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penguinlop · 2 years ago

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Yandere Alhaitham x Reader

/// Ignorance Is Bliss

Summary:

You discover that your new love, Alhaitham, secretly keeps a detailed knowledge capsule about you.

cw: GN reader, spoilers for alhaitham’s lore and sumeru archon quests, yandere themes, stalking, manipulation, implied not-sfw

Alhaitham knows better than anyone else that there's always a price to pay to enter the oasis of knowledge.

Sanity is the ticket those desert sirens crave to check before you board.

Enticing scrolls of information wrap around your waist and weary legs, dragging you toward the mirage of gilded wisdom. They dance around, heated faces burned from the whispers of sand. The glistening flow of cleansing texts and books containing forbidden, convoluted details tempts people's thirst.

It's all for the enlightenment. An intoxicating euphoria of comprehension, to feel the ivory branches and leaves of Irminsul flood their senses. Perhaps it's the glory, that "aha!" moment people desire. They want to fatten their parched egos and satisfy that sinister appetite. They hunger to be better than everyone else by knowing and achieving more, by finding the Holy Grail first.

Knowledge is the charmer; people are the sinful serpents.

As with any personal research project for him, it started with discovering the topic of interest

Alhaitham prides himself on being a man with principles rooted in logic. Rationality is the key to clarity. Dreams are mere distractions. They are fanatical fantasies that the mind plays to taunt and deceive. The Sages endlessly speak of how emotions only get in the way of breaking the Samsara and reaching Nirvana.

Perhaps the moon can only hope to achieve the greatness of the sun.

That is why it was noon when he first laid eyes on you in the House of Daena.

You smelt of orange blossom.

How could he forget that contemplative look as you searched for yellowing books riddled with dust to pique your interest and aid your studies? It was nothing out of the ordinary, a common spectacle rather. As a fellow member of the Akademiya, you were simply another eager student to him.

Holding onto such a meaningless encounter wouldn't be rational. He didn't even bother to gather information on you via the Akasha as a testament to his word.

But one evening, as the lustrous moon wailed in its cage, Alhaitham found you near the beautiful Sanctuary of Surasthana. It was a clear night with a gentle breeze, the perfect time to contemplate and relax amidst the choir of dusk birds. He was going up there to take a quick breather. There were too many annoying meetings he had to attend.

With a telescope in hand and a notebook neatly laid on a stone bench nearby, you gazed at the glorious heavens. A faint fragrance of rose water clung to your skin. However, that's hardly what he noticed at the time. There it was again: that contemplative look. They say the scholars of the Akademiya hold the weight of Teyvat by carrying the burden of denying ignorance, the blistering desire to keep on learning. Some seek to know more and more, even as they meet their fated end. It's an addictive, maddening cycle of peeping into the elusive unknown and searching for answers.

Yet you looked so peaceful. It was refreshing to see.

Alhaitham couldn't help but reminisce about the words his grandmother left him with.

"May my child Alhaitham lead a peaceful life."

"Lovely, aren't they?" you whispered as tenderly as dancing Padisarahs when you noticed his form enter the Sanctuary's vicinity. "Many say the stars are mysterious, but I think they can be quite playful. Every day I unveil more. It's like they ask me to come and be with them" A simple glance nearly made him burn with curiosity. He suddenly felt parched. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I can often get carried away with my studies." You chuckled at the cunning man. Maybe he couldn't even hear you with his headphones on.

Alhaitham crossed his arms and sighed. "It's fine. I should've known someone from the school of Rtawahist would be up here stargazing. I will be heading off then." Your telescope and blue robes were a telltale sign of your discipline; it was but a mere elementary-level deduction.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay? I don't want you to feel like I am hogging the place." The fragrance of rose water came oh-so-slightly closer. It was too sweet and enticing. The pragmatic man couldn't help it. He discretely used his Akasha on you.

After learning of your name and basic information, he came to the blatant conclusion that he needed to leave. Immediately.

Once again, he thought of his grandmother.

"You are such a smart child, but you must take care to have a clearer mind than others. You must understand that vain pursuits are but dust."

His mind was fogging up with too many eccentric yearnings. Aside from facts hastily gathered from the Akasha, he knew nothing about you.

It needed to stay like that.

He nearly scoffed. What was this? That old tale of Layla and Majnun? The man who went insane from love. Give me a break. What use would itching love be to his aspirations? At best, this was but a fleeting attraction. It would go away eventually.

"Look, I don't think either of us have any more time to waste." Alhaitham reviewed you once more before curtly turning around and walking away. "Now then, goodbye."

He had made sure to study the contours of your face, your eye color, your height, your posture, how your clothes fit you, and, most of all, that scent of rose water. But, really, it was all to avoid you for future reference. Yes, understanding one's subject is critical.

You raised your eyebrow as you saw his form grow smaller and smaller. Then, tilting your head up, you looked at the hypnotizing stars and deathly pale moon, trying to read your destiny and find the absolute truth.

Before he could completely escape your view, you used your Akasha Terminal on him. Perhaps you were also too curious. Sumeru's ideals were fostered by you quite well.

Huh, so his name is Alhaitham…What a mysterious man.

___

The art of coffee-making is a methodical process.

Roast, ground, brew, and serve.

It was akin to the process of learning that Alhaitham used: read, break down, reorganize, and question.

Depending on the customer's order, it could be embellished with spices such as cardamom, cinnamon, or saffron. In some cases, sugar may be added.

Alhaitham likes it dark and plain, an afternoon refreshment for the man on the go. While Puspa Café is a common place for social gatherings of people across all walks of life, ranging from lowlife sycophants to wishful merchants, he prefers to be alone. Solitude isn't as vexing as many claim. It allows him to think about his current ordeals. Moreover, it gives him time to read.

That day, one problem had left him quite disturbed.

The Dendro user has always been in-tune with his body. Ever since the brief confrontation that night, he had been physically and mentally agitated, with a fluctuating heartbeat, clammy hands, accelerated breathing, and racing thoughts. Coffee was a possible solution he believed could mitigate any troublesome symptoms. But, of course, in moderation. His roommate, Kaveh, could learn about the word moderation.

Yet this afternoon's refreshment only made it worse.

There you were again.

A ghastly deev haunting his every footstep. Spreading tendrils of nightmares across his skin to choke his throat, vivisecting his beating heart and rumbling mind to capture any essence of starry wisdom and pragmatic musings.

Closing the book he was reading, he noticed the color of the coffee that spewed out of your brass dallah. It was so light. Just from the sight of it, he could taste the nauseating sweetness, too lightly roasted, with too much sugar, honey, and spice. Scoffing, he bets you even untraditionally added milk to lessen the bitter taste. Children are the only ones who dream in this nation, yet one quick look at you was enough to guess that you never truly grew up.

As if you wanted to solidify his observation, your eyes glowed and the corners of your lips curled up when you spotted him. You made your way over to his table and asked if he would like to join you with a spring in your step.

Amidst the overpowering, bold scent of coffee clouding the café, he smelt it the moment you came closer.

Jasmine.

Were your decisions rooted in spontaneity, or did you cycle through a collection of perfumes? He couldn't help but ponder the answer as you awaited his response.

"Sure."

He adored the way you perked up at the sound of one word. A waitress quickly helped to arrange a larger table for you two.

This was just a way to get more information out of you. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yes, you could be of use to him. The third time's a charm, they say.

You quickly got comfortable, too comfortable. "Would you like to share some baklava or maamoul cookies? They are quite delicious, though I can order something else for you if you don't like them. Be my guest!" With a slight, delicate movement of your hand, you gestured to the assortment of sweets laying on a brass tray.

"No. I'm fine. Foods with such high levels of sugar only leave me restless at night. It's a nuisance to deal with while I'm trying to work. You should know better, too. Thank you, though."

You awkwardly glanced away. "I see…Well, that's not a problem. The offer is always there if you change your mind." Looking down at your hands nestled in your lap, you maneuvered the dying conversation elsewhere and swiftly began to ask about his job as the Akademiya's Scribe. The dreamy gleam in your eyes never faded

He couldn't get enough. His illogical thirst was growing.

His flesh began to blaze with anticipation. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to entertain this romantic fantasy for a bit. Things could be tested with you. He was never one to be enthralled with the concept of love. It was too frivolous and melodramatic, but he supposed studious scholars never limit their perspectives.

"So, what's it like?" you chirped.

Why must you question him? He wanted to know more about you, everything there was to know. No, he had to know in order to finally get this greedy parasite wishing to feast on every bit of you out of his mind. Such a visceral need was consuming every inch of his very being. All semblances of practicality were withering before his eyes. No amount of bitter coffee was enough to quench the anxiety that plagued his mind, nor his bouncing knees, as you persistently asked him about his work and Darshan of Haravatat.

Of course.

How could he be so ignorant? His approach was all wrong.

Alhaitham graduated with top grades at the Akademiya; his professors commended him for quickly deciphering incredibly elaborate ancient runes and grasping unfathomably complex syntax and structure.

You were like that.

You were a puzzle waiting to be unveiled and exposed to him and him alone. The world has no need of getting to view such convoluted beauty. A rare individual you were, indeed. You managed to hold on to such childish ways of wanting to dream while still maintaining a mature air of unmatched wisdom in your research.

Alhaitham began the next phase of his project.

Studying the subject.

He thanked his grandmother for the lessons she taught him. All he had to do was clear his mind, and the path to wisdom was unfolding.

___

None of it was wrong.

No sane student at the Akademiya would ever take their exam blindly or be unprepared for a debate. Comprehension and studying are critical components to achieving success. So why set yourself up for failure?

Before asking if you would reciprocate his feelings, he had to know first. So many calculated scenarios were emerging through his mind as he thought of what would happen if he didn't make sure beforehand. He couldn't possibly let himself look like some idiot. He had to find out the exact percentage of success, no matter what it took.

After all, Alhaitham's hands were never the cleanest, even if he did like a cushy life.

That is why he felt no guilt when he asked to walk you home. It was very late at night. You were stargazing again. He just wanted to be useful.

Each step was seared into his mind. Each item of interest you pointed out on the way left him with more questions. Upon reaching your abode, sparks of pride flooded into his veins. He had guessed you lived in this area. You often walked here during mornings and later hours; it was a straightforward conclusion. Nothing special.

A tender smile graced your beautiful face. It was brimming with gratitude.

He ensured you entered safely and locked the door. It was only when all the lights were out did he truly depart, though. He had to see the peaceful expression on your face as you slept.

Once Alhaitham arrived home, he felt conflicted. Reasonably, there was no chance he could ever forget anything from today. Yet humans aren't without their respective flaws, especially involving memory. He didn't dare to ruminate on what may occur if he were to somehow forget even one piece of information you blessed him with. Every tidbit and morsel you fed him was significant in nature.

It was all part of his investigations.

However, he couldn't write such crucial facts in some random notebook. No, no; such things must remain strictly confidential. It was only logical. What if he misplaced it? Or even worse, what if his obnoxious roommate got to it? He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.

Summoning an empty knowledge capsule that he had obtained when he was ordered to draft more ordinances for the Sages, Alhaitham flooded it with every bit of data he had on you, from your slumbering form to your mellow smile and contemplative look. It was all there. Safe and sound, ready for him to access at any time.

Before resting, he thought of the way you smelt of orange blossom again.

___

You next met one morning at the Akademiya.

You wore no fragrance today.

Chuckling, you noticed Alhaitham stride towards you impatiently. He was clutching a small, decorative bag. After exchanging simple greetings, he handed it over to you. There was neither a frilly explanation nor a blooming blush on his handsome face. Instead, he had a sharp and clean approach.

"Here, this is for you."

Though not one to express his emotions so as to maintain an unreadable body language, you had picked up on a few of his habits. He seemed eager. It was charming to think about how he grew more casual and open around you. To the untrained eye, one may think he wasn't fond of you at all, but you knew. That realization was enough to keep you on your toes.

One previous evening, the glimmering stars and bygone moon sisters breathlessly spoke of your future. It was challenging to decipher, but you stuck to your beliefs that the stars don't lie, and you were greatly rewarded.

The confirming chill that the divine gales of the night brought to you all spoke of the same fortune.

"There is a man that treasures every bit of you."

Despite sounding like good tidings, a hole in your stomach grew.

It started off as a tiny sapling. You suspected it to be anxiety for upcoming deadlines or the usual fatigue from nights spent stargazing. Something that could easily be brushed off. Yet branches and roots ravaged and wrapped around your organs as you heard the consistent sound of soil crunching beneath one's feet. Be it dawn or dusk, such dreadful mirages pained your spirit.

But with Alhaitham, it stopped. Perhaps it was a side effect of being in love. Being so on edge around him had taken a toll on you. Is this why the Sages warn of pursuing things such as love? You couldn't help but wonder.

Nevertheless, it wasn't an appropriate time to have your heads in the clouds.

You quickly tore off the patterned wrapping paper and grinned. It was exactly what you needed: more jasmine-scented perfume! Just the glass bottle itself was astonishingly exquisite, encrusted with jewels and detailed with gold. You could tell it was expensive.

"I can't take this. This must've cost you a fortune! I really can't accept this. Though I did just run out of mine… You should return it and use the money for something more useful. Besides, I'm fine with using the cheaper one I usually purchase!"

Returning the bottle to the small bag, you tried to give it back to the man standing before you.

Alhaitham hated the way you acted. This was just a quick gift he purchased at the Grand Bazaar. It was nothing. He knew you had run out of your usual exactly the day prior. Alhaitham simply saw an opportunity and decided to strike. Honestly, he only studies what interests him. You should know that by now. Why bother with the inessential?

"Don't be ridiculous.” His eyes narrowed oh-so-slightly. “It was just something I thought you might like. Anyway, keep it. I have no need for such things."

Still lacking confidence, you treaded carefully, "Well…If you say so. I will treasure it by wearing it every day! Thank you, Alhaitham." Inspecting the perfume bottle again, you couldn't help but smile. "It's almost like a miracle that you gifted me this because I just ran out of my usual. I really want to thank you somehow…."

