night on your bedroll, just dozing and speaking and rambling about all sorts of things, completely unaware. Unthreatened. It was not even a thought in your head in the heat of his arms. After all, how can someone you ask such stupid (unfailingly human) questions be untrustworthy? How could he ever hurt you?
“When did you start liking me? Did you know how much I liked you? Yes… Kaveh does have feelings for me, but he understands I could never… I promise. Oh, you thought my feelings were my obvious? As if!”
“Rafiq has disappeared, too. I can only assume that he’s the one who took them. We haven’t seen him since sunrise, but we thought he was just exploring below the bridge,” are the first words that pierce through the dim, blurry fog that has surrounded your brain and sedated you to the point of debatable mental presence.
You blink, and look up. Your father is staring at the scholar who had spoken. A Spantamad scholar who only stares back at his leader with sympathy. All the others have gathered around them, but your movement catches everyone’s eyes. When you lift your head higher to take in those waiting eyes, you cannot help but feel numb.
“We weren’t stolen from,” you finally say at length. Your father returns to your side, his hand clutching onto your elbow, and you meet his eyes dully. “The Akademiya has confiscated all our research. They’re sending a message, loud and clear.”
He understands immediately, and you silently curse him. The hatred is sudden, pitiful, and undeserved, but you can’t help it. Where else could you have gotten your mind from? “No… no… he wouldn’t. He couldn’t do such a thing to… to you, of all people…”
A terrible, overwhelming sensation swarms your body like locusts. Your blood burns with the fury of a thousand suns, and you stand beside this Waypoint outside the buried resting site of a dead god, unable to do anything. Clouds that have gathered above you begin to darken.
Your mind rends at the memories from that night that seems like a lightyear away now. The way he had brushed your arm, the deliberate trailing of his fingers down your shoulder. He had kissed you, touched you, listened to you speak all the while knowing what he was here to do.
It wasn’t to see you at all. Was it all…
Was it all some ploy he had to make you a fool? A lovesick, blind fool whose heart is hanging on strings, tugging at every which way Al-Haitham wants it to. He doesn’t know what you’ve sacrificed to make sure that these Teleport Waypoints would work all the way from Snezhnaya to here. How much blood and flesh and sweat and time you’ve given up for the sake of family.
All that drive. All that ambition. All that desire.
Gone, like sand grain in the wind. Never again will you see that speck of nothing
Al-Haitham has made you a failure, and that is one thing you cannot… You cannot stand.
“What happens now, Artificer?” a meek voice asks. You don’t answer immediately and instead push through the crowd and you cannot look away from the dune your lover has disappeared behind. Lover. How stupid of you to think that word could suit your tongue. “If all of our research has been confiscated, I… we can’t just give up, can we?”
“Now?” you echo numbly. The clouds above you begin to swirl into a storm, and you cannot help the incredulous scoff, the noxious feeling of that smile curving your mouth. It’s bitter, and it makes you want to retch your rations onto the dirt as a crack of thunder sounds in the distance. “Now, I think my father and I must return to our homeland and answer for our failure. The possibility we return is nigh zero.”
“Homeland? But… the rest of us—“
“The rest of you will return safely back to the Akademiya.” A gust of wind sweeps over you, and your eyes burn before it can touch your face. A shuddering exhale leaves your lungs in a death rattle sort of way, and it must mean something. That your heart has withered away and is nothing more in your carcass chest. That in this silence, Al-Haitham has declared you dead to a world he wants to create for himself.
“The rest of you should leave,” you breathe out, shoulders falling. The winds grow stronger as you let your head hang, blink and let the tears fall to the dusty tile beneath your boots. “The expedition is over. You won’t be paid much, so you should do your best to collect your wage before any sort of fees rack up for this expedition.”
“Artificer, there’s a storm—”
“Prepare to leave. You won’t have enough time if you dally around me any longer,” you intone listlessly, watching as the gales pick up the sand around your feet, swirl against your pants, rip at your clothing, and you squeeze your eyes shut, more burning tears streaking down your nose, into your grimacing mouth as you try to hold in the sob that clutches your heart.
You want to pull your hair out, to scream, to do anything more than just stand here and watch as the work that carries your father’s life is carried farther and farther away.
Then again, Al-Haitham could’ve burnt all your manuscripts. Sunken them into an oasis never to be found again.
Desecrated your work with something as simple as a flick of his wrist.
Destroyed your entire life without a care as to what it would mean for you.
Were all those years meaningless to you? You wanted to know. Was your betrayal a price I had to pay for you to ever consider loving me? Or do you not consider this a betrayal at all, but just a trade between two scholars vying for the validation of the ones above us?
Blinding pale blue lighting cracks, and the thunder that follows is deafening as a column of light shoots through the dark storm that gathers over Sumeru’s desert as it did thousands of years ago. Sudden and loud, it sends the scholars scurrying. Your father stumbles back, calling orders in your stead, and you cannot speak.
Clutching onto the front of your scholar uniform, you pull so hard you feel the threads stretch against your back, and your breath comes short and sharp, lodging into your intercostal spaces.
Tears stream down your face and your mouth is dry, full of cotton, as you pant for air, bending over and stepping back, trying to find your footing on even ground. Heat blustering all over your face, your heart pounds in your ears and your hearing leaves you the moment you look up, trying to peer through the sandstorm and your tears. Blinking, you let out a low hiccuping sob of pain but even that is cut short by the knife that sinks into your heart.
Fingers splayed across your chest rip the buttons from the seams, tear your uniform apart in an effort to make space for your lungs to move. Running your palms over your face, you let out a raspy shout and clutch onto your scalp, trying to just breathe. The winds buffet against your head, the temperature in the desert sinking lower and lower as the rising sun is swallowed by the storm.
How you wish you could rip your own brain out by the stem. Give up your body in the name of science, and rid yourself of this infernal contraption they call a heart. What have you done?
Voices inside your head scream louder than anything else: No! No, no, no! This can’t happen to me!
And that is when the third thought blasts into your chest like a gunshot. It leaves a wider hole than it entered through, and the shrapnel lodged in your body poisons everything. Out of every human emotion, it is guilt that tastes the most foul.
Howling squalls scream back at you as your entire world is consumed by this storm that turns white and grey. Flashes of pale blue lighting flicker at the corner of your eye, and you spin around, the shadow of a man making you crumple to your knees. He stands there for a moment, before he is blown away, and your squeeze your eyes shut, baring your teeth in a restrained sob.
None of it is real.
None of it was ever real.
“Al-Haitham!” you scream in vicious Snezhnayan above the crackling thunder. Your throat tastes like iron. “I will never forgive you!”
You let out a screech that comes from the pits of your soul and it only dies into a loud, unhinged wailing cry that you cannot restrain any longer. Your bones chatter from the sudden onslaught of snow and brutal, slicing winds, but your fingers have numbed to any sort of sensation as you claw at your chest, your throat, pull them into tight fists that cannot do any more. Cannot tinker anymore—invent anymore.
Useless.
How could your father ever think that he was useless when you sit here, unable to do anything to save him?
A flash of lightning blinds you before the entire world pauses. The winds fade into a dull roar, the blazes of the storm cease into muted foggy glimpses of lighting, and the thunder rumbles like a heartbeat. Raising your head, you feel a soft breeze caress your tear-stained cheeks, and in the distance, you hear people screaming. People begging for help.
The world hasn’t stopped for them. Why has it for you? Are you dead? Do you… have the past few minutes been wiped into your mind? Looking up, the black clouds part and you see a moon that should not be visible at this time of day. Snow falls delicately and a pillar of lunar light shoots down through the hole, illuminating each snowflake that fall so slowly, so unhurried in their descent to the earth.
You raise a hand to the moon peeking through, hoping for some sort of benevolence from the gods, but when you only serve to cover it from your sight, the edges of the round orb spilling between your fingers, you know it’s a stupid endeavour.
This moon is not the tender one it is in Sumeru. It is cold, and judgemental, and silent, and as the storm begins to swell around you once more, you bow your head to the Tsaritsa’s brutal judgement, letting your hand fall. You take hold of it with your other hand, cradling your palms to your chest when something hard meets your fingers. Jerking your head back, you stare blankly at the item that has appeared.
A Cryo Vision rests in the centre of your hands.
You curl your fingers over it, feeling the newfound power of the element stream through your system. It sings with unbridled fury, as if the Tsartisa herself has wielded your betrayal, crafted it into a sword of permafrost that burns your hands, and you let out a soft breath.
To your surprise, it mists in the quiet, snowy air, and you let out a terrible sob, keeling over this Vision that means that something inside you has broken hard enough that it is worthy of being noticed by the husk of the Goddess of Love.
That this… this is enough to be seen as other-worldly. As a kin.
A rattling scream echoes across the dunes, empties from your lungs into the remains of a lost civilization. The storm ignites, sending a rippling shockwave through the dunes. The buffeting winds crash into the stone. The snow begins to fall in earnest, and it mounts around you, covering the ruins you’ve studied so intimately.
Ice spreads in thin spiderwebs from underneath you, crawling over the stone at a lecherously slow pace, and your heart rends.
Hollows.
Wilts like a dying flower.
Crumbles to nothing.
Disappears in the howling gales of a snowstorm, and for a long time, no one comes to you.
No one will come.
No one can save you from your fate.
And so the storm rages on, and it will rage on until you feel nothing at all.
Al-Haitham - About Al-Haitham: Love
The only reason he knows you’re in Sumeru is because of Kaveh. The only reason he finds you is because of Kaveh.
Al-Haitham curses that. Hates it more than anything that he’s in debt to a man who would’ve treated you far better than he did. Kaveh would’ve never betrayed you for the Akademiya. For all the romanticism and idealism Al-Haitham can’t stand, perhaps those are the things that would’ve saved you from ever leaving the safety of the city.
When he first sees you after five years, you are standing on the dock, speaking to the Snezhnayan engineers that must’ve been behind the Balladeer’s chambers and helping them load their ships with their supplies and technology that they must’ve scavenged to bring back to their country. He’s not sure if they’re all Fatui—not sure if you’re one of them, too—but you speak so quietly he cannot hear. They must not be, considering they aren’t arrested by the Dendro Archon’s command nor did they flee with the Doctor.
You’re clad head to toe in Snezhnayan colours, not a drop of green on you, and there’s something new on the harness that crosses in an x at your back when you turn around. It is pinned there, glinting pale blue in the sunlight.
A Vision.
He had never known you to have one. You’re also… bulkier in a way. More muscular, taller. Your hair is cut differently, too, and when you move to lift something that seems much too heavy, you do it with remarkable ease. But it’s you.
He hasn’t dreamed in a long time, but when Al-Haitham dreamed for the first time after the Akademiya coup, he dreamed of you.
“I will be there when you dock,” you say loud enough that Al-Haitham can hear from where he hides at the mouth of the entrance to Wikala Funduq. “The Teleport Waypoint isn’t far from the harbour, and I’ll be able to sort out travelling arrangements before you all arrive. It’s short-notice, so I can’t guarantee the best, but I’ll try my hardest.”
Peering around, he notes you surrounded by the engineers, but they begin to dissipate a moment later. Some leave the pier, while others board the boats, and you remain there, turning around to look out at the sea, hands planted on your hips.
Al-Haitham seizes his chance.
He walks out of Wikala Funduq, and as soon as his boots touch wood, you turn around.
The most peculiar shade of purple bewitches Al-Haitham. It’s a colour he is certain he’s never seen before, but an itchy part of his brain tags it as something he should be familiar with. A purple he should attribute to something else, something beautiful.
Your lips part, and a soft near-silent sigh escapes you as an entirely concoction of emotions racks through your face. Your eyes are not your own, yet they’re set in your face, and they widen like your eyes used to at the sight of him.
So it must be you. “(Name).”
You stiffen, arms falling limp at your sides, yet he cannot do anything but let out the breath he can’t recall ever holding and forgoing any sort of decorum, any sort of remembrance of who he is in the standing of the Akademiya. He is not the lone wolf scholar, the Akademiya’s Scribe, the Acting Grand Sage.
He is just a boy who is in love with you even now, even still, and his face crumbles into pure relief as he walks towards you in a daze, his feet dragging along the pier. You stare at him warily, and there are Snezhnayan workers who watch. Some even reach for a weapon, but at your barely raised hand, they fall silent.
“Al-Haitham,” you say, measured, soft, shaking, still your voice. You’re trembling in front of him. He is falling apart at the seams. When he nears, he can finally take in your finer details: the unnatural purple of your eyes, the mechanical optical rings of your irises, the way your pupils dilate and shrink unnaturally as if sizing him up, inspecting him. “How did you know?”
“Kaveh told me,” he answers, and a sharp twinge of pain and betrayal flashes through your eyes before you blink, turning your head away. He’s surprised you haven’t frozen him to death yet, and he tests his luck further by reaching to touch your arm, but you only jerk back with a heavy step.
“How much did he tell you?” you ask roughly, eyes flitting from his fingers to his hand.
“Nothing. Only that you’re here. That… you were leaving.”
“Did he tell you how he doesn’t even recognize me anymore?”
That silences him for a beat. “No.”
“I see. Well, I suppose you have questions?”
“Aren’t you upset with me?”
“If you’re asking if I’ve forgiven you,” you say, “then no. I haven’t. I won’t ever forgive you.”
“I’m sorry.” This time, when he says it, you understand. You didn’t five years ago, how he kept apologizing. You look away.
“Perhaps we should find somewhere more private,” you suggest quietly. “I don’t have any interest in entertaining your apologies. It’s in the past and we’re both… different people now, so I’ll answer your questions, and then we can see what happens next.”
“Fine.”
“I have a place nearby that we could talk.”
You begin to stride past him, but Al-Haitham, never one in the last five years to have the last word, feels himself act before he can think. “(Name), wait—“
When his fingers stretch to touch your hand, he feels a hard surface where you should be flesh, and your wrist twists unnaturally to free itself from his grasp. His blood runs cold at the way your hand rotates itself back to a more anatomically correct position, and you clutch it with your other gloved hand.
“Don’t touch me,” you snap. “Just follow me.”
He nods, burning, but he’s not sure with frustration or guilt.
You lead him to a hotel room that’s hidden but overlooking the pier. It’s a small place, but quaint and barely furnished. Picked dry mostly, except for a backpack resting slouched against the wall and some other knick knacks—a pen, a notebook you close as you walk past it.
You pull a chair at the table by the window out and sit down. Al-Haitham can see the water from the glass, and as he approaches, you lean on the table by your elbows and gesture with your hand to the chair across from you. He seats himself, and glances around the place.
“The last five years. Where have you been?” he begins.
“Snezhnaya. When you left, the one thing you didn’t take was the core of the Teleport Waypoint I created. My father and I used it and managed to successfully teleport home.”
“This whole time you were there?”
