#post: deeply complex modern au
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Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1
Summary: Growing pains don’t go away the moment you reach adulthood, instead it goes by a different name: Regret.
Word Count: 17.9k ( I have a problem, no I cannot fix it)
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Pianist!Reader, Aspiring musician!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic (look at the word count), Heavy Angst, Smut(r18+), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of memories from the past, Fluff, Second chance romance, TW: Character death (Alhaitham’s grandma), TW: Themes about regret and low self-confidence, Heavy adult themes, gifted kid burn-out, toxic family, unhappy childhood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Service top! Alhaitham, mutual pining? kinda, unrequited love? sorta, slightly obsessive!Alhaitham, Soft!Alhaitham, Alhaitham is not faultless his current views have been formed through trial and painful error.
Authors Note: This is very experimental. I almost didn’t want to post it, but I just believe even the most stoic person isn’t without their past mistakes and regrets. Alhaitham doesn’t understand most forms of art... but he does value music. Enjoy.
There was something off about this stanza, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. A cup of now room-temperature coffee was on your dining table, next to the sheets of music you were currently editing. Tapping the end of the pencil on your lip as you shut your eyelids. You played the notes on the paper in your head.
It was an early Saturday afternoon, so you still had plenty of time before you had to go to your gig. It was a ritual on Saturdays that you would edit and write your compositions. A peaceful way to transition out of your lowly officer worker identity, and into the pianist you were. The thought of spreadsheets would be slowly replaced by lines of musical notes.
At this moment there were no emails to be answered. No shallow dry small talk from nosy cubical neighbors. No long meetings in uncomfortable chairs about irrelevant projects.
Just the low hum of your refrigerator accompanying your experimental melodies. It was your time to embrace your aspirations that were contained to only two days every week, but it was worth all forty-eight hours.
The fingers on your free hand tapped against the chipped lacquer table, envisioning the keys of your keyboard currently stationed in the crowded living room. Your fingers stilled as your eyes fluttered open. You found the error, crossing out the D major scale and changing it to D minor instead. Yes, D minor fits the somber tone of this piece much better.
Excitement bubbled up inside you, that small tweak had finally solved that bothersome feeling that had been vexing you the whole week. Oh, you felt it, you were in the zone now, inspiration and motivation were just flowing undisrupted through you. Quickly gathering up the sheet music, you sauntered to your keyboard, sitting down on the cheap pull-out bench.
There was no reason to worry about a noise complaint when it was in the middle of the day, but to follow social etiquette you made sure to lower the volume on the keyboard to just barely above mute. It was time to put everything together, you put your hands into position eager to press down on the smooth keys to finally hear the composition you had worked so hard on-
“Be careful with that! My unfinished models are in that box! Don’t just slam it down!” A voice boomed from the hall outside your door.
The sudden disturbance cut off the flow within you, fingers hovering over the keys. Of course, asking for peace and quiet in this dust heap apartment complex was a luxury the residents couldn’t afford. You inhaled deeply as you straighten your back.
It’s fine, it sounds as if a new neighbor is just moving in. You were used to this, just continue forward.
“Oi! Could you not just dump everything into the entranceway? How am I supposed to get through?!” You could hear the shuffling of boxes.
“Most people would be grateful for the help. Especially, when the help-seeker is someone who has yet to pay five months' worth of rent.” A box was dropped onto the floor.
“I just told you to be careful! It’s fragile! And I was busy saving up to move, I’m sure me moving out is well worth the rent money.”
“Brilliant rebuttal. Is this the same explanation you give the bank when they call inquiring about your debt, Kaveh?”
“And this is why I cannot stand people like you!-”
Your fingers were pressing down with force on the keys, yet you couldn’t hear any melody over the theatrical bickering taking place in the hall. The inside of your cheek is currently being abused by the grating of your teeth. It appears that social etiquette is dead, killed by narrow-minded individual interests.
The two voices continued to bounce off the wall, more accurately it was mostly one thunderous voice followed by a deep tone dripping with sarcasm. Your ears weren’t even processing the words being thrown around, their focus all on the impending tinnitus developing.
You needed to bring a stop to this now, lest it develops into a regular performance. Your thighs pushed back the flimsy seat, lips deep in a frown. The flow was ruined.
Unlocking the deadbolt that detained the door, you looked straight ahead as the rusting hinges sang their chaos, ready to bring a stop to this public disturbance.
“Can you please keep your voices d-” Your sentence died at the tip of your tongue.
The sight in front of you stopped you dead between your doorway. The blond-haired man’s head snapped towards you, eyes slightly apologetic. However, his face wasn’t what you had set your sights on, no, it was the familiar face of the ashen-haired man. A face you haven’t seen for seven years, Alhaitham.
Those same disinterested teal eyes shifted their focus onto you, and it paralyzed every muscle.
The silence was deafening now, not a single inch was budged by anyone. Like a frozen snapshot in time. His gaze was heavy, it was suffocating so your eyes switched over to meet with rudy irises instead.
The blond man’s attention flickered back and forth between the two of you, taking note of how his companion’s eyes never left your frame. His lips pressed into an awkward line as his head slowly turned towards the boxes behind him, finally reading the room.
“I’m going to start tidying up.” The blond didn’t perceive the desperation sent his way by you as his figure disappeared behind a closed door.
Now it was just you and Alhaitham. Finally reunited after seven long years apart in a decrepit hallway. The gurgling of the aging pipes and shuffling of feet from floors above accompanied the scene. Your body was still frozen in the midst of emerging from your apartment, and his tall figure was still stationed right across the narrow hall.
What were the last words you said to him that day many years ago again?
“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.”
A hand hidden behind your back clenched into a fist as you recalled that embarrassing memory. Sharp words directed toward a younger version of the man in front of you. Words birthed from irrationality and wounded pride.
Now your brain had once again latched on to this core memory, you were certainly going to be kicking your blankets tonight. What a mortifying souvenir of the past.
The past anger and frustrations were all but lingering smoke in your hair, your heart couldn’t recall the heat of how they burned the bridge down. They say time heals, and it's true.
The years apart had gradually soothed over the tender wounds on your ego. With the pain subsided your brain was clear enough to review the moments that lead to that outburst, and it made you die internally.
Should you just apologize right now? To alleviate the creeping guilt traveling up your shoulder, and so your poor blanket won’t be kicked as hard tonight. Can a small apology really travel across the full length of the seven-year-wide rift that had formed? Your lips stayed firmly shut, there was your answer.
Alhaitham took a step towards you, instinctively your body shuffled three more steps away, widening the berth between your bodies. His movement paused, teal eyes peering down at you as you looked at the space behind his head. No words were said.
This awkward scene was very reminiscent of your introduction to the ashen-haired man many years ago.
–
Your parents, esteemed researchers working for a renowned corporation, had moved into a new neighborhood. The house was much larger than your old home, large enough to house a grand piano in the living room.
“It’s about time you start learning the piano.” Were the orders your parents had given you, sitting your six-year-old self at the intimidating instrument.
On the same day you were introduced to your new duty, you were also introduced to the neighbor’s kid. The only other kid on the block filled with prominent academic figures from the nation’s top university. A grey-haired boy was standing by the side of the older lady, while you clung to your father’s slacks. The boy’s bored teal-eyed stare made you advert your eyes to your pretty shoes.
“This is Alhaitham, he is the same age as you. Say hello.” The stern hands of your father broke your grasp on his slacks and pushed you towards the boy named ‘Alhaitham’.
“Alhaitham, won’t you greet our new neighbor?” The older woman’s wrinkled but kind eyes motioned to your nervous frame.
“Hello.” Greeted a flat voice.
Your tiny hand found its way back to your father’s slacks, grip wrinkling it even more. You were physically unable to utter a single noise. After what felt like an eternity of staring at your shiny sneakers, your father’s hand tug you away. The adults were now having a small conversation, mostly your parents apologizing for your shyness and the older professor laughing the matter off.
“There is no need to apologize, children are fickle sometimes. But I hope that she and Alhaitham will get along. You are always welcome to visit, little one.” Her eyes peered at your restless form. You liked her eyes, they were warm.
That night you sat through a long lecture from your parents about your rudeness toward the grandma. All you could do was bow your head, back perfectly straight on the plush new sofa. You were sent to bed with no dinner that night, told to think about how your actions would reflect upon your parents.
–
The invasive memory triggered by this sudden reunion left a bitter taste on your tongue. The taste that you’ve purposefully been fleeing from all these years. Now with his presence so burdensome, it was dragging your thoughts down deeper. You needed to put a stop to this before your head disappears under the water.
So just like all those years ago, you disappeared from teal eyes. Not uttering a single greeting as the resounding click of your door was heard.
Exiting the automated glass doors, you could finally relax your shoulders. The sun was hanging in the sky this Wednesday evening, you were grateful that you were actually able to clock off work on time.
Your eyes scanned the unfamiliar buildings that decorated the landscape, all large and reaching towards the sky, light bouncing off polished windows. You were free to explore.
Your job required you to attend a meeting about some closing of a deal between the two companies. Thus, the reason why you were currently in the midst of the upscale business district of Sumeru City. Opposing the rundown sector you called home, the sidewalks here were leveled and free of fissures. Many of the trendy shops that lined the streets beckoned you closer to their displays.
With one glance over the price tags attached to the chic items your body instantly turned away. Of course, the prices in the yuppie part of the city would be out of your budget.
Walking further down the road, you let yourself enjoy the warm breeze of Sumeru against your stuffy blouse and pencil skirt. Your skin has finally thawed out after being in that overly air-conditioned conference room. Turning onto a quieter side street you walked past the tantalizing smells wafting from the small cafes.
The gig from last Saturday compensated you quite handsomely. Perhaps you could splurge a little, a reward for yourself securing a returning performance later this month.
One particular cafe caught your interest, it was a combination of a bookstore and a coffee shop. The blackboard sign placed outside listed the daily specialties, and for once the prices of the drinks weren’t outrageous.
A small bell chimed above your head, welcoming you inside. After placing your order, you decided to peruse through the selection of novels the shop had on display.
Most of the titles were of the new best sellers or latest academic papers. Your fingers brushed across the smooth covers, observing the different arts and fonts. It seems that you’ve wonder quite a bit down the rows, somehow ending up in a section filled with the simple cover illustrations of children’s books. You were far too old to enjoy such books now.
Just as you turned on your heel to head back up the aisle, a brilliant verdant cover catches your eye. ‘Oh, so it’s still in print’, you thought. The Giving Tree, the title of the first book you ever learned to read.
–
“Alhaitham is the same age as you, yet he’s reading scientific journals. You should learn from him.” Your mother’s eyes examined your round eyes looking back up at hers.
Your small frame deflated even smaller, the bright aura that had been radiating off of you dissipated like morning dew under the harsh sun.
Just earlier you had your first piano lesson, the piano teacher was so excited to tell your parents how much potential you had, and how filled with talent you were. Their words made you perk up on the bench, the instrument no longer felt as frightening.
The praise had left you in a good mood, so much so that you agreed to accompany your mother to the neighbor’s house. A book clutched in the hand that wasn’t held in your mother’s clammy grasp. You weren’t sure if you were in a good mood anymore.
The kind grandma led you to a small library where her grandson was, Alhaitham was curled up on the rug with a thick journal in his small hands. The thin children’s book in your hand paled in comparison.
“Now, now. Alhaitham is just very passionate about reading. Your daughter is at the normal age where children begin reading, perhaps she’ll also gain a fondness if they read together. I think they’ll have fun together.” The kind woman gestured for you into the room.
Your mother releases your hand, a cold look ushered you toward the empty spot next to the boy. Settling down on the other side of the rug, you glanced up quickly. She seemed satisfied.
The grandma soon led your mother to another part of the house, continuing their conversation. You turned toward the boy next to you, he was too focused on the text in front of him to bother greeting you.
Spirits a bit dejected, you opened the cover to your own thin book. It was your father that placed the book in your hands, telling you to start reading. As your eyes glossed over the figures that took up only a fraction of the page, you came across the obvious hurdle.
You don’t know how to read. No one had ever sat you on their lap and gone through this book with you, or any book really.
The illustrations and script on the page taunted you, calling you to decypher their meanings and symbols. The pages were quickly flipped through until you hit the back cover, then flipped through once more until you were back to the front.
A foolish attempt for a miracle, that if you flipped through the book fast enough, somehow those scribbles on the pages will make sense.
“Are you even reading?” Spoke a slightly irritated voice.
Oh, your loud turning must have distracted the boy from his reading. The flipping stopped, as you glanced at him seeing the disinterested eyes staring back, you looked away. The embarrassment this time compelled your mouth to speak.
“N-no… I don’t know how…” Cheeks burned from shame, you could already feel that familiar sting in your eyes. Oh no, if you cried then mom might frown again.
A sigh resounded beside you, Alhaitham shifted his body out of his comfortable position against his pillow. Oh no, is he getting up to tell mom about the dark secret you just spilled to him? You didn’t get him to promise he won’t tell, will he get you in trouble?
“Give it here.” An expecting hand reached out, palms open.
You blinked at the hand slowly, did he want the book in exchange for not telling? Obediently, you placed the small book into his hold. His teal eyes glance over the title quickly, before he lays the book open in the space between your two bodies. Your head tilted in confusion at his actions. But as soon as his tranquil voice read the word out loud, that confusion stopped.
“Mmm… I don’t like the boy.” You crossed your arms in front of your small body, round cheeks pushed out in a pout.
Alhaitham just finished reading the story to you, he ran his small finger along with each word he spoke so you could follow along as well. His eyes connected with yours inquisitively, waiting for you to continue.
“The nice tree gave him so much, and he never said ‘thank you’. And he left the tree alone for so long, the tree must have been so sad. He’s mean, a big meanie and… and…”
“Ungrateful.” Alhaitham finished your sentence.
“Un-un..grateful?” You titled your head again, the unfamiliar word felt weird on your tongue.
“Ungrateful. U-n-g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l. It means having no feelings of thanks, you can also say he’s selfish.” The boy answered your question before you could even ask it.
You pressed a finger against your lips, turning the newly learned vocabulary in your head. Yeah, those words fit the boy in the story very well. Ungrateful and selfish. You looked back at the boy sitting next to you, a smile stretched your chubby cheeks. The grandma was right, reading with him was fun.
“You’re really smart.” You beamed at him.
“That means nothing to me.” He huffed, turning his face away.
You could spy with your little eyes the red tint on the tips of his ears that peeked out from his ash-colored hair.
“Hehe, and you’re funny too.” For the first time in a while, you giggled.
–
What a bittersweet memory, like the fragrance of the different brews traveling throughout the small shop. Yet, the nostalgia brought a small curl to your lips. You turned away from the book, only to flinch at what your eyes saw next.
The boy from your memories is now a man standing adjacently. You must’ve been too lost in thought to notice his towering stature.
After that tense reunion in the hallway, thankfully Alhaitham didn’t decide to knock on your door. Not that you would’ve answered anyways. He probably had already predicted your actions, and thus saved himself the time.
He was dressed in a suit and but the tie was loose around his neck, he must’ve just gotten off of work. The path back to the coffee bar was just slightly blocked by his wide frame, you had to get past him.
Teal-orange eyes converged with your stare, ah it’s too late to try and sneak past now. Alhaitham acknowledges your presence with a slight nod of his head, expression blank and unreadable. Once again you didn’t say a single greeting.
As if a merciful archon had been watching this pathetic interaction, an opportunity for escape was granted in the form of the barista calling out your name.
“Excuse me.” Was all you could muster, hastily striding past him, body pressed against the selves so as to not brush against him.
Before you the bell at the front chimed again to signal your departure, you made sure to leave some extra mora, more than the necessary amount. Done in silent gratitude towards the unsung hero of a barista.
It was now the last Saturday of the month, meaning it was time for your return performance. In your bathroom mirror, you smoothed out any stray hairs, straightening out your black performance garb.
A sacred ritual to slow the beating of your jumping heart. It’s a bit silly to admit, but no matter how many times you’ve performed, your nerves always went haywire. A terrible habit that made its way to adulthood.
The tavern you were performing at was quite a popular joint among the locals of Sumeru City. The nice wooden and homey interior gave many city dwellers their taste of nature in a progressing world. A grand piano was tucked away in a clear corner of the establishment, a ring of tables enclosed the area into a stage of sorts.
Pushing through the intricately carved doors, you entered Lambad’s Tavern eyes surveying the audience for this Saturday night. There were some tables still empty, awaiting the future stream of guests. Chatter quietly reverberated through the serene scene for now.
The atmosphere can get a bit rowdy as more and more alcohol ran through the systems of patrons. In a way, it was perfect for you, a perfect stepping stone in your slow climb.
Checking in with the manager at the front, you got the thumbs up to start setting up for your show. An agreement had been reached earlier this month that you would be playing the piano for three hours, three hours of having the privilege to play on a grand piano again. Not on the electronic imitation of your keyboard. Eager hands glided their soft touch along the smooth keys.
Yes, nothing can truly capture the beauty of the grand piano’s voice, not even the CDs you set up on a table nearby. Recordings with a mixed tracklist of classical pieces and original compositions, just like your setlist for tonight.
Lifting up the fallboard, you set the sheets against the music stand. Not that you needed them. Every note, every rest, and every change in tempo memorized in your fingers. Taking a deep breath, your eyes did one final scan around the room. Most tables were too emersed in their own conversations to take note of you.
Rubbing your fingers together to grind out the tremble of your nerves before you shut your eyes. In the darkness quiet darkness of your mind, your fingers moved into their positions over the keys. Erik Satie’s Je te veux resonated with the muddled conversations of the audience, adding to the serene air.
You’ve always closed your eyes when performing, a trait that has embedded itself from the start of your music career. The darkness of your mind offered a reprieve from the critical eyes of judges and parents during recitals and competitions.
You first stepped into this safe haven around the time of your first recital at the age of eight.
–
It’s been a few months since you first began your piano lessons, and your teacher was eager to announce your first recital. They had a sparkle in their eyes, keen to show off their most talented disciple.
