#STO Benefits

[reveationlabs]

Benefits of Security Token Offerings (STOs)

In a world that's constantly evolving, the way we invest and raise capital is no exception. Traditional investment methods, like stocks and bonds, have been around for centuries, but the rise of blockchain technology has opened up new oppurtunities for investors and entrepreneurs alike. One such thing is the Security Token Offering, or STO, a revolutionary approach that offers a plethora of benefits. In this blog, we'll delve into the world of STOs, exploring what they are and why they are gaining traction in the financial world.

Full Blog: Benefits of Security Token Offerings (STOs)

[jadipose]

Do you do the old self checkout trick?

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[pritchardautobody]

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As You Are, I Am Too

Summary: If we compare people to magnets, opposites attract and sames repel, so why are two stoic faces paired as soulmates?

Word Count: 15.4k (why are you surprised at this point, get some snacks)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem! Reader, Smut(r18+), NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Soulmate AU, Mutual Pinning, Fluff, Slow Burn, Slow fic, Perfectionist! Reader, angst, arranged pairing, TW: Toxic family, unhappy childhood trauma, child of strained marriage trauma, TW: Themes of self-loathing, themes of infidelity(misunderstanding), toxic work environment, slight workplace harassment, pushy boss, slightly yandere! Alhaitham?, Soft! Alhaitham, second chance romance?, slightly bratty! reader, Dom! Alhaitham, Degradation, Heavy adult themes, attempts at comedy

Author Note: This is experimental, I want to explore if two same sides of a magnet can still attract. I want to explore the fumbles and mistakes of love.

Side Note: Here is a continuation

Do you believe in soulmates?

It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you do. Because who doesn’t want to believe in it? The concept of an ‘other half’, a missing piece that completes you. Someone who loves you and only you unconditionally.

Who doesn’t want to experience that? 

To be loved, to be accepted, and to feel whole are all natural human desires. So it’s no surprise society, regardless of the century, culture, or demographic all obsessed over finding that other half.

To find a hand that fits perfectly within the gaps of one’s own. 

The greatest minds in all of Tevyat came together, analyzing each pattern, quantifying each data point, and testing each hypothesis until their magnum opus was created: The Akasha System.

Taking the work out of fate’s hands and into a large database. 

What criteria did this wonderful system use to piece together two halves of a whole? Who knows, it’s a black box. However, the machine was quite smart, quite quick, and quite accurate.

So much so, there was no reason not to use it. 

Humans, no matter how much some might deny it, despise being lonely. They fear it so much they’d rather hold a hand which strangles theirs with an equally crushing grip.

That’s why people rush toward their soulmates the moment the Akasha finds them, they fear being alone. 

But do you believe in soulmates?

“No.” Alhaitham puts down his drink.

“But you still used the Akasha??” Kaveh juts a finger in the direction of an ashen-haired man.

“And?” Disinterested eyes glance at the time displayed on a clock in the rowdy bar.

“And?! What do you mean and? You just said you don’t believe in soulmates!” The slam of Kaveh’s palms on the table made a bit of beer lap over the edge of his cup.

“I don’t believe in soulmates, but I’m not ignorant to the benefits of marriage.” 

“Huh?” 

“It’s convenient.” The blunt statement rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he motions for the tab.

“Ugh, you know what, forget it.” Kaveh chases his heavy sigh with a hearty swig of his cup.

“Well then, I’ll call it a night.” He’s stayed out long enough.

Placing a handful of mora on the table to cover his tab, Alhaitham bids goodnight to his two workplace acquaintances and former college roommate.

He swiftly strides towards the creaky tavern door, swinging it open as he steps into the warm Summer evening. Tomorrow is another workday, better to get an adequate amount of rest.

“Still the same even after a full year with her, huh,” Kaveh sighs dryly.

“Did you really think he’d change after marriage, Kaveh?” Cyno finally chipped in from the sidelines. 

“I should’ve known, someone as egotistical as Alhaitham practically married himself.” 

“Now, now, his wife is nowhere as egotistical as him,” Tighnari says over the rim of his glass. 

Cyno and Kaveh paused for a moment, sharing a glance as they considered Tighnari’s observation. With a shrug, they concluded: you weren’t nearly as egotistical as Alhaitham.

Still, the great mystery remains. 

“How is he the first to marry?” The blond bachelor slumps further on the tavern stool. 

“Life is full of wonders.” The ebony-haired bachelor gave a few comforting pats.

———————————————————————————

Unlocking the solid oak front door, Alhaitham steps into the serenity of a quiet house. Good, his ears were slightly buzzing from the boisterous conversation in a crowded bar.

Taking a few more steps into the entranceway, the man shuts the door behind his body.

The dull gossip over a few rounds of drinks made their influence known to him, he just wants to go to bed. Thus he takes a few more steps toward his bedroom.

“Place your shoes into the closet, I just mopped the floors.” A level voice called out from the living room. 

Alhaitham’s movement halts, quickly glancing down at the Oxford shoes still on his feet, taking note of the spotless floorboards.

Wordlessly, Alhaitham unties the laces allowing him to kick them off with ease, placing them onto the shoe rack just behind a closet door. 

It’s a habit that slips his mind every now and then despite a year of marriage; Surprisingly unsurprising when you take into consideration his busy mind.

However, times were different now, he’s no longer a kid, free to be lost in thought. He’s now a homeowner of a spacious house, a space he shares with you, and you liked things clean. 

Not a speck of dust lingered on surfaces, no plates left in the sink, and books pristinely placed on organized shelves. Qualifications that he deemed exceptional for a life partner.

Now with slipper-clad steps, Alhaitham makes his way through the house, peering into the living room to spot your curled figure reading on a sofa. The warm glow of a floor lamp illuminated the soft curves of your cheek. 

“Is something the matter?” You didn’t look up from the page as you addressed him. 

“No, just heading to bed.” 

“Okay, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The start and finish of tonight’s conversation, after all, you valued a quiet house as much as he did. His colleague’s words weren’t without merit, even Alhaitham isn’t stubborn enough to deny the obvious.

Hobbies identical to each other, books upon books lined up along numerous shelves, preferring to stay within the walls of this house unless dragged out by friends. 

Your indecipherable gaze and stiff lips rival his own stone face. Perhaps that’s why the Akasha paired the two of you together. Two beings with stoic faces only another stoic would bear for a life partner, like two sides of the same coin. 

Alhaitham stops unbuttoning his shirt behind his shut bedroom door, reanalyzing the previous statement. Actually, that isn’t a very good analogy.

It'd be more accurate to compare you and him to a double-sided mirror that reflected only one view. 

“I don’t believe in soulmates.”

The man sitting across from the cafe table, introduced as Alhaitham, bluntly states, interrupting your sip of coffee, warm beverage just barely touching your lips. 

Placing your cup back down on the coffee shop table, your gaze observed the stranger who just met you moments ago - a  meeting in a small cafe arranged by Sumeru’s Ministry of Human Relations, the government body tasked with delivering the Akasha’s verdict. 

After a few breaths, you decided to humor his abrupt statement with a response. Staring straight into his teal-orange eyes, you say,  “What a coincidence, neither do I.”

————————

So then why did two nonbelievers follow the verdict handed to them? It’s simple really.

Two salaries combined can buy a sizable house. Two pairs of hands get chores done faster. Two signatures on a certificate save tax money. Life is simpler with a partner to bear some of the burden. 

Young professionals and fresh graduates aren’t known for their financial independence; a boy eager to move out of a cheap flat and away from an infuriating roommate, a girl trying to escape a noisy environment.

The circumstances had aligned. 

And that’s how it’s been for two years now, a nice quiet house. Although, you’d be lying if you weren’t thankful that the Akasha paired you with someone as handsome as Alhaitham. Silver hair, broad frame, and beryl eyes with a hint of ochre -  maybe he’s an apology gift from some fickle god.

He’s a well-rounded and capable man; perceptive enough to know not to cross boundaries drawn in the air, apt enough to not disrupt the serenity, and able to take care of himself.

Although, he could learn to launder better. 

Your lips tug down as your eyes scan over the deep wrinkles crimping the fabric of a freshly washed button-down. It looks too rumpled to look professional, even on him. A sigh falls from your lips.

The presence of slow steps make your head turn in their direction, connecting with Alhaitham’s neutral eyes, quirked gray eyebrow questioning your purpose. 

Two bodies, two rooms, and two beds.

The only time you or he crossed into the private haven of one another was when the floors needed to be mopped or shelves dusted. Owning a house means owning up to tedious chores and dividing up responsibilities spares one’s sanity from the tediousness. 

It’s best to point out the critiques now to spare your own clothes from the same fate. Picking it off the back of his chair, you show him the shameful state of the garment. 

“Leaving your clothes in the dryer for too long will create stubborn wrinkles.” You advise. 

Teal eyes glance at the shirt in your hands before they flick towards the closet rack, your own gaze follows, noting the numerous other shirts in a similar state. Another heavy sigh escapes you, it's obvious Alhaitham attempted to do laundry yesterday.

Wordlessly, you begin gathering each wrinkled garment. 

“I’ll rewash them and hang them outside, it’s the best way to smooth them out. Heat isn’t recommended for your fabrics.” You swiftly walk past him with your arms full. 

“Thank you, I’ll clean the floors then.” He takes hold of the mop against the wall.

This seamless switching of responsibilities is done with less than two sentences, the efficiency of which is only possible between two people such as yourselves. 

Button-downs are much more fickle than a casual t-shirt, using the wrong detergent or leaving it unattended for too long will cause unsightly wrinkles.

Alhaitham’s laundering skills have improved in the last two years… perhaps the singing of the dryer still slips past his preoccupied mind. 

The two of you are working professionals. Crucial insight you’ve learned from your parents: A nicely ironed shirt, neatly brushed hair, and elegantly tied ties are all it takes to make others believe in the white lie of a put-together life. 

Alhaitham was raised by his grandmother, a detail you recall from a passing conversation some time ago. It shows.

The amateur attempts at chores, the books strewn about a desk absent-mindedly, and the afternoon naps spent on a couch underneath a sunlit window are secrets only seen behind closed doors - all telltale signs of being well-loved.

‘How nice it must be.’ You thought, clipping his freshly washed button-downs to the clothesline, allowing the Sunday morning rays to shine down upon them.

A stone-faced man was once a beloved grandson. Maybe his juvenile attempts at chores were too endearing for an elderly lady to correct. 

Hidden from everyone but the audience of swaying fabric and a curious star, a bittersweet smile tugs at stiff lips. 

The clinking of forks against porcelain plates accompanies the evening news. Your eyes starring indifferently towards the TV just around the corner from the dinner table; looks like tonight's topic was the annual metrics of the Akasha.

With each passing year, these metrics only climb higher and higher, a machine learning to calculate better and better. 

“What’s your theory behind the Akasha?” you blurt out the question without looking away from the screen. 

A pair of utensils halted their movements as Alhaitham glances at the evening news. He takes a moment to wipe the corners of his mouth before humoring you.

Technically, the two of you have yet to fill your daily conversation quota. Might as well do it over dinner. 

“It’s all mathematics, the Akasha system. Pairing individuals based on collected data. Demographic, interests, and dispositions, are all factors in a pairing,” he explains in his baritone voice. 

“Mmm, then again it's all just a black box, we can’t be certain unless they choose to reveal it.” You ponder aloud. 

“Correct. Those factors are all key when it comes to compatibility. The Akasha simply uses probability. However, there’s the element of human variability.”

“Meaning it can’t always be right.” You know this, live it even.  “Is that why you don’t believe in the concept of soulmates?” Pivoting to an adjacent question, you return your attention back to the man across the table. 

“Yes, it’s an unrealistic belief.” Alhaitham sips on his wine.

“Such a brilliant conclusion, what an astute mind you have.” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe over a glass of water.

Narrowed teal eyes honed in as his glass returned to its place on the lacquered surface, unamused by your quip. 

“How about you? What theory brought you to hold the same brilliant conclusion?” 

“Do you know phenylethylamine? PEA?” Glancing up from your glass.

From his idle gaze and unmoving lips, you take his silence as a “no”. 

“It’s a stimulant that causes your heart to beat abnormally, released when you’re around a special someone. It causes what people describe as the ‘rush’ or ‘fever’ of love.” 

He says nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“But then your brain gets used to it, and the abnormality in your chest corrects itself.” You take a sip before continuing, “Nothing last forever, so why do people think love is an exception? That only one person ever will cause their hearts to flutter till the end of time?” 

A dry giggle follows the clink of your water cup against the wood. 

“How insightful.” Alhaitham takes another sip of wine to chase his sarcasm.

Maybe it was the amusing quip or how tonight’s butter chicken turned out to be exceptionally delicious, but a subtle smile curls at the edges of your lips. With today’s conversational quota fulfilled you focus your full attention back to the awaiting dinner. 

You remain ignorant to the gaze of teal eyes, oblivious to how it fixates on the faint smile complimenting the soft curves of your cheeks and plush lips. 

“...” 

The front door shuts and locks behind you, your shoes are halfway into the closet before a familiar scent beckons you towards the living room.

Quickly getting into your slippers, you trek through the entranceway and round the corner. The vivid hues of pale blues and gentle violets with pops of bright yellow catch your eyes, confirming your speculations: it’s a bouquet. 

The bundle of flowers were placed into a long-forgotten vase. Turning away from the blooms, you face the man currently thumbing through a book on the couch -the only other person with access to this quiet haven.

Turning back to observe the blooms, you note each species of flower. The Sumerian Rose, Kalpalata Lotus, and…Padisarah.

You observe how the pollen of the Padisarahs dusts the radius of the surface around the vase. It’s a fickle flower after all.

A fickle and potent-smelling flower. 

A scowl twists your face despite your best efforts, the sickly-sweet fragrance of the capricious blooms assaults your senses. 

“Please open a window.” your hand comes up to shield your nose. 

“Is something the matter?” 

“The smell is giving me a headache.” 

A headache forms from within the deepest depths of your mind, the same visceral reaction to the heavy perfumes that plagued your childhood walls. Your mother believed the saccharine scent could cover up her infidelity if she sprayed enough.

Compared to that artificial perfume, fresh Padisarahs were much tamer, but still enough to make a bitter taste appear at the back of your tongue. 

“I see.” Alhaitham sets his book down, getting up to allow the Autumn breeze in. 

Swiftly, you trudge away from the vase and its potent blooms and down the hall, eager to find an untainted corner of the house. It’d be best to sleep the headache off. 

In the morning when you round the corner back into the living room, you notice the vacant vase and table wiped clean of any speck of yellow pollen. Passing through into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts in the air.

As you pour yourself a cup, you take note of how the trash has already been taken out, a fresh trash bag lining the bin. 

Good, flowers were a hassle to keep around the house.

———————————————————————————

“Chocolates?” You study the box of sweets left out on the kitchen table. 

“I picked them up while getting ingredients for dinner,” Alhaitham answers, busy chopping carrots. 

“You can have some.” 

You return your gaze  back to the intricately designed package in seasonal Winter colors. It’s not often that you indulge in such elegant treats, you couldn’t refuse such an offer. 

Delicately picking up a piece, the glossy dark chocolate shine looks inviting, you can see the quality in these sweets. Placing the small chunk onto your tongue, savoring the rich flavor. Not too sweet and not too bitter. 

Using your tongue to maneuver it towards your teeth you bite into its center, only for your tastebuds to be assaulted by a foul flavor. The distinct and sharp tang of alcohol and the revolting aftertaste of bourbon spoils the sweetness. 

Refusing to allow the detestable flavor to remain on your tongue, you briskly swipe up a few napkins, spitting the foul sweet out. You frown at the stubborn tang of bourbon which threatens to ruin your appetite for dinner. 

“You can have the rest.” You throw out the crumpled napkin. 

“Are they of poor quality?” The tapping of the knife paused. 

“They’re just not to my taste.” 