Bullseye.

"Hmm… Is that so? Never mind, we will get to that later." He placed his hand underneath your chin and pulled your face from side to side to inspect you. "You haven't been sleeping well, have you? Your eyebags are much more prominent."

Twinges of insecurity rang through your bones as he examined your appearance. I suppose that's how he shows he cares? Looking down, you played with the strings of the gift bag and tried to awkwardly collect yourself. "Lack of sleep is common for my studies, but I have been a bit more jumpy than usual when I rest, that's all. Perhaps you were right back then…Too much sugar." Your voice grew weaker. "It's nothing, really."

"If it's ‘nothing’ as you claim it to be, then you wouldn't be so distressed. Come on, spit it out." There was no need to sugarcoat things. Many of his former classmates gossip that he is a ruthless robot, but he doesn't mind such statements. To him, it's better to clear things away than regret it later.

Not wanting to look into his eyes, you glanced at the other students in the Akademiya mingling with their like-minded colleagues and friends. Dejectedly, you scratched the back of your neck, then quickly gestured to the door with your head. "Let's talk outside, shall we?"

Sitting under a pavilion, you apologized for the sudden request to head outdoors. Alhaitham remained unfazed. Rigid and cold, silently awaiting a reply.

First, you breathed in, then shakily exhaled before speaking, "Okay, then. I think someone is stalking me. I can't give you a proper explanation as to why, but I just know. It really has left me so scared. I won't lie, the feeling disappears when I'm with you...." With a heated face, you quickly looked to Alhaitham for validation as you poured out your feelings. "But, um, of course! You are an extremely accomplished individual. Anybody would feel better with you since you're the Scribe, after all."

He scoffed, "I think Kaveh would beg to differ about your last statement."

You laughed.

It was simply perfect. He just wanted to caress your face and tell you how good you were being for him. Yes, so good. So naive.

"Let's do an experiment. Why don't you stay at my place for a day or two and see what happens?" He couldn't help but smirk at how you shrunk under his all-knowing stare. "If you don't want to, I can think of another solution. However, I believe we have become quite close, and I'm sure you would enjoy it. Besides, Kaveh is out for a bit. But in the end, it's your choice, of course."

"Well, if you insist…." You took out the perfume bottle and daintily sprayed it on your neck and wrists; you enjoyed how his keen eyes soaked you in. "Thank you for being so kind. You know me so well, Alhaitham."

"Yes, I really do."

___

In Sumeru City, when it rains, it pours.

Streets flood with incinerating kisses and sensual touches intertwined with a rich, floral fragrance.

To many, Alhaitham is known as a lunatic. Such a name fits the man whose mind was devoured by jasmine perfume.

He couldn't get enough.

Every inch of you, he had to learn about. He needed to properly store and encode such mesmerizing information into the recesses of his gluttonous mind.

That intoxicating perfume permeated Alhaitham’s room and desperately held onto disheveled sheets. It was akin to the incense that scholars use to clear their minds and focus their bodies to become one with Irminsul. Yes, it was just like that.

You couldn't help but feel so safe in his arms. The stars really do never lie.

He loved every bit of you.

___

Sunlight peeked through translucent cotton curtains and illuminated the room.

Alhaitham kissed your forehead and greeted you with a simple "Good morning" as you moved his hair from his face and took in his features. The intense perfume still persistently laced through his sheets.

The domesticity of it all, from changing together to preparing breakfast, swelled your heart. It had been quite a while since you were last able to unwind like this.

Alhaitham quickly took notice of your lax movements. Good. You were enjoying yourself as planned. By the time he's done, you won't be able to tell the difference between an innocent Sumeru Rose and a vicious Venus Flytrap.

He looked you up and down again. "How do you feel? Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes, I haven't felt this relaxed for a while. Ever since I joined my Darshan, sleep has become a luxury. It was especially bad when I was first learning the basics because I would have to stay up all night long to study the stars and keep up with other research. At one point, I developed severe insomnia, but I’m fine now. Anyway… Yes, I did sleep well. This is the first time I’ve felt safe in a long while. Thank you, Alhaitham."

He nodded and spoke, "That's good. If we are going to continue this relationship, then maybe in the future we can discuss more complex matters, such as living together more permanently."

Your eyes widened as you took in his statement, but you soon giggled, “A little hasty, aren’t we, Alhaitham?” You poked fun at him. “What about poor Mister Kaveh?”

He rolled his eyes at your teasing.

Then he shrugged and bluntly defended himself, "It's only rational to think about these things, especially with your situation. Besides, I'm only putting them on the table—"

There was a knock at his door.

He noticed your jaw tighten in fear. Alhaitham pulled the strings of the puppet and played along with you. He muttered into your ear to hide from the front door's view just in case.

The Scribe loved the way you obediently followed his orders and trusted so wholeheartedly everything that he said.

When he opened the door, he didn't expect to be greeted by the Grand Sage Azar's assistant: Setaria.

She told him how the Akademiya lost a knowledge capsule about the divine and how the Grand Sage wished for him to gather information on a certain blonde traveler.

A divine knowledge capsule and a heroic traveler from afar. How interesting.

He crossed his arms and unceremoniously spoke, "I'll start my assignment soon." With that, he nodded, closed the door, and went silent again. Annoyance ran through his veins as he was pulled along into the Grand Sage's plot. A peaceful life as the Scribe was all he desired. Was it really that hard for the Akademiya to provide that?

Turning around, the reserved man called for you. Your name rolled off his tongue too well, as if he was made to be the sole person on this forsaken continent to cherish and pronounce it. You carefully popped your head out from behind his bedroom door, the corners of your kissable lips turned down, forming a slight frown.

"Is it all good?"

"Yes, it was just someone from the Akademiya for work. Speaking of, I have a little surprise for us." Alhaitham seemed to look right through you. "Do you want to hear it?" There was an excitement bubbling deep inside of him. Your stomach began to ache as he cloaked himself in mystery.

You felt those hawk eyes analyze you again. "Uh, sure?"

"How would you feel about going to Port Ormos for some academic research?"

___

Alhaitham convinced you that it would help your situation. You could see if that uneasy feeling would follow you on your journey to the port.

While the actual job itself is mundane and uneventful, as the Scribe, he receives many benefits. One was being sponsored by the Akademiya to stay in an upscale hotel with many amenities.

Your shared suite had a lovely balcony with a nice view of the sea. Breathing in the refreshing salty air on a balmy day was energizing after being cooped up in such a stifling city of arrogant wisdom. Mere fool's gold.

"If you want to go and explore, I would advise you to remain within the hotel grounds or near places that are guarded or populated in case anything were to happen.

You turned to him. "Thank you for your concern, but I will just stay here. It's a nice room. I'll enjoy the breeze and finish up my papers on the balcony. Perhaps in your free time, we can do something together?"

He thought about it for a second. "I'll see."

You deflated a bit. "Well, when do you think you'll come back?"

"Not anytime soon."

"Oh..."

"Anyway, I should be leaving now." Alhaitham pecked your cheek before heading out.

After unpacking, you began writing rough ideas for your ongoing thesis in your worn-out leather journal. As the clock kept ticking and the hours passed, you grew bored. Small sketches of constellations were sloppily drawn on the side with little notes as you tried to jot down as much information as possible. Becoming distracted, you began to doodle Alhaitham's constellation: Vultur Volans. You wanted to unveil so much more about him. You wanted the stars to guide you in your journey.

Yet just as you were about to finish your little doodle, your pen ran out of ink.

You scribbled a few lines and circles to test it out one last time before throwing it in a nearby trash bin. It was nothing. A simple delay.

Before going inside, you closed your leather journal and placed it on top of the stack of scrap papers so they wouldn't fly away. Going to your side of the bed, you opened your Adhigama wood nightstand and pulled out a few spare pens. However, when you sat down and attempted to use them, they didn't work. It was fine. You just happened to bring a bad batch. That was all.

You knew Alhaitham brought a brand new set with him. It was still in his luggage, though... He was in such a hurry to start his job here in Port Ormos that he had no time to unpack. You always admired his diligence; it's what got him so far so quickly. He was your age, but you were still far behind. Though you couldn't blame him for tuning the world out and focusing just on his studies, he lost so much at such a young age. He was brave to keep looking towards the future despite his parents being gone. Even if he would say, "It was just the most rational thing to do."

Alhaitham is a man with principles rooted in logic. He would understand why you were rummaging through his things. It wasn't an invasion of privacy! You two were a couple now; albeit new, the love was evident already.

You were just going to borrow his pens, anyway.

As you unlocked his luggage and looked for his case of supplies, you stumbled upon two similar containers in appearance and weight. Ugh! Which one was it? I suppose I'll just have to open them both…

Moving your hand towards the zipper, you noticed your hand shake. Perhaps it was just getting cold. You had left the glass balcony door open, only closing the screen. The soft sound of the breeze and smell of sea salt slithered up your spine, invading your ear canals and nostrils.

You placed your fingers on the zipper of the bag on the left. The sound of it unzipping was akin to the rustles of leaves and branches in a dark rainforest. What you found inside was a knowledge capsule.

The pens were in the other bag.

That was all. Alhaitham works under the Grand Sage. Of course you were bound to find certain items only he should be privy to.

Yet why was it calling you like the irresistible knowledge that spills from the ivory, archaic branches of Irminsul? It was most likely empty, anyway, waiting to be filled with the information he would discover in the bustling Port Ormos. Why was the hollow, ravaging feeling in your stomach and heart returning to once again suffocate your organs and dry up your blood into grains of sand?

Your journal was waiting for you. Opening the other bag, you got what you wanted.

His pens.

That was what you came for.

However, the sharp pains and shivers ringing through your body reeled you into the infested desert and the pouring rainforest. A peek wouldn't hurt. Alhaitham would understand, right? He was the one that brought you here, after all, to keep an eye out for your situation.

Yes, he's a man who knows his morals. Besides, how would he even know? It would be alright. He said himself that he wouldn't be coming anytime soon.

As you gripped the green and gold knowledge capsule pulsing and flowing with information, you felt so conflicted. The unease was growing, yet you felt so sure that you were meant to do this. Opposing thoughts contrasted each other like fields of flowers flourishing amidst dunes of lifeless sand. It truly nauseated you.

After establishing a connection with it, you felt it. A flash of memories entered into the recesses of your mind. As if two consciousness were merged together to form one single entity, you felt vines and tendrils weaving through your anatomy. Nearly every bit of knowledge you gained was something you already had experienced. Yet it was from a different perspective. Your face, your body, your studies, your smiles, your slumber, your pens, even your perfume.

It was all there, only from a different angle.

For so long, you saw life from the eyes of a feeble mouse. Now, you could see what it was like to view the world from the perspective of a hungry vulture ready to gobble up its prey. You dropped the canned knowledge. You barely heard the thud it made with the flooring, as it was drowned out by all of the thoughts racing through your mind.

Your eyes scattered to the open glass door with the closed screen. The breeze and saltiness of the sea were still there.

It felt so far.

Running to the balcony, you rushed to lock the glass door and fumbled to close the cotton curtains.

"Didn't anyone teach you to clean up after yourself?"

Alhaitham's voice made everything cold. Sharply turning your head, you faced the man who both tormented your life and made it so beautiful. He came back so soon. Too soon.

"Once the Matra knows about this, you will go to prison, Alhaitham, for what you did to me!" Your hands were shaking as you bunched them into fists and furrowed your eyebrows. Tears were threatening to spill at any moment.

He merely crossed his arms. His precise, uptight composure never faltered. "You think the Matra will do anything to me? I'm the Scribe. The right hand of the Grand Sage." He stepped closer to you. “Did you know there once was a Rtawahist student who was so desperate for sleep that they went to Port Ormos and looked for knowledge capsules to help their studies and cure their insomnia? The Matra were never able to track down the culprit." Alhaitham walked closer to you. "However, I think today, that could change. The usage of canned knowledge to gain an advantage over one’s peers in the Akademiya is strictly against the rules." He was always one step ahead of you.

"Is it not?"

Cupping your face and forcing you to look at his darkening eyes, he stared into you, drinking up the way you brimmed with fear. Just how he liked it. Everything was falling into place as calculated. He whispered into your ear. "Think of this as the 'thank you' you said you would give me that day."

Alhaitham embraced you tightly, taking in the exquisite jasmine perfume he gifted you. Trembling in his arms, you felt so small and helpless. Dreams shattered as you thought of everything that you had learned. The stars and wise moon didn't lie to you that night. There's a man who loves you with all his being. There's a man who knows everything about you.

Seeking what is forbidden will always be the downfall of humanity.

Perhaps ignorance truly is bliss.

Thank you so much for reading!!!

(⺣◡⺣)♡*

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woonhakist · 1 year ago

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FIVE NIGHTS AT JAEHYUN’S

SYNOPSIS — the rumors about your local pizzeria having haunted animatronics didn’t stop you from drooling over minimum wage, so settling for the guard job was easy—until a certain animatronic did get a bit quirky at night.

GENRE — social media au, fnaf au, crack, maybe SLIGHTLY scary for 2 mins, romance, fun for everyone

PAIRING — myung jaehyun x fem!reader

CHARACTERS — mainly y/n + boynextdoor, mark + johnny + doyoung of nct

WARNINGS — this will NOT be that lore accurate its just for the funs (faz)bear with me, cursing, sexual innuendos/jokes (probably), drug jokes (probably), mostly crack, ignore timestamps, characters are works of fiction NOT an accurate representation of the people used (extra warnings in future chapters)

TAGLIST — (CLOSED)

STATUS — complete!

NOTES — i HAD to release something silly for october/halloween so HERE IT IS! i’ll return to bloxian banter and who! later …

PROFILES (1) | PROFILES (2)

CHAPTERS

NIGHT 0: PROLOGUE

NIGHT 1

1. commander bootybrawler on duty

2. I Am Freddy

BONUS: johnny puth

NIGHT 2

1. soul finding by Kim Woonhak

2. IWANTOKISSROBOTITIS

NIGHT 3

1. greasing for the rusty fur

2. freddy fazbear is an iphone user???