“Not exactly. I roamed the world for a while. I went to Mondstadt and Fontaine, but that was only a year or two ago.” You look down at your hands. “When we returned, the Doctor had been furious that I lost my research, but he blamed it on my father. He was… technically my supervisor.” As if realizing something: “Though, I don’t suppose you know all of that. With the Fatui blackmailing me, and… and everything.”
“I had gathered as much only recently,” he answers. “I went to the Balladeer’s chambers after he was defeated. I thought I could recognize your work, but… I was unsure.” Swallowing, he shifted uncomfortably. “All these years, I thought you had died in that snowstorm and that it was my fault.”
“Some would say I’ve had a fate worse than death,” you remark, acerbic and unsurprised. “If you had known, do you think you would’ve done what you did?”
“I think I would’ve been more aware of the consequence.” He shakes his head. “I would’ve been honest, even. When I received the assignment, I thought the worse. Betraying you was an impossible task, but they assured me you wouldn’t be punished, so I followed through with it with utmost secrecy. I thought you’d just come back to the Akademiya, and we’d have a huge fight, and somehow I could convince the Sages to allow you access back to your own work as long as there were restrictions placed.”
“Restrictions? None of my work was ever illegal, though.” Your eyebrows furrow, and Al-Haitham thought you were angry, but you only look at him in a strange, morbid curiosity. You’re only searching for honesty. “Unless…”
“They suspected your father’s loyalties had been swayed. The objective of the assignment was to take your materials away, bring you and your father back, and put you on trial. You would’ve been innocent, but your father…”
“He never did anything wrong.”
“I know that,” he replies coolly, “but Azar saw your father as a threat. Saw you as a threat. You were a public figure with a strong will of your own, inherited from your father. I doubt he could’ve put you under his control. Honestly, if you’d been here, do you think that entire situation with the samsara would’ve gone on as long as it did?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I don’t know much about anything anymore, I think.”
For some reason, and Al-Haitham has weathered many storms before, during, and after their friendship, this is what makes his heart shrivel.
“What do you know?” he asks softly. You peek up at him from underneath your eyelashes, and a tired face stares back at him.
“I know that I loved you,” you reply. “I don’t know if I still do. Looking at you now makes me feel something, but it’s not a good thing.”
“Do you hate me?”
“I don’t know. It’s over now. I hated you for a bit,” you allow, “but to be honest, I’m just exhausted. This whole ordeal. The Doctor. I finally have the chance to leave his service. I could, but I have obligations to other people. To be honest, I have a half-baked plan, but I’m not sure if it’ll work.”
“Are you returning home to Snezhnaya?” he asks, afraid to even put himself in this position of wanting something from you again, and you frown.
“Kaveh insists I stay here to be safe,” you tell him. “He misses me. I miss him. Travelling Teyvat, all I could think about is how much he would appreciate the different types of architecture around the world.” You shrug. “But… he doesn’t really recognize me as a person. It’ll take some time for him to get used to the fact that I’m more machine than human.”
“You’re still you,” he assures immediately and you arch an eyebrow.
“How do you know?”
“Because you haven’t killed me yet when I deserve punishment for what I did to you so you must have a heart,” Al-Haitham answers steadily. “And I know you could strike me down if you wanted to. Don’t lie to me.”
“Al-Haitham…” Your mouth moves but you don’t speak, and he nods, understanding.
“My opinion shouldn’t matter, but I would like you to stay.” He cringes at even recommending it. “I know I have no right to ask this favour of you.”
The corner of your mouth twitches. “I thought you didn’t believe in favours.”
“I don’t.”
They sit in silence. You draw your hands towards you on the table. He steeples his fingers and looks out at the port to give himself something to do. The quiet isn’t amiable, but not openly hostile. Al-Haitham never thought he would be able to do this again. To sit across from you had been a long forgotten wish, and he doesn’t want to ruin it now, so he waits for you to start again.
“Did you ever open the box I gave you before I left?” you ask after a while. You’ve been tracing the woodgrain with your finger, and Al-Haitham has been watching you do it. You lift your hand back up and rest your chin in your palm to look out the window.
“I did.” A hard swallow. “How did you find such a collection of journal entries? They must’ve been rare.”
“Ruin diving and desert exploration,” you explain briefly. “At the time, you said you were interested in that catastrophe the oldest historical biographies mentioned, and when I had come across one of the journals detailing first hand experiences of a scholar during that time, I had to find out if there was more I could find and translate. Those six entries were all I could find at the time being.”
“There were more in the House of Daena’s collection. The entire anthology was called A Thousand Nights. A lot has been lost to time, so the rarity of these journals is high,” he says, and at last, you give into a faint smile although you still don’t look at him.
“You found more?”
“Yes, although the ones you gave me are stored safely in the box.”
“Not turning in precious material to the Akademiya? How rebellious, Al-Haitham,” you intone. You finally tilt your head towards him, and your smile has his heart racing. “Al-Haitham, you know of my feelings for you. What about yours?”
“Are you asking if they’ve changed?”
You nod.
“Why does that matter?”
“I don’t know. Because I doubted it for a very long time. I thought that someone who loved me wouldn’t dare to do the things you did to me, but that’s an idealistic of the world I don’t have anymore. I don’t exactly trust you right now,” you tack on quickly, “but right now is honesty hour, isn’t it?”
“Seems like it.” He thinks on it for a moment. He could very well lie. It’d probably the easier choice for you to not possibly feel obligated in some way to his feelings. You wouldn’t have the burden of knowing that his love is unfaithful, nor would the chance to tempt it be there.
And you’d believe whatever he says. Whether or not you know it’s the truth, you’d probably force yourself to believe it and he would, too, and they could leave all of this… them, their past, their present, and their potential future, too, in the sand.
Honesty hour.
Is that what you called it?
“I did love you,” he admits when his moment is up. “I grieved you for a long time. I knew it was my fault that you had died and debated if my cushy job was worth surrendering the one person who could actually stand me and, against all odds, loved me for who I was. Those hours in your camp before I stole the documents made me feel the most helpless I’ve ever felt in my life and I hated it.”
“And now?”
“Now?” He ponders over this. “As soon as Kaveh told me you were here, I ran just to see you myself because I couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to see you when I had the chance. I… you’re not the same. I understand that. I understand my part to play in this, and I know that what I feel should not influence your decisions. I ask that you don’t consider them at all.”
“Al-Haitham…”
“I do love you. I’ve loved you for years, but it feels… longer than that somehow. Maybe I don’t make sense, but even when I couldn’t dream, I could still see you in my sleep.” Your stricken face makes him blink, and he fights the burning in his face and ears by looking down. The tightness in his sternum only aches more. “I don’t want your forgiveness, but I do love you.”
You are quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then, unexpectedly, you say, “There’s a box”—and he jerks his head up, confused “—that I hid in the Balladeer’s chambers. I’m not sure if it’s completely destroyed by now, but only you and I have clearance for it.”
“What’s inside?”
“All the things that reminded me of you in the past five years. Things I wrote about you. Blueprints for your hearing aids. Collectibles I thought you’d like. I don’t know. Just a bit of everything, honestly.” His eyes widen. You don’t seem to notice, or you don’t let it deter you. “When I told you that I wasn’t sure if I loved you still, it’s because I’m trying not to love you. It’s very easy to convince myself I don’t when I never see you. But I see you and I feel disgusted.”
You chuckle a bit, almost nervous. Al-Haitham isn’t quite sure of what to say. Grasping at straws, he opens his mouth to speak but you shake your head.
“To be honest, I never gave myself a chance to let my love for you die,” you whisper. “The disgust comes from remembering what you did, but it’s so overwhelmed by everything else. The longer I sit talking to you, I just feel like everything’s the same.”
“But it isn’t.”
“It can’t ever be, Al-Haitham” you agree. “But I’m willing to pretend. Just for a little while.” You look down at your hands, and slowly pull your glove off. A plate of silver metal catches the sun rays and Al-Haitham’s heart lodges right up in his throat at the cylindrical fingers that tug at your other glove revealing skin and a hand that he recognizes. “I thought it would be best if you saw it.”
“Does it… feel different?”
“Yes. I don’t… feel much the same way anymore, but most of the work was internal. Injections, a heightened metabolism, tinkered senses. A new leg. My eyes, obviously.” You gesture to your pupils, but they seem more natural the longer Al-Haitham watches. “My Vision gave me even more durability and he couldn’t kill me because of how useful I was to him, but I was the next best thing to a perfect subject.”
“Your father, then?“
“He’s alive. It was either him or me, and I gave myself up in an instant,” you answer. “I don’t regret that much of my life.”
He reaches forward tentatively for your flesh hand, but your mechanical hand comes into contact with him first, warm against his wrist. It’s almost like you’re still alive there, but the texture is too smooth, the edges where the metal plates too sharp to be human, and he looks down at the hand that touches him.
This is who you are now. This is who he’s made you.
“I want to move my family away from Snezhnaya, Al-Haitham,” you tell him in the lowest tone you can muster. Al-Haitham’s eyes meet yours, and a soft, pleading expression has taken over your face. “I know you’re the Acting Grand Sage, and that you have duties to the Akademiya, but—“ and he hears it for what it is.
I want there to be a chance for us.
“I would give you anything I could in a heartbeat,” he swears immediately. “If you need asylum, I’d be more than obliged to grant you your request. I—“ But nothing comes out. What his words cannot say, he hopes the silence can. I love you. I will help you in any way I can. I love you. I miss you. I love you.
I’ll find you.
I love you.
“You have beautiful eyes, Al-Haitham,” you whisper, lifting a hand to his cheek. When metal touches his smooth cheek, his eyes flutter closed, and a soft amused hum leaves his companion. “I think I’ve told you that before, haven’t I?”
Cupping your wrist with his own hand, he turns his face into your palm. It smells like nothing, yet there is a hint of your scent clinging to your sleeve that slowly seeps into his nose. His lips kiss the ticklish part of your hand, and your mechanical hand reacts like your normal flesh one would—your fingers curl against his face, and your thumb strokes underneath his eye.
He smiles. “Yes. Yes, I’m certain you have.”
Buer - About Samsaras
The Traveler reaches Port Ormos by nightfall a few days later. By then, it’s too late and they’re too exhausted to even think about trying to find the man they search for. For all intents and purposes, he could be gone, but it doesn’t hurt to ask around on their way to their room.
They ask the owner of the hotel, Shapur, manning the concierge, who briefly mentions seeing the Acting Grand Sage walking with a woman renting a room in the hotel by the water. She had the most distinct purple eyes.
Somehow, the Traveler knows that’s who they’re looking for and they take off again with renewed vigour, and leave Paimon in the dust.
They reach the port quickly. It’s mostly empty, but there are two distinct figures sitting by the water speaking. The moon is their only witness, and when the Traveler steps from around a pillar to observe them more clearly, they can see those purple eyes that Shapur mentioned clearer than day. They glow, even at night, and look almost fake. They’ve never seen eyes of a normal mortal glow like hers do.
Then, Al-Haitham, leaning back onto his arms, pushes himself up, and he extends a hand to his companion to help her up. When he turns, his eyes, too, catch the bright moonlight in a flash of golden divinity.
For a moment, time seems to stop, and the Traveler watches as they, holding hands, begin to walk further down the pier.
“This world is an eternal samsara,” someone comments. Spinning around, the Traveler’s eyes widen at Buer walking from a nearby ramp. When had they fallen asleep? She smiles, green eyes wide and innocent. “Just as there are memories of passed family members living in those of the present, gods never truly die. They are reborn when the time is right, and even alike souls can find one another again.”
The Traveler frowns. “What do you mean?”
“They’re happy. Let’s not disturb them,” she says instead, stretching out her hand. The Traveler takes it, and instantly, they are brought back to their room in Shapur Hotel. Paimon has fallen asleep, and the Traveler sits on their bed. Buer perches herself on the table, her feet not quite making it to the chair.
“When did I fall asleep?”
“Don’t worry. It wasn’t a long time. I just didn’t want to ruin their reconciliation,” she explains. “I don’t remember them well, anymore, but as I’ve read more ancient texts in hopes of… remembering the more important details that have been lost to me, the times I had with King Deshret and the Lord of Flowers come clearer. Together, we were the three God-Kings of Sumeru. It’s unfortunate you were unable to meet them. They seemed to be my greatest friends.”
“They both died ages ago,” the Traveler says, and the knowledge that comes to their mind is stuck in their throat, chained from being freed. Rukkhadevata and the forbidden knowledge. That must be a secret that stays a secret.
Buer giggles. “Died in the loosest sense of the term. Gods don’t truly die. They may be banished, or lose their memories, but their essence is immortal. Even when they seem to be gone, a seed of them will always remain on this planet, seeking the right time and conditions to sprout.”
The Traveler’s spine shoots ramrod straight, and their mouth drops open. “You don’t mean…”
“Although it’s hard to confirm, I find it hard to mistake the similarities between your friend and mine. Deshret has been reborn,” she says, “not resurrected like the Eremites had predicted. As for the Artificer. Her purple eyes, although artificially made, bear a striking resemblance to those Padisarahs of ages past, don’t they?”
“Like the one in Nilou’s dream,” the Traveler realizes, all of it dawning on them like a flood and crashing wave.
Buer nods. “There are very few coincidences in this world. Be happy for them. Their ending in their last lives was not a happy one and they’ve struggled and toiled in this samsara, too, just for the chance to meet again. Even still, they will have to continue to fight these challenges to persevere.” She sighs, looking down at her feet. “Hopefully in the next one life, they can just be born friends and save each other some heartache, and maybe we can be friends again, too.”
“The Goddess of Flowers sacrificed everything for the price of King Deshret’s divine knowledge,” the Traveler points out distantly, their voice soft and wistful. “He drove himself mad because she was gone.”
“There are some events that must repeat on different scales in each samsara,” the Dendro Archon agrees quietly. “A first meeting, a death, a betrayal. I’m happy that my friends have found one another again, even if they don’t remember, but perhaps that is their pinned, pre-determined fateful event that must happen in every samsara. I don’t know. Irminsul’s powers are beyond even my full understanding.”
“They say she disappeared in a storm.” A sharp chill shoots down the Traveler’s spine as Buer hums, nodding. “And she was never seen again.”
“You’re understanding,” she says, delighted. “This time, though, she came back to him, and this time, he knows the knowledge he craves is not worth losing her love.” Buer smiles cheek-to-cheek. “The rest is up to them, now.”
a/n: reblog/comment if you enjoyed! did you catch all the parallels and foreshadowing? there was as much as i could stuff in, from subtle to unsubtle! i read and watched so many theory threads/videos for this and again this was such a fun collab!
the prompt was to either make the third person (in this kaveh) a love interest or someone who helps the main couple get together, and i thought why not a bit of both. after all, it is kaveh who was al-haitham’s biggest reason not to confess, and also kaveh who told al-haitham where to find you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ heheh thank you for reading!!
