#from the depths (main verse)

[musaics]

So I’m re-writing and fleshing out my modern verse for Hinata because it’s always been very bare bones/boring and gives nobody anything to work with. But piggybacking off of the Otsut.suki clan lore, Hinata’s a member of the clan and they’re all aliens with a colony on the moon. They arrived to absorb DNA from humans to further their own species, but obviously things go south. Hina gets exiled to Earth for being a disappointment and yeah. Tba

[kaibutsunoo]

Godzilla's most beautiful feature is his ear canal.

Ah yes. His.... ear... canal.

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

29, 55, 84? :D

29. Stars, 55. Silence, 84. Shout

So! Spoilers for Chapter 14 of Minas Morgul and also it's. really long so it's going under a cut lmao.

Barad Curon shines in the starlight, and Saelinriel gazes up at it – melancholy aching in her chest. Even taken and corrupted by the Enemy, it’s still beautiful.

Karazgar’s mask is heavy in her hand, and she passes it to Morinel, who nods, slipping it onto her face.

“This ends tonight,” Saelinriel says, and pushes open the doors.

Morinel plays her part well, shepherding her and Culang before Gothmog - as Idhrin creeps through the shadows to hide behind a pillar, and 'flees' and shuts the doors with a bang that echoes up to the throne room.

Saelinriel squares her shoulders as Gothmog laughs once while he comes down the stairs of the dais, appearing from the shadows with unnecessary flare and dramatics that she's come to expect from him.

“I did not expect you to be so bold!” 

He wears the guise of Mordirith here and a laugh, born of an emotion she doesn’t know the name of, bubbles into her throat.

“Then you do not know me as well as I thought you did. A pity, considering how long we've known each other.”

Gothmog's illusions are stronger somehow than they once were, and it takes every ounce of strength she has, even with Culang's help. 

Saelinriel thinks it might be over when Gothmog crumples to the ground, but his body melts and he climbs down from the dais again – blue flame on his pauldrons –  laughing as he raises his hands. 

Then, he brings them down with a percussive movement, and fire leaps up from spots in the tiled floor.  

Saelinriel only just has time to pull Culang away from a geyser of flame, when they have to move again, and again. She’s getting dizzy by now, and she doesn’t want to think about what would happen if either of them falters. 

Lightning arcs from the wings, and she feels a wave of relief wash over her. Morinel has returned, just in time -- Saelinriel and Culang are tiring, and she doesn't know how much longer they could've managed. 

On that signal, Idhrin looses arrow after arrow, but they bounce off the wraith’s iron crown. He turns and the next arrow catches him in the shoulder. 

“Who have you brought to their deaths this time, Saelinriel?” Gothmog snarls. “Did I not say come into the light?” 

Fire bursts from the wings, and a horrible thud makes her heart leap into her throat.

Culang whispers that they must find a way to weaken him somehow, and for a moment she wonders how then she remembers. 

“You have not won,” Saelinriel says, through gritted teeth. 

Isildur and Anarion and Elendil's memory and legacy are a double edged sword, and she uses it like one.

Her own blade glitters like starlight in the dim throne room, and she feels the words and the courage coming to her and strengthening her heart. 

Gothmog growls, and she continues, holding Narmeleth's and Golodir's triumphs over his head, and he throws a pillar of flame at her. 

She dodges. 

Another pillar of flame lashes up from the ground, and it almost knocks her off balance, but Culang keeps her from falling into it.

Gothmog's anger fills the room like thunder and the flames cease as he storms down the steps and he brings his sword down on hers, hard.  “Your words are empty!” 

She blocks it, and goes for her own strike. 

It is just like dancing, she thinks, a little hysterically. Only with several partners instead of one, and any misstep might be their last. “Elendil faced the greatest evil of the Age, and he didn’t cower beneath it. He didn’t betray his kingdom or his people–” 

Her limbs grow heavier and heavier with each moment but she channels everything she has into her sword. 

“The White Tree flowers in the Court of Kings – Gondor flourishes once more.”

“Those victories mean nothing to me,” He shouts, bringing his sword in a wide arc toward your head. 

She sidesteps the blow and it glances off her shield instead – the blossoming white tree on a black field. 

There's a quarter of a second where Gothmog freezes and arrows come flying out of the darkness to catch his shoulder. 

Idhrin has braced herself against a pillar, and blood drips down from above her eyebrows and her silver hair is darkened with blood. 

Gothmog hisses and begins to close the distance between them and Saelinriel tries to step between but he swats her aside like a fly and she goes flying and lands with her back on the hard tile. 

It’s suddenly impossible to breathe and she lays there, gasping and the whole time she's shouting at herself to get up–

Finally, as lightning streaks through the air again, she does, sheathing her sword and pulling her spear from her back.

Idhrin shoots an arrow that finds its way into the darkness of Gothmog's hood. He staggers backward, bringing a hand up to his unseen face. 

Saelinriel doesn't know what comes over her but she tightens her hold on her shield, adjusts her grip on her spear and takes a breath. 

Then, she runs.

Her shield slams into Gothmog's chest with more force than she thought possible, and he staggers again, snarling and seeming disoriented.   

The elven-steel of her spear gleams in the half-light and she channels every ounce of her strength into jamming it into the space just between his chestplate and his hip armor as hard as she can. 

He lets out an agonizing cry and falls to the ground with a mighty crash.  His sword slips from his hand, and she kicks it away from him, toward Culang.  

Morinel comes from the shadows, and rushes toward where Idhrin slumped to the ground moments prior.   Saelinriel stands breathing heavily, looking down at a now wounded Gothmog who clutches his abdomen. 

Words shatter the uneasy silence.

“I sense the presence of my bones, Saelinriel! They are nearby!”

She almost screams but calms herself as Isildur's shade materializes beside Saelinriel, and there is an urgency in his voice that in some way surprises her. “I can see the chamber where my bones must lie, for the Oath-stone stands there too, 'neath the beacon!”

She sighs, slinging her spear over her shoulder and begins the climb to the beacon tower.

“This is not the Minas Ithil it was from my own days,” Isildur says, his voice echoing strangely off the empty walls once they make it to the beacon-stone that cuts through the mist that shrouds the city. 

Saelinriel bites back a sarcastic reply then frowns.

 “What was it like back then?” She asks, as she looks through the nooks and crannies of the room, because there are precious few that she can ask. 

Gothmog is not an option, and Faramir son of Ondoher might be able to tell her but she knows not where he wanders now. But Isildur stands before her, and he’s answered her many questions before.

“It was a beautiful place,” he says slowly then stops.  She doesn’t press him, and after a while he speaks again.

“The moon cast silver light throughout the courtyards and streets, and reflected off the marble walls, so that it seemed to shine. It held great houses of lore salvaged from the wreck of Numenor…” 

He sighs wistfully and then he tells her of the gardens of the Circle of Wisdom, and the melodies and plays from the Lindalire, and it hurts that she can match each location with the twisted parody.

“I am sorry,” she says numbly, after a while, and they sink into an contemplative silence.

Finally, she finds a silver tarnished casket that is not so large, but something ghosts over Isildur's face when he looks at the dust with in and he remains silent as she walks down back to the throne room.

“I swore to bring Sauron's Ring to Rivendell, and though that weapon came in the end to that valley, I did not. But now…” Isildur says finally, solemnly, "The casket of dust gives me hope. Bring me earthly remains to Rivendell and I shall at last know peace.'

Gothmog laughs weakly, despite his wounds. "Peace? What peace does this shade think to find? What peace does he deserve? I remember the tales of Elendil, and of Isildur and Anárion. We were told they were great men, valiant warriors from an age of heroes.”

“And I was told tales of the same sort about Eärnur too,” Saelinriel says viciously, months of anger and hurt that she thought she’d handled bubbling up from her core. They are cruel, maybe needlessly so, but she doesn’t care. “Sometimes our heroes disappoint us.”

Gothmog takes no heed of her words and continues to rail before finally trailing off into silence. 

Culang calls out that someone is approaching the throne room from the outside. Morinel looks up, hands freezing as she pauses in bandaging Idhrin's head.

A few moments pass and then--

The doors bang open and part of her is thrilled to see Annoth alive but – he is carrying himself far too stiffly, and there is a wild look in his eyes – something is wrong.

Saelinriel nearly drops her shield as Ugrukhôr storms into the throne room, looming over Annoth. He stands nearly as tall as Gothmog and towers head and shoulders over her. There are four orcs with him as well, though they don’t scare her.

When Saelinriel doesn't provide an adequate enough answer as to the location of Karazgar, Ugrukhôr roughly shoves Annoth to the side, and he crumples against the floor. 

He pushes past her and Culang, shoving them out of the way, and he sees Idhrin and Morinel where she is still using her runes to try and fix the damage done by Gothmog. “It may cost you your life, or the lives of more friends. Is that what you want?”

Her heart lurches as she opens her mouth to say no, but Ugrukhôr is faster, and he sends her – accompanied by an Uruk – to the top of the tower to search for Karazgar.

The last thing she see before she no longer can is that the others are surrounded by two guards apiece below. The thought hits her like an anchor being sunk into her chest: all of them are hostages against each others’ good behavior.

“Is that really Gothmog?” Lûrkh says, as they pass the fallen wraith. "He looks dead to me. How about that?”

They go up the endless set of stairs to the Beacon-room before finally reaching the top.

“I don't see any sign of Karazgar. Maybe he's gone.” Lûrkh looks at her sidelong, and blood rushes in her ears, and she prays that he has not figured out her ruse yet. “Or maybe he never came up here?”

Thankfully, he is quickly distracted by the broken Oathstone, and orders her to clear the room out of any merrevail that lingered in the shadowed corners of the room. 

She does, quickly and quietly as she can, and he is still pondering if some valuable piece of it might be chipped away and kept as treasure.

Any noise from the throne room is nothing more than a vague rumble and Saelinriel takes her chance.  Lûrkh is too surprised to offer much resistance, and he falls to the ground.

No one comes running up after her guard falls and she sneaks back down as quietly as she can.

She can’t see Idhrin but Morinel’s hands and ankles are bound, and she is pale and unmoving and there is no orc guarding her. 

A thrill of fear races through Saelinriel’s veins. What did Ugrukhôr do to her?

Culang catches her eye as she creeps closer to crouch low behind the giant pillar on each side of the throne’s dias.

She unsheathes her sword as quietly as possible and he nods. 

“Now, Saelinriel!”  

By the time Saelinriel makes it down the dias, Culang manages the two on either side of him, but there is a third behind and Ugrukhôr is too near him and he hits the ground hard. She manages the third guard, along with the one next to Idhrin.

“So that is the way of it, then?” Ugrukhôr asks as he goes to stand in the center of the throne room.  “Come, Saelinriel. Can we not settle this as equals?”

Ugrukhôr’s treatment of Annoth and of the Thandrim before him throws doubt on any promises he might make, even if she was inclined to believe him to begin with. 

But she's the only one standing between him and her friends, and she will not allow him easy access to them when she can do something about it.

So, she climbs slowly down the steps of the dias, head held high. She passes Culang, who is curled around himself, and she sees Morinel’s rune satchel flung across the room, and Idhrin is hiding his face, and Saelinriel can’t tell whether she lives still or not.

“You are alone, Saelinriel.” Ugrukhôr says as if he relishes this fact. “You came to this tower with allies, but they have abandoned you. Your Rangers may find success in the woods, but in towers of stone they die the same as any others. They cannot save you.”

She raises her head higher.

“The Thandrim crossed me, long ago, and they are all dead. The only man who remembered them will have no vengeance. I gave him death instead, and none now will wield his sad sword or bear his broken shield.”

He draws his swords with a flourish as if daring her to come up against him and, despite herself, her grip on her own sword falters.

“Saelinriel!” He bellows. “Do you dare test your will against Ugrukhôr, the Captain of the Pit? Did I say we were equal? I see now I was wrong! You are no equal of mine, for I am Gúrzyul... and I am your ending!”

She raises her shield to cover her torso and plants her feet as he comes to charge toward her.

“Prepare to join your friends in death, Saelinriel!” He sweeps his sword into her shield hard and the impact sends her scrambling backward but other than being a little dazed, she's fine.

She follows the rhythm of the fight: thrust, block, parry, and everything else fades to the background.

“The Thandrim sought mercy. They were fools. You will have no mercy from me,” he says as he brings his sword in a wide arc toward her head. 

“As if I would seek mercy from you,” Saelinriel says, as she steps to the side and raises her shield a little higher. The blow glances off her shield instead. She aims for a blow at his torso, but he deflects it, sending her backward.

He stalks forward and she doesn't manage to completely block the blow, and stumbles, nearly going to her knees.  

Instead, Saelinriel reaches for her horn, and the sound echoes off the walls and pillars, a challenge that rings and bellows, like the shout of many voices beneath the high vaulted roof, that stuns Ugrukhôr for a few moments.

Those few seconds are more precious than gold because they allow her to bring herself to her feet, regroup, and use her sword to cut a deep gash on the inside of his upper arm.

He turns – far, far faster than he should be able to for his size – and raises his sword high over his head and Saelinriel only just manages to put her shield between herself and the blow.

Her arm breaks from the force behind the blow as it pushes her down and it is all Saelinriel can do to not scream. 

Between pain-sharpened heartbeats she watches as he pauses and looks down, examining the gash on his arm that drips dark blood onto the polished floors.

“You have drawn blood, Saelinriel,” Ugrukhôr says mildly, “For that you have my respect.”

She looks up in an attempt at defiance, though she's certain the pain must show on her face and she struggles to bring herself to her feet, but it is nearly impossible as he advances on her, laughing.

There is nothing else for her to do but raise her shield again despite the pain. 

Ugrukhôr, for all he has said of hating Gothmog, pays no heed to where he lay still on the ground.

She peers up at him from the rim of her shield.

Saelinriel can only just see his head, all the rest of him is blocked by the – somehow unbroken – metal of her shield.

She hears someone picking up their sword, and for a moment she thinks it is Culang but he can barely stand and she’s forced to conclude whoever it is, they are no friend of hers.

When Gothmog comes into her sight, something heavy sinks into her chest.

What was it she’d told Corunir before they came into this cursed place when he asked her about her plan for dealing with Gothmog?  

One of us will not leave that tower.

It seems that she will not be the one leaving. She tries to steady her breathing but then– 

“At last you will know death, Ugrukhôr!”

Before she has the time to register what is happening, Gothmog drives his sword deep into Ugrukhôr’s back, and he slowly begins to tip forward.  

She only just has time to stumble out of the way (making the pain in her arm a hundred times worse) before Ugrukhôr falls face first into the ground with a resounding thud.

She's not sure what just happened, but Gothmog falters too, dropping the sword to the ground. 

Upon inspection, it’s not Gothmog’s sword at all, but Annoth’s. 

So the Captain of the Pit is undone by the sword of Annoth, wielded by Gothmog, and now both Gothmog and Ugrukhôr are undone, Saelinriel thinks to herself as she manages to unbuckle her shield to cradle her arm the best she can.

Then she goes to check on her friends.

Isildur reappears, hovering over his bones but he is stony-faced and silent.

Morinel is responsive and Saelinriel brings her the rune satchel before using the dagger strapped to her boot to slice through her bonds, before they go to kneel beside Idhrin.

She seems fine enough, all things considered, and Morinel goes about picking up from earlier with her runes as if she hadn’t just been tied to a pillar and unconscious.

"I am all right…” Culang says with a cough, when she comes to stand over him, as he uncurls and brings himself, unsteadily, to his feet.

“Are you certain?” Saelinriel asks, and he nods. 

He looks to where Annoth fell, and sighs. 

“He has achieved the vengeance he sought, though it arrived not in the manner he sought. Let him rest now, and may the Thandrim for whom he grieved find peace with the death of Ugrukhôr.”

Culang’s words echo her own thoughts, and she desperately wishes for the peace of the Thandrim – wherever they are. 

He sees Gothmog and Ugrukhôr and shakes his head.  “Is that not the nature of evil? Treacherous even to its own. None shall mourn for either of the slain.”

Death has come to Barad Cúron and claimed two of the masters of Mordor. How many countless others have perished in this throne room over the years? Saelinriel wonders to herself, turning away from them.

“By the waters of Nenuial!” Culang says suddenly, and she turns to face him – and the pain in her wrist spikes. “Gothmog clings to life. He tries to speak, Saelinriel and we should listen. Is it not said that dying men rarely speak falsely with their last breath?”

“Men maybe. A man he is no more,” Saelinriel mutters, but goes to stand above Gothmog anyways. 

It takes him a while to begin speaking again.  

 “Mordor should have been ... should have been mine. No one endured... what I have endured. A curse on them all... but I levy my worst upon Isildur who could have prevented it and did not! He calls me coward? He knows nothing of the torments that made me! From that crucible of evil I was born anew, the greatest creation of Angmar! I was to usher in a new age!”

The fire in Gothmog's eyes flickers and burns low and he looks up at her, and he looks particularly pitiful.

“Why could I not, Saelinriel?” He sounds so broken, so far from the imposing wraith she’s known through the past year, who haunted her nightmares and killed and tortured so many of her friends. 

“There were so many chances, but... the Ranger and the Elf-maid…”

Gothmog stares at the floor, his life's essence departing. 

“Narmeleth,” He says her name quietly. "I think Narmeleth knew the same torments as I. How could she fight... longer than...?”

He falls silent, and it seems as if he will speak no more.  As Saelinriel is about to turn and leave, he reaches out to her and grabs onto the hem of her tunic near the hem at her knees, a trinket held in his clenched fist.

“Listen to me, Saelinriel,” He says urgently, tugging at the fabric.  

She should have stepped back and yanked it out of his hands – there is barely any strength to his grip anymore – but there is something that stops her as if she’s bound to that spot. Saelinriel doesn't know what it is, but she thinks pity might be the closest thing to it, though she doesn't want to admit to it.