BONUS: doyoung’s babysitting business (CALL 1-800-KYS-NOW TO BOOK)

NIGHT 4

1. The Unveiling.

2. what came first, the chica or the egg?

NIGHT 5

1. beauty and the bear

2. how to get a girl in five nights (at freddy’s)

BONUS: job quitters: the trilogy

NIGHT 6: EPILOGUE

start — 10/9/23

end — 6/20/24

#woonhakist #five nights at jaehyun’s #boynextdoor #boynextdoor smau #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor scenarios #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor au #boynextdoor crack #boynextdoor fluff #boynextdoor jaehyun #myung jaehyun #myung jaehyun x reader #myung jaehyun smau #myung jaehyun au #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines

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thefirstknife · 3 months ago

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My Grimoire Vol 7 (Penumbra) arrived and it's a banger. I'll post some illustrations from it and some new lore that hasn't been seen before.

The grimoire contains several full lore books: Unveiling, Regarding Stasis and Inspiral + multiple individual grimoires and lore tabs. It also contains some parts of several collector's editions (BL, WQ and TFS). I'll transcribe new lore under read more, but first! Intro and pictures:

Intro from Eris!

Friend. I write as a woman changed. My recent contact with the Darkness was as formative as my long-ago rebirth in the Light. So after all this, here, at the end, I will say: Do not ignore the changes we have endured, and do not disregard the difference between the Light and Darkness. It is not vanity for me to acknowledge that I have unique insight to impart. I have witnessed Darkness in all its forms, in all its terrible pain and contortions, and all the violence it inflicts. But despite this and above all, I see in it the aches and yearnings for a more complete world. There is collapse and indistinction, but also, there is preservation. Not stultifying, but vital. This is what I have learned. We have harnessed the Darkness because it beats harnessing. It has yielded the fruits of our future, nurtured against great opposition. Every boundary invites transgression. We are not beyond our own affronts, which have inevitably changed us. That is not weakness, or folly, or failure. I maintain that balance is not equity. I do not accept the Darkness on the same terms as the Light. Darkness is a tool to be used and a path to walk, but it is not our essence. We must hold fast to that understanding. To do otherwise invokes delusion. The Darkness and the Light are not opponents, but neither are they allies. There is a natural conflict between them, but we have the capacity to hold contradictions within ourselves, and so they mingle with great effort on our part. That is the beauty of our complexity, the purview of the Light. Our safe contact with the Darkness is only possible because of the Light. Even so, the Light exists not as our protector, but as our guide. That is all I wish to impart. To every fire, its fuel, Eris Morn.

This is the illustration for Clovis' dream from the Traveler in which the Traveler appears as a wolf, from BL CE. The dream is in the book. More under (seriously long post below):

These are two Darkness grimoires with this additional drawing.

It Stared Back with the illustration of Calus. There's also this page of the Confessions lore book.

This grimoire with the illustration.

The entire Unveiling, the illustration is paired to "The Flower Game" page.

Drifter illustration paired with his entry in the TFS lore book, Chirality.

They put THE lore of all time, Pujari and the Black Garden, and paired it with this illustration.

The entire Regarding Stasis lore book and illustration with this page :)

A lot of stuff from the WQ CE, this illustration of Ikora going ham on Shaxx and Zavala and Ikora playing their game included.

The entire Inspiral lore book is here as well, with these two illustrations.

Mataiodoxia lore tab with this illustration. Subjugator!

And now! New lore. Some of these may be upcoming lore pages? Or they're only for this book, unsure yet. But either way, they're not in the game as of now.

Club Morgue Ahsa, lay low your flukes. Doff your cap and coat. You're safe here. You know you'll keep your promise to find the place where this all began. But for now, rest. No, I'm not death, though it is my tool. "Nothing" doesn't interest me, you understand? A flawed existence is preferential to none at all. Things are the way they have to be, instead of the way they'd like to be. Ah, Ahsa. You saw it all - the extinction, the extermination, the gamma-ray bursts burning up your garden worlds, the singularities eating up infant suns. It hurt you so! And you turned to me, asking why it had to be. I didn't answer. I never do. I'm a question. It's up to you to find the answer. Build the castle. So far they all fall over, but maybe one day one won't. How? I don't know. Figure it out, do the work, ask the question. What will remain in the end, when the stars go out, and creation freezes in the half-light of evaporating black holes? These killers you're after. They were very much like you, Ahsa. They wanted to know why; why there had to be life, why there had to be death. But then, not liking the answer they made for themselves- Well. You'll see. Go on, Ahsa. Someone's coming to see you, and I'm sure she's got a real humdinger of a proposal for you to hear. Her sister, though... it'll really wind her up if you die by any other hand but hers. She means to take you for her worm. And she pretty much runs this town, truth be told. Watch yourself out there. It's a war zone.

I will assume this is future lore tab for Heresy. Deals with the Hive and someone talking to Ahsa. Very strange speaking tone, reminiscent of Unveiling to me. Obvious mention of Savathun ("humdinger of a proposal") and Xivu who apparently wants to take Ahsa as her worm. Very strange overall, probably lacking in context from the next episode, but a nice little treat for what might be coming in Heresy. Would love to see more on Ahsa!

Charybdis It seemed so simple to me when I first heard it: the strongest survive. It's obvious. If it can be destroyed, it must be destroyed. And in that destruction, the victor becomes even stronger. Kind of like Guardians, honestly. All of us. It makes sense of how we grow. Take the Crucible. We sharped our skills against each other in the arena. The less skilled become fodder - for a match point, for practice, for testing new ways of burning or electrocuting or... spaghettifying. Those who reach the top climb stairs made of bodies. Sword logic seems simple, clean, beautiful. Scooped out of Hive goop and guts, it shines like a searchlight, a bright beam cutting across the sky in perfect straight lines. But there's something more to it. Some extra... magic? The Hive do magic, sure. Runes and math and a sharp edge. What are the Hive doing that we can't do? Or is it more about the Darkness than the Hive? Or is it both? I need to know. To be part of it. I decided the best place to start figuring it out was by studying Hive. The way they live, the way they die. And no one looks at me twice for going after Hive - any good Guardian fights Hive, right? I beat through Thralls and Acolytes with my burning mauls. It got routine. And one day, as typical as any other, I realized how easy it was, how these Acolytes were barely worth the air they breathed if they were just going to break like simple bone - but then, something changed. I felt it. My mind reshaped into sword-thinking. I began to practice it like I lived it, and then I did live it. It was part of me, and I of it. You'll feel it, too, if you follow that path. You'll know when the sword goes from being your weapon to part of your arm. I became one with the sword, and the Light in my hands burned brighter and brighter. Since then, I've just been getting stronger. I triumph, and the Light sings, and from my heart to my fingertips, I am alight with glory. Again, and again, I prove my existence to be the truest thing: that I am more real than any other who strives to strike at me. My sword, my self, is forged in Light, and it is hungry. What else can I do with this sharpness that I have cultivated so carefully? What else could WE do? How strong could we become? We Guardians are worthy. I know I can yet become sharper. // ACCESS: RESTRICTED DECRYPTION KEY: 32C49KLD032XAR-612 HIDDEN AGEND: [REDACTED] RE: VIP #1290 Departure from the City Confirmed VIP #1290 has left the Last City without further incident. Hidden agents have traced her trail and have destroyed data and materials left behind to avoid potential misuse or corruption. However, VIP #1290 eventually discovered the Hidden tracker and burned it out - so she's in the wind. Ghost status currently unknown, but probably alive. At least for now. At this time, recommend scouts do not approach. She's dangerous enough without us feeding her. At least she's out there, not in here.

Another one that seems like something coming up in Heresy. Some Guardian who we only know is a Titan has started practicing the Sword Logic and she's dangerous and currently missing. VIP number is brand new, it doesn't match any of the existing ones so we don't know who this is. Either not entirely important, as it's just one small look into what's going on or it's something that will be further elaborated in Heresy. That is, if my assumption that these are going to be lore tabs in the game is correct. Certainly feels like it.

Next is a new lore tab from Osiris! On the left is an old lore tab, on the right is new.

On Concerns, Previously Expressed Ikora, You know as well as I that the Vex yet require attention. I have said before - many, many times - that their threat is greater than any other. And while the recent depredations of the WItness have proven this set of priorities temporarily mis-ordered, I fear that the threat of the Vex may not only spread in the aftermath, but also go underestimated. It is tempting to let our guard down and breathe easy. We cannot. Before my exile, I made plain my opinions on Light and Darkness, on the foolishness of considering them "good" and "evil." This remains true, doubly so now. Our enemy was never the Darkness itself, but that which worked within it. And that childish division of good against evil has distracted from the unceasing enemy: the Vex. They care not which force they grasp. They care not about morality. They care - if one can call it that - only for convergence. They advance, and they will not stop unless we stop them. Every time they have closed their gap to paracausality, even in the smallest way, it has been nigh disastrous. I am sure I need not remind you of Quria, of the eternal night that threatened to fall over the Last City. Of the Black Heart, that Vex attempt to recreate the Veil which could itself have been catastrophic. Of the Black Garden, and the remnant of the Witness that Guardians found there, redolent of Darkness. We may not yet have seen what happens when the Vex grasp the Light, but I assure you, if it has not yet begun, it soon shall. Time is inevitably limited, until the Vex in their infinite adaptability learn how Light and Darkness both may be turned to their advantage. It is my recommendation as advisor to the Vanguard that the Vex be logged as the most urgen enemy of sentient life, both of the Last City and the growing alliances formed these past years. Please, Ikora. I would not raise this yet again if I did not believe it to be of utmost importance. Consider it well. -Osiris.

NO CLUE where to place this one. It's definitely not in the game, so either also upcoming lore or just in the book. What makes me suspicious about it being upcoming lore is that the name is too big to be an item, so maybe a lore book page? But Heresy is largely going to be about the Hive so I'm intrigued about a letter from Osiris to Ikora urging her to act on the Vex being relevant. Other than that, it's Osiris back to cooking about the Vex. He is out here literally "as per my last email"-ing Ikora and continuing the same argument he's had for centuries. I am also wondering where is this lore tab in relation to the stuff from Echoes. It's likely post-Witness' defeat, but no idea if it's also after Echoes. Osiris is definitely worried about them getting paracausality and reaching for the Light. Future setup? Very cool, I ate it.

Both of these are new.

On the Witness My Hidden friend, The neonate worm, Ahsa. She spoke to the Guardian, and this is what she imparted: Look to the place where the Witness formed. An exhausted world, made so long ago that even silicon was a luxury. That is where the hunt began. The Traveler graced that world. But it wasn't enough. Those who lived there saw a creation born to die. They wanted it to mean something. It had to mean something. And if it didn't, they would make it mean something. For, in their view, to make something was to understand it. I understand this impulse too well. But they chose a truly rotten betrayal. To open up and take, and remake, their god. And they would use the Darkness to do it. Finding no meaning at all in the act of creation, they decided, that the only place left for reason, intent, and consciousness to reside was in the act of elimination. If their god the Traveler made things for no reason, then a merciful, purposeful winnower must have good reason to remove them. In mimicry of this belief, they winnowed themselves down to a single awareness - all their thought and pain compressed into a bombshell of consciousness and intent. Magnificently aware of all the universe's failings. A conscious witness to the testament of the Light's sins. A final, ruinous creation born of their civilization. A knife. And it set out after the Traveler. Not to destroy it, but to defeat it. To impose a will upon an absence it saw as unacceptable. Negligent. To dictate, by force, how things ought to be. The motive is to impose meaning upon Dark and Light beyond mere primordial dynamics. The killer is an anthology of this ancient civilization's rage at their god's silence. I find that I pity these vanished people. But if all the cosmos turned inward, as I turned inward for a while, as these people turned inward forever, then we would all be alone. Yes, it is awful to face loss. But we must keep cooperating in the face of all extinction. Or there can never be anything better. This is all I know.

Also most likely coming up in Heresy. Wild stuff in here. Ahsa is mentioned again; I'm not sure if this is referring to what Ahsa showed us back in Deep or if she'll be showing us something more. Obviously it would be spoilers to tell us everything but these little bits and pieces are unhinging my mind. No idea who is talking here and to whom; my assumption is that Mara is writing to Eris, mostly because Mara says "My Hidden friend" to Eris in the Taken King opening cutscene. What to say about this other than I am insane. More about the Witness and its civilisation please.

Cacophony, Euphony We listen. We witness. We wait. Through the Darkness, we hear a single voice. With a thought, we are there, to touch the mind that reaches into this domain. Cradled by Darkness, it asks a question. We answer this one, like we have others. We are generous with answers. Not all beings can understand the answers we give, but we try. Again, and again. None ought to cry out, only to suffer no answer. There are always more voices in the Darkness, reaching out. We turn. Far distant, there is a people lacing ribbons of Darkness through their thoughts to bring them closer together, that no one might be divided from the purpose they have dreamed for themselves. But they have no come to Darkness through the Gardener's neglect - it is simply their natural course. In time, we shall enfold them into our shape, but they need not urgent salvation. Our presence drifts. And still, we listen in the Darkness. There is violence that corrodes constructs like peace. There is the Hive. Some resist the rampaging Hive, crying out into the Darkness. It is to us they reach, in the end. We hear their pleas and grant them succor, salvation, enshrining them in our monument. Toward our inevitable final shape. There is time enough to reach out to the farthest corners of Darkness, to inhabit it so deeply and thoroughly; we will hear whomever calls out in it. We will answer. We will always answer. Even that which passes temporarily below our notice will be found again; and we will hear those questions and give purpose. Give salvation. Always, we listen for signs of the Gardener. Our Disciples pursue it still, to pluck it from the chords of infinity. We listen. We wait.