“In that case, I hope tonight's dinner is.” Alhaitham resumes his task. 

Taking a glass out from the cupboard, you fill the cup with fresh water before gulping it down, washing the foul tang of alcohol from your tongue, and even fouler memories of the stench of sour wine and crushed cans.

Wiping the escaped droplets off with the back of your hand, you go for a second glass. Hopefully, you can cleanse your palate. 

———————————————————————————

“Do you have plans tonight?” Alhaitham’s words make you stop in the middle of the hallway. 

You have a book ready in hand for a night of reading on the sofa under the soft glow of the floor lamp. You know his eyes can see that,  gaze questioning his intentions. 

“I was given two tickets to a movie, would you like to accompany me?” He holds out the slips of paper. 

As your eyes pass over the printed font, you recognized the title, a name picked up within the chatter of coworkers at the office. It’s An adaptation of a famous light novel from Inazuma, and the reviews seem positive. 

“Sure.”

You could get out of the house a little more. 

…

It seems like everyone wants to see a movie tonight, the theater lobby is filled with bustling crowds, families with excited kids, and couples holding hands.

And then there’s you and Alhaitham. Standing side by side, his hands carrying two carbonated drinks, your hands holding an overpriced bag of popcorn, walking toward the room printed on the tickets. 

“C5…C6, looks like we got good spots.” You settled into the plush seats, careful not to spill the bag. 

Alhaitham hums in response, placing your drink in the cupholder. More and more people filed into the screening room, waves of ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s rolling through the space until all the seats were finally filled. The lights begin to dim as the opening logo booms through the sound system. 

The cinematography was beautiful, the musical scores accompanying the plot pleasing to the ears, and the popcorn perfectly seasoned.

It’s been a while since you’ve last gone to a movie theater, maybe you should go more often. As you brought a few more pieces of popcorn to your lips, your eyes travel toward Alhaitham.

His arms crossed as the light of the silver screen reflects onto his skin, noticing your stare, his teal gaze connects with yours. 

Moving the striped bag closer to his frame, you offer him some popcorn, he paid for the refreshments. It'd be a shame if he didn’t get to enjoy them too.

His large hand reachs over and takes a handful, your curiosity wanting to see his reaction to the snack. However, a piercing shrill snaps your attention away. 

Just a few rows away, a woman stood up from her seat, throwing a bag of popcorn at the man sitting beside her. Screaming words you couldn’t quite make out as they merges with the onscreen dialogue and equally furious shouts of the now popcorn-covered man.

Their thunderous voices were only amplified by the acoustics of the theater. 

They’re both standing now, still hurling insults and grievances one after another. There’s a ringing in your ears, their faceless silhouettes in the dim theater replaying a scene you’ve seen many times before. It’s as if they’ve finally developed a conscious, now aware of the stares and glares thrown their way.

Oh, look they’re leaving now, still fighting the whole way out of the screening room. 

With the disturbance now cleared, a low wave of murmuring swept through the audience before dying out. The dialogue and soundtrack were audible again, the atmosphere reverting to how it was.

You didn’t feel like snacking on the popcorn anymore. Gaze focus on the fluffy puffs for the rest of the movie. 

“Did you enjoy the film?” An indifferent voice resounds from your right side. 

Walking out as the credit rolled in the background, following the flow of traffic toward the exit. You were walking by Alhaitham’s side, but your mind was elsewhere, a subtle frown etched on your lips. 

“It was fine, just crowded and loud.” Your voice was just as flat. 

“Oh.”

Tossing the unfinished bag of popcorn way into the nearest trash can, the two of you continue on the silent journey home.

Perhaps, it’s best if you just stayed curled up with a book. 

“Eh? It’s been three years and you’ve never gotten your wife flowers? I knew you were cold-hearted, but not to this extent. Here, a quick bouquet of some fresh flowers I picked.” 

“You should gift her some sweets, maybe then you two can talk a choco-lot… Did you get the joke?”

“Are you serious?! Almost four years and you never took her on a date?? You’re hopeless! Take these tickets and take her to the movies. By the way, you’ll have to pay for them.”

Alhaitham wasn’t sure what made his colleagues so invested in his marriage, maybe a projection of their own lack of one. To his colleagues, you were just as much of an enigma as the ashen-haired man.

Any passing comment, no matter how vague or curt, would bring forth an onslaught of unsolicited advice. And it was for that very reason within the walls of your home these details shall stay. 

Alhaitham isn’t sure which was more irksome, the uninformed guidance of bachelors, or the fact he was the one who actually tested each suggestion. Regardless, at least these trials were fruitful in the sense he can gauge your dislikes now. 

You despise flowers for their fickle messes and scent. You’re revolted by overpriced chocolates. You detested rowdy theaters and subpar films. 

Four now going on to five years, and these were his results. Frankly, he didn’t have to subject you to such experiments for these results, because they aligned with his own preferences.

A waste of time, disturbing your peace for the sake of his own curiosity. 

A heavy sigh falls from his lips as he sets the bucket of water down, one hand holding a mop as the other turns the knob of your bedroom.

It’s a Sunday, meaning the floors needed to be mopped. Your door's hinges sing as they swing open only to be abruptly silenced as Alhaitham stood motionless under the door frame. 

Oh. He should’ve knocked.

You were in the midst of getting dressed in front of your floor-length mirror, glimpses of smooth skin peeking out from under baggy fabric. Before he could stop, teal eyes followed the dark fabric reaching just down to the middle of your thighs and draping low on one shoulder. Your fingers were in the middle of buttoning the clearly oversized shirt as you turned back to focus on him. 

Blank gaze traveling up your soft lips set in a neutral position and meeting your deadpan stare, Alhaitham’s conscience restarts.

Today was Sunday, which meant it was laundry day yesterday, and it was the ashen-haired man’s turn to wash and dry the clothes. Somehow, his button-down got mixed in with your blouses, leading to your unamused reaction. 

“I’ll be more mindful next time, did my shirt dull any of your whites?” Forcing his eyes to avert, a late attempt at respecting your privacy. 

“It’s fine, fortunately, the dye didn’t bleed out during the wash.” You turned away as your hand pulls the draping fabric up your shoulder. 

“Just place the shirt over the chair in my room, I’ll take care of it later.”

“Okay.” 

Once more your door sings as he shuts it on the way back into the hall, deciding to clean the floors of his room first and allowing you to change into your rightful clothes. It was early noon and a weekend, meaning there was no reason for Alhaitham to brush out his sleep-tousled hair. Hopefully, messy gray locks were enough to conceal burning ears. 

———————————————————————————

“The Evolution of Everything.” His eyes scan over the title held out in front of him. 

A newly published scientific journal filled with freshly collected data, the book's spine still in mint condition. Alhaitham takes note of the identical copy held in your hand. 

“You seemed interested in this genre, so I picked up a copy for you.” You motion for him to take it. 

There wasn’t a rule etched in stone that forbade the sharing of books within these quiet walls. The books on your shelves have been more interesting than his as of late. A pattern of folded corners inflecting more and more pages of the books lining your bookshelves, evidence of a certain man’s meddling.

 The warning glare every time you smoothed out a creased page directed his way didn’t seem to be enough to stop the unconscious habit of his hands.

It looks like you’re trying out a new solution, getting him his own copy to prevent the infection from engulfing each and every corner of your bookshelves. 

“Thank you, I’ll read it soon.” He accepts the peace offering. 

With that, you made your way back to the sofa. Flipping open your own copy, fingers gently making sure to not crumple the delicate pages or crease the pristine spine. Alhaitham compares it to the book currently held in his own hands.

An older book, while not falling apart or tattered, it’s obvious the man has thumbed through its pages. A well-loved book as his grandmother would’ve described it. 

Alhaitham needs to stop this practice he never corrected in childhood. 

———————————————————————————

“Alhaitham.” You greet him at the entranceway. 

Said man is currently placing his outside shoes away into the closet, returning from an uneventful day at his office. You usually got home before him, but this was the first time you’ve waited for him at the front door. He notes that you seem to be holding something behind your back. 

“Here.” Bring your arms out from your back, the distinct crinkling of plastic was heard.

Teal eyes study the gift basket filled with bath products, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion all nicely packaged with a satin ribbon. 

“It’s to thank you for helping me with errands lately,” you explain. 

Recently, you’ve been asking him to accompany you to the cluttered streets lined with stalls and haggling merchants. With his towering frame and larger hands, he could carry heavier bags and part a path through the pushy crowds easier. You were using your resources to maximize efficiency. 

“There’s no need to trouble yourself with this, I’m just doing my part. But thank you.” He takes the basket from your hands, eyes remaining collected. 

Just as the basket leaves your hands, the distinct chime of your phone goes off as ‘Bahram’ flashes across the screen. The name of your boss. 

“Excuse me, I have to take this call. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” Turning away, you walk toward the kitchen. 

The he hums in response, slipping into his inside shoes. With brisk steps, he covers the distance from the front door to his room, closing then leaning against the solid oak.

Sharply inhaling as one hand balancing the basket of toiletries and the other holding his head. 

You’ve always prefer to maintain the serenity of the house. Resolving strife with proactive actions or brief comments. Not once in these past five years did you ever nag him, you’re too pragmatic for that. At times it’s a curse more than a blessing, evidenced by the gift basket staring back at him mockingly. 

Although Alhaitham was messy at times, he knows the importance of hygiene. Teeth brushed twice a day, a shower taken every day before dinner, and deodorant applied daily.

However, the temperatures this Summer were at record highs, even for Sumeru. The packed market streets pushing the two of you closer than usual, perhaps he’s no match for the heat this time. 

Washing his hair twice and his body thrice, Alhaitham finishes his prolonged shower by gurgling some mouthwash for good measure. Walking into the kitchen in a fresh set of clothes and his hair still damp. The table set with potato boat and some steak. Impassive eyes met inscrutable eyes as you motion for him to take a seat.

Your nose remained relaxed, meaning you were probably satisfied with his efforts. 

Alhaitham makes a silent reminder to research some cologne after he finishes washing the dishes. One that isn’t overbearing nor too weak to linger. 

How embarrassing it is, five years in and the stoic prodigy known as Alhaitham is still testing the bounds of his wife’s patience. Selfish experiments and habits he can’t seem to correct conflicting with your wishes for a clean, serene, and quiet home. 

The entire reason why you bothered signing your name next to a stone-faced man who said ‘I don’t believe in soulmates’ before asking ‘How are you?’.

  

Flowers, chocolates, and movie tickets.

You weren’t oblivious to the sentiment behind these arbitrary actions. In a way, it was expected. A husband wants to get closer to his wife, it’s simple chemistry.

The human mind craves connection, oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin released at the sight of gifted blooms, crafted sweets, and from simply sitting within each other's presence.

A chemical cocktail the mind gets drunk on. 

Alhaitham isn’t immune to it and neither are you. Even if you were able to stiffen your lips, steady your gaze, and hide those flushed cheeks. Nothing you did could quell the abnormality in your chest, was Alhaitham having the same issue?

There comes the first hurdle, the unknown which hung in the air formed over years of peaceful silence. The thought of two stoic faces peering into each other’s eyes as two monotonous voices stated the obvious would make any romantic keel over and die.

It’d be too embarrassing, especially when it’s already been awkward. 

Headache caused by sickly sweet blossoms, spitting out pricey sweets, and dulled reaction to a critically acclaimed film. None of this was Alhaitham’s fault, how can you blame someone for something they don’t know?

He never asked, you never told.

No one knew what happened within that noisy house with empty bottle-covered floors of two ‘soulmates’ who refused to release their crushing grips. All except the three unfortunate souls trapped within its Padisarah-scented walls. 

Still, his keen eyes didn’t miss those details, reassessing his actions before ultimately channeling more of his energy into chores around the house instead of frivolous gifts. What a proactive husband. 

A sting of guilt felt as you recall his sincere attempts at trying to cross an icy bridge. What should you say? ‘Thank you, you tried.’ Sounded far too condescending, it could even lead to a huffy fight. Something you’ve been good at avoiding these past five years. 

Marriage is filled with compromises, meeting each other halfway along the road of life, side by side. So you tried this time.

Curiosity guiding you as it did a naive hero towards the brilliance of a red star. 

———————————————————————————

Your first attempt was inspired by an article that popped up on your phone’s feed, something about wearing your partner’s shirt to make them flush, nonsense known as the ‘boyfriend shirt’.

You still gave it a try. Swiping up one of your husband’s black button-downs one Saturday night, only building up the confidence to put it on the next morning. 

Your original plan was to just casually wear it around the house as you got the Sunday morning chores done, but that got thrown out when Alhaitham suddenly opened your door when one-third of the buttons were still undone.

A moment of tense silence followed, impressively you managed to maintain a cool facade. Grasping the opportunity to leave this stale silence with an expertly crafted response. 

———————————————————————————

In the end, he just wanted his shirt back. So for your next attempt, you toned it down, no longer taking advice from nonsensical articles. 

Recently, Alhaitham has taken more of an interest in your bookshelf. More of the once pristine edges of your books folder here and there. If it was anyone else, you’d make them buy you a new copy immediately, but for now, you simply smoothed out the paper.

If he wants to read the theories and studies that muse you, why don’t you read them together?

However, two bodies pressed together on a sofa trying to read the small print along pages at the same time is simply uncomfortable. Plus, Alhaitham reads much faster than you. 

To ensure a pleasant reading experience for both of you, two copies were the best solution. 

He read it after you. 

———————————————————————————

Your next attempts used thinly veiled excuses to get Alhaitham to accompany you to the bustling markets of Sumeru City. In a way, trying to make up for that lackluster movie experience.

Only for it to soon turn into using Alhaitham to carry arm fulls of bags as he shielded you from the push and pull of the busy crowd. 

Perhaps you should stick to gift-giving, to spare your husband from working like a Sumpter Beast in this weather.

But besides books, what should you give him? He’s just like you, if he sees something he wants, he’d just buy it with his own money. 

On the way home from work, you caught sight of a shop, one which displayed handmade soaps and fancy lotions. Huh, Alhaitham often takes your lotions, maybe you should get him his own. A bell ringing overhead announces your entrance into the cozy store. 

“Welcome!” A bright voice chirped as a shop assistant with vibrant red hair and an equally vibrant smile bounded toward you. 

“I’m Nilou, how may I help you today?”

“I’m just looking for some lotion.” You politely responded, trying to ignore the faint fragrance of Pardisarahs. 

“We’ve got plenty of hand-made ones, for you or for someone else?”

“For my husband.”

“Oh? What does he like?”

You paused for a moment, lips pressed together in contemplation before deciding. 

“Something fresh and not overbearing, nothing made from Pardisarahs.” If he liked using your lotions, then he must have the same scent preferences. 

“We just got this new lotion that fits the criteria! Oh! But it pairs very well with this body wash… actually this shampoo and conditioner set is also a good fit. Oh! What if we bundle them?”

What was supposed to be a simple lotion turned into you leaving the small shop with an entire gift basket. A sigh leaves your lips, looks like you’re not as immune to sales tactics as you originally thought. 

That night you handed the ribbon-wrapped basket to Alhaitham. Even if he isn’t interested in expensive handcrafted soaps, he’ll still use them out of necessity, they were a gift after all.

However, it doesn’t seem you had to worry about that. He used up the fancy soaps and lotions. 

The opulent scent lingering on his skin and towel-dried hair, looks like your gift made you discover a new side of your husband.

He enjoys really long showers, evidenced by your rising water bills. 

Still, the vast expanse of uncertainty didn’t shrink, not even one bit. Just like the distance between an outstretched hand toward the sun. 

Books, lotions, and walks through a market, looks like it was all for naught. 

The mutual agreement to not lock eyes, these cold halls, these awkward dinners filled with nothing but the clattering of silverware and plates. Where have you seen these patterns before?

Oh, you’ve seen these in your childhood home. 