“There was a Morgul-slave who knew the secrets of this place. At my Master's command... he forged a key. ‘Only this weapon cannot be overcome,’ the dwarf said to me. I spent the time I could... seeking it... but it eluded me.” 

The fires in his eyes burn lower than before and suddenly she knows that he is dying, for good.

“I give it to you, Saelinriel.” He looks up at her, desperately. “If Mordor cannot be mine... let it be no one's! Find the weapon and use it... against all who seek to master the realm that was denied me!” 

Gothmog presses a broken key into her hand.

Then, he dies at last.

There is still, stunned silence in which none of them speak or move for  a long, long while.

“Even with his last breath he raged against Gondor, and shamed his people!”  Isildur stares down at Gothmog’s corpse with a look of disgust on his face, throwing soft blue light over the ancient walls.  He floats away from Gothmog and comes to her, with something somber behind his eyes. 

“He should have resisted Saelinriel, and died as Eärnur. My brother Anárion would have fought the torments of the Lord of the Nazgûl, and embraced death rather than succumb to such evil. So too would I. But instead, he became a tool for evil, and he died as Gothmog.” Isildur’s eyes flash.  “Let him rot where he lies.” 

He floats over to the wrought silver casket once more. “I do not want my bones to remain here any longer.”

Saelinriel nods as she sinks to sit on the steps, cradling her wrist. 

Eventually Morinel finishes with Idhrin and comes to splint her arm, temporarily, and the four (is it five, if they count Isildur’s bones?) of them stumble back to Barad Arthir. 

[usagimen]

         Shouldn’t it feel nostalgic? To return towards a place she once knew as the only beacon of freedom. Instead, the sensation is that of a trespasser, the wraith that now comes to life, presumed long gone - burning in visible sunlight. A tilt of her head as she exhales a heavy sigh, “Ugh, I hate these types of events they always turn into a competition but not the fun sort” bound fingers that clasp the bridge of her nose, she winces, everything is too noisy in the metropolitan. “Hm, did Gojo-san explain the conditions of this year's gathering? I just received notification recently, looks like I’m helping with the weaponry - that shouldn’t be a problem most of the curses students pursue during these games are pretty average” her noise wrinkles, barely a smirk as her voice taunts. “Let me guess, you’re left in the dark just like me, huh? Rumor has it in Kyoto many bet upon the conjunction of both schools to see the newest sorcerers from who will stand victorious - I’m just curious how it will all play out” 

// @fatewoven (Nanami // s.c.)

[celestemona]

DEEP WATERS

pairing: alhaitham x mermaid! reader

in the stillness of tides, alhaitham unearths a mystery long believed to be legend—a mermaid ensnared, with eyes as deep as the ocean and secrets buried in every wave. drawn by fate and enchanted by her silent song, he finds himself caught between myth and reality. in his quest to understand her world, he risks losing his own heart to the uncharted depths.

cw: part i of ii. fem reader, pronouns s/her are mentioned tho it was written in 2nd person. fluff, fluff. female body specifications; long hair! reader, nudity, slight language barrier’ struggles, characters may seem ooc. shoutout to alhaitham for name you. 15.5k words sue me. not proof-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Alhaitham’s day began like any other, filled with the structured predictability he deemed essential.

As Akademiya’s scribe, he was used to working methodically on his tasks, knowing exactly what was needed and never exceeding those limits. Efficiency was a virtue he held in high regard, after all.

But today, at the request of Lesser Lord Kusanali herself, he was dispatched to Port Ormos to investigate some potential concerns involving certain texts arriving from the neighboring nation. A diplomatic matter with Chenyu Vale, she had suggested, that required someone well-versed in logic and languages—a task he could accomplish quickly and with minimal interruption to his personal duties.

Now, as he stood on the outskirts of Port Ormos with his task nearly complete, Alhaitham surveyed the bustling dock.

While Port Ormos often seemed chaotic to him, he couldn’t deny the appeal of watching the ebb and flow of commerce, of lives interwoven in casual exchanges and swift negotiations. But just as he prepared to leave, his attention was drawn to a quieter stretch of the coast, an isolated, rarely visited area far from the main docks. This was usually his kind of place: quiet and solitary.

However, today, the silence was broken by something… peculiar. It wasn’t the rhythmic murmur of the waves or the occasional seagulls that caught his attention, but an odd, strained sound. It was faint but persistent—a low occasional growl mixed with something he couldn’t immediately identify.

Curiosity piqued, Alhaitham allowed his gaze to scan the sandy stretch. There was no one else in sight; no sailors, no matras. This area seemed entirely deserted, only adding to the mystery. 

He approached cautiously, his trained eyes alert with every movement. Then, amidst the scattered shells and seaweed, he saw it: a glimpse of something familiar yet entirely strange.

A tail. Long, dark, and unmistakably fish-like, though far more mesmerizing in its iridescent palette and certainly larger than any common marine animal. Its dark blue with a touch of gray caught the light and shimmered with shifting hues as the waves lapped gently over it.

Alhaitham’s breath hitched as his gaze traveled from the fish tail to its source, finally landing on the figure trapped in a tangled mess of fishing net.

This was no ordinary sea creature. No. It was a mermaid.

For a man who prided himself on his calm and logical demeanor, Alhaitham felt an undeniable wave of disbelief and fascination wash over him.

Mermaids were, at best, myths—Fontaine tales told in taverns and old children’s books. In his days as a student, he had skimmed the sparse historical mentions of mermaids, intrigued by their academic mystery, though ultimately dismissing them as baseless stories. Historians had little to offer about them—no language to decipher, no artifacts to study. It was all speculative, fantasy stories wrapped in the very mystique of the sea. And now, here you were, a very real mermaid right before him.

Your form was incredibly otherworldly, almost surreal in its beauty. Long hair clung to your shoulders and breasts, darkened by the water and tangled with delicate, glistening pearls, while the scales on your arms and ribs caught the faint light. But it was your face, contorted with a mixture of fear and frustration, that held him in place. Your sharp eyes, almost snake-like, blinked warily as you noticed his approach, and a low growl escaped your throat, an instinctive warning.

Alhaitham took a deep breath, grounding himself in reality. This creature—no, this mermaid—wasn’t just a legend he could dismiss. You were tangible, vulnerable, and caught in a trap you clearly couldn’t escape from.

Kneeling out of your reach, he chose his movements with calculated care. “Easy there,” he murmured, his tone neutral yet soft, more for his own benefit than yours. He doubted you’d understand, but it was instinctive to try and soothe you. He slowly extended a hand, palm open, hoping you could see he meant no harm.

Your sharp gaze tracked his every movement, a soft, cautious hiss slipping from your lips. You moved your tail against the net, trying once again to free yourself, but the more you struggled, the tighter the net seemed to trap you. Alhaitham’s gaze dropped to your bare torso, noticing the faint shimmer of scales marred by bruises, likely from your attempts to break free.

He looked back at you, meeting your wary, defiant gaze. Your intelligence was unmistakable—in your eyes, he could see a spark of recognition and caution. You knew he was a threat, but also, perhaps, your only chance.

“Alright,” he said, as if reasoning with a wild creature, and began to move carefully toward the edge of the net. You tensed, the sharp gleam of your canines visible as you bared your teeth in warning. Alhaitham paused, feeling a mix of danger and a strange empathy.

“Relax,” he said softly, ensuring his gestures were as non-threatening as possible. You continued to watch him, your expression still wary but curious. Up close, he could see your long, sharp nails, the delicate, translucent membranes between your fingers and the subtle rise and fall of your gills as you breathed shallowly and anxiously. Your beauty was undeniable but in a way that felt unreal, beyond anything he had ever encountered.

Alhaitham slowly reached for the knife at his belt, the blade glinting in the faint light. Your eyes narrowed, a low, almost inaudible growl escaping as you observed him. “I’m here to help,” he assured, keeping his tone calm, as if you could understand his intent through his voice alone.

As he brought the blade closer to the tangled net, your body went rigid, muscles tensing as if ready to spring—or strike. Your gaze locked onto his, every line of your body taut, your breathing shallow and rapid. For a brief moment, he paused, meeting your gaze with a nod of understanding, as if to say: Trust me, just for now.

With practiced ease, he cut a few threads, loosening the net just enough to give you some room. You flinched, your tail contracting involuntarily, but you didn’t pull away, allowing him to continue his work. He cut it carefully, each movement deliberate, keeping his own breathing steady as he watched your response.

He couldn’t help but wonder at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, the notorious and logical Scribe of the Akademiya, performing a rescue for something—or someone—he once dismissed as pure fantasy. The tales he had brushed aside as stories seemed to dissolve before this living being. Yet his mind continued to spin with questions he couldn’t suppress: How did you end up here, trapped in this net? And what would become of you now?

As he cut the last thread, he noticed your injured tail more clearly, a long red line seeping through the translucent scales. A frown crossed his face as he sheathed the knife, feeling the faintest pang of concern.

“You’re hurt,” he said quietly, not knowing if you would understand him. You shifted slightly, flexing your tail as if testing your freedom, your expression cautious but no longer as frantic. Your eyes met his again, and for a moment, something like gratitude flashed in your gaze—fleeting, almost imperceptible, but there.

He couldn’t help but smile slightly, feeling a pull of fascination, his mind instinctively cataloging every feature, every movement. 

Yet Alhaitham’s thoughts clicked into the details of the situation with calculated precision.

He observed the desolate stretch of beach where he found you, far removed from the main port and any regular fishing route. This area was more of a neglected backwater than a place frequented by locals, let alone fishermen. He was certain you hadn’t been captured here intentionally; instead, you must have ventured here alone, in danger or by mistake, only to be caught by the tangled mess of nets, possibly abandoned by a passing fishing boat.

He looked back at you, his analytical gaze softening slightly. Faced with this new reality, you bore little resemblance to the wild, monstrous figures folklore sometimes suggested. You were undeniably alive, aware, and your beauty, strange and striking, had an almost hypnotic quality.

But despite his attempts at rational analysis, concern rooted itself as he examined your injuries.

The wound on your tail continued bleeding slowly, deep crimson droplets blending into the sea water. He didn’t know how long you had been trapped, but the blood loss, however gradual, could spell trouble if left untreated. There was also the issue of eremites and mercenaries who roamed the outskirts of Port Ormos, not to mention treasure hunters and opportunists. You’d be a prize beyond imagination for many of them if they found you in this weakened state…

The weight of your expectant gaze held him in the moment, your snake-like eyes gleaming with suspicion and interest. You watched him closely, trying to understand him as he studied you. He could see in the slight press of your lips, as if bracing to hiss or growl, ready to flee if needed. But he also noticed that, even in your obvious wariness, there was a glimmer of something more—a reluctant trust, perhaps, that he wasn’t here to harm you.

He took a careful step forward, his voice calm. “Can you understand me?” he asked, each word slow and deliberate. 

Silence, save for the rhythmic lap of waves against the shore.

Opting to approach you through another means, Alhaitham raised a hand to his chest, fingertips gently pressing over his heart. He met your eyes, holding your gaze firmly, and said, “Alhaitham,” keeping his voice low, repeating the name once more, “Al-Haitham,” drawing each syllable with deliberate clarity.

You head tilted cutely, eyes blinking expressively. You watched his gesture, your gaze lingering on the hand over his heart, as if trying to decipher the meaning in his movements and tone. He could see your intrigue, the silent intelligence behind your eyes suggesting that, though there was no response, his words had not entirely gone unnoticed.

Satisfied to have given you something to hold onto, Alhaitham took a deep breath to calm himself.

Internally, the scribe wrestled with a series of difficult choices. Returning you to the sea seemed the most logical path, but there was no certainty that you’d survive the injuries. And considering the bystanders lingering in the area, leaving you there could be even more risky. On the other hand, bringing you to his own home was… complicated. The logistics alone were challenging. He lived a fair distance from Port Ormos—nearly half an hour by walking—and carrying you the entire way risked exposure for both you and himself.

As he turned these options over in his mind, you shifted slightly, a barely audible groan revealing you discomfort. The sight stirred an unexpected protectiveness within him. Practicality aside, leaving you in that state wasn’t an option he could consider.

He crouched beside you once again, his expression softening when he met your gaze. “It seems you’ve left me with little choice,” he murmured, half to himself. “I’ll have to find a way to take you with me.”

You blinked, your gaze never leaving him.

When he extended his hand toward you, you immediately stiffened and hissed aggressively, your body tensing as if bracing for what might come next. Alhaitham kept his movements slow and deliberate, waiting until the tension in your shoulders eased enough. When he placed a careful hand beneath you, your damp skin was smooth, cool to the touch, and your scales gleamed slightly even in the last traces of sunlight. Your breathing steadied, though he could still feel your persistent nerves.

He thought for a moment, gauging your weight, and realized it’d be challenging to carry you all the way to his home without attracting attention. He glanced back at the main harbor, then at you, pondering an alternative solution.

Then his eyes landed on an old wooden cart leaning against the weathered side of a nearby storage shed. The cart was small, probably used to transport boxes of fish or bags of supplies from the coast, with thick wheels designed to handle rough paths. Judging by the nets and equipment scattered around it, it likely belonged to a fisherman or trader who had left it unattended for the day.

With a hint of reluctance, Alhaitham assessed the cart and the possible risks of borrowing it. But practicality won out; the cart was discreet and functional, a solution he couldn’t ignore.

Carefully, he carried you toward the cart, moving at a steady, unhurried pace to keep your calm. You were clearly frightened, your body tensing slightly as he approached the cart, but your eyes remained focused on him, not on the unfamiliar contraption.

“It’s the best I can do for now,” he murmured, his tone gentler, as he placed a soft cloth he had found along the cart’s surface, creating a makeshift cushion over the rough wood.

Slowly, he guided you to sit, your injured tail carefully positioned on the padding. Your eyes darted between him and the cart, a flicker of nervousness visible in the way your fingers clenched and relaxed, but you stayed still, watching him intently as he adjusted the cloth around you.

Once he was certain you were settled, he grasped the iron handle of the cart and began to pull, setting a careful yet steady rhythm. The journey ahead was longer than he had anticipated, and he kept his attention on the road, his mind flooded with questions he couldn’t yet answer.

As you both traced the more secluded paths back to his home, Alhaitham found himself glancing over his shoulder at you, curiosity mingling with a cautious sense of awe. The sound of the cart’s wheels rolling over the uneven path filled the silence between you two, a strangely rhythmic backdrop for his swirling thoughts.

This encounter was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He had encountered beings as mythical as they were magical during his studies, but mermaids—real mermaids—had always been a subject wrapped in mystery and skepticism. And now here he was, with a living, breathing mystery being carried by him in an old, borrowed cart, with questions he could hardly begin to ask.

As he neared home, Alhaitham’s thoughts began to drift toward Kaveh, his housemate. The scribe knew he had the right to bring anyone he wanted into his own home, yet he couldn’t entirely ignore the small tug of doubt about what the architect might think of this stranger among them—especially given the undeniable peculiarity of the situation.

When they finally arrived, Alhaitham noticed an unusual stillness in the cart.

Looking back, he was startled to find you breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling with visible effort. Your eyelids fluttered, your gaze unfocused and barely registering your surroundings. He had assumed you were silent due to simple exhaustion, but now he could see your strength waning; the wound on your tail was no longer bleeding heavily, but your skin had lost its previous luster, becoming dull and slightly pale.

He realized, with a start, that you had likely been out of the water for too long, your injuries worsening your condition. Without a second thought, he lifted you into his arms, your weight shifting in his hold as he carefully cradled you against his chest. Your skin was colder than he had expected, and you barely reacted, your head drooping slightly to one side as he carried you through the entrance.

The house was quiet, he noticed. Kaveh was probably finishing a project or relaxing at the local tavern. In a way, it was a relief; Alhaitham didn’t want to face questions yet, not when every minute counted. Quickly, he headed to his suite, knowing the bathroom there would be the best place to stabilize you.

Reaching the bathroom, the scribe laid you on the floor, leaning you against the wall while he turned on the bathtub’s faucet. The water splashed and rose in the tub, filling the room with a soft, familiar sound, and he carefully tested the temperature, ensuring it was comfortable for you.

Once the tub was full, he returned to your side, sliding his arms around you to lift you again, and gently submerged you in the water.

The effect was almost immediate. The tension in your shoulders began to ease, your body relaxing as you adjusted to the gentle embrace of the water. Your tail submerged partially, the scales faintly shimmering as your breathing began to steady. You blinked slowly, your eyes finally regaining some clarity, and your gaze turned to him once more.

Alhaitham found himself watching you, captivated. The way you moved in the water was like observing a creature in its natural element; you were graceful, serene, each of your movements fluid and instinctive, even in such a small space. For a moment, you seemed almost at peace, adjusting to your new environment with a slight sense of wonder.

After a while, Alhaitham sat on a stool nearby, examining the wound on your tail with a more clinical gaze. The cut looked deeper up close, irregular and red along the edges, likely worsened by your struggle against the net.

Carefully, he extended his hand toward it, intending to assess the damage — but at the first touch, you recoiled, a soft yet distinct growl rumbling in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his hand, narrowing in a sharp warning.

“Easy,” he said softly, his voice measured and calm. “I just want to help.”

You held his gaze, still defensive, your eyes distrustful and unyielding.

Alhaitham considered his options, realizing he needed to show you his intentions. Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve, exposing a small area of his forearm. Using a small, sterilized knife from the medical kit he kept nearby, he made a small cut. Without breaking eye contact, he took a roll of bandages and tended to the wound, pressing a small cloth to it to stop the bleeding, then securing it with careful precision.