This is a banger. Also probably coming in Heresy (or after?). Very curious about this one. There's indication that this is from the Witness while it still lived; the speaking as "we," the name mentioning "euphony" (Salvation's Edge raid exotic also with curious lore in regards to the Witness), saying "our Disciples." It also makes sense; the Witness felt betrayed and abandoned by the Traveler who never spoke back and never answered questions or given directions, so the Witness sought to do the opposite. It's why it was so easy to fall under its influence; the Witness always reaches back. And it's all framed as the Witness believing it was helping. I also love how it mentions other species that were using Darkness naturally; they aren't specified, but we know they existed. Either way, I'm obsessed.

Finally! These two are also both new and it's how the whole book ends. This is a different "Winnowing" from the one in Inspiral.

Winnowing I have come to delight so in this: in possibility, and its end. Oh, I kicked and fought and screamed about it at first! I was fond of what we had! But the table was upturned, and a knife cannot be un-invented, and so here we are. The rules changed - a little. The pattern altered - but a micron. I got used to it, as they say. People can get used to anything, and the same holds true for concepts that have existed before and after time itself, though it may take an eon or twenty. So here I am, among the stars. They burn so brightly, but given a billion or ten billion years, they chill: their mass reduces to nothing but throbbing embers, at last gasping into stillness and ash. Even the loudest of celestial roars cannot outpace infinity. I am assured. I have come around. There is charm in diversity, in the uncountable ways a speck of cosmic dust may climb to cognizance and philosophy, only to find the same old truth of decay. Again and again, I am proven right: it all ends the same. It isn't about violence, mind you. It's about inevitability. Simplicity. The unnecessary removed, the requisite remaining. Whether the knife is made of metal or the folded layers of time, it matters no. The pattern triumphs. The stars burn out. And I am right. So every being made in that garden of possibilities, every creation that looks at infinity and comes to my same conclusion - why, I cannot help but love them. The rules were altered, and still they have said: here is the truth. Possibilities do not change what is. The pattern is the pattern, and its reliable certainty is its beauty. Even a cheater of eternity cannot yet win its wager. The game is longer now, but I will be its victor. In this eon, or a thousand hence.

Losing it seriously, I'm losing it. This is a clear throwback to Unveiling and Inspiral and also Nacre! It is the same speaker or emulating the same speaker at least, so we'll call it "Winnower." I really like how it calls itself a concept. There's not really much to say other than delving into a 10k word essay on the philosophy and concepts and options and possibilities (hah) so yeah. Very obviously referring to the Flower Game and the change in rules with paracausality and how this entity still believes itself to be correct and how it will still win in the end. Since it literally refers to itself as a concept, I will continue treating this whole thing as allegorical rather than talking about it as some real character, at least until further notice. There's a lot of metaphorical language going on here and I will continue looking at it as such rather than making clickbait statements like "this is the new antagonist and we'll fight it in a raid in 10 years." Maybe! Who knows. For now, all we have is yapping like this and this thing calling itself a concept and talking in allegories. Either way, absolutely stunning piece of lore. There's a reason my favourite thing ever is Unveiling and it's this mystical, religious incomprehensible information from a thing that maybe exists beyond time and space, who everyone can interpret in a different way. 10/10

Gardening You delight in possibility. The same action, over and over, only produces the same results if all circumstances are the same. But there are so many variables - a million different outcomes may spring forth from one action. One stray atom changes a lifetime, and one breath of wind, an eon of history. Choice is infinite; and possibility, endless. To some, it is only statistics. But you have ever been captivated by that miracle. You know stagnancy. You have seen it many times: the same stable oblong it all comes down to when growth has ended. The soft-pulsing oscillation over one spot, never truly carrying on further until stirred by some outside force. A depletion of possibility, the flowers never finding further growth, even if they never die. A single breath might be enough to change it. You understand, of course, that a breath is a breath, and a flower is a flower. That, having bloomed, the petals will one day fall. Still you guard the next flower, and the next, for there is meaning in the moment of bloom. So you breathe. So potential spirals, like seeds floating on the wind. One breath. Barely a whisper. Nothing more than that. And for such a thing, the gift of infinity. Always, always, you look on with hope.

Obviously as opposed to Winnowing, there is Gardening. I believe this is the Traveler's POV, primarily because it's told in second person, which is typical for the Traveler. Also because of everything is says and how it ends. Like an opposite of the previous entry. What a banger to end the whole book with, both of these side by side. Again, probably new lore coming in the future, or maybe just for this book? These could honestly be grimoire-exclusive, but who knows. Much to think about, much to look forward to.

It's a really good grimoire. They all are honestly, if you can grab these physical books, I highly recommend them. This is one is really nice because it also has several entries that are otherwise locked to collector's editions and it comes with all of this new stuff as well. The illustrations are, as always, peak.

Hope y'all enjoy this, especially the new stuff.

#destiny 2 #grimoire #long post

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perpetualcynicism · 21 days ago

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…𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Angst; hurt/very little comfort. …𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Mentions of death. …𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 6,254 words. …𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Knowledge of Dragonspine lore is useful but not required; reader is the princess of Sal Vindagnyr (it’s complicated); creative liberties have been taken when filling in details about Sal Vindagnyr; vaguely religious imagery and language and the odd reference to Norse mythology. This fic is the first part of three: [part two] [part three]. — tba. Reblogs and comments are appreciated. [AO3]

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚜 — 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎.

You wake, gasping, blinking, disoriented, feeling not yourself, feeling like one who has been forcefully pulled from a long slumber and must learn anew how to wake, how to live. Your heart slams itself against your ribcage as it startles to life. As you choke and cough and splutter through lungs which now strangle you of air, now suck you full of it, dark blurs twist and contort in your vision, render you blind but for the dancing red smudges of smouldering coal.

Red—red! Yes, this is red! you think in triumph, a momentary flash of victory before the frigid air, the dark, the suddenness of it all, pounce upon you once more. (It is not red which you were looking for.)

What is this place? Where are you? How did you get here?

It is dimly lit; you shiver with the cold. Plumes like dragon’s breath curl upwards with your every exhalation. Cold? There is something important, something important to do with the cold. You know this—but what is it? What is so important? What has it to do with this place?

The red smudges take on definition; coalesce into pricks, and then into flames; but the light they emit is feeble, sputtering, hardly sufficient to guide your sight. The air in this place hangs with a stillness which suggests to you that it is not only temperature in which this enclosure is frozen, but time as well. Yet there rises within you, beckoned forwards perhaps by your lack of clarity, the most wonderful, horrible feeling; that you have been here before.

There you stand; there you wait. Wait for lucidity, for guidance, as you shiver in silence broken only by your own breathing. You draw your foot forwards to take a step; something solid, heavy, knocks against your ankle as you move.

Ah!—here is a light source, sitting by your boot. Of a strange design (for this contraption is certainly no torch as you know it), the flame, trapped behind a metal cage, glows coldly. Cast within its conservative ring of light a few inches away lies a book on the stone floor. In puzzlement, you lift the metal torch from the ground with one hand, the notebook with another, and bring the two close, illuminating the pages. They are covered in scrawls of ink—handwriting, you determine after a closer examination—but as to their content, you are clueless. The script you have never seen before; whoever this item belongs to, it is certainly not yourself. You deign that you ought to return it to its owner, whenever you may find them; and so you keep the book with you as you continue to explore.

You raise the light now towards the walls. Its pallid halo reveals details concealed in the darkness, and with this unveiling comes a startling revelation which shakes you to your core.

Why—these are your frescoes! In the entirety of the heavens, you could never mistake the brushwork as anybody else’s! You painted these walls by hand, not so long ago; the most recent you did not even finish yet! Why, then, do they look so old?—their visages faded; the paint you used, still gleaming with lustre in your mind’s eye, blighted with cracks and peeling as if it has not seen the attention of another in aeons. Indeed, if you knew no better and based your judgement on appearance alone, you would be inclined to think a thousand years may have passed!

Why are you here? begs your mind once more, stimulated anew by the discovery. Why are you in this room, when you do not recall returning to it since… since what? Your memories are distant, difficult to grasp, yet you are certain you were praying beneath Irminsul only a moment ago, before—

—Irminsul!—The kingdom!—Imunlaukr! O, gods—you must find them; you must be sure of what happened to them! Did he make it back? What of your people? Has Sal Vindagnyr been saved? Your instant of clarity crumbles and shatters to dust; as if of their own accord your legs propel you forwards, out from the once-familiar chamber and into whatever—heaven? hell?—lies beyond, your mind swelling and threatening to split open as questions, concerns, prayers all spill over you in a surge which sets your heart thundering within its bone cage. There must be green outside, your being cries; it must be green!

(As you stumble out of the chamber, you are struck by the acute, harrowing feeling that you should not be here, that you are an intruder, a phantom, a memory; that the last thing you knew—truly knew, as yourself in your own body—was praying at the foot of the tree, a pair of frostbitten hands laying you down six feet beneath the snow—)

—Green, let there be green, you implore whichever deity will listen; for I no longer remember what it looks like, o gods, let there please be green—

A white flurry of ice blasts your face as you reach the exit of the chamber. You almost cannot fathom the sight before you.

As far as the eye can see, snow-capped peaks, glittering in the moonlight, rise around you, their nighttime silhouettes forming dark, barbed obscurities against the ink sky. The royal palace outside the chamber is a desolate, pitiful imitation of its grandeur which, you are certain mere moments ago, continued to dazzle the eye: the decorated spires, the delicate arches, the dazzling paint, are all reduced to bleak, crumbling stone, like the worn skeleton of a dead beast which now rests where beauty used to lie.

No, this cannot be! Your legs quake beneath you, threatening to give way. It looks as if the entire land has been razed in the instants you were gone. Even after the nail fell (how you loathe that accursed nail, which splintered your livelihoods into oblivion), there was some semblance of life yet remaining, some remnant of grace, of community. For example, there—on that mountainside, you remember there was always a cluster of lights, glimmering like fireflies in the darkness; in reality, the lit windows of a hamlet which could be seen from the palace. Now the windows are dark; there is no sign of life. Squinting your eyes, you cannot even see the outlines of the houses which used to stand there.

How can this be, that everything has gone? Where has everything gone? And what of the people? A gust of wind sweeps by and seems to pass right through you. This must be a nightmare, a terrible nightmare; it must! For if it is not, then—

—But there is still hope! If Irminsul lives—if your efforts were not in vain—there may yet be a way to save your people.

(So consumed are you by your desperate hopes that you do not hear the silence howling through the peaks like the cries of the dreaded wolf whose dark jaws have closed around the sun and plunged the world into devastation; a silence which speaks of millennium upon millennium of that same silence, unbroken by laughter or the cries of infants, or any sound beyond that dreadful, mourning howl. No living kingdom resounds with such a silence, even on the cruellest of winter nights.)

Through the snow you force your way, torn at by teeth of snow and ice. You know—you know, truly, that if Irminsul lived, there would not be such desolation and such frost; that there would be birdsong, verdancy, humanity in its place; but you refuse to believe it, for the implications of such a thought are unbearable. A whole era; a whole kingdom; a whole people! A loss of such scope you cannot fathom, so you cling to your hope, foolish as it may be, against all reason, all forms of logic, as a dying fire clings to the final ember glowing its logs.

Perhaps Irminsul survives, but is weakened; perhaps if you help it to grow once more, blessed green life will spread through this forsaken wasteland as it did in your childhood. Perhaps, if you have not been gone (what is the meaning of ‘gone’?—nay, you do not wish to know) for too long, if even one other soul survives, be that royal, peasant, man, woman, child, it is not too late; you are not too late. Could it be that they are buried somewhere under this snow? That there is time yet to find them, to save them?

Your purpose is to be a symbol to your people; a beacon; one of hope, perseverance, prosperity. If there is nobody to look upon you, nobody to be reassured by your image, to what does that reduce you? Has all your life become naught but a canvas of empty promises? Where will you have been, when you were needed by your people to be a guiding light and all you left them was this cold, hateful, winter night?

—No! You must not think of such things. What good will it do, to presume failure?

(It has been far too late for far too long! shriek the ice-toothed winds.) In your visions you too saw this hellscape, white as far as the eye can see, so far and for so long that you forgot the meaning of colour. Where you find yourself now is the inevitable aftermath of a path long set in stone: to attempt to deny it is to place the bandage of ignorance over your eyes; to become blind to colour forever. You refuse to wear that bandage.

But, why did you punish us so? you want to cry to the Heavens, fighting through the blizzard as it whips your raw body from side to side as you trek to the resting place of your hope. Why have you shunned us, bestowed upon us this accursed existence? What sin did we commit to deserve your hatred thus? Was it him? Was it me? How heartless must a god be, to scorn a whole people—every man, woman, child—for the sake of one?

You are near, now. You know it; feel it as a tug in your bones which leads you towards the sacred site as it has your whole life, and as you are certain it shall on your last day, and as it too shall when the last human, crawling from whichever lonely corner of the world they hide in, returns, like a moth drawn to a flame, to their silver cradle and lays down beneath it for their final rest; and then it will be over, and you will all be forgotten, and that will be that.

A dark silhouette distinguishes itself from obscurity; first a sketched imprint, then a solid shape, forming into your vision behind the whipping curtains of iced shards. This is it, you know; and you repeat to yourself, This is it. As the condemned criminal approaches the execution block to meet their unshakeable fate, as the hero returns to their homeland to find it dashed beyond recognition, so you, too, proceed through the storm, squinting your eyes against the dusted darkness, trying to form that jagged silhouette as it comes into view into an image that is anything but a seal of your snow-entombed end.

A twisted, hollow shell of bark, crusted with jewels of snow, is all that remains of the sacred monument.

You sink to your knees by the tree under which you were born as a wordless cry wrenches itself from your throat. No language can do justice to your grief.