Ah, was this a curse passed on to you? What an awful wedding gift from uninvited parents to a courthouse office. 

Clutching the straps of your bag tighter, your legs quicken their pace, wanting to get out of the crowded streets filled with the mumbles and pushes of people freshly off the clock.

With each stranger knocking into your shoulder another drop is added to a bottle. White knuckles gripping on your straps as a pressure rises within the bottle’s glass body, threatening to shatter it.

You can’t let this continue, the mounting pressure will sooner or later detonate into a hideous mess. Best to avoid that scenarios. Eyes catching sight of a small reprieve from the crowd, you direct yourself there.

 The small store front provides you with some shelter for your lungs to breathe. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. The pressure subsides just a bit. There’s still room in there, you can suppress a little more, you can endure a little longer. 

Eyelids fluttering open, you recognized the name of the shop. It’s the fancy soap shop, one with the vivacious sales assistant.

Peering through the glass you searched for that brilliant shade of crimson. And you found it, right next to glimmering silver hair. It’s like your body forgot how to breathe. 

From the rumbling of the late evening rush, all you could do was read their lips from behind a thick glass door.

Petite pink lips giggling behind clasped hands as Nilou looks up at Alhaitham, tilting her head to the side as if she asked him a question. His lips remained stiff, but teal gaze reflected crimson as they softened. Something you never witnessed within the quiet walls of your home. 

Looks like you found the cause of the rising water bills, perhaps Alhaitham likes the smell of Padisarahs. 

Your bottle couldn’t contain the ocean anymore. 

It wasn’t an Earth-shattering catastrophic event, no tidal waves crashing down, no flood flood devastating everything in its path. Only a defeated ‘pop’ and its pathetic echo as your bottle finally overflowed.

Bitter sea-foam fizzled out as it made an unseen mess. 

Listlessly, you rejoined the rolling crowd, letting the eb and flow of its movement carry you all the way to the front door of a false haven. Systematically inserting the key, placing your shoes into the closet, and shutting your room door behind your back. Staring at the clean floor with its intricate wood grain. 

However, your mind weren’t processing any of it, busy with its calculations.

When did his fever start? That one Autumn night with a chaste bouquet. What day is it now? The cusp of Summer. How long has it been? In a few months, it’ll be three years.

A lecture from an inescapable past resurfaces.

————————

“Hey, kiddo.” 

Slurred words made you stop in your tracks, small hands tightening their grip on your backpack straps.

You weren’t quiet enough, the careful steps of your feet were rendered useless when it came to the creaky wooden floors of this house. Your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t want to breathe in the stench which permeated this air. 

The aroma of cheap perfume, sour wine, and cheap beer. The source of this foul smell? The freshly awakened man laying on the couch just a few inches away: a man known as your father.

Still trying to reserve your stored supply of oxygen, all you offered the drunkard was a firm hum. Not that he’d care, judging from the crushed cans and empty bottles littering the path, he’s probably too far gone. 

“Did you know love is a chemical? Something called ‘phenylethylamine’?” A hiccup interrupts his sentence, but he continues, much to your dismay. 

“Haha, it makes your heart beat faster and your cheeks flush because it’s considered an amphetamine, one of the most powerful drugs.” His stumbling hand blindly reached for another can, knocking over empty shells until it found one with just a bit of liquor. 

“Too bad the high can only last three years.”

Your disinterested gaze trailed off down the empty hall, legs itching to break away from the lecture you’ve heard numerous times before. Lungs begging to inhale the untainted air of your room, the only sanctuary this hollow home held.

Just a few minutes was all you needed, then you’ll start mopping these foul floors. 

A clink of aluminum hitting the wooden boards draws your attention back to your father who had finished moisturizing his throat with another swig of beer. 

“Stay away from that drug, kiddo” A sloppy grin stretched across his face as he stared up at a blank ceiling. 

The sight made your arms bristle, seeing a smile on your father’s face was uncanny. Something you’ve never seen at the dinner table, just silent scowls and disgruntled glares constantly exchanged over a subpar meal. 

Wanting him to finish this one-sided conversation, you gave another firm hum, every now and then glazing back toward the hall. 

“Or you’ll end up like this old man.” He wraps the conversation up with a bitter laugh, one which resonated off the blank walls. 

————————

Maybe you should’ve heeded your father’s words. A brilliant scholar to the public but a pathetic drunk when within the confines of a cluttered, noisy house is still a brilliant scholar. 

This was your punishment for straying away from your beliefs. You reached your hand out towards the fire despite knowing it’d  hurt, and you fell in love. Now look at where you are. 

How utterly laughable, you, the ever-bright Ms. Perfect, who’s broken love down to its base form of chemical compounds, fell victim to the addiction that was love.

So blindsided by it.

The fog of love is slowly running its course through him. Once the trees abandon their vibrant greens for shriveled browns in the Autumn, his fever will be over. There’s no such thing as an endless Summer.

How did you not see this coming? Covering your eyes with ignorant hands, blatantly ignoring the signs right in front of your nose.

No more flowers, no more chocolates, and no more movies. 

Turning back around, you took note of a figure in a floor length mirror. Indifferent gaze identical to how your husband looks at you.

Two sides of the same mirror, what’s what you and him are. What’s the use of that? Shiny surfaces point off in opposite directions, yet only ever reflecting one view. What’s the point of having two sides then?

You don’t intrigue him, you can’t show him his blind spots, and you can’t reflect to him a view he’s never seen. Same perceptions, same hobbies, same expressionless faces, how stale it must be. 

It’s much more interesting to have a wife who’ll smile at receiving flowers, a wife whose eyes light up at chocolate, and a wife who’d blabber on about a movie as Alhaitham listens intently. The beating of his heart is starting with someone new.

Emerging out of your thoughts, you stare directly at the person in your mirror.

Dull eyes stared right back, light dimmed from years of staring at a bright star grasping at its warm rays in substitution of a cold house, only for your fingers to slip pass right through.

Idiotic girl, you can’t touch the sun, not even Icarus did. 

An unlovable child grew into an unlovable adult. Add that to your footnote, so you’ll never forget this lesson again. The fool in the mirror finally looks away. 

It didn’t matter if Icarus smiled or laughed as he tumbled from the sky. Silly girl, did you forget what happens in the end of that tale? He drowned alone. 

Drowning isn’t like what the movies show. The thrashing of limbs against cold waves, the garbled screams under the water, all accompanied by the ominous soundtrack crafted by a sound master. It’s all dramatized for the silver screen. 

Muscles pushing through the cold exhaustion, mouth agape but prioritizing large and fast gulps of oxygen over cries for help, followed by the melodic lull of water lapping over eardrums until the head disappears under its surface. Never to breach it again. 

It’s possible for a person to drown in a pool full of people. Just like how it was possible for you to feel alone despite having your husband just across the lacquered expanse of the dinner table. Forks and knives clacking porcelain plates.

It’s a silent death. 

For once you’re grateful to attend a nugatory dinner hosted by your company. Venue filled with superficial smiles and handshakes all over food served on sliver platters. Even if the heels are killing you, you’d rather not wallow in a quiet house.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips, catching someone’s attention. 

“What a heavy sigh, here have some wine to ease the burden.” A glass filled with fragrant wine was held out in front of you. 

Your eyes travel up the hand which offers the vile beverage to you, sights landing on the face of your boss, Bahram. Pushy as always, always testing the limits of your loyalty to a nice pension and dental insurance.

As always you politely push the glass away, uttering a firm “no thank you.”

“Oh c’mom Ms. Perfect, you look like you could use a drink.” He pushes the glass closer. 

 Stares from all around the formal dinner table hone in, the weight heavy on your shoulders. Stakeholders and coworkers turn away from their shallow conversations to watch the brewing spectacle just across the table.

That’s right, you have to be professional, where was your crafted mask? Make use of all those years observing the masters of deception you knew as your parents. 

So you accept the vile glass.

Before the aroma could register on your palate, you emptied the whole glass. Not a single drip escaped past your lips. It took all your strength to no scowl at the sweetly bitter and alcoholic flavor. 

“Oh? Ms. Perfect is drinking tonight?” Some nameless coworker mused. 

Ah, the name lightly tossed around at the office with oblivious chuckles and ignorant smiles. You despise being called that, but not as much as you despise being told ‘you’re just like your father’ and ‘you’re acting like your mother’.

Better to be Ms. Perfect, so disgruntled ‘soulmates’ can’t compare you to their flawed counterpart.

“Do you like this wine? Have some more.” Eagerly, your boss fills the glass once more. 

Staring at the beckoning liquid swirling in the glimmering cup, as the weight of those stares force your hands to accept it once more. 

Maybe you should’ve just stayed home. 

“I should really be trying to sell you our products but… I think you’ll find a better gift at another store. Here, I’ll write the address down for you! They have the best jewels, I’m sure you’ll find something for your wife there!” Hastily the shop assistant scribbles on a notepad before pushing the slip into his palm. 

“Just don’t tell my manager.” Clasping her hands in front of her mouth, signaling to him to keep a secret. 

Alhaitham simply nods, examining the address in his hands. He hasn’t tried jewelry yet, but a ring would look nice on your hand. Maybe you’d think so too.

“You really love her, don’t you mister?” Nilou notes how attentively his hands smooth over the address. 

Pausing for a moment, Alhaitham envisions the softness of your cheeks shifting as that tender smile spreads across your lips. Yours eyes reflecting the light off the polished and cut gem as he slips it onto your bare finger. 

“I do.” Unable to stop the softening of his gaze. 

———————————————————————————

A ring still left in its miserable black box, stowed away in the depths of a drawer. A sigh slips out of him just like how he let another opportunity to place the jewel on your finger pass. You’re attending a company dinner tonight, a rare occasion requiring you to dress up.

The dress draped over your figure and curves just right and highlighted the contours of your body. He wanted to tell you this earlier as you were leaving, too bad he was occupied with swallowing ‘stay home’. 

There’s an annoying itch in the deepest depths of his mind. Covetous hands crawled up his spine, they tried to convince his own fingers to grasp around your wrist and pull you back into the house.

Alhaitham shakes that itch away, refocusing his attention onto your bookshelf in front of him.

You have a life and responsibilities outside these walls, he can’t overstep the boundary to block you from your individuality. Running a finger along the tops of the neatly lined books, searching for something to redirect his impulses.

Momentum halting when his finger sunk into pages when he expected the firm edge of a spine. The force crumpling the paper, immediately he pulls it into his hands, smoothing out the folded edges. Title catching his attention. 

The Lifespan of Love, the only book where the spine wasn’t facing out. Flipping it to the back, Alhaitham scans the blurb, noting the portrait of the scholar who authored it.

A familiar face, a professor who’s lectures he barely attended. A distinguished researcher and mentor in the eyes of his old university.

The sight of his face made Alhaitham recall a scene he once witnessed. 

————————

The halls of the Psychology department were desolate, as they always were. A much-appreciated reprieve from crowded foyers as a quiet student walks to his next exam in the department next door. 

Just as his hand reached up to activate his headphones, two voices caught his attention, the high shrills of a woman and the raspy shouts of a man leaking out from an office door left ajar.

It has nothing to do with him, Alhaitham know this, but he still had 30 minutes to kill before the exam.

Teal eyes peer through the gap between the oak doorframe.

A man the student recongizes, but the scowl and flush of rage twisted his face into an unrecongizable mess. The professor juts his finger towards the woman as foul names left his mouth, the same mouth which lectured the brightest minds of Sumeru. 

The woman screams back equally loathsome words, tears leaving mascara trails down her red cheeks. Suddenly, she grabs a lamp off his desk and hurls it to the floor. 

For a brief moment, the scholar pauses as his eyes scanned over the broken debris scattered along the floor. Then his fist slammed into the solid oak of his desk, thud so forceful the office ratted with the poor furniture.

His shouts resume, volume escalating by the minute. 

Alhaitham backs away from the door, turning on his noise-canceling headphones. He’s satisfied his curiosity enough, walking off to his exam. 

————————

A peculiar sight behind the superficial mask of a respected professor with his jolly grin and light hearted jokes with students. Inspecting the name printed just underneath the portrait, a furrow forms between his brow as he scrutinizes the spelling closer.

The professor’s last name was spelled the same way as yours. 

Oh. So this is the source you were citing back then. Numbers and figures published by a notable name backing your rebuttal to the societal notion of a soulmate. Inquisiveness rearing its impatient nose, inciting his hands to choose this book as his subject tonight.

You never told him, so he never asked. This was a chance to peer into a view sealed behind your closed lips.  

To study, dissect, and analyze the resources which congergated together to form the you of today. Alhaitham isn’t going to deny such an opportunity.

Teal eyes glance at the ticking hands of a clock, he’s got a good few hours of reading before you return.

The distinct rumble of an engine leaking in through the living room window interrupts his peace, the slam of car doors causing Alhaitham to promptly fold over the corner of the page he has yet to finish.

The dinner must have ended.

Getting up from a cushy couch, Alhaitham makes his way toward the entranceway.

His keen ears picking up the unmistakable hearty chuckle of a man, Alhaitham stills for a brief second before continuing to the door. 

Before the chime of the doorbell had the chance to sound throughout the home, Alhaitham already pried open the front door.

Teal gaze darkening as they examine the display on the front steps. 

Your arm around the shoulder of another man while his arm was snaked around your waist, pressing your body against his as he supports you up the steps.

The sound of the hinges directs the man’s attention to the homeowner currently staring at him, oblivious to the way Alhaitham’s grip threatens to crush a metal handle behind solid oak. 

“Oh! You must be Ms. Perfect’s husband. I’m Bahram.” The man greeted.

Alhaitham already knows him. He’s seen that name flash up enough times across your phone. He’s seen you pick up no matter the hour and step out into an empty room.

A new habit of yours which started some months earlier.

“Haha! She drank a bit too much tonight.” The jovial man continues, his hand still resting on your hip.

Drank? You drank? You don’t so much as glance at Alhaitham’s wine cabinet at home, yet you drank with this man? The begins of scowl start to set into Alhaitham’s face. 

“I’ll bring her inside for ya.” Bahram takes a step forward only to be blocked by a towering frame topped with ashen hair. 

“I’ll take it from here.” Alhaitham barely bit back a pointed tone, forcibly smoothing it over to make his voice pass as neutral. 

Prying that hand off your hip and your arm from Bahram’s neck, Alhaitham’s strong hold supports your slumping figure against his own body.

Pulling you across the threshold of the front door, finally putting some distance between you and that damn boss of yours. 

“Have a goodnight.” Venomous lie rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he firmly shuts the oak door, not bothering with any more pleasantries. 

It didn’t take much effort to carry you into the living room. Setting you down on the sofa then kneeling down with dexterous fingers, Alhaitham freed your feet from the chokehold of those heels.

You make a mental note to throw them out tomorrow morning. 

“Thank you,” you breathed out, relieved to finally be home. 

Your husband doesn’t respond as he walk away to place your shoes into the closet. The lingering taste of wine churns your stomach, you needed some water to wash it out.

Carefully, you amble into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with fresh water. Praying it can finally rid you of that foul flavor. 

After three glasses of wine, your stakeholders and coworkers finally turned their attention elsewhere. You’ve entertained them enough.

Granting you the freedom to push away anymore glasses your boss offered, only getting him to stop after you agreed to his offer of driving you home.

What a troublesome night, your mood sourer than it has been for the past few months. 

As you fill up your glass again your ears catch the pattering of Alhaitham’s steps as he trails into the kitchen, stopping only a few paces away watching you glup down your second glass. 

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” His husky voice resounds from behind you as his finger taps against the marble countertop. 

“No.” You fill rinse out the cup, the stubborn grip of wine not releasing your tastebuds just yet. 

“Oh? It sure looks like you did.” 

Your body stiffens as your turn the faucet off, glancing over your shoulder with eyes narrowing. 

“What do you mean by that?” Your tone a bit more sharp than you’d like it to be. 