#fic: a love immortal such as mine#zhongrin.elementalsupercharge#al haitham#al haitham x you#al haitham x reader#al haitham x y/n#alhaitham#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x you#genshin impact#genshin#genshin x reader#genshin x y/n#genshin x you#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin impact al haitham#genshin al haitham#my writing
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|| Ramshackle Tickle Headcanons ||
A/N: just watched the pilot last night and read the comic this morning, I'm ready 💪. I can tell these three are gonna be my new beloved found family. as far as I can tell, there isn't a whole lot of fan content of this on tumblr so I'm really scared this is gonna find its way to the normies 😢
---
Vinnie
- chaotic ler
- usually the first one to initiate a tickle fight
- fights to WIN (and have fun with her friends)
- the roughest tickler of them all; squeezes, scribbles, and pokes anywhere and everywhere she can reach. she will the loudest laughter she can out of you
- skipp is her easiest lee; he'll start a chase and everything for the game of it, but he doesn't fight too hard once he gets caught
- stone, however, is the hardest lee, but we'll get to that later; despite how difficult he is to corner, she likes the challenge; besides, somebody's got to make sure that sad twig boi smiles
- once she finds your worst spot, she's not leaving
- teases with evil laughter and playful mockery; "no mortal can escape the clutches of the TICKLE MONSTER MWAHAHAHA!" "You wanna get away? You wanna get away?? Well you're not gettin' away~"
- when tickled, she SCREAMS and CACKLES but will NOT beg
- doesn't mind being tickled, doesn't love it; it's all in good fun
- ^ you wouldn't know that based on how hard she fights her ler; kicking, clawing, flailing, you name it; she does not like to lose
- in fact, she'd rather have her face turn purple than call it quits; the ler just has to know when to stop on their own because she's sure as hell not going to tell them
- most ticklish spot is her armpits
- do not try to outrun her because she is so damn persistent. she will catch you; tackles and pins you down before she tickles you
Skipp
- lawful lee
- has the goofiest little giggles in the world; a real "teehee" lad
- can't and won't hold back his laughter
- by far the happiest to be a lee
- actively likes tickling and WILL admit it
- most ticklish spot is his sides
- he can tickle if he thinks one of his friends needs it but he mainly prefers to be the lee
- doesn't wiggle that much; all the energy that would go into squirming goes into giggling instead
- cups his pink cheeks and gives tiny feet kicks 🥰
- will squeal if you tickle his neck
- a lot of teases don't work on him because they rely on being embarrassed, and he's not embarrassed about tickling
- the teases that DO work are baby talk, since it adds to the silly feeling
- pokes tickle him the most
- his giggly laughter is laced with mangled outcries; "HEHEHEHE WAITHEHEHE STO- HEHE NOT THERE HEHEHE"
- if skipp gets in stone's personal space one too many times, stone'll wreck him (he knows skipp is doing it on purpose)
- isn't that invested with winning or losing a tickle fight; he's just happy to be there
- tries to get stone to loosen up about tickling (explanation later)
- gets ganged up on by the other two the most
- falls for those old tickle tricks, not because he wants to get tickled, but because he is just so obliviously trusting
Stone
- HOOOO BOY
- the one we've all been waiting for
- I'm gonna let yall know right now this ones going to be the longest (SUE ME OKAY?!)
- neutral lee-leaning switch
- will swear up and down on his life that he's not ticklish (it's a lie!) until the other two little gremlins finally decide to prove him wrong
- he's very embarrassed about being ticklish; skipp doesn't understand why and tries to get him more comfortable with it, which causes stone to turtle-up and shut down the conversation; vinnie takes a less gentle approach and just tells him to "loosen up, dude!"; it seems like a childish thing to him, like something he should have grown out of
- despite how embarrassed he is about his weakness, he's not actually embarrassed about saying the word; he can say "tickle" all day long, he just can't admit he's ticklish
- he repeats the same three words everytime someone asks: "I'm not ticklish"
- if he thinks for even a second he's about to get tickled, he sprints like his life depends on it; this means the first ten times his friends have tried to tickle him, they failed, no matter how stealthy they were.
- finally, on try eleven, they managed to overtake him; he wouldn't laugh for the first two whole minutes; vinnie was straddling his waist while skipp kept him from kicking and bucking her off; eventually, he did crack; it only took a random squeeze at his death spot for him to slip up: his thighs; vinnie caught on right away and went to town, and then poor stone couldn't keep himself together; if he laughed any harder, he swore he'd crumble to pieces; his arms waved around, too jellied up to put any real force behind them; his eyes were still squeezed shut, but his smile was brighter than the motherfucking sun; it even put skipp's to shame; he looked uncharacteristically like a little baby, laughing and shrieking
- vinnie and skipp's eyes practically filled with stars; neither of them had ever seen this side of stone before; but that was about to change
- he can't claim he's not ticklish anymore, but he'll still go to any lengths to avoid talking about it
- stone didn't know he had a death spot until that moment, nothing ever came into contact with his thighs so he had no way to know
- his laugh is very high-pitched, differing from his usual deep rumble; pure belly laughter with a side of hiccups (no not hiccup laughs, ACTUAL hiccups. it's the cutest thing I swear)
- within thirty seconds of laughing, he's lost all ability to save face; cries out a lot of "please"s if vinnie goes hard enough
- the tops of his cheeks will go red while he's being tickled; not full tomato, but just enough to shatter his pride
- he's the most adorable lee 💓💓💓
- he is SO HARD TO CATCH THO
- he's got the reflexes of a cat
- doesn't like being teased, then he gets a little too embarrassed
- the only comments that ARE acceptable are ones of curiosity; like if skipp goes "hmmm I wonder if this spot is ticklish?" or vinnie says "dang bro I didn't know you could laugh that hard"
- if he's comfortable with anyone tickling him, it's skipp; he knows he can trust him to not laugh at him
- as much as he'll deny it, he doesn't hate tickling as much as he wishes; in fact, it might even be a little bit fun <3
- as a ler, he's pretty skilled
- where vinnie is a very rough and sloppy ler, stone is very careful and methodical
- starts with light traces to amp up the tension, then goes in for the kill
- tickles skipp the most, because there's a significantly smaller chance of skipp fighting back
- he tickles his friends in an older brother sort of way; mostly its when they're bugging him
- teases with "ya learnt your lesson yet?" "that doesn't sound like someone who wants me to stop tickling" "you were practically asking for it, being a pain in the arse and everything"
- specifically teases skipp because he knows he likes it; "having fun, down there? i can see that smile, mister, you ain't fooling me"
- most of the time though he'll just watch the other two tickle fight and watch boredly
----
IT TOOK A LOT OF RESTRAINT NOT TO RAMBLE
AND I DID ANYWAY!!!
I'll save the rest of my thoughts for potential fics
Hope you enjoy!
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so I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep, and I'll watch you forget me like I used to feel you breathe..." for the prompts
new light: last kiss
new light masterlist
a/n: thank you for sending this in!! the 2k prompt celly slooowly trucks along. this takes place in part 9 of the og series!
When Rafe told Topper that Ward had called him home, he should’ve expected this exact scenario.
And yet, it’s still somehow a surprise when Topper and Kelce pull up to Tannyhill on Friday evening, mere hours since Rafe even pulled in himself. It was an exhausting drive home, and an even more exhausting talking-to from his father afterward. Add onto that that he hadn’t been sleeping much at all in the past week, and Rafe felt like half-dead climbing into Topper’s Jeep.
“Lodge?” Topper had asked.
Rafe had shrugged, looking away with intention before he could see the look his friends exchanged between themselves. But the view out the window was no better when Topper drove right by your house.
You were everywhere here.
Rafe knew coming home would be taxing. But it was like he could feel you in the stubborn humidity still hanging around in October almost as clearly as he had felt you in California only a week ago. In June, you’d insisted on leaving a window open to sleep because you missed the sound of cicadas in the summer, and Rafe would wake up sweating buckets to find you sleeping peacefully to his side, bodies pressed so closely together he could feel your chest moving when you breathed.
And it was he could hear your laughter in the sound of the ocean waves crashing on his drive right by the water, all the way out to Figure 8. The salt in the air, the chaotic noises of the marina.
After a few drinks, Rafe figures he’ll probably be able to see your outline walking through town.
Topper’s whistle is shrill in his ear, and Rafe really needs to do a better job pretending he’s alright if he’s going to make it through this weekend without spilling anything.
“Dude. What’s with you?” Rafe is asked. Even Kelce, never not known to fill an awkward silence, is looking at him silently from across the table.
“Nothing,” Rafe decides sipping down the rest of his IPA until its foam. Wordless eye contact with Charlie at the bar, and another one’s coming.
“Old man give it to you pretty good today?” Kelce asks.
“Kinda,” Rafe answers. He can’t really remember at this point. It was a lot of the same; a lot about you. His distraction, his hindrance. His everything.
“Alright then. So… shots?” Topper asks hesitantly. Rafe shrugs, his go-to for the night he supposes, and Kelce nods emphatically; Topper’s taking that as good enough, venturing to the bar. Rafe watches him try and fail to cut through a pack of tourists with no luck. Tourists, at Rafe’s dingy bar on The Cut, this late in the season.
“Rafe.” Kelce says, and it sounds like it might have been the third or fourth try.
“Sorry, dude,” Rafe replies. “You know, I think I’m going home after this round. I’m exhausted—been driving all fuckin’ day.”
“No, no worries,” Kelce says. “I was just asking if you saw McCall’s story the other night.”
Rafe sees Kelce’s phone in his hand and averts his eyes as quickly as he can, squandering the urge to start choking on his spit by loudly clearing his throat. He trains his focus on his empty pint instead, dragging the glass and its condensation back and forth across the table, wondering when his new one—or better yet, that round of shots—will materialize. “No. I haven’t. You follow McCall?”
“Yeah, she’s hot. And shit was so funny, dude. Y/n/n was hammered last night,” Kelce laughs.
Rafe should’ve know that’s where this was heading—why else would Kelce bring that up. But he’s 15 again. Then 19, 20 and 21, too. All those ages in between. He’s every age he ever was before he finally got you to fall in love with him, dreading the moment Kelce inevitably brought up your name.
Things were a little different this time. Rafe’s not an embarrassed and lovesick teenager willing his blush to creep back down his neck. He supposes he’s more of a man now, jaded and stuck walking around his hometown like an open wound, while you’re out with your friends. But he guesses he is, too.
He should be happy, shouldn’t he? That you seem to be having fun? He’d ended it. You’d agreed. Even though he could tell you didn’t want to, you had. In way, you’d let him go, too. You’d made a choice just like he had, and maybe it wasn’t getting you down as much as it was him. He’d broken your heart, and you’d deleted your photos together and went out drinking with your friends.
God, where are those shots?
“I didn’t even know Y/n still drank like that,” Kelce continues. “Not without you around anyway. I’m talking senior ditch day levels of shitfaced, if you remember that.”
You blacked out on Kildare’s senior ditch day, Rafe remembers it well. Because he’d been the designated driver for Matteo’s party, which meant he was the one who had to then decide which friend was sober enough to watch the rest of your friends while he got you out of there, safely out of that house and into your own, all without losing it on whatever guy from the lacrosse team had got you that way and whatever friend of Rafe’s hadn’t been watching it closely enough. Rafe had been the one to hand you off to your younger brother, praying to god Dylan wouldn’t tell and make Rafe complicit in your parents’ future disdain. And he’d been the one to receive an embarrassed text from you the next day. And he’d been the one who didn’t care, just glad you were okay. That Rafe could never fathom sharing a first kiss with you, but the last one would make a lot more sense to him.
“Yeah, well. Not really my problem anymore,” he snaps, before he can decide to do otherwise, residual anger from that day toppling over the mess of emotions he already was.
Kelce rolls his eyes. “Please. You were making her your problem before she ever even was. And I’ll drink to that, actually—I wonder where those shots—”
“I broke up with her.”
Kelce cracks a grin, letting out a surprised laugh. A few seconds go by, and the grin falls. “I know you’re not joking about that, Rafe.”
A sad country songs takes over on the speakers, and Rafe hides his face in his hands, unable to bear the look on Kelce’s face when it finally dawns on him. It was hard enough around the only others who knew, and Rafe would honestly prefer his roommates in Georgia were still as oblivious as Kelce had been a few seconds ago, and as Topper still is at the bar right now. He’d tried to keep it that way, for a while at least, but it didn’t take long after Graham picked him up from the airport for his best friend to figure it out.
Graham must have passed it on to Sawyer and Cody soon after, because he didn’t get a second of normalcy before the kid gloves came out. Those guys didn’t even know you, hadn’t even seen Rafe around you save for grainy FaceTimes over the summer, the ones Rafe had cut off in favor of giving you his undivided attention. He can’t believe he was even nervous at the idea of you meeting them at this point—he’d give anything to stress over something so idiotic now.
But Kelce knew you, better than he knew Rafe or maybe just the same. And Rafe didn’t know what to make of Kelce having no idea of what had happened, indication you’d told him as much as Rafe had. When his friends showed up at Tannyhill today, he’d half expected the death glare he’s getting right now when Rafe picks his head up again.
“Say it again.”
“Kelce,” Rafe groans, pained.
“Say it again,” he presses. “Say it one more time, Rafe, and I’ll know you’re serious.”
“I broke up with her,” he says. “We broke up.”
“You broke up with her?” Kelce repeats. “Or you broke up?”
“Whoa.”
Topper’s reappeared, a flight of shots in his hands that Rafe is shocked actually make it onto the table and don’t smash all over the sticky ground.
“Whoa,” Topper repeats dumbly. “What? Who broke up with who?”
“I don’t know, Top,” Kelce says, scooting his stool back, the feet scraping loudly on the same sticky floor. “‘Cause I’m having trouble understanding, too.”
“Can you not be so fucking dramatic?” Rafe sneers, picking the shot glass closest to him and downing it without a thought. He downs the second closest, too, just for good measure.
“I’m gonna call her right now,” Kelce warns, his phone already in his hand. “You have one more chance to tell me this is the dumbest fucking joke you’ve ever told.”
“Guys,” Topper says hesitantly. He glances between Rafe and the only remaining shot, worried.
Rafe looks to Kelce, and having no doubt he’s serious, gives the only reply that comes to mind. “Will y’make sure she’s alright?”
“God fucking dammit, Cameron,” Kelce sighs, beelining for the front door, somewhere Rafe is glad he won’t have to hear whatever comes out of his mouth next.
Topper sits down, looking bewildered, picking up that third shot. He offers it to Rafe, who waves him off, before taking it. “I’m sorry. What?”
Rafe hasn’t cried, Rafe doesn’t cry, but if his best friend makes him say it one more time then he might have to put stock into the tightening in his throat or the pressure behind his eyes he’d been feeling since he left California.