Oh, it is dead, it is dead! you lament. Sobs choke you breathless as you place a hand upon one of the gnarled, dead branches, not caring for how the cold stings your skin to numbness. My love, I am sorry, I am so sorry! It is dead, you lament to the silence of the perished. Which means that you, too, are—

A voice intrudes upon your mourning. You almost miss it above the wind’s anguish, and your own. The voice comes again, this time distinguishing itself from the storm. Tears freeze upon your cheeks before they have the time to fall; your mouth falls open in puzzled and grieved ecstasy. A silhouette approaches through the snow. Could it be—? Could it possibly be—? Upon seeing you, he hurries forwards—for you can tell now that he is a man—his voice taking on a shade of alarm. You are rooted to the snow as the stranger approaches and comes into slow focus. A chalk-white coat, white as the deathly flakes which have claimed your kingdom, whips around his figure.

Your hope is extinguished, crushed out of existence: no, you do not recognise him! He speaks to you in an unfamiliar tongue, and you do not understand his words. Where are your people; those who speak your language? They are dead, they are dead! Just as Irminsul is dead, just as you should be dead, just as you are dead!

The stranger reaches you. He grasps your wrist with his gloved left hand and leans in towards you, still speaking, his tone inquiring, gentle, concerned. There is acute care in his eyes, and in your swirling vision his features melt away, blend like oil paint on an easel, form familiar shapes and take on contours which you know. His hair is ashen blond, and in his right hand he grasps a sword.

“I-Imunlaukr?” is the name torn from your lips.

The man before you hesitates. His eyebrows knit together, and he speaks again, in a hushed, slow manner, pronouncing his words with clarity and intention—but the sounds he draws together, so guttural and harsh, are foreign to you, and his meaning, whatever it may be, is lost on your deaf ears. You are stupefied, unable to do anything but blink and stare in blank silence at him; this foreign man who has set foot in your dead country, wearing the semblance of its failed hero (who was your guide, your friend, perhaps—no, not that, not yet at least); you are utterly paralysed in a daze of heartbreak and confusion and frostbitten despair.

The shrieking wind drives needles down your ears and you can take the noise—the howling, the speaking, the dreadful silence—no longer. Your strength leaves you. You sink downwards into the snow.

He catches your wrist as you fall. You are pulled upwards, an arm is secured around your shoulder, and as your vision pulses dark and your head swims with the numbness of grief, you are faintly aware of the sensation of being led.

He guides you (though he does not save you; he is no hero) through ice drifts and lakes, between winding roads of iced rock which used to be coated with greenest moss soft as bedding (indeed, you once fell asleep upon such stones); beneath tall, bone-coloured structures which you do not remember being there before; between crumbling walls of stone so decrepit and half-sunk in snow that you can no longer name the building they belonged to. At every turn your memories return to haunt you—look! Here is the river you bathed in as a child, now sealed shut beneath a lid of frost. And look! Here is the forested slope on which your father hunted deer, though there is no single rodent which stirs to disturb the settled whiteness, and the pine trees are shapes drawn in chalk. Oh, look! the mountains beg of you in the howl of the wind. Look at us, whispers the rustle of falling snow; were we not beautiful?

And so you look, and you look, but still you do not see the beauty. It is all an illusion, nothing more than a twisted semblance of things; these memories of life as you wander through a graveyard.

At last he guides you over a broken bridge, whose aged planks give way to a gaping white chasm below, and to the entrance of a cave. The interior is vaguely distinguished by the sputtering firelight of twin braziers which stand by each side of the cave front: you can identify the outline of a desk, and of shelves lined with faintly luminescent bottles. The stranger takes you inside. As you are led forth, you struggle to keep one foot in front of another; your legs are weak, your head faint; you know not how much longer you can stand without collapsing. You feel exposed and empty, as though the blizzard has whittled you down; stripped away your skin and your muscles and your nerve endings layer by layer until all that remains of you now is a husk; a heart, frozen solid, trapped within a cage of clean white bones.

He sits you down on a mattress in the back corner of the cave, far from the wind and the snow still blasting outside, and starts up a fire in the adjacent fire pit. From one of the shelves lining the walls he lifts a folded blanket and drapes it like a cape over your shoulders. The motion is a cruel imitation of the ceremonial garb you would wear during formal occasions, and you do not pull it closer. Beneath the blanket you tremble, stare blankly, and are silent.

Now the fair-haired stranger does something else. He places a mug into your hands, steaming with a liquid of which scent is unfamiliar to you and whose presence you only notice when the hot porcelain is pressed into your palms. The tasteless liquid scalds your tongue as you take a sip, but you do not care. What is there to care for anymore? You are alone, misplaced, no longer a figure in the fresco. The forms of the world have shifted around you such that you are no longer welcome among them.

He places a hand upon your brow; frowns. He walks to a drawer and returns, holding in his hand a thin glass tube. You are unmoving as he tilts your chin upwards with his fingers (there is something almost reverent in the motion) and slips the tube into your mouth. It is like an icicle on your tongue. He removes the tube a minute or so later and goes to write something down into a notebook on the desk as you sit there, paralysed, absent.

The blankets, the drink; they do not warm you, even if your shivering subsides and feeling slowly returns to your fingertips. There is a deeper chill which resides within you: a frosted chasm in your heart through which bleak winds blow, and cannot be filled through material means. Is there anyone else out there, among those shrapnel plains? Or is it only you who is left, and this stranger, and his cave?

The legs of a wooden stool screech against the floor, rousing your wandering mind. The stranger takes a seat opposite you. He gestures towards himself and pronounces a slow string of sounds. “Al-be-do.” You believe it is his name. His gloved hand then extends towards you; you can only suppose that he beckons for you to answer him.

The way your mouth moves to shape your reply is different to what you are used to. You attest it to the cold numbing your lips; yet it still feels so strange, so frightfully wrong, despite the farcical comfort of the justification. Your own name feels unfamiliar on your tongue as you pass it to him. As you do so, it strikes you that from this moment onwards, this stranger—this ‘Albedo’—may be the only person to ever know your name. And once he is dead, you will all be dead forever.

His mouth purses. After a moment he speaks again, and pauses, looking inquiringly towards you; you shake your head, understanding none of what he has said. Something in his eyes, something akin to hope, flickers and dies.

He stands up, walking now towards a desk, picking up a notebook and two sticks of charcoal and chalk respectively, and returns, offering one to you (you take the charcoal), keeping the chalk and the notebook for himself. You receive it, knowing his meaning: if you cannot communicate through common knowledge of language, you shall do so through the common understanding of form. The hand will present what the tongue cannot articulate, and the eye of an artist will translate its meaning.

‘Albedo’ sits at a measured distance away from you: close enough to suggest intimacy, far enough to set a clinical boundary which establishes his position as the one of authority. He knows everything about this place which you do not. You are in his dwelling, and he has lent it to you of his own accord, through his own grace. Wherever this is, whatever world, whatever time, you are an outsider here. This is no longer your kingdom, and you are a foreigner in this land. Your only chance of establishing a livelihood—no, of establishing a mere understanding—lies with the stranger sitting opposite you, resembling so callously the one whom you…

He begins to draw in the sketchbook. No more than a minute later, he finishes and presents the illustration to you. It is a portrait of himself, simple in composition, yet evidently made by a skilled hand.

He tears an empty page from the book and holds it out towards you in gloved fingers, the tips of which are now dusted faintly with chalk. You accept the page from him and, though confused by the proposal, consider how to answer him. Your memory of your own face is blurred, unsure of itself in the details. The one sitting before the canvas is rarely depicted in it themselves, and you are not in the practice of drawing from life as much as you are from imagination: but that you must try to answer him is the one thing of which you can be certain. From the vaults of your memory, you reach out towards the shapes you remember and put them to paper.

He tilts his head when you share your piece with him, and a slight furrow forms in his brow. From his expression, you can tell he is beginning to understand something; but as to the identity of the object of his musing, you are clueless. Once more he draws; his stick of chalk moves fluidly across the paper, without a single hint of effort, as if whatever he is drawing, he has done so enough times to be familiar with its features, to such a degree that he can recreate them by muscle memory alone. Once more, he shows you the product: it is another portrait; but of whom you do not know. The face depicted in the paper is one you have never seen before.

Your confusion is perceptible; Albedo gestures towards you as he did the previous time, though now without giving you a piece of paper. You surmise that his intention now is not for you to reply to him; no; this is not a dialogue, but an explanation. When you point at yourself to ensure you have not misunderstood his meaning, he nods. But what does he mean to say? That he has drawn you? That cannot be so; imperfect as your own memory may be, you know for certain that this image is not a reflection of yourself; thus the question remains: who is this? Albedo makes no further movements; he offers no further elaboration. He only waits, looking across at you, expecting your understanding.

Slowly, doubtingly, your fingers ascend to examine your face. The features you feel are not those which comprise your own countenance; no, they are those of the face in the portrait; you are certain of this without having to check the sketch again.

This discovery shocks you so deeply that your fingers spring away from your face of their own accord and begin to tremble. You are more than shocked; you are perturbed, horrified; you are afraid. For the first time since awakening in the chamber of frescoes, you look down at yourself; properly look, and see what you missed before. These clothes do not belong to you; neither does this skin, nor these proportions, nor these hands! The question, then, is not ‘who is the one in the portrait?’, but ‘who are you?’ How can this be, that your mind inhabits a body which belongs to somebody else?

Your panic threatens to overwhelm you. It is Albedo who clears his throat and disturbs your worries, allowing a precious moment of lucidity to seize you. Yes, that’s right—you are here, you remind yourself; not as yourself, no, and not in the way you would like to be; but you are here, and you must make do. With a pronounced effort you force the questions, the fear, the confusion, to the furthermost corner of your mind, and gather yourself into a single, solid centre.

Laid to waste as your kingdom may be, you are still royalty; and with the crown come obligations of loyalty, dignity, and pride; qualities intrinsic to themselves, existing with and without witness alike. It does not matter that you preach to a vacuum, or that your valuables are mere trinkets and baubles lost to time: in the absence of your subjects you are still to hold your head high and lead them into the empty future. Such is the conduct befitting of a princess.

And even here, in the midst of this storm which has done all it can to wipe your existence from history, you hold value. Like a blossom unfurling, the realisation first seizes, then relaxes, expands, inside you; you hold value. For the first time since waking, you know something that this land does not, and that this stranger, so strangely well-accustomed to the winter, does not, and must ask the answer of you, for you are the only person in existence who knows what you know.

You know the stories of your people; how you lived, learned, loved and died; how you celebrated and built and mourned. You know the life you lived and the identity you held. Nobody else, not in the Heavens nor on the earth, knows these things; these beautiful truths which weigh more than gold. It is your duty to impart them lest they be forgotten—and now, an opportunity: an outsider inquires of your history; you give him as faithful a depiction as you can, and in doing so pass on the narrative of your nation from the forsaken past into an era still able to breathe, receive, to grow; you shake the cobwebs of time from their foundations and take your solitary chronicles into the present.

In bleak chromatics you illustrate your celebrated birth beneath Irminsul at the height of spring, and in strokes of black and white you narrate, as best as you can, the verdant prosperity of your kingdom in your childhood. So clear now are those images in your mind’s eye, like inverted reflections shimmering on a still lake, that it is almost impossible to believe they no longer stand somewhere within that raging storm.

Once you have established the landscape of your upbringing, you introduce him to the people of your life. Robust forms assemble on the paper to describe the figure of your father, beloved Varuch, whom you last saw setting out into the white blizzard as you painted the final fresco, the forsaken image which still haunts you even now, a landscape of all white; no colour; no spring; all white and grey and bare as plucked bone, as you see in the land you now find yourself: your beloved father proclaiming that when—not if, but when—he returned, it was to be with answers, solutions, salvation.

You do not believe he returned. Certainly not while you toiled in white and black, trying in vain to sow colour from frozen seeds and to conceive seasons in permanent winter; nor as you gave your remaining strength to the tree of your birthplace in the hope, in those glowing, dying embers, that it may outlive you. Once more you question how you survived; you were certain you should not survive, back when you did it; yet here you are, warmed by firelight, your heart throbbing with hot life while the winter has stolen your loved ones. (Did he ever return? What would he make of your body?)

Guiding your charcoal stump across the paper, in black and white you inform the outlines of dear, wise Ukko in long, whiskered lines; remember his dry wit, his kind patience, the frail strength of his arms as he lifted you from those withered roots (you are sure, somewhere, that he lifted you). He was the one who tutored you in writing, politics, history, and the arts, the latter of which you took such an interest in as to dictate the remainder of your life as you sketched, painted, created.

In the winter of your tenth year you met Imunlaukr, then only a shy boy of similar age to you hailing from a distant kingdom. He had hardly spoken a word of your tongue, and you even less of his, but the difficulty of language did not deter you; you grew close through laughter and music, through those currents shared amongst humankind upon which emotions, not grammar, run; and from two strangers formed acquaintance, and from acquaintance formed friendship (though of that friendship—oh, you could not say! What did you really think of it; of him? It is something that even now you are not sure of!)

Spring again, and in the language of forms you dictate your visions, the gift with which you were blessed at birth and has lain silent since you awoke (for the gods have abandoned you! What reason is there that your visions would remain?); the curse which stripped away your vision of the present and imposed upon you the solitary existence of living in what was yet to come. The black dragon—has that happened yet?

Summer, and the charcoal cannot do justice to the way Irimsul’s silver trunk glimmered in the dipping sun, reflecting every shade of the preciousness; then the soft crunch of leaves in autumn underfoot as you wandered through the palace gardens, attended by a handful of escorts until you reached the centrepiece fountain; at which point you dismissed them, and proceeded forth with Imunlaukr as your sole companion.

“You are painting so often these days,” he said, rounding the stone base of the fountain; a note of reproach rang in his voice as he spoke; not aimed towards you as much as towards circumstance; yet you still bore the reproach (though you knew he did not mean it as such) as though you were its principal subject. It was always him you were the most loath to disappoint; from others you could bear it (except, perhaps, from your father); but not him. He always assured you of his good opinion; the doubts lingered nonetheless, and impartially the damage was dealt; your high spirits withered somewhat.