“I’m certain you know exactly what I mean.” Alhaitham stops his tapping as he lays his palm flat on the table, teal eyes boring straight into you. 

“Well, well looks like your assumption is wrong.” 

“I doubt it, stop mincing your words and just say you enjoyed a few drinks with your boss.” 

Your body turns around fully, glaring stare connecting with his teal one. Ticking of a clock sounding throughout the quiet kitchen.

So that’s why he’s behaving like this, partners with wandering eyes tend to project their hypocritical insecurities onto the other after all. 

“Then why don’t you say you’ve been enjoying your visits to Nilou?” Something more venomous than sour wine drips off your words. 

“How is she related to this conversation?” His eyes narrowing at you, unlike the same teal irises that reflected the scarlet of her hair. 

“You know exactly what I mean.” You spat his own words back at him, maneuvering around him as you make your way back to your room. 

At this point you weren’t sure what was the cause of the headache threatening to form.

The wine? This deafening silence? Or the thought of Padisarahs?

You don’t care, you want to go to bed. The thuds of his steps weren’t far behind yours as you trek through the halls.

“Our conversation hasn’t concluded.” His deep voice ringing in your ears. 

“Yes it has.” Your room was just in sight.

“No it hasn’t.” His hand encloses around your wrist.

There you were, halfway through the doorframe of your room with the pull of his hand preventing you from getting the rest you want.

There’s no longer any space left in a shattered bottle, just a rippling ocean getting rougher and rougher with each deep breath. 

“Can’t you be honest?” His ironic, paradoxical words causes the tide to crush against each other. 

“Can’t you be honest? Do you think I wouldn’t notice your showers right as you come back from ‘work’? You’ve been driving the water bill up with your cover-up efforts.” Glaring right into those damn beryl eyes, frown breaking your stiff lips. 

“Cover-up? What a bold accusation coming from the same person who awaits a call everynight.” He mirrors your scowl. 

“Maybe its because work offers better company than this stifling house.” 

Alhaitham grip tightens on your wrist as his lips press into a firm line, indecipherable stare weighing down upon your frame. His broad shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath. 

“Strip,” he commands.

“Have you gone mad?” You snap back, unable to budge in his hold. 

“Yes, furious even.” 

It didn’t take much effort for him to make his way into your room, pulling you in as well. You could barely keep up with it all, glaring at him but it didn’t affect him one bit.

The movement causes your dress to shift. Glancing down you realize a strap of your dress slipped off, leaving one side of your breast dangerously exposed. 

With swift strides, he arrives at the edge of your bed. It’s rare for you to dawn such attire, applying a lovely shade of crimson to those plush lips, and tying your hair up so nicely. Did you get all dressed up for Bahram? Why couldn’t it be for his viewing only? 

Tsk, noisy nonsense is cluttering his mind, those the claws of a green-eyes monster digging into his last shred of restraint. Seizing his rationality in its ugly, greedy hands tighter and tighter the longer your soft thighs pressed against his tense body.

Crashing into those crimson lips of yours, one hand positioning your face to allow his tongue to catch yours by surprise. Letting the two muscles dance together as his other hand explored the expanse of your body, pulling up the silky fabric to grant his palm the pleasure of gracing your soft thighs. 

‘Oh, so this is what he wants,’ you thought as your lips moved against his.

‘Fine, might as well experience what he’s been doing behind your back.’ The fingers of your free hand tangling themselves into his hair, tugging at ashen locks with disregard. 

Unfortunately, the pesky need for oxygen made Alhaitham release your lips. Chest panting as his darkened gaze observed the state of your lips. Crimson smeared over the corner of your glossy lips. You put so much effort into painting them, making sure they were nicely defined. 

However, it felt so cathartic to know that he’s the one who messed them up, no one at the party saw them like this. Only him. 

“I’ll ask you one last time, strip now.” Not letting go of your face. 

“Go to hell,” you spat out. 

And the last chain broke, dignity and self-control reduced to nothing more than ash as his hunger commanded him. Go to hell you say?

“Then I’ll take you with me,” he sneers through clenched teeth, pushing you into the mattress face down. One hand restraining those disobedient hands of yours behind your back.

Before protest could leave your lips a rip resounds through the hot air.  Alhaitham knows he should be delicate with it. That he should carefully pull the zipper down your back, letting the fabric naturally drape off your frame.

 However, a man who starved for six years now knows nothing about patience. 

You feel the silky fabric slip off, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Teal eyes honing in on the darkened patch on the thin fabric, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

“Wet just from this? Or were you wet during dinner too?” He pulls the fickle fabric off. 

You wiggle in his hold, face flushed with frustrated embarrassment at your current predicament. However, in terms of strength you’ll always lose to Alhaitham. A violent flinch jolts your body as he runs a finger runs along your glistening slit. 

“What a lewd thing, has he seen this slutty hole of yours?” Alhaitham watches the way your cunt quivers with each stroke of his digit. 

“Do really you think I’d sleep with my boss?” Your voice slightly muffled by the sheets as you turn your face to the side. 

“I need to confirm it.”

With two fingers, he spreads your soft pussy lips apart, keen eyes observing the trail of slick starting to drip down from between them. He sees the muscles of your entrance clenching around nothing, he glides a digit in, feeling your slick walls clamp around it. Clear essence drooling out. He hums in satisfaction before sliding his finger out, you bite into the sheet to silence any sounds. 

“Enjoying this?” He muses, fingers spreading your cunt again. 

You don’t respond, but the glare you’re sending his way makes his lip curl into a smirk. For once he could read the emotions behind your stoic eyes, he wants to see more.

Trailing his fingers up your slit until they bump into a hard nub making your body twitch. Softly pinching your clit between two fingers, he slowly rolls the senesitve bundle of nerves as you bite harder to stop your moans. 

Cunt slick but unstretched, clit throbbing but not swollen, only your essence coating his fingers. Looks Bahram hasn’t gotten the chance to taste you yet.

Calming the thrashing of a green-eyed beast just slightly. However, this wasn’t enough. Alhaitham feels the parchedness of his throat as his eyes scan over your glistening slit.  

Alhaitham once believed that the touches exchanged when his fingers brush against yours while passing plates, when you pull a blanket up his napping frame, or when your bodies briefly pressed against each other as he helps you hang the laundry out was enough to satisfy him. That he could sustain off just borrowing your lotions. 

Such a false assumption, a foolish one even. As the heat radiating off your body melts away another restraint he imposed on himself. Alhaitham realizes just how much he’s been starving himself. 

Thumb rubbing firm circles into your clit, the pleasure making your legs close together, trying to shut him out but the grip of his hand stops your attempt. 

“Tsk, stay still.” His strength pinning your legs apart, showing you just how ‘feeble’ he was. 

In retaliation, he pushes your legs further apart. Exposing more of yourself to him, it was embarrassing enough to almost make your lust-hazed mind care.

Thick fingers gathered up drops of slick leaking out from your dripping cunt as your lewd hole unable to contain its greed. Allowing him more access, feeding into his greed further.

Two fingers tracing the rim of your entrance before it slowly pushes through. Instantly, your gummy walls clamped down on his fingers, making him hiss through clenched teeth.

“If you’re grasping my fingers this much, how will you take something larger?” His breath ghosting over your cunt. 

Your toes curled in the air as a kiss was pressed against your throbbing clit, almost enough to let a gasp escape you. Biting back a drawn out moan as his tongue traced your leaking slit, starting with your sensitive numb then traveling up to lap at the essence escaping your stretched hole with the smooth muscle then back to flick at your clit.

You never realized just how pent up your body was until whines and moans just fell from your lips like water. Turning your head away, pressing your face into the mattress in hopes it’d catch those sinful sounds. 

“Tsk.” Alhaitham escalated the pace of his fingers. 

A sharp slap against your puffy clit, shooting white-hot pleasure up your core. With a gasp you pulled away from the sheets, unable to stop the moan which tumbled out. Hastily, you tried to muffle your voice again, only for a warning squeeze on your still pinned wrist stopping you.

You’ve enjoyed your silence, he’s been deprived of those sultry moans, so for tonight let him enjoy them to the fullest extent. 

Your back arched, hips bucking in the air. Your little pussy finally rewarded his hard work with a rush of slick soaked the sheets and his face further. Swiftly removing his fingers again with a disgraceful squelch, only for his tongue to dip into the cavern they left. He slurped and lapped up every drop of your nectar, quenching a thirst he never knew he had. 

Overstimulated clit trying to flinch away from each nerve-frying lick while your weeping walls beckoned his tongue to go deeper. The tightness in his pants was painful now, engorged tip rubbing against the fabric and soaking it in precum.

With his unyielding hold, his half-lidded eyes, and his unrelenting tongue lapping up all of your essence while bullying your poor nub, you were powerless. Unable to hide from his hungry gaze, nails digging into his unflinching hand, and chest heaving with the mounting pleasure in your core.

Scowl long replaced by a loose expression, the pleasure ripping through every fiber of your being. Shooting up from your curled toes to the eyes seeing only the back of your head, the edge growing closer and closer-

Alhaitham pulls away, your slick dripping down his chin glistening in the moonlight illuminating the room. Cruelly pulling back from the edge before you could taste true euphoria. No, he doesn’t think you deserve it yet. Flipping your body effortless on your back, wrists now pinned above your head.

His teal eyes drank the sight of your breast bouncing with each pant, puffy cunt clenching desperately, and the glimmering tearful eyes rivaling the stars themselves. A sight so sinful the devil is writhing in envy. 

“What the fuck?!” You thrashed in his hold again, mourning the lost of the orgasm your body was denied. 

“With this attitude, you should be grateful for what you got. I’m tired of waiting.” Alhaitham sneers next to your ear, chest pressed against yours before his warmth pulls away. 

Tugging his pants and boxers down his thighs with a hand still coated in your nectar, trailing kisses and red splotches in the valley of your breast as his precum and your slick mixed with each stroke of his shaft. The wet sounds even reached your ears.

Making the mistake of looking down, your eyes widened as they comprehended his length and girth. Your restless pussy twitching but your legs closing as to preserve the last of your ego. Something thick pressed against your dripping pussy making your hole quiver and legs freeze as his tip threatens breach your entrance.

“Trying to be coy now? When you were moaning like a whore mere minutes ago.” Smug teal eyes peering down at you. 

Another frown breaks onto your face at his pointed words. Your tongue is just as sharp, best to remind him of that fact.

“What a practiced line, you say the same things to her as well?” A mocking smile curling your lip as a scowl tugs down at his.

Too self-satisfied with your small victory to notice his large hand gripping onto your hips, aligning himself with you. With a sinful squelch, Alhaitham snaps his cock fully in. Your lips thrown open with a gasp as your back arches off the mattress.

“I. Never. Had. An. Affair. So, instead of spewing out anymore nonsense, why don’t you just moan instead?” Puncuating each word with thrust of his hips, feeling the vibration of each syllable in his chest pinned against yours. 

Jagged words ready at the tip of your tongue, yet you couldn’t form a single sentence. With a broken moan your back slowly descended back onto the sheets.

Tearing a hiss from his clenched teeth and a breathless moan from you, gummy walls contracting down tighter and tighter with each girthy inch pushed as his balls slap against the slick down your ass. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Alhaitham stays there, tip pressed against the deepest part of you, a furrow between his brows.

Alhaitham knows he should be gentle. He knows he should allow your walls to grow accustomed to his girth by slowly rolling his hips against yours. 

However, you just won’t stay still. Mewling and whining against his frame, nails clawing at his hand as your legs fluttered in the air. Each movement makes your pussy slurp around his stiff cock, lapping at the girth as if trying to pull him deeper than he already was. 

Tempting his hunger like a lunatic testing a starved beast, it’ll only be so long before the hunger bends the iron bars containing it and devours you. 

“AH!” A sharp slap of his hips rips a moan from your lips. 

Alhaitham pulls you off his cock until the tip threatens to slip out, then thrusts it all back in one fluid motion. Instinctively your teeth clamps down on your disobedient lips, desperately trying to bite back those lewd noises. The slurping of your greed welcoming him over and over was embarrassing enough. 

What a selfish move, trying to deprive him once more of your pretty moans. Provoking that ugly appetite within the pits of his stomach again. If you won’t behave, Alhaitham decides to fuck the stubborness out of you. 

Each thrust of his hips into yours rocking the sturdy bed, bullying your poor sensitive pussy still recovering from a ruined orgasm. Hands and hips held within bruising grips. The pitched gasps every time he railed into a certain spot didn’t escape his keen ears, his hips now angled to bully that spot with each thrust.

How helpless you were to the devastating rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin. Unable to ground yourself on anything, your last wisps of sanity swept away by the waves of pleasure. 

A groan reverberates deep in Alhaitham’s chest, the sudden convulsions of your slick walls trying to milk him. It was almost impossible to move with the way your pussy just kept clamping down.

Unfortunately, his hips couldn’t seem to care, operating solely on selfish desire.

Fortunately, a fresh wave of arousal aided in his rhythm, relentless slams bouncing your body and bed. 

Strength long leaving your arms Alhaitham releases his hold on them in favor of supporting your limp hips, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as lust-hazed eyes honed in on the frothy white ring forming on his shaft.

All your lips could do was babble out nothings as the headboard continued to beat the poor wall. Cunt thanking his cock with a contraction every time his tip knocks against your weakness. 

The sweet moans caressing his ears, the filthy slaps echoing through the room, and your walls pulling him deeper and deeper, Alhaitham was at his limit.

There was nothing separating you two, he had enough sense left to know that. Reeling in the reins of his greed, he pulls back, fingers digging deeper into your plush skin. Well, he tried to pull back, but your locked ankles behind his back foiled this plan. 

He felt so hefty in you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his girth and length tore apart your sensibility. Something deep inside your cunt pleaded to be fed, to be filled, pushing your limp legs to lock ankles.

He feels a bit too far for your liking, blindly your hands groped at his body. Finally, reaching his face, cupping it roughly, you crash his lips down onto yours. Tasting yourself on his tongue still, but you couldn’t care less.

As your tongues tangled together, Alhaitham reached his limit. Pressing his thick tip as deep as it’d go, thick ropes of cum start to coat your walls with each twitch of his cock. His shaky moans swallowed up by your kiss.

The slurping of your pussy milking his still throbbing cock only prolonged his hunger. 

Dropping his head into the space between your neck and shoulder, he relishes in what he’s been depriving himself of. Feeling the faint shiver of your neck against his face.

Something was fogging up his mind, Autumn breeze doing nothing to quell the heat burning him.

–

“Ah! Mmmh! A-ah Ah!” 

The first rays of dawn breaking through the navy sky, the light so flushed by the scene it witnessed, it’s pink hue illuminated skin into the room heavy with lust and the slap of wet skin. 

“N-no more… too m-Ah!-much-ch.” Intoxicated brain sputtering out broken sentences. 

 It really was too much, you’ve cum too much to bother remembering, from the creamy drops dripping onto the soaked sheets, he’s also cummed too much.

Pussy overflowing and spasming with each thrust pushing more milky seed out.

Cock rubbing its red tip rawer with each quiver of your gooey walls. 

Six years of starvation will make any man forget gluttony is a sin.

“Too much? No More?” A husky pant between each word as Alhaitham continues with his punishing rhythm. 

“If that’s the case… then why is your pussy refusing to let me go?” His chest pressed against your back, caging you further as his breath tickles your ear. 

Unable to form a sentence anymore, your head pathetically shook side to side, stubbornly denying the obvious. Looks like he hasn’t fucked out of you yet, better change that. Large fingers digging further down on bruised hips, as the pistoning of his thrusts escalated.

Bed frame pushed to its limits.

Each smack of his hips against your limp body further drowning your pride out in a flood of dopamine. It’s mounting again, that familiar pressure building up in your core, making your toes curl in painful arches.