You watched intently, your sharp eyes following every movement as he applied the bandage and finished his demonstration. He extended his hand, showing you the process was harmless, then gestured toward your injured tail with a look of gentle insistence.

Your gaze shifted from the bandaged arm to his face, and then, slowly, you relented, your tail moving toward him in a tentative gesture of trust.

Alhaitham excused and his fingers moved over the surface of your tail, the scales cool and smooth under his touch, a strange blend of softness and strength. He found himself fascinated by the texture, each scale catching faint glimmers of color as he carefully cleaned the wound and applied a thin layer of antiseptic balm.

Your reaction was hesitant, but you didn’t resist, your gaze fixed on him with a mix of attentiveness and intrigue. Alhaitham was silent, focusing on his task, though he couldn’t shake the strange sensation of examining something so mythical, so utterly otherworldly.

When he finished, he moved back a bit, giving you space to adjust and settle into the bathtub.

For a moment, the room fell silent, and Alhaitham realized you were likely hungry. Recalling his pantry, he remembered there were some canned fish—a simple, if humble, option. He rose, nodding apologetically before heading to the kitchen.

There, he grabbed the can and opened it, the salty, familiar scent wafting into the air. When he returned, you watched him with expectant eyes, your curiosity rekindled. He sat beside the tub again and offered the food, waiting to see how you would react. At first, you wrinkled your nose, suspicion shining in your gaze, but after a moment, you carefully took a piece, chewing it timidly.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. You devoured the rest with surprising intensity, your hunger evident as you finished the fish with quick, eager bites. When you looked back at him, pupils dilated and gleaming, your expression softened into something almost sweet. The unguarded look, the silent request in your face, caught him off guard—you wanted more.

A slight smile played on his lips, amused by your sudden change. Without saying a word, he grabbed another can, opened it, and offered it to you. You accepted it with the same voracious energy, and he found himself even more captivated, watching you eat with a fascination that was part analytical, part genuine curiosity, a faint hint of acceptance surfacing.

“So that’s all it takes to earn your trust, huh? Just a bit of food,” he remarked, his voice carrying a tone of entertainment as he straightened on the stool, arms crossed. His eyes gleamed with rare humor, the softened edge that few had ever seen. When he chuckled, you looked up, momentarily intrigued by the sound.

But that lightness faded as his mind returned to the current situation, his brow furrowing in quiet thought.

Alhaitham couldn’t help but feel unsettled by the scene of this creature from myth, an enigma he could barely believe was real, now looking at him from his bathtub. And he, a man usually content with the solitude of his own space, was now bound to share it with you, a mystery he found himself inevitably drawn to.

He took a deep breath and leaned toward you, his fingers interlacing.

“Where did you come from, huh?” he asked, his voice softer this time, as if coaxing an answer. “How did you end up here in Sumeru of all places?”

Each question felt like a whisper, a thread he was following in search of answers he wasn’t sure you even had.

His gaze lingered on your face, his eyes softened as he searched for some hint of recognition, something that would give him insight into the untold story you carried. But you only tilted your head, watching him with those beautiful, sharp, and intrigued eyes, and he sighed, recognizing that these questions might not yield anything for now.

With a contemplative look, he continued, more to himself now, “I don’t know how long you’ll be staying here, but…” His gaze drifted to the edge of the tub. “We’ll need to get past this language barrier,” he said, watching you carefully, noticing how you seemed to respond, if not to his words, then at least to his tone. You might not have spoken yet, but he had a strong suspicion you understood more than he initially thought.

He straightened up again, arms crossed over his chest, already planning his next steps. “Teaching you some basics should be manageable,” he mused. “You seem smart. I’ll start with simple words. Maybe that’ll give us some common ground.”

His thoughts briefly wandered to the Akademiya’s library. The House of Daena held numerous books and journals, fragments of knowledge, notes from scholars who had studied all sorts of myths. Perhaps there was something in those pages that could hold the answers he needed. He’d make a point to return there tomorrow.

Lost in thought, he murmured, “I can’t keep you in the tub forever, either. We’ll have to address that eventually.” His voice trailed off as he considered the situation more practically. For now, the tub would suffice, but it was far from a long-term solution.

You followed his every movement, though it was clear your interest was more in your surroundings than in him.

Occasionally, your gaze would drift from the dim candlelight to the strange objects decorating the bathroom, absorbing each detail of this world that was foreign to you. Alhaitham found himself staring at you, surprised at how naturally you seemed to fit into the space—a strange contrast considering you were a creature of the water, yet here you were, curious and present in the heart of his world.

Moments passed in silence, both lost in separate thoughts—Alhaitham weighing his options.

Some time later, he noticed the way your eyes began to close, your body finally giving in to the day’s exhaustion. You leaned against the edge of the tub, breathing softly, eyelids heavy. A faint, almost affectionate smile crossed his lips as he murmured, “A long day, no doubt.”

With a low chuckle, he straightened, adjusting the dim lighting to give you peace. “Goodnight,” he said softly, letting the silence of the bathroom settle over you as he returned to his suite.

Once in his room, he shed the day’s fatigue along with his usual attire, slipping into more comfortable clothing. Yet even as he tried to shift his focus, his thoughts returned to you. The mystery of who you were, what you were, haunted him in the most unexpected ways. Every answer led to another question, but that wasn’t the unsettling part. No—it was the quiet fascination you stirred within him, a desire to unravel that he never had felt before.

Heading to the kitchen, he prepared a quick meal for himself. He served a simple broth, letting it simmer as he went over the potential tasks for tomorrow.

Pay a visit to the Akademiya’ library was a must, he concluded. Perhaps he could find some records that might offer insights into mermaid lore.

But there was more to consider—how would he navigate the practicalities of living alongside you? How’d Kaveh react to your existence? The solution to the language barrier seemed a smart move, but could you communicate in the same way humans did? The thoughts accumulated, persisting as he carried his food back to his chair.

Settling in with a book about the different cultures of the desert tribes, Alhaitham tried to immerse himself in its pages, though his eyes drifted now and then toward his suite door. There was a strange sense of responsibility he couldn’t ignore.

When he had read as much as his mind would allow for the night, he got up, walking quietly to the bathroom to check on you one last time.

You were there. You were real.

The faintest trace of a smile crossed his face as he saw you sleeping, your body half-submerged in the water, your tail draped over the side of the tub. The room fell into a gentle silence, the soft rhythm of your breathing the only sound.

He lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, his mind reluctantly calming as he absorbed the peace of the moment. Finally, he closed the door and turned, heading back to his room.

After finishing his nightly routines somewhere else, Alhaitham lay in bed, his thoughts wavering between the strange events of the day and the mysteries tomorrow would bring. But tonight, he allowed himself a rare luxury: to set aside the unknown, choosing instead to let the calm of the moment settle over him.

With one last lingering thought of you, he let sleep claim him, already aware that his life had changed, subtly but irrevocably, the moment he found you.

When the first rays of dawn slipped into the room, Alhaitham woke, his mind returning to the surreal events of the previous day. 

For a brief moment, he wondered if it had all been a trick of his tired mind, but the memory of your cautious yet inquisitive gaze quickly dismissed the notion. Getting up, he adjusted his clothes and headed to the bathroom, his mind already reflecting on the day’s responsibilities—and the unique situation of having a mermaid as an unexpected guest.

Opening the bathroom door, he was greeted by the sight of you already awake, fingers trailing through the water with a kind of childlike curiosity. As soon as you sensed his presence, you lifted your head, and he was met with what could only be described as a warm, welcoming look. Your sharp, reflective eyes held a glimmer of trust, hesitant but undeniably there, as if his arrival was something to be anticipated rather than feared. 

Alhaitham felt a small smile tug at his lips as he observed your response, taking it as a sign that you were becoming accustomed to him.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice softened by the quietness of the early hour.

The words seemed to capture your attention even more closely, though he knew the meaning might be lost on you. Still, he kept his tone gentle, observing the way you seemed to listen, almost as if searching for something familiar in his voice. “I see you’re feeling at home,” there was a hint of amusement in his tone, his eyes flicking to the water you were swirling with your fingers.

Turning to the sink, he splashed water on his face and grabbed his toothbrush, methodically following the movements of his morning routine. He was aware of your gaze, fixed on each motion, following the toothbrush in his hand as he brought it to his mouth. Pausing, he looked at you, the faintest smile curving his lips as he leaned back against the sink.

“Curious now, aren’t we? It’s a toothbrush. We use it to… well, keep our teeth clean,” he explained, though he had no real expectation that you’d understand. Nevertheless, there was something strangely satisfying about sharing these little details with you, as if guiding you through the peculiarities of human life.

You watched him closely, your eyes darting between the toothbrush, the sink, and the running water. The slight confusion on your face was so genuine, so openly curious, that he found himself chuckling quietly. “I suppose none of this makes sense to you. But we humans have our habits.”

When he finished, Alhaitham straightened, casting one last look in your direction before heading to the door. “I’ll bring you some breakfast,” he said, as much out of habit as anything else, already noting the slight inquisitive tilt of your head. He lingered a moment longer than necessary, almost reluctant to leave the room, before finally heading to the kitchen to prepare for the day.

Entering the kitchen, he found Kaveh already there, hunched over a cup of coffee with a look that bordered on pure misery. The dark circles under his eyes and his slow, almost agonizing sips of coffee told Alhaitham everything he needed to know.

“Rough night?” Alhaitham’s tone was clearly teasing, though he made little effort to hide his mild disapproval. Kaveh didn’t even bother looking up, merely muttering something unintelligible as he stared at his mug.

“Don’t start,” the other man grumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. “It’s too early for your lectures.”

Alhaitham’s lips twitched in mockery, barely hiding an ironic smile. “Lectures? Hardly. Just an observation. Maybe a bit of moderation would do you good.”

Kaveh scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Moderation isn’t exactly your strong suit either, judging by the amount of research papers scattered around.” He drained his coffee, muttering something about Alhaitham’s inability to keep the house organized and stumbled toward his room, the door closing with a weary thud behind him.

Shaking his head, Alhaitham turned his attention to the fridge, rummaging through its contents with a quiet purpose. He picked a selection of food he hoped might appeal to you—some leftover shrimp, dried fish, and a few other options he thought might please a creature of the sea.

Returning to you, he noticed how your gaze instantly brightened at the sight of the food he held. A barely concealed smile crossed his face as he watched your eager expression, the way you leaned forward slightly, anticipation evident in your wide eyes.

“I see I’ve already discovered the key to earning your trust,” he commented with a soft chuckle, placing the food beside the tub. “A little food, and suddenly I’m not so intimidating.”

Sitting on the stool near the tub, he watched you as you picked up the shrimp, a glimmer of wonder followed by the same fervor with which you had devoured last night’s meal. The moment you tasted it, your expression shifted to one of contentment, and he couldn’t help but be amused by how expressive you were.

“Listen,” he began in a conversational tone, though he knew the full implications were likely lost on you, “I’ll need to be away for a while,” he paused, as if weighing his words. “However, in the meantime, I’ll also check if there’s anything that might be useful for understanding your situation.”

You looked up briefly, eyes attentive, and Alhaitham felt a spark of satisfaction at your apparent focus. It was as if, despite the language barrier, some part of you had grasped the importance of his words.

He continued, a thoughtful tone in his voice, “Besides, I can’t leave you in the bathtub indefinitely, so I’ll work on a more appropriate solution. I’d like to have it back, after all,” he paused, almost speaking to himself, “Then, there’s Kaveh too who I should approach the current subject but I can deal with him later. The most important now is figure out how we’re gonna work on building your vocabulary. Just enough so we can understand each other.”

The statement lingered in the air, half a plan and half a promise.

Alhaitham realized he was already thinking about putting his plans in action, wondering if he might start teaching you simple words and phrases as soon as possible. His fingers tapped absently on his knee as he considered the logistics, the potential challenges—and rewards—of bridging that language gap.

From time to time, your gaze fell on him, as if assessing his intentions, though it didn’t take long before your focus shifted again, captivated by something else now that sunlight bright your surroundings. He marveled at your ability to find fascination in the simplest things, and for a brief moment, he felt a strange pang of something he couldn’t quite identify—a bubbling discomfort in his stomach, almost unsettling.

The silence became comfortable, broken only by the occasional soft sound of the water and  you eating.

Alhaitham’s gaze drifted to the soft morning light stretching across the bathroom floor, and he suddenly realized he’d lost track of time.

A sigh escaped him as he finally rose from his seat. “Looks like that’s my cue.”

Your gaze followed him, an imperceptible questioning look in your eyes that made him chuckle softly. “What?” he said, his voice gentler. “I may not understand where you came from, but I’ll make sure you’re comfortable here.”

With one last look, he left the room to gather his things and prepare for work.

As he adjusted his attire, his thoughts returned to the moments you’d spent observing him—a feeling that lingered, even as he headed to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee.

Before leaving, he returned to check on you one last time and considered whether or not to lock the bedroom door. He doubted you’d drag yourself around the house and was sure Kaveh wouldn’t intrude on his privacy. So, he only closed the door and make his way to the exit.

He cast one last look behind him before leaving his home and heading toward the Akademiya.

At his work, Alhaitham went through the day with practiced ease. 

The tasks before him were routine; his hands swiftly leafed through documents, marking necessary corrections and assessing reports without losing pace. Occasionally, a colleague would pass by with a nod or a brief greeting, which he returned in his usual, calm manner, though his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He found himself wondering how you were doing, alone and adjusting to the strange, new world of his home.

During lunch, he took a detour to the House of Daena.

The familiar shelves surrounded him, but he was focused, his eyes scanning the spines of books and journals, all marked with references to the ancient legends and myths of Teyvat. Thanks to his access to restricted areas, he pored over some of the oldest and rarest manuscripts, hoping to glean at least a trace of knowledge about mermaids.

Most entries were vague at best—poetic reflections, scattered notes from long-dead historians, and tales from Fontaine that seemed like fables. However, he gathered hints that mermaids, if they existed, were mysterious beings known for their enchantments and charm over men, with powers beyond human understanding. Intriguing, though frustratingly incomplete.

As the sun began to set, Alhaitham finally left the office. 

On his way home, he stopped by a nearby fishmonger’s stall. Fresh seafood was piled high—crabs, shrimp, mussels. Selecting a variety, he figured you would enjoy the options. Just as he was reaching for his mora pouch, he spotted Kaveh rushing toward him from across the plaza, his usually composed friend looking distinctly out of sorts.

“Alhaitham!” Kaveh’s voice was breathless, incredulous, as he skidded to a halt beside him. “You—you need to go home. Right now!”

The scribe raised an eyebrow. “Good to see you too. But if you notice, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Kaveh said, nervously running a hand through his hair. “There’s—there’s a naked woman in our kitchen!”

Both Alhaitham and the vendor froze, the scribe’s mind, thouggh, racing a mile a minute. Kaveh looked genuinely shaken, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide with a mix of panic and disbelief.

“A woman…?” Alhaitham repeated, the words slipping out as he tried to process what his friend had said.

“Yes! A very naked woman! In our kitchen!” Kaveh’s voice dropped to a hiss. “She’s just—she’s in there, rummaging through the food like she owns the place!”

The realization hit Alhaitham like a shock, his pulse quickening. He barely acknowledged the merchant’s chocked stare as he turned, leaving his purchases behind as he quickly made his way home. Kaveh struggled to keep up, throwing his hands in the air.

“Alhaitham, what’s going on? Do you know something? I should’ve known I wasn’t imagining things when I heard voices coming from your room this morning. Since when do you bring women home without even giving me a heads-up? And—she’s stunning! But who—what—?”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. His mind was a whirlwind of questions, scenarios, and a strange, unexpected excitement tinged with worry. He’d hoped you’d stay in the bathtub—not creating legs and wandering around defenseless.

Kaveh was still talking, ranting in exasperation, but Alhaitham only caught fragments.

“Just… be quiet for a moment,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the path as his pace quickened.

Upon arriving home, he opened the door cautiously, Kaveh practically breathing down his neck. Heading toward the kitchen, he felt a palpable tension. And then he saw you.

You were in the center of it, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun streaming through the windows. Your human form was… breathtaking. The long, now-dry locks of your hair cascaded over your shoulders, reaching your waist, framing your face with an ethereal quality that somehow amplified your beauty tenfold. Your features—sharp yet soft, and your eyes, still carrying that same hint of mystery and allure—caught the light, leaving him speechless.

Your skin seemed to glow, luminous in a way that appeared almost otherworldly. And you were indeed very, very naked.

His gaze remained, caught between awe and sheer disbelief. You were in his kitchen, the same creature he had found tangled in the fishing net, and yet, looking at you now, he couldn’t help but feel utterly captivated.

Kaveh stammered beside him, his face bright red as he averted his gaze. “Alhaitham, seriously! Are you going to explain this or just keep staring?”

Snapping out of his trance, Alhaitham cleared his throat, masking his surprise with a carefully neutral expression. He stepped forward, catching your attention. “You… You’re human now,” he murmured, almost to himself, the amazement still lingering in his voice.

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a glint of recognition and curiosity. In that moment, Alhaitham felt a faint trace of familiarity in your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you.

Then, to his surprise, you opened your mouth, and a single soft word escaped.

“‘Haitham.”

Alhaitham’s eyes widened. His name—or a version of it—spoken in your voice for the first time.

A strange warmth spread through him as he heard it, his own name seeming to carry an unexpected weight, as if imbued with the raw honesty of a first word. He barely had time to process it before you stepped closer and gently pulled his face toward yours, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

Kaveh let out an audible gasp beside him, his face flooding with color as he stumbled back, practically tripping over his own feet. “Archons above! What is happening to the world?” His voice was nearly a squeak as he pressed himself against the far wall, looking like he might faint from the shock.