He’d been sleeping in your bed a week ago, waking up hours before you because his body was still ahead, content to let you sleep as long as possible while he took in everything he felt being close to you again, how your face and hair and nails had subtly changed since he last got to see you in August. How you had pictures of him by your bed, stuck on your mirror in your bathroom, hanging in the hallway and even under magnets on the fridge downstairs. How your blinds were in need of fixing, your sheets smelled just like they did back in Kildare, how the stack of books on your bedside table—one of their pages split down the middle by a polaroid he knew was of him and Wilbur—was so close to falling off Rafe barely dared to set his phone and wallet down but did anyway.
Because they fit, just like he somehow fit in your bed and in your heart and in your life, so grateful in these moments he got to love you without thinking twice about it, wondering how he ever got along without them. And you’d wake up with fake annoyances that he hadn’t woken you up with him, kissing him sleepily before going downstairs to start a pot of coffee.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Top,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Well—tell me what happened, to start,” Topper says. “Or—are you ready for that?”
When Charlie finally, finally, brings over another beer, Rafe figures he might was well try. “I felt like I wasn’t doing anything right. She’s crying all the time, I’m fucking up and pissing her off left and right. Her friends… fuck, I don’t even know if they liked me. I’m sure they don’t now.”
“But that’s not why…”
“I know you’re trying to understand, but—”
“And I can’t, dude. What? You broke up with Y/n/n?”
“Yes, dude, fuck! Alright? I broke up with her. I fucked it up. I don’t know why everyone’s so fucking surprised—I was bound to screw it up at some point, wasn’t I? I’m a mess, I lied to her, I was never gonna be good enough for all of it or her.”
“You lied?” Topper asks.
“I lied to my dad,” Rafe corrects, frustrated. “Why do you think I’m here? This is my life. This. My job, my dad, this shitty bar on this shitty island. And she’s…”
So good, too good. Way too good for Rafe.
Topper must agree to an extent, and Rafe doesn’t know why that makes him feel better, that his friend lets the silence drag for so long. Maybe it gives Rafe time to convince himself he hadn’t fucked up, that he’d made the right move in letting you go. He doesn’t know how he ever convinced himself this wasn’t the only way this could end.
Topper finally nods his head in recognition. “That’s heavy. No chance you’ll work it out?”
He barely thought at all this week, going through the motions like a zombie, ignoring his roommates when they changed their tack and decided Rafe needed to get over it by going out or calling up an old favorite. The nausea that kind of thinking gave Rafe left him with no other choice but to start locking his door and stop answering their texts until they’d worried he died.
Kelce approaches the table again, and Rafe looks for any sign he can that will indicate how it went, but he only addresses Topper.
“I can’t get a signal outside—fuck The Cut—I’m gonna try the bathroom. And you,” Kelce says, pointing at Rafe. “You better find your own way home until I can figure out if I need to punch you in the face or not.”
“Stop, Kelce, what the fuck, man?” Topper says, watching him go. But he stands to follow him before turning back to Rafe. “I’m gonna go cool him off, alright? Don’t go anywhere, you’re shitfaced. We can work this out.”
Rafe watches them walk away, wondering briefly if he’s gonna lose either of them over this. He might deserve it, he decides as he ignores Topper’s only instructions, tossing a few bills at the end of the bar along with all three shot glasses stacked neatly inside the empty pint he’s holding. Charlie nods at him as he does.
Rafe pushes the door open, deciding he could use the walk.
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Birthday Sex
Pairings: San x Y/N x Wooyoung x Mingi
Genre/tags: FWB, MxM & MxF
Warning: 🔞🔞🔞🔞 smut/angst, cursing, sensual touching, making out, semi public, pet name, kink, unprotected sex, mxm /mxf relationship
~~~~[lmk if i miss anything]
Words: 1.6k
Disclaimer:
- this story is just made up
- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊
Note: no plot. Just pure smut hehe sorry this is short and random 😅
*******
Everyone have gathered to celebrate your birthday. The table is filled with food and drinks. And the whole room, probably the whole house is occupied by the loud yelling, cheering and the singing as you are all enjoying the karaoke that came with the vacation house you guys rented out for the weekend.
"My throat hurts." Wooyoung says as he coughs after singing the highest note of the song San selected for him to sing. "Can we just play a game... I'm tired now from singing..." he flops down at the sofa and sit beside you.
"What game do you suggest?" San asks as he chugs down a glass of beer
"Card game?" Mingi suggests
"What kind of card game?" Wooyoung asks
"Wait... I did see something here..." San crawls towards the drawer where the games/toys are at. "This place is so cool providing games for kids and adults..." he then shows you guys one by one the stuff toys, board games and even the toy cars.
"But I'm too tired to play games..." you whine as you lean to Wooyoung's shoulder. "A little tipsy too... to even use my brain." You giggle
"Then, tell us what you want to do baby?" San asks
You smirk. "Don't call me baby... you know how I feel when you call me that."
"Why... what do you feel? Huh?" Wooyoung then cups your chin and kisses you on the cheek.
"Secret." You whisper, winking at him.
"Hey..." Mingi goes to sit on your other side and pouts, "why kiss her?"
"It was just on the cheek, Mangi." Woo explains. "Don't get jealous." He teases
"Are you... jealous?" You ask Mingi as you move to his side and lean on him this time.
"I am! Coz last time I didn't get to kiss you." He is serious. Yet adorable.
"You know you can kiss me anytime..." you says as you pinch his cheeks.
"Really?" He smiles
"Yes."
"Can I kiss you now?" He asks
"If you want to... yes."
Mingi smiles and leans in, lower, so he could reach and kiss you. The kiss is not just a smooch. It is a definite KISS.
His hand placement on your nape, positioning you for the perfect angle and then his tongue exploring your mouth as if his rent is due tonight.
Mingi is such a good kisser. His kiss could just make you go nuts especially with those lips.
"You two sound so sexy..." Wooyoung mumbles before he goes in to touch you. He begins cupping your breast while he leans in to lick your exposed collarbone with that off-shoulder top of yours.
"Yah... how about me?" San is sitting on the floor watching.
His whine made you pause and smile, stopping your make out session with Mingi. "What do you want, Sannie?"
"I don't know... but I want you." He's so red from all the drinking you guys did. He is tipsy too but he's still in control of himself and knows what he wants.
"It's your birthday, Y/N..." Wooyoung says before he goes in and kiss you on your neck. "Choose...who you want... to fuck first..." he says in between kisses
"Only one?" You asks
"Baby, you know we get jealous easily thats why four-some is not ideal for us... we only did it once and it got a bit heated..." San explains while his eyes is on Mingi
"What?" Mingi reacts cutely
"I think... It's better for us to have you one at a time...plus while we wait... we can..." Woo pauses to reach out to your other side and give Mingi a smooch on the lips. "We can keep each other busy."
"But I want to spent time with you all... it's my birthday..." you whine as you flop and lay your back on the sofa.
You are being too greedy. You're not demanding like this. It's the alcohol talking for you. Coz you know it can be chaotic if its four of you.
"Baby," San finally gets up and crawls on top of you pushing the two men on the side. "Woo and Mingi can stay in the room if you want... but no touching for them of course... while... I fuck you 'till break of dawn." He snarls right at your ear before he nibbles your skin, leaving marks on your neck.
"Hmmm..." you hum as you enjoy his kisses. "Are you sure we can do that?" you ask San
"Anything for you." He answers before he plants a soft kiss on your forehead
"Why is it always have to be you... the main guy...?" Wooyoung asks, rolling his eyes
San whips his head to him, grinning. "Coz I am the main guy..." then he kisses you on the lips before gazing at you. "Y/N is mine."
"Yah..." Mingi protests, "She never said she's yours..."
"But she is..." San explains, "I am dating her..."
"Not officially..." Mingi says
"Yaah... Mangi..." Woo suddenly stands up and kisses Mingi on the lips once again to get his attention. "Are you horny?"
Mingi with puppy eyes and cherry cheeks, "I am."
"Fuck me then..." Woo takes Mingi's hand and place it on his cheek. "I can be your buttom tonight... if you want." He says, smiling ear to ear. "Coz... I am horny as hell now too... just seeing you get jelly over them."
"Are you sure?" Mingi asks, "you want it?"
Woo looks down at Mingi's bulge, smirking. "I can take you... don't worry." Wooyoung then pulls Mingi up from the sofa and leading him to walk with him, so they could go to the room upstairs.
"Have fun you two!" San shouts as the two disappears from their sight. "Also there is lube up there!" He giggles
"Don't you think.. Wooyoung likes Mingi a little bit more than us?" You say, pointing the obvious.
"Maybe... how can he not... Mingi is his type. The cute type." Then San frowns. "why are you jealous? I'm right here."
You giggle. "I know... I can see you..."
"Don't be literal... I meant--"
You hush him by putting your index finger on his lips. "I know."
Then whilst biting your lower lip, you start to strip your clothes off while San is watching you. He's kneeling on the floor in front of you.
"Damn..." he hisses under his breathe the second he sees you just wearing your bra and panty. "Fuck... baby..." he can't take it anymore. He pushes his face forward and smudge his face on your chest. "You're so damn sexy..."
"Looks like you are more excited for my birthday sex than me..." you tease
"Baby, c'mon... you know I'm always excited when it comes to you."
"Aah!" You gasp when you suddenly feel his hand go to your clothed core.
"You're already excited..." he mumbles, smiling as he felt you wet and ready.
"Of course..." you exhale as you wrap your arms around him. "How can I not be?" Then you tilt your head and crash your lips to his.
Both of you are moaning into the kiss. You are not rushing this. You are just enjoying every little pleasure you two could give to each other. You have the whole not so why bother going to heaven so soon?
"F-fuck! S-San...! Nngggguuuh..." you are shaking. His finger in you is already a beautiful toture whilst you to are making out on the sofa. "Yes... there..." you move your hips along his rythm
"Ughh... My dick is twitching.. just hearing you cry..."
San's eyes is on you. Always on you whenever you two pause on kissing. He likes to see you react when he hits your spot or your body jerk whenever he makes you feel good with just his hands. He enjoys it. It turns him on even.
"Sannie... just... fuck me... I can't wait anymore... I want you in me..." you breathe, holding onto him for dear life. Your breathing is heavy and you are about to explode with all the sex drive.
"Let's do this then..." he grins. And then he switches your position, putting you on the sofa whilst he is on top of you.
"You looks so handsome..." you say to him as he rips his button up shirt up.
"Am I?" His dimple is showing. He likes that you called him handsome. "Or you're just saying that because..." he got lower, his face is inches from yours. "my dick is about to rip you apart?"
"Oh, Sannie..." you sensually glide your hands over his face and then his broad shoulders. "You are handsome... always... fucking me or not..."
He scoffs, trying not to smile. "I fucking love you... you really know how to make me fold and melt."
"I fucking love you too... my sannie." You whisper
"Fuck!" He grunts as he eases his length in your core. "Baby!" He nuzzles his face on your neck, breathing in and out slowly. "You're....taking me... so well...ughhhh..."
He is lengthy and thick. He fits you perfectly. More than perfect actually that it makes you clench even more.
"B-baby..." he is shaking. "I'm not even moving yet... but... but... fuck, fuck, fuck! Your so warm and holding me so well."
You start to kiss him from the back of his ear, his cheek and then pull his face up so you could kiss him on the lips. He is sweating bullets.
"We can go slow... we have all night." You say
"Fuck... just thinking about how we can be stuck like this... all night..." he positions his hands to find support from the sofa and start to move his hips. "I'm so fucking happy!"
You chuckle as you see him get excited. but then you stop smiling the second it hit you. Meaning, the second his dick hit your spot.
"Holy fuck!" You grab onto the sofa as well, above your head, to support yourself. He is thrusting in like you could feel him hit your stomach. It's so powerful and so intoxicating. "Fuck! Aaah!! San!!" You moan loudly
"Happy birthday, Baby." He says
#yuyu1024#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez x y/n#ateez fanfiction#ateez fanfic#atz x reader#ateez smut#ateez x female reader#smut#kpop smut#kpop scenarios#ateez mingi#ateez san#ateez wooyoung#atz smut#atz mingi#atz san#atz wooyoung#kpop imagines#kpop angst#mingi x reader#mingi smut#san imagines#san x reader#wooyoung x reader#wooyoung smut
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Hi! I love reading your opinions and I have just started The Sign. What are your opinions on the show and what route are you hoping it would take for the second half of the show? Take care and happy new year!
Hello anon! You picked such an interesting moment to send this ask. We’re halfway through the show and I think its strengths and weaknesses have become fairly clear. Let's talk about it!
Strength: The Chemistry
I think this is the thing that had all the girlies losing it right out of the gate: Phaya and Tharn are hot and their interactions are hotter. The pull and chemistry between them is palpable and the set up for their romance is compelling. Kudos to whoever found Babe and decided to pair him with Billy: you, sir or madam, are incredible at your job and deserve a fruit basket. We are all dying for these two to finally fuck.
Weakness: The Pacing
Which is why it's kind of frustrating that the show is dragging its feet on letting their relationship advance. The first four eps were delicious tension-building, but as the show starts to stall and use dream sequence fakeouts to provide smut without actual relationship development, the audience is clearly getting antsy. The show's pacing is all over the place in general, with wildly varied episode lengths and inconsistent action and plot advancement from week to week. And the desire to drag out the romance without a compelling alternative plot to fill the show in its absence is causing some damage to the characters, most notably Tharn, who is just starting to seem unreasonably antagonistic to a person we know he likes, not to mention unperceptive in his continued inability to notice what is going on around him.
Strength: Production Values
This show is absolutely gorgeous; you can tell most of the money went into making every frame of it beautiful. The strength of the production values and hard work of the crew to create the look and feel of the world was evident from the first episode with all those beautiful training sequences on the beach. And this is used to particularly strong effect whenever we visit Phaya and Tharn's past lives and see the magical world that exists around them come to life.
Strength: The Supporting Cast
The show also has a great ensemble, with Yai especially a standout character who brings a lot of fun to the show, along with his girlfriend Sand and the police squad bros. This is not surprising, as big, messy, chaotic, endearing queer friend groups are an IdolFactory staple. As of last week, we officially have a lesbian side pairing! Tharn and Phaya also have interesting family histories with sweet grandmas and loved ones who lend depth to their characterization.
Weakness: The Copaganda
It was perhaps too much to expect that this bl about cops would have a more sophisticated perspective on law enforcement, institutional corruption, and the so-called "justice" system, but that does not stop me from groaning out loud every time they pause the story to let these characters wax poetic about the nobility of their jobs.
Strength: Thai Folklore
This show is teaching all of us some things about real Thai folklore about the garuda and nara, including local customs associated with celebrating these tales, and the depiction of these stories in the show is just beautiful. Despite it basically being a tourism advert (complete with couple shirts for no reason??), I really enjoyed the episode that took us to Nong Khai and the Mekong River to see how modern Thai folks interpret and celebrate the myths at the center of this show’s story and ground us in something real.