They had discovered an unpolished diamond among the mediocre ruff, a young naturally blessed child. Your lips were kept sealed about the long hours your parents forced you to sit in front of the piano after each weekly lesson.
Before you only ever played under the watchful gaze of either your parents or teacher, not an audience of strangers. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified.
“I can’t do it.” You retracted your hands from the piano once again, as if the keys were scorching you.
“You said you wanted to play the piano for me.” The young boy beside you huffed out, annoyed at your actions. You had repeated these steps five times now.
“I know! But I’m… scared…” Your posture deflated.
“If you can’t play in front of one person, how can you play for a crowd?” Alhaitham’s disinterested eyes crept back to the book he had placed beside him, you had dragged him away from his reading for this.
“I don’t know…” A frown pulled at your face, eyes feeling the incoming burn. You didn’t want to cry in front of him.
There was a tense moment of nothingness between the two of you. The boy quietly observed the paper propped up against the music stand.
“Do you know how to play this piece?” His flat voice broke the suspense.
“Yes I do! I’ve been practicing this every day, I can even do it with my eyes closed.” You huffed in disbelief at his accusation.
“Then do that. Just play with your eyes closed.” He retorted as if it was the most obvious statement in the world.
Which in truth, it was the most obvious statement in the world. You’ve been practicing Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen since the beginning of the month every day for six hours a day. The rhythm and keys were ingrained into your fingers by the second week.
The solution was so plain and simple, why didn’t you think of it? Your parents were right, you are always a few steps behind the brilliant boy.
An embarrassed flush covered your round cheeks. Suddenly his stare was heavy, heavier than the ones from your parents and teacher. The muscles in your finger felt tense. Your young mind could tell that if this continued then the tune embedded in your hands wouldn’t come out at all.
“Can you not look?” A quiet plead.
“I thought you wanted me to watch.” A grey brow was raised.
“I know… But…” Around him, you couldn’t seem to finish your sentences.
“Fine.” Deciding that prying further would be a wasted effort, Alhaitham turned his short body around on the bench so that his back faced the piano instead. Cracking open his thick book back to the page he had left off on.
“I don’t need to look at you to hear you play anyways.” The young boy’s eyes returned back to their place among the text.
Sitting back up straight again, shoulder back and hands into position. You took a deep breath and entered the darkness behind your eyelids. This time your fingers guided you through the moment, and the piano sang out its melodies.
–
Coincidentally, Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen just so happened to be ending right now as the memory finished its course. You had transitioned into the piece some time ago, finishing five out of the many on your three-hour setlist. It was right about time for a small break.
As your eyelids lifted a few soft claps reached your ears, from the growing chatter it seems that more customers had funneled into the tavern.
The manager of the tavern was a very generous man, so much so that he offers you a complimentary drink you could claim during each of your breaks. You would be a fool to turn down such an offer, but you reminded yourself that you need to maintain a certain level of sobriety. For the sake of your performance.
The sweet wine felt divine running down your parched throat. The alcohol did wonders in mellowing out your racing thoughts as you returned back to your place at the piano. Just like before, you did a small survey of your surroundings. Big mistake, for your mind kicked into overdrive when locking gazes with teal eyes.
‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.
A superstition you should really be more mindful of. Shifting your body towards the piano, you ended the impromptu staring contest. Ah, what song were you supposed to play now? Thoughts scrambled as you can still feel the heaviness of Alhaitham’s gaze on your back. ‘Just play’ you internally scolded.
Letting your fingers take over the piano, retreating back into the comforting blackness.
“Who was that?” Kaveh creaked open the door to his new apartment, inquiring his now former roommate about the scene that unraveled moments before.
Alhaitham observed the heavy metal frame that closed you off from him once more. This was certainly an unexpected surprise. It’s been seven years since he last hear your voice. Seven years since you marched forth on a path carved by your own grit and resoluteness.
Many things have changed these seven years.
Who are you?
Eyes still following the cracks of the paint running up your door, the ashen-haired man’s mind recounted a scene from long ago.
–
It’s been a few months since you first moved into this neighborhood, taking Alhaitham’s title of ‘only kid on the block’ away. During your first introduction, you wouldn’t even greet him constantly tugging on your father’s pant leg and staring at your feet.
Now you wouldn’t stop greeting him. After lunch, almost like clockwork, there would be a knock at his front door. Disrupting his precious reading time. You’d be there on the other side with a new book for him to read to you, or you’d bounce on the heels of your feet inviting him to hear your piano.
Today, it was the latter. Alhaitham had his back facing the piano, the position that made you the most comfortable. A book was open in his lap, but his mind was busy pondering a mystery to pay attention to it or to the tune you were playing. Grandma said it wasn’t good to hold in questions, lest they consume the curious mind. Best to get answers from the source of the mystery.
“Why do you seek me out?” His flat voice interfered with the sharp notes.
“Huh?” You turned to him perplexed, fingers now hovering over the keys.
“Are we friends?” He asked directly, it’s good to be straightforward.
“Of course we’re friends! Even if you’re a bookworm, you’re still a precious friend of mine.” Chest puffed up at your bold declaration.
“If I am a bookworm, it’s only appropriate to call you an earworm.”
“E-earworm? There are worms that live in the ear??”
“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Earworm refers to a tone or melody that repeats constantly in the mind.”
“Ooh. Earworm…” You pondered the term for a bit before another splitting smile spread across your face.
“Yes! You’re a bookworm and I’m an earworm.” A finger was directed at him then back at yourself, giggling.
Strangely, the young boy felt a tickle at the back of his throat, as if your laughter was contagious like a cold. He decided to hold it back in favor of observing your expression for a bit longer.
“Oh!” You jumped up from the bench, reaching into the shiny pencil case you kept close to the piano.
Pulling out a bold black marker you uncapped the tool before climbing onto the bench, the extra height allowing you to maneuver the top half of your body into the body of the piano.
Now it was his turn to be bewildered, quickly snapping his eyes towards the entrance of the living room, watching out for signs of your parents. Soon you reemerged from the instrument, capping the marker with a proud look in your eyes.
“There, now there’s solid proof of our friendship.”
Alhaitham peers into the piano, observing the words clumsily written along the wooden shell:
Property of Bookworm and Earworm
“Why am I before you? It’s your piano isn’t it?”
“Well ‘B’ comes before ‘E’.” You puffed out your cheek at his lackluster response to your heartfelt gesture.
For the first time ever in front of you, Alhaitham let an obvious smile appear on his face.
–
What a bittersweet term. Friends. Yes, the two of you were once friends long ago. Close friends who morphed into strangers. The catalyst for this change? With each new stage of life, branching paths will appear, the parting of ways is just a natural phenomenon.
He is Alhaitham and you are you. Separate individuals with separate lives on separate paths.
“Just someone I used to know.” Came his candid answer.
“Right.” Kaveh rolled his eyes, clearly displeased at how the ashen-haired man won’t give his question an actual response.
Alhaitham removed his eyes from your door, picking the cardboard box back off the tiled hallway. Kaveh didn’t need to know the specifics, the precious details shall forever make their home in a safe corner of his mind.
Alhaitham exited the ornate doors of the office building. Currently, it was the closing quarter, meaning the office has been more bothersome than usual. Even with his perfected front of acting busy, more and more troublesome characters have been strolling into his office. It’s irrelevant now, for the secretary is now off the clock.
The sun was still in the sky, perfect weather to grab a bit to eat from a local coffee shop. It’s been a week since he last picked up a new book as well, there was one place that came to mind that would allow the man to kill two birds with one stone. Long legs walked with swift strides towards his destination.
Even will his earphones in, Alhaitham could still hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. In Sumeru City this was expected, construction, traffic, and pedestrians, everything thing muddled together in noisy inference with his thoughts. He turns up the volume.
Opening the door to the cafe, the bell sounded his arrival. The usual barista was there at the counter. With a quick glance up the barista instinctively placed his order, a testament to just how often the ashen-haired man frequents this place. Good, this saves him the trouble.
Without pausing his music, Alhaitham began pursuing the nonfiction section of the small shop. There were a few new scientific journals that have been published, maybe he’ll give them a read.
Although his ears were currently occupied, that doesn’t mean his other senses were dulled. He could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon his back. Usually, the man would simply brush such occurrences off. But there was this small nag coming from a corner of his mind. This could be a result of a brain being bored by a day’s worth of paperwork. He’ll indulge his curiosity.
Returning the weight of the gaze back to the mysterious source he felt his jaw clench just a bit. There you were again, staring at him with your lips pressed together tensely. Your wide eyes were very reminiscent of a spooked songbird. Everything about your body language read startled and for flight.
This time, Alhaitham doesn’t encroach, he simply nodded his head in a small greeting. It seems even this small action sparked you to flee. You mouthed something before quickly strolling past him.
Shamelessly, his teal eyes followed your path as you paid for your coffee and disappeared out of sight from the shop windows. Yes, his statement that these seven years have brought about much change was correct. It wasn’t like this before.
–
“Alhaitham, why are you reading here?” His grandma inquired about the reason behind her grandson situating himself at the window nook instead of inside the library.
“I just wanted to enjoy the sunlight.” Came his crafted response.
From this small nook, the window gave a clear view of the front steps and the path that led to the house just across the street. The older woman took note of this, kind eyes giving the young boy a knowing look and smile. You had begun attending the local school.
Meanwhile, Alhaitham adamantly wanted to stay home and self-study instead. Stating that all the material the school covered he already knew. The old lady didn’t raise any objections to her grandson’s decision.
“If you go over to her house remember to be polite, and inform me before you do.” A wrinkled hand tussled through his soft ashen locks.
“There’s no need. I’m just sitting here to read.” He leaned into his grandma’s touch.
“Of course, of course. Then I shall make use of this afternoon to review some material. Remember what I said.”
“Yes, grandma.” Came his reply.
With that, Alhaitham was left to his own thoughts by the window. He didn’t really know why he felt the pull to sit by the window. Was it to get a glimpse of you? The neighbor’s daughter?
You and he were the only two kids on the block, so it wasn’t surprising you would often seek out his company. A friendship formed by virtue of close proximity. However, now you were attending classes filled with other kids your age. His company would sooner or later fade into obscurity.
Alhaitham has always been very attuned to the situation around him, displaying a level of maturity and insight way beyond his years. Perhaps he still retains some semblance of that childish essence. Demonstrated by his current position, the book in his lap only held half of his attention, the other wondering out the clear glass.
What is he hoping for realistically? Others can provide you much livelier company than he ever could, and yet he still-
The boy puts down the book, short legs pattering across the wooden floor swiftly carrying his body to the door. Small hands turned the cold brass before he channeled all his strength into prying the wooden mass from the frame.
Revealing your bewildered face, hand frozen in its position ready to knock on the now open door. Once your eyes met, it wasn’t long before a smile replaced your expression.
“Hi, Haitham! Wanna hear me play today?”
–
Yes, that was how things used to be. Even as your social circle grew, even as new families moved in, you’d still appear back in front of him. Beaming that smile he lost the privilege to see. Like a songbird that returned every day to sing in front of his window as the solitary child read.
Alhaitham’s eyes found themselves locked once more on a door, the one you had rushed out of not so long ago. There was a weight pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He entered Sumeru’s education system during high school. Missing the crucial formative years previously where cliques and social labels were formed, he stood alone as a loner.
But You always rushed towards him through crowded halls and rooms. Breaking away amidst your social circle from orchestra and band. Just to tap him on the shoulder and eat lunch together in the sanctuary of a private practice room that housed the school’s piano.
These repetitive memories plaguing him brought a bitter taste to his coffee. Perhaps it was the dreadful combination of sweet memory and awareness of the current state of affairs.
Finally, the end of the month has come. Meaning things at work have sorted themselves out, at least for another three months. In lieu of attending an actual company-sponsored dinner, Alhaitham decides to get a drink at the local tavern.
Company dinners were noisy, filled with black ties and white lies. Too troublesome. However, recently his mind has been filling the silence of his house with redundant thoughts.
A drink from time to time is a good way to destress and quell the mind, Alhaitham reasons as he enters the establishment. Lambad’s Tavern was a local joint that provides a small solace from the rambunctious city streets. A place the man likes to visit on occasion, usually when an invitation was extended.
From the moment he entered through the doors, he could hear a piano ending its cords. It seems that there was live music tonight. Usually, it was nice to have background music accompany the chatter of the other patrons. But why a piano of all choices tonight? Alhaitham takes a deep breath before letting out a small sigh, it’s as if a ghost of the past is haunting him.
Placing an order for a bottle of wine to be delivered to a secluded area, Alhaitham makes his way to the usual table. His body maneuvered through the sea of flushed face patrons, and the sight of the grand piano came into view.
The bench by the instrument was empty, perhaps his mind really is just conjuring up a ghost. Regardless, once the wine comes these thoughts will settle.
“Your wine.” The alcohol was set down.
“Thank you.” Alhaitham swirls the glass a bit before taking a sip.
His bored eyes began to wander once more, looking for anything to bide the time with, unsurprisingly they were beckoned towards the piano. Only this, time it was no longer empty. No, this time it was no ghost invented by a bored mind, it was you. He stiffly swallowed down the wine.
He wasn’t subtle nor careful with how obviously he was staring, thinking too occupied by astonishment. This must have tipped you off, as once again your wide-eyed gaze connected with his heavy one. You made that tense face again. You broke away, tightly shutting your eyes before your fingers hit the keys, making the piano sing.
‘Oh, so you still closed your eyes when you played’. Alhaitham found a strange satisfaction in this fact as if he found comfort in the one constant he still knew about you. Arms and fingers moved fluidly, a sight he used to not be able to see out of respect for you.
–
Your parents were busy with their research, and his grandmother had her hands full with academic responsibilities. It was only Alhaitham who had the time, a resource only abundant in youth, to attend your recitals and concerts.
As the crowd and the judges bored holes into your figure up on stage, the young man kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him.
The young man didn’t mind attending these events, the audience was mostly silent save for the occasional applause. After so many years and lunches spent by your side at the piano, his ears have gotten used to the melodic accompaniment to his reading.
The final chords of your performance reverberated throughout the air, followed by the rolling clapping of hands.
He lifted his attention up to the stage. Although it’s ironic how the only time you wanted him to watch your performance was at the end, he’ll respect your wishes. From the brightly lit stage, you were finishing your bow, and as your head rises your eyes connected with his. A beaming smile was directed at him.
Was it you or the stage lights that stung his eyes?
“How’d you think I did, Haitham?” Was the first thing out of your lips after rejoining him.
The concert hall had emptied out some time ago, and Alhaitham had been waiting by the backstage door to walk home with you. You held a thick folder against the front of your formal black gown, a bounce in your ballet flat steps. Alhaitham pretended to contemplate his answer.
“I’m not well versed in acoustics nor how to judge music, so I don’t see how my opinion would matter.” Came his flat reply.
“Haitham, you listened to me play for years. How have you not learned a thing?” You pouted, just like how he predicted.
The young man gave you a simple shrug. Of course, he found your performance exceptional, he was there for the hours of practice you put in.
“Whatever, now that it’s over. I can start looking at the piece the conductor wanted me to accompany for the school’s orchestra. Ahh, I only have three weeks to practice.” You made a face as you dug through the thick folder as the two of you continued to walk.
He only hummed in response, shifting his focus back to his book. It was the sweet Sumeru Spring of your third year of high school, the perfect for a serene walk home.
Over the top of the pages, his teal eyes could see your lips press into a crooked line, desperately trying to suppress your snickers as you sightread the notes on the sheet.
“Is that a piece by Debussy?”
“Huh? How’d ya know, Haitham?”
You were easy to read. After knowing you for over a decade now, you were like an open book to him. The journal hides his small smile from your sight.
–
The memory reminded him to advert his eyes, focusing back on the glass of wine in front of him. He came here for a drink, he should follow through with his plan. The wine quickly vanished as Alhaitham signed for another. It took an impressive amount of willpower for his eyes to not wander back, he won’t let them.
Your small performance had come to an end, sounded by the closing of the fallboard and how the bench dragged against the floor. He knew you were bowing to show thanks to the audience, yet he still refused to look. From your earlier actions, it was blatant that you despised his presence.
So even as your figure passed by his table, Alhaitham refused to allow you into his line of sight.
It’s been an hour since you left the establishment in a rush, and Alhaitham had run up quite the tab now, best to call it a night. Tossing some mora onto the table, the ashen-haired man stands up ready to begin the taxis ride back.
The effects of the alcohol must have made his eyes wander back to the piano, a fruitless attempt to watch one last glimpse. And a glimpse they found, in the form of a CD you had carelessly left behind.
You had abandoned it, thus it was now free for the taking.
It was unlike the stoic man to order rounds after rounds of wine, but he needed something to busy himself with. Just as how you were busy with the piano, he needed the alcohol to quell undesirable impulses. However, as his unsteady steps made it up the front porch, he was chastising himself for that decision. A hangover was guaranteed in the morning.
Roughly slamming the door shut behind him, Alhaitham entered the asylum of his home. The newfound stillness of the house was usually a luxury the ashen-haired man indulged in. However, at the moment it was a tribulation, for his noisy thoughts filled the silence. Its volume only exacerbated by the alcohol in his system.
When he was younger, Alhaitham naively thought the knowledge gained from academic journals was equivalent to experience. After all, he had just read about another person’s experiences, he could pinpoint their flaws and learn from their mistakes so as to not repeat them.
Just like the knowledge obtained from his books, he assumed that you too shall always remain in his possession, you shall always stay by his side. Of course, only a naive teenager, no, only a naive child would think this way.
Did you know that the downfall of many great kings, heroes, and gods was their hubris? Excess self-confidence blinds their vision. Excess confidence only a naive child would have, believing he could analyze everything.
Oh, how life works in mysterious ways, finding lessons to humble such egos. Alhaitham, against his will, reminisces about the event that taught him a valuable lesson in the noisy silence of his house.