There’s a sudden flick at your swollen clit, walls flinching as his fingers encircles around the abused nub. 

“Who’s making you feel this way?” His husky voice too close to your ear.

Groundless pride preventing you from unsealing you lips, refusing to feed into his ego anymore than your wanton moans already did. 

“Who are you showing this shameful face to?” There’s an edge to his voice again, why must you be so stubborn?

Once more you refused to answer. Making Alhaitham’s jaw clench and his fingers roll your clit harsher, making your bruised hips thrash.  

“Who’s shape is engrained into this lewd body?” Voice dangerously low as he pushes his thick tip deeper against your beaten and painted walls, fingers never stopping their torment on your little nub. 

The edge was getting closer, you knew you’ll fall off it soon, you’ll dive head first into the euphoric sea of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin and drown.

“Ah-ah Al-mmh!” You try to collect your breath.

Alhaitham quickens his fingers on your clit, feeling your greedy cunt clamp down on him again, walls suckling his twitching tip as his balls tighten. He’s close, but he needs you to say what he’s been waiting to hear all night. 

“Alh-ah a-a…” Your hips shaking violently in his hold now. 

Lust-glazed eyes staring straight into equally hazed teal eyes. Shaky hands slowly weaving themselves into his damp ash locks, gently pulling his ear closer to your lips, your hoarse voice just barely audible.

“A bastard.” 

Self-satisfied smirk plastered over your loose face as your tear blurred vision catches the stunned expression on his handsome face. 

The heat of his touch, the chemical stirring in your brain, and the pleasure frying your nerves made a delirious smile grace smudged lips. Your sight so hazed by lust you couldn’t see where your smile was even directed to.

Alhaitham wanted to etch the sight of your debauch face, smeared makeup and glazed eyes rolled back, into his memories forever.

Too caught off guard by your response to remind his hand to stop its movement before it was already too late. Eyes seeing the back of your head, back arching under his frame, you fell back into the all consuming waves of pleasure. 

A hard earned victory in this veiled battle of two egos. Exhaustion seeping into every fiber of your being. The pale pink of twilight dimming in your vision as the dark hands of sleep covers your eyes.

Somewhere in the middle of drifting off into a blank nothingness, you feel a hand tenderly guiding your head to rest on a soft pillow. 

Your eyelids twitch and brows furrow as the brightness of the room crept its way behind your shut eyes. Unable to retreat back into the dark embrace of sleep, you begrudgingly open your heavy lids.

Greeted by blurred shapes and fuzzy colors, you slowly blink your unfocused eyes. Gradually, the shapes and colors merge into distinguishable objects: a mug left on your bedside table with vapors rising from its rim. 

“It’s morning-after tea.” A husky voice followed by the distinct flip of paper tenses every muscle in your body. 

Alhaitham’s still here. You wish he wasn’t, you wish he’d realize last night was a mistake created from the clashing of egos, you wish the other side of your bed was empty.

So why did the tightness in your chest melt away with the mere sound of his voice?

You drag your sore body up from the sheets, shaky hands supporting the weight of numb legs and throbbing hips. Your sealed lips refusing to give him the satisfaction of any audible ques of your current state.

Sitting at the edge of your bed, back bare of anything but your hair draping over the marked skin facing him, you took the warm cup into your hands. 

A harmony of methodical sips and soft turns of pages fill the room, an open window washing away the haze of lust with an Autumn breeze. Just as the last bit of tea slides down your throat a gentle slap of a book snapping close brings an end to the heavy silence. 

“It’s unreliable,” Alhaitham announces. 

Peering over your shoulder with a quirked brow, freezing as you recognize the book clutched in his hands. Not waiting for a response, he continues. 

“Anyone with eyes can see how his biases exude through each sentence. He only studied 15 couples, not an appropriate sample size for a world filled with millions of pairs. His experiments have yet to be replicated, it seems his status is what got this nonsense published.” He sets the book down. 

“What are you trying to say?” Your eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“Your theory of phenylethylamine having a shelf life is based on nonsense.” His eyes connect with yours with that familiar indifference. 

A frown twists your face, so he still wants to argue huh. Of course, what else did you expect? You and him have long gone down the bitter circular path you’ve seen travled before.

Irritation rising in your chest, like Alhaitham had jabbed his finger into a wound you’ve yet to heal. 

“Oh, then your theory must be the intrinsic truth, huh?” Words leaving an acidic aftertaste on your tongue. 

“I never-”

“Look at you, so correct with no data to support your vague mathematical thesis.” You cut him off, anger replacing the soreness of your legs. 

Cup knocking against a bedside table as your hand casts it to the side, getting off the bed you march into your closet, pulling a random shirt on without regard of your movements wrinkling the fabric.

You just needed to leave this room, just being by his side is making your blood pressure rise. Your bed creaks as Alhaitham gets up as well, but your back was already through the door. 

Two sets of steps trekking through the halls, paces mismatched as one tries to take quicker steps to counter the broader strides of the other. Alhaitham keeps pace with your escalating march. 

“It’s a critique of his research, not you,” he voices. 

You didn’t want to hear it, sharply pivoting into your home office, but you weren’t fast enough to stop Alhaitham from following you in.

Now a husband wants to spend time with his wife, where was this before? 

“It’s an experiment conducted at the Akademiya, how is that not reliable enough? You think you can do better?” Your body whipping around with a glare directed at him, your hideous ego showing its face again. 

“Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you even believe in such a shallow analysis?” He mirrors your glare. 

“I’d rather believe in something with actual quantifiable numbers.” 

“Fine, you want quantifiable numbers? Care to calculate along with me? Or is your mind still recovering from last night?” Alhaitham folds his arms in front of his chest. 

“Go for it,” you say through gritted teeth, accepting his challenge, wanting to shush that snooty tone of his. 

“The Akasha bases its pairs off demographic, interest, and dispositions, all variables we can calculate,” he states. 

You straighten up your back, staring him in those teal eyes with your head held up high.

“Sumeru city is home to roughly 1 million people. Only 1/3 are around my age.” Alhaitham begins his trail.

“That brings that number down to about 333,333.” No delay in your response.

“Only 1 in 10 people have a personality I can tolerate, then suppose only 1 in 20 of those people can withstand mine.”

“ Rounding up that leaves about 1,667 candidates.” You tsk at his estimations, that number should be far greater than 20. 

 “Next comes shared interest, only 1 in 4 people have touched a physical book in the past year.” 

“417 left.”

Perhaps the gods didn’t think cheating you out of a childhood was enough, out of 417 people you had the misfortune of staring at his stony face. 

“Having to arrange 417 separate meetings at a small cafe would be much too burdensome for the Department of Human Relations. The scope needs to be narrowed further.” Alhaitham takes a step forward.

“Only 1 in 16 will have the patience to teach a grown man how to avoid wrinkles in his button downs.” Baritone voice losing its pointed edge. 

“26 left.”  You take a step back to preserve the space, hating how your skin craves the heat of his. 

“Only 1 in 8 of those people will allow me to borrow their books even when they know the edges of the paper will be creased when its returned.” He takes another step.

As you take another step backwards, the edge of your office desk prevents you from retreating further. The sensation of the cold wood distracting you momentarily from your calculations. 

“Then only 1 in 6 people will drape a blanket over a body that hogs an entire couch for a nap, placing a pillow under my head to ensure I don’t wake up with a sore neck.” Alhaitham doesn’t stop. 

Reaching an arm out, he firmly sets his palm on the expanse of your desk, caging you between the wood and the risk of your skin feeling the heat radiating off his body. 

“How many people are left now?” His breath ghosts the shell of your ear.

“ 0.543,” You blurted out.

A deep furrow appears between your brows, something must’ve gone wrong in your calculation, it’s impossible to have half a person. In the context of the Akasha, one person, a whole person, is matched to another.

Once more your mind ran the numbers over again, then again, and then thrice trying to recompute the figures. 

Each time the same number came back: half a person. 

“Are you mocking me with those groundless fractions? Where did you even get those statistics from?” Your pointed gaze still directed at him, did he intentionally lead you down this illogical trail? 

“Logic is neither an art nor a science but a dodge.” He peers down at you, teal gaze back to its neutral state. 

“Ha! Says the man who places logic and rationality on a pedestal, what caused such a change, Alhaitham?” You laugh dryly, not bothering to decipher the most brainless qoute you ever heard him use. 

No change in his expression as his shoulders rise with a deep inhale, exhaling slowly as he leans his face in, his finger digging his palm against lacquered wood. 

“Instead of wasting time citing subpar research, you should’ve just been honest. Then maybe I’ll give you what you want and sign those damn papers you hid away in this desk.” Voice low but steady as his gaze never leaves your frame. 

It was a strange phenomenon, the chirping of the crickets had halted as two bodies remained unmoving, not even a single grain of dust dare move. If it weren’t for the faint ticking of a hallway clock, it would’ve seemed like time had stopped.

How long has he known about the divorce papers neatly stacked away a desk drawer?

Alhaitham slowly backs his body away from yours, hand returning to his side, freeing you from the cage it created. Teal eyes carefully observes your downcast stare and stiff shoulders as guilt suffocated him.

All the emotions he bottled up, all the fervor he held back, all the desires he swallowed down. It all came tumbling out, spilling out into a murky, repulsive mess. 

“Wife.” If he had spoken any louder than a breathy whisper, that word would’ve crumbled on his tongue. 

“I love you.” Alhaitham finally allows the words which have been clinging on his tongue for years now to fall out of his mouth. 

Every inch of you froze at those three words, the weight of his stare heavy on your shoulders.

“Do you really feel nothing from those words?” Baritone voice beckoning an answer from you. 

You don’t dare lift your head, gaze downcasted and frozen. Because you know you’ll have to stare at your reflection in his eyes. 

Phenylethylamine, oxytocin, dopamine.

All these hormones and chemicals should’ve ran their course through your body. The haze should’ve faded and the abnormality of your chest should’ve corrected itself. It’s been three years at this point.

So, why is your chest aching?

The wood grain of the floor began to blur together as bitter tears compensated for the painful stinging of your irises. There it is, your brain finally short-circuits as the logic which once held up your sanity has crumbled away. 

Finally, you met his gaze, staring right at your reflection in teal irises. 

“It’s suffocating to be with you… it’s so lonely in this quiet house… it burns me like fire to touch you… yet… and y-yet see-”

“Seeing you leave will kill me, ” Alhaitham spoke the words just about to fall from the tip of your tongue.

The last piece of evidence that shattered the hypothesis he cultivated for all his life. If soulmates don’t exist, if the concept of an ‘other half’ doesn’t exist, then why is he feeling the same agony as you?

Looks like both theories were wrong in the end. Mathematics and chemistry unable to solve the enigma known as love. 

“I… I want to love… but I’m drowning… Alhaitham.” You were finally honest, you’ve been drowning all your life, thrashing hands searching for something to hold onto.

Would you be oh so kind enough to grab that pen just behind you and stab its steel nib into his chest? Alhaitham’s certain that it would hurt less than the words that left your trembling lips. 

A gentle hand cradled the back of your head as he pulls you closer. Letting those bitter tears strain his shirt and burn his skin.

No one, but the audience of a curious star and capricious gods peering down behind their blanket of clouds into this quiet house. 

Alhaitham once thought of himself as a good husband. Doing his fair share of chores and paying his half of the bills.

However, seeing your broken figure barely clinging onto his stiff frame, it’s clear that his overconfident assessment was a grave error. 

A  good husband would’ve been more attentive. A good husband would’ve noticed the tide slowly sweeping you away into the rough sea. A good, loving husband would’ve never let you sink alone in salty tears.

“Then I’ll drown with you.” His other hand grasping onto one of yours, slowly easing it away from his wrinkled shirt with soft caresses. 

Only monsters live in the deep cold sea, the only creatures able to survive the saltine waters and the pitch black nothingness. But as long as your fingers wove themselves into the gaps between his, he’ll be warm even as he sits on the sandy bottom of the murky ocean. 

Maybe that’s where the two of you belonged, two unromantic and prideful fools sitting at the bottom of the ocean.

Hand in hand so that the stupidity contained between the two of you won’t pollute anyone else. 

Gradually, those aching hiccups of yours faded into nothing more than muffled whimpers. Allowing silence to creep its way back into the gaps. The cause of this mess in the first place.

He has to remedy this, but what should he say? All those encyclopedias and journals he had thumbed through were all for naught. For Alhaitham’s mind couldn���t recall one fact from those pages.

One hand patting a slow rhythm into your back, trying to buy the man some time.

When logic and reasoning fail to explain the unexplained, folklore takes its place.

“According to legends, people used to have two pairs of hands, two pairs of feet, and two faces pointed in opposite directions.” He began.

“Back then, humans were powerful, powerful enough to threaten the gods who created them. So the gods split them in two. Cursing humans to a cruel search, desperate to be whole again.” His other hand still toying with your fingers.

You peer up at him, head still resting against his chest, feeling the soft beating of his heart. Blinking away the tears, listening to his telling of a myth. 

“That’s the origin of a soulmate.” He finishes.

A soft giggle leaves your lips, a mixture of confusion and disbelief from Alhaitham quoting a fairytale. 

“And you believe in that?” Amused gaze connecting with brilliant beryl eyes. 

“Yes…because I found you.” Alhaitham tenderly brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingers as a glint catches the sunlight. 

With a foreign sensation hugging a finger, your brows furrow. Holding your hand out toward the light again. Blinking eyes finally identify the gem which coyly appeared on your ring finger.

So that’s what he was doing, your tear stained cheeks shifting up as a smile stretches your once stiff lips.

Burying your head in the chest of the most unromantically romantic idiot you’ve ever known, a radiant laugh bubbling in your chest as it resonates off quiet walls. 

But as he is, so are you: An unromantically romantic soulmate in love. 