Alhaitham, though not someone easily perturbed, found himself momentarily frozen, his pulse quickening as he processed your action. He had read about mermaid customs, albeit only briefly in fragmented records, but it occurred to him that this gesture might mean something— perhaps a greeting, a way of recognizing trust and acceptance.

With that realization, his surprise softened into something closer to warmth. The gesture felt innocent, sincere. Alhaitham’s lips curved upward, and his eyes softened as he met yours. “So, that’s how you say ‘hello,’” he murmured, his voice low, as if not wanting to break the moment.

You tilted your head, amusement gleaming in your gaze for the first time, as if you could somehow sense his thoughts. Meanwhile, Kaveh, still pressed against the wall, looked on with equal parts horror and disbelief.

“Oh, I’m going to lose my mind,” he muttered, covering his eyes as if to give the two of you some privacy. “Alhaitham, please tell me you have some kind of explanation for this—this whole situation.”

Ignoring the other man’s confused state, Alhaitham took a step back. “You surprised me,” he said, his voice softened, warmth in his tone. “I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t even sure if you could take on a human form, let alone speak so quickly.” He managed a small smile, the corners of his lips curling as he realized he had far more to learn about you than he initially thought.

Kaveh, still covering his eyes with one hand, muttered, “Unbelievable! You're still talking? Only you'd find yourself in this situation and still stay calm.”

Alhaitham shot him a brief look, though he couldn’t entirely blame him. Turning to you, he gently gestured for you to follow. “Come. Let’s find something for you to wear.”

As you followed him, Alhaitham tried to ignore Kaveh’s incredulous expression. He knew he’d be bombarded with questions later, but for now, all that mattered was getting you settled, dressed, and perhaps—if possible—beginning to understand the mystery you had brought into his life.

Alhaitham’s clothes hung loosely on you, but he found a way to tie them securely, adjusting the sleeves and waistband as comfortably as possible. 

While he dressed you, his eyes always averting when they fell on your exposed intimates, you looked down at yourself, wide-eyed and fascinated, tilting your head as if entranced by the strange, soft fabric now covering your skin. He noticed how you examined each new sensation—the way the sleeves brushed against your arms, how the fabric rested on your shoulders, and the feeling of something covering your legs. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you try to make sense of it all.

Once he ensured you were clothed, your wound tended, and provided with food that seemed to delight you, Alhaitham guided you back to the main room, where Kaveh awaited.

The architect’s mouth fell open as he observed your every movement, absorbing how you moved with a blend of grace and wonder, entirely captivated by each new detail around you. Blissfully unaware of their gazes, you seemed utterly fascinated by how your own feet flexed and moved, watching them with open curiosity as if they were little, curious creatures.

Kaveh broke the silence, his eyes still wide with disbelief. “Alright… start explaining, or I might think I’m hallucinating. Or still drunk.”

Ever practical, Alhaitham recounted the events precisely, detailing how he found you entangled in fishing nets, the injury you’d suffered, and his decision to bring you home to heal.

“I didn’t know if she would survive in the wild with her injuries,” he added, his tone practical, though he couldn’t help glancing at you to make sure you were still comfortable. “It seemed the most reasonable option.”

Kaveh nodded slowly, his expression blank as he pieced together the story. “So, you’re saying she’s not just some random woman, but actually a mermaid—a living legend—and you decided to bring her here.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a low whistle. “I can’t say I blame you. But… what do you plan to do next?”

Alhaitham crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “She’s free to leave whenever she wants. But with her injury”—he gestured subtly to your bandaged leg—“I doubt she’ll go far. Until she heals, she’ll stay here, and I’ll try to learn as much as I can. We still know so little about her species.”

Kaveh raised an eyebrow. “You realize what you’re saying, right? We’re talking about a mermaid, not just some stray animal you can study. People would pay a fortune just to catch a glimpse of her. She could be in real danger if someone else, or even the Akademiya, finds out.”

Alhaitham didn’t waver. “I’m well aware. That’s why, for now, she stays here. I’ll be careful.”

Kaveh, even relunctantly, nodded, his concern gradually shifting to fascination as he watched you stretch your legs, then flex your feet experimentally, giggling with delight.

“Does she understand us? I mean, can she speak our language since she had said your name a while ago?”

A faint smile played at the corner of Alhaitham’s lips. “She’s getting the hang of it.”

Kaveh brightened, leaning forward with a smile. “Ah, well, in that case…” He pointed to himself, speaking slowly and clearly, “Kaveh!”

Your gaze quickly lifted from your feet to study Kaveh, and you seemed to pay considerable attention to his name. With your brows slightly furrowed, you tilted your head, then murmured softly, “Haitham.”

Kaveh’s smile faltered, his face contorting in confusion as he shot Alhaitham an incredulous look, who was suppressing an amused look.

Determined, Kaveh repeated his name, louder this time. “Kaveh,” he insisted, as if pure repetition would yield better results.

You watched him with a mixture of curiosity and slight confusion, though a barely perceptible glimmer of pure mischief crossed your eyes. Confident, you repeated again: “Haitham.”

Alhaitham couldn’t hold back. A low chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head, watching Kaveh’s patience fray as he let out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, I get it,” Kaveh muttered, crossing his arms and pouting. “I’m just the ‘other guy,’ huh?”

“She’s learning,” Alhaitham reassured, a faint but warm smile touching his lips. “It’ll take time, and she seems to have chosen a starting point.” He looked at you, his gaze softened. This didn’t escape the architect’s sharp eyes, who raised an eyebrow subtly.

In the end, Kaveh rolled his eyes but couldn’t fully hide a smile. “Well, I suppose I’m honored to be in her presence anyway,” his gaze lingered on you, his voice softening with a kind of reverence. “It’s still hard to believe. This—this is actually real.”

Alhaitham’s gaze shifted from Kaveh back to you, his eyes calm but observant. “Yes,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, “it is.” The smile in his eyes remained, becoming a bit more serious. “And I think our lives just got a lot more interesting.”

The conversation continued, flowing naturally between Alhaitham and Kaveh, though their attention rarely drifted from you.

Kaveh’s eyes shone with unmistakable fascination every time he looked in your direction, still grappling with the fact that he was in the presence of a mermaid. Alhaitham, meanwhile, was studying you with a different intent, as if weighing the potential for you not only adapt further, or learn and communicate, but perhaps even bridge the gap between your worlds entirely.

And yet, both men couldn’t ignore your beauty—a graceful, ethereal presence that captivated them even in this simple, domestic setting.

After a lull in the conversation, Kaveh cleared his throat, shifting his gaze between Alhaitham and you. “You know, I was thinking… does she have a name?” He looked at Alhaitham expectantly, as if the answer was obvious.

Alhaitham blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment. He hadn’t even considered it until now; you’d only just learned to say his name, so the thought of you having one of your own hadn’t crossed his mind.

Seeing his hesitation, Kaveh continued, “We can’t just keep calling her ‘she,’ ‘mermaid’, ‘woman’ or something vague all the time. She deserves a name.”

Alhaitham nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. She should have a name… something that suits her.” He looked at you, his gaze contemplative, as if searching for some hidden part of your essence to capture in a single word.

Kaveh, always the creative, leaned forward eagerly. “Alright, how about… ‘Sapphire’? She has that ethereal, oceanic vibe, right?”

Alhaitham frowned slightly. “Too obvious.”

Undeterred, Kaveh tried again. “Alright, then… ‘Pearl’? She has this… luminous quality.”

Alhaitham tilted his head. “A bit too delicate. It doesn’t match her strength.”

Kaveh leaned back on the sofa, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Alright, Mr. Critic. What do you suggest?”

A faint spark of memory lit up Alhaitham’s eyes, and he looked at you, seemingly lost in thought.

“There was an ancient text I read some time ago about the mythology of a lost kingdom. In it, there was a name that stood out to me… (Y/N).” The name slipped from his lips with a gentle reverence, as if resurrected from some ancient memory.

You looked up, tilting your head at the sound. Something about the name resonated, as if it called to a part of you that you hadn’t realized was waiting for it. A faint glimmer of recognition seemed to flicker in your gaze, and the smallest, almost imperceptible smile curved your lips. Alhaitham noticed, his eyes widening as he observed your reaction.

Kaveh, noticing your response as well, let out a low whistle. “Well, that settles it. (Y/N). It has a mystique aura, something that feels… timeless.”

Alhaitham nodded, his gaze locked on yours with a hint of satisfaction. “(Y/N),” he repeated softly, as if affirming the choice. You responded by smiling at him, your expression open and serene, as if accepting the name as your own.

In that moment, Alhaitham felt a quiet sense of accomplishment, as if he had bridged another small yet meaningful gap between you and the human world. Kaveh, adjusting himself with a smile, looked at you both in reverence. “Well, it seems we’ve officially welcomed (Y/N) into our lives.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The days passed quickly, and Alhaitham found himself studying you almost as closely as you seemed to study the world around you. 

Teaching you turned out to be a surprisingly smooth process—‘hello’, ‘yes’ and ‘no’ being the words you’ve learned easily and used the most along with his name. You absorbed new words with a quiet curiosity, and even when your attention drifted to things like sunlight gleaming on a glass or the smell of incense from somewhere nearby, you still seemed to remember his words as if you’d stored them in a special place in your mind.

Your palette was another revelation for him. While seafood seemed to be a favorite, you showed great interest in trying every dish he introduced to you, from savory curries to exotic native fruits from Sumeru. Alhaitham watched as your eyes widened in surprise at the first taste of a ripe Zaytun Peach, the juice trickling down your chin as you savored each bite. He found himself smiling at how you looked at the fruit as if it were a gift, a piece of magic in the form of sweetness.

One afternoon, Alhaitham arrived home to the sound of aggressive hisses and faint, curious purrs. Concerned, he quickly entered the house to find you pressed against the wall, wide-eyed as a gray tabby cat—likely a neighbor’s runaway—rubbed itself against your legs. At first, you recoiled, showing claws and sharp canines in an instinctive defense. But as soon as the creature began to purr, you softened. Alhaitham watched, amused, as you knelt down, carefully petting the animal with an almost reverent gentleness, murmuring the word “yes” repeatedly as if you were in mutual agreement with the feline’s own rumbling approving.

Then, there was Kaveh. 

The architect’s affection grew towards you—although every time he was determined to make you remember his name, he was met with your unique mischievous smile and the same answer each time: “Haitham.” 

You said it with a bit of cadence, as if relishing how it made him frown in exaggerated frustration. Alhaitham, leaning back in his chair one evening, smirked at the interaction, watching Kaveh’s latest attempt dissolve into another sigh of defeat.

“All right, I see what it’s going on” Kaveh grumbled one day, crossing his arms as you observed him with a playful glint in your eyes. “You’ll acknowledge me properly, eventually.” 

Once, however, you found Kaveh hunched over his workspace, focused on a miniature architectural model. You approached quietly, observing the delicate structures he had assembled with fascination. Noticing your presence, he looked up and saw the appreciative smile on your face, understanding it as a compliment. “At least someone here likes my work,” he murmured with a chuckle. “If only all my clients were this easy to please…” He paused, ironically melancholic, earning an empathetic hum from you.

Both men had fallen into a rhythm around you, somehow more accommodating than they had expected. They adjusted to your needs perfectly, sharing the responsibility of ensuring your comfort, and found themselves both challenged and charmed by your presence.

For you, on the other hand, their world had become a comfortable place, one where you settled into a rhythm of small delights and quiet discoveries.

One day, as Alhaitham prepared tea for the three of you, he found himself reflecting aloud, speaking as if to himself. “I never imagined a mythical creature would be so adaptable,” he glanced at you sitting on the floor of the living room, distractedly munching half an apple and reading the newspaper, marveling at the images and texts with the adorable little sounds of awe you let out. Alhaitham couldn’t hold back the affectionate smile.

Kaveh, sitting cross-legged as he studied his latest designs, looked up and nodded, laughing. “She’s adapted better than I did when I moved here,” he commented. “It’s nice to finally have a roommate who doesn’t critique my design choices every five minutes.”

Alhaitham shot him a look, but he wasn’t offended. “Maybe she knows that beauty is best observed without unnecessary comments,” he replied coolly, his eyes lingering on you as you immersed yourself in your things.

In your own way, you had made your home with them. And, day by day, both Alhaitham and Kaveh were discovering that perhaps they had made their home with you too.

Alhaitham had also been keeping his promise, carefully ensuring your safety and privacy within the walls of his home. 

However, as the days passed, he began to notice that your curiosity was growing restless. Though your injuries were healing well, you seemed all too aware of the world outside, especially whenever you sat by the living room window.

Hours would slip by as you watched the passing crowds, children playing, merchants bartering. He and Kaveh had tried to explain the dangers of going out, cautioning you that it wasn't the best idea until you were fully recovered, but your eagerness to explore was unmistakable.

So, after weighing the pros and cons and discussing the arrangement with Kaveh, Alhaitham made a decision: a small outing, just enough to satisfy your curiosity without risking too much exposure. You needed clothes anyway, something more suitable than his shirts or Kaveh’s oversized tunics. And thus, one sunny afternoon, after a few of your lessons and some necessary safety ensures, Alhaitham guided you through the bustling streets of Sumeru City and towards the Grand Bazaar.

The moment your bare feet touched the warm, sun-dappled street stones, your eyes lit up with childlike wonder. Every detail enchanted you—the intricate architecture, the intoxicating scent of spices in the air, the hum of life around you. Alhaitham noticed the way your gaze darted to every vibrant stall and passing stranger, taking in the chaos with delight.

However, he also noticed something else: the way nearly every man you passed seemed to pause, transfixed, their gazes lingering on you. 

It wasn’t just that they were admiring your beauty—they were captivated, their expressions turning almost dreamlike, as if spellbound. Alhaitham’s brows furrowed as he watched one guy receive a swift smack from his wife when she caught him staring a bit too long. He took a step closer to you, shielding you slightly from the attention, and you, caught up in everything around you, hardly noticed.

You gasped softly as you entered the Grand Bazaar, eyes wide with excitement. The stalls were filled with handmade crafts, woven fabrics, jars of colorful spices, and foods you’d never seen before. Alhaitham, trailing just behind you, couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth as he watched you light up at each new discovery, as if the world itself had become a treasure chest, and you were here to explore its wonders.

Before long, something shiny caught your attention—a stall laden with intricate jewelry. Without thinking, you wandered away from his side, drawn to the display like a moth to flame. Alhaitham followed, watching as you reached out to touch a delicate hairpin encrusted with tiny, shimmering green stones. 

The vendor, an older woman with a warm smile, caught your fascination and chuckled softly. “A beautiful accessory for a beautiful lady,” she said, her gaze shifting to Alhaitham with a knowing smile.

“Do you like that one?” Alhaitham asked gently. His tone was softened by an affection he didn’t quite manage to conceal.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice almost reverent as you ran your fingers over the hairpin, tracing each glimmering stone as though it held secrets of the ocean within.

He didn’t hesitate, reaching for his pouch and handing the vendor the necessary payment. The woman winked, her smile widening. “Lucky man, I’d say,” she murmured in a voice barely above a whisper, but Alhaitham caught it. He didn’t answer.

With a delighted smile, you thanked the vendor in your own way—a beaming, enchanted expression that lit up the old woman’s face as much as it did Alhaitham’s. You carefully cradled the accessory as if it were the most precious thing you’d ever owned, gazing at it as you walked away. But soon enough, your attention shifted to the scent of roasting fish at a nearby food stall. The vendor there, turning a skewer of freshly spiced fish over an open flame, waved you over with a friendly grin.

As you darted toward the stall, Alhaitham noticed something else in the jewelry display—a pendant with a smooth, iridescent stone that bore a striking resemblance to your tail. Silently, he purchased it, tucking the necklace into his pocket. The vendor gave him a sly look, but he ignored it, focusing instead on you, already entranced by the food stand.

“Oh, to be young again,” the vendor mused as she watched he leaving.

When he caught up with you at the food stall, you were leaning over the counter, staring in awe at the array of delicacies. The stall owner chuckled as you tilted your head curiously, taking in the fish skewers and assorted seafood. “She’s like a little fox in a new den,” he said to Alhaitham, amused by your wide-eyed fascination.

Alhaitham gave a small, knowing smile as he nodded. “You have no idea.”

The scribe exchanged a few coins for one of the skewers, then handed it to you with a small smile. Your fingers barely wrapped around it before you eagerly took a bite—too eager, it turned out, as you winced, the hot fish burning your tongue. Alhaitham sighed softly, his gaze both amused and indulgent.

“Careful,” he murmured, taking the skewer back for a moment and blowing gently on it, cooling it with a practiced patience. Watching him, you imitated his action, blowing on the skewer with the same careful attentiveness, which made his lips tug upward slightly. As he handed it back, you took another bite, this time savoring the flavors more slowly.

As the two of you continued to weave through the market, you marveled at every passing sight—the colors, the sounds of bartering, and the occasional street performer. You paused to watch a dancer swaying gracefully, her movements captivating as her bright clothing fluttered with each spin. Passersby occasionally nodded and greeted Alhaitham, who gave polite nods in return—their eyes going wide open when they saw you standing by his side. His attention, though, often shifted to you, keeping you close as you wandered, enchanted by your enthusiastic wonder.

Eventually, you stopped before a more discreet storefront draped with curtains of deep blue and gold. The sign above bore intricate lettering, and inside, racks and shelves brimmed with garments of all kinds. 

Alhaitham led you in, and you finished the skewer just as he did a quick sweep of the store. Taking the skewer stick, he tossed it into a nearby waste bin and approached the owner, an older gentleman with warm, thoughtful eyes.

The store was a treasure trove of fabrics in every shade, from vibrant hues to rich jewel tones, each piece imbued with a hint of Sumeru’s distinct, earthy style. Alhaitham and the owner spoke in low tones, exchanging opinions on a few pieces he was considering for you. But your eyes soon caught on a different rack—dresses and skirts crafted with delicate fabrics and intricate patterns.

Just then, a younger woman stepped out from behind one of the store’s curtain partitions. She looked you over with a friendly smile, her gaze lingering in admiration. “You have an eye for the finest pieces,” she said, her voice warm. “These are all my father’s designs. Here, let’s find one for you to try.”

She sorted through the rack with a discerning eye before settling on a dress. It was a pearly white, form-fitting but flowing at the hem, with soft layers and gentle ruffles. She led you to the dressing room, helping you into it as you fumbled with the ties and delicate fabric.

When you emerged from behind the dressing room curtain, the woman sighed audibly, her expression caught between pride and awe. Her reaction caught Alhaitham’s attention, and as he turned, his eyes settled on you—and stayed.

The dress fit you in a way that was both modest and striking. The neckline formed a gentle "V" between your collarbones, dipping gracefully but tastefully. The silhouette hugged your curves, enhancing your natural beauty, while the flowing fabric below the waist gave the dress an ethereal elegance, rising just above your heels.

Alhaitham was quiet, his gaze intent, his usual unreadable expression amazed, revealing a glimmer of something deeper—an admiration that ran silently but profoundly through him. He couldn’t look away, as though you’d become the center of his world in that moment.

For a brief moment, you met his eyes, and a silent understanding passed between you. You felt his unspoken thoughts, his breath subtly drawn in awe, and his gaze, filled with softness, lingering as though he was seeing you in a new light.

The shop owner’s voice cut through the moment. “I’d say we’ve found the perfect model for this design,” he said with a chuckle, nodding approvingly at you. “It looks as though it was made for her.”

Alhaitham’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he nodded. “Yeah. Indeed,” he agreed, his tone subdued but genuine. The shop owner offered a discount for future purchases, which Alhaitham accepted gratefully.

After purchasing a few more clothes, Alhaitham approached you and, with a hint of a smile, told you, “You look beautiful.” Though the words were simple, the sincerity in his gaze made them feel more profound. You understood his compliment, your expression softening as you smiled back at him with a shyness that made you glance away, if only for a second.

The shop owner mentioned shoes, but Alhaitham shook his head gently. He knew you’d be more comfortable as you were, free of any restricting footwear.

With your new clothes in hand, you left the place, your eyes still brimming with curiosity. Alhaitham stayed close to you as you continued exploring the bazaar, his mood lightened by the unexpected happiness you seemed to bring him. There was a new excitement in your steps, and he watched with subtle amusement, unable to deny the warmth growing within him as he saw the joy in your expression.

Returning home, you felt content, each step still buzzing with excitement from your discoveries, and the dress Alhaitham bought you flowing like water around you. 

Entering the house, the warm scent of food drifted from the kitchen. Kaveh was already there, busy at the stove, humming softly to himself as he prepared lunch. When he turned around and caught sight of you, his eyes widened, a slow, dazzled-like smile spreading across his face. 

“Well, look at you,” he said warmly, clearly charmed by the sight. “You look wonderful! For the first time, Alhaitham did a good job by buying you this dress,” his tone had a hint of teasing, and you saw Alhaitham’s brow twitch slightly, but he stayed silent, watching the two of you.

Kaveh’s admiration had a certain ease to it, a natural warmth that made you feel instantly welcome. He turned back to the stove, but not without another approving nod at your attire. Alhaitham’s silence prompted him to ask, “So… how was the city?” He threw a teasing glance Alhaitham’s way then at you. “Did our scribe here give you the grand tour all by himself?”

Alhaitham sighed, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “She wasn’t exactly difficult to entertain,” he replied dryly. “Everything was new, so it didn’t take much.”

Kaveh chuckled. 

“Of course it didn’t,” he set the food down, his gaze filled with an amused understanding. Alhaitham merely looked away, feigning indifference, though you sensed a certain pride beneath his casual tone.

During lunch, the two of them recounted little moments from the day—Kaveh enjoying the story of you burning your tongue on the fish skewer, and Alhaitham quietly reliving the way your eyes had sparkled at the Grand Bazaar’s colorful sights. But despite their words, their gazes often turned back to you, captivated by your delight in all the new things you’d encountered.

At one point, Kaveh leaned back, shooting Alhaitham a knowing look.

“So, a personal shopping trip, huh? Just the two of you,” he teased, clearly amused by the idea of Alhaitham guiding someone around. “How sweet.”

Alhaitham narrowed his gaze, giving Kaveh a warning look that said more than words could. But there was a subtle softness in his eyes as they drifted back to you, a sense of quiet caring that you caught, even if he tried to hide it.

After lunch, you noticed Alhaitham start to gathering the dishes, starting to cleaning them as Kaveh made his way to the living room. Walking over him, you lingered, staring at him until Kaveh looked back, caught off guard by your gaze, feeling a bit embarrassed. When you pulled out the hairpin Alhaitham had bought you earlier, he seemed to understand, a faint blush of realization coloring his cheeks.

“Oh, you want me to do your hair?” He chuckled, gesturing for you to sit. “Alright, alright, I’ll help.”

You settled in the chair, feeling his gentle hands working through your hair. He gathered it halfway, securing the rest with the pin and letting loose strands fall around your face. When he was done, he guided you to a mirror, smiling proudly as you took in the sight. The style was simple but lovely, suiting you perfectly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured softly, watching your expression over your shoulders as you took in the effect. For a moment, the two of you were lost in the quietness of that shared moment.

From behind you, a soft sound drew your attention. Alhaitham was standing in the doorway, watching, a fond look on his face. He must have finished cleaning the kitchen but had stayed, observing without saying a word.

You turned back to Kaveh, your gaze warm and filled with gratitude. 

“Kaveh,” you said softly, the name unfamiliar on your tongue but carrying genuine meaning.

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face before he grinned, laughing as he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Finally saying my name, huh?” He teased, though his voice was warm, “I guess even a mermaid knows when to appreciate the finer things.” Despite his playful words, there was an unmistakable happiness in his gaze, as if your small act of gratitude had touched him.

With the meal finished and the midday light softening, the three of you spread out around the house. You curiously inspected the clothes Alhaitham had bought, marveling at the soft fabrics, while the two men chatted in the adjacent room. Kaveh’s voice floated over, calling to his housemate.

“Hey, listen. Cyno passed by earlier inviting us out to the tavern tonight. Tighnari is also coming. I didn’t give him an immediate answer given our… adorable guest,” his gaze flicked meaningfully to you, a question lingering unspoken between the two men.

They both turned, glancing at you thoughtfully. For a moment, you saw them exchange a silent conversation, considering whether the outing might be risky. But then Alhaitham gave a slight nod, resolute.

“We’ll take her with us,” he said confidently. “With the right precautions, it should be fine.” He glanced at you, his eyes filled with the assurance that they’d watch over you. “Besides,” he added with a hint of a smile, “I feel she’d be upset if we don’t take her to explore a little bit more now that she has seen the outside world.”

Kaveh chuckled, nodding. “Then it’s settled. Tonight, we’ll go to the tavern—all three of us.”

As the sky slowly darkened, anticipation hung in the air, the promise of the evening drawing closer. 

The afternoon had drifted by with Alhaitham trying to teach you new words and phrases, but your attention kept slipping back to the new clothes he’d bought. You ran your fingers over the fabrics, turning them this way and that to catch the light, dazzled with the colors and the softness. Alhaitham eventually gave up, sighing in quiet amusement as he noted just how material and delightfully vain you could be—a discovery he should’ve expected.

Later, you wandered into his suite room to bathe, instinctively drawn to the water. The moment you slipped into the warm tub, your legs transformed back into your shimmering tail, scales glinting under the water’s surface. 

It had left Kaveh speechless the first time he’d seen it—his penny dropping at your truly identity. You were truly a mermaid. Nonetheless, he wasn't less captivated by the change and your graceful form. Alhaitham, however, while more composed, could hardly hide his fascination, watching with a quiet intensity every time he witnessed the transition.

After bathing, you found yourself in a familiar routine: sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting as Alhaitham approached with your clothes. This time, though, he brought one of the recent purchase pieces; a beautiful dress in his hand—its fabric being of a rich, jade green; a vibrant hue that reminds of his own eyes-color but that seemed to intensify the shine and warmth of yours only. 

As he helped you ease into it, his fingers lingered as he adjusted the zipper, his gaze studying you, perhaps more than he realized. And though you found yourself shivering at the intensity of his eyes, there you were too—looking up at him, meeting his gaze firmly and sensing an admiration that he only allowed you to see.

“It suits you,” he murmured, his voice low, a hint of awe slipping through his usually neutral tone. In that dress, you seemed otherworldly, like a goddess who had emerged from the depths of the sea, carrying its beauty onto dry land with impossible grace.

He knelt down then to inspect your injury, noting the lingering redness. Alhaitham carefully applied an ointment, his touch gentle but focused, and you watched his expressions shift with a subtle concern. Then, with a slight nod of satisfaction, he helped you to your feet.

After that, you made your way to Kaveh, showing him the hairpin again, calling his name with a soft voice.

His smile grew, a touch of pride in his gaze as he admired the way his name sounded from your lips, and he took great care in doing your hair once more, letting strands fall loose to frame your face as he did before.

Finally ready, you three left for Lambad’s Tavern. 

The streets were alive with the buzz of evening activity, laughter and music drifting through the air as Alhaitham and Kaveh walked beside you. The city was lit by soft lantern light, and you felt a thrill at being part of it all, the world so different from anything you’d known.

At the tavern, the warm atmosphere enveloped you, the scent of spices and roasted meats filling the air.

Alhaitham spotted Cyno and Tighnari across the room almost immediately as the two of them also turned as you approached. Their greeting smiles fainted when their gazes fell on you, a moment of pure awe passing over their faces afterwards. Cyno blinked, visibly stunned, while Tighnari’s foxy-ears twitched, his sharp eyes widening in surprise.

The General Mahamatra, usually so composed, couldn’t seem to look away, his thoughts racing. He was accustomed to beauty in the world around him, yet something about your presence felt almost magical, like an ethereal vision he couldn’t quite understand.

As for Tighnari, his keen senses took in every detail—the way the green dress brought out the otherworldly depth in your eyes, or the elegance of your form. You were unlike anyone he’d ever encountered, and he was captivated, even if he tried to hide it.

Before any questions could arise, Kaveh, ever the quick-thinker, stepped in with an explanation. “She’s an exchange student. From Fontaine,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “She’s staying with us while she studies…uh, the culture of Sumeru.”

Alhaitham sighed at the obviousness of Kaveh’s excuse, but he didn’t counter it. Cyno and Tighnari shared a skeptical glance, clearly doubting the story, yet they chose not to press further. Instead, Alhaitham formally introduced you, mentioning your name, which you responded to with a slight, graceful nod and a cute ‘hello’ following.

But feeling the need to greet them in the way of your kind, you leaned closer, gently rubbing your nose against theirs. 

Kaveh gasped out loud.

Cyno’s eyes widened, a slight flush crept up his cheeks as he froze, uncharacteristically at a loss. Tighnari, caught off guard, felt his ears tensing, the action both charming and bewildering him. Your giggles bubbled up as you noticed their flustered expressions, a soft, musical sound that filled the space between you all.

Kaveh let out a nervous chuckle. “Ah…yeah, that’s—uh, her way of saying hello. Strange, right? These Fontaine’ people…”

Alhaitham, on the other hand, observed it all with a hint of entertainment, his gaze lingering on you fondly. Watching your interactions, he noted how naturally you’d adapted to his world, your curiosity and unique charm drawing everyone in, effortlessly weaving you into their circle. There was warmth in his eyes, a feeling that spoke of his growing fondness, and you caught his gaze, offering him a small, contented smile.

As the group settled in, you sat across from Cyno and Tighnari, studying them both with unabashed curiosity. 

Still recovering from your unexpected greeting, the two men seemed unsure of where to look, awkwardly averting their eyes when you met their gaze. Alhaitham leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his expression as he explained, “She’s not much for words, as you can see. Rather, she’s more the observant type.”

Cyno and Tighnari nodded, seeming to understand, though their curiosity was hardly quelled. 

The tavern around you started to fill with more patrons, the hum of voices rising, mingling with the occasional laugh, the sounds coming from different instruments and the clinking of glasses. It created a cozy warmth in the dimly lit space, and you felt it settle over you as if you were part of something larger, an integral piece in the lively tapestry of Sumeru’s life.

Kaveh wasted no time flagging down the bartender. “Bring your best wine,” he said with a grand, somewhat theatrical gesture, earning a sigh from Alhaitham.

Meanwhile, Tighnari leaned in toward you, his ears twitching with interest as he tried to engage you in conversation.

“So, do you like Sumeru so far?” he asked, a gentle curiosity in his tone.

You nodded with an enthusiastic “Yes”—the single word clear and confident, though it was accompanied by a slight tilt of your head.

Encouraged, he asked, “Do you enjoy learning about plants and animals?” Tighnari’s eyes sparkled, and you could tell he was ready to launch into an explanation if given the chance.

You paused, then shook your head, “No,” you answered, earning a quiet chuckled from Alhaitham.

“Ah, I see,” Tighnari replied, trying to hide his mild disappointment. “What about... Alhaitham and Kaveh?” His eyes glanced toward Alhaitham, who pretend to ignore his friend’s question.

You didn’t thought twice when you answered “Yes” with an affectionate smile, which made Tighnari smirk.

While you answered, you noticed Cyno observing you intently, his gaze unwavering and sharp. It wasn’t suspicious—it was more as if he were studying a puzzle, his curiosity piqued by your every move. His face softened whenever he noticed the subtle gestures that replaced your lack of words, as though trying to understand this new, unfamiliar way of communicating.

When the food and wine finally arrived, you noticed each man taking their mugs and raising them in a silent toast, exchanging knowing glances.

Intrigued, you pointed at Alhaitham’s drink, brows raised with interest. He looked at you hesitantly. “I’m not sure you’ll like it,” he warned, his tone gentle but unsure. Still, he handed you a mug.

The moment you tasted the wine, your expression twisted as the bitter taste hit your tongue. The others burst out laughing as you grimaced, clearly displeased.

Kaveh, grinning widely, leaned over with an exaggerated shrug. “Not everyone appreciates a fine vintage on the first try,” he teased, eyes sparkling with the warmth of the wine already.

But then, determined, you lifted the mug to your lips and downed the rest in a single go. As you set the mug down, you pointed to it, your eyes sparkling with challenge. The table fell silent for a beat, and then Kaveh broke into a delighted laugh. “Oh, now that’s spirit!” he cheered, filling your mug again with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Alhaitham, a touch surprised but clearly amused, leaned closer and murmured, “Take easy, ok?” His tone was warm, carrying that familiar attentiveness, the kind of care he often tried to mask with practicality. You met his gaze and gave a small nod, though your mischievous smile was enough to tell him you weren’t exactly planning on slowing down.

As the evening went on, the wine kept flowing, and so did the laughter. Kaveh quickly grew tipsy, his cheeks flushed as he leaned into his chair with a self-satisfied grin, occasionally throwing his arm around you, Cyno or Tighnari as he launched into some anecdote about his “architectural genius,” much to Alhaitham’s thinly veiled eye-rolls.

“Oh, and then,” Kaveh slurred, nudging Cyno with a huff, “there was that time Alhaitham here tried to negotiate a ‘reasonable’ discount on my work. Can you believe that?” He snorted, casting a playful, slightly glazed look in Alhaitham’s direction. “I swear, he’d argue the wind into changing direction if it suited him.”

Alhaitham only raised a brow, looking at him with an expression that silently asked for patience. “Kaveh, if I hadn’t ‘negotiated,’ you’d still be working to pay off last month’s tab.”

Tighnari chuckled, watching the exchange. “You two really are quite the pair,” he commented, taking a sip of his drink, his gaze shifting between the two of them with an amused glint.

Cyno, turning his attention to you, said, “Do you always put up with them like this?” His tone was deadpan, yet you sensed a glimmer of humor beneath his serious gaze.

Understanding his question, you nodded, a soft laugh escaping you. They all seemed to lighten up, relaxing in the warmth of your quiet amusement.

As the night deepened, Cyno set his drink down with a look of pure focus. “How about a round of TCG?” he suggested, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Tighnari let out a groan, tilting his head back dramatically.

“Oh no, not this again,” he sighed, but even he knew there was no escape.

Kaveh laughed, rolling his eyes in good-natured defeat.

“Fine, fine. But we’re keeping it short, or we’ll never hear the end of it from you,” he reached for his glass and gave you a playful wink. “Prepare yourself for the most intense game you’ve ever seen,” he said, clearly intending to make a spectacle of Cyno’s enthusiasm.

Curious, you leaned closer, watching as Cyno arranged the cards and dice with meticulous precision. His fingers moved quickly, each card laid down like a sacred ritual. Noticing your interest, he paused to offer a brief explanation of the game’s mechanics. 

“It’s all about strategy,” he explained, his tone almost reverent. “You play a character card, use skills, and roll dice to see how much power you have.” His eyes narrowed, smiling as he continued, “And don’t think it’s as simple as it sounds.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, but you barely had time to form a plan before the game was underway. 

Somehow, against all odds, you won the first round. The table fell into a mix of laughter and shock, each of them offering half-joking explanations.

“Beginner’s luck,” Tighnari insisted, though there was a glint of amusement in his eye.

Alhaitham chuckled softly. “Maybe (Y/N) is just a natural.”

But as the rounds continued, it became clear that “luck” wasn’t the only thing helping you.

One match after another, you swept the table, your fingers moving with a natural, effortless grace as you outplayed each of them. Cyno’s brow furrowed in concentration, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried, unsuccessfully, to decode your moves.

Finally, with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation, Cyno looked at his cards in silence. “How…?” he muttered, half to himself.

Kaveh snorted, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Face it, man, she’s just unbeatable tonight. You, my friend, have been dethroned.”

Tighnari grinned, amused by Cyno’s frustration. “It’s impressive, honestly. Even the Champion of TCG is no match for her.”

You laughed, lifting your glass in a playful toast to your victory, which earned a round of mock cheers from the others. 

Alhaitham’s gaze was soft as he watched you—your enthusiasm, the brightness in your eyes as you revel in the thrill of each win. He’d seen you embracing new experiences and adventures of his ordinary day with open arms.

From the quiet enthusiasm when you learned a new word to the happiness back in the bazaar, and now, this lively night at the tavern—he felt an undeniable warmth, a subtle pull that went beyond simple admiration.

Just as another round was about to start, a group of local men, drunk and brimming with energy, pulled Kaveh from his chair and into a circle. “Come on, architect! Show us your moves!” they cheered, clapping their hands and forming a semi-circle for him to lead. With a laugh, Kaveh obliged, seamlessly joining them in the traditional dabke.

You watched in fascination, your attention captivated by the rhythmic stomping and spirited clapping. 

Kaveh’s movements were fluid, each step and stomp precise yet brimming with exuberance. His grin was infectious, and you found yourself clapping along, enchanted by the lively beat that seemed to pulse through the entire tavern.

Noticing your joy, Kaveh reached out and took your hand, pulling you into the half-circle. “Come on! You’ll love it!” he encouraged, and you laughed, letting yourself be drawn into the dance. 

Standing beside him, you mirrored his movements as best as you could, and although your steps were hesitant at first, his laughter and the others’ encouragement quickly dissolved any nervousness.

You found yourself swept up in the joy of the moment, your laughter ringing out as you stomped and clapped in sync with Kaveh. The tavern patrons cheered, a few even joining in to expand the circle. Each beat of the music seemed to echo in your heart, a vibrant, untamed rhythm that made you feel alive. Your hair swayed with each movement, your dress flowed around you as if it had a life of its own. For a brief moment, you forgot everything else, lost in the pure exhilaration of dance and laughter.

Watching from the sidelines, Alhaitham’s gaze lingered on you. 

He didn’t need to say a word; his expression spoke volumes. In his eyes, you were radiant—a vision of grace, strength, and unrestrained joy. He couldn’t help but marvel at how easily you fit into this place, how naturally you became part of it despite its strangeness. His chest tightened, a burning ache settling there, unfamiliar and yet… welcome. He remembered the first time he’d seen you, not too long ago, feeling vulnerable and cautious. Yet here you were, laughter filling the air, eyes alight with joy.

He hadn’t expected this—a mermaid, of all things, to stir something so profoundly human within him. But watching you, he couldn’t deny the feeling. It wasn’t simply admiration or intrigue anymore. It was something real, deeper, something that made his pulse quicken whenever he locked your gazes whenever you shared a fleeting smile or a touch of silent understanding.

A sudden chuckle from Tighnari pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced over to see his friend smirking knowingly. “Not joining them?” He teased, his voice pitched just low enough for Alhaitham to hear.

Alhaitham glanced back at you, his lips curving in a slight smile. “I’m enjoying the view.”

Tighnari hummed, raising a brow. “Seems like you’re enjoying more than just the view.”

Ignoring Tighnari’s comment once again, Alhaitham focused his attention on you once more. 

When your eyes met, he felt that sensation again—a quiet acknowledgment of something unspoken but deeply felt. He gave you a subtle nod, his gaze lingering, as if committing this moment to memory.

When the dance ended, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed with happiness as you returned to the table. Kaveh, very tipsy and clearly pleased, clinked his glass against yours. “You were fantastic!” he cheered, his eyes bright with genuine pride.

Laughing, you took a sip of your drink, catching Alhaitham’s eye as you did. 

Ever since you started to live with him, sharing his culture, entering in the lonely empty of his heart and connecting with every detail that made of Alhaitham who he is, his intense gaze was something you couldn’t escape from—although neither did you want it when you were so mesmerized by him as he seemed to be with you. 

But tonight, something was different—something indescribable, unknown but pleasant, sent a soft thrill through you. This was more than a shared moment—it was a promise, a silent connection that seemed to anchor you both, even amidst the noise surrounding you.

The night had fully settled by the time the three of you left the tavern. 

The streets were nearly empty, bathed in the soft silver glow of a full moon overhead. A gentle breeze moved through the quiet city, carrying the faint, earthy scent of Sumeru’s flora. Stars scattered like distant lanterns in the sky, each one casting a pinprick of light over the tranquil world below. You looked up, awestruck by the vastness of the sky here. It was as if the city itself was cradled in the arms of the heavens, each corner brushed with stardust.

Alhaitham glanced at you, noticing the quiet wonder in your eyes as you took in the night’s beauty.

In the soft moonlight, your face was illuminated with an almost ethereal glow, your expression open and unguarded. Something about the way you stood there, gazing upwards as if communing with the stars, pulled invisible strings in his chest. Alhaitham found himself watching you in silence, the affection in his gaze hidden in the shadows, an unspoken tenderness that he wasn’t yet ready to voice.

Beside you, Kaveh swayed unsteadily, mumbling to himself in an incomprehensible mixture of words. You giggled, finding his drunken ramblings endlessly amusing, while Alhaitham sighed, shaking his head in disapproval but unable to suppress a small smile. He’d been prepared to carry Kaveh’s weight on his own, but you easily supported your share, surprising him with your hidden strength as you steadied the unsteady architect. You felt Alhaitham’s curious gaze settle on you, but you kept your eyes on Kaveh, helping guide him as he slurred out half-formed songs and laughter.

When you finally arrived at home, the quiet settled around you like a warm embrace. 

Together, you and Alhaitham gently placed Kaveh onto his bed, his face sinking blissfully into the pillows as he drifted into a heavy, blissful sleep. You both lingered for a moment, watching to make sure he was comfortable, before retreating to the living room, leaving Kaveh to his dreams.

Once there, the two of you stood alone, the silence wrapping around you like silk. The dim lamplight cast soft shadows across the room, pooling in the spaces between you. You faced each other, yet no words came—none were needed. 

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between you, a silent understanding woven with the night’s intimacy. It was a conversation of looks alone, a language more ancient than words. Your heart felt full, as if it were holding a secret too precious to release.

Alhaitham’s gaze held yours, steady and unwavering, as he reached into his pocket and drew out the small chain he’d bought back at the bazaar. The gemstone's shiny and iridescent hues caught the light, reflecting shades that soon reminded you of your tail’s colors—a perfect echo of your hidden self. 

He held it out to you, his lips curving into a wise smile that reached his eyes.

Without a word, he gestured for you to turn around. You did so, your heart pounding with anticipation as he draped the chain around your neck, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he fastened the clasp. The warmth of his touch lingered even after his hands moved away, and you lifted a hand to the pendant, feeling its weight settle over your heart.

Looking down, you felt a surge of emotions, a mixture of joy and affection as you admired the gift. But it wasn’t just happiness—it was something deeper, something far beyond simple gratitude. 

When you lifted your gaze back to him, your expression was serene, eyes glimmering with unspoken emotions.

Slowly, you reached up, placing a hand on his neck and gently pulling his face closer. Without hesitation, you leaned in, touching your forehead against his—a significant and intimate gesture but full of affection.

“Thank you,” you murmured, the words carrying layers of meaning, a depth that went beyond the simple gesture. It was gratitude for more than just the necklace—it was for his kindness, his patience, his caring, for seeing you in a way no one else could. For being a safe harbor in this unfamiliar world.

He was taken aback for a moment, the soft touch of your skin against his both surprising and disarming him. But then, a quiet smile forming as he held your gaze, his hand coming up to gently cradle your cheek. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice a gentle murmur, his thumb tracing a light path along your cheekbone.

Your hands lingered on his neck, feeling the softness of its skin and his hair, his own expression melting into something almost vulnerable. 

For a long, endless moment, you stayed there, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, to catch the quiet tenderness in his jade eyes.

Neither of you spoke, letting the silence stretch, filling the room with the weight of implicity emotions. His gaze held yours, steady, and yet within it was a flicker of that deeper, unguarded feeling—a quiet, burgeoning affection that made your heart race.

Time seemed to stand still as you looked into each other’s eyes, a shared warmth weaving between you, a silent promise that neither of you had the words to speak.

And maybe, you didn’t even need it. 

[continue...]

[transbookoftheday]

Trans Horror Podcasts

My post about trans horror books last year was much more popular than I expected, and since I've recently fallen in love with fiction podcasts and audio dramas, I thought I'd make a post about trans horror podcasts as well.

If you like trans horror, please give these a try - especially if you enjoy listening to audiobooks!

Hello From The Hallowoods:

Come walk between the black pines! In this award-winning queer fiction podcast, an eldritch narrator follows the increasingly connected residents of the forest at the end of the world. It's a bittersweet story that explores queer identity, horror genre tropes, and finding hope in humanity's last moments.

Hello From The Hallowoods is my absolute favorite podcast! If you only listen to one podcast from this list, please make it this one - it's so beautifully written and super queer! Also: season 4 starts today!

Trans main characters include:

our nonbinary eye-affiliated podcast host

a nonbinary "Frankenstein's creature"

a transmasc ghost

a genderfluid storm witch

a trans woman who can visit other people's dreams

multiple characters using neopronouns

Camp Here & There:

Good morning, campers! Camp Here & There is a weekly horror comedy podcast tuned in to the loudspeakers of a small midwestern sleepaway camp plagued by supernatural terrors and natural disasters. Sydney Sargent, resident camp nurse, cheerfully reports on all the terror we must face with a big smile. Let’s hope there’s nothing weird about that!

Sydney is a trans man.

Dos: After You:

Things have changed. Deck has fallen in love with someone who isn't human, and leaves a hungry house behind to see him again. Will he be waiting for you? The world has changed… but what about him? Dos: After You is a queer urban fantasy/horror audiodrama available in both English & Spanish

Deck is a trans man.

Jar of Rebuke:

Follow Dr. Jared Hel's journey as he works to re-discover his forgotten past and finds his place within the small Indiana farm town of Wichton and the cryptozoological organization he works for called 'The Enclosure'. These audio journals, and other recordings, dive deep into Midwestern US cryptids and folklore while also telling a mystery about identity, queerness, neurodivergence, and community.

Jared is nonbinary.

Spirit Box Radio:

Spirit Box Radio is an award winning, horror audio drama podcast about a radio show for enthusiasts of all things arcane. Follow Sam Enfield a former postboy with no experience in the arcane arts, who finds themselves forced to take over running the show, following the disappearance of the previous host. Sam soon discovers there are more than ghosts haunting the show, and finds himself amidst a mystery which threatens everything he knows about the world beyond his tiny basement broadcast studio, and maybe even himself.

Sam is a trans man.

The Silt Verses:

Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations amongst the reeds and the wetlands. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories. This is a world where divine intervention takes place through prayer-markings scratched into stumping-posts, and offerings are left squirming to die in the flats of the delta. This is a world of ritual, and hidden language, and sacrifice. This is folk horror, and fantasy, and a dark road trip into the depths of unusual faith.

Faulkner is a trans man and Paige is a trans woman.

The Magnus Protocol:

The Magnus Archives 2: The Magnus Protocol is the prequel/sequel/”sidequel” to the internationally renowned Magnus Archives podcast. The Magnus Institute was an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal, based out of Manchester, England. It burned to the ground in 1999. There were no survivors. Now, almost 25 years later, Alice and Sam, a pair of low-level civil service workers at the underfunded Office of Incident Assessment and Response, have stumbled across its legacy. A legacy that will put them in grave danger. If this intrigues you then it is our pleasure to welcome you to the Office of Incident, Assessment and Response. Make sure you pick up your badge at desk and report to your line manager before sitting down. Oh and stay away from I.T., seriously.

Alice is a trans woman.

[art-of-the-sea]

Cookie Run: Facets of Knowledge AU

[pt: Cookie Run: Facets of Knowledge AU]

" The Virtue of Knowledge holds two sides to it; Truth and Deceit. Only together can they truly understand its depths. "

Not so much a complete AU as a likely canon divergence, this 'verse is set after Dark Enchantress's defeat. Her attempt to free the Beasts from their eternal prison by creating new bodies for them ended catastrophically. The only way to keep them all at bay was to seal them within the Soul Jams carried by each of the Ancients, as well as within their own bodies. This came with its benefits and drawbacks- after all, the threat has been tamed for as long as the Ancients remain uncorrupted. Not only that, but the reuniting of the Soul Jams' other halves magnified the Ancients' power beyond imagining- as its main holders, it's all in their control now, out of reach of the Beasts.

The complications, of course, come with the continued presence of the Beasts within the Ancients. They may not have any powers, no, but they can certainly be heard by the Ancients they've been sealed within - even seen as a projection of the Soul Jam's magic. Pure Vanilla Cookie knows he's in no danger from Shadow Milk Cookie as long as he doesn't mentally give in to his lies. However, that doesn't stop the comments, the perspectives, or the presence he brings. Sealed together, they have to learn to understand each other deeper than either expected, and slowly, each begin to open their eyes to the other's views and experiences.

More details & doodles below the cut! ⤵️

- Shadow Milk Cookie can project himself outwardly into the world using the Light of Truth, but in almost all cases, the only one that can see, hear, or feel him is Pure Vanilla Cookie. This leads to quite a few reactions to seemingly "nothing" from the outside, which took a long while for the other cookies around him to get used to.

- Shadow Milk gets bored very often due to not having a physical body or the ability to interact with most cookies, so he often resorts to pestering Pure Vanilla in one way or another. PV found that ignoring him only makes it worse, so he'll often engage in giving hypothetical answers to SM's ridiculous lines of questioning. This tends to result in either an absurdly niche philosophy discussion or a yes-and fantasy lasting on-and-off for days.

- Distrust is rampant between the two, of course, which is beneficial for neither of them. Pure Vanilla is convinced Shadow Milk wants nothing but to control Earthbread once more, and SM thinks PV wants nothing more than to lock him away somewhere dark and eternal. Both are partially right, but they are forced to learn the depths of the others' perspective and understand how their defining traits are reflections of each other, stemming from the same place.

- Because of this, they slowly begin to understand each other. To trust each other. To let down the walls, because really... Who else would ever be able to comprehend them like the other?

- Pure Vanilla still refuses to trust him enough to let Shadow Milk take control of the body, though. After all, control of the body would hypothetically mean control of the Soul Jam, and he can't let himself risk the fate of Earthbread once more. Sure doesn't stop SM from pestering, begging, bargaining, and more to try!

- Arguments are surprisingly rare, because if both of them get too deep into their heated debate, they get uncomfortably close to the reality of how similar they are to each other; this tends to make them back off.

- Both of them also feel this discomfort when the other is genuinely feeling mentally unwell, as viewing the other's complexity reflects on their own they wish to conceal. This can result in an awkward attempt to cheer the other up or help the situation, if nothing else to simply remove the shared disconcertion.

(If anybody's honestly interested in learning details for this AU, send in an ask! I might even draw doodles for the replies. this au is also where this sorta popular doodle comes from)

Bonus:

me too gingerbrave

[cosmichorrorlesbians]

new Silt Verses ep was so incredibly good and there's so much to talk about but I keep coming back to Sibling Rane.

I think Jon and Muna do a great job of making even minor characters feel distinctive and resonant with the main cast, and the disciples of the various faiths are one of the places this shows most strongly. The disciples of the Trawlerman are the people Faulkner has made himself responsible for and as early as Chapter 22 a thread develops that many of them are naïve, and young, and almost comedically earnest.

And yet, at the same time, these 'children' are part of-- at the forefront of, even-- Faulkner's acquistion of power within the Parish. In the same episode, Thurrocks accurately articulates both the depth of the faith they have in him and the result to which it is already leading.

So. Young members of the faith as (at least superficially) earnestly artless and yet having a dangerously fervent power of belief. Rane, when we meet them in Chapter 30, seems like another genuine and ardent neophyte.

They're eager and conscientious and I half expected them (like Jasp) to last less than two episodes. But they become a quiet background voice to Faulkner's downward spiral. They take on administrative tasks, attending to Roemont when he visits the Gulch, and-- increasingly-- becoming an emotional and social anchor for Faulkner as he slides into depression.

Rane doesn't seem to be a born diplomat. Earnest. Naïve. Clumsy. But I think that ambiguity the stage directions draw out is interesting. Is Rane really so ingenuous? Are they 'pretend[ing]'? They've taken on so much responsibility for the faith, smoothing over awkwardnesses, arranging things in the background, organising transport and supplies while Faulkner broods. Is it earnest? Pragmatic? Both?

I think it's very easy to read Rane as having unreciprocated romantic feelings towards Faulkner. I certainly do. Their devotion shades into excess, and in the moments where the pair seem to engage almost as equals, like the car ride in Chapter 38, there's this real sense of simultaneous shared joy and an underlying desire on Rane's part to 'get Faulkner's attention' and prove themself worthy of it. To impress him.

This Chapter sees Faulkner experience a dark night of the soul. He's already depressed to the point of suicidal ideation, detached from his surroundings and utterly anhedonic. He's clearly not equipped to acknowledge or accept love from others, romantic or platonic. This episode is about caring for someone who is fundamentally disconnected from you, who will never see things the way you do but must be loved and kept safe nonetheless. It's also where Rane saves Faulkner's life.

Rane, acting as caretaker, quietly reverses the established power dynamic of their relationship. Faulkner's attempted drowning directly parallels his childhood experience of conversion as recounted in Series 1. He becomes the lost, frightened child in their dynamic.

This speech obviously underlines Faulkner's insecurities, his youth, and the validity of his prophetic status as "chosen". We know he's engineered and manipulated his own glorification.

But it also draws attention to how Rane acts as a parallel to Faulkner. Faulkner, when we first meet him, seems precisely this enthusiastic if inept younger disciple. 'Was I like that?' he asks himself about Thurrocks. Maybe he was once. Because we see the same kind of darkness surface in Rane. As Faulkner clearly no longer cares if he lives or dies, they take on more and more of the unspoken burden of leadership.

They 'stage-manage'. They become the structural surety at the heart of the myth of Faulkner, putting in his hard work, handing him his kelp wreath, shoring up his crumbling facade. They recognise the gap between what he is and what his people want him to be, what they need him to be.

'It will be different when it's written'. Did Faulkner trip, or was he shoved? Does it even matter? We don't truly know whether Rane has taken the wheel as the endgoal of some Machiavellian scheme, or as a decision of pure pragmatism motivated by their faithful zeal, or out of desperate, genuine, self-deluding care for Faulkner, but is it important?

Faulkner isn’t just made up of Faulkner any more. Rane is being quietly assimilated into his legend. 'When it's written', I doubt they'll be much more than a footnote in his story. But I would also dispute whether High Prophet Faulkner isn't substantially a creation of unnoticed, unappreciated Sibling Rane.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XIV)

Chapter 14: ‘Why should I blame her that she filled my days with misery’

Hi! Here is new chapter! Today, we have… Christmas shenanigans, and Andrew’s family! Some misogyny in the academic world. Also, Saoirse’s back!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3578

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

No Second Troy

Why should I blame her that she filled my days

With misery, or that she would of late

Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,

Or hurled the little streets upon the great,

Had they but courage equal to desire?

What could have made her peaceful with a mind

That nobleness made simple as a fire,

With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind

That is not natural in an age like this,

Being high and solitary and most stern?

Why, what could she have done, being what she is?

Was there another Troy for her to burn?

The room was quiet as Andrew finished reading the poem. Unusually quiet. The heavy kind of silence that filled a room after art had drawn emotions from the depths of all the hearts who had listened. Even Andrew was uneasy at the thought of disturbing it now that it had settled in, now that it filled every corner.

Saoirse wasn’t sure what was the reason behind such an emotional response to the poem. The words were beautiful by themselves, of course. Her professor had introduced the poem right before reading it out loud, and perhaps the aching came from knowing that Yeats had written this poem for Maud Gonne as she rejected him once more, and was choosing to marry another man. Of course, such sentiment, phrased with such poetry, was emotional. But Saoirse couldn’t help the thought that came to her mind, as she was pretty much certain that such pain came mainly from her teacher.

There was something in the way he read poetry that tugged on her heartstrings every time. The way his deep, quiet voice moved across the words in such an intimate way that she forgot she was in a classroom. But this time, he seemed more emotional than usual. His voice shook in the middle of a verse, his tone was deeper than it should have been. His hand was slightly trembling as he readjusted his glasses upon his nose, his head still bent as he kept staring at the page.

But then he looked up again, a small smile tugging at his lips, as if he hadn’t shattered Saoirse’s world for a moment. He put down the book on his desk, buried his hands in the pockets of his grey pants, leaning back against his desk. Like it was easy to read like this, like life could go by unchanged after such a moment.

There was a flash of mischief in his gaze, and then his smile widened a little.

“Sassy…”

Some students chuckled at the comment, but Saoirse didn’t. She was still struggling to find back her footing into reality. And then Andrew looked straight into her eyes, seemed to notice her distress, frowned a little at the sight. He checked his watch. There was but five minutes left to their class for this week. He moved on.

“Erm… so… this is the poem you’ll have to work on for your essay. I’ll remind you of the specifics I want for this exercise, but I’m already warning you about something tricky with this poem, because… like… there is a trap you must not fall into. As you could be tempted to… erm… focus only on the love side of the text, and you absolutely must focus on that… but it’s Yeats. You can’t dismiss the political context in favour of a purely romantic reading, especially considering Gonne’s own convictions about an Irish independence. So… be careful not to minimise that side of the poem.”

He gave them more instructions for the essay, and Saoirse wrote down all the details, even though she couldn’t shake the thought that the way he had read that poem… there was something so personal in there, something that seemed to echo within him, or maybe it echoed within her…

The class was dismissed, Sean heaved a tired sigh, rubbed at his eyes before he started packing. He was sitting next to her, the way he always did. And she liked that. They were friends…

“I need to head to the library before our next class,” he told her. “I haven’t finished preparing Y/L/N’s class for tomorrow. I need to finish reading the excerpt and write down some notes, or I’ll be too lost during tomorrow’s lecture.”

“I’ll help you if you want. I’ve finished it.”

“Ha, but that’s because you’re so fucking organised… a real pro…”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway at the gentle teasing. Meanwhile, Andrew had walked closer and he was now standing in front of her, a worried expression painted on his features.

She blinked up at him. He seemed a little shy now that he had to talk one-on-one with her, although the smile he offered her was benevolent.

“Are you alright? You seemed upset at the end of the class, I just wanted to check in on you…”

He stared at Saoirse with expectant eyes, and she couldn’t help the surprise that was painted on her features.

“Erm… yeah, I’m good. I’m just… I guess I was really touched by the poem, that’s all.”

“Oh… alright. Good. I thought you were upset over something else like… the workload or something.”

“No, no… I just liked the poem a lot.”

Andrew chuckled at that, visibly relaxing. He hummed, his hands back into his pockets.

“Hmmm… such a sucker for longing, this William…” he joked, making both of his students chuckle.

“Yes, and… I don’t know… the way you read it… I was genuinely touched by it.”

He blinked, tightened his jaw a little, but the same kindness was still written in his eyes as he answered.

“Hmmm… we all find parts of our lives that connect to poetry, and art in general. That’s why we make art, that’s why we engage with it too. We all have emotions to express and understand and process, and whether it may be through our own production or through the work of others… what makes a piece of art worthwhile is how relatable it still is, despite the passing of time.”

Slowly, Saoirse nodded, pondering on her professor’s words. It made her want to dissect every piece of art she had ever encountered through that scope, through that longing for communication, for being understood, for speaking when words failed…

“Well, have a nice week then, and good luck for the essay. And don’t forget to have fun over Christmas despite your studies!” Andrew smiled as they parted.

As Sean and she walked out of the classroom, heading for the library, she remained lost in thought. December had come now with its load of grey clouds, biting cold and the first layers of ice over curbs, rooftiles and windows. There were no leaves left on the trees that grew across the courtyards, but the grass was still as green, even if patches of it were tainted with white. As she breathed, condensation clouded her world, and it made it as unrecognisable as her own thoughts.

Yes, her professor had spoken with emotions that made the text more beautiful than it should be, but there was more to it, a reason behind how upset she still was about the whole thing. Something personal, a reason that was there, in her chest, and yet she couldn’t fathom what it was, couldn’t put a name on the problem.

“Shite! Those fucking steps are so slippery! Jesus Christ!”

Sean laughed as he had almost fallen, walking up the few steps leading towards the entrance of the library. The round sculpture that decorated the space before the entrance was visible behind him, although his body, as he bent over with laughter, was hiding a part of it.

She stared at him as he laughed, the sound infectious enough to draw a smile on her own lips. When she reached the first step, he reached out to her, holding gently the sleeve of her warm coat, with a smile on his lips that told her in silence I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall.

The tugging at her heart told her that maybe, just maybe, a part of the answer was there…

Andrew was humming a tune you didn’t recognise but you didn’t really mind. On the contrary, as you read an article on your computer screen, the sound made you smile.

He was in a good mood, clearly, had been all day. The upcoming Christmas break was at fault, without a doubt. He had mentioned that he would spend a lot of time with his family in Wicklow for the holidays. He would spend New Year’s Eve with you at the party Frank and Sam were throwing though, but Christmas was a precious moment he wanted to spend with his parents and his brother. Only a few days left of work, and you could both take a break from reading articles, preparing classes, grading essays…

You looked at him for a moment, or rather, you stared at him, that was a more appropriate verb for your action. He kept on humming softly, you didn’t care what the song was. It was a soothing sound, one you could have been lulled into sleep with. He was focused on typing something, you had no idea what. He had let his hair loose today, was wearing his glasses that reflected the light of his computer screen. He was wearing a brown shirt that fitted him a little too well to your liking.

Too well, indeed… it wasn’t helping your torturous thoughts.

You had to stop thinking about that kiss. It was nothing special, it didn’t mean a thing. And you didn’t want Andrew at all, you wanted Frank. You wanted Frank and you knew it, so why were you staring at Andrew like this now? Why did you keep thinking about that drunken kiss?

Or… to be fair, kisses…

He let out a triumphant exclamation, turned to you with a grin. You had to pretend that you weren’t already staring at him.

“I’m done! Christ, the exams are going to kill me one day.”

“Finished the questions?”

“For all my classes. It’s done. I’m not touching it again, not changing anything, that is enough.”

He checked the time on his watch, but it was barely 11 o’clock. Too early for lunch break. And yet, his leg was trembling, you guessed he felt restless.

“Want to take a walk?” you asked. “A coffee?”

“Aren’t you busy?”

“I’m sick of this article, it’s not even a good one. Let’s take a break!”

He grinned, the kind of bright smiles he seldom wore. Oh, he often smiled, but this kind of bright grin, of relaxed joy… he seemed to save those only for people he truly felt comfortable with. Your heart felt all warm at the thought that you were one of these people.

“You seem particularly happy today,” you pointed out, unable to refrain the fondness in your voice.

“I am!” he nodded as you walked out of your shared office. “My brother is coming over for Christmas. I’m relieved, he was working on a project in Mayo and wasn’t certain to make it. But he’ll be here to pester me about how to cook meat, and claim that the best Star Wars movie is episode five when…”

“We all know it’s Rogue One.”

“I can’t believe you’ve just said that, I’ll act like you haven’t said anything.”

“Rogue One is excellent, what are you talking about?!”

“It is excellent,” he nodded. “It’s definitely the best one after the original trilogy.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“I’ll ignore your terrible taste in Star Wars movies if you’re free some time this week.”

“Free?”

“You keep on claiming that you’re a killer at Mario Kart, and yet all I hear are words, and I don’t see any proof to back up that claim of yours.”

“Oh, so you want to get your arse kicked, then? Suit yourself, I’m free whenever you want.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“My place.”

“I’ll bring the wine.”

“Deal.”

You hoped he hadn’t noticed that your playful banter had lost some of its strength as he mentioned alcohol. Or more precisely, the prospect of getting drunk with you, which, last time, had led you to…

No! There was no need to think such thoughts! You didn’t want Andrew, you wanted Frank, and that kiss was a drunken mistake. Andrew had agreed, hence showing that he didn’t see you as more than a friend either. He wanted Sam anyway…

You heaved a sigh as you entered the cafeteria though. In front of the coffee machine, Ian and Patterson were chatting together. You tried to ignore them, but they greeted you and Andrew politely before returning to their conversation. They remained nearby while Andrew was preparing coffee for you both.

And of course, they were talking about their favourite topic of conversation… criticizing women.

Or rather, their second-favourite topic, you reckoned. They loved gloating about themselves more…

“Of course, the sources were all over the place, if women were rigorous enough, they would have more access to research jobs…” Ian said, making Patterson chuckle while Andrew was glowering at them over his shoulder, but decided to say nothing.

You threw them a disgusted look as well, one that didn’t go unnoticed. But you weren’t in the mood for arguing today. All you wanted was to escape the room with Andrew and go back to laughing with him…

… and maybe thinking about his lips again.

“Oh, I bet our ‘expert’ has something to say about that,” Patterson said, looking at you with a mocking smile.

“Not today, no,” you shook your head.

“Why not? Too tired? Busy week?”

“Just… not interested.”

“Not interested?”

“In wasting my time on you,” you clarified.

Andrew turned to you, a surprised yet impressed look on his face. Meanwhile Ian and Patterson were stunned by your tone.

“That is barely polite…” complained Ian.

“Oh, sorry… was insulting half of humanity not impolite, perhaps?”

“Now, that’s quite enough, we weren’t employing that tone!”

“God, you’re insufferable, both of you.”

Andrew blinked as he stared, stunned by your sharp tone as well. Although, he didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest. He was rather… impressed.

“Insufferable… that’s highly unprofessional.”

“And you’re highly irrelevant 99% of the time you open your mouth, so maybe spare us all the boredom?”

Andrew couldn’t refrain a laugh, drawing glares from your two colleagues, but he couldn’t have cared less.

“I hope you don’t have a good day,” you concluded the discussion with a tight-lipped smile, taking the cup of coffee Andrew was handing you, and he followed you out of the room while Patterson and Ian were fuming after you. You ignored them though, merely walked back towards your office.

Andrew was staring at you in silence still, and when you turned to him, you threw him a questioning look.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” you asked, making Andrew finally look away, blushing.

He shrugged.

“Nothing, just… I like that side of you.”

“What side?”

He laughed, gently nudging as you walked down a corridor together.

“Your ruthless side. You’re kind of… terrifying, when you want to be.”

“And you like being scared?”

“I’m not scared. Just… impressed. Intimidated as well. You’re intimidating.”

You tried to hide the way you were smiling by drinking some of your coffee. The fact that Andrew was rolling up his sleeve as he changed the topic of conversation back to something lighter again wasn’t helping…

“Mom!”

“I don’t want to hear it…”

“He started it!”

“I am too old for this…”

“I didn’t start shit, you loser! You’re the one who started this!”

“You have no taste whatsoever… and you pretend to be an artist…”

“Oh, sorry, professor, do you want to grade my essays or are you simply going to lecture me on ‘how to be a boring arse’?”

“I swear to God…”

“Stop it! Both of you!”

Both Andrew and Jon fell silent, glowering at each other from across the table.

“I swear, you two… how old are you both? You’re still bickering like you’re a pair of five year-olds!”

Andrew opened his mouth to protest, but one look from his mother made him fall back to silence.

“You boys are too old for this,” she stated, a final statement that would close any debate, and both of the brothers knew better than to argue. “And I am too old for this.”

Meanwhile, John was looking at the scene from his own spot around the table, trying hard not to laugh. While Raine was pouring herself some water, there was the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as well.

“Jon, I’m glad your project in Mayo is working out fine, honey,” she congratulated her eldest son. “Tell us more about it.”

And Jon did, he talked about the new short-film he was shooting, talked about his colleagues, about his difficulties and the fun he had as well as their meal went on. Meanwhile the rest of the family listened and questioned and teased and joked around. And it was such a lovely afternoon. Outside, rain was pouring but in the Byrnes’ home, it was sunny and bright. Warm with love; the kind of love that whispered in the quiet that everything would be alright, eventually.

Andrew had missed this. If he didn’t live far away from his parents’ home in Wicklow, he didn’t come that often. Not as much as he would like, at least. He had a busy life of his own, after all. Jon had been away for three months, and he would rather die than admit it out loud, but Andrew had missed his brother terribly. The place felt empty when they were not all gathered together.

It was the day before Christmas, and in a few hours they would all be heading to see their relatives and spend the evening with them. Andrew would be driving, Jon and their father would criticise his itinerary, claiming to know a better route, while Raine would hum to whatever tune would be on the radio, and in the trunk there would be the food they spent their day cooking, enough of it to feed a whole battalion.

But for now, it was still just the four of them. And Andrew basked in the radiance of it all, in the simplicity of an ordinary day spent with the people he loved most on this earth, without adventures or anything exciting happening except creating memories.

He watched his brother babble about his job, his mother pouring everyone some water without asking if they wanted any, his father sneaking a piece of food to Elwood under the table.

Andrew wished he could live this day over and over and over again…

“What about you, Andy?” John asked after a short silence. “Preparing for exam season?”

“Everything’s ready,” Andrew answered with a tired sigh. “Just… busy.”

There was a moment of silence, and Andrew knew the next question that would come before his brother would ask it out loud. He had been expecting it all day, after all.

“And… what about Sam? Are you still in contact with her?”

“Yeah… erm… I’ll see her for the New Year, actually.”

“Is it really healthy to keep seeing her like that?”

“I want to keep seeing her.”

Jon narrowed his eyes as he stared at Andrew, in that way he hated so much. The way that made Jon the big brother judging the bad decisions made by the youngest.

“I really hope you’re not hanging onto her.”

Andrew grew quiet, knowing what would come, he had been expecting it, and in all fairness, his family was right. It wasn’t healthy to cling onto his ex that way, to want her back, to attempt to get her back when she was engaged to another man.

He couldn’t help it though, he just… couldn’t help it…

“Andy…” Jon heaved a sigh that withheld so much unspoken judgement it made Andrew’s blood boil.

“I haven’t asked for your opinion…”

“She treated you so bad, Andy! She broke your heart!”

“I’m not asking for your opinion, Jon!”

The room grew quiet again, until Raine reached across the table to hold her son’s hand.

“You do whatever makes you happy, Andy. That has always been what we have wished for both you and your brother. That you would both be happy.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Now, that being said… I think you deserve better than her.”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“You’re my mom, or course, you do.”

“No, your mother’s right,” John added. “Sam is lovely, but… you deserve to be treated better. I think… I think you could be loved better. I think you could be happier with someone else.”

“Alright, let’s talk about something else,” decided Raine. “What about that new colleague of yours? That you keep on mentioning? Y/N?”

Andrew’s face lit up at the sound of your name, but he didn’t notice. His family did though, and they all shared a look.

“She’s well! Adapting, trying to get her footing at Trinity, I guess… but she’s doing okay.”

“You’re becoming good friends, I reckon.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think we can say we’re good friends by now.”

“Hmm… and nothing more?”

“Mom…”

“I’m just asking!”

“Nothing more. None of us is… looking for anything like that at the moment anyway.”

“Hmm…”

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me… There’s nothing there, just… we’re just good friends. Really good friends.”

Why did this answer felt like lying though? Why was his heart dropping as he spoke the word ‘friend’?

For a second, the mere blink of an eye, he could feel your lips on his and…

No! No… it didn’t mean a thing…

“Anyway… she shut Ian and Patterson up the other day, like… it was crazy.”

“Really?”

“Hmm… yeah, like…”

Andrew started rambling about you, failing to realise that he jumped from one anecdote to the next. Raine and John exchanged a knowing glance, smiled.

They merely hoped their son would wake up soon.

[rwrbficrecs]

We’ll Invite Something In by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@dot524: This is a fandom favorite and for good reason. In this canon divergence AU, Alex is President, Henry is out, and they never got together in their 20s. Instead, they encounter each other in their late 30s and a very different type of relationship ensues. They still hide it at first, but there’s a lot of living that they both have done and need to work through. I really enjoyed the character dynamics here and how the premise changed both Alex and Henry, making them bolder and more mature. Definitely read this one!

Eyes Blue, Like the Atlantic by bleedingballroomfloor (book-verse)

@dot524: A Titanic AU! Adapted by an excellent writer, this one has suspense, action, romance, and intrigue. There is a MCD (Main Character Death) in here and some other tags to be aware of, but also vibrant scenes with dancing, chasing, art, and formal wear. I really enjoyed it!

Clean Slate by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: This was just so excellent. I devoured it in no time, couldn't put it down. I love the way Alex just slips into Henry's life like a silk glove even though Henry has his hesitations. There's abslutely no angst at all other than "you're too young for me" "no, next question" I love it. I love Henry finally feeling young for the first time. I think that is something that Henry generally feels after meeting Alex, like he's never been able to, no matter at what point in life he is. ANYWAY I'm talking about Henry way too much again for a rec. Read this.

Most People Exist by @sprigsofviolets (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Henry, 30, is a nurse on a cancer ward. From the very first moment he feels an intense connection and attraction to his newest patient, the one who has a brain tumor and is named Alexander Claremont-Diaz. - The tags say it all: "Falling in love, Slow Burn, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort". After reading this story I am a whole new person. I laughed and cried, had butterflies in my stomach, I felt it all. Hands down one of the best fics I've ever read!

after hours by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@na-dineee: How much can happen in a few hours? stutteringpeach: Hold my beer. 😅🤝 Reading this was truly a roller coaster ride, my stomach was doing somersaults non-stop: On his last evening in New York, poet Henry meets bartender Alex and the two spend the night together - in true "Before Sunrise" style. To sum it all up: enchanting, sweet, phenomenal, iconic!

No. 1 (Royal Red and Blue) Oil on Canvas by @captainjunglegym (book-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: This fic is so twisted and surprising in the best way! The summary did not prepare me for all the action that comes after the initial relationship drama and I'd really like to fawn over it some more but I don't want to spoil the fun of figuring out what really is going on and what are characters' motivations. Just give it a try.

Meet the Parents (series) by @14carrotghoul (book-verse)

@dot524: I really enjoyed these thoughtful character studies of Ellen and Oscar. The two short stories are a series of canon vignettes from Oscar and Ellen’s POV. These glimpses of the Claremont-Diaz parents add heart and depth to the RWRB canon, giving insight about how Ellen and Oscar think about parenthood, power, family, and each other.

Leave The World Better Than You Found It: A BONES AU by @treluna4 (book/movie-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: I really enjoyed this FirstPrince meets procedural TV show fic! With Alex as Booth and Henry as Brennan, they learn to work together, solve crimes--and fall in love, of course. Plus take down a very satisfying book villain.

No Laughing Matter by @inexplicablymine (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This fic is absolutely hysterical- a must read if you need something to cheer you up! It's also very relatable for anyone who, like me, has said things they've regretted in all the best ways!

in summer air by @acdsbff (book-verse)

@na-dineee: I need a vacation and vitamin D - maybe that's why this series (both POVs are covered 🥰) captivated me so much?! It is set on a Greek island, where Alex, just cheated on by his boyfriend, meets hotel owner Henry. What follows is a whirlwind speedrun romance against a beautiful backdrop. Really therapeutic for the heart on dreary days!!

here is a map (with your name as a capital) by @alasse9 (book-verse)

@dot524: What an incredible surprise to have this entire 50k story drop at once. In this canon divergent story, Alex and Henry start getting to know each other in Rio, when Alex helps him recover from a panic attack. Their friendship, and later their relationship, is a delightful slow burn with funny moments, heartbreak, and steady support of each other. I thoroughly enjoyed this start to finish — the characterization of both Alex and Henry is on point and I really enjoyed how the writer changed some of the scenes from the book while keeping key callbacks. A delight.

Claremont 2008 by @happiness-of-the-pursuit (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This friends to lovers AU is done so well! Having Henry and Alex meet as kids means we get years of their friendship before they even start dating, and it gives every aspect of their relationship so much depth through this entire fic. It also gives some events only referenced in the novel a completely different perspective, which makes them even better!

keep me in the moment (don't it feel so real?) by @anincompletelist (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: I absolutely love everything that comes out of Sarah's magic little fingers and this was no exception. Alex and Henry are best friends and pinning over eache other unknowingly and an accidental lil discovery turns their relationship upside-down (for the better) absolutely recommended. I honestly loved it so much.

you know i can't be found with you by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: This was SO much fun. Alex was RELENTLESS and I absolutely love an older Henry. It was also very fucking funny. 10/10

the great duck fiasco by @alexclaremont-diaz (book-verse)

@suseagull04: A spy AU, dating apps, and Alex's Texas roots combine in the funniest way possible- definitely read this if you want a good laugh!

[moonselune]

hiiii I’m such a fan! I was browsing ur page and I saw your requests were open!! I’ve had this idea that I think you could pull off really well (if you want of course) of headcannons with Gale and Wyll and whoever else you want from the main crew. But it’s a bard Tav where Tav is a really free spirited performer, kinda Stevie Nicks-ish if that makes sense? But just how they would react to their partner performing and being so filled with whimsy lol

of course, take your time, and take care of yourself, love ya 💋

aww thank you and I love you too nonnie ! oxox

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The Elfsong Tavern was buzzing with anticipation, the usual chatter fading to a murmur as you stepped onto the small wooden stage. Tonight, the dim, flickering lanterns cast a warm glow around the room, amplifying the earthy wood tones and illuminating the eager faces of patrons crowded around their drinks. You stood under the lights, dressed in layers of flowing scarves, fringed shawls, and beads that caught every glint of candlelight, giving you an otherworldly aura. The intricate braids and delicate trinkets woven through your hair shimmered, and your movements seemed to echo the fluidity of the music you were about to bring to life.

The tavern was filled with your companions, too; Wyll and Astarion had secured a spot near the back, their friendly bickering put on pause as they waited for your performance. Shadowheart leaned casually against the wall, though her eyes sparkled with anticipation, and Karlach was already clapping her hands in encouragement. After all, you were their one shot of paying off the drinking tab they had racked up. But amid the gathered faces, it was Gale who watched you most intently, his gaze unwavering as if committing every detail to memory. You could tell he was more than eager for this; he had heard you sing before, but he’d never seen you perform like this. Tonight, he had the look of someone watching a dream come to life before him.

As you took a deep breath, your gaze met his, and you felt a jolt of warmth, steadying you before the first note escaped your lips. When you started to sing, your voice was soft yet powerful, like smoke rising from a fire, filling every corner of the room. The melody was haunting, weaving tales of distant lands, lost lovers, and ancient magic as if you were spinning a spell in every verse. The music ebbed and flowed, pulling everyone in and wrapping them in a shared reverie. You let your hands drift through the air, each gesture enhancing the magic of your performance, your body moving with an effortless grace that only added to the ethereal atmosphere.

Gale sat close, his eyes wide with wonder, his usual thoughtful expression replaced by one of pure, unfiltered awe. He had known you were talented, but he hadn’t realized the depth of your gift until this moment. It was as though he was seeing the essence of you laid bare, wrapped in a voice that seemed to pull emotions from his soul he didn’t even know he had. His hand rested over his chest as he watched, his breath shallow, and his cheeks flushed as he tried—and failed—to keep a grin off his face.

With each song, the patrons were drawn deeper into the dreamscape you painted, applauding wildly between sets, shouting for more. Coins began piling up in the small pouch you’d left at the stage’s edge, a few admirers even coming forward to drop in gems and trinkets as tokens of their appreciation. When your final song faded, you looked out at the room, allowing yourself a breath of relief and satisfaction as the patrons erupted in applause, whistles, and cheers.

Sweeping down to gather your earnings, you glanced over at Gale, giving him a knowing smile. The coins clinked together in the pouch, heavy and promising, enough to pay off the tab and keep the camp well-supplied for some time.

“So,” you teased, swinging the pouch of coins playfully, “what do you think, Master Wizard? Impressed?” You couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the flush of color that had spread over his cheeks.

But he didn’t answer with words. Instead, he rose from his seat and, before you could say another word, leaned forward and pulled you into a kiss. His hands were gentle but sure as they settled on your waist, his lips warm and soft against yours. The kiss was deep, sweetly lingering, full of every unspoken word of adoration he could convey. You felt him smile slightly against your mouth, his kiss a mix of passion and pride, as though he couldn’t help but show you how much he cherished this moment. When he finally pulled away, there was a brightness in his eyes, a joyful awe that left you a little breathless.

“That was… breathtaking,” he murmured, voice a touch unsteady, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “You were absolutely enchanting. You always are, but tonight… I feel as though I’ve just met you all over again.”

The way he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world, made your cheeks warm, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You might just have to meet me all over again later, then,” you teased, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “For now, I think we’ve got some celebrating to do.”

His laugh was rich and warm as he nodded, reaching out to clasp your hand as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The other patrons were still clapping, some singing bits of the songs you had just performed, filling the tavern with life and mirth. As you looked around, clutching Gale’s hand tightly, you felt a surge of joy and a sense of belonging that was only strengthened when you glanced back at him.

“Perhaps,” Gale said, leaning close with a mischievous grin, “we could arrange a more private encore? Not for gold this time, but… let’s say, for inspiration.”

You chuckled, cheeks still warm, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’d be delighted, Gale,” you murmured, letting your thumb graze over his as you both made your way back through the crowd, the tavern still ringing with laughter and song.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The Elfsong Tavern was packed tonight, each seat filled and standing room claimed by folks eager to catch a glimpse of the rare performance. Word had spread that there was someone different gracing the stage, a figure draped in layers of midnight blue and silver with cascades of lace and ribbon, a glimpse of gold dusting your cheeks and collarbone. A glimmering amulet rested against your collar, catching the dim, amber tavern lights, casting an ethereal glow as you moved gracefully across the small, candle-lit stage.

At the back of the room, Wyll had found a perch along the wall, one hand resting on his hip as he leaned back, eyes fixed on you. He’d heard you sing before, often in quiet moments meant only for him and only with the flickering light of a campfire between you. It had been a comfort, the way your voice brought life to tales of distant places and people, weaving threads of fantasy that had soothed his weary spirit after long days. He’d known your voice was magic, but this was different. Tonight, you were stepping onto a stage that turned every eye in the tavern toward you, and he found himself awash in pride and something deeper, something far harder to name.

When you began to sing, the lively hum of the crowd faded into an awe-struck silence. Your voice rose, weaving tales of wild-hearted love, of spirit unbound by law or fear. Each word seemed spun from silver and mist, filling the room with a longing so palpable that Wyll felt his own heart pull with it. He barely registered the breaths he took; each one was held between your lyrics, his gaze transfixed by the way you moved, as if the tavern itself became a world of your creation, an enchanted space, and everyone present was helplessly pulled into your orbit.

You sang of love lost and found, of adventures taken in far-off lands under strange, foreign skies. The layers of your voice, low and haunting, rose to peaks of passion, before returning to gentle refrains that wrapped around each listener, drawing them into your spell.

Your eyes, half-lidded and glittering, swept the crowd but always returned to Wyll, grounding him even as he felt himself drifting deeper into your enchantment. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time, and the realization that he could fall even deeper, love you more wholly, made his heart skip a beat.

As the final note faded, the crowd broke into thunderous applause, cheers rising and the atmosphere charged with a sort of collective reverence. You smiled, a soft, almost private smile, as you offered a bow, looking radiant in the warm light, your cheeks flushed with joy. You slipped off the stage, weaving through the tables until you found yourself standing before him. Your expression shifted to that familiar look, a soft amusement in your eyes as you caught Wyll’s unblinking gaze.

“Well, my gallant hero,” you teased, nudging him playfully, “how much gold did we rake in?”

Wyll blinked, still dazed as he registered your words, his eyes slowly focusing.

“The gold… right, of course, the gold…” He fumbled in his pocket, eyes still locked onto yours as if you’d vanish if he looked away. He was meant to collect gold, to raise some money for the refugees stuck in Rivington. His lips parted, and he tried again. “The gold’s… here. I think…”

You chuckled, crossing your arms as you tilted your head, studying him with a raised eyebrow. “Wyll Ravengard, did I leave you speechless?”

“Speechless?” he said, a bit dazed, before laughing softly, his voice catching. “You left me… spellbound.” He reached for your hand, fingers grazing over your knuckles as he held your gaze, his dark eyes warm and reverent. “I knew you were magic, love. But I didn’t know…” He trailed off, swallowing as he shook his head, his hand squeezing yours. “Didn’t know you could make the world disappear like that.”

Your smile softened, your fingers tightening in his as you took a small step closer. “Just a little music, Wyll.”

“No,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “It’s you.” He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Every word, every note… I swear it was just for me.” You could see him wrestling with his own words, fumbling for how to say what he felt.

Finally, he let out a soft chuckle, his expression slipping into something both tender and slightly bashful as he ran a hand through his hair. “I think I’m a fool, standing here in a love-struck haze when we’ve got a tavern’s worth of coins to count."

“Maybe so,” you murmured, unable to resist a grin as you reached up, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “But it’s quite charming, you know?”

He grinned, the teasing warmth in his expression faltering slightly as he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close. His hand found the small of your back, his other tracing the edge of your jaw as he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against yours. His voice softened to a whisper, as if sharing a secret only meant for you.

“I don’t ever want to stop loving you like this,” he said, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “You make me feel… everything. As if all the world could vanish, and I’d still have everything I need, right here with you.”

You felt your heart stutter, warmth flooding through you as you leaned into his touch, your own fingers curling around the back of his neck.

“Wyll Ravengard,” you whispered, leaning in until your lips brushed his, “if you keep this up, we may just end up broke—because I’ll only be singing for you.”

His laughter was soft, breathy, and it melted into a sigh as he pressed his lips to yours, the tavern and its patrons fading away until it felt like just the two of you beneath a star-lit sky.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Awww i do love these softies. Hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[kaibutsunoo]

He is picking his teeth with a powerline, absentmindedly thinking aloud as he contemplates the fact that his mother must not even realize that she has an in-law. "I should tell Mother about the moth." He muses aloud. It is not like.... she'll be upset that he's already married.

[bluejutdae]

Stray Kids as Hozier songs | OT8

Chan

Take me to Church - the song resonates with leadership and a commanding presence in the same way Chan does, with a very bold and powerful nature. It's a very intense song. Chan is devoted to the members and the music and he’s a determined man. Chan's unwavering presence is always passionate and the soulful vocals of the song coupled with the powerful instrumentals mirrors the role of Chan in the group. The lyrics also reflects resistance, something we know Chan is well versed into.

Minho

Nina Cried Power - The empowering theme of the song resonates with Minho's social involvement. "It's not the song, it is the singing". It's no mystery Minho is very well conscious of inequalities in the world, and he does what he can to fight them. The song also explore power and the force of collective strength, something that pairs well to Minho and his attentive care to guide Stray Kids in dancing as a unit. "It's not the wall, but what's behind": he understands and communicates perfectly how the connections between members (even beyond the surface) are part of the strength of the group.

Changbin

Jackie and Wilson - Stylistically speaking, the song’s instrumentals are impactful and strong just like Changbin's rapping and his ability to make strong artistic statements even when in a group. The lyrics convey the sense of overcoming challenges, something Changbin himself admitted to have done, and in doing so, he made a lasting impact in the musical world and in the lives of many (who often speak about the impact Changbin had on them).

Hyunjin

Cherry Wine - sweet and soulful, a very gentle and emotional atmosphere, tender but complex, almost like it’s hiding a constant questioning. The song has the ability to convey emotional depth and a story, and it’s mirrored by the ability Hyunjin has to do the same while dancing. The song has a tone of melancholy in itself, a bittersweet taste that Hyunjin is able to replicate with his ability to convey emotional complexity with just a facial expression or a movement. The poetic nature of the song, despite the negative narrative aspects, reflect Hyunjin artistic expression and many of his paintings.

Jisung

From Eden - Jisung's creative style match the complexity and depth found in the narrative of the song. In the song there's a sense of familiarity and introspection, and both Jisung and the song manage to be amazing storytellers. The imagery in the song it's very vivid, just like Han's lyrics, and the symbolism is so Jisung coded.

Felix

Almost (sweet music) - smooth and stylish, the song depicts a sophisticated atmosphere, yet a longing and emotional one. There's a mix of style in the song, a bit of classic jazz and something more contemporary, and it translate perfectly in Felix's duality. The heart being, in a way, the main character is also something easily paired to Felix, who always wears his heart on his sleeves.

Seungmin

Someone new - an hopeful and melodic atmosphere, a "friendly" song even to those who are not fans of Hozier. There's lightness in the lyrics yet they’re honest and clear, and they translate in Seungmin's position in the group. As said, it’s an honest song, almost like a self-discovering journey from the narrator and it suits Seungmin so