–
“Haitham, I can’t believe they did it.” You were curled up on the couch of his grandmother’s home, tears streaming down your face.
“They sold my piano, Haitham. They sold it because they wanted me to get over this ‘hobby’. Hypocrites, as if they weren’t the ones who forced me to practice hours a day since I was a kid.”
Alhaitham said nothing, silently holding the tissue box out to you. The pair of you had just returned from school just a few hours earlier, bidding goodbye before returning to your respective houses. However, just an hour ago his quiet reading was disrupted by frantic pounding on the front door. He had opened it to your tear-stained face.
“How could they instill in me a passion for all my life, but when I want to continue with it as a career, they do their damnedest to snuff it out?” You were furiously wiping your eyes with the back of your hands.
Oh, so that’s what happened. Alhaitham had already seen this coming, knowing how your parents were, it was predictable. They had valid reasons for not wanting their daughter to pursue such a career path.
You still had stage fright, constantly telling him to not look at you when you played. How would you make a living like this? He analyzed the statistics and figures before he comes to his own conclusion.
There was no reason that you couldn’t balance a stable career with your passion for piano. In Sumeru, they had one of the most progressive work cultures of all of Teyvat. There were generous amounts of paid time off, sick days, and reasonable hours. You had more than enough time for music.
He decides to share his conclusion with you.
“Music should stay a hobby. Even graduates from the most prestigious music universities aren’t guaranteed a career. To be frank, it’s better if you pursue a degree that leads to a steadfast position. Of course, be firm in your boundaries so that you can have the time for piano.”
The room fell silent, your wide eyes stared into his calm teal ones. A heavy hush hung in the air as the grandfather clock continued to tick away, until it rang, signaling the change in the air. After the last resonance of its chime faded, you let out a laugh, but there was no joy in your voice.
“Of course… Why did I think you’d be different? This is why they love you.” Your tone was dry as your shoulders shook, eyes now trained on the floor.
“Look at Alhaitham, what a level-headed guy he is, you should learn from him. Look at his grades, why can’t you be top of the class? He’s so talented and good at everything, what can you do? Why can’t you be more like Alhaitham?” You spat out his name as if it was poisonous.
“Comparison is the thief of joy, you shouldn’t-” Alhaitham needed to de-escalate this crescendo.
“If only you were born their son… Then I wouldn’t have suffered.” More tears fell from your eyes as you stumbled off the couch.
“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.”
Alhaitham once believed that words, which have no physical form, couldn’t hurt him. The stab in his chest from an unseen force dismissed that notion.
Your burning eyes reconnected with his gaze. He knew that look, he’s seen it many times. Jealousy, anger, and hatred. They were familiar emotions that others cast his way, yet he found himself taken aback. You’ve never looked at him like this before… Have you?
Before he could utter another word, you stormed off. All the young man could do was watch the back of your figure as it disappeared from sight.
–
There was a firm frown now on Alhaitham’s lips and a furrow between his brows. He wanted this horrible play to end, for his brain to stop showing him events that have already passed. It’s always one’s own mind that can show the most cruelty to itself.
–
It’s been a month since you’ve last spoken to him. Taking long about ways to school so as to avoid crossing paths with him, your lunches were spent locked in private practice rooms.
Young Alhaitham had a whole month to analyze and reanalyze at which moment everything fell apart. After much deliberation, he concluded that he made a miscalculation. He overstepped his boundaries.
In the end, it was your life, you should be the one to decide how you will live it. His unsolicited suggestion was wholly unnecessary. He knew an apology was needed.
However, he could read from your actions that you weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. It wouldn’t be wise to approach you, lest you look at him again with those eyes. That’s fine, he can wait until you came to him. Alhaitham bided his time with more books. Was reading without music always this lonely?
It was the day of your graduation. From within the sea of celebratory gowns and cheering students, teal eyes honed in on your figure. You were intentionally avoiding his gaze, instead going to congratulate and talk to fellow musicians and classmates. His hand balled up into a fist before he unclenched it. It’s fine, you need more time, and he’ll respect that.
It’s the least he could do. Either way, the two of you had the whole Summer to make up before university started.
Another miscalculation on his part.
Alhaitham recalls the panicked ringing of his doorbell, but instead of you, the door opened to reveal your parents. You were gone. Your phone was left behind, important documents missing from filing cabinets, and a bag full of belongings gone. You’ve vanished, the only explanation they got was a note:
“Don’t Bother Me”.
You’ve already become a legal adult, how could the Matra have any justification to drag you back?
That whole hellish Sumeru Summer Alhaitham read at the nook located by the front door. For that whole Summer, the young man answered any number that flashed on his screen. He knew that you had limited money, after your pitiful savings dried up you were bound to return. If not to your house, then at least to this haven.
Your voice was never on the other side.
Laughably, it took the prodigy Alhaitham an entire Summer to finally come to terms with the facts of the matter. The songbird had left its tarnished cage, and it will never return. He started university without you by his side.
–
Grey lashes fluttered open as the play finally ends. Memories that once looped like a broken record in his mind. With time this memory became a softer hum to his thoughts. An earworm that burrowed deep within so as to remind him of his past shortcomings.
Yes, his past mistakes made him aware of his limited human vision. That he did in fact not know everything. The series of errors that strayed you away from him. Humans weren’t books, they’re not as easy to decipher as scripts on a page. The growing pains of maturing. A lesson he has learned well.
Once was an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time… a chance. Alhaitham doesn’t believe in gods or fate, but he does believe in opportunity.
Teal eyes made their way to the CD left on top of a polished ivory top. This time, he shall turn around and chase after the ghost, to return to her what was rightfully hers.
If these occurrences were bound to happen more often, then it’s best for you to catch up with the seven-year backlog of information. Of course, instead of consulting the primary source for the much-needed answers, you turned to a secondary source instead. You are nothing, if not a coward.
Hence why on this warm Thursday night you were out at the local bar, wallet getting emptied by the blond slumped next to you.
“Ugh, that man was a tyrant. Leaving books everywhere, letting dust just pile up, and every other sentence had to be a snide remark.” Kaveh finishes another glass, another cry from your wallet.
You were still nursing your second glass while Kaveh’s got a scarlet glow already. A part of you regrets inviting your hall neighbor out, but you appreciated the wealth of information he spilled out once a drop of liquor hit his tongue.
Currently, Alhaitham is employed at the top company in Sumeru city. he’s the secretary but quickly raising up the ranks. He also owns his own house in a rich suburb, one he used to share with the drunk man beside you, but now it only houses himself.
“Not only that but every week like clockwork that apathetic bastard would bring home the ugliest furniture. He once brought home an old piano. It took up so much space and clashed against the dark wood of the house! He wouldn’t even try to arrange them, he messed up the feng shui! He can’t even play! What was it for then?!”
Ah, you can see why the architect was willing to move into the lackluster apartment, he was desperate the spare his blood pressure. You don’t blame him, in fact hearing about your former friend’s spending habits brought a sour aftertaste to your wine.
Oh, how nice it must be to have such financial freedom.
“Then whenever I make a polite suggestion that he try to consider aesthetics, his response? ‘It is my life, my house, and my money. Suggestions from others are irrelevant and should be ignored. I’m guessing such philosophies are difficult to uphold for designers who must bend to their client’s will.’ Can you believe how insufferable he is?”
“Hypocrite.” That word rolled bitterly off your tongue, a past dialogue resurfacing from the back of your mind.
The blond’s hazy eyes peered at your inquisitively. Then his drunken mind sparks a thought: Why were you asking about Alhaitham? He also remembers that he had unanswered questions as well.
“By the way, what is your relation to that detached man?”
“Just a nobody who got compared to his brilliance.”
That doesn’t satisfy his question at all.
“Not this game again. Seriously, just what went down between the two of-”
“For a person who prides himself on his empathy, you sure are oblivious to the discomfort you’re causing. Prying for details that don’t concern you.” A deep voice from behind made your skin prickle.
Why was he here?
You didn’t need to look to feel the heavy weight of his teal eyes, boring holes into your stiff frame. The wine tasted awful now. It’s rude to ditch the guest that you had invited out, but you needed to get out of here before bile begins to taint your palette.
Quickly signaling for the tab, you didn’t even comprehend the number before you slammed down a bunch of mora.
“I’ll leave first. It was nice drinking with you, Kaveh. Let’s do this again sometime.” An excuse and lie.
“Hey, wait-” The blond lifted up his hand.
“I’ll walk you home. It’s quite dangerous this time of night around here.” Alhaitham’s body turned to follow you. Ah, he’s pointing out how shit your neighborhood was, isn’t he.
“Oi! Stop interrupting your senior-”
Alhaitham tosses an extra handful of mora onto the table. Kaveh was nearly shaking with rage, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of another few glasses of wine.
You were taking exaggerated strides across the uneven concrete, trying to put some distance between you. However, your legs were no match for the towering man’s steps, as it wasn’t before long until he caught up.
The clicking of your shoes and the thumps of his steps filled the tense silence. You refused to meet his gaze. But the thoughts racing through your mind needed answers, in particular, why is he haunting you now of all times?
“Why are you here?” You punched in the code for the entrance of the complex.
“I was looking for you. It just so happens that I spotted you through the window of the bar.”
There was an annoyed twitch at your eyebrow. He is not aware of how creepy he sounded right now?
You swiftly pulled the heavy door open and tried to slam it behind you, to create a barrier. However, Alhaitham’s foot was just a bit faster. His tall figure continued to loom behind you as you ascended the stairs.
“I have a reason to seek you.”
“Oh? Then pray tell, why a young professional would follow a woman to her home.” Keys fumbling to fit into the loose door handle.
“I took a CD. I’m no thief, and I believe that a musician should be fairly compensated for her work.” Came his flat reply.
That’s it? You already had a terrible week at work, becoming the scapegoat for the incompetency of managers. Now, his presence was only exacerbating the negativity flowing through you. Maybe the heat of the fire hasn’t been completely forgotten. You don’t want his money, you don’t want his pity.
For the first time, you whipped around intentionally staring straight into his teal-orange irises. You don’t need his money nor pity. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was the mounting stress on your shoulders or a damning combination of both.
You wanted to wipe that indifferent look off his handsome face, you couldn’t stand it.
Alhaitham’s lips parted ready to continue the transaction, only to be interrupted by the crashing of another on his. Your fingers were tangled in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the crisp fabric. Your burning stare never left his slightly raised eyes, wanting to observe anything hint of human emotion.
Shock? Disgust? Fury? You’d take anything over his infuriatingly stoic face.
Instead of shoving you off like you inferred, Alhaitham slowly lowers his eyelids. Parting his lips even more as if to grant more access, allowing his tongue to dance with yours. These actions only irked you more.
This wasn’t your first kiss with him, the first time happened while two friends were sitting by a piano, heads turning to face each other too fast. An accidental brushing of lips. It irked you that the mushy feeling from that day was currently making its grand return.
Breaking away to allow oxygen back into your burning lungs, a thin strand of saliva trailing between. You were panting as his eyes reconnected with yours, something else was swimming behind those impartial irises. Too bad you were too impatient to decipher it, as you pulled his face back down.
Back pushing the rusty apartment door ajar. Two bodies disappeared behind the awful singing of its hinges.
–
For once, you woke up before the screeching of your phone. The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. A muscular arm was draped over your bare torso, sheets still a bit damp from sweat. You knew that smell currently suffocating you in the room. You just slept with your former friend.
Your hand itched to slap your face. Idiot, you avoided him for all this time just to welcome him into your bed.
Stealthily shimming your body out of bed, you could feel the slight wobble of your legs. Of course, he’s good at sex, he’s good at everything. You cast a quick glance at his slumbering form. Teal eyes were still hidden behind closed lids. Good, he’s not awake.
Like a thief in your own home, you toed around the clothes scattered across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky wooden planks you’ve memorized.
Swiftly grabbing a random assortment of items out of your closet, you deemed the outfit professional enough for work. Trying to glide across the cluttered apartment like a ghost, you put on your heels, ready for the walk of shame away from your apartment. At least your gym membership will see some use now, a shower would be great to wash the shame and guilt off.
It’s not like you had anything worth stealing. Grabbing your bag off the table, you exited the scene of the crime. Hinges announcing your departure.
If the you from a few months ago saw what the reunion of friends had morphed into, she’d probably keel over in shock. Can you even call yourselves friends anymore?
The next Saturday following that incident, you had finished up another gig at Lambad’s Tavern. An all too familiar face made his way up to the piano. Browsing through the selection of CDs you still had on display.
“I’ll take this one.” Alhaitham held the smooth plastic in one hand, as his other reached for his wallet.
You gestured for him to stop. Crossing your arms in front of your body as if soothing your nerves. Pride still too great to accept his money, a resource he seems to have in excess. Just earlier in the day, after reaching the second round in the audition, the proctor thanked you for your time and lead you to the exit. Another failed attempt to join an orchestra.
You knew that returning to your cramped abode will only lead you to wallow in misery with a cheap bottle of liquor.
“You can come over. I’ll take it as compensation.”
How would you define this relationship? Friends with benefits? But the two of you were ex-friends, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Regardless, you knew what you wanted. To forget the sting of failure through pleasure. You turned your head to face him, awaiting his reply. An attentive stare was the silent confirmation you needed.
Does he think you’re easy or desperate? You didn’t particularly care for his opinion anymore. Alhaitham was currently kneeling by the side of your mused bed, he was here to ‘compensate’ you, and compensate he will. Your thighs were firmly held in his large hands, spreading them apart granting him access to the honeypot he seeks.
His hot tongue lapped at your slick folds, parting the labia and collecting your slick. Making sure to end the journey with a small flick to the little nub on top, before the wet muscle traveled back down. The noise was sinfully melodic. Your legs were straining against his hold, instinctively wanting to close in on his face, but his strength far surpasses yours. So instead, you pressed your lips into the back of your hand. Denying him the privilege to hear your moans.
This must’ve displeased him greatly, as the next thing you knew he broke from his steady tempo, and his soft lips enclosed around your sensitive clit. Alhaitham’s tongue was now accompanied by the suction of his mouth, torturing your poor little bundle. Slurping and sloppy wet flicks bounced off the thin walls. Hot flashes shot up your legs as your toes curled, a moan was fighting its way past your teeth.
He changed his pace once more. Now intertwining deep laps of your leaking hole with the overwhelming attention on your now swollen clit. Your honey was dripping down his chin as he continued his efforts. Your legs were trembling now, unable to give any resistance against his domineering hold. Thus, allowing him to slip one hand between, two long fingers stretching out your gummy walls. Prodding their way through the tight warm hole, mapping out their way to that special spongey patch.
Your teeth wouldn’t hold back the moan any longer. Back arching off the messy sheets, the internal and external pleasure created a maddening duo, pushing your sanity off the edge. Your vision when white was your body shook, nonsense babbling out of your lips. Alhaitham gave your pulsing clit a few more slick licks before pressing a sweet kiss against it.
His towering frame got up from the floor to loom over your recovering body. Teal eyes observing every twitch and shiver of your sloppy face. Soon his face descended closer, this time you were the quick one. Snapping your head to the side. Denying him a kiss, lest those mushy emotions bubble up during this moment. Alhaitham stills, he says nothing, just letting his warm breath fan across your face.
He got the message. Pulling away to give space between your lips, he searches his back pocket for a condom. Even with your bodies connected. There was still a line deeply etched into the sand, separating the two of you.
–
Once again you woke up before him. Once again you slipped out of his embrace. Ocne more his arms gave no protest. Another journey to the gym.
One time turned into two times, two times turned into… you lost count at this point. However, it would simply be a waste of time to think too deeply about it. It’s Alhaitham after all, that man would never bother with activities that waste his time. If it doesn’t serve to benefit in any way, he’d be the first to drop it, what an objective guy he is.
The two of you were still young professionals with a lot of steam to let off. A familiar face of convenience to destress and feel the wisp of comfort from another warm body in this cold world. This is what’s become of the pile of ashes from a once beautiful bridge.
The back of your head hit against the brick wall supporting your body. Another rejection, this time you made it all the way to the semi-finals. Alas, from behind a curtain, the panel of judges deemed you unworthy of playing in their esteemed orchestra. Your aching fingers dug into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract from the burning sting welling up in your eyes.
The pursuit of knowledge and the pursuit of dreams were more similar to each other than what great scholars of the nation of wisdom cared to admit.
They were the shining light that broke through the murky uncertainly of life, beckoning stray souls towards them. Those lost in the labyrinth of reality desperately seek to walk the path illuminated by their glow.
In the end, knowledge and dreams were like the sun’s warm rays shining through the leaves of a tree. No matter how many times your hands reach for and grab, you can never hold them.
The multiple part-time jobs you juggled between your college courses taught you the most valuable lesson no lecture ever could: Dreams cost money, and so did rent, and so did food, and so did utilities.
Scornfully, you had to tack on extra courses to your piano major, a witless minor in business administration. It stings your pride to this day to attribute your current steady stream of income to that last-minute academic decision.
It stung because, in the end, Alhaitham’s prediction was correct. Regardless of if one was a natural or artificial prodigy like you. Even the brightest and most dedicated musicians aren’t guaranteed a career, degree or not. Perhaps, this truth that you’ve come to terms with was the water that smothered the flame of anger. Leaving behind the defeated wisps of regret and embarrassment.
Of course Alhaitham was right, he always is.
There was a chime from the store door opening up beside you. A certain ashen-haired man walked out with a bouquet of Sumeru roses in hand. ‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.
You quickly adverted your gaze, but it was useless as he had already taken note of your presence. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Deciding to take control of the conversation before anything starts.
“I don’t have a show tonight.” Referring to the bouquet in his hands.
“I’m aware. I was going to visit my grandmother today.” His deep voice drummed.
Oh. You wanted the archons to strike you down at this very moment. Stupid, why did you assume such things? There’s nothing but a tightrope formed by virtue of convenience connecting your paths. Just what were you hoping for? Your cheeks were now burning with shame.