~Fin

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[nevermindirah]

I have a hard to answer question how does one handle in a fanfic tog not going after shitler with Jewish!booker on the team without them coming off like assholes in regards to the human cost as well as the personal cost to booker, cause I'm drawing a blank

hi anon!

this is a super duper big large heavy question, and it's also one that might, depending on the context of your fic, have a very simple answer: the immortals are, other than their immortality, human, and therefore they can each only be in a single place at once.

they don't have superhuman strength or speed, they don't have magic, they don't have access to time-travel technology. I'm not an expert in ww2 military strategy but I'm sure allied governments looked into assassinating Hitler, and nobody managed to do it until the shitstain killed himself. the immortals are highly skilled and well-connected but not at the level of for example the agency that would go on to become the CIA, so who's to say they'd be successful in this assassination if they tried.

there's also the matter of when and for what reason the immortals might decide that killing this particular shitstain should go at the top of their to-do list. it's so easy for us to say in hindsight that a catastrophic volume of suffering could've been averted with this one person's death 10-15 years earlier than what happened in our timeline, but even with the strategic benefit of that hindsight, none of us can predict exactly what would've happened after a successful assassination in 1939, 1932, or even earlier. killing one leader doesn't ensure the movement he leads will stop with his death; someone even worse could have stepped in under the banner of a martyr.

things had gotten bad for Jews in a lot of places many times before things started getting real bad again in Germany. again, I'm not an expert, so I don't know when anyone outside of Nazi senior leadership knew anything about plans for the Holocaust — but would any of the immortals have learned about it sooner than international news media did? would they have known about it early enough that it was possible for a group of four immortals to stop? would they have believed such horrific plans if they'd seen them on paper? there's historical evidence that US officials didn't believe early reports could possibly be true.

there are photos on Copley's wall showing the immortals in Europe at several points during ww2 and there's that one panel from one of the comics of some of the boys being involved in liberating one of the camps. but we don't know details beyond that, and we don't know what the immortals were up to in the 1930s. they may have been very, very busy doing what they could to protect people from Japan's horrific war crimes of the same era, which started several years earlier than the Third Reich.

none of that is to say it would be easy for the immortals to know that the Holocaust was happening and not stop it. I'm sure it was devastating for all of them, who'd already seen so much needless painful death in their long lives, to see the ruthless mechanized efficiency of Nazi mass murder. it would be especially devastating for Booker, even without the Jewish Booker headcanon, bc his children died hating him bc he could not save them no matter how much they begged and no matter how hard he tried.

so my hope for the fic you're working on is that you'll show at least a little bit how their inability to stop these horrors weighs on the immortals. show the personal cost to Booker. do the others get why such horrors happening to his people, who are specifically being targeted because they are Jews, hurts him so badly? or does Andy make dark jokes about how God really must not exist or what did Booker do to piss him off.

does Andy make dark jokes like that bc she sees Quynh's face in every woman they rescue from the Japanese army's rape campaigns? it would have been just as impossible for the immortals alone to save every one of them as it would've been to stop the Holocaust. might their personal connections to victims thousands of miles apart in a war causing overwhelming suffering across most of the planet wear on the immortals' relationships with each other? they can only do but so much. how the hell do they choose which people to try to save?

now that I've thought about it, writing a fic where they do kill Hitler might actually be easier. you can just handwave the deeply frustrating logistical realities and make it so that conveniently killing the nightmare in charge happens to cause the whole house of nightmares to fall apart. (you can also handwave that in your new timeline non-Jews across Europe welcomed their Jewish neighbors home with open arms, when very often the opposite happened irl.)

this topic is so rich for all kinds of exploration in fic. you could end up with a long and plotty meditation on how painful it is for the immortals to have to choose between so many people who need their help. you might have only been asking for the sake of some references to this era of the past in a fic set during or after the movie where the historical timeline is set in stone, in which case I hope what I've shared here leads you to writing those passages with appropriate seriousness and care, even if it's ultimately a small part of a story mainly focused on other things.

this was hard to answer, but not intellectually, this kind of analysis is how my brain works. it just hurts my heart to think about how much my people have lost, how much pain so many people have suffered, and how much suffering is happening right now that there's so little I can do to stop. if I were immortal right now how the hell would I choose between Palestinians and Massalit people and Uyghurs and Rohingya and the multitude of Latin Americans suffering at the US border, all the Black Americans suffering systematically in US prisons, all the other people whose catastrophic suffering I don't even know about?

but I'm glad you asked bc this is such an under-considered element of TOG that's very worth the spotlight. I hope my thoughts here help you, and maybe others will see this and think about it as well.

[conmastor]

T4T Maxley for the soul

Okay so this one I like to call it:

Miss Belladonna

I based the title on a song by Slayyyter. If you don’t know who she is go listen to her, she’s literally one of my favorites and needs to be absorbed by people.

Anyway, here is some backstory for those two. I'll start with Bradley:

My thought process is that Bradley comes out as trans (MTF) when she’s about 16 and surprise surprise her parents suck. So they put her out of the house, making her sleep on the lawn. The next day she wakes up in a moving vehicle and freaks out. Luckily it’s just her Grandmother (I am not pulling a Wattpad calm down). To make a long story short her grandmother got a call from her son (Bradley uppercrust the 2nd) demanding her to cut Bradley from the inheritance because of her coming out as a woman. Her Grandmother (being the best person in the world) was having none of that nonsense, so instead she cut HIM from the inheritance. So his business better stay afloat to keep the lights on (I’ll ponder his fate later).

Years later, Bradley (Now named Brindalyn (I know I said I didn't have a name for her but in this AU I use this name because it fits. In my other ones it doesn't)) lives in her grandmothers huge castle/mansion, finally getting to be who she is…… but not quite. Ya see Brindalyn (or Brin for short) loves living with her grandmother and loves the support she gets from her (Grandmother: I’ve always wanted a granddaughter), although the thing is her grandmother is very old school and strict.

Rules:

Proper speech etiquette 

Proper table manners

Always look presentable before leaving your room for the day

Dress modestly

Walk with purpose

Address people properly

No men over that she hasn’t met

No skating

Now those rules were relatively easy to follow for her, but the skating and the modest dress are harder to uphold.

She loves skating (something I will never take away from her) so when this rule came out of her grandmothers mouth her exact words were: “Ladies do not pass their time playing frivolous sports such as that. Put your time into your studies and cultivating your social life to benefit you in the future.” Again this woman is stuck in her ways and doesn’t understand the idea of skating as a hobby for people let alone her granddaughter. So Brindalyn, having the fear of being kicked out again, left skating alone. However she does sneak out the house to go to a skate park or two when her grandmother is away doing business trips.

Now for the modesty thing…….. she hates it. When she was living with her grandmother in her earlier years she didn’t mind it because it let her dress in a way she never has before. Although at one point she started to look into different ways to dress and became more inclined to want clothes with a bit of midriff, showing a lot of leg (cause she’s tall), having her shoulders out, and just the smallest show of cleavage. One day when she came home from a shopping trip, she decided to go out in one of the outfits she bought from the store and wear it home. As she walks into the house her grandmother was furious. She talked about being dressed appropriately and showing a respectable amount of skin and all that stuff. Right then and there she demanded that Brindalyn return the clothes at once. Begrudgingly she did. She now knows that if she wanted dress the way she wanted, it has to be outside of her grandmothers house and away from anywhere she might frequent.

What she wants to wear      what her grandmother wants her to wear

Finally onto the subject of school. Her grandmother wants her to go to the most prestigious school in the country and Brindalyn doesn’t mind that………. Yet there is a perfectly good college with a really cool event she wants to go to every year (or maybe join). So her plan goes as follows: make it seem like she would be home sick enough that she couldn’t go (which would be a bit true she just wants to jazz it up), have her grandmother be a bit sentimental (she’s usually a stone cold women, but with Brindalyn she’s quite lenient), apply to the State University (which she would obviously get in), then live life happily. Astonishingly, the plan worked! And now she is attending the college and is having a great time.

She gets there and becomes the resident rich girl with a small silver 2000 Mazda MX-5 Miata and a big ass attitude. She also made use of the power she seemed to hold due to the fact that she’s smart, pretty, and rich by joining the Gamma Mu Mu fraternity. They were very skeptical due to the fact she was a girl (instant euphoria from that comment), but regardless she showed them her wondrous organization skills and her leadership style was just what they needed. She even showed them her skating skills that she’s been working on so obviously she knew what she was talking about. All that to say, she got in being deemed the leader and also the manager of the team. She took that roll seriously and once she moved into the frat house order was then placed. Now stepping into the inside didn’t make her skin crawl and want to puke at the smells. It was cleaned regularly, dinners every Friday night (just to discuss school, social, skating stuff), game nights on Saturdays, and anything else that a frat house does. She also somehow got along with one of the frat members really well which would be Tank. She got closest with him and even shared some things with each other that made the bond stronger. Now with her right hand man at her side she basically ruled the fraternity and that same school year they won the X-games trophy. That was the biggest accomplishment to her and it made her all the more glad she is attending this college. Until her sophomore year rolled around and a certain gapped tooth dread head came to the school that year.

And now time for max’s backstory:

Max was born in Ohio and grew up in Spoonsville. His mother was nonexistent at the time (due to unknown reasons) so it was just him and his dad for the most part. There was a moment where they got new neighbors (Pete and PJ) which led to some favorable times in his life. Getting to middle school thought is when his feeling s started to be different about things. Mostly portioning to his gender. He didn’t’t know what was wrong at the time he just knew being a girl felt wrong. He talked about it with his new friend he made (Bobby) and he talked about the term transgender which confused Max at the time, but once he went on the library computers he looked it up and sure enough he found people that felt exactly like him. So he did his research about it and started to be completely sure this is what he wanted and it was. When Max finally came out as trans (FTM) at 13, his dad (for obvious reasons) was very VERY supportive. He was just happy to see Max happy so that was easy enough. His friends were also very supportive about it and even helped enforce it while they all went to school so no one bothered Max about it. Finally realizing who he was gave him the confidence he needed to talk to a girl he really liked (Roxanna) which lead to them dating, fortunately.

What wasn’t easy was affording the things he needed to transition. At the time all they could really afford was a chest binder, but to Max that was all he needed. A very supportive dad, some very awesome friends, a super nice and cute girlfriend, and something for the moment to keep his dysphoria at bay. When he was finally able to work he started saving money just so he could afford to take T shots and in the future get his surgeries. Once he turned 18 he, was off to college ready for the new chapter in his life. He still had his friends he made, but not a girlfriend (However they are still friends (so don’t worry). Now with 2 years of t shots under his belt and a head full of dreams, he plans on flying his way through his classes at State University and even attend a certain event that would change his life for the better. One issue tho, there’s this really bitchy pampered team manager that has ZERO chill.

I know Max’s backstory was quite short, but Brindalyn has a lot going on alright.

Anyway there are some funny haha moments in this au, but most of it is when they start dating. One moment I think is very funny is when Brindalyn sees Max talking to one of the goth girls in his class and he laughs at her jokes which made her go ballistic. Next day this bitch pulls up in this:

Her face has fake piercings and (I am so serious right now) temporary tattoos. Max was so confused but loved seeing her dressed like it fr. At the end of the day they talk to each other and Max tells her that that the girl he was talking to was his lab partner and she was telling Max about what her girlfriend’s play she was putting on. And oh was Brindalyn embarrassed. Max still loves her tho :)

Another moment I think about is when Brindalyn finally introduces Max to her grandmother. Now please keep in mind, Max has piercings and tattoos in this AU………….. so grandma ain’t gonna be to keen on Brindalyn dating him. I am writing a little thing based on that tho so look out for that at some point.

Hoped you enjoyed my little yapping session and I am sorry it took a bit. School just started for me and I is tired but I am happy to yap either way.

If you have any questions or ideas about this AU please hand them over and I will answer them when I can! I love talking about these bitches too much anyway 

Also be on the look out because next will be the Cowboy AU 🤠

[lemonhemlock]

What r ur thoughts on jace and luke. Do u like them?

not really, not much. they begin from a baseline that doesn't particularly arrest my attention and are not awarded enough complexity to become interesting to me. what bothers me the most about them is the hero framing and narrative bias they benefit from (much like in rhaenyra's case). without it, they would be much more interesting characters.

they start off as sweet, cherubic looking children that grow into affable young men, played very unambiguously so. the problem is that the way they are portrayed does not jive with what they actually do. they're bullies, but the narrative doesn't make it clear to the audience - the only adult that condemns it is alicent and the viewer is already predisposed to dismiss her concerns bc she is shown to have a bone to pick with rhaenyra. the viewer doesn't really believe they are bullies, lbr. they think alicent is exaggerating bc she is bothered by their bastardy.

they're violent. jace reacts by getting into a fight whenever he is insulted by being called a bastard. he keeps doing it even as a teenager and nowhere is it called out. luke slashes aemond's eye out and rhaenyra doesn't so much as give him a slap on the wrist.

they arrive in king's landing wide-eyed, eager and jolly and are taken aback by super-scary aemond, who gets anime-villain framing and sinister smiles. as if they weren't the ones to maim him in the first place and he just so happened to randomly become a sith lord in the meantime. they don't show any remorse or take any responsibility for what happened, so they must not feel at fault.

they know they are bastards and i admit they are shown to be SOME kind of conflicted about it, luke more so than jace. but they are mostly preoccupied with social perception and people not finding out / spreading rumours about it. vaemond is presented as this boogeyman out to get them. more work could have been put here, a couple more scenes, something. i don't think the lines we got were enough.

jace and luke should have had a few frames at least showing how horrified they are at the idea that a man was just executed unjustly, without due process, in order to cover up their mother's lies and directly for their benefit. something that implies that this is getting out of hand, they are in over their heads and don't know how to fix it.

instead they go to dinner and act totally normal about it, no care in the world, no guilt when alicent says a prayer for vaemond, no guilt for aemond's eye. even baela and rhaena reinforce their standing by being totally chill with their inheritance subsumed within rhaenyra's cover-up. rhaena even tells luke he'll be a great at ruling driftmark! (girl, that should have been you!) does luke even take this into consideration, i wonder? "hey, maybe the rightful ruler of driftmark is actually my girlfriend standing next to me?" viserys toasts him and it's all about his insecurities, he doesn't feel any kind of way about baela's and rhaen's claim.

no one calls them out for anything or points out the injustices committed in their name, other than the green characters. however, since rhaenyra has been so whitewashed, the audience is already predisposed to side with the blacks. "of course the greens are yapping back, but that doesn't mean they're right." i think it would have made a world's difference in this context if baela and rhaena were shown to have at least conflicted feelings about this entire affair.

aemond's outburst happens bc he has had enough of this toomfoolery, but after viserys' sick old man shtick, he comes off as rude and aggressive, goading people who just want to enjoy their meal in peace. jace and luke are poor victims again.

so what does this mean for their characters? they know they are bastards and their mother is resorting to theft and murder to give them fraudulent access to titles. the most they do is privately and gently express doubts, they don't actively challenge her or try to stop her. jace, at least, gets so bothered by the truth he reacts in a similar way to rhaenyra (violently). they don't feel responsibility or remorse for the shitty things that they do and don't show any concern for the people shafted in the process (aemond, vaemond, even baela and rhaena).

all the while they are unaware that this is a problem and they are oblivious to how they are socially perceived. i think the aspects that bother me about their characters are the same ones that bother me about rhaenyra - entitlement, righteousness, turning a blind eye, sweeping things under the carpet etc

essentially, if jace and luke were allowed to critically engage with these flaws on screen and weren't presented as being in the right all the time, i would enjoy them more as characters overall. lacking that, i'm not really the target audience for the goody-two-shoes nice-guy young hero type they are trying to embody, i prefer more melodramatic characters as a general vibe

[breath-of-void]

Korra should not be losing fights

My friends have a theory: any long enough conversation with me will eventually devolve into my complaining about the Legend of Korra.

I have come to the conclusion that the story of the Avatar should never be about a physical fight. By nature of what they are and the power system of the verse, the Avatar should not be able to lose a one-on-one fight. 

What I mean by this is that bending is more about technique than anything else; it’s like fighting in the real world, there is a benefit to being stronger but there’s only so strong you can physically get. The inclusion of elemental abilities even negates that to a point because, at a certain point, it doesn’t matter how big the rock you get hit by is. The Avatar is the amalgamation of thousands of benders, their techniques and strength all rolled into one. Every avatar is, by nature, stronger than the avatar before them because they have that previous avatar’s knowledge and strength. And if there is somehow a reason they can’t figure something out, they can just bring forth that avatar to fight on their behalf. My point is, there is not a single bender alive that can fight an avatar and win.

The journey of the avatar is a philosophical one. They are, at the end of the day, human, and are prone to mistakes and they are given a job so massive that it takes more than one lifetime to accomplish: balance the world. 

Aang’s story was simple. He existed in a time of war and so his job was unequivocally to stop the genocidal maniac leading the Fire Nation. Throughout his series we see hints at a subtler, more difficult thread of conflict that requires his attention (warring Earth Kingdom clans, indoctrination of the Fire Nation youth, sexism in the Water Tribe, etc) but because Ozai has always been the big threat, that’s what he focused on and no one could blame him. About half way through though, it kind of stopped being about whether or not he could beat Ozai, but whether or not he could do it without killing him. The Avatar State is a tactical nuke in the shape of a person, it’s what people were trying to draw out of him at the start of book 2 and, in truth, the moment it came out, it stopped being a fight and started being an asswhooping of truly cosmic proportions. 

So what’s my point? My point is that Korra’s series started out the right way but devolved into fights she should have easily won. 

Book 1 and half of book 2 of the Legend of Korra are amazing because they aren’t quite focused on whether or not Korra can beat the villain, but whether or not she can win the people. The nonbender revolution is honestly one of the best bits of either series because it’s a really good point that people without powers are at a HUGE disadvantage against people with powers (in fights and in just normal everyday living) and how they feel about their spiritual leader being a bender. Korra’s first statement to a group of nonbenders complaining about the disparity in society is that bending is cool so they should be quiet. It’s an interesting thing to explore. They we have book 2 where the Northern and Southern Water Tribes are at war and Korra has to pick a side. Whatever side she picks 1) is going to win, she’s, as I said before, way too powerful, and 2) going to send a message that the spirits favour them. It was really good stuff!