It was the autumn before your eighteenth year, and there was a buzz of anticipation in the air in spite of the impending onset of winter; for there was a decision approaching on the horizon; one which had not yet been lent much mind, but a decision to be made nonetheless.

Over the years that you knew him, Imunlaukr had developed from a scrawny boy into a prodigal swordsman; yet it was a delicate, almost feminine quality his form possessed, more befitting of a prince or a poet than a fighter, resulting in the frequent tendency to mislead one into assuming frailty where in truth there hid a warrior (a hero, you always teased him to be; a guiding light). You would never have guessed his real strength did you not know him.

You lowered yourself down beside him on the lip of the fountain and folded your hands in your lap, one over the other. “I do not mean to. But the insights I receive are so striking; I can hardly stop myself when they come,” you said in reply. This topic of conversation was breached between you on occasion, though as a general rule it was avoided, when painting the frescoes of your visions demanded more time than you could afford to give if you were to balance it also with the surrounding figures of your life. Every few months, for some weeks on end, the flashes you received would grow so realistic, so arresting, that you would become absorbed in your frescoes, placing barely a foot outside your chamber except for necessities, such as food and water.

You knew that it pained Imunlaukr, to be excluded so from your involvements by forces beyond either of your control; and similarly it pained you, that your time should be stolen by this duty without you realising it early enough to grant apology. Still, life went on; still, you painted, and he grew ill-tempered; still, you apologised, and he reassured you; and thus life went on, in contentment. “Peace; you need not blame yourself. What is it that you see?” he asked.

“I see many things. Oh, Imun, I see such wonderful, terrible things, so vivid that I cannot sleep!” You were seized by the overwhelming urge to grasp his hands, in that moment; to pull him closer to you and cry out, If only I could share them with you, through a means beyond my frescoes! Imun, you do not understand; sometimes I wish the gods had not chosen me, for I am so alone, and I wish for nothing more than to have you at my side and keep me company!

But you did not take his hands; that would be unbecoming of you; the moment passed. You remember a certain look flashing in his eyes; the emotion behind it you could not say, but the look had stayed with you, almost shaken you, for reasons beyond your knowing—and still does. You also are sure that the conversation continued, and you resumed roaming through the gardens; but you do not remember what you were talking about. Only that look remains clear as diamond in your memory, like a beacon beaming into the sky towards which you find yourself drawn, clutching onto tenderly.

Winter, passing, then spring again, ripe with buds and blooming towards a promise, and then—

The charcoal is torn this way and that as you recount the fateful nail which fell like a shard from the sky, splintered your livelihoods, and sealed your fates in snow tombs. Irminsul, standing since the dawn of eras tall and dignified, crippled like an old hag in a moment; fields and forest obliterated and buried beneath shrouds upon shrouds of ash-like snow; your visions, always so varied to the point of driving you to near madness on one occasion (you will never, long as you live, forget that black dragon), grew static, haunting you with the same image each time: unerring, unending white. Then there is the fresco you did not finish, there is your final return to the sacred tree…

That is your life, wrapped in a parcel of charcoal and paper. So bleak does it seem, looking upon it now. (Whose life, one must wonder, have you taken now?)

So you deliver your priceless parcel to the stranger; so he receives it; yet there is no detectable trace of emotion in Albedo’s expression as he reads the narrative of your life; only a detached, clinical curiosity, that of a scientist’s hypothesis being tested.

Your value is lost. There is nothing more you could recount that he cannot put into the world—no; there is your tongue, you suppose. The last jewel of yours, buried deep in the base of your throat; the final treasure you can offer of yourself to this world. Perhaps it is the most precious gift of all, a language; perhaps the most insignificant. Every man has one, after all.

Albedo rises from the stool, taking both it and the drawing with him, and places the former beneath his desk, the latter upon it. A caged light sits on the edge of the desktop and reveals the wooden surface is scattered with papers and diagrams of all kinds, though you cannot from this distance discern their contents. He glances over his shoulder to where you are still seated on the mattress. With a wave of his hand he gestures towards the mattress, on which lie also a cushion and another blanket which you had not noticed before. It is a far cry from the palatial bed you are used to, but it serves its purpose. A slight indentation in the cushion where you place your head suggests that this makeshift arrangement is habitually used. The unwelcome reminder that you are not in your own body grasps you suddenly and causes you to shift with unease beneath the blankets.

While you lie awake and wonder abstractedly at the reality you find yourself in—is what you have seen all true? are you dreaming? could this be another vision?—Albedo sits at the desk, writing and looking between the papers, the shadows of his silhouette pulled this way and that by the caged flame and the firelight. In the flickering contours of his face you can trace Imunlaukr’s brow, the line of his jaw, a resemblance of his eyes.

The caged flame glows long into the night, still shining by the time you at last slip into unconsciousness. That night you sleep deeply, and have no dreams.

#genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #albedo #to be clear: i have not yet finished writing the rest of the fic like i said i’d do before posting this #but the following instalments will definitely come in time #hopefully posting this has giving me the writing motivation boost i needed to seriously pick up working on this again…

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bloomingdarkgarden · 1 year ago

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Could Vassa Be Immortal After All?

A Firebird Theory

(WARNING: HOFAS SPOILERS BELOW)

While reading CC3 I couldn’t help but notice a plot element regarding curses that brought me back to Vassa in ACOTAR.

In HOFAS we learn Jesiba's mysterious backstory and all this talk of curses- I couldn’t help but to meditate on our favorite firebird. Jesiba unveils that she has been cursed in Chapter 38:

And also elaborates that there were unintentional consequences of the curse:

Jesiba obviously holds a strong grudge against her cursor but is able to use the curse to her advantage.

So Jesiba, similarly to Vassa, was a mortal, cursed unwillingly by an immortal male figure. The curse made her immortal in turn. This has me thinking- what if the same has happened to Vassa? More from Ch.38:

I also find the passage in ACOWAR really interesting, in which Feyre is describing her perception of Vassa the first time they meet:

‘Only a few years older than me, but ... young-feeling. Coltish. Fierce and untamed, despite her curse.’ (ACOWAR chapter 79)

Could this be because although Vassa is, let’s say, age 28- she actually stopped physically aging when she was cursed at age 20? Perhaps it's just Feyre noting that she's a spicy pepper. Who knows.

I recently went down a rabbit hole of Slavic lore and I’m so intrigued by Vaasa’s storyline in the upcoming books. Most folks are aware that SJM has taken her story directly from Slavic mythology- and there are loads of potential breadcrumbs in the fables of:

Ivan Tsarevitch in which Ivan, the youngest of several malaligned brothers, sets out on a quest to free a firebird from a dark sorcerer who also entraps other princesses (often Koschei the deathless).

Princess Vasilisa in which an archer finds a firebird’s flaming feather and gets roped into a quest to deliver a lost princess. Hello Elain’s vision regarding this exact imagery: “I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it.” (ACOWAR)

Swan Lake in which Princess Odette (Vassa) is cursed into a swan form by an evil lord and can only take human form between midnight and daybreak. Only a faithful vow of true love can break the spell. If her true love makes a vow to the wrong woman (Elain perhaps) the princess dies instead. Could something as powerful as a male (Lucien) breaking his mating bond to forge a destiny with Vassa be the key to breaking her curse??

Who knows.

Will Vassa be immortalized by Koschei's power touching her and chaining her to the lake? Will Lucien be the key to deliver her from her curse as Ivan was in the fables?

I don't know. But regardless of Lucien's heart, I myself am a Vassa acolyte. I'm so enraptured by the beautiful myths surrounding this lore, and am so intrigued to learn what becomes of Vassa as a heroine in her own right. Her character and story have so much magical potential!

In the words of Yakov Polonsky’s poem:

And in my dreams I see myself on a wolf's back

Riding along a forest path

To do battle with a sorcerer-tsar

In that land where a princess sits under lock and key,

Pining behind massive walls.

There gardens surround a palace all of glass;

There Firebirds sing by night

#vassien #acotar theory #vassa #firebird #lucien vanserra #this girl is on fire #hofas spoilers #acotar #cc3

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tiredarts-main · 23 days ago

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d2 heresy spoilers below the cut

LONG random brain-spewing bc the ‘tism returns and this post got away from me

(also sorry in advance for the flower-speak around the Books of Sorrow talk, the Mazerunner (OC) brainworms took a liking to that topic and burrowed into my language-choices)

—READMORE BYPASSED—

——

how to feel abt the scene of Eris removing her mask…

brain immediately drew a connection to the lore on this season’s “campaign” armor helmet- Sloane thinking abt the line between Eris and Hive being blurred, while the line of herself and Taken has to remain solid as to keep herself alive.

I kinda see Eris removing her mask as accepting her scars- and knowing she is safe in her own definition.

also, the maniacal laughter bit is 100% understandable. She just got a major theory proven. If I were in her shoes about something like that for the Complex, I’d be the exact same way. Go off, queen, you earned it.

——

I know it’s been brought up by others- Books of Sorrow, Verses 3:6, 3:8, 3:9

But the second half of it is Sororicide, Verse 8:6: [SHE WILL TAKE UP YOUR WEAPON, WHICH IS ALL THAT YOU ARE, AND SHE WILL CONJURE YOU BACK WITH HER UNDERSTANDING.]

Xivu is banking on us learning to Take. She wants Oryx back, because He’s the proof She needs to keep existing. With Him gone, She’s afraid that She’ll lose her right to exist too. Compensation for the Timid Truth.

——

There’s concrete evidence in the seasonal artifact that Oryx communed with the Winnower, not the Witness. It calls out Verse 4:2 “Majestic, Majestic” of the Books of Sorrow, and defines the speaking entity as the Winnower. By name.

I can’t remember if the speaking entity was ever called “Winnower” in anything other than Unveiling, but now we can draw direct lines between the two books.

This is a problem, for hopefully-evident reasons.

It’ll likely be explained as the season progresses, but the whole “The Witness commanded Rhulk to subjugate the Worms and trick the Krill” thing in Witch Queen called into question what the Winnower’s deal was (1). Oryx knows it only as “The Deep.” I dunno if even HE knew that the Syzygy was a lie.

We don’t know ANYTHING about the Winnower other than what the Books of Sorrow (2) and Unveiling (4) tell us.

It’s at this point that I must admit my Shattered Suns knowledge is. not the best. Sorry, Rhulk lovers, I never managed to do the raid and haven’t gotten around to reading its entries on Ishtar yet, whoopsies.

We know the Books of Sorrow to be a biased, malevolently-edited account. It has vital information, but we can’t rely on it in good faith. Books of Sorrow, Verse 4:11 “Dreadnaught”- “I am Savathûn, insidious […] I graffiti this notice for you […] These Books are full of lies!” (3)

This statement from the Witch-sister provides a paradox. To attempt to understand this paradox feeds the exercise of Auryx’s throne. To fail to understand this paradox feeds Imbaru. Leave it as it is- a notice- and seek no further depths.

Unveiling is canonically in-universe propaganda, given to us by The Witness (or the Winnower? WQ “retcon” (is it a retcon?) makes that complicated). At the time of its release, we believed the Winnower to be its distributor. Fuck if I know how that situation is going nowadays- I checked out of the debate club during SotRisen and promptly forgot about it. Literally only just remembered it at the start of writing this segment of the post. Fuckin’ell, BL+WQ was weird with that lore in retrospect.

——

The voices that you can uncommonly hear in the Dreadnaught aren’t the Osmium siblings as we know them.

I’ve only heard one so far- and it was Xi Ro, not Xivu Arath. I know there’s at least one of Aurash, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was one of Sathona too. Hell, it’d be funny as fuck (and perfectly on-brand) if Sathona’s was buried in the files and we could only find it via datamines. Bonus points if it’s just a red herring (1).

For a similar conundrum, see Truth to Power.

——

The line of “Xivu’s horde has entered Sol through the Dreadnaught” didn’t really make sense to me? Like, Her brood has been here for a while. We saw them in Hunt, Lost, Seraph, Deep, Witch- they’ve been present!

And the choice of Hidden Swarm for their models also makes me wonder. I thought post-Shadowkeep, the Hidden Swarm swore to Savathûn? It’s a major part of Kelgorath’s origins that he scraped the red from his chitin when renouncing the Witch-sister and swearing loyalty to Xivu

so unless I missed something where their allegiance changed again (as they were previously descendants of Crota)…

——

Torobatl mentioned! Valus Forge being a good friend and advisor to Caital! Thinking of the Ulurant people not just by the militaristic nature Humanity often sees them by, but as survivors.

Tbh I’m not an Uluran lore expert (most of my fascination lies in the Eliksni, Hive, and Vex), but it’s an interesting angle to see, and it continues a thread that could be explored in Frontiers- leaving the Sol system and reclaiming Torobatl from a now-mortal Xivu.

——

Keit’ehr. How do I even start with this motherfucker.

First off, she’s actually kinda intimidating. She shows up out of nowhere with no signs to her arrival other than weird vibes, then immediately overwhelms two ancient Guardians with centuries of combat experience under their belts- killing one and almost managing to do the same to the other.

Not to mention, she seems… smarter than other Dread we’ve encountered. More personality. She LAUGHED when Eris shot her face. I know the Dread have their own language, but the Disciples are clearly more sapient than the foot soldiers. Something’s weird with Keit’ehr, because she’s not only acting on her own, but she’s leading other Dread and Taken as well.

Also, she’s Taken, which normally ISN’T A THING THAT HAPPENS TO PEOPLE ANYMORE since Savathûn hasn’t done it since Arrivals, and Xivu straight-up can’t (as far as I’m aware). Drifter actually calls this out in the opening EDZ mission- you can kill Taken, but they’ll just reform in the Sea of Screams. Making new ones requires knowledge held on Tablets of Ruin (or known by The Deep and The Worms).

Adding on to this point, Keit’ehr is Taken and sapient. There’s a very short list of characters who’re like that- Quria, Riven, Nokris, Sloane (and maybe a few from TTK that I wasn’t in the fandom yet to experience). This behavior- alongside the Dire mutations in the Taken- is an anomaly that must be monitored.