“Would you like to come with me?” His calm tone beckons you out of your thoughts.
At this rate, how could you refuse? Perhaps it was due to the surmounting weight of guilt and embarrassment. But a part of you also knows it’s because you missed her. So you followed Alhaitham to his car, buckling yourself in and opening your arms, offering to carry the flowers. The car ride was silent the whole time.
Alhaitham’s grandmother always looked at you with those tender warm eyes of hers. Extending out a warm hand to comb through your locks in exchange for every song you’d play for her. She was the only voice that offered your impoverished heart any words of encouragement.
Words that brought an inkling of warmth from the icy stares of your parents.
–
The final note echoed throughout the common area of the hospital. Applause could be heard from the few patients attending your impromptu concert. However, your attention was focused all on the soft smile of the frail woman in the wheelchair beside you. Her thin, wrinkled hands clapped together.
Jokingly you gave a dramatic bow from your sitting position at the piano bench, earning a gentle chuckle from her.
“Oh, what a lovely performance by the loveliest girl.” A hand reached out towards you.
You swiftly bowed your head under her palm, allowing her fingers to rest against your scalp. Gently she began to stroke your head, making a wide smile stretch your cheeks. Your heart’s weekly dose of encouragement. However, this tender moment was broken by the vibrations of your phone. Your eyes quickly scanned the name of the caller.
Oh, it was your tutor, you skipped your lessons once more in favor of visiting the Bimarstan.
The woman beside you takes note of this and lets out a huff.
“You’re already plenty smart. I don’t understand why your parents insist on such endeavors.”
You didn’t have the heart to tell her the hours of tutoring and cram schools you sandwiched between your demanding schedule was due to the idolization of her grandson. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t his.
It was yours, for not being to stand on equal footing with the prodigy Alhaitham. You pressed your lips sealed. This detail didn’t escape her aging eyes. She shifted her attention to the sheet music propped up on the stand.
“Do you know the story behind Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro?”
You tilted your head to the side, you’ve never researched any piece in depth before. Reading your answer from this action, the old lady continued.
“It was written for quite a famous play. A story and message that caused waves through society at the time. A story about servants rebelling against their masters, taking fate into their own hands.” Her warm eyes gave you a knowing look.
“That is why it’s my favorite song from Mozart.”
“Oh? Then I’ll play it for you again. As many times as you want.” The smile returned to your face.
You never thought that the next time you’d ever play that song would be at her funeral. Fellow professors and colleagues dressed in black filled the room of the wake, paying their respects to her and their condolences to the young man beside you.
What an awful transition into adulthood Alhaitham had.
Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the marble floor. Peering at the face of your dearest friend, his cheeks were dry.
By the time the sky began to turn its brilliant pink and orange hues, the attendees had all funneled out of the room. Your parents were the first ones to leave, but you stayed firmly by Alhaitham’s side. It was only you, him, and the casket in the room now.
She wanted a private burial, thus the staff informed you that they’ll begin the process soon. However, before they did, you wanted to play her favorite song one last time. Your send-off for her.
Sitting down at the sleek black piano provided by the funeral home, you took a deep breath. Alhaitham takes his place next to you on the bench, with his back facing the piano you couldn’t see his face.
The bright tones of this joyful song resounding through the room harshly contrasted the somber mood. But you continued playing regardless, fingers never skipping a note nor compromising the tempo.
Alhaitham’s head found its way on your shoulder, the weight slightly interfering with your range of motion. However, you didn’t say anything and never stopped playing. The bright melody comforting two grieving souls.
–
The last memories you had of her resurfacing as he places the flowers down at her grave. The tombstone is still as clean and polished as the day it was inlaid into the ground. A testament to the diligence of her grandson, the only family she left behind.
Today was the first time the day didn’t end with a trip to your bed. The mood was inappropriate for such things.
Just two souls quietly reminiscing about the things that are now gone. As it was, it shall never be again.
If his colleagues were to ever discover the current predicament the raising secretary of the company was in, they’d either dismiss it or laugh at him. How unthinkable. The phlegmatic man whose hands always held the reins of control, reduced to such a complacent fool? The desert would freeze over before any of them would ever believe such a thing.
However, Alhaitham didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. The ashen-haired man already knew the reason behind his actions. He’s known for quite a while now. He holds his convictions firmly and will walk through hell with them.
–
Sitting down in a private study room provided by the university, a senior was currently wallowing in an irrelevant emotion. Alhaihtam knows the name, it’s grief.
Of course, it’s depressing to lose a familiar face, a person who stood by your side throughout your developmental years. However, you were still alive. Why is he grieving over a person who’s still healthy and breathing? Questions unrelated to his thesis plagued his thoughts as his paper remained untouched on the desk.
Teal irises scan the stack of books he had piled to the side. Perhaps he should review some of the material to refresh his mind about his thesis on the consequences of unrecorded words.
Picking a random psychology journal from the mound, this book could hold the answers to why his thoughts are redundant. Alhaitham began his quest for an epiphany.
The student’s experienced eyes scanned through the text, noting details that could potentially support his points. It’s not a surprise that psychology and etymology go hand in hand, after all, words were born out of human thought and the need to communicate them.
This journal was only scratching at the ceiling that prevented him from crossing into the territory of true understanding. It frustrated him.
Disdainfully scrutinizing the text further, running through each passage over and over, until he finally reads the first line of the final page:
“Psychology as a science has its limitations, and, as the logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.”
The student finally closes the covers of the book, it had served its purpose.
No matter how many times his thoughts circled back, searching for correlations and different conclusions from figurative pinpoints. Alhaitham knew in the end, they were all just excuses.
Love is illogical by nature, an unexplainable consequence of human thought. A fever which comes and goes independently of the will. Maybe, the true explanation of love has been lost to time, the unwritten words that belonged in the spaces between the script printed in preserved texts.
So Alhaitham will understand his limits now. It matters not if he understands the origins of love or language or words. All that mattered to him is that he understands now: He was in love. A diagnosis and truth that came years too late. With this revelation quelling his thoughts, he finished his thesis.
Acceptance, the last stage of grief.
–
‘This is unhealthy’ a voice in his mind chastised. Alhaitham didn’t feel the need to defend his current actions, because the voice was right. This is unhealthy. Teal eyes concealed the running thoughts in his head, watching the raising and falling of your chest.
After all these years you reappeared in front of him. The ashen-haired man knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even though it was made from a rope of thorns, he still grabbed onto it.
For now, he shall set aside his pride, his hubris. Sex was the only time you would willingly approach him. Alhaitham was more than willing to exchange his body for the privilege of being close to you once more. A fair trade in his mind.
‘If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.’
The stoic man is sure the saying would disagree with his tampering. Like setting a songbird free, only to lure it back into his hands with the irresistible treat of pleasure. It was all he could do. Alhaitham knew that cruelly grasping at the songbird will only snap the fragile tightrope that connected your paths.
After all, you had fled the hated cage of your childhood home the moment the door was left open. He already decided he won’t do that to you.
Instead, he’ll keep holding out his hand, palms wide open, waiting for you to come back to taste the pleasure he offers you time after time again.
You were laying on his chest, sleep drenched every fiber of your being, heart vibrating steadily against his own.
It’s a paradox, how can your body be so close but your heart still so far away?
The desire for sleep outweighed his lust for answers. Or it could be that he already knew, he was just delaying the thought for the morning. His heavy lids closed.
When they open again in the morning, he knows they’ll be greeted by the sight of an empty bed. He knows the sheets that hold your lingering scent will be cold. He knows he will be left alone in your apartment.
Alhaitham knows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
The Sumeru Grand Orchestra, the golden ticket for any musician. Status, recognition, and generous paychecks. When the auditions were first announced you were one of the first to jump at the opportunity, and so did everyone else, flooding the application sites, but you were able to secure a number: 211.
Weeks in advance on a muted keyboard you practiced every classical piece you could, sharpening your sightreading senses. You were led into the waiting room with all the other aspiring musicians, it was now a game of survival.
You made it to the final round. It’s been five hours since you last left the palatial concert hall where the auditions were held. The one cramped room was now a motionless void, mutterings of prayers to any archon that would listen whispered through the thick air.
“Number 211.”
You were the lamb up for slaughter. The audition piece that was placed into your hand half an hour ago crumbled under the force of your tense grip. The proctor closed the door behind you, stealing off your path of escape as they led you through the labyrinth. At the end of the tunnel, you were greeted by the harsh stage lights glaring off the grand piano.
The curtains that once shielded you from the captious glares of the judges were gone. All of you laid out clearly on the stage. Your fate is balanced on the tips of their immaculate pens. The minuscule tremble of your hands couldn’t escape their hawk eyes.
Chin up and shoulders back, you strolled across the polished wooden planks, settling down at the matte black piano, it was like staring into the abyss.
Taking a deep breath, you signaled the start. Fingers danced along the ivory keys in accordance with the notes memorized. This stanza was from Meditation from Thais, the hypnotic theme filling the empty concert hall.
It’s been a while since you hear your own playing resounded out through such a place. However, this was a turning point a chance to take fate into your own hands.
To once again stand under the warm lights and bow to an audience enamored by your music. For the songbird to fly free from it’s grey sterile cubical.
“Stop.” A cold voice struck the fragile wings of a bird in flight.
You did as you were ordered, even before your mind even registered the words. Oh no, you weren’t finished, you didn’t get to complete this round.
“Number 211 is disqualified. The playing is soulless, empty notes that just echo off the walls.”
–
Soulless. Huh, you’ve never been told that before. Raindrops landed into your unblinking eyes as they observed the darkening sky. Was nature taking pity on you too? Crying for you when your tear ducts were still frozen in shock? You let the cold droplets trail down your cheek. Around you, the crowd dressed in suits and ties walked passed the scene of a death.
The death of your dreams.
You used up one of your precious sick days to attend this audition, but now it might no longer be just an excuse. You couldn’t feel anything but the sharp shards of shattered hope gouging into your back. Staring up at the gray sky from the deep, cold well of your misery.
When did this happen? When did the bright fire fizzle out? When did your passion die?
A sorry excuse of a laugh slipped out. No, it might be accurate to say that there was never a passion in the first place, something nonexistent cannot die. Something nonexistent cannot be created even if the haze of a fever dream might say otherwise. Now that the rain had washed away that haze, you could now clearly see the void.
Did you really like the piano? Or was it a lie engrained into your flesh by stern hands?
Maybe the judges were right, your playing was soulless, pieces only ever practiced for technical perfection. Talent meticulously crafted by grueling long hours. Fingers that separated your beating heart from the inanimate black and white keys. In the end, you were an artificial prodigy, with an artificial passion that quickly denigrated under the droplets of calm rain.
“You’re soaked.” A baritone voice resounded behind you as a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders.
Alhaitham had just gotten off the clock, exiting the grand sliding doors only to spot your listless figure standing as an obstacle for the weaving crowd of the city. However, you kept staring at the dull sky, uncaring about how your wet clothes clung to your shivering figure. You didn’t even seem to perceive his words.
“You’re going to get sick.” Two warm hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, guiding your body to a secluded area, away from the crowd and rain.
This motion jostled your eyes, allowing them to read the company name proudly displayed on the front of the towering skyscraper. Was this the future you had gambled away for a false path shown to you by a dream? A steady job, good savings benefits, and prospective increases in income. All the chips you had pushed into the center of the table as you drew dud cards.
You shifted your eyes away from the imposing letters and connected with teal-orange irises. Was his mask of indifference hiding his smug satisfaction that his prediction was correct? Was he holding back an ‘I told you so’? The bitter whispers of a green-eyed devil tickled against the shell of your ear.
“Come, I’ll drive you home.”
No, you can’t go back to your abysmal apartment. You couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the sight of your reality. The messy bedroom, the music sheets scattered all across the cluttered living room, the mocking keyboard pressed up against a corner. If you were to step foot back in there, you’ll disappear under the murky waters in the ocean called ‘regret’.
Your trembling hands grounded themselves in the crisp button-down, crumbling the fabric against Alhaitham’s smooth skin. No words could travel past your vocal cords, throat numb to move. All you could do was shake your hang head from side to side. You could feel the ashen-haired man take a deep breath, his mind quickly forming an alternative plan.
“Come with me.” Large hands gently untangling your fingers from his clothes.
–
Those same gentle hands were now rubbing a fresh towel through your dripping hair, soaking up the excess water that had been trailing droplets down your skin. His house was quiet, no rumbling of car engines from the streets, no loud gurgling pipes, no thumping footsteps. Still and serene, only allowing the soft pattering of rain kissing the ground and windows.
Alhaitham hasn’t spoken a single word to you ever since he welcomed you into his home and sat you down.
As Alhaitham continued with his efforts to warm your shivering body, all you could do was observe the spotless wooden floors. They were so polished and lustrous… just like the grandiose stage.
Something vile was creeping up your neck, slowly making its way up to the falling sanctuary of your mind. No, you needed to push it back, you needed to distract it. To buy you some time before the vileness consumes you wholly.
Hopeless hands trailed up the toned arms of the man currently drying your hair, making his movements stop. You took this opportunity to shift your body so that it pressed against his, the dampness of your clothes transferring to his. Ah, it must be uncomfortable for him.
Clumsily, you began to undo the neat buttons of his button-down, only for your hands to be enclosed within a delicate grip. You could feel the weight of his condemnatory gaze upon you, teal eyes observing your movements as if he was calculating his next move.
There wasn’t any time for contemplation. The bitter bile thoughts were quickly encroaching on their destination. With your hands immobilized you used your mouth instead, nuzzling into the skin that peeked through the unopened portion.
You could feel the small shiver of his warm body reacting to your cold cheek. Alhaitham lets out a deep sigh, hot breath fanning over the top of your head. He got the message.
Your soaked dress was pulled over your head, heavy black fabric falling to the side of the bed in which you lay now. The sheets providing your shivering body with softness and a semblance of warmth. Alhaitham presses tender kisses down the nape of your neck, stopping between the valley of your breast to push your body further up the bed.
Larger hands ran along the length of your legs, as if to warm them up with the slow friction. Your legs gave no resistance as he places one over his shoulder, lips brushing against your knee.
You let out a small sigh, the skin-on-skin contact was just what your frozen body needed. Your body twisted further into his sheets, your other leg pressed against the back of his hip as if to spur him to hasten his pace. However, Alhaitham, being the steadfast man he is, ignored your neediness and continued to trail kisses down your soft skin. His mouth ended his journey with a slow and deep lap at your clit, causing your body to jolt.
“Mmm.”
Your skin has thawed, every nerve now acutely aware of each slow lick his wet tongue brushed against your sensitive bud. You no longer had any pride to uphold, thus moans just freely flowed out of your mouth just as how slick dripped from your aching hole. Once more you dug your heel into him, your neglected walls yearning for attention.
This time he was merciful, running one thick finger along the slick pooling between your folds. Gathering up the dew and tracing small circles along the entrance.
A whine followed, you twisted even more along the tussled sheets, reaching a hand down to tangle into his ashen locks. Alhaitham gave you want you wanted, slowly his thick finger was welcomed into your eager walls as his tongue continued to play with your clit. Your head was thrown back, heavy pants fogging up the room in the air, lidden eyes barely anything but the back of your head.
Another finger was soon added, stretching out your leaking hole only leaving your gummy walls craving more. A few soft kisses were pressed against your now twitching bud, before his skilled tongue took over for the final push toward nirvana. With practiced precision his fingers swiftly pressed against that spongey patch, making white flames shoot up your spine. Your quivering legs and curling toes didn’t faze Alhaitham in the slightest.
“OH!”
With a firm tug to ashen locks and one final flick to your swollen clit, your eyes meet the back of your head, a stretched moan bounced off the walls. Back arched almost painfully off the bed, Alhaitham continued the slow thrust of his soaked fingers into your contracting hole. As you rode the waves of pleasure back down, Alhaitham finally detaches his lips from your cunt, a slick trail connecting them.
The burning between your legs didn’t stop. You needed more, legs wrapping around his muscular torso, urging him to give you more. His self-control all but turns into dust in your presence. There’s not a plausible scenario where he could ever deny you. Finally, his leaking member can have its turn.
Fighting against the restraints of your legs, Alhaitham was able to pull the condom over his full length. Your hole jolted with joy the moment it felt his fat tip pressing up against your entrance. The slow circling before he finally sunk in, in an instant your walls clung onto every inch he pushed in, thanking him with pulsing contractions.
He sucked in a long hiss from how your warm, slick walls perfectly hugged him. You let your tongue loll out with a deep moan, legs pulling his body closer so that your arms could find purchase around his broad shoulders.
His pace was slow and deep, warming your walls up so as to not hurt the delicate you. This greatly displeased you, evident by how your nails dug into the solid muscle of his shoulders. You need it fast, you wanted it deep, you wanted him to pound those bitter thoughts away with his thick member. Two hands clasped around your hips, snapping your body tightly against his. He’ll grant your request.
“Ah! Ah! AH!”
His merciless pace had your breast bouncing and incomprehensible words babbling out of your lips. Heavy cock dragging out along your grasping walls, then slamming his hips harshly against your sobbing cunt. Every punishing thrust was welcomed by your slick walls thanking him. His heavy pants fanned across your ear as he continued this ruthless speed.
Your body was now burning, precipitation hanging heavy in the air, yet you still arched your back off the bed to chase after his warmth. Bodies entangled in a mess of limbs in an animalistic chase after pleasure and orgasm.
The wet noises of your weeping hole welcoming him back in over and over again. In between the heavy slaps of his balls against your sloppy cunt and thick tip bullying your poor spot, you could feel the deep vibrations in his chest.
“Look at me.” You felt him pull away just a bit so he could have a clear view of your loose face.
You didn’t want to. Lest his searching teal eyes discover the truth of why you pulled him into bed, to give him the satisfaction. You squeezed your lids closed. The particularly deep thrust he snapped displayed his displeasure at your actions.
“Please.” The unfamiliar words coming from his mouth made your eyes wide again. The tone is gentle.