Then they turned it into a question of whether or not Korra could beat Unalaq. Yes, yes she could, there was no reason for her to have lost that fight. Unalaq might have been a better waterbender than her, but she was a much better firebender than him. And earthbender and airbender. As well, he might eclipse Korra herself in waterbending, but he’s not better than Aang or Roku or Kyoshi and spirits forbid Kuruk. In a 1v1 with her having full access to the avatar state, Unalaq should have lost even after he acquired Vaatu. 

It’s not that I think Korra is weak, it’s that she shouldn’t be weak. Losing to any of the mediocre benders in her story was unacceptable the from the moment she unlocked the avatar state. I will make a special consideration of Kuvira as fighting against metalbending is hard on a good day and against Kuvira’s particular creative use of metalbanding, it’s a chore. She should have demolished Zaheer and his cronies though.

I’m not unreasonable. I can accept P’Li and Kuvira (the first time) being a challenging fight, but, as the title says, Korra should not be losing fights.

[fateinthestars]

Man, has it really been two months since I did any Character Review/Rambling posts for a specific story/story set?

Well, let's rectify that now!

I could go back to the poll I did, but I'm really surprised to find that I don't appear to have covered the Divine Trip for Two sets yet. They should probably have been an option on the poll!

So let's cover those today. A Divine Trip for Two: Wishes and A Divine Trip for Two: Punishments

The Wishes set contains stories for: Leon, Teorus, Huedhaut, Karno

The Punishments set contains stories for: Scorpio, Dui, Ichthys, Zyglavis

Spoilers under cut

Before we get to the two separate sets, let's briefly cover the prologue which is the same for both.

I don't know what is more amusing here, the king getting them to summon MC who is in her night clothes, the god's reaction to that, or how Partheno and Tauxolouve manage to get themselves (along with Krioff and Aigonorus) out of doing anything for this latest game of the king's. 😂

Hue's 'Well done, you certainly got out of this quickly.' to Tauxolouve - I can't quite make up my mind whether he's irritated at Lou for managing to excuse himself or begrudgingly impressed.

That said: Much as I'm grinning at that exchange, I probably would have preferred for them to make it 12 items rather than 8 and then everyone could have had a story. But it feels like there are very few sets that have all of them - at least this is a four from each side one rather than three.

And yes this is absolutely a game of the king's - not an emergency at all. And Hue seems rather distressed that His Highness has been listening to MC's thoughts again. Just how often does this actually happen??? (Quite a lot knowing the king, but poor Hue).

Oh goodness and then there's how the king gets the others to agree to this... but I'll leave that as a surprise. 😆

Right, before I get way too spoilery about even just the prologue, let's get into the stories themselves shall we?

A DIVINE TRIP FOR TWO: WISHES

Leon: A Treasure Hunt in Singapore

Pfft, Leon always seems like he finds his job a massive chore and yet in other stories it's clear that Karno thinks that Leon makes a better Chief Minister than he ever would have. I'm not sure whether that's Karno's admiration for Leon speaking or his self-doubt pushing him down, or both - but it's interesting how here Leon takes the wishes list with him to do that work as well: He says to MC he's dealing with two 'nusiances' at once, but I'm sure some of the others would have seen it as a chance to avoid work entirely for a bit. That said: granting wishes isn't paperwork. No doubt that's the kind of work he is still ignoring. xD

Also here we have Leon's reaction to the lion head/fish tail statue that is also in one of Ichthys' stories: Leon is totally not amused no matter which option you pick. Ichthys was just completely confused.

What I vaguely recalled of this one was that it seemed somewhat blander than the others in these two sets, but I think that may be more just because these two sets are so strong.

Whilst Leon is still putting the front of not caring about the notion of other people's love it's actually clear from how this goes that he's grown beyond that, and just like one of his Christmas stories I'm still not buying that he's really doing it only for MC's benefit. The fact it makes her happy might be motivation as to why he bothers, but he clearly wanted to make sure this love wish was granted - even if it was, as he said, a lot of effort to go to for a single wish.

I'm 100% sure the king knew exactly what he was doing when he gave Leon this one. This almost feels like it was a further test to make sure the Chief Minister of Wishes really did understand love now.

Teorus: A Treasure Hunt in Germany

Okay I'm sure several of you are already looking worriedly at me so let me allay your fears straight off: This is my second favourite Teorus story. The only Teorus story I rate higher than this is his 'Secret Blessings from the Gods' story.

This story doesn't focus on his jealousy, or his obliviousness at other women crowding him, or his somewhat immature reactions he can have at times. What this story does focus on is his dislike of children. But here it's done equally - in his '12 Loves Light up a Holy Night' story it felt more like his reaction was purely because the children MC was talking to were male and it also bought out his overzealous over-possessiveness that I absolutely hate, whereas here? Here we have a young brother and sister, making a noise at the place MC and Teorus are sightseeing and initially that puts them off.

But then the reason for said children being there is revealed, and both Teorus and MC willingly help them.

And you know... I've just realised something. The kids in this story were trying to do something nice for their mother...

Teo doesn't know his and his father is an ass and oh, now I think I see more why even MC thought he was acting more mature in this one. OUCH. 😭

The ending of this one is just so sweet, and Teo grows a lot here.

Huedhaut: A Treasure Hunt in France

Oh Hue, you just had to leap straight to the teasing didn't you? 😆 But at the same time he's always really sweet. If you get MC to get him to decide what she should wear what he does is give her exactly what kind of thing she was wishing for (the same applies for if you ask for one of the two other options but then MC has said out loud what she's thinking). Other clothing scenes we have in the series always seem more to either be what the god wants or what the god thinks will wind another god up.

What's also interesting here is Hue's remark about this quest not being his usual style - I guess normally he'd make sure he had far more information than the king was willing to divulge here. (A painting of a lady in France indeed, your highness. Sheesh).

I adore Hue and MC's back and forth in this one. MC trying her hardest to outmatch Hue but as per usual it's not really working, but they just seem so perfectly in sync here.

THAT SAID: Hue, look, not everyone is as intelligent as you. I know you admitted afterwards that you were rather nervous due to sensing what you did, but even if you were uncertain about what was going on, don't you think it would have been a good idea to tell MC what was on your mind? What your theory was? Then maybe she wouldn't have even briefly thought that something was affecting you. (Mind you, I'm being hypocritical here, I probably would have acted the same as Hue did... 😅 )

This one is fun, loving, and heart-warming. Pretty much all the option responses here are great too. (Although one seems somewhat incomplete - it doesn't seem to make any sense).

Karno: A Treasure Hunt in Spain

Karno's story here is one of my absolute favourites for him. From protecting the MC from getting hurt and showing his rather scarier side for once, to him and MC working together to work out what to do about a problem regarding someone on both lists, to the solution being related to Karno's divine ability that he is so self-conscious about...

This is just absolutely wonderful and I guess it also shows that they could have done more stuff that focussed directly on the departments' work if they'd wanted to.

Okay now for my re-read thoughts rather than me just blurting out random thoughts before even reloading this one:

In Leon's story he doesn't use his powers to let MC understand the language until it's clear she doesn't know what someone near them is saying, in Teo's MC has to ask what someone is saying for him to make her understand though he does at least explain what he's doing, and in Hue's it never comes up because the one person they speak to is Japanese anyway. Here though? It's nearly as soon as they arrive that Karno makes it so that MC can understand the language and even tells her in advance. Ever reliable, Karno.

Well... I just called him ever reliable, but... um... Karno... did you really just ask someone if they were a 'local human?' that sounds really bizarre! I'm going to presume you were still rather panicked about MC nearly catching fire and angry enough at someone deliberately causing said fire that you didn't think through your wording cos otherwise...

But it is interesting how here we do get to see Karno genuinely angry. He won't stand for things that could get innocent people hurt, especially not when it nearly happened to MC. And yet once they've heard more and MC has calmed him down, we're back into Karno feeling like he can't do anything about the situation despite having all these powers available to him.

As I was saying in my initial thoughts about this one I really like the set up here: someone on both lists (Karno accidentally has the punishments list) and working out what they can do to resolve this when he can't touch anything on the list for the other department. There is a problem with one of the suggestions you can get MC to initially say here though - and the only reason it is a problem is because of the prologue excusing some of the other gods. For Karno's response to work, he really would need to not know where any of the Punishments' Gods are. But that's the fault of the setup before we even get to this story, and in the end that isn't what they need anyway.

*sigh* Karno really doesn't think he's of use does he? Even here it's MC who points out how his divine power might be able to help - at least for the first part. Later it is Karno who uses it of his own volition.

But yeah, I'm trying my hardest not to spoil this story here. It really is a gem, and a very interesting idea.

A DIVINE TRIP FOR TWO: PUNISHMENTS

Scorpio: A Treasure Hunt in Shanghai

Pfft oh Scorpio you really care far more than your irritated forced persona implies. From claiming that you just think walking around would be better than sitting in a stuffy hotel room, to watching MC's reaction to the pandas instead of the pandas yourself... you're being so sweet here.

Actually this whole thing is really touching. Scorpio's even being nice about the Department of Wishes for once!

I may not be that aware of the real life Earth astrology stories but I still like it when they come up here, and I especially like how Scorpio keeps disillusioning MC about other more minor gods. 😂

Like Leon's, the actual issue here might be a little less interesting than Hue's and Karno's, but it is still something important, and thinking on it it was kinda nice that this one had a punishment's god in it and it appeared to be heading in one direction when it really was not that at all.

Dui: A Treasure Hunt In England

Oh Dui 😭 *hugs him tightly* . I swear MC gets into actual physical danger far more when she's with Dui than when she's with anyone else. And this time it only happens because of how much fun she and Dui were having earlier.

Dui's another who actually uses his powers immediately to let MC understand the language. It's clear some thought about that more than others.

As someone from the UK I have to say it's kinda nice seeing these backgrounds of London in SCM 😅 Though it probably helps that Dui is so excited here! His happiness is infectious.

Despite the real danger MC is in in this one I really do like how this one turned out, and Dui? It wasn't your fault, I feel more like your luck is as bad as Hue's! I mean what the king sent you to find here... I think even he was trying to give you a break for once and instead this mess happens. 😭

Ichthys: A Treasure Hunt in Hawaii

Ichthys does actually make MC understand the language pretty quickly here too - once he's stopped being distracted by the sea and sea creatures that is.

But aside from the little fun at the beach at the start of this, this story is utterly heart-wrenching. The parallels between Ichthys and who he and MC are there to help. OUCH.

I think I'm struggling to put anything into words here because I may well have said before how much I relate to Ichthys and this kind of story really isn't helping with that.

This story is great but if you know what Ichthys' main path is like, this is him helping someone who is hiding pain like he used to.

I... I just...

😭

Zyglavis: A Treasure Hunt in New York

Okay let's move on from Ichthys' story before I choke up further, and lets head to Zig's.

Geez, Zig, thanks a lot. I got MC to answer your question diplomatically and this is your reaction. 😂 I adore Zig's snarkiness though. In fact I realised a while back: I seem to like people being sarcastic at me. 😅

Oh but there's sweet Zig immediately afterwards too... a dessert shop where he initially doesn't want anything and then MC points out they have Chocolate Ganache and now he's grappling with himself about it. 😆

Pfft: This reminds me of one of the differences between Huedhaut and Zyglavis actually. Hue is the one getting one up on MC and her grumbling to herself that she can't win with him, with Zig it's the other way around. Even though he has cutting snark it's MC that takes advantage of the situations around them and it's often Zig who thinks she can't win with her. I'm pretty sure if this food scene was in Hue's we would have ended up somewhere where even if others weren't doing it, Hue would have insisted on feeding MC, but here MC tricks Zig into letting her feed him due to where they are, and he's just so flustered and sweet.

Also, Zyglavis is somewhat ignoring the king's mission without MC fully realising it until he brings it up, rather than being vocally upfront like Dui was. I suppose it does make sense that he would go that route here, because it's one of the few times where he hasn't got to think about a million other things to do with work and the departments and the other Zodiac Gods. He might have a fetch quest from the king that he's supposed to be doing, but he also knows they won't be interrupted here. Which is probably why we're getting a more relaxed Zyglavis, even whilst walking about outside.

THAT SAID: I know you thought to let her understand the language after she bought that concern up, and you left your shadow with her so she wouldn't worry about splitting up, but - did you really just rattle off directions in a place MC has never been before so rapidly and then disappear without giving her a chance to even ask you to repeat what you said if necessary?! I know your shadow showed her the way in the end but that initial abruptness must have terrified her. Or at least it did me! (At least he does realise about this, and is part of the resolution later).

Unlike Karno's they actually remember that there are some still working in the heavens in this one, and that's a nice moment in MC's mind. I hope this really was Lou and Aigo's doing.

Overall, this is like a less upsetting version of Dui's. It's a way to get Zyglavis and MC not only to relax but to elucidate their feelings a little more.

It's a very sweet little story.

Okay then... ranking time? Hmm... let's see:

Karno

Huedhaut

Teorus

Ichthys

Zyglavis

Dui

Scorpio

Leon

That was actually really hard to order. Those top four have a lot of interesting moments and could probably be re-ordered or listed as equal first. Then Zig and Dui's are very close and I'm still not sure whether I've put them the right way round. Scorpio and Leon's are great too, but I think for me that probably is where both of those fall.

[zvaigzdelasas]

27 Mar 23

[ross-nekochan]

Resoconto della prima settimana del nuovo lavoro.

Sono stanchissima e non so bene il perché. Forse è perché è tutto un insieme di abitudini nuove, forse perché fa pure un sacco di caldo, però alzarmi la mattina sempre alle 6:40 è stata una botta in fronte più delle settimane precedenti.

È stata dura abituarsi a tutto nuovo: il vecchio ufficio era la mia seconda casa, sentivo tutto parzialmente mio e, sebbene sapessi che staccarsi da quei comfort sarebbe stata dura, viverlo è stato pure più pesante del previsto. È una cazzata, lo so pure io, ma ora abituarsi al caffè e ai caffellate acquosi dei konbini è tosta, oltre allo sbatti di doverci andare e pagare pure per quella mezza merda. Sto pensando di portare qualcosa da casa perché io non sono il tipo da fare ste spese stupide che a fine mese un poco si sentono; questa settimana è stata di rodaggio e di indulgenza, non a caso ho mangiato pure un po' più del solito nonostante sia un periodo in cui non mi vedo particolarmente bene. Avevo fatto un minicut prima di andare in India che non era nemmeno andato troppo bene a livello di kg persi, poi ovviamente ho ripreso qualcosa perché figurati se in viaggio mi metto a fare la dieta, poi tra preciclo e ciclo la bilancia non l'ho voluta vedere nemmeno col binocolo, finito il ciclo mi sono sentita un poco più me stessa e ora questa settimana nuovamente gonfia come un pallone e quindi più mi sento gonfia più mangio per disperazione (non fa una piega proprio). In verità sto pensando di farmi seguire da qualcuno da Settembre perché dopo 2 (diciamo 3) anni mi sono un po' stufata di fare quasi tutto da sola, però dato che ovviamente pagherei un PT in Italia dovrei pagare in euro e, data la situazione disastrosa dello yen, parte di me è un po' restia - pure perché è da tempo che voglio pure cominciare la psicoterapia, perché anche là sia altri soldi sia altri euro e quindi boh che palle sto paese di merda, uno già rischia la povertà con uno stipendio normale poi ci si mettono pure le politiche economiche di merda.