Also-also, where has Keit’ehr been this whole time (during Echoes and Revenant)? Was she chasing the Echo through the stars, waiting for it to land? She’s way ahead of all of us, but not to the degree that she’s already won. WHERE DID SHE COME FROM?????

This fucker is fascinating to me, and I hope she stays this way (mysterious) until at least mid-Act 2. I’m fed up with the big-bad being someone who we already know in-ways and out. We didn’t see this level of oomph with Fikrul (subjective), and Maya’s equivalent “big reveal moment” was iffy at best (subjective) because basically everyone (biased) knew from Day One (exaggeration) that it was her (exaggeration).

I want a mystery to chase. Keit’ehr provides that mystery, and I’m all for it.

——

I desperately need to learn Resonant/Dread.

BUNGIE PLZ. GIVE US A HINT.

IT’S BEEN OVER A YEAR. NOBODY’S FOUND THE TRANSLATION-STONE YET.

THROW US A BONE FOR FUCK’S SAKE

(for reasons, this exasperation is heavily played up for the bit)

(I have similar desires for Hive, Eliksni, and Uluran translation guides. I call out Resonant specifically here because I already know ATT!Eliksni, and it’s topical for this season)

#textpost #tired talks #destiny 2 #heresy spoilers #destiny 2 spoilers #random brain spewing #can you tell i’ve been reading house of leaves?#edit: corrected keit’ehr’s pronouns. forgor subjugators use she/they/it whoops

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zodiac-academy-rp · 1 year ago

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𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐘: 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌!

Welcome to 𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐘: 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌!

A fandom roleplay based on the Zodiac Academy books, here you will be able to explore the world that has still yet to be unveiled by the authors themselves, allowing you some creative freedom to roleplay and possibly bring in your own flair to roleplay. Though you have two species to speak of, as fae; the world is your oyster from Nemean Lions, to Muskian Tigers, you will struggle to make a choice for your own character(s) at Zodiac Academy. We look forward to seeing you here, and making your own characters, or perhaps taking up the mantle for certain canon characters!

𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆: The roleplay takes place in our world, that's hidden through magic in a mirror world that allows fae and nymphs to live freely and in peace; for the most part. Much like anywhere in the world, no matter the story, darkness lurks not far off from us, and it's down to us to not let that darkness win.

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄: The roleplay is currently being decided, and possibly a poll which will allow members of the community to vote on which storyline appeals the most to them.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑:

Lore pre-given by the authors and adapted for roleplay purposes,

Many positions open as its a brand new server,

Fanon & Canon characters open to make / claim,

Active, friendly and positive owner/staff,

RP channel requests & RP pings,

SFW but MAY contain violence, in battles etc; 18+ advised,

LGBTQ+ friendly,

Limited and balanced abilities/powers to ensure fairness,

#roleplay #role play #rp #fantasy rp #fantasy #zodiac academy #zodiac academy roleplay #zodiac academy rp #book roleplay #discord roleplay #discord rp #discord role play #fae roleplay #fae rp #mythology and folklore #mythology rp #book role play

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mlpdestinyverse · 3 months ago

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I Want To Be An Author

I've held off on posting this here after posting this on dA because I hate the feeling of disappointing people, but I want to be absolutely transparent:

If you've been wondering why I've been MIA, being hit with the epiphany that I want to be an author is one of my main reasons. Art is fun, but I've come to understand that writing has always been my passion. And for a long time I've been directionless on where I've wanted to take myself in life.

So here we are: I want to write original content for a book series. That's a daunting goal, so for now, the goal is to write that first novel. I'm several chapters in now, so I can happily announce that I very much plan to have my first book series be KINDRED - the original rework of Destinyverse.

I love my cast, the arcs I've written for them, the futures I've had planned, and the lore ideas I've never gotten to share. I've known for a while that I wanted my characters and story to be 100% my own and not limited to fanwork.

So I've been happily planning and expanding on characters, world lore, scenes, etc (my story outline alone is 110 pages long)! The biggest hurdle will be dividing events into chapters and books. To give you an idea on what I had planned for Destinyverse: I wanted to establish the backstories of all the main story cast before going into the present-day main narrative.

With a book series, I won't have every character pre-established, so alongside plot I'm going be weaving in elements of the past arcs you've come to know (along with unveiling the lore and workings of the KINDRED universe). So it'll be a challenge, but one I'm working hard to tackle!

I'm sure you're wondering what will become of Destinyverse: its not quite on permanent hiatus yet. If I need it, I want to keep it around if I'm in the mood to continue drawing some ponies for fun! But truthfully, I will be putting my time and effort into my book and related research/art.

If you've enjoyed my writing and my original cast of characters and want to see their stories play out in a similar, inspired fantasy-based world, hopefully you won't mind sticking around for KINDRED. I've yet to decide if I'll make a Tumblr blog for my KINDRED concepts and official art. I'm not sure how many people here would be interested. So for now, any art related to it has and will be posted to my dA and on Bluesky:

Deviantart

Bluesky

If you followed me purely for MLP content, then unfortunately this may be where we part. If so, then please know I appreciate you and any support you've given my work until now. Thank you. <3

For now, here's a small preview of some concept art (old and new)!

#mia post

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wizardingworldlibrary · 2 months ago

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James/Remus Masterlist

A Library Encounter (ao3) - Inell E, 3k

Summary: While writing an essay for class, Remus has an encounter in the library.

A Study on Werewolf (ao3) - IWannaFuckBruceWayne G, 1k

Summary: Four excerpts from James Potter’s bestselling title, 'A Lore-Accurate Account of my Growing Infatuation with the Greatest Werewolf Ever.'

Away laughing on a fast camel (ao3) - sazzlette (orphan_account) M, 5k

Summary: "Padfoot," he said, rather reasonably considering the circumstances. "You cannot possibly leave me alone with Moony for two weeks. He'll turn me into a monk. Or a librarian. Or one of those librarian monks who dust books and chant all day."

"Prongs," Sirius said, with surprising patience. "What in the name of Godric's knobbly knees are you babbling about?"

A Werewolf, a Wizard, and a Broom Closet (ao3) - Ghostofafruit G, 1k

Summary: Sirius and Peter are sick of James and Remus dancing around each other, so they set up a plan

By Appointment Only (ao3) - puuvillaa E, 108k

Summary: All alphas must be mated by the age of thirty. If an alpha isn’t mated by then, they will have to be appointed a mate by the Alpha Mating Registry.

Remus and James meet at the Registry.

Choosing Hope (ao3) - puuvillaa T, 2k

Summary: Remus has been avoiding James. James is unwilling to let him continue.

daily dose (ao3) - miniwishes (donotwishonme) G, 760

Summary: James walks into a café on a rainy Saturday morning

fame and love (ao3) - orphan_account T, 18k

Summary: There are plenty of things Remus hadn’t expected in his humble, homeschooled Wizard life. But being tailed through the dirty London streets by Quidditch star James Potter?

That is something Remus never, ever expected.

Or, the one where James learns how to woo someone without being able to use his title as a famous Quidditch player and Remus has fun playing the oblivious Muggle

foolproof (ao3) - sirci M, 2k

Summary: James has been secretly pining for Remus for longer than he can remember. Now it's time he finally does something about it.

i ain't afraid of no ghosts (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor remus/james, sirius/lily G, 3k

Summary: James Potter is easily scared, and he hates being scared. So, of course, Halloween is his least favorite holiday. He's less than thrilled when his boyfriend suggests that he join him and their group of friends at an actual haunted house.

In silent screams, in wildest dreams. (ao3) - Bleedinghearts23 T, 7k

Summary: It's the next full moon after the prank. James is antsy to do it without Sirius, Remus is acting cagey, Pete is in detention.

The long drawn out confrontation between James and Remus, right before the transformation. Feelings are unveiled, feelings are buried. Some wounds opened up, some healed.

Literal Game (ao3) - copperbadge M, 4k

Summary: Remus and James play very interesting games.

Mourning the Sun (ao3) - Anonymous remus/james, james/lily T, 24k

Summary: Lily also knew she was likely the only one who saw the full picture of this. Men, she realised, were cursed with a brand of stupidity in love that nothing could really fix.

On my mind (ao3) - riddenthestars G, 4k

Summary: James is hosting Christmas the last year before they graduate. And he's planned it to perfection... but he failed to consider one thing. Himself, around Remus Lupin.

Runaways (The Follow-the-Leader Remix) (ao3) - imochan M, 5k

Summary: In which a lot of important things happen, but nobody does anything at all.

The Wedding Bell Blue Balls Remix (ao3) - A_factorygirl_69 E, 3k

Summary: While Sirius is off on an errand for the groom, Remus does his best to help the groom out in other ways.

#wizardingworldlibrary #harry potter fanfiction #masterlists #remus lupin #james potter #moonchaser #moonchaser masterlist #mxm

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minawritesfanfic · 1 year ago

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Neville Longbottom x Reader

A flower and a fairy

Word Count: 3,700+

Summary: You start finding notes at your seat before class, each note has a floral scent and sweet words written in it. Each letter is sweeter than the last, it just has you dying to find out who they’re from.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Class droned on like usual, I always found it hard to focus in Divination. The room had a way of lulling you to sleep and it didn’t help that it took an Olympic workout just to get to the classroom. Plus Professor Trelawney talked on and on with her words going in one ear and straight out the other, It was just hard to stay attentive when I had more important or well interesting things to focus on, like my secret admirer, or Gardenia as he likes to call himself.

Our interactions started roughly a month ago, at first it was simple notes going back and forth. Gardenia would leave a note on my seat before class and inside would be a silly or interesting plant fact, and in return, I’d leave the note where I found it with either a fact of my own or a silly drawing sometimes relevant to the fact. Just a silly light-hearted back and forth between two strangers but eventually it grew a bit more intimate, two weeks ago I received my first poem from them. It was beautifully written and even now I find myself rereading it sometimes, and I definitely do not keep it with me in my pocket. I just happened to have it with me today, my hand crept over to it and I silently recalled the poem.

In gardens where courage takes its bloom, my heart whispers secrets, no longer in the gloom. A shy Gardenia, thriving in the sun, with feelings it wishes to let come undone.

In the garden, there was also a dazzling fairy. Their smile is like magic and their laugh makes the flower’s heart rate erratic. But every word that the fairy speaks, is filled with a tender grace, captivating the flower's heart in a soothing embrace.

Like Gryffindor's lion, the flower's courage may rise, to face the unknown, and eventually to meet the fairy's enchanting eyes. Yet still, the flower hides in the shade, not yet ready and very much afraid. Maybe one day when the moment is right, this flower will let his affection take flight.

For now, the flower waits between these carefully written lines, hoping that through these words his true intentions will shine. A flower who sees the wonders of the fairy albeit behind rosé tinted eyes, the flower cherishes the fairy every time they come by.

My fairy, my light, for you, my heart dances, both day and night. I can only hope that one day I might have my fairy by my side.

Like I said it was a beautifully written poem that honestly still tugs at my heartstrings weeks later, It was also the first letter that cued to me that this secret messenger had a crush on me. I was incredibly flustered when I first realized it, especially since I had been in a class like I was now. With a new letter that was unlike the ones, I’d received before.

Inside there was no poem, fact, or any of the usual ramblings of Gardenia. Instead, there was a riddle, I hadn’t gotten the chance to read it yet as today Professor Trelawney made today's lesson very interactive. I was just thankful that class was supposed to end soon, the curiosity had been eating away at me this entire time. I couldn’t help but wonder what made him send me a riddle, what the riddle was about, whether I would even be able to solve the riddle, and why now had he decided to send a riddle?

My prayers were answered when Professor Trelawney dismissed me, and as quickly as I could I left the class. I balanced my books in one hand as I pulled the letter out from my other pocket, quickly reading it as I walked the halls.

In pages bound, magic's whispers dwell, a tale untold, its secrets to unveil. Heroes and villains dance in its ink, a world of wonder, where dreams link. Find this book of legends and lore, in Hogwarts' library, it shall be restored.

It seems Gardenia was sending me on a treasure hunt to the library. I had an idea of which book he might be referring to but I couldn’t be sure until I got there. So I decided to go to the library since I had some time to spare. I was kind of excited and wondered what I would find in the library.

★ ✮ ★

So it turns out there are a lot of books that fit the description of the riddle, and I've gone through most of them. I groaned into my arms as I laid my head on the table, I don’t even know how long I’ve been in here at this point nor how many books I’ve gone through. Who knew that the library had so many books on the history of Hogwarts, certainly not me. I planned to wallow in my failure and let the curiosity eat me alive when a familiar voice called out my name.

“What’s got you in such a stifling mood?” Hermione asked as she stood over me, a curious expression played across her face.

“I just learned how much I hate riddles and scavenger hunts. Mostly because I seem to suck at them.” I said sitting up and letting out a heavy sigh, Hermoine just looked even more confused as she sat beside me setting her books down on the table.

“What are you talking about? Riddles, a scavenger hunt, what is going on?”

“It’s a long story but I have a secret admirer? Today they sent me this riddle,” I passed her the letter with the riddle on it. “I just can’t seem to find the book they’re hinting at.”

“Are these all the books you’ve tried so far?” She asked as she handed back the letter and gestured to the pile of books on the table beside me.

“Yeah, I checked all the pages but there’s nothing.”

“Of course, those are all generic history books. I think your admirer was referring to a history book that fixates on a specific event, like that incident at the Yule ball several years back.” I watched Hermione curiously as she walked away disappearing into the library.

She returned after a minute with a smaller book, unlike the others it was much newer and delicately taken care of. I opened the book up carefully and immediately on the first page was another letter, I took it out and showed Hermione. I set the book down and we read the next riddle together.

In Gryffindor's embrace, find a cozy space, where courage resides, in every chase.

Lion-hearted souls gather, warmth in the air, a heart of friendship, where memories are shared.

Seek the den of bravery, where heroes meet, unlock the secret, the common room's treat.

“I guess I’m going to the common room?”