So, with your resolve weakened, you finally connected with his gaze. What was that look in his eyes? It was too soft to be malice, too calm to be anger, too tender to just be lust. Yet your pleasure-melted brain couldn’t process it.
In gratitude for you granting his wish, his thumb found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing deep circles into the sensitive nerve. You pressed yourself impossibly hard against his body, walls clamping down on his thick member.
His actions made the knot inside your stomach pull against itself taught until the treads of sanity snapped. Even though your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, all you could see was the blinding white light of cloud nine. Your walls clamped down around him like a vise, snug walls now binding his length. Alhaitham clenches his jaw, stoic face twisted in the throws of pleasure as he spills himself into the barrier deep within.
Long fingers painting the sides of your hips red as he recomposes himself. Chest heaving from the exertion. He helps himself to a few more slow thrusts in your gummy walls, riding out his own orgasm even as his red tip teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your soft thighs still entrapping his towering frame. It looks like you still haven’t come down yet.
Alhaitham’s hand gently cupped your messy face. Your lips were off limits, so he shall kiss those bitter tears away from your eyes instead.
Like always you woke up before Alhaitham again. However, this time you couldn’t bear to look at his face. Was this out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt? You didn’t know and didn’t care.
Unwrapping his arms from around your waist, you hobbled towards the clack lump of your dress. The fabric was still ever so slightly damp, ah, the sensation against your skin made the bitter bile restart its journey again.
You couldn’t help the envy that bubbled up in your system as you observed the spacious halls of Alhaitham’s house. Footsteps softly tap along the polished wood floors so as not to awaken the sleeping homeowner.
Of course, he has a nice house in the most upscale neighborhood. Of course, it's located in a quiet suburb a commutable distance away from the raucous city. Of course, it has nice big windows and expensive dark wood furnishings.
Of course. Of course. Of course. It’s because he’s Alhaitham. He’s got everything.
Your face scrunched up as bitterness crept up from the back of your tongue. It wasn’t from the bitter waters of regret, no, it was from a certain green-eyed creature. You needed to leave this house as soon as possible before you did something foolish.
You dug your hand into your purse for your phone, ready to call a lift back to your shabby apartment. It was all becoming too much. Just at the end of the hall, you could spot the solid oak doors that blocked off the outside world. Get out of this cage and breathe the fresh air.
You no longer cared about the noise your steps were making, thumps echoed throughout the halls frantically carrying you toward the shiny knob. A shaky hand grasped onto the cold smooth metal, ready to twist the deadbolt free. A glimmer of white coming from the side room caught your eye, reeling it back from its tunnel vision. Your head couldn’t help but follow.
It was a grand piano.
His former roommate was right, the white lacquer finish on the piano contrasted harshly against the dark wood bookshelves. It really did look out of place, taking up too much space in the side library. The dark walnut wood piano seat looked odd next to it as well.
The viridescent seat cushion looked a bit worn as if it had been sat in regularly. Still, the pearly finish that reflected the morning rays beckoned you closer, the sense of nostalgia growing stronger with each step.
It looked exactly like your old piano, your most cherished treasure that had been plundered from you so long ago. Trembling hands ran along the glossy fallboard, not a speck of dust was found along the paths of your fingers. You caught sight of the gold lettering inscribed along the front, it was even the same brand.
The pull of intrigue was too great, you had to know, but do you dare? Why are you lifting your hopes up so high? Have you not learned your lesson after being dropped over and over again onto the cold pavement of disappointment below? Maybe you were some type of masochist. Just like Schrodinger’s cat, you can’t confirm if those hopes were dead or alive until you opened the lid.
A resounding creek rang out from the protesting hinges, the lacquered lid heavy as if trying to conceal the truth away from your searching eyes. But your determination beat out any old hinges, lifting the heavy top above your head. Your breathing halted.
Property of Bookworm and Earworm
It was written clear as day on the naked wood concealed by the glossy outer casing. Clumsy letters scribbled in harsh black permanent marker. The proof of authenticity. This is your treasured piano.
Your arm lost all strength, the heavy lid slammed down reverberating all the strings and hammers in a chaotic symphony of shock. The clashing vibrations pierced your ears, causing the ringing that was now the background music to the realization crashing down upon you.
All this time, Alhaitham stayed himself. His unfazed individuality moved through life to the metronome of his own heart. Like a firm apple tree whose roots held the ground below him together. The fruits of his labor dropping down to satiate a heart hungry for encouragement.
The shiny red fruits were given at every meeting, in exchange for every CD and performance attended. All this time, he never once looked at you with pity nor disdain. He treasured you.
And what have you given in return? You participated in gossip behind his back. You looked at him with the same prejudice you promised to defend him from. You broke your promises to him. You lied to him. You used him, even down to his physical body to further your own self-interests.
When did the whispers of a green-eyed monster turn you into that selfish child from the storybook?
If your past self was there to witness the scene in front of her, she’d be appalled. She’d beat you with hatred at the torment you put her beloved friend through. Yes, she’d hate you. You hate you. You’ve never hated yourself more.
How could you do this to him? You really are your parent’s child. You never considered how the shrapnel of consequences from your actions would wound those close by.
You couldn’t even look at the reflection staring back at you from the polished white surface, her eyes stared back at you with malice. You were a selfish traitor.
Too self-absorbed in your own wallowing to notice the slow steps approaching from down the hallway. Alhaitham’s steps were slow as he stared at the back of your figure. Like a watcher trying not to startle a resting songbird. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, making sure he wasn’t just looking at the afterimage of a person who had long left the house.
A small creak was all it took for your head to snap toward his approaching figure. Eyes wide and shaking. Alhaitham made sure to stop a arms length away as he accesses the situation. It looks like you’ve discovered his small secret. A fragment of the past that he relentlessly searched for, the only time he ever asked anything of your parents. He planned to return it to you one day.
You looked like you could collapse at any moment, so Alhaitham held out his hand, palms open and awaiting. You reached a quivering hand out, pulling back slightly a few times before finally landing. Your fingers clasped onto each other, you drew closer to his board figure until your forehead was resting against his chest. You didn’t dare look at his face.
He made no further moves.
“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.” Your mouth couldn’t stop spewing the regrets deep from your heart.
Even though you were apologizing, you didn’t want him to forgive you. You couldn’t even forgive yourself, how could he? It would be easier if he just hated you. If he were to just say ‘I hate you’ right now with that stoic voice of his, you could die peacefully. The best end that you deserved. You could feel the wet spots forming on his shirt from your tears.
“I won’t forgive you.” The vibrations from his deep voice were felt against you.
Four words cut into you deeper than any knife ever could. But you deserved this pain. Your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth, on the verge of splitting open from how hard you were biting back your cries. You didn’t deserve to cry.
“Not until you play Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro.”
Those words halted your breathing. Like a rope that’s been thrown down the dark well you were wallowing in. Will your hands reach out and grasp onto this opportunity? Slowly you lifted your gaze up. Something behind the calm teal of his eyes was egging you on to do so, to take a hold of the lifeline thrown down from the bright sky.
“… Of course.” You let go of him.
Moving back over to your grand piano. Lifting the smaller section of the lid first this time placing it gently back on the larger section, allowing the music rack to appear. Setting up the notches into position, you then lifted the heavy back lid up. Placing the prop up this time so as to not put your piano through the same chaos again.
Finally, the dustfree fallboard was lifted up, revealing the keyboards that held the faint imprints of history. You settled your self-down at the bench, your hands hesitantly reaching out only for your fingers to retract the moment your soft tips brushed against the smooth ivory. The bitter shame of failure scorching your delicate senses.
Inhaling a deep breath, you turned to face Alhaitham reconnecting with his teal gaze as he stayed in place. A silent plead. With quiet steps, he approaches closer to the bench, the wooden protested under the added weight. Two bodys not touching, facing in opposite directions. Ah, just like a familiar scene from many years ago.
Once more, you attempted to reach out your fingers, emboldened by the soothing body heat of the man besides you. Placing your fingers back into position, the scorning of your finger tips becoming irrelevant. Lulling you to return back into the blackness of your sanctuary of mind. Recalling the song that symbolized a period of great change, wonderful change.
The pressed keys played their notes, the hammers inside your piano striking against the string. Ringing out the awful tones of stings that have gone out of tune from years of unuse. Even if it stung you ears and his the same, you continued to play the chipper overture. The bitter bile fizzling out like sea form, as laughter tickled the inside of your throat.
“It sounds terrible.” You giggled honestly.
“Mm. I’m not all that familiar with performance etiquette, but I’m certain talking during a show is bad manners.” There was no bit to his words. You couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile.
Two hearts now closer than previously, became the metronome for the off-key rendition of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, accompanied by the bright giggles of the pianist and the content sigh of her audience. Outside the window, a songbird chirps to greet the beautiful sun that resurfaced after a day of rain.
He absolutely adores you, he always has. He knows that you know now. But he also knows that you weren’t ready to hear it. The weight of three small words would be enough to topple the stability of your consciousness. It wasn’t strong enough to handle them, not after the mangling hands of guilt and regret vandalized it.
So he won’t say those three words, not yet, not until you’ve repaired your cracking foundations. Alhaitham will wait to tell you ‘I love you’. Like a patient tree standing on the hill biding its time for the return of a beloved creature.
Fin~
DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.
#alhaitham x reader#al haitham x you#alhaitham fanfic#alhaitham x y/n#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#al-haitham x you#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham headcanons#genshin angst#alhaitham x you#alhaitham angst#yandere alhaitham#genshin fanfic#genshin fluff#alhaitham smut#genshin smut#genshin x y/n#genshin x you#alhaitham scenarios#vivalabunbunfics#al haitam x reader
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SLEEPOVER SATURDAY YAYYYY I have 2.
1. Because I’m still stuck in fucking Texas, top 3 best US states
2. Top potential AU’s for The Terror
Oh noooooo wishing you a speedy departure tomorrow!
I've lived a lot of places and done a lot of road tripping and without further details on which to define "best" I'm going to go with the three states I feel the most personal connection to and say Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michigan. I love Lake Superior, I grew up in that area and sometimes I am very homesick for it. I've been trying to develop the same feeling of connection to the landscape in New England since transplanting and I'm not going to lie, it is rough going. I keep saying I am going to try to get into hiking and rock identification so I can see the mountains and maybe 2024 is the year I buckle down and do that.
First off: Star Trek AU obviously. I'm really bad at coming up with plots and writing long fics but I am beginning to take notes for a Star Trek AU in case the Terror SciFi Fest happens again this upcoming May.
Secondly: Ghosts/spiritualism/haunted house AU. While I do enjoy a good modern AU from time to time, to me part of the draw of The Terror is the time period it is set. I am fascinated by the Victorian era, the advances in medicine during the time period, the rise in popularity of ghosts and ghost stories, and I think I'd get a lot of enjoyment out of researching to write an AU that takes advantage of this somehow.
Also, I am obsessed with haunted houses as they are used to represent familial trauma, codependence, grief and loneliness, etc etc, and I think it would be fun to take Crozier out of The Horrors only to put him into a different flavor of The Horrors <3
Lastly: Musicians/orchestra AU. Gonna be honest, I do not have any of the requisite knowledge to write this and it does not interest me enough to do this research. I want somebody else to write this so I can read it. However, I saw a post once that was the show writer going through and saying what each character's job would be if they lived in the modern day and what he said about Fitzjames was that he'd be a surgeon or somebody else with very specialized knowledge, someone who is the best at something. And while yeah, a specialist surgeon is this, and specialist surgeons are, in my experience, divas with complexes, for reasons of personal taste (dislike of the medical field irl and preference for show contemporary AUs over modern ones) I think it would be more interesting to just skip over the medical layer and make Fitzjames a diva with a complex.
This man plays the violin and he is the best at it and he and Crozier cannot stand each other because Crozier has been playing longer, does not care about the limelight, and actively scorns Fitzjames for doing so. I just have this idea in my head of Fitzjames saying to someone else that Crozier plays a perfectly serviceable, workmanlike violin, but he obviously doesn't truly care for it, he doesn't play with any passion, and Fitzjames who has been doing this his whole life and made it his whole life, the only thing he's ever been good at that he's had to hang all his hopes on, finds that intolerable. Meanwhile Crozier cares about the violin very deeply but doesn't really show it to anybody and keeps to himself because loving music and loving your coworkers are two different things.
Additional inspiration for this idea is the fact that when Phantom of the Opera shut down on Broadway a couple months ago (last year? What is the passage of time...) I saw a news article about it which said some of the people in the orchestra had been playing the show together since it started running in 1986. The drama within that pit must have been insane and I desperately want to read about it.
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a private writing blog for THE GHOST FACE from DEAD BY DAYLIGHT. adult content warning: gore, horror, violence/abuse, toxic dynamics, erotica/kink, etc..
a study in: the "american psycho," being raised by a government-sanctioned killer (career soldier), the horrifying consequences of glorifying fascist violence, "you are not immune to propaganda," deeply internalized trauma manifesting in extreme ways, becoming the void as a trauma response, toxic horror fans, the ghost face as a narrative allegory to the preemptive, calculated serial murdering culture of violence propagated by the western military industrial complex, etc.
GUIDELINES ...
* standard etiquette applies: no info/god-modding, no guilt trips or vague-blogging, no forced shipping. it goes without saying that this blog does not tolerate irl abuse, queerphobia, transphobia, sexism, racism/colorism, fascism/colonialism, or overall bigotry. but i don't agree with immature assholes out there who harass or demonize real people over fictional characters; i do not condone bad faith “paranoid reading” against marginalized writers. i can distinguish & separate reality from fiction, and i understand that there is a human being behind every blog. the most important rule is to take it easy, respect each other, and enjoy writing as a hobby. relax.
** multiverse, multiship, oc friendly, duplicate friendly, etc.! but this is a private and highly selective novella/prose writing blog. very low activity + low maintenance, slow with DMs. writer has a very busy offline life, besties with the horrors and whatnot. if we're mutuals, i want to write and plot with you! i hard block and soft block liberally, mostly to clear out inactive blogs or content i don’t vibe with anymore. no biggie! non-rp or personal blogs are welcomed to follow this blog, but pls do not reblog any writing or rp threads (with exceptions for answered asks sent by that personal blog).
*** romantic shipping is not a priority on this blog. but i do love plotting & developing dynamics between two or more characters that may be antagonistic, platonic, QPR/FWB, antagonistic/toxic, unconventional, or an exploration of bdsm partnerships. i prefer slow-burn and multifaceted plots; exploring and developing danny's relationships with canon and original characters. so mutuals are always welcomed to DM me for plotting dynamics or rp! lastly but most importantly, consent and communication needs to happen first and foremost.
**** this blog focuses on the horror genre, ghostface is literally unjustifiably evil, so this blog will present ADULT THEMES: gore, blood, violence, murder, toxic dynamics, usfw, symbolism/allegories/nuance, etc.. VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED. MINORS DNI. 🔞🔞🔞
***** writer's called moony! 31 yr/o, black pasifika, neurodivergent, aroace, they/them. usfw/aes side-blog: @g0thics. affiliated multi: @anarkissm.
INDEX ...
dossier.
realities.
WRITING.
id: the narrative.
id: the lore. (headcanons)
id: the plot. (prompts/memes/wishlist)
REALMS / REALITIES (TIMELINES, AUs).
re: the design. (pre-dbd, modern)
re: the fog. (dbd)
re: the aftermath. (post-dbd)
re: the scream. (post-dbd, AU)
ID TAGS (AESTHETICS).
id: study.
id: ghostface.
id: johnson.
id: physique.
id: album.
id: soundtrack.
RS, i.e. RELATIONSHIPS.
rs: to live deliciously. (ft. mrgoatman)
rs: to kiss the abyss & feel the abyss kiss back. (ft. goatmasks)
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random hcs for the deeply complex modern au i still thinj abt sometimes
neil:
hes in keatings class n hes a peer tutor for one of his lower grade classes AND in mr keatings secret club (dead poets society)
dads still forcing him into a career path n he gets so stressed trying to stay on top of all of his classes n he started emailing mr keating late at night, first it was like Teacher Approved venting but now he sends him memes at 3 am. mr keating always responds.
he n charlie got "married" in kindergarten
endlessly watches howls moving castle. he pretends that he only watches broadway bootlegs or artsy gay films but he literally watches howls moving castle in class all the time
hes on good terms with all his teachers so sometimes hes allowed to just... leave and take a nap in keatings class. keating repurposed the classroom closet to be full of soft things n a quiet space for kids because hes a good goddamn teacher
unironically still listens to be more chill
has a secret tumblr account bc his dad only lets him have a heavily monitored instagram
adores rent but pitts is rhe only one who will watch it Willingly with him anymore bc when he made them all watch it they were all so devastated. charlie didnt talk to him for 3 days
todd:
just moved here, hes neil's neighbor. charlie also lives in the neighbohood, and knox spends more time around there than his own home
his brothers the all star american boy meanwhile todd won the spelling bee in 3rd grade and gets star stickers on his creative writing assignments
has had like 3 interventions from teachers and he has to be like im really not super depressed i promise im just quiet
draws on himself a lot. hes not a spectacular artist but like... neil loves it
unfairly good at soccer but was too anxious to try out for the high school team
rlly rlly likes samurai jack. he keeps it a secret but hes absolutely obsessed
has a tik tok n most of his videos are of the dead poets its very sweet. he manages to get on the weirdest sides of tik tok tho, involving prison tik tok, serial killer tik tok, cartel tik tok, glitchcore tik tok, and one memorable time, bdsm tik tok
half his playlists r full of hozier.
shares his spotify premium with neil
that cool guy at school whos parents dont care about him so he can do whatever but unfortunate hes lame so he does nothing about it
charlie:
tik tok famous
keating lets him grade papers, and doesnt say anything when charlie fixes his friends mistakes, and once let him get away with erasing cameron's name from his paper so he had to redo the assignment
adopts freshmen
advertises parties on his snapchat
throws parties but not at his own house
horror movie fanatic.
obsessed with the sonic movie
his phone is full of selfies and really cursed memes
all his contacts have emojis
calls mr keating mom with confidence
has a massive crush on jim carrey meeks thinks its the funniest shit in the world
on a first name basis with the principals
meeks:
ppl paypal him to do their work for them
goes randonauting with pitts n sometimes charlie
little witch boy, but on the downlow
rlly into bugs
has every single streaming service but also watches more stuff online than charlie does
teaches all the boys abt queer media and teaches underclassmen or anyone who needs to know abt actual sex education despite being ace
office aide so hes rlly tight with the principals
watches a lot of bad tv from the 80s
has a terrible taste in music
eats sticks and rocks and mud
has 2 pet rats. secret rats. their names are rice and piss
says he shoplifts to look cool but has never stolen anything more than 2 dollars
has a rlly overbearing mom like he loves her but jesus christ please get a life other than watching over ur child all the time hes trying to be cool
hosts all the dead poets on holidays when he can. halloween is a blast
cant drive. none of them are very good at it but he doesnt even have a license
pitts:
so mad that thats his name
owns 4 different radios
actually in robotics. all the poets try to come to his matches, despite meeks being the only one who even vaguely understands it
2nd best driver. picks up neil if he ever gets stranded somewhere by his parents. it happens a lot.
owns a car
has been hunting a lot?? he doesnt even like it
bakes for the poets
takes cooking lessons sometimes, he likes to be self sufficient
likes to get into what all his friends r into so he can talk about it with them :) pitts is such a good guy id die for him
always packs snacks n stuff to feed to the boys throughout the day bc neil is physically incapable of eating at lunch time and the rest of them forget a lot
has a respectable amount of twitter and tik tok followers. is unaware of the significance of this. he just likes giving ppl helpful advice
gives good life tips and has high grades but hes stupid. set his hair on fire on a dare but it was mostly an accident. crashed a car into a brick wall. consistently has a burn on his hand
knox:
twitter bio definitely has "sad boy" in it
no thoughts, head empty
disaster in heelys and a cute top
LOVES tik tok
hydroflask full of pepsi
wears skirts bc fuck toxic masculinity
either shows up to school in a fit meant for the met gala or a hoodie and pants that are half on. there is no inbetween.
has tutoring after school like hes not behind in class or struggle too badly but he doesnt grasp what teachers fucking say half the time so they cover what he may have missed. good teachers. ideal world with teachers who care. jk only keating and his math teacher do it meeks helps with science
watched a livestream of a tv screen with the little blue ray video thing bouncing around for 6 hours and missed it when it hit the corner and cried about it for a day and a half
broke his wrist sophmore year in a heely related incident
has a snap score of like 30,000 idk i dont use snapchat i just know ppl who dont shut the fuck abt their snap score being like 30,000
goes thrifting a lot! barely owns fitting clothes
he n chris are bffs she taught him how to skateboard. is skateboard a verb? taught him how to skate using a skateboard
oh yeah. skater girl chris.
has a lot of anxiety about the state of the world anyways hes a vegetarian and tries to be zero waste to manage it. like he knows its corporations but it makes him feel good
plays lacrosse!
#n tjats all i got#long post#post: headcanons#c: neil perry#c: charlie dalton#c: knox overstreet#c: todd anderson#c: stephen meeks#c: mr keating#c: gerard pitts#vin.txt#no im not putting this in any main tags theres so much#post: deeply complex modern au
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Saw a really shitty post today about how fanfic writing shouldn’t be taught in school because it’s ‘just paint by numbers’ as if all a fanfic author has to do is fill in a fucking Mad Libs sheet.
So I’m here to be a little angry about it!
Fanfiction absolutely SHOULD be taught as some part of creative writing classes (which let’s be real, is creative writing even a standard class in middle/high school anymore? probably not). This isn’t to say it should REPLACE anything, but rather that it has intrinsic value as a form of writing, and deserves to be exposed and discussed as one of the tools and styles a writer has in their inventory of skills, as well as discussed with regards to its prevalence in the wider culture of story telling.
Why?
Because fanfiction is actually really fucking common in so-called “original” fiction, and it works in a way completely different than original fiction, which means the skills involved in making it are not quite the same, either. And those skills have VALUE.
Think about all of the remakes of stories people have told over the years; every single AU rendition of plays written by Shakespeare aren’t The Original Play. Think of how many times Romeo and Juliet has played out in various media, without being word-for-word performances in Original Garb on a stage! That’s a modern AU, baby! Think about all the sequels to or spinoffs of stories that aren’t written by the original creator- technically those are just canon compliant stories, or canon divergences someone has permission to write. They’re what happens when someone gets paid to ask “think about this story someone else wrote, and tell me what happens next.” Think about “reboots” of media- things like Star Trek 2009, which wasn’t written by Gene Roddenberry- it’s an alternate timeline AU. Think about all the various versions of something like Sherlock- the original author didn’t write any of those. Just because it’s public domain now doesn’t mean all of the various media created with those characters aren’t fanfiction. They are! They technically are!! Think about the new set of movies being created where a common story is being told from the villain’s POV, like Maleficent! That shit’s fanfiction, too!!
Fanfiction is already deeply ingrained in our media, it’s just not called that. The difference is the amount of money and the permission involved. That’s it!
So yes!! we should!! be teaching kids!!! about fanfiction!! It is useful knowledge!! It is ABSOLUTELY worthwhile to show kids that a story doesn’t have to be 100% unique to be worth telling. There are only a handful of stories, at the core of them, that are ever told- what matters is how you tell it. What matters is THAT you tell it, rather than getting snagged on the concern that you must tell a story no one else has told before. Even if all a teacher does is teach kids that fanfiction exists and what it is, that’s worthwhile knowledge for kids to have, to know that it is an option!
And aside from that aspect, I mentioned the skills- I’m not talking about college here (although I think it has a place at least in discussion there, as well), I’m talking about actual children here. Middle school, high school maybe. Children who OFTEN have less than 1 hour in a classroom to perform exercises and learn about how to write stories while they’re also having 5+ other subjects crammed down their throats and homework and other stuff taking up their time. They know nothing! They are babies and they have a lot going on!! Are you going to tell me that it’s better to expect literal children to perform all of the complex tasks that go into creating a group of characters, their motivations, the settings, the plotline, etc all at once in a short amount of time, when so many grown ass adults have trouble with doing that on a much more relaxed scale? Well you’re wrong!!
Because you know what’s easier than expecting kids to take a small slice of time and do all the work to create entirely from scratch? Asking kids to take something they’re already excited about, and look at it in a fresh light. Hey kids, those characters you like, put them into a storyline you invent. Hey kids, you know that world you really enjoyed? Imagine some original characters in that world, and write a little story about it. You know that storyline you really liked? Make up some characters and a setting to tell that storyline in your own way. You know this story we read? Write that from a different character’s POV (which teaches people how to consider side characters as whole characters, not props!!).
Let them have fun!! Let them get excited about writing so that they keep doing it!! They have an entire lifetime ahead of them to learn how to put together all of the parts into one whole, original piece, if that’s even what they want to do. That should even be part of the class, saying okay, we wrote by creating some of the elements ourselves, now it’s time for you to create all of the elements and tell a piece that is just yours! Hell. Combine the characters you created with that storyline you liked and put them in the world you made, a little at a time!!
And not just that, but someone recently wrote a much longer piece I will try to paraphrase here, but one of the major things fanfiction does for writers that original fiction has a MUCH harder time teaching someone.... is about tropes. Original fiction has tropes, but fanfiction uses them, often to fantastic effect, as a central component. For kids, fanfiction would be a GREAT way to learn what a trope is, and how it can be used, how it can’t be used, what it is for, when it can be subverted, etc. Fanfiction is BUILT on tropes, a lot of the time. You could absolutely teach trope use to kids by teaching them about fanfiction and how fanfiction uses them, and how that relates to their use in original fiction, which would absolutely help them learn how to recognize what tool they are using when they write original stuff.
Which is all to say that there is VALUE in learning the parts of story writing a little at a time when you’re a kid!!!! There is VALUE in learning what a tool even is on its own before you’re expected to be an expert with using it!! It’s okay for kids to be given a break and allowed to write stories without having to invent everything themselves in the limited time they have for that one class that may or may not even span a whole semester!! It’s GREAT to teach kids that writing can be fun, to get them excited to write AT ALL because they get to write about things they already know and love!!
And you know what??? it’s okay for adults to learn that way too, and it’s okay for them to decide actually they like telling stories that way and it’s okay for them to just do that forever if they want. Not everyone wants to be a professional, published author and have to do writing for a job. Saying that original fiction is the only writing of value to school-age kids is just so blindingly capitalist and snobby. Of course original fiction has value in school, but it’s not the only kind of writing out there, and it’s not the only kind of storytelling that has value. There is value in making writing fun for kids in multiple ways.
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JB Smut Swap 2022 Rec List
Every time I participate in an exchange, I swear this is the time I will finish and post a rec list and yet I never do. But we’ve got about half a day until the author reveals for the @jb-smut-swap and I am procrastinating heavily, so here are 9 fics from the exchange that I can heartily recommend. (Did I roll a D20 to settle on a number? POSSIBLY)
The gif has nothing to do with anything, I just felt like hurting myself with their faces. 😭And now on to the recs!
First off, my gift fic The glaciers made you and now you're mine is a lovely modern AU take of post-battle caretaking, featuring Jaime and Brienne as surfers. They’re stubborn and soft and full of banter, and the hints of scar kink are fucking delightful.
Gorgeous prose hinting at a whole world, and a deeply complicated JB relationship made tonight you're thinking of cities under crowns of snow a recommendation impossible to ignore. The moody noir vibe is impeccable and a personal weakness.
what happens in volantis and What Happens in Dorne share not only a similar title, but a similar premise: a vacationing established relationship JB have a threesome with a man from the past. And yet, despite these similarities, they manage to both be distinctive, smoking hot romps I will be rereading.
Rope-drunk Jaime, giddy and eager to share the pleasure, made One and Only some deeply affectionate shibari fic. *chef’s kiss*
A sci-fi AU of canon events introduced some sex pollen, quite literally, in show me love (wilder than your wildest dreams, weirder than your fantasies) at a moment where Jaime and Brienne are almost ready to embrace what is between them.
A western-inspired vampire hunter AU, Drink Deep has fantastic world building, monster-fucking, and Brienne facing a moral dilemma. Monster fics can be a bit hit-or-miss for me, but the emotional stakes involved really drew me in, and if there was ever a sequel I’d be first in line to read it.
I might propose marriage to the author of Tempered, because I have wanted a blacksmith Brienne AU for… years, at this point. And this is more than I could have hoped--the competence, the tension, the undeniable attention but also the fondness… Fantastic
Set on an Industrial Revolution era version of Tarth, where Brienne is one of the last septas on an otherwise empty island, Shoreline is one of those AUs you absolutely didn’t know you needed until you have it, but fuck did I need it. The sense of place, the complex, dutiful inner life we see of Brienne from Jaime’s POV… It’s just an absolutely wonderful story that leaves you tasting the sea.
I suspect I could have filled a rec list with a dozen more fics quite happily, but this is why I never get rec lists done 😂 So I’ll close out this list with a link to the entire collection, and a massive thank you to @bussdowntarthiana and @wildlingoftarth for organising!
#rec list#jaime x brienne#brienne of tarth#jaime lannister#JB smut swap 2022#I always hesitate over rec lists because like who am *I* to declare favourites#but these fics were wonderful and if it helps one person find a great fic...
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This whole situation with Saint getting continuously plagiarized is extremely unfair and I can only imagine she might have deactivated altogether.
One thing is certain:
Dawn, @lalunanymph, in no way plagiarized Saint.
I felt the need to make this post because @saintobio and @lalunanymph are both writers I look up to and that I respect a lot. Their writing really motivated me to write more for the JJK universe, so to see this clash and groundless accusations is really disheartening to see. As someone who read both Dawn’s Bewitched series and Saint’s Sincerely series, I can assure you 100% that there are very little similarities. Also, to accuse someone of copying another’s blog setup is ridiculous considering the amount of templates available here on tumblr for blogs to use, so you’re bound to find some blogs having similar looking themes and masterlists. Also, a lot, and I mean A LOT of fic writers get inspired by music so we’re bound to create playlists or include links to music in our fic descriptions or masterlists. This isn’t anything original or unique, it’s literally very overused, but we all do it anyway.
And to emphasize just how different these two works are, I’m going to be comparing and contrasting them. Spoilers ahead, duh.
Let’s start with the similarities:
Both are based on The Remarried Empress
Both involve love triangles(of sorts)
The premise of both is an arranged marriage
Both MCs come from well off families yet are quite humble
There’s another woman(there always another woman ffs)
Male leads both have some sort of mommy issues fueled even further by their shitty dads
Male leads really want an heir
Widowed Toji throwing massive shade at the male leads for not appreciating their living wives as they should
That’s literally about it. Deadass.
Now if you want me to into the differences, I totally can, and I will. I’m not going to go deeply into all the differences because this would be one hell of a long post, and we’d be here for quite some time. I’ll be focusing on the main points, or the ones I feel are important, anyway.
The differences consist of:
The Sincerely series is set in the modern era, whereas Bewitched is a historical AU, so both reference things respective to the time periods they’re set in.
Sincerely sees Satoru Gojou as its male lead, and Bewitched has Naoya Zenin as its male lead.
In the Sincerely series, Satoru and the MC were childhood sweethearts that drifted apart in adolescence, and in Bewitched Naoya and the MC had no prior connection with each other whatsoever and quite literally met at the alter.
In Bewitched, Naoya is a known womanizer and his affair involving a kitchen aid happened out of pettiness rather than love, as opposed to Satoru in Sincerely who was in love and had a secret relationship with one of his office workers prior to his marriage to the MC.
In Bewitched, the MC is very close with her mother, and in Sincerely, the MC’s mother passed away when she was quite young
The relationship the MC has with her mother in law in the Sincerely series is complex. In the first part of the series the mother in law adores MC, but due to certain events grows to despise the MC in the second part of the series. In Bewitched, MC’s mother in law has been deceased for quite some time so there’s no way of knowing what their relationship would be like, however it is alluded that the Zenin matriarch would have taken quite the liking to the MC considering she’s the daughter of one of her closest friends and former lady in waiting.
In Bewitched, the MC belongs to the Kamo family and only married Naoya in order for there to be a ceasefire between both of their clans and so that both can reap the benefits of the unified clans/territories. In the Sincerely series, the MC doesn’t hold ties to any pre-existing families from the Jujutsu Kaisen universe until her marriage to Satoru, and in the second series, her partnership/relationship to Toji Fushiguro.
In Bewitched, there is a lot of bloodshed between the families of the MC and Naoya. In Sincerely, the only bloodshed is the one following Satoru’s stepmother.
In Bewitched, MC eventually grows to love Naoya, whereas in Sincerely, the MC has always been fond of Satoru and the two had made childhood promises to marry someday.
In Sincerely, MC takes birth control to prevent pregnancy, as she does not want a child born into a loveless marriage. In Bewitched, the MC struggles to conceive and even fears she might be infertile and of “no use” to her husband.
As trivial as this difference seems, in Bewitched the MC becomes pregnant with twin sons and later on with a daughter, presumably, and in Sincerely, the MC only becomes pregnant with a singular son although Satoru strongly desires for them to have a daughter eventually.
Satoru isn’t as much of an asshole to the MC as Naoya, to be quite honest. At times, although rarely, Satoru demonstrated feelings of remorse and wistfulness when it came to his respective MC, and Naoya was more of a gradual self-realization of him being an asshole.
In Sincerely, it is evident Toji feels some sort of way towards the MC, which eventually does blossom further into the second part of the series. In Bewitched, he functions more as a confidant for the MC and conscience for Naoya.
In Bewitched, Naoya and the MC learn to make their relationship work and develop together and as individuals, but unfortunately, in the Sincerely series, this is not the case for Satoru and the MC.
The list literally continues
#I’m sick and tired of all these SJWs trying to seem woke#y’all make so many dumb accusations#do y’all even realize how serious allegations like this are?#saintobio#lalunanymph#jjk#jujustu kaisen#naoya zenin#satoru gojou#toji fushiguro#bewitched#sincerely not#sincerely yours
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A Master List of Ever’s Fics
G-Rated:
Wind-Songs in the Pines
Pairings: Zutara, minor Sukka
Summary: Life on idyllic Kyoshi Island hasn't been the same for Katara since her mother passed away. Still, she has high hopes for the future: college, a career, world travel... Confident in her intelligence and armed with a keen sense of confidence, Katara aims to accomplish all of this and more. But always on the periphery is Zuko with his knife-sharp intelligence and his knack for showing up whenever there's trouble. Katara knows what he represents, and it's nothing that bodes well for her plans.
Critical Information: This is an Anne of Green Gables-inspired AU! (No background knowledge of AOGG necessary.) REALLY fun, super sweet! Give this baby some love!
Status: In progress
The Answer
Pairings: Zutara
Summary: Mai, Katara, and the moments where yes was not the answer. (And the moment where it was the only answer.)
Status: Completed; short one-shot
T-Rated:
All the Lights are Shining
Pairings: Zutara, minor Sukka, minor Tyzula
Summary: The amber-eyed woman can’t help the smirk that tugs at her lips. She’s looking to help Zuko to do something of a one-eighty in his love life. That means any girl he gets involved with must also be a one-eighty from Mai. Though Azula treasures Mai, loves her dearly, even, she and Zuko had been a poor match, a miscalculation that Azula does not intend to make again.
“Listen,” Azula says with a sigh. “He comes off surly and prickly, but he’s not. He’s shy and he lacks the confidence to talk to pretty girls. If you’re interested in him, you’ll have to make the first move.”
Blue Eyes scoffs a laugh. “I’ve dated guys like your brother before,” she says. “I won’t make that mistake again. Hard pass.”