Weakness: An Underdeveloped Take on Toxic Masculinity
This show uses violence quite a lot in its story, including violence in interpersonal dynamics, and it sometimes seems to want us to be alarmed by uncontrolled male anger, and sometimes impressed by it. At this point, Tharn and Phaya have both struck each other in anger during personal disagreements, and there hasn't been any real reckoning with the fallout of that. On top of that, the show has given us some crime cases that highlight the harm of toxic masculinity while also seeming to glorify and revel in it, most notably in the framing of a man who kidnapped and retraumatized sexual assault victims as a hunky folk hero. It's a confused take, to say the least, and I'm not sure the show has the depth and precision necessary in the writing to take on some of what it's throwing at the wall.
Strength: Villains
All I can say is Heng was born to play an evil snake god. The show has done a good job at making him feel like a real threat and building the antagonism between him and Phaya to the point where Phaya has been isolated from support and made to look crazy in front of Tharn. Dr. Slow Motion is very good at this.
So, what's the TL; DR? This show is a lot of fun, but has some obvious weaknesses in the writing, so do your best not to take it too seriously if you can. I am ready to see Phaya and Tharn get together and finally start working as a team, for the full backstory and epic battle they are waging to come out, and for the motivations of the rest of the cast of characters to become clear (I just know there are some additional past life reincarnations waiting to be revealed). It's a great time if you don't think about it too hard, and I really hope the back half will pick up the pace so that we can all just enjoy the ride.
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Gray & Erza Hcs
someone sent in an ask about their friendship and i accidentally deleted it but you know who u are, this is for you
these two have so much angst potential
* Gray purposefully take the route to and from his house that passes the river even though it takes longer, just on the off chance Erza might be there
* She holds so much guilt for sending him into avatar, but everytime she tries to apologize for it the words get stuck and she cant
* Grays probably the only person Erza has ever offered a slice of her cake to, if only bc she knows he doesnt like cake and made it her personally mission to find one he does
* They are so stubborn
* Gray: You’re one of my best friends, I would do anything for you.
Erza: I want you to eat 3 meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule.
Gray: Absolutely not.
* Their friendship is the type where they can sit in silence for hours and be completely comfortable just knowing the other is there
* Erza loves her guild, but if Gray died, if he left fairy tail, she would genuinely consider leaving as well
* her big sister instincts will always kick in the fastest with him
* She has an internal alarm that sounds every time Grays in trouble even if shes no where near him.
* Sometimes she’ll wake up in a cold sweat and text him in a panic asking him whats wrong
* it freaked him out so many times but hes grown so used to it that he’ll message her as soon as smth happens to forstall the panic
* He was her first real friend in fairy tail, so she has a soft spot and a bias of sorts for him, shes more likely to take his sides on things than not
* thats not to say she turns a blind eye to his chronic dumbassery, no she still will fully call him out on his bullshit, but shes more likely to call others out before him
* In turn, Gray is the one who calls her out on her behavior, people will go out of their way to find him just so he can talk to her bc shes less likely to kill him if he calls her out than anyone else
* He called her a hypocrite once and everybody started to mentally plan his funeral, then was in awe since she actually stopped what she was doing and apologized
* He will fight for what she wants even if he doesn’t necessarily agree with it. He is the first to defend her
* Hes also the first to put her in her place, he has never seen her as the great godly ‘Titiana’, he sees her a ‘Erza’, a teenage girl
* And honestly? she probably appreciates thats more than being seen as a sort of invincible god the public sees her as
* Allegedly, their are the two most ‘mature’ and put together people of the team. its a lie. an act. theyre not. not at all. They are so chaotic, especially together. when nobodies around they can be so dumb together and they cause so many problems. but nobody would believe you if you told someone
* They have an insane amount of respect for one another, more than the kind for friends and guild mates
* Gray isn’t actually scared of her, he plays it up for shits n giggles but at the end of the day less scared than he is cautious, he knows she’ll put him in his place but he is by no means scared of her.
* She knows this and its like their own little secret
* They refuse to go to the doctor, therapy, or anything such as that unless the other gets checked out too
* They get each other weapons for their birthdays, each one is better than the last
* They see a lot of themselves in each other, perhaps thats why they are so protective of one another
* Neither of them are the type to fully let down their walls, theyve never really felt truly and completely at ease with any one person. But the closest its ever been has been with each other
* trying to get them to do smth actually good for their health is like getting happy to never eat fish again.
#fairy tail#gray fullbuster#erza scarlet#sun strickens ft#fairy tail headcanons#fairy tail incorrect quotes#one#these fools can fit so much angst into them#so silly#grayza#grayza brotp#both for good measure#they make me so sad#this has so much angst in it for no reason
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Way the Cookie Crumbles
Warnings: none (I think), let me know if I missed any :)
Pairings: Batfamily x child reader
Request: Can you take on of the Batman wayne family adventures webtoon chapters and add a baby sister ( maybe the last cookie one its my favorite 🥹💕)
Request by: @spidyyparker
(Sorry if this was not what you were looking for, and if it wasn’t lmk and I’ll try my best to fix it!!)
*not my gif*
Summary: There’s a tradition your family has, and it’s about time you introduce it to the newest member of your chaotic family
A/N: This is from WFA on Webtoon so the credits go to the amazing creator of it; this was so much fun to make (even though it’s short) so when requests open up can someone please request more from different chapters?
Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work
“-and for the record,” Jason continued, taking off his helmet as he walked, “I’m only here for Alfred’s baking.”
Tim rolled his eyes playfully, “We all know you like it here. Besides,” He continued with a small smile as he saw the youngest member of the family running towards them in the hallway, “when else would you be able to see Y/n?”
Jason allowed a small smile to grow on his face upon hearing this, “Fine… the last part I agree with.” He mumbled, holding his arms out for you to run into.
You let him pick you up with a giggle, smiling even more as your second eldest brother spun you around up in the air.
“I still don’t understand why we all came back here.” Duke said in confusion, still smiling slightly like all of the others were at the sight before them.
“We have… a tradition.” Cass explained with a smile, skipping over and taking you out of Jason’s arms, much to his dismay.
You let out another giggle as she rubbed her nose playfully against yours and her hair tickled your cheeks.
She walked into the dining room, closely followed by the others.
“Isn’t it way past your bedtime, missy?” She asked in a fake stern voice, and you laughed even more.
“N-no!” You tried to deny, burying your face in her shoulder so she wouldn’t see the grin that would clearly give away your lie.
A tired Bruce took you out of his other daughter's arms, sparing you a small smile, “Hey, sweetie.”
You giggled once again, putting your hands on either side of your fathers face, “Hi, daddy.”
He took you and sat you down in the seat between him and Damian, who gave you a single nod of acknowledgement.
You began happily munching on some cookies and cake, watching all of your siblings chat and laugh all around you.
Duke looked down at the cookie in his hand, “So if no one gets injured during patrols, Alfred makes pastries? That’s the deal?”
You nodded along, not really knowing what he was talking about, but you got treats out of the deal so you didn’t really care.
“Yeah.” Cass laughed as she watched you try to look like you knew what you were talking about, “His cookies have won awards. That’s our trad-“
She cut herself off, eyes widening for a brief second before narrowing to slits.
Everybody else at the table seemed to halt as well- minus you, who was happily babbling to your father about who knows what, and Bruce who was just nodding along while glancing over his newspaper.
Their eyes all widened or narrowed, zooming in on the final cookie on the table.
“The last cookie…” Cass said dramatically, death glaring at all of her siblings as if to tell them not to get any ideas.
Then the room exploded into chaos.
Within seconds, your siblings were all out of their chairs, pushing and shoving each other out of the way in order to get to the precious cookie first.
Kicks were being thrown, curses were being yelled, threats were being made. In other words, it was just a typical night in the Wayne household.
You just kept babbling on to your father happily as he just slipped his coffee, covering your ears with his hands every once and a while when someone- definitely not Jason- would say something particularly bad.
“-And this is why I am the superior Robin. None of you are equal-“
You let out a loud laugh as Jason tackled your youngest older brother to the floor in hopes of getting the cookie, putting your hands over your mouth in amusement.
He began running away and had to stop himself from saying something that your young ears probably shouldn’t hear yet, instead settling on taunting his siblings with, “Suckers!”
Damian was quick to get payback though, jumping on top of his older brother while Tim grabbed his feet, sending the man flying towards the floor, who let out a curse as the dessert was sent soaring across the room.
Your eyes widened as you watched it land right on top of your fathers coffee mug, and your head snapped over to all your siblings to watch their reactions.
Time was frozen for a moment as everyone just stared at each other, before your father smirked, kissing the top of your head as he stood up and got into a defensive stance.
“Bring it.” He said cockily.
They all grinned and attacked your father all at once, you being his number one supporter and cheerleader.
“Go, daddy! Get the cookie! Don’t let them have it! Go, daddy, go!” You cheered from your spot at the table, picking up your fathers discarded coffee mug and bringing it to your lips.
You made a face immediately at the bitter taste that seemed to burn your mouth and put it down quickly.
“Coffee’s for grown ups, Y/n!” Bruce called as he blocked all his attacks with ease, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
“Yeah,” Jason continued, trying to punch his adopted father in the throat, “Don’t want to end up like Timmy!”
Said boy let out an offended noise as he tried to smack the cookie out of Bruce’s hand.
Just then, Cass came out of nowhere and kicked his hand successfully, sending the cookie once again flying through the room, landing in none other than Alfred’s hand.
“Ahem.” He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, “None the worse for wear, I see.”
You had no idea what he said, but you laughed loudly anyway.
He walked over to your chair, smiling down at you as he handed you the cookie, patting your head before looking up at the family, “Welcome home.”
You laughed loudly again, biting into the cookie, “I won! I got the cookie!”
It was then your family’s turn to laugh.
The Superior Robin ❤️- @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker
#platonic#platonic imagine#x reader#wayne family adventures#batman wfa#wfa#bruce wayne x daughter!reader#bruce wayne#jason todd x sister reader#jason todd#tim drake#tim drake x sister!reader#damain wayne x sister reader#damian wayne#duke thomas#Duke Thomas x sister reader#cassandra cain#Cassandra Cain x sister reader#child reader#toddler reader#dc x reader#dc#dc comics#webtoon#red robin#red hood#batman#batsis!reader#batfam x batsis#batboys x batsis
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The Future of Jikook
After watching the video and GMA soundcheck performance on Friday and then seeing all the contradictory reactions on line to the song and its reception, I have been quietly mulling things over here in my little corner of the internet.
There are so many fan feelings conflating here. Those who want JK to turn into the BTS Harry Styles, those who are still smarting over the way changes to BB affected the trajectory of FACE, those who feel that the breakout of one member is a threat to ever seeing BTS as a band again. It makes for a tense, emotional and chaotic time on-line especially on Twitter where people tend to have a knee jerk reaction to anything that is said and nuance is completely lost.
Look into yourself and I am sure you will find a whole load of contradictory emotions lapping at your consciousness right now. What I have found myself thinking however, is how does all this noise affect the members and in particular Jimin and Jungkook?
Making Choices
One question that came to mind was why did Jungkook pick this song for his solo debut. What is it that he likes about it and how does that differ from the way SB sees or is marketing the song. During Festa 2023 I commented on the transformation that JK has been through since last year. He has made a conscious effort to shake off the maknae part of the golden maknae starting with his deal with Calvin Klein and all the swooning I am seeing on Tumblr shows that he has succeeded. As Yoongi said, JK is all grown up.
Then I was thinking about JK's musical choices, who and what he listens to and I remembered earlier this year he sang the Sam Smith and Kim Petras hit Unholy on one of his lives. If you also recall he later scolded Jimin for being prudish about the song on his own live.
Twitter Link
JK was obviously ready to move into more explicit territory even then. So what about Seven made him think this is the song that launches me as the new and more mature JK.
I think for one thing, the lyrics are sensual and not gender specific. I am in the "loving you right" lyric camp because it gives a more mutual gratification feel to the song in keeping with the other lyrics as opposed to the macho stud, I'm a sex machine, version.
Jungkook wants to ease his lover's mind, he want to trace their lines, he loves how they wrap around him when they make love, he is devoted, his love runs deep and when they are together he wants to make sure his lover is satisfied and feeling that afterglow.
So yes JK is going to be talking about sex from now on along with almost everyone else in the Western music industry. Along with Jimin for example. As a side note, I still don't quite understand my overwhelmingly visceral reaction to the Like Crazy MV. It's f**king art and so is he.
Now SB and his cronies know the audience they are playing to and we will get symbolically het videos both for this and what is rumoured to be his completely English speaking solo album but even this video, which to be honest I have dumped in favour of the live performance and the choreo video, went for humour rather than full out fangirl wish fulfillment. I mean that may also come but I get the feeling that somewhere down the line they are going to need to pivot hard.
What do jikook want?
Secondly, I was thinking what do jikook want both severally and individually. All the members have an enviable work ethic and a deep love of music but the emphasis that these two and JHope put on performance is legendary. Look at Jimin here monitoring between shoots for his music shows in the behind the scenes video this week. He is serious about giving his best even when he himself is not in the best physical condition.
They are both ambitious and are looking for longevity in the industry and importantly, and prefacing this with an, in my opinion, this is something they want to do together. Neither wants the other to get left behind and I think that is what they are fighting for right now.
Whatever you think about their bond, it cannot be dismissed and the sequence of events of the last few weeks for me just reinforces that. Everyone noticed the way their relationship was highlighted in the Beyond the Story book (just started my copy yesterday but I couldn't resist the spoilers last week) to the extent that Variety went on a fishing expedition which JK expertly deflected.
Jimin is in New York right now and Jikook were seen dining together the night he arrived. We don't know what Jimin's schedule is but we can assume that he will take advantage of the visit to also support Jungkook as he has done with the other members when his schedule allowed. Jungkook is important to Jimin and vice versa.
Has everyone already forgotten the amount of promo that JK has done for Jimin over the last few months. Here he is listening to JKIVE's Golden Hour who we later found out was collaborating with Jimin on Angel Parts I and II.
So this is the perspective that I am going to adopt from here on in when I react to content. I am going to ask myself does my reaction help or hinder jikook in being able to continue working together towards their aim of further success in the music industry. I will veto anything designed to drive a wedge between them, be that from the company or the fans and I will continue to work hard for them in the way that a fan can buying, streaming and supporting their music and their content. There is even word on the grapevine that there maybe some jikook collaboration and/or content on the way. I'll be watching out for that.
Wow quick update something is definitely coming.
Post Date: 16/07/2023
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First Ninja can easily defeat Chase during Heylin Eclipse. If he finds out about this phenomenon, will he take advantage of the opportunity?
Well, perhaps not easily, but his chances of winning certainly rocket from 15-25% to like, 75-85%!
The thing is, we do not know many details about Heylin Eclipse, the only sure thing is that Chase seems to be unable to use magic freely (but he still can participate in showdowns and use Wu, which imo require some?? sort of minimal magical capacity) and transform into his dragon/lizard form. It also seems that the same magic usually assists Chase in being/reacting faster, since he is easily caught by Wuya (but she is also weakened?? so). Does it just takes away that buff he acquired since becoming Heylin or is the Eclipse actively nerfing him (making him sluggish)?
However, just as Chase himself said, despite lack/suppression of Heylin magic, he is not helpless - he has strategy and experience on his side and not to mention probably 100 tricks up his sleeve AND its one of the rare instances his motto of 'using Wu as a crutch' is nowhere to be seen, because he literally had Serpent's Tail hidden in his gauntlet! (talk about aces in sleeves huh!)
(I kind of wish there was a bit more of that smart and experienced Chase in the episode, instead of what happened.)
So that's mostly the reason why I think First won't get a win too easily. But of course the main question is would he even use that opportunity? TBH I don't think he will go out of his way to do it.
(kinda radnom babbling on under cut, u can ignore it, the point of anwer was said xD)
In my mind, after First VS Chase event, First is too busy doing his stuff to actively worry about Chase. I mean, this guy still has a Sorcerer locked under his town attracting/causing chaos and monsters, and a Ninjanomicon to write and to prepare the future generations to keep Sorcerer locked and Norrisville safe, and probably other dozen things he has to worry about (and unlike Chase, First got only this mortal life and time to deal with it all, lol).
And while, sure, while Chase is a menace and a threat to any capable warrior, Chase also has been around for so long: he has clearly established his place in Hierarchy of Dark forces loooooong before Ninja came around. And yet while participating in wars and causing trouble, he is yet to be the supreme overlord of the world or whatever, so?? Chase kinda leads an existence of eternal evil final boss, doing his evil things and what not. Mostly he is too busy collecting cool warriors, like pokemons or trader cards or whatever.
I feel like in some sense First would understand the whole 'letting evil exist for the sake of the world balance' thing. Because like the XS last episodes established - Chase's existence is a sort of necessary evil that keeps balance from being upset too much on either side. Selfish and Cruel enough to be evil, but also Reasonable and Honorable enough to be sorta neutral good...-ish? I guess the right alignment would Lawful Evil? Though it doesnt really fit completely right, but it somewhere in that ballpark.
(On a side note, IMO about the Sorcerer - he is pretty much clear is not necessarily just Evil, he is more of Chaotic Evil. And Chaos is sort of also neutral, in a sense?? I mean Sorcerer was running around turning people into monsters, causing havoc across continents to gain power to... I dunno, be unstoppable? Cause more chaos and pain? Destroy everything?? Perhaps his goal was to make the World be like Chaos Realm/Land of Shadows? Who knows??? His motivation is as mysterious as his defeat in the finale, lol. But his deal feels more like those World-ending Spiders That Eat from XS, because it seems to me, he basically just gained more power for sake of more Chaos, not like... rule the world or something.)
Also while Chase is bugging First, he is kinda... not actively doing world-ending evil stuff to First's knowledge?
It's like... bothering First is distracting him from doing other evil stuff (he still probably has some schemes going on, but like in the background, not related to First), so First is like 'I could waste energy and effort to put an end to his reign of terror...but i guess i can let him bother me if it stops him from actively doing evil, just for a bit ' (but Chase is certainly doing evil, just nowhere First can see lol).
But, let's suppose First does figure out about Heylin Eclipse. For it to be of any use to First, it has to happen soon and in his lifetime, when he is still physically capable to take on Chase. He also got to plan out how he would defeat Chase (kill or capture him, how to do it and etc.). AND he also got to plan it around his duties to Norrisville. So like, if by incredible stroke of luck, all of it aligns? First might attempt it and most likely win!
But i feel if, it would take much longer (like say 30+ years) for Eclipse to arrive, First would not prioritize capturing Chase over his duties in Norrisville. This dude already wasted most of his life to defeat the Sorcerer (and like a bajillion creatures and monsters to do it), AND he is gonna waste his afterlife to keep him locked up too, just let the poor man rest! xD
(There is now an image in my head of First looking at Chase and going 'Not My Problem' and just peacing out of there.)
So, yeah, while I'm sure First can defeat Chase during Heylin Eclipse, Im not so sure he would actively dedicate himself to doing it.
On ANOTHER, much more shippy note (that u can ignore if its not ur thing), there is something very delicious in the idea that First, knowing such a blatant weakness of Chase's, and just doesn't do anything about it. Perhaps it's because, in some way, First prefers to fight Chase in full power, a much honorable battle no matter if it ends in defeat or victory. Or because it feels like such underhanded tactic of striking when his opponent is at their weakest. Maybe it feels this way because, they are enemies in name only because of their moral alignments, not because either of them actually hate each other (that much lol).
Ooooo just imagine, First and Chase confrontation during Eclipse, Chase fully expecting First to take the opportunity (because its what he will do), but First does the unexpected, and instead of ending the fight, he steps back and that stops Chase on his tracks. And somehow they end up waiting out the Eclipse together, First keeping an eye out for his weakened enemy, while Chase, despite all his previous flirting and needling, is geniuenly baffled by First's behaviour. He really did expect First to take the chance, after all the annoyance and bothering, and just generally First being exasparated with him. But here they are, with Chase at his weakest and First watching his back.... Trully strange.
*eyebrow wiggle*
but thats just silly shippy thoughts haha. I do feel like First will 100% use that opportunity to whoop Chase's ass just to vent all the frustrations about the trouble and annoyances Chase caused.
anyway ye sorry for rambling ;D
#que?#ninja showdown#my immortal soul#lsorry if ur ask was gen anon i made it a lil bit gay in the end lol#i want so badly to write out some of my ns/mis ideas im GONNA EXPLODe its becoming not enough just to write down my unhinged notes for art#<- previous tag was there when i first drafted this ask. but honestly i started to write and yet it still makes we WANNA EXPLODE#i have too many ideas and not enough energy to write bros TToTT
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North Star Series
Chapter 45 - One More Week
Summary: George and Y/N impatiently await their "official" wedding day
Warnings: none
Start here:
~•~
Married life suited George. More than anything else, he knew he was born to be Y/N's husband. He woke up smiling every day, knowing it was another day by his wife's side.
"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley," he'd mummer before kissing his groggy wife awake.
His life was perfect.
Well, almost.
It'd been fun at first. Keeping the Big Secret. It felt almost like pulling a prank.
But now, a month later, the fun had worn off. He was tired of keeping his marriage quiet. He loved his wife, and she loved him. And wanted he the whole world to know it.
"I'm tired of it too," Y/N had agreed. "But we're almost to the finish line. Just one more week, and then we can both shout it from the rooftops."
"Shout it from the rooftops, eh?" A grin spread across his face. "I could cast an extra strong sonorous charm. That way, the entire city will know. Maybe we can do it early in the morning and startle all the Death Eaters awake."
"And probably quite a few muggles too." Y/N giggled, shaking her head. "Nothing quite like waking up to a disembodied voice booming its newlywed status all over London."
George shrugged. "Give'em something to talk about," he said, then bolted upright. "They might even put it on that muggle mystery show... what's it called? We watched it a couple of nights ago."
"Unsolved Mysteries?"
"That's the one!" He shouted out, nearly bowling her over the side of the bed. "We'd be famous!"
By now, Y/N had gone from giggling to full-on laughing. "I don't know about famous. But we'd definitely be... something."
"Yep, something to talk about," he grinned and leaned in for a kiss.
Their lips had barely touched when a familiar tapping sounded at their window. George leaned his forehead against Y/N's and chuckled. "Mum has the most impeccable timing."
~•~
Y/N paused in her dressing to take in the chaotic cuteness that was Artemis and Nyx. They fluttered around the room in a merry little chase, hooting and nipping at each other. "Why don't you two take it outside?" she chuckled, opening the window after they swooped too close to Madam Mim, startling her out of her morning nap.
"Aw, here you go, Mims, your favorite spot," George gently placed the disgruntled cat on his pillow. "And look, there's a nice sunbeam to keep you warm," he said, giving her a few pats before resuming getting dressed. "I just realized another reason I'll be glad to get through the ceremony," George continued, throwing on a sweater. "Mum won't be showing up at the butt-crack of dawn every morning to finalize the wedding plans. Like, how many times do we have to finalize them before they're finally finalized?"
"Well, we did change the location at the last minute," Y/N said, referring to their decision to have the wedding at a rental cottage in Scotland for the added safety and to hopefully prevent any inconvenient questions from her grandma about why Diagon Alley was boarded up and all but abandoned, knowing she would insist on visiting if they were close by. "And besides, we're getting free breakfast every morning."
"True," George acquiesced. "Still, I'll be glad when I can publicly call you my wife. Free breakfast or not."
"Me too, my love," she said, leaning over for a kiss, which was, for the second time, interrupted. This time, by Fred knocking on the door to announce Molly's arrival. "Wakey! Wakey! Out of the nest, my little lovebirds! Mum's here!" He garbled with a mouth obviously full of food.
George rolled his eyes. "Duty calls," he said, offering his arm. "Shall we, my dear?"
~•~
They entered the kitchen to find, as usual, a full breakfast spread across the table. "Help yourselves," Molly said, unrolling a long parchment with a seemingly endless list of ideas that she no doubt thought up the night before. "I've already eaten."
"Mum's making sure you get that big wedding whether you like it or not," Fred whispered.
"What was that?" Molly snapped, eyes narrowed at her oldest twin.
"I said," Fred cleared his throat and batted his eyes. "That you're making sure we get a big, hearty breakfast whether we like it or not."
"Oh, um, right. A good breakfast is important. Now eat up, dears," Molly stammered. "Anyway, as I was saying, these are just a few things I thought about last n-" Mrs. Weasley screeched to a halt mid-sentence, her now wide eyes glaring down at George and Y/N's hands. "What is this?!" She pointed. "Explain yourselves!"
The couple followed her fiery gaze downward to discover that in the chaos of the morning, they'd completely forgotten to hide their wedding rings.
If your name is crossed out, I'm unable to tag you.
~•~
@milivanili99 @slytherclaw1978 @quackitysdrugdealer @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @fancy-pantaloons @samberriejams @totalwitch2 @aslanvez @mrsgweasley @morally-grey-obsessed @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @junerprsh @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @planetkt @thankyouforanonymity @thatonepersonwhocantwrite @smallsweetvanillabean @themaraudersslut @hanne-montana @greenapplegrass @yoursarahg @marvelgirlstories @ceehance @whotfskai @moonatician @sierraluvzz @now-that-we-dontalk @LilliSummers
#george weasley#george weasley x reader#george weasley x y/n#george weasley x fem!reader#george weasley x you#hp fandom#hp universe#north star series
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"get me a damned matcha" | Chapter 5: October I
{{ Chapter 4: September | Chapter 6: November I }}
Chapter Directory
levi's stupidly observant for someone who pretends to be aloof all the time, js
if you're interested in getting tagged for updates, fill out this form here!
✧ pairing ➼ levi ackerman x fem!reader, college x coffee shop x roommates!au
✧ summary ➼ After you find yourself plagued with misfortune due to struggles in your personal and family life, you find yourself needing to move last minute. As a junior in undergrad with little money and little social support, you considered yourself lucky when you found a sublease that was close to campus and was relatively cheap. Unfortunately, it seemed that your roommate did not seem to be so excited regarding your presence.
✧ content/warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers (sorta), strangers to lovers, fem!reader, descriptions of reader being superficial (ITS PART OF THE BACKSTORY ILL EXPLAIN LATER ITS FINE), jean and eren being comedically competitive, the ex-boyfriend that was supposed to be porco that i renamed to zack, floche being gross, explicit descriptions of grief, substances/alcohol, college-typical parties
✧ word count ➼ ~4.8k
"Did you have to plan this on the day of the Rumbling?"
You shot an intentionally offensive side-eye towards Oluo. The two of you, plus the rest of the officers for your Honors Society, currently found yourselves at an arcade that was about a 10-15 minute walk from campus. It was the weekend after midterms, so you figured that it was the perfect time to host your first official social event.
However, your generally clueless vice president and social committee chair decided to conveniently book the event on the one night in which another major event that you were all planning on attending was occurring. You had initially said you would handle the booking and were pleasantly surprised when Oluo had offered to do it instead, only to be horrifically disappointed once you found out the date he chose.
This was why you never bothered asking the other officers to do anything—it always ended up like this. It was chaotic, disorganized, inconvenient, or all of the above.
The Rumbling was a rave at a nearby club on the outskirts of campus. They hosted a Halloween party every year, but had an age restriction of being 21-years old due to the open bar, which meant that this was the first year that you could attend without doing something shady to get a fake ID of some sort.
Literally all of the other officers were planning on going together, so you were more than pissed that Oluo had planned your social on this day. Not only did it disrupt your plans, but it also might give the freshmen a bad first impression. It wasn't much of a social support community if you were cutting them short and leaving them on their own at their very first formal event.
"I forgot!" Oluo exclaimed in defense, which earned an eye roll from you.
You looked over towards the entrance as you heard the door open and saw a few other students walk in. They weren't at your general meeting last month, so you didn't recognize them, except for one.
You smiled and waved at Marlo. You had never talked to him, but you've seen him behind the counter at the café before.
"Oh hey!" you said with a smile as Marlo walked up to you. "You're the freshman that works at Levi's café, right?"
"Sophomore," Marlo said awkwardly as he shuffled. "Just started, but yeah!"
After chatting a bit, it turns out that you and Marlo were both in an individualized track related to writing, although you were focused more on creative writing whereas he was focused more on grant-writing for criminal justice organizations. It was the same program, but completely different tracks.
Everyone had formed into their own little circles. Most had gathered around the dining table to chat while devouring the pizza you had ordered.
You looked up as you noticed a particularly rowdy group on the other side of the arcade.
It seemed that Eren and Jean were bickering with each other in front of a Dance Dance Revolution game, nearly having a yelling match over who was better at the game, while Mikasa was playing, clearly outscoring the both of them combined.
You were nervously checking the time periodically, wanting to end the event as late as possible without having to rush to get to the Rumbling later. After about an hour and a half, you began wrapping up, motioning for everyone to clean up before heading back to campus as a group.
Although the event had ended early, you were able to tell that the freshmen had a good time with how chatty they were on the way back to campus.
While that was good news, you still found yourself being restless, walking at a slightly faster pace than everyone and forcing yourself to slow down and wait occasionally. You were more than overstimulated by the time you finally dropped everyone off at the main hub on campus for them to each head to their individual dorms.
You watched them intensely as they all went into the building. By the time the door had shut, you were long gone, leaving the other officers confused.
They were supposed to accompany you to the party, but you found yourself much more stressed than they were, which resulted in you making a beeline for your apartment.
By the time you had arrived, you were out of breath and running purely on adrenaline. You entered through the front door and immediately ran for your room, without even taking a moment to notice if your aloof roommate was at home.
You frantically opened the door to your closet, your eyes scanning through all of your clothes.
It was silly, but the reason you were so stressed was because you weren't sure of what to wear to the Rumbling. It was a high-key Halloween party, so you felt obligated to wear a costume. There was nothing about a dress code and a good amount of people went in casual clothes, but you still felt the need to wear something that was obviously a Halloween costume.
Your eyes immediately fell onto a party dress that you had bought a few weeks ago that you had planned to be your default get-up whenever you went out. However, it'd be boring to wear such a plain thing to a Halloween party—and you definitely didn't want to seem boring.
After a few minutes of digging through your closet, you tensed as your eyes fell on a maid costume you had bought as a joke freshman year. You never intended to wear it as an actual costume—even now, a part of you resisted against it, wondering if you could find something else to wear.
You tapped your finger on the closet door, desperately trying to think of anything else to wear.
After a few minutes, you realized that you couldn't afford the time needed to labor over this decision. You immediately grabbed the maid outfit, groaning in exasperation.
~~~~~
The club was more than filled by the time that you arrived. Both you and Petra stepped inside after showing the bouncer your ID's. The music was stupidly loud, there was a DJ cheering everyone on at the very back, and fake smoke littered the air. A mix of students and locals were dancing on the dance floor, with some choosing to hang out around the local bar.
This wasn't your first party. You've definitely drank and partied before, but being 21 meant that you could officially drink now. It had a different feel to it. Some of the thrill that you used to get from illegally drinking had faded, but you felt that you were now able to enjoy it properly.
A few minutes passed before you noticed Oluo and Gunther also step in, with a tall gentlemen quickly following. You had never met him, but Gunther mentioned that he was friends with Eld and that he was bringing him along to catch up.
"You got changed fast!" Oluo said immediately, eyeing your maid costume.
You immediately punched his shoulder, feeling more than a little embarrassed that his first comment to you was related to your last-minute costume that you were already reluctant to wear.
"You think we'll see anyone we know?" Petra asked as she looked around.
"Probably," you said, walking past Oluo who was now rubbing his shoulder in pain. "It's a pretty big party."
The first half of the night was a blur for you. You remembered doing some shots while getting to know Eld, never mingling too far into the dance floor. The mosh pit-style get-up was just never your thing.
You were feeling a gentle buzz at this point and the sensation allowed you to let loose for a little while and forget all the bullshit you had to otherwise deal with.
However, that didn't last very long.
You felt your entire body freeze up with anxiety as your eyes fell onto your ex-boyfriend's figure on the dance floor.
Your relationship with Zack was not the best one. It wasn't anywhere near healthy, and the last time you saw him, you were having a yelling match and he kicked you out, which was what prompted your whole housing situation.
You saw him begin to turn in your direction and you immediately hid behind Eld's tall figure, thankful that you had noticed in time so that he didn't see you.
"What's up with you?" Eld asked, noticing your sudden change in behavior.
"N-Nothing!" you replied nervously, forcing a smile. "I'm going to grab a drink!"
You kept your head low as you quickly headed towards the bar, which was on the opposite side of the venue, immediately finding the most tucked-in corner seat that you could find and plopping down onto the barstool while burying your face in your hands.
After you took a few minutes to catch your breath, you gestured over to the bartender for a shot. Suddenly seeing Zack had sobered you up more than you would have liked it to and you definitely needed the numbing effect of more alcohol to forget his presence, although your night was already somewhat ruined.
Just what I needed. On the one night I decide to let myself let loose after the shitshow that was the first half of the semester and he's here.
You frowned as you glanced back towards the dance floor.
He can come out to a rave in the middle of the night, yet he couldn't find the time to drop off my shit?
You weren't surprised, but it still pissed you off.
Your view of the dance floor was immediately obscured as someone decided to sit next to you—a bit too close for comfort.
He was a scrawny dude roughly your age, with a cocky face and a questionable haircut that somewhat looked like a bird's nest. You couldn't tell if the haircut was purposeful or not. It looked ridiculous either way.
You've seen him around campus. He was a sophomore majoring in business, so you never had the chance—or desire—to interact with him.
"Name's Floche," he said with a tone of confidence that didn't really match his appearance. "Can I buy you a drink?"
You scoffed at him.
"Are you even old enough to be drinking?"
"I can be," he said with a shrug.
You grimaced for a split second at his answer, although it was barely noticeable—and especially not noticeable to someone like Floche. You quickly changed your expression to one of a forced smile.
"I'm okay, thanks! Already took a bunch of shots."
"Oh c'mon, let me treat you!" he responded, scooting a bit closer. "You're too pretty to be here alone, so let me keep you company."
Part of you had hoped when he sat down that he was just being friendly, but now you could no longer deny that he was being aggressively flirtatious. Normally, you wouldn't mind the random comments you'd get at parties. They were usually non-consequential, other than making you uncomfortable in the moment.
However, with your elevated anxiety due to suddenly seeing Zack, you really didn't have the emotional capacity to handle something like this at the moment. Any intention of humoring Floche with his cheesy and flirtatious commentary was nowhere to be found.
"Who said I'm alone?"
He needed to go away.
Instead, he scooted even closer to the point that you were starting to feel cramped as you scooted back towards the wall, cursing at yourself for choosing to sit in the corner.
"Well, you're over here on your own, without looking around for anyone you know."
He was getting way too close.
"Just let me buy you a drink! I promise you won't regret it."
"Mmm, I said no thanks," you responded sternly.
Floche responded by gesturing to the bartender.
You were not in the mood for this. You were beginning to get more than pissed, to the point that your people-pleaser façade began rapidly diminishing. You couldn't get yourself to continue masking.
You scowled at him.
"Dude, are you allergic to the word 'no'?"
"Don't worry," he said with a smirk. "I like it when you play hard-to-get!"
That did it. In that exact moment, you no longer gave a single shit about what others thought of you.
"What the fuck, I'm not-"
"Oi, fuck off, you lanky parasite."
You heard a familiar voice that brought you a heavy sense of relief—in contrast to how irritated it usually made you feel.
Floche looked over and made eye contact with Levi. He was about half a foot taller than your roommate, but Levi was much more intimidating than he was.
"What, are you her boyfriend or something?"
"Fuck no," you both responded at once.
You felt the corner of your lips tugging up subtly into a smirk in response to your simultaneous answer. At least you were on the same wavelength with Levi on something—a feat you never thought you'd achieve.
"See? I wasn't here alone?" you motioned towards Levi, hoping that this would be enough to get Floche to go away.
"So fuck off," Levi scolded, not giving Floche to make the decision himself. "Don't make me say it again."
After Floche finally left, Levi sat on the stool next to you. You glanced at him and noticed he wasn't in a costume of any sort, simply wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He couldn't possibly look any more plain.
"Fucking undergrads," he grumbled.
"What's with you and hating undergrads?"
You'd lost count of how many antagonistic comments he had made towards undergraduate students at this point.
"It seems I can't get rid of you even when I'm not at the café or apartment," he said, dodging the question. "How annoying."
You pursed your lips, giving him an unamused expression.
"You're the one that chose to sit next to me. You could be anywhere in this giant ass theater."
"That douche was harassing you," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he was astonished that you were even questioning him. "And there's too many fucking people in here."
He paused, his gaze moving from your eyes down to the rest of your body, finally noticing your outfit.
"Kinda ironic that you're in a maid costume when you're shit at cleaning at home."
You groaned and rolled your eyes. While you were embarrassed when Oluo commented on it, you felt your head ache in response to Levi's comment.
"I'm going to need at least three more shots if I'm going to be forced to talk to you," you grumbled as you gestured the bartender over.
You immediately downed the shot when you received it, grimacing a bit at the feeling of the alcohol traveling down your throat.
Your eyes went back into the crowd, scanning the crowded theater nervously. You were well hidden, but the fact that Zack was here still threw you off. This did not go unnoticed.
"What the hell are you doing here if you're truly not alone?" Levi asked, raising an eyebrow at you. "Doesn't seem like you to just be drinking in the corner."
"Don't act like you know shit about me or why I'm here," you immediately responded, barely giving him a chance to finish his sentence.
You realized that you responded much more defensively and sternly than you had intended. His question had struck a nerve and your anxiety plus the alcohol made it harder to regulate around him.
You took another shot as he looked at you in his usual unamused fashion, but didn't inquire further.
"What are you doing here?" you asked, deflecting from his question. "This is the last place I thought I'd see you at."
"'Don't act like you know shit about me'," he muttered, repeating your phrase word-for-word, earning a scowl and a groan of frustration from you.
You told yourself it was the lighting or the alcohol playing tricks on you, but swore you saw an ever-so-subtle smirk appear on his face that was gone within the second.
Levi glanced into the crowd and motioned over towards the opposite corner of the bar. You looked over and saw two people conversing. You vaguely recognized Hange, who was rapidly chatting away with a tall blonde gentleman that you had never seen before.
"Friend's in town," Levi mentioned. "He's actually the roommate you replaced."
You glanced at Miche again. Although the two of you were in contact to get the sublease set up, you had never physically seen him before.
"I'm kinda pissed at him for moving out because now I have you to deal with," Levi grumbled.
You stuck your tongue out at Levi, which earned you a grimace in response from Levi.
His eyebrows immediately scrunched together as he saw your eyes slightly widen before your entire body tensed up again.
Your eyes followed Zack's figure as he walked by again. Once you were able to confirm that he hadn't noticed your presence, you finally let out a breath that you weren't aware you were holding in.
Your anxiety was acting up again and you felt like you couldn't stand being in that theater any longer. It was as if you were suffocating on the spot.
"I'm getting out of here," you mumbled as you took the third shot, immediately getting up.
"On your own?" Levi asked, turning in your direction as you began to walk off. "You're not seriously thinking of driving, are you?"
You stopped in your tracks and scoffed at him.
"Of course not. I'm walking, dumbass."
"It's a 45-minute walk at least, dumbass."
"Well, I have plenty of time," you retorted as you began to walk away again.
"Tch. I'll just drive you, you stubborn brat," Levi said in exasperation as he dug his keys out of his pocket.
He glanced up as you gave him a skeptical look, questioning his ability to drive.
"I'm sober contact anyway. Just let me grab Hange and Miche."
He got up and walked past you to summon the two of them over, indicating that he was leaving.
"Any excuse to leave this place."
~~~~~
You felt like you could finally breathe again once you got home. Not only were you able to dull down the anxiety that had been itching at you ever since you saw Zack at the party, but you were also able to finally take off that incredibly uncomfortable maid costume, regretting ever putting it on in the first place. You immediately changed into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, which was the complete opposite of the costume you had been wearing earlier in the night.
By the time you came out of your room, Levi noticed that you had looked much more relaxed than usual. It was that stark contrast that he noticed every day. The person he knew at home versus the person you presented yourself as in public were two very different people.
Despite both Hange and Miche hanging out at the apartment, you were more than fine being in your casual home clothes. It was likely due to the alcohol and heightened anxiety from the party making you exhausted enough to just not be bothered to give a shit once you actually got home.
You typed a quick text message to Petra letting her know that you got home safe before tossing your phone onto the couch and sitting down on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table in your living room. You didn't want to think about that party for the rest of the night.
The company helped keep you distracted. Miche sat on the couch while you, Levi, and Hange surrounded the coffee table. You were sipping on a beer as you chatted with Miche about having Levi as a roommate.
"Was he as annoying when he was living with you?"
A smug grin appeared on your face as you noticed Levi scowling at you.
"He had his quirks for sure," Miche responded with a shrug.
"So he's just a dick. Got it."
Levi's scowl grew more intense as he glared daggers into your skull.
"A dick that cares," Hange chimed in.
The scowl on Levi's face turned into an unamused frown as he looked over at Hange, wondering exactly what was going on through their head at all hours of the day to prompt them to say such things.
"Ha," you forced a dry chuckle as you sipped on your beer some more. "What an oxymoron."
The four of you spent the next 45 minutes or so just chatting. Miche and Levi were catching up. Hange was asking you about your studies. Hange and Miche bonded over what it felt like to be free from the constraints of University.
You and Levi avoided talking directly to each other, but this wasn't new—and from the lack of surprised looks from Miche or Hange, this wasn't news to them either. He had talked to them about you.
All horrible things, I bet.
A frown appeared on your face as you began to ruminate over what it was that Levi could have been saying about you behind your back. You couldn't stand him and couldn't really care less what he thought of you, but the possibility of him spouting that nonsense to others made your stomach churn.
"So what made you need the sudden move?" Miche asked, pulling you out of your head. "I had basically given up on finding a sublease when you showed up."
You looked up towards the ceiling, trying to figure out the best way to describe your situation in a way that wouldn't upset you or require further explanation that you weren't prepared to give.
"...Shitty ex kicked me out."
The look on Levi's face went from an intense scowl to a subtle frown as you spoke. He was more than prepared to spit out a snarky response at whatever excuse you came up with to justify upending his life, but he found himself staying quiet once you started talking. He hadn't bothered to ask (or care) about your housing situation prior to living with him, so he didn't know any of this either.
"Didn't really have anywhere to go."
As long as you left it at that, you could continue this conversation without getting too upset and be able to ride out the rest of the night.
"No family?" Hange asked.
It was an innocent and normal question. Most people would first go to their parents—or whoever took care of them growing up—for refuge in those situations, and especially for undergraduate students, who could just wait until August for leases to start renewing.
You fell silent. An unreadable expression appeared on your face and in your eyes as you lowered your gaze to the ground. You were emotionally exhausted and still buzzed from the alcohol. Masking was out of the question.
"Sorry," Hange spoke after a few seconds, knowing that they had brought up a sore topic.
The atmosphere was thick with tension and you felt yourself grow increasingly tense. You felt like everyone's eyes were on you, even if they physically weren't.
Family—who would you consider family? There wasn't anyone real that came to mind, other than your aunt, who was likely the least supportive person on the planet.
"Shitty aunt that was out of the country. That's about it," you said shortly, clearly indicating that you didn't want to continue the topic.
It was already too late. The conversation had already brought up all the grief you had buried deep within you. You felt like saying a single word more about it would make your whole personality come crumbling down into a sobbing mess.
"I'm getting another drink," you mumbled.
You were too enclosed within your own mind to notice, but Levi's gaze had been focused on you ever since he saw your reaction to Hange's question. He saw the way that you tensed and emotionally withdrew. He could tell that it was a painful topic to talk about—and likely, fresh. Your pain was either fresh or repressed to the point of agony.
He wasn't a stranger to that pain.
He subtly watched you as you stood up and made your way into the kitchen to pour yourself another drink, your expression remaining stagnant—but Levi could tell by the way you moved or even the slight way that you scrunched your eyes that you were deeply disturbed by the conversation.
For the first time since he first set eyes on you, he saw you as someone other than just a spoiled brat.
Maybe he was wrong about you.
~~~~~
Your head was pounding. You couldn't tell if it's from the hangover or the lack of sleep—and you couldn't tell if the lack of sleep was from the alcohol, the mention of your parents, or both. You had been chugging water ever since you woke up, but it was doing little to help.
You squinted and groaned in pain as you arrived at your obnoxiously bright classroom. Holding your hand up to your forehead to shield your eyes from the assault of the bright lights, you slowly made your way over to the table that Oluo and Petra sat at, immediately burying your face into your arms once you finally got to sit down.
"Rough night?" Petra asked.
"You could say that," you responded quietly, your voice muffled as you continued to hide between your arms.
Just being upset was one thing. Just being drunk was one thing—you never could sleep well after drinking, anyway—but Hange's question brought up bad memories. Those memories frequently translated into nightmares. You couldn't sleep no matter how hard you tried.
You couldn't get your parents' death out of your head.
Ever since their passing, it was literally just you and your aunt. She became your main source of support, but you couldn't realistically count it as support. Although you were hesitant to admit it, you knew that she was a pretty shitty person, and generally drained you more than she was able to help you.
You were well aware of your people-pleasing tendency, or your inability to really stand up for yourself or voice your opinions in certain situations, and you knew where that came from. Your aunt constantly made comments along the lines of having to "save face" in front of others, and that social relations made or break whether someone could be successful in their lives and that you should prioritize getting along with others, even if it was at the expense of your own autonomy.
You knew it was bullshit deep down. You knew she was projecting her inability to hold anyone in her life onto you, but she had made those comments ever since you were young. Your parents did try to passively shield you from it, but then the comments came in full force once your parents passed, leaving you completely vulnerable to those thought processes. It was going to take a lot of time and effort to break that chain of thinking, but that involved energy that you just didn't have right now.
Your breakup with Zack plus Hange's question from the night before were rude reminders that you really didn't have anyone else. You didn't have anyone that you could really call your family.
"Magath is out today, isn't he?" Oluo mused out loud.
"Partied too hard?" you joked dryly, trying to distract yourself.
You turned towards the classroom door when you heard footsteps approaching. The door opened and a tall blonde man with a beard and round glasses walked in. You remembered him as the neighbor that helped direct you to Levi's café on your first day at the apartment. Apparently, he was the substitute TA for the lecture today.
His voice, and therefore his lecture, was difficult to focus on, although you couldn't tell if it was because you weren't used to him or if it was due to the hangover. You felt yourself nodding off throughout the lecture, which you didn't fight, although your dozing never lasted for long.
It was either fall asleep in class and miss the content from a substitute TA or force yourself to stay awake and deal with the chaotic thoughts mixed with grief, anxiety, and anger that were running through your mind—and miss the course content anyway because you wouldn't be able to focus.
You were quickly regretting even coming to class, but staying at home wouldn't have been much better. You'd be trapped with your thoughts regardless—your thoughts of losing your parents and being left to navigate a harsh world all on your own, without a single stable source of support.
#: @levisbrat25 @gothgril69 @sckerman @berrijam @notgoodforlife @meowjaa @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @bejewelledd @hhighkey @ayame236 @sad-darksoul @velouria17 @kamyru @l1zk4 @layenacreates @lamees004 @whoami-72 @highgoon69 @chaotic-on-main
#tw: alcohol#tw alcohol#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackermann x reader#levi heichou x reader#captain levi x reader#levi#levi ackermann#levi ackerman#levi heichou#captain levi#modern!au levi#coffeeshop!au levi#college!au levi#attack on titan#aot#shingeki no kyojin#snk#fics: matcha
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ATLAS PARADOX RAMBLING
dude this book. i need to talk. about it. im going insane.
everyone who hasn't read it, PLEASE DO!!! it's a dark academia book about a bunch of gay silly magic people that join a society and try to kill each other. there's time travel, a big ass polycule, aesthetic scenes, the prettiest writing style in the world, science, philosophy, and fucked family. (opposite of found family).
(extremely chaotic unorganized long rant below, with spoilers. click at your own risk)
FIRST OF ALL WHY WAS THIS SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE FIRST ONE?!!?!?
i had to power through the first one, it felt long, and unnecessary and like trekking through a JUNGLE with the thickest and most intricate ecosystem that i had to peel back and unravel for hours and hours. only to like move the plot by an inch.
BUT THIS. olivie blake found her footing because this was so good. i am aware the reviews hate on this book and some people don't like it, but personally i adore it and it's really well written.
CHARACTERS
bro they all had such wonderful voices, like they were distinct and unique from each other but not drastically, noticeably different I NEED TO LEARN FROM THIS. six of crows and the atlas six do multi povs so well <3 its like this book was made for me, each character was perfect and incredible and gay and silly and-
reina. love of my life. i look forward to all her povs because the plants are so silly and she's the best character. i said it. she's canon asexual now too YEES. i needed more of her because she was barely in the first one, and they DELIVERED. the juicy plot with her 'god complex' (ily callum) and her feelings getting hurt and learning she actually is lonely and wants friends? she's so wanda maximoff. next book better have her opening up and learning to love people or i riot (and also her killing people and being the badass she is)
parisa always my fave too, i do wish her character wasn't always talking about sex or romance, there were some great moments in this book where she showed off her telepathy powers (the prince in the tower!!) it was awesome. i'm glad they acknowledged that side of her with reina, (oh my god i ship them so much wait till i rant about them-) but dude i still HATE DALTON. SO MUCH. OH MY GOD. every time it's her pov i dread seeing dalton, i wish she could give that up. generic white men should die.
CALLUM. whatever turned him from complex, daunting, and a psychopath last book to janus from sanders sides this book- beautiful choice. he's literally the one sassy wine-sipping gay aunt that feels nothing and everything at once, also extremely mentally ill and depressed. he's SO FUNNY. his povs are fucking hilarious to read, and he quickly became one of my faves bc of how complex he is. i'm not smart enough to decipher and psychoanalyze him but god i LOVE CHARACTERS LIKE THIS.
i don't know what happened but nico is literally one of my faves now too, he's so silly and sweet and kind and i loved his relationships with everyone this book. like him trying to murder tristan in multiple different ways oml. he's my bbg. tristan was hit or miss for me, i did find him interesting but he's not my favourite. doesn't mean i hate him, he's so very british, i feel it radiating off the page. libby my queen my icon, her dream povs were so trippy i loved it- so so realistic to a real dream, that was the most surprising and unique part. also my bisexual queen seducing belen??
i did not like ezra and atlas was a little iffy here and there but tbh the cast was so well rounded and interesting and unique but paralleled each other so well?? THE RELATIONSHIPS. I DONT THINK ANY BOOK HAS THIS INTRICATE WEB-LIKE RELATIONSHIPS WITH EACH OTHER. they're one big polycule.
RELATIONSHIPS
nico and libby <3 i love them so much as siblings/queerplatonic partners. i don't ship them romantically, because i LOVE how they subverted the eye-rolling predictable ' YA academic rivals enemies to lovers' trope. when i started TAS, i immediately thought they were gonna get together and assumed the worst. but no, they still had the banter and importance in their relationship but without the romance? instead both of them were gay af. it's beautiful. i love subverting tropes so much. they're each other's 'other half' and they're hilarious together.
NICO AND TRISTAN. they were such a highlight this book, it was unexpected but so funny. nico trying to murder tristan and their little talks because 'they're not friends...just coworkers' yeah right, the best friendships start with creatively murdering each other. tristan being droll and chill af, and then nico bouncing off the walls my adhd king.
reina and nico broke me?? like that one chapter where they sparred and caught up with each other and reina was guarding her hurt feelings. DUDE THAT KILLED ME. made me stare at the ceiling for a good minute. their friendship is everything to me, they contrast each other so well. she deserves to be treated better- when they had that projection chapter and she saw that nico downplayed her skills...like she was good, but not good enough for him to care about her. AGGHGH.
REINA AND PARISA. NOW THIS. THIS HOOKED ME INTO THE BOOK. i ship them so bad guys. they parallel each other and are both hot and enemies to lovers and wlw slow burn and- look. reina is asexual, therefore the only person to truly see and understand parisa for who she is, and not be influenced by her body. like that one projection. she can help parisa understand HERSELF and who she is past her sexual desirability. how to love someone again. romantically. then, on the flip side, parisa can help reina see and understand OTHERS. reina only sees people as one trait, cut and dry- without any of the complex feelings. parisa is a telepath, she knows how to read others. THEY CAN BOTH HELP EACH OTHER AND LOVE EACH OTHER IN WAYS THEY NEVER COULD HAVE OMFDADJFLSKJADFL- also reina pinned her against a wall and they want to kill each other and every time they interact i scream into my pillow-
-
'You can't love anyone right?"
"I've met very few people worth loving."
-
*throws myself off a building*
now we just gotta play the familiar game "IS IT DELUSION OR IS IT JUST SLOW BURN" and find out whether their insane chemistry pays off in book 3.
the nico parisa scene was actually sweet ngl, even though i don't ship them. the whole callum and tristan thing was so bitter exes situationship coded and i ate every second up. especially that last conversation. AND OFC. GIDEON AND NICO?!!! AAAAA THEY WERE SO CUTE THEY'RE ENDGAME I SCREAMED WHEN THEY KISSED DUDE THEYRE SO-
PLOT
now for the actual plot. this book has so many interesting subjects and philosophies and debates i'm not smart enough for this. but past all the aesthetic glamour, it's science, time travel, dreams, multiverses, fate, reality, and the complexities of the human mind. and my god it's fascinating as fuck.
do i have any idea what they do in this society?? NO. am i entertained? YES. especially that whole explosion paradox to bring libby back to the future. the whole powering the connections via aurora borealis? the whole debate about being gods? i love it. i love it.
alright im so sorry for that rant, i gotta go now but DUDE I LOVE THIS BOOK NO MATTER HOW WEIRD IT WAS
#the atlas six#the atlas paradox#fandom rant#long post#jesus HOW MANY WORDS WAS THIS#this was long#parisa kamali#libby rhodes#nico de varona#reina mori#tristain caine#atlas blakely#callum nova#nicogideon#reina x parisa#tas#my faves#mine
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konmari cleaning headcanons 彡 levi ackerman
» old request ⋆ “Hi Suki, hope you're alright 🙂 As the famous cleaning freak he is, Levi decides to try this kondo marie method of folding clothes & sorting stuff. What does he think of it ? Does he tell Hange about it to tidy up her mess ? Kiss 🥰”
thank you for this request a while back, @youre-ackermine! i touched up on these a bit since the last time i wrote them.
» what is the kondo marie (konmari) method? ⋆ a simple but effective declutter method that inspires a clean and tidy home.
» word count ⋆ 960
Short answer:
Levi’s doubtful about Konmari but he grows fond of it over the course he practices this method. When it comes to the benefit of his home, he’s a guy who likes to try new things after further research about it. Buying this book and listening to her stories was probably one of the best choices he believes he made.
He approves by mixing his methods with Konmari’s, and his house and storage are breathtaking. It even impacts him as a person. He starts to reconsider what he wants to buy, versus, what he needs to buy (as if he doesn’t do that already, but a reminder doesn’t hurt). He knows there’s nothing wrong with spoiling himself once in a while, but he keeps himself in check this way.
100%, he passes this information down to Hange—hell, he’ll buy them the book to study it or urge Moblit to watch the show with them. He’ll be on Erwin’s ass about not spacing his shoes evenly, or giving Isabel a talk about her chaotic wardrobe full of clothing that he thinks is a waste of money. He encourages anyone who he deems to be messy—or even the cleanest, for that matter—to use this method.
Long answer:
I think Levi likes to stick to a routine once he’s found one that works, but one day he overhears a conversation in Ikea (no idea why this is the setting, it just fits him) about this woman who has “perfected” the ideal of tidying. so… he ends up liking the idea of letting go of items and belongings that no longer “spark joy.”
When it comes to valued items, he has a harder time letting them go and frees more storage to keep them. He just strikes me as a not-so-obvious sentimental guy with his loved ones. But that doesn’t mean he holds onto papers from middle school just because his teacher once complimented him in front of the whole class for it. You know what I mean?
He’s already a color-oriented person in the closet, but it grows more on him to be a bit more precise. I can see his closet is sorted like… all dark variations on the left side, and all light variations on the right side but it’s not a satisfying ombre. using the method just adjusts his placement of tones more (e.g. putting all whites before grey instead of mixing them… so, an ombre).
I don’t imagine Levi having too much colorful clothing in his closet, to begin with (it’s mostly solids—monochromes, neutrals, earth tones, dark tones). When it comes to designs (stripes, two-tones, etc), some colors overpower the others—more maroon than white, more green than black.
This is the one time Levi disagrees with the coding and finds it good enough clean enough to hang or neatly tuck away (to avoid spending too long with a single piece at a time). He still prefers to fold things by category, not really by color. shirts by shirts, sweaters by sweaters, shoes by shoes, etc. though he’ll pick the color that appears the most and go with that (e.g., a shirt with more grey than black, he’ll put it in the grey category). I hope this all made sense.
During the disposal of his clothes, Levi skips the “thanking his clothes for its service” step because he finds it childish (at least that’s what he says. no one will ever catch him quietly reminiscing over a pair of shoes that served him well but he just doesn’t wear it anymore).
He’ll most likely donate these clothes which are always kept in good condition. Still has a decent amount of clothes though, it’s not like he only has four sets minimum. I also think modern Levi has a cozy, minimalistic style but I know this is a different topic so I won’t get into that.
As for books and papers, Levi has no problem letting go of a book that he’s long finished. he’ll usually give them to Mikasa, Hange, or Erwin to read next. But if it’s a series he had thoroughly enjoyed or someone special had gifted him/recommended it, he won’t toss it out (more like he won’t donate it away). He’ll make sure not a single spec of dust will plague it. He’s already organized with his mail, lease, etc. but likes the “keep, short-term, indefinitely” piles for when he has too much to sort through.
While going through his miscellaneous items, it’s not a big deal for him because Levi doesn’t have a lot of decoration things in his house already. He has a good amount of plates and utensils for himself or when he does have guests over but that isn’t often. It’s usually up to four people at most.
He has one body wash, two bottles of soap for his hair, and a scrub in this shower. By his sink, there is one small bottle for hand wash but he does have a bigger bottle underneath for refilling.
he also has multiple storage containers from Ikea (or any other reliable furniture store) that he uses in his fridge, drawers, and cupboards. Pot and lid racks that match the wooden decor. Storage crates for his produce. Utensil storage set. Coasters and trays. These things aren’t just great on display. The way he uses them efficiently is nearly perfect.
He despises it when someone doesn’t put back an item where it belongs.
I just know he uses small trays for his soap/dish sponge and a candle on the top of the toilet in the bathroom. Maybe even for the dining table. Some sort of forest, rainfall essence throughout the house (not too heavy on the nose). He likes the clean lemon smell in the kitchen.
#aot#attack on titan#aot headcanons#levi ackerman#levi headcanons#levi ackerman headcanons#mywriting#youre-ackermine
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