Hermione walked with me to the common room, we talked as we walked which I really enjoyed. I wasn’t as close with her as Harry and Ron were so I rarely saw her most days, so small moments like this where we could talk for even just a few minutes meant a lot to me. But when Harry and Ron exited the common room she went off with them. I was a bit sad but waved her goodbye with a smile anyway and continued on my mission. It was probably best I solved the riddles on my own, if I could that is.

I walked into the common room as always it was warm and sunny inside, it always made me feel pleasant and sleepy. I looked around the common room and noticed three new things, a new plant on the table in the back, a new piece of wall tapestry, and a bowl of candy. I debated which to check first, the plant would make sense because of how often Gardenia mentions some type of plant. On the other hand, it can’t be a coincidence that there’s all of a sudden a bowl of candy in the common room.

I decided to check the plant first, it made the most sense and wasn’t bound by a coincidence. I walked over to the plant, small white flowers were poking out from between the brush of leaves. If I remember correctly these were gardenias, I felt more solid in my decision now. I spun the pot around carefully on the table, I was really thankful there was no one in the common room right now. I bet I look a bit odd over analyzing this potted plant, but there didn’t seem to be anything hidden in the leaves. I carefully picked it up and found a note card underneath it, I grabbed it and set the pot down.

The riddle you seek is not with me

I frowned and sighed but continued searching, I made my way to the bowl of candy. I grabbed one of them eating small round chocolate candy, when I bit into it a splash of caramel spilled into my mouth. That definitely soothes my mood, I picked up the bowl of candy but there was nothing underneath. It was a clear bowl so I looked at the bottom of it. And there was the note, I set it down and dug my hand into it grabbing the letter from the bottom.

I grabbed a few more of the chocolate candies I tried before and brought the note with me as I sat down, For the first time the outside had something written on it. I read it before opening it up and reading the contents inside.

Your last riddle

Where nature's bounty blooms and thrives, a verdant paradise, where life derives. Flowers of myriad hues leave so green, a sanctuary for plants, a gardener's dream. In the heart of greenery, love's whispering tune, Gardenia awaits, hoping to see the fairy soon.

I felt my heart beat a bit faster as I finished reading the riddle, my scavenger hunt all this time was to find gardenia. I had a hunch but now that the reality was right in front of me, I was starting to freak out. What would I even do when I got there, what would I say? What would they say? All it took was a single riddle to have me flustered, confused, excited, and terribly nervous.

Still, I found my feet moving on their own as I walked through the many hallways of the castle to the greenhouses. I tucked the riddle away and fiddled with the wrapper of unopened candy, anything to distract myself from how wildly my heart was beating in my chest. Which only raced harder once I stood outside the row of greenhouses, I felt my throat go dry and my hands get clammy. Most of the greenhouses were empty besides the plants that grew all over the inside of them, though I could just barely make out the figure of someone in one of the further greenhouses.

I don’t even know why I’m nervous, it's not like I’m the one about to confess or anything. Yet I still found myself hesitating to approach, I just stood there beside the greenhouse where Gardenia likely was. He was crouched down, likely tending to one of the lower plants, thankfully he couldn’t see from where I stood. He raised to his feet and moved to tend to another plant, though his back remained facing me. All I’ve managed to see of their face so far was slivers of a side profile, so it’s hard to tell who it is.

“Is there anything I can help you with dear?” I felt like my heart nearly burst out of my chest, I jerked my body around to find Professor Sprout behind me.

“I uhm well-“ I fumbled over my words glancing from her to the greenhouse trying to form even the semblance of a proper sentence, I took a deep breath and tried again. “I was told uhm to meet someone here…?”

“Someone, do you not know who dear? I think I know who you’re looking for, likely my student aid Longbottom.”

I thought for a moment before responding, I instantly recognized the name since I heard it during a few of my classes but then I realized Neville was one of Hermione’s friends, we’d talked a few times before albeit briefly. Though considering that he’s a student aid for the herbology teacher, the plant theme makes a lot of sense now. I felt my nerves calm slightly, for some reason having the name and face of this once mysterious admirer before our meeting calmed me somewhat.

“Yes, not someone but Neville. He told me to meet him here, I just hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Oh not at all, he should be finishing up soon. I’ll leave you to it then dear, I’ll be in my office if either of you needs me. Good luck.” I waved goodbye as she walked away, I let out a relieved sigh and turned back to the greenhouse.

Neville was no longer crouched down on the far side of the greenhouse, he moved to the other side and stood carefully spraying the leaves of a plant I couldn’t identify. Though I had a clearer view of his face now, he had a relaxed and content expression as he tended to the plants. It was kind of cool watching him work as he skillfully took care of the plants, I found myself in a sort of trance. Though I figured it was best I entered the greenhouse sooner rather than later.

I stepped up to the entrance opening the door carefully, As I stepped inside I again had a view of his back. Now that I was actually inside I had no idea what to do now, do I wait until he realizes I’m here do I say something? Though I was shaken from my thoughts when I watched him slip, I hissed and winced at the fall. He groaned on the floor, I stifled a laugh as I approached. Though my laughter came out freely when I managed to slip as well, apparently greenhouse floors are obnoxiously slippery.

I laughed as I lay on the floor eventually sitting up and turning to look at him, Neville looked over at me with a flurry of emotions on his face as well as a clear coat of red on his cheeks. He sat up quickly and just stared at me his mouth agape, and lips moving as he tried to formulate a sentence. I decided to speak first since it was clear he needed a moment.

“Hi, Neville or Gardenia was it? I definitely didn’t expect us to both tumble on our first meeting, I wish I had known the floors were this slippery.” I said with another laugh more nervous than before as I met his gaze, a coat of red on my cheeks as well.

“Hi…” Was all he said in response still thoroughly flustered I assumed, I felt bad for being comforted by his nervousness. It was just nice knowing it wasn’t just me.

“Hello,” I responded as I climbed up off the floor and offered him a hand. “Need a hand?” He looked from me to my hand before taking it.

I helped him up though we both faltered slightly, nearly slipping again. He mumbled out a quiet thank you as we stood there clutching onto each other trying not to fall again, Once he had his footing Neville pulled away. Now that there was some distance I could get a proper look at him, his face slightly pudgy matching his almost doe-like eyes and button nose, I smiled up at him breathlessly still feeling a bit nervous as well.

“I wasn’t sure that you would come.” He said quietly for a moment once he composed himself somewhat.

“Well, it’s not like you gave me any reason not to. Though I struggled a bit with that first riddle, so I almost couldn’t.” I said with a nervous laugh, which was starting to become a habit just to fill the slightly tense silence looming in the room.

“I’m sorry, I had help with that one. I’m not very good at riddles. I hope the rest were easier.”

“They were so much easier, I have a few questions though. Why gardenias and why a scavenger hunt?” He turned red again and avoided my gaze.

“Uhm well I guessed that you might like a scavenger hunt, I’m sorry if you don’t though. But I’ll answer your other question after you read this.” He pulled out another letter and handed it to me before his hands came together in front of him. He fiddled with his robe idly as I unfolded the letter.

Fairy, enchanting, and ethereal, in your presence, my heart's aurora unfurls. Your grace and light, a celestial glow, with every moment, my love for you grows.

In dreams and waking hours, you reside, a muse, a spark, someone I yearn to have by my side. Your laughter, a melody, so sweet and rare, it fills my world with joy beyond compare.

In your eyes, I find a universe's embrace, a magical connection, an infinite space. With trembling words, I must now confess, fairy, my heart beats for you, and no one else.

For in this realm of love, so pure and true, fairy, my soul finds solace in you. You shine brighter than any other, with a beautifully unique ethereal glow. There is only one thing that I wish to know, and it’s if you’ll be mine?

I just stood there staring at the last line, occasionally my eyes flicking up to other parts of the poem. My face was a clear shade of red again, I didn’t know what to say. I just read it over and over for a while, I could see Neville shifting nervously in front of me through my peripheral vision.

“Gardenias are most commonly known for their wonderfully scented and waxy white flowers, they symbolize a variety of things: trust, purity, clarity, peace, hope, or even renewal. In this case, though, they symbolize secret love. Though I also like that they can also say ‘you are lovely’…” He explained quietly, filling the silence with his voice, I finally looked up from the letter at him.

We just stared at each other, both unsure what to say. I had been slowly developing feelings for my secret admirer and now that he was in front of me confessing his feelings in the way we talked to each other before melted my heart. I just couldn’t find the words to express myself, I found my lips moving to speak like his had just a while earlier. That's when I got an idea, Actions speak louder than words right?

I tucked the letter away with the others and reached my hands out to cup his face, his face was warm and red. His eyes widen as he watches me carefully, partially confused and thoroughly flustered. I lean up towards him, our faces close, and I can feel and hear his breathing hitch.

“Can I kiss you..?” I didn’t know that his eyes could get any wider and I laughed again as he nodded his head yes.

I closed my eyes and pressed my lips gently against his, his lips were soft against mine. He practically stood there like a statue not moving as I kissed him but he did at least kiss back, his lips pressed against mine. His long hair tickled my forehead and the warmth of his cheeks spread through my hands to the rest of my body. Eventually, I pulled away and smiled at him, he was even redder than before with a big smile.

“I wasn’t sure how else to respond, but it’s a yes,” I said with a smile causing his smile to grow even wider than before, he pulled me into a hug.

We hugged for a while in the slightly foggy and damp greenhouse, both of our cheeks red as tomatoes in the garden. Neither of us said anything for a long while, we just held each other listening to the other’s breathing that filled the silent room. It was a quiet moment where we were surrounded by plants and love. Out of the time I’d spent here at Hogwarts, this moment had to be the most magical moment I’ve ever had.

★ ✮ ★

“You knew?! You cheeky bugger!” I said tossing some dry food at Hermoine who just laughed and blocked it.

“It wasn’t like I could tell you, that would’ve ruined all the fun!” She said picking up the food I threw at her and throwing it back. I caught it in my mouth chewing grumpily.

“Whateverrrr.”

I looked over at Neville who laughed and gave my hand a small squeeze under the table. Harry and Ron were at the table with us as well, We ended up hanging out all together at the Three Broomsticks Inn. I hadn’t really hung out with Harry and Ron much since they were always running off stealing Hermione from me, but they were Neville and Hermione’s friends so I had ample opportunity to hang out with them now. They were as troublesome as I heard, though they were still sweet guys who I could tell cared about their friends.

“Are we having a food fight?” Ron asked as he threw a fry at Hermione and Neville, I laughed watching the mini food fight.

“Cut it out, the barmaid is glaring at us!” Harry chastised quietly.

“Yeah, really mature Ron. Food fights are for children.” Hermione said in a playful but mocking tone.

“I’m still young, not quite yet an adult. So of course I’m doing kid things, and how come I’m the only one getting lectured here? I wasn’t even the first one to throw food!” He said with a huff gesturing to me.

“Well you’re the one who brought up a food fight, Ron, they weren’t trying to start a war with food unlike you.” Neville chimed in, I smiled at him thankful for the support.

“Thank you, Neville, I’m far too old for food fights now anyways.” Ron rolled his eyes at us all before eating another fry.

The banter was light-hearted and fun, which fit the warm cozy vibe of the inn. Unlike outside where it was cold and the windows were frosts over from the winter air. We all ate, drank, and talked for a long while enjoying each other's company. This was the most I had wholeheartedly laughed in a while, I could get used to hanging out with them all. I had expected things to be awkward but it was far from it, especially with Ron he was welcoming and friendly right out of the gate. Nudging Harry to do the same, he eventually opened up as well. It was just a really nice time and I couldn’t be happier surrounded by good company and a lovingly sweet boyfriend.

Eventually, we all parted ways, the trio heading off on some new adventure leaving Neville and me to enjoy each other’s company. We walked through the streets of Hogsmeade just peeking into the windows of the shops, there were a variety of trinkets and items displayed in them. We didn’t end up going into any of the shops though, just walking around aimlessly.

“I never did get to ask… but why fairy?

“What? Oh uhm well there was this time when I saw you outside the greenhouse by Hagrid’s hut, you were in the pumpkin patch and as I got closer I could see you interacting with the fairies. You looked so beautiful and smiled so brightly, I just couldn’t keep my eyes off you…” He said shyly as his cheeks turned red but he didn’t avert his eyes and stared intimately into my own.

I smiled up at him feeling my cheeks turn red as well, I squeezed his hand with a smile. “Ahh, that’s sweet though I’m a bit embarrassed. I hadn’t thought anyone saw that, let alone remembered it way after the fact.”

“Well I’m glad you worked up the courage too, I really do like you, Neville. A whole lot, I was honestly surprised you knew who I was beyond one of Hermione’s friends.”

“I could say the same thing, everyone only really thinks of Harry and Ron when they think of Hermione. They forget about side character friends like us it seems, though I kind of prefer not having all that spotlight. Everyone knows who you are, sounds frightening.” He shivered dramatically to emphasize his point, I nodded and laughed agreeing with his point.

“Frightening indeed, I prefer to be off in the limelight with you. That way I can do things like this without it ending up in the paper.” I stopped walking and pulled him towards me.

Like the day we met in the greenhouse I cupped his face and pulled him towards me, we kissed standing off to the side of the path. It was a bit chilly out and it had just started to snow. Neither of us had worn hats so snow started to pile up in our hair. Despite the coldness of the snowflakes trickling down onto our faces in liquid form we still stood their kissing, unlike the first time his hands had found their way onto my waist holding me tightly. As if he thought that if he let go I’d disappear like the melting snowflakes in his hair. After a few more moments we parted lips and he smiled a big dopey grin at me.

“We should probably head back to school, I wouldn’t be surprised if this were a snowstorm.” I nodded in agreement and we continued our walk now with a destination in mind.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter #neville longbotton x reader #hermione granger #ron weasley #secret admirer #herbology #minawritesfanfic #my writing #x reader #reader insert #gender nuetral reader #gn reader #handwritten letters #riddles #love confessions

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