--
Zuko just wants to get through the winter solstice without acknowledging its existence. Thanks to Uncle, Azula, and a secret society, he may just end up getting into the holiday spirit and finding exactly what he wasn't looking for in the first place.
Critical Information: Rating may change
Status: In progress
Your Soul has Crushed Mountains
Pairings: Minor Zutara, minor Sukka
Summary: “It never turns out to be what people make it out to be does it?” she says. “Life, I mean. Five years ago we were all just trying to make it to the next day in one piece and now…”
“Now we don’t know what to do with the multitude of days that follow.”
____
Or: Five years post-war, six young women learn the advantages of being what and who they are.
Critical Information: A post-war fix-it fic that focuses on female friendships and giving the ladies of ATLA better endings than the creators gave them. Because we all know Bry.ke shafted them. It’s my intention to keep romantic storylines to a minimum, but there will be some because I am a hopeless Zutara and Sukka shipper.
Status: In progress
Partners in Learning
Pairings: Zutara
Summary: All of Izumi’s teachers prior to this one have used the term “partners in learning.” But never before has it seemed true. And now, here he is, eyeballs deep in markers and glitter glue, somehow the most involved parent in the classroom.
----
In which Izumi idolizes her new teacher and Zuko falls a little bit in love.
Critical Information: single dadko; minor character death
Status: Completed; long one-shot
Kisses
Pairings: Zutara
Summary: A series of Zutara kisses inspired by prompts given to me on Tumblr.
Status: In progress
Ten Strides in the Right Direction
Pairings: Zutara, minor Sukka
Summary: These coming days will bring darkness and destruction, but if these little flecks of happiness continue to blaze through the bleak blackness, then nothing that is bad will prevail.
Critical Information: Book 3 AU
Status: Completed
M-Rated
Covered in You
Pairings: Zutara, mentions of Sukka
Summary: Zuko can’t keep a Southern Water Tribe ambassador to save his life. Ten years post-war and he’s gone through eight of them. They all keep leaving to get married and start families. The Fire Lord is getting desperate.
Critical Information: Ambassador Katara and Fire Lord Zuko; post-canon fix-it; so much pining it’s a forest...like...a REALLY dense forest
Status: Completed
Lost in You Still
Pairings: Zutara, minor Sukka, minor Kata.ang, minor Ma.iko
Summary: Something unknown and unspoken is entombed underneath it all. It’s calling to her, daring her to burrow deeper, enticing her with the temptation to unbury something well-hidden and deeply felt. And Zuko has long been such an enigma, such a beacon in her life that Katara dares, just for one moment, to reach out and touch that unknown emotion, brushing the edges of it with her subconscious.
____
The night after the final Agni Kai sends out shockwaves that ripple into the future and demolish several idealized views of destiny.
Critical Information: Infidelity, major character death, post canon fix-it except I set everything on fire and it hurts. If you’d like to read this and want a hand to hold, my ask box and DMs are open.
Status: Complete
A Delicate Balance
Pairings: Zutara, minor Sukka
Summary: Katara is a person of layers and complexity as much as Zuko is, but something about the way he casts his golden eyes at her often makes her feel like he can peel her defenses back and see right to the center of her soul. Exchanging one glance with him can induce her to feel utterly bare and startlingly seen—for everything that she is.
There are some things Katara doesn’t talk to Zuko about. The way she feels when he looks at her is one of them.
--
Or, the twenty-four hours that change the dynamics of a relationship.
Critical Information: Modern AU, friends to lovers
Status: Completed
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Almost every Popular Jiang Cheng ship is a case of Pair the Spares 🍵 (jc/nhs, jc/lxc, etc)
strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree
alas, despite my intense post-canon xicheng (friendship?) agenda (which you can read about in this post here!), I do think this is often true. i will admit i feel this particularly wrt sangcheng because i just don’t think their relationship is compelling in canon, not even between the lines. it takes A Lot of work to convince me that jc and nhs would be a good or interesting romantic couple, because i just don’t see them connecting deeply outside of their gusu schooldays. their friendship feels largely superficial to me, even during that period, resulting mostly from proximity and chance. it’s not that I think they don’t get along or that they couldn’t have become better friends later! but with the canon trajectory, i don’t buy it. i’d honestly be really happy to read modern aus with them becoming really good friends over time. or just like, with them as established friends! I like that a lot. romantically, though, I don’t think they’re a good fit either.
i think they have very different personalities, and incompatible priorities for a relationship like that. honestly, the one thing in canon that really gets me out regarding sangcheng is the fact that nie huaisang was willing to gamble with the juniors’ lives during the yi city arc. he deliberately lured a group of inexperienced teenagers into a very dangerous situation that could have easily resulted in their collective deaths -- as wei wuxian said, if they all died, that would’ve just been pinned on jin guangyao as well. regardless of whether or not wangxian were able to keep them safe, it’s still a net win for nie huaisang’s revenge plot. that group of juniors included jin ling, and i think that would be deeply unforgivable to jiang cheng. i don’t think they couldn’t have an interesting and friendly relationship as adults post-canon, but I think this is absolutely a line in the sand. nie huaisang treated jin ling as expendable, when jin ling is quite literally the only immediate surviving family member left to jiang cheng, and I do not think that’s an obstacle they can overcome. canonically, I mean.
in terms of personality, I think jiang cheng is much more concerned with propriety and respectability than nie huaisang is, and I think there would probably also be some level of disdain and bitterness within jiang cheng towards nie huaisang’s behavior regarding everything that happens in the present day arc. whether or not it’s justified is another question, but I think it’s easy to see where jiang cheng might find huaisang’s actions pretty out of pocket in proportion to what he suffered. jiang cheng lost nearly everything: most of his sect, his sister, his parents, his brother, ascended before adulthood, fought on the front lines of a vicious, 2.5-year war, and at the end of it all, was left holding a nephew he wasn’t even slightly prepared to raise in the midst of his overwhelming grief. and what did he do? he put his sect back together, he raised his goddamn nephew, and he hunted down demonic cultivators. did he do the best job? probably not, but he did try.
we know huaisang’s father died due to wen ruohan’s actions, but we know pretty much nothing about his mother. is she still alive? maybe. idk. but in terms of casualties of sunshot like, nie huaisang was Not the leader -- for all we know, nie mingjue sent him far away from the front lines because he was a weak cultivator to protect him -- the nie sect remains quite strong post-sunshot, is never ravaged by the wens (mdzs canon okay, don’t fight me on that one), and huaisang HAD a brother longer than jiang cheng even had his childhood. and nie huaisang’s reaction to losing his brother was a complex, fucky revenge plot that put innumerable people in danger and was very much unconcerned about whether or not huaisang was about to inflict the very same pain that prompted his revenge quest on others. imagine if jin ling had actually died. imagine the other juniors’ brothers and family’s devastation if they had died. nie huaisang behaved very cruelly in reaction to his grief, and I think jiang cheng would find that enormously selfish in some ways. like, bro, you still had a sect. you didn’t have to shoulder the responsibility of leadership as a teenager. you were not tortured by the wens. what in the everliving fuck is wrong with you that you thought this was the best course of action in response to losing your brother?
is this a fair judgment to make on huaisang? not really, but it’s the one that I personally feel like jiang cheng would make once he were filled in on some of the details. after all, jiang cheng has never really been known for being particularly fair with his opinions lol. all of that is also not to say that i hate huaisang! I think he’s a really interesting character, and one that’s a Lot of fun. i just don’t think he and jiang cheng are particularly suited to one another.
regarding what nie huaisang thinks of jiang cheng, i admit i don’t think nie huaisang thinks much about jiang cheng at all.
i have also been returning to my aro jiang cheng interpretations, mostly based on like, his list of qualities for a perfect wife, which reads like a laundry list of “qualities people have told me an ideal wife should have and also some qualities i see in my sister” as opposed to anything based in personal taste. jiang cheng is repeatedly shown to not particularly value the opinions or company of women other than his sister (lotus pod extra lol poor jiang cheng really has Zero game), and spends a lot of his time thinking about status and political alliances (see: how he talks about mianmian) as opposed to attraction. and i think that’s also quite an interesting angle on him -- after all, all of his important relationships are shown to be familial/platonic in nature.
anyways, this just became an impromptu meta on like, the nature of jiang cheng’s character, i guess, but one final thought (knife) that I have and have been itching to write into dialogue for like a year -- at some point, post-canon, when jiang cheng’s marriage prospects are really just like. basically nonexistent and he himself finds he’s not even particularly bothered by it, I want him to have a realization when he thinks back on his list just like oh, I see. I never wanted a wife. I just wanted my sister back. I wanted my family.
:’D
(ko-fi)
🍵 ((un)popular) opinions meme
#Anonymous#asks and replies#long post#jiang cheng#mdzs#mdzs meta#mymeta#mine#nie huaisang#opinions meme#ask meme
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Cap-IM BB 2021: Choose Your Setting!
EVENT INFORMATION | WRITERS’ GUIDELINES | GUIDELINES FOR CLAIMING CREATORS | FAQ POST
Where your story is set can deeply affect how events unfold.
Whether you’ve decided on which iteration of Steve and Tony you’ll be drawing inspiration from or which universe you’re basing your BB work in or not, have a think about where you want Steve and Tony to be and occupation they’ll have!
Maybe they live in long-lost lands like Atlantis (or just visiting in time for a world-saving adventure)...
Or they're helping to explore new civilisations out in space
Perhaps they are stars themselves? Famous opera singers, for example,
Or royalty? Or does one of them come from more humble origins (e.g. the palace gardener) and a meet-cute or meet-ugly bring them together?
You don't have to change setting completely, though. There's a lot of versatility to be had in the modern era.
Tony is at the helm of Stark Industries, but maybe Steve is his coworker? Or competitor? And what exactly does Stark Industries sell in your story - cars? Advertising services? Is it a PR firm, or maybe an oil company moving into renewable energies?
If you're thinking of career changes for our heroes, the sky is the limit! Is Steve a librarian, or Tony a bookstore owner?
Are they accountants, NGO workers, admin or IT support? There are so many office-based jobs to choose from!
Whether they're bartenders, stand-up comedians or working in the back as a chef or sound tech...
...you can always add more complexity to Steve and Tony's lives by choosing to give them a secret identity as superheroes, too.
Have to teach History class but Kang the Conqueror is messing with Earth's timeline again? What's a guy to do!
There are so many alternate settings that you can drop our two heroes in! Whether you make it a complete AU or fold the setting into an established canon through magic, mind control, dreams or good ol’ fashioned identity porn, we’re sure that you’ll make a great choice.
Running since 2011, the Cap-Ironman Big Bang challenges the community's writers to create Steve/Tony-focused fic with a minimum of 25,000 words. Creators are then invited to claim a fic and create accompanying fanworks! To sign up as a writer you need to send us your 20,000 word draft and summary by September 15th 2021.
For the full 2021 BB Event Guidelines and information for creators, click here!
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Fanfic Recs: Part 2
---------------------------
Part 1 FShenko Recs
Part 3 FShenko Recs
These aren’t in any particular order and are all multi-chapter fics I’ve read and loved. I’ve only included one story per writer, but many of these writers have a whole list of amazing fics.
Also, I don’t know if some of these writers have Tumblr. If anyone knows their usernames, let me know. I can tag them.
_____________________________
For Small Creatures Such as Thee by recklessly_confined
Details: Post-ME 3 to ME 1 (in that order!), 200k, complete
Summary: Sometimes it takes knowing the ending to better appreciate the beginning. A lengthy exploration of Jane Shepard and Kaidan Alenko’s relationship, unwinding its way back to the start.
What I loved about it: This story is so unique! The story begins with Shepard and Kaidan’s daughter planting a tree on Virmire in to honor of their lives together. Then the story goes scene by scene backward all the way to beginning!
Despite knowing what happens in the past, the slow progression back into their history only stoked my anticipation. There’s so much meaning created as their relationship leads up to the first meeting. If you want a unique look at the trilogy with an epic perspective of developing love and connection, this is not to be missed.
In My Life by @letticiae
Details: Pre-ME 1 into the trilogy period, AU, 260k, left open
Summary: AU where the Alenkos decide to foster a sixteen-year-old girl after an Alliance patrol led by Kaidan's father rescues her on Mindoir. Shenko. From pre-ME1 to post-ME3.
What I love about it: Another fresh take to the trilogy and the Shenko love story! I had always steered clear of AU’s for whatever reason, but reading this story changed my mind completely! I loved the interesting new angle on their relationship, the characters, and the circumstances leading up to and into the game.
Their relationship is incredibly complex due to sharing a home with the Alenkos. I love the role biotics play in bringing them together. The slow discovery of their feelings is superbly done. The drama is delicious. I love every bit of this story. Though it’s not marked complete, it’s not lacking in any way. You’ll be happy you read it. If you’re looking for a fresh take on the trilogy with expanded complexity and history to the Shenko relationship, check this out.
Two and Half Steps by notnowcommander
Details: Modern AU, 100k, complete
Summary: Following a brutal break up, Kaidan swears a new relationship is the last thing he needs. His roommate Ashley has other ideas. When the new girl in apartment 4A of 2183 Normandy Court moves in, Ashley believes Shepard - a tough and wild personal trainer at the local gym, who ends up at Kaidan’s IT desk more times than the average person - might just be the girl for him.
What I loved about it: Another tremendous AU! This one is set in modern time, which at first had me uncertain, but I was immediately won over. There’s something so fun about waiting for new ME characters to be introduced. How will they fit into the narrative? What will their modern alter ego be like?
One of the things I love most is how deep the story delves into Kaidan as a character. His relationship with Shepard and Ashley (his roommate) is amazing. James and Miranda . . . don’t even get me started. I love these characters, their careers, and the unfolding drama in a modern setting. It’s relatable, original, and compelling. If you want to celebrate the characters and story in an original and down to Earth way, this is an amazing story you’ll want to read!
After Alchera by @infiltraitor-n7
Details: ME-2, Kaidan’s POV, 24k, left open
Summary: A collection of short works in which Kaidan mourns Shepard after the Normandy falls over Alchera, and explores his relationship with her through Alliance-mandated therapy sessions. Takes place after the beginning of Mass Effect 2.
What I loved about it: This story is absolutely beautiful! I, honestly, felt like I was reading a story from a literary journal. The prose was perfectly written. The characters and dialogue stood out in such a real, present way. This story creates a deeply moving image of grief as Kaidan struggles with losing Shepard. It felt so real. The emotions are astounding and all the more impactful for their subtilty and concrete expression.
It may not have a last chapter, but it fully satisfies in its catharsis of deep and complicated grief. If you’re looking for a beautiful tale that feels like literature and deals with grief in a precise and profound way, you’ll want to add this to your reading list!
#trilogyappreciationweek#fshenko fic#fic recs#fanfic recommendation#mass effect#shenko#mass effect fanfiction#fshenko#fanfic#long post#fic rec#fanfic list
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Question, which ship do you personally find the most cannon, ZoLu, ZoSan or ZoLaw? To expand on the question which ship for you has the most potential to possibly become cannon, I personally love all the ships, but I was wondering your thoughts on it? Ps reallyyyy love your AO3 works especially the ZoLaw! And the headcanon about them being trained by Rayleigh in the Modern AU!!!
Short Answer:
Zoro x Luffy is obviously the ship that makes the most sense and has the most examples you can point to in the canon while saying, "see that, that is love."
Long Answer No One Cares About:
This question awoke something dark inside of me, and I apologize for the overly long answer.
So, here's the thing: I don't really like 99% of "crack" ships which I would personally define as characters who have never met, whose personalities clash with one another's, and who share no common traits or grounds on which they might potentially relate to one another. Pretty much, if you have to invent a secret, noncanon background that totally changes a character's personality so that they can hook up with another character, I'm probably not going to ship it. Though, hey, if that's your thing you fly that flag high and proud. Shippers should support other shippers, regardless of cargo.
Buuuut.... At the same time, I also do not give a fuck about my ships being canon. Not only because, hey, it's my imagination and I'll do what I want with it, thank you very much, but also being a canon ship doesn't mean shit. Just because a creator decided two characters should hook up doesn't mean that it's logical or sound or feasible or healthy or somehow more "correct" than other pairings. In fact, what it usually means is that one character is a man, the other is a woman, and they are both attractive. Which, you know, is a pretty bullshit reason to start a relationship. If you've ever gone out with someone solely because they're attractive and the opposite gender of yourself than either:
Congratulations on what I hope was some truly amazing sex
So sorry about that awkward sexual encounter
You likely have first hand experience on how unstable and unsustainable such relationships can be.
So being a canon ship does not necessarily give you a pass in my books. For starters, most of my ship's be gay as fuck, and as someone who grow up without a lot of gay representation in media, I have learned not to expect anything despite how OBVIOUSLY DEEPLY CONNECTED characters might be.
[Side Note: And, yes, it's mostly male characters, because throughout the history of entertainment culture the vast majority was created by people men who had total faith in their ability to write realistic female characters despite all evidence pointing to the fact that they never once talked to an actual real life woman. I mean, how hard could it be? All women have basically the same personalty traits (boobs) and everyone knows female are monolithic group whose sole purpose in life is finding the most protagonistic male out there and immediately become his love interest. Which is why I just don't even bother with folks who look down on fans of slash/yaoi/gay ass ships because in a frankly sad amount of media, these pairings often make more practical sense as well as being more appealing to those of us who want romantic relationships based on personality, shared interests, or just between two well developed characters rather than one fully realized character and one cardboard cut out of Generic Attractive Female Person.]
When female characters are written as stereotypes whose defining characteristics is "she's a girl!" then of course the male characters with fully realized personalities and complex characterization will appeal to most people, including those of us who prefers their romantic pairings to have an actual foundation outside of "penis + vagina = love" it makes sense to ship the male characters who we get to see build a relationship, share common interests/traits/goals, and just generally ) So I have accepted that canon couples often mean nothing, because when it comes to romance so many creators are stuck in some heteronormative mindset where they totally forget all the work they've done building the character and defining their personality and sticking them with the first person they meet that has tits.
Basically, I am an English major whose end game is to be a college professor. And I am all about Death Of The Author, but also Show Me Your Workings. I don't need a relationship to be canon, what I need is for there to be a reason behind it. Preferably one that is deeper than "Tarzan love Jane because man loves woman" or "but they're both so pretty!!!!"
Taking all that into account, Zoro and Luffy were my first ship for a reason. There are so many little moments between the two you can point at as proof of their devotion and love (romantic or platonic, however you prefer to see it) for one another. I don't just mean the way Zoro took all Luffy's pain. I'm talking about how Luffy will always say things like, "I hope Zoro and the others are okay" or "When we get there I want to have huge feast with Zoro and the others". How often do you designate one of your friends over all the rest, naming them apart from the group? Personally, I either name everyone or no one, the exception being if one of them is someone I'm dating and therefore actually in a separate category from my other friends.
It's the way Zoro has all this nonverbal dialogue with Luffy which allows him to implicitly trust in whatever mad scheme Luffy has cooked up. When more rational people (Nami and Usopp) object out if, you know, sanity, Zoro can always tell when Luffy's plans are just silly gun, when he's throwing out his first thought just to say something, and when he's statement is made with full, unyielding conviction. And Zoro believes in Luffy enough that, when his captain has that level of assuredness, Zoro has no reason to doubt in him. Zoro is a man of actions - while oaths and promises are important, they only meant anything if you always follow through with actions. Luffy never fails to turn his promises into deeds, and so in a way they speak the same language. They understand one another on a deeper level.
And again, it's small things. The way Luffy can get even post-time skip Zoro to smile, or how Luffy will offer to share his lunch with Zoro, the way at the coliseum in Dressrosa, Zoro gets upset about Luffy not informing him there was a fight and Luffy actually apologizing. They have all these little moments to show how deeply connected they are, how much they understand one another, and more importantly how much faith they have in one another so even when one of them might not fully understand the other's reasoning, they never fail to support one another or know the other will pull through.
In my opinion, that is the bases of a strong relationship. That support and understanding; the sense that even if one of them may fail (and almost get chopped in half as a result) or fuck up (see Luffy. Just... Luffy) that it doesn't lessen the other one's believe in them. If anything, they know these set backs mean the other will fight twice as hard to come back even stronger.
I could literally list a thousand moments when they have each other's backs, when the whole crew doubts one of the except for the other, when they offer support even if it's unpopular or seems crazy. And yet they still have little fights, they aren't "made for one another" the way shallow love interests often are, but when it comes to the important moments they trust one another implicitly and show unwavering acceptance without the other having to validate or explain their reasoning. Luffy trusts Zoro with the crew's life, the most important thing in Luffy's world, and Zoro... Well in many ways Luffy has become the most important thing in his world. You see it the moment Zoro kowtows in front of Mihawk - the man Zoro has sworn to defeat and who is at the center of Zoro's life goal - all because Luffy needs him to be stronger; for the crew, to achieve Luffy's dream.
Mihawk even thinks to himaelf, who is the man you are willing to set aside your pride for, because he knows men like Zoro and the only reason they would ask such a favour from a rival is out of loyalty to someone.
So, yeah, not that it matters, but I'm terms of canon, Mihawk basically says, "this kid is in love, only someone in love would be so willing to set aside their dreams and goals for those of someone else."
#one piece#roronoa zoro#monkey d luffy#monkey d. luffy#zoro and luffy's bond#zoro and luffy#ZoLu#Zoro x Luffy#it's canon now bitches#Mihawk approved#or at least Mihawk aware#captains just be openly gay with your first mates#first mate of my heart#swordsman first mate seeks rubbery sunshine captain#swordsmen mate for life#swordsmen make the best first mates#zoro has permanent dibs on being swordsman#their love#Zoro belongs to Luffy#That is an established canon fact#Luffy saw him tied up#immediately called dibs on that fine ass idiot#this was such a nice thing to ask#asks
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While enjoying myself sifting through the James Spader tag posts, I have seen some pro-lizz*ngton ones, and I started feeling the express need to write one post which is not an anti anything, just pro-Rederina. Why now and with such intro? Because, respecting the opinion that an established lizz*ington would be beautiful, I wholeheartedly believe that an established Rederina is far more beautifull, heartfelt, logical, touching, emotional, etc.
You see, romantic love works for Red and Liz in an AU-fanfic, but in canon? I should say it could have worked in the first part of the very first season. Later on? No. I am not in any way prejudiced against romance with an age difference. I mean there are no (there should not be) any age boundaries for love. The world should turn a blind eye to what consensually goes on in a bedroom between two legitimately grown up people. But when it comes to Red and Liz, there a few reasons why canonically I oppose their romance, and they are personal, those reasons: 1. Their love for each other runs way deeper then just chemistry between two people of opposing sex; here romantic love would be a degradation, not an elevation. The sacrificial nature of Red's love for Liz, his forgiving her literally everything, is so much more real as a Mother's love for her child, then for an older man falling for a woman he knew since she was 4 (or even before she was born). Sorry, guys, but that sounds awfully like pedophelia! And as a viewer I need a beautifully complex, but genuinely moving reason why Red cares for Liz, and it works that way exactly if Red is Liz' Mother! 2. Liz has the love of her life in her life already. His name was Christopher Hargrave, aka Tom Keen. Twice her husband, Father to Agnes, a dangerous cover operative, whose nature was what drew Liz to him in the first place without her actually realizing it. And that relationship is the prime romantic relationship (which will not end, because there is Agnes, and loving her as a Mother, Liz sees the man she loves, the Father of her child, in her child) as per canon. Making Liz and Red lovers downplays that true loving relationship with Tom. Not good at all! 3. There are all types of love explored on the Blacklist, but making Mother-Daughter relationship center stage would show many modern writers that not only romantic love deserves to be explored deeply by artists of all kinds. It would give stimulus to creative people to look for interesting stories outside of the list of typical plot points. 4. I do wholeheartedly believe that for an actor to play a role of a character with such psyche as Rederina-canon would be much more then just a challenge, it would be an honour too. James Spader is a phenomenally sexy man with a very male aura, but apart from that he is a genius actor, who could play literally anything, including a man who used to be a woman. What is difficult and attractive about such a role is the reason why this woman lives as a man, a hunted criminal, for thirty years. Not because she always dreamed to be a man, but because as a man, as Raymond Red Reddington she would have more opportunity to protect her only child, and because that man happens to be dead and he was the Father to her only child. It is complex, beautiful, intricate, there are deep emotional reasons apart from a simple spy story plot point. Rederina canon makes James' job both more difficult, but so much more rewarding then if Rederina is not canon (which Rederina is, because for the moment it is the only theory which explains it all logically, and that is what the writers promise us all the time!).
The truest beauty of Rederina is the reveal - not to the viewer, but to Masha. When it all will become clear to her, when she realizes that this person, Red, is her Mother, and Masha sees that all was actually done for her, including giving life up for her, for the Child, for the Daughter, risking even her love to preserve her life, then it will be so emotionally rewarding to both Masha, Red, and the viewer, I do believe that even anti-rederinaists and lizz*ngtonists will see why it has to be this way. The greatest love of all is the love of a Parent for their Child, here it is the sacrificial, all-encompassing and all-forgiving Mother's love for her Daughter. What I need is the embrace and a flashback of Masha telling the girl who lost her Mother in the Aria bombing of her dream to know what her own Mother's voice would sound like and of what they would talk about and then for us to see her face and a dawning realization that she knew the answer to her plea from the moment she first spoke to Red at the Post Office all those years ago.
No, there is nothing more beautiful and perfect for our favourite show then Rederina-canon. And I stay with the show to be rewarded with Rederina in the end. The most beautiful, heartfelt, tender, logical end!
And to all those TBL fans, who support other theories, and they mean the world to them: I had absolutely no desire to hurt your feelings, downplay your emotions, your wishes, your opinions about the given clues, I just tried to show you why we rederinaists support that theory as we do.
Have a great day, The Blacklist fandom!
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mr keating: just trying to enjoy his lunch break
neil, kicking the door open: what the FUCK is up. im gay and i dont know how to handle my feelings.
#b4 all the other dead poets discocer they can go to a teachers room during lunch#c: neil perry#post: deeply complex modern au
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Today is @ajoblotofjunk‘s birthday, WHAT AN EXCELLENT DAY. Once again I have failed to actually complete fic in honor of the occasion (I have multiple ideas! Theoretically at least one of them will happen at some point!) BUT let’s talk about what’s really important, which is her fic.
I am going with J/B recs because most people who follow me these days are in that fandom, and I’m leaving out some of her greatest hits here because I figure that if you read her fic you have probably read these, but definitely don’t miss the adorably soft Go On (aka Brienne With the Fish), the incredibly hot and feelings-y Working 9 to 5, and of course the glorious astonishing epic that is Heart Full of Gasoline. But besides those:
never far away (J/B, rated T, 6012 words) - This is a recent one and I love it SO MUCH. I adore a Brienne-centric story and this one is so beautiful; it’s J/B, and I love how much of Jaime’s presence and influence is woven into it, but it’s ultimately about Brienne and her mother, and Brienne and the way she navigates her loneliness and comes out the other side. It’s gorgeously written--lines like “‘Hush,’ her mother would say, the water clinging with cold fingers to Brienne's young waist” abound--and I would definitely recommend having tissues nearby for this one (especially if you are a mom or have strong feelings about your own), but for me it was a lovely, healing sort of weeping. Everything about this story just feels fresh and thoughtful and emotional and wonderful and I love it very very much. MY PRECIOUS GIRL.
I need your sway (J/B with a generous side of Brienne/Cersei, rated E, 38127 words) - Honestly a theme of this whole post is going to be “how the fuck is SDW so versatile” because it is SORCERY, and the fact that the same person wrote this fic and the one I just recced is pretty fucking (no pun intended) impressive. The premise here is that Jaime and Cersei own a club and periodically pick people out of the crowd for each other, and both of them decide that they want Brienne. (And just for clarity: Jaime and Cersei don’t touch each other but they do both have sex with Brienne at the same time at various points here, so. FYI.) This is both EXTREMELY HOT (seriously, SO HOT) and also very sweet as the story moves along, and I still think on a regular basis about Jaime’s ridiculously adorable texts in this. I also really love the portrayal of Cersei; she’s definitely very complex and she’s not nice but she is trying, in her messed-up way, and she does eventually get her own super satisfying happy ending in the Cersei/Margaery sequel I need your heart. I don’t necessarily mind a villainous Cersei but especially in a modern AU where things can be tweaked more, I do love when she has a chance at being healthy and happy, too, and the way this very unconventional setup is negotiated is extremely well done and demonstrates a lot of care for all three characters (four, including Margaery in the sequel). Plus did I mention this is all VERY HOT. Satisfying on so many levels!
When the Night Is Over (J/B, rated M, 1712 words) - This is a short and breathless fic that I love for just how effectively it achieves its mood. Every time I read it, I can feel my heart pounding with Jaime’s sense of urgency, and you can practically feel the humidity of the air and smell the swirl of scents and it’s all just lovely. Finishing it feels like breaking the surface of the water and coming up into fresh air. SO GOOD.
Shake me like a tambourine (Jaime/Brienne/Addam/Dacey, rated E, 4958 words) - I JUST LOVE THIS ONE A LOT. It’s an AU of the HFOG universe (although it definitely stands on its own too) and given that I was deeply in love with both Addam and Dacey in that ‘verse, I THOROUGHLY enjoyed the four of them getting to play together in this little side-trip. (This also has big Everyone Loves Brienne energy, which is another one of my favorite things, though Jaime certainly gets plenty of love--and lovin’--himself.) I feel like this is worth the price of admission just for Jaime amusedly/interestedly watching Dacey seduce his girlfriend, and it just gets more hot and delightful from there. The newness and discovery between Brienne and Dacey is fantastic, the history between Jaime and Addam is palpable (something about Addam commenting on how Jaime didn’t used to have a beard just SLAYS me every time, for a lot of reasons, and their snark is PERFECT). The Addam/Dacey has a great sense of fun and adventure to it, and the Jaime/Brienne is so steady and sure, and it’s all just balanced extremely well. LOVE. What happens in Lannisport may stay in Lannisport but it ALSO stays IN MY HEART AND LOINS, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
The Unicorn Incident (J/B, rated E, 14183 words) - I’m still so blown away by the fact that SDW wrote this in a day and a half, while feverish, and it’s SO FUCKING GOOD. Her signature worldbuilding is VERY much on display here--everything just feels so rich and so fully formed and it’s SO creative and fascinating and brilliant. This is also another amazing example of the world fully supporting and enhancing the feelings, AND there’s a road trip, AND there’s swimming, AND there’s delicious antagonists-to-lovers--”lovers” being a thing that factors SIGNIFICANTLY in the story, as the premise involves Brienne being a virgin and thus, presumably, able to find a unicorn. As Jaime and Brienne’s reluctant mutual attraction increases, they get progressively more creative in attempting to find loopholes (I LOVE a sex loophole tbh), and it is incredibly hot and also culminates an extremely gratifying exploration of what “purity” really means (spoiler: it’s not about penises in vaginas). So many parts of this story legitimately feel like being in another world; the descriptions are so lush and evocative and dreamy and entire end sequence fills my heart to bursting every time. It’s SO LOVELY, a beautiful comforting read for sunny days and rainy days alike. There are also some fabulous ficlets written in the same ‘verse here, which I also very highly recommend (the Jaime and Olenna interaction ALONE is well worth the click). IT IS ALL VERY MAGICAL.
I COULD GO ON, but this is a lengthy post already, so I will just say: happy birthday to SDW, my favorite, whose kindness and enthusiasm and sense of humor are as much a gift to us all as her incredible artistic skill. There’s no one I’d rather curl up on a couch and eat junk food with, or take a moderately ill-advised fannish trip with, or send all my pettiest grievances to, and there’s no one who’s more fun or more caring or more patient with all of my nonsense. I love you, SDW, and I regret to inform you that you’re still stuck with me forever, and thank you for giving us all so much to celebrate during this generally shitty year--I hope the universe brings all that joy back to you and more, as you deserve. ❤️❤️❤️
#jaime x brienne#jaime x brienne fic rec#ajoblotofjunk#HAPPY BIRTHDAY#YOU'RE A VIKING AND I LOVE YOU
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Evidence that a A Little Life could have started as a Destiel fanfiction:
Allegedly, Hanya Yanighara started off A Little Life as a fanfiction. I read this book for the first time several years ago, and that tracked to me. It’s largely character driven and deeply delves into a characters trauma. I recently started watching Supernatural, and my friend wondered aloud if this is what it had been based on. And. Well. There’s evidence:
Vibes:
This shit is tragic. It fully reads like on of the 150K mental anguish fics out there. It is brutal. It firmly puts you into the headspace of someone who has endured a lot of trauma. It is written out of time, similar to a lot of modern AUs.
Who I think is who:
Sam: Personally I think Sam got split into both Malcolm and JB: with Malcolm you have kind of the boring, stable guy who has a brief experimentation phase and then realizes he’s straight and he has a nice consistent wife and is very supportive of Willem and Jude, and with JB you have this dude who is wild, gay, has addiction issues and is weird about Willem and Jude getting together. Like she split the two fandom perspectives of Sam into two people
Bobby: Harold. Tragic backstory, wife out of the picture. I think that Julia could be Ellen? Jody?They both take Jude under their wing and literally adopt him as an adult. He has a close friend named Laurence who gives me Rufus vibes.
Crowley: I think that Crowley is supposed to be...Caleb? Which is wretched but moving on: he’s British, has a “deep,careful, slow voice, at once soothing, and somehow, slightly menacing”, and has a job setting up order and governance in companies (like Crowley with Hell).
Meg: Jude has a close friend named Andy who helps care for him medically. His wife described him as initially arrogant and callow, but has a kindness and softness for Jude. (I think there may actually be less women in this book than in Supernatural. Which is. A feat.)
Garth: Richard: Consistent, Kind, supportive, has his shit together better than anyone else does
The Angels: literally I hate to say this. But. The some names of the brothers in the Monastery include: Michael, Gabriel, and Luke. Genuinely hate that I’m saying this but...is Luke...Lucifer?
Dean and Castiel: this is where it gets complicated. I think that Willem aligns with Dean (Rough parent relationship, caretaker of his younger brother, caretaker in general, dates women until Jude, has a temper), and Jude aligns with Castiel (horrific religious background, an enigma to his friends, body shame, ambigious and complex sexuality, he’s named for the patron saint of lost causes, memory issues). Willem calls Jude “Judy” (nicknames). Their dialogue patterns could be interchangeable with most well-written destiel stuff. However, I think she kind of mixes both to make the characters, in that she gives some of Dean’s trauma to Jude rather than Willem, and some of Cas’s traits to Willem. Like the fact that Jude lived out of a series of motels across America as a kid and was abused during that, or that he was at a boy’s home for a time, or that Willem is more consistently gentle and less repressed than Dean. She often talks about Jude’s green eyes and Willem’s blue eyes. Their friend produces a show called Frog and Toad about them.
Quotes:
“Because-Jude’ll be living with us too” Willem, to his girlfriend, about their future.
“Don’t you guys think you should stop clinging to one another and get serious about adulthood?”
“Lately, he (Willem) had been wondering if codependence was such a bad thing. And anyway, how was friendship any more codependent than a relationship?”
“But his friendship with Jude made him feel that there was something real and immutable about who he was, that despite his life of guises, there was something elemental about him, something that Jude saw even when he could not, as if Jude’s was very witness of him made him real”
I can’t find it right now but there’s a quote describing a painting of Jude and it is thee literal shot of Castiel standing under the lamp post in Season 5 Episode 3
In conclusion:
Is all of this possibly hearsay? Is a lot of it a stretch?Yes. But would this track and be kinda funny? Oh yeah.
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