Il lavoro in sé per sé non mi dice niente, quasi mi fa schifo (come quello vecchio) e questa è stata l'ennesima conferma che a me i lavori d'ufficio fanno proprio cacare. Non hanno proprio senso e mentre stiamo tutti cacati per l'IA, io non mi capacito di come tutti sti processi non siano stati ancora automatizzati: cioè spiegatemi il senso di dover compilare decine di moduli al giorno A MANO e di controllare se le info scritte in documenti diversi siano giusti. Sono sicura che l'IA lo saprebbe fare pure meglio, però eccoci qua a perdere tempo per qualche spicciolo. Il problema è che non sono nemmeno una sognatrice e seppure vorrei fare lavori meno monotoni e fighi, voglio pure i soldi, per cui almeno per il momento, mi tengo il lavoro d'ufficio bello stretto finché dura. Il lavoro vecchio mi manca perché ormai sapevo quasi fare tutto, però come mi ripeto da sola e come mi ha detto la mia amica "alla fine hai cambiato SOLO per i benefit", ed è vero, quindi pensiamo che ho avrò più ferie e smart (sebbene ancora devo capire come funziona perché a quanto pare non danno lo smart in giorni fissi ma li richiedi tu ogni tanto) e non ci pensiamo più.

Un'altra cosa buona è che il livello di giapponese che devo usare adesso mi pare più alto (oltre a dover usare ancora meno l'inglese). Sarà pure che è pieno di termini nuovi (ormai quelli del vecchio lavoro li avevo imparati quasi tutti), ma mi sento più in difficoltà (ed è una cosa buona perché significa che ho solo margine per migliorare). Problema grosso sono le telefonate: mai stata amante nemmeno in Italia, figuriamoci a parlare al telefono in una lingua non tua e con persone che ti parlano a manetta in maniera inutilmente cerimoniosa (e tu devi esserlo altrettanto)... spero non mi dicano mai di cominciare a rispondere perché penso che mi ci vorranno tantissimi mesi per sentirmi pienamente in grado.

Una cosa di cui sono contenta è che, dopo un anno, scrivere mail in keigo non è più un problema. A volte sono così fiera delle mail che scrivo che faccio le foto e le invio alle mie amiche (con cui non faccio che bestemmiare questo popolo per queste inutili cerimoniosità). In più a volte quando parlo mi escono parole che nemmeno ricordavo di sapere e mi sento in grado di affrontare la maggior parte delle situazioni quotidiane senza troppe preoccupazioni (andare al comune, visite mediche ecc) anche se non capisco tutto, in qualche modo si fa. Insomma, il motivo per cui sono venuta era principalmente questo e sono felice di star migliorando. Certamente avere attorno continuamente persone straniere che parlano letteralmente come fossero native è deprimente, però oh, loro sono qui da anni e anni, per me questo è il secondo anno in totale e anche se lo studio dal 2014 si sa che non è la stessa cosa che vivere la lingua tutti i giorni.

Questa domenica ho il test per la certificazione linguistica di giapponese livello N2 (il secondo più alto), ma già so che non passerò per la seconda volta perché oggettivamente non ho studiato molto e nelle ultime settimane non ho proprio aperto libro. Ho speso altri 7000¥ a vuoto e pazienza...

Nella metà di Agosto a quanto pare ci sarà una settimana intera di festa per l'Obon (la festa dei morti) e non mi pare vero. È dal 7 maggio che lavoro senza sosta e sono oggettivamente molto stanca. Manca un altro mese quindi non possiamo far altro che farlo passare. Madonna bella.

[volpedellaneve]

Oggi voglio parlare per la prima volta di me!

Sono ormai tanti mesi che vivo con un continuo stato di ansia e forte stress, sono due mesi che sono in aspettativa da lavoro in quanto non riesco più a fare nulla e ho perso il controllo della mia intera vita.

Ho sempre avuto delle difficoltà sia a livello familiare che non, e molto probabilmente non ho mai apprezzato minimamente quello che ho fatto fino a qui.

Mi sono sempre sentito felice del fatto che non abbia mai chiesto un soldo ai miei genitori, che a 24 anni fossi riuscito ad andare via di casa e a comprarmi quella stessa casa con le mie sole forze, con un lavoro di grande responsabilità, tanti tanti benefit e economicamente molto gratificante ma che allo stesso tempo mi ha logorato dentro tra responsabilità e stress.

Nel mezzo ho avuto problemi di salute che mi hanno fatto balzare dentro e fuori dagli ospedali molte delle volte senza senso.

Oggi a 28 anni ho davvero dei grossi dubbi su me stesso, i quali ci sto lavorando ma che sembrano allo stesso tempo diventare sempre più enormi.

Credo che l’aver avuto attorno persone che mi abbiano sparato addosso solo dei giudizi non mi abbiano aiutato, soprattutto perché il giudicare gli altri senza agire ritengo sia una cosa molto brutta e potenzialmente pericolosa.

Penso che tutti debbano avere la fortuna di avere accanto persone meravigliose.

[puddle-nerd]

Menace (Part 2)

Summary: Immediately follows Menace, Part 1 because I couldn’t resist. We addressed your spanking kink. Now about Jake’s daddy kink… (Jake/Reader)

Part 1

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Prompt 5 (Daddy Kink) for my submission for LunasKinktober2023

Na’vi Translation: Tewng – loincloth Story Tags: No use of y/n, Female Reader, Friends to Lovers, Use of “baby girl” and “Daddy”, Riding without penetration, Idiots, They’re both idiots! Idiots in Love

“I have a spanking kink. You have a daddy kink. It’s cool. I’ll call you daddy if you spank me like that some more.” Jake chuckled. “You started it,” he countered. “I had my fingers stuffed up inside you and you asked me if I could come, calling me daddy while you did so. It was so fucking hot I almost came on the spot.” You blinked. “So… it wasn’t a dream?” You hesitantly asked. Jake shifted to look at you. “Is that why you were being weird afterward?” He asked. “You thought you imagined it?” You nodded slowly, defending yourself with an exasperated, “You were drunk! I was not about to take advantage of you or something!” Jake just grinned, fueling your irritation. “Oh, stop looking at me like that, you menace.” You smacked your hands down upon his chest but it did more damage to you than to him. He laughed. “Ugh, you’re an ass, Sully.” You went to roll out of bed only to be hauled right back up and manhandled to sit upon his waist. Jake’s golden eyes raked over you. “You look good sitting up there,” he commented, licking his lips. “And… to set the record straight, if you ever feel in the mood, all you gotta do is tell me to drop my tewng, baby girl. Long as you want it, this is all yours.” He gripped your hips and slid you back, sliding you onto the side of his shaft so that he wasn’t inside of you but he could feel your arousal and cum drip down onto his length pressed between his abdomen and your pelvis. “Every. Single. Inch.” He punctuated those last three words with a twitch of his hips and getting you to grind down against him. You couldn’t help but moan. “That right,” you questioned. “All of this is just mine, daddy?” Jake’s pupils dilated so only a thin ring of gold showed. “I don’t share, baby girl,” he snarled, hands clenching on your hips and buttocks. “Daddy’s the only one getting to see you like this. Hear you like this. Fuck you like this.” He started to slide you back and forth over his hard cock, the rod like a titanium pipe covered in velvet and hot to the touch. “Tell Daddy you agree.” You whimpered, you clit dragging over the ridges and nuns that apparently adorned his cock. “Tell Daddy you’re his or you don’t get to cum. Be a good girl and tell me!” “Yours, yours, all yours,” you chanted, whining as Jake sped up his movements below you and you reaped the benefits of an unsmooth ride. Your clit was near to singing as it pulsed with every push and pull. “Oh, fuck, don’t stop, Jake!” The Avatar snarled, “Not my name!” You sobbed, grinding harder onto his cock, slick with your arousal and cum from your last orgasm. “Daddy! ‘M close! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t sto–oh, fuck! Daddy cumming!” You gushed all over the length of him as your second climax rushed through you, his hands on your hips the only thing holding you steady. Below you, Jake grunted, silvery blue cum spurting in huge globs up his stomach and chest as he joined you in ecstasy, nearly covering his upper body in it. “Fuck,” Jake panted, trying to catch his breath. “I’m gonna need a bath after this.” “You could use the showers built for Avatars,” you suggested, shivering as the bliss faded from your limbs, “but you’d have to cross the common area. Or you could try to squeeze into mine and probably hurt yourself.” Jake snorted. “Abusive,” he accused without any heat, finding the discarded bedsheet and wiping himself clean before easing you down onto the mattress and getting up. He did reach into your adjoining bathroom and grabbed one of your hand towels, wetting it and bringing it back to you. He was gentle as he cleaned you up, taking care of your sensitive lower body. “You green, baby girl?” “I’m so green I’m Kermit the Frog,” you muttered, starting to feel like cotton was developing in your brain. He chortled at that and tossed the wet cloth on top of the bedsheet. “Come cuddle,” you whined, eyes beginning to cross. “M’cold.” And he was a furnace. Jake eased himself down onto your bed and snuggled you up against him, kissing your forehead. “Night, baby girl,” he whispered. You hummed in response. “Night, daddy.”

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Originally Posted: 05 October 2023 Word Count: 746

AO3

@pandoraslxna, @eyweveng

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

do you have plans for the vulcan!aemond story or the michael gavey one or more of the ettore one?

I do! I go back to them fairly often and write a few paragraphs, but I haven't been able to really sit down and focus on them for an extended period of time. It's the curse of being a mood writer. But to make it up to y'all, here's some info to tide you over:

Vulcan!Aemond is an academic rivals to academic rivals with benefits to professional rivals with benefits to lovers fic with literally SO many Star Trek references in it (from TOS, TNG, DS9, VOY, and STO).

Ettore part 2 is entitled "Serpents in the Flowers."

And a sneak peek of The Girl at the Table:

Now that actual instruction had started, most of the students at Oxford began to at least pretend they were studying. How long that would last was unknown, but likely not very long at all. Each library was packed, and each table was fully occupied. Except one. In the Laudian Library, Michael Gavey sat at a table by himself – just the way he liked it. Or so he told himself. To his peers, he was unpleasant enough that no one wanted to sit with him. A fair amount of it was intentional, but not all. Though he didn’t mind the solitude too much. Over the years, he’d come to see it as one of the few perks of being so drastically different from most people. The peace it brought was far better than any of the ridicule or derision he faced when he tried to associate with others. So, he spread out his study materials across half the table. Not that he needed to. He just liked to. He worked better when he had ample space. And it was his way of staking his claim on the territory like a pissing dog. It kept the wolves away. That was how his days always went. After his classes, he came to the library, filling the table with a disorganized mess of books, papers, and discarded Crunchie wrappers. No one ever sat at his table. Not even Oliver, the one friend he’d managed to make. Oliver always sat somewhere else, forcing Michael to search for him. It was tedious, but if he could have his quirks, so could Oliver. Then, one day, someone did sit at his table. Some girl he vaguely remembered seeing around campus. He was fairly confident she was in his year. They might have even been in lectures together. She was entirely unremarkable - she didn’t hang out with anyone that he’d noticed, didn’t speak much, and had never done anything to suggest her intelligence was anywhere near his. In any other situation, Michael wouldn’t give her a second thought – he hadn’t, until now. Because she sat at his table. She claimed the seat diagonal to him, hanging her canvas tote on the chair opposite Michael. Then, after carefully setting out a single textbook and a cheap, bright blue spiral notebook so densely covered with various stickers that it took him a moment to discern its true color, she retrieved one pen and one highlighter from an old pink pencil bag and began studying. It was only after Michael had been staring at her for a minute that she finally seemed to sense that he was watching her or even there. He anticipated some expression of pity or disgust, but she just smiled at him – timid and friendly. What the fuck?

Hope this tides y'all over for a little bit!

[andiatas]

So many thoughts: a note for my own benefit

I changed the settings ages ago, so posts containing the names of, or are tagged with, Prince Harry & Meghan Markle are flagged. I have to press to view & see the contents of those posts. But from now on, I will have to take some extra measures or, I don't know, monitor myself so I don't digest any more stuff about them...

I try not to actively seek out stuff about that couple; they're not worth my time or energy, but hey, I'm only human & I happen to be someone who loves a good gossip session & loves when people "spill the tea". So despite the safety & "peace of mind" measures that I've taken, I tend to be in the loop whenever shit hits the fan in the royal community (not always, but often).

I don't know what exactly changed this past week. Maybe it's all the drama combined with me being stressed out of my mind about my studies & my financial situation... As someone who has survived growing up in child abuse, as someone who for two decades has had to (& partly still has to) manage abusive family members, but most importantly, abusive biological parents, this past week has been really triggering.

(I'm putting the rest of this post behind read more since I'm discussing abusive behaviour)

It could be a combination of factors which has created a perfect storm. I mean, nothing of what the Harkles has pulled out these past two weeks is new & it hasn't triggered me before. So why is it triggering to me now? I don't know.

My biggest triggers, at least that I'm aware of, are when it feels like I get my reality questioned & when others try to put thoughts, feelings or words in my mouth. My biological parents were experts at hammering in, "Oh, it wasn't like that!" or "No, you're just imagining things!" or "We know you're thinking XYZ, but..." or "We know, you must be feeling XYZ right now, but..." That's (unfortunately) not unique to them, but still, any slight hint of that sort of behaviour & my inner alarm goes off.

I actually caught myself thinking yesterday that it almost feels like we're (hopefully, fingers crossed) nearing the end of a five-year, nearly six-year-long abusive relationship. I've seen a lot of royal watchers - I think I'm even guilty of it myself - talk about how Harry has been isolated from his support system & how that's the first thing an abuser focuses on (looking at you biological parents who convinced me I was a horrible, dumb, ugly & hopeless person who didn't have nor deserved to have any friends). It's also frequently talked about how Meghan has tried to position herself as Diana & how she often uses language to remind Harry and the public about his mum. You know, trigger that instinct: "This is just like with my mum. I need to protect this person because I couldn't protect my mum". But something that isn't as frequently discussed is how not just Meghan, but actually both of them, how both Harry & Meghan are gaslighting us.

Now, I hate how much of a buzzword that has become & I don't use that word lightly. But that's how I feel like they're treating us, how they're treating the public. In the beginning, I thought it was because they lacked strategy & that they couldn't keep their lies straight. Maybe that's actually the case & perhaps I'm just reacting a bit strongly due to personal trauma. Who knows? But these past two weeks, it's almost as if Harry & Meghan (& Omid) are trying to make me question reality. It's like they're trying to make me ask what's true or not, what is up or down. It's exhausting, it's draining & I'm tired.

First, the story is this way. But no, it wasn't like that, it was like this! But wait, no, that never actually happened. Hold on, so it could have happened, but someone twisted the words to fit an agenda? Wait, what? Now we're back at the original version? Oh, okay... the actual "truth" was a completely new version that no one had heard about until years after the whole thing happened, okay...

All of this back & forth with 15 different stories about each & every single thing with this couple - I mean, for goodness sake! They can't even agree on how they met! Those two have 20 different meet-cutes - it's too similar to gaslighting. The questioning of myself, my memory & my understanding of something. They spin the truth to fit whatever new narrative they have, to the point where most of us gave up a long time ago & just accepted that those two are always lying &/or there is no one truth.

If this is how I feel just from following Harry & Meghan's behaviour through social media & general media reporting... My heart breaks for those in their office when they were part of the Royal House! We know Harry already had a history of creating a slightly toxic work environment & if all those accounts of Meghan pre-2018 are true, it's safe to say she was also difficult to work for. Them together? I can't imagine what those poor Palace staff members had to go through...

I think I've gotten all of my thoughts & feelings down. This was mainly for my own benefit, trying to put words to what I'm feeling. If you have read this far, thanks for coming to my therapy session! I gladly accept donations through Paypal ;)

Me @ me: It's not worth my energy, it's not worth getting triggered over & no, the tea or gossip probably isn't that good. It's not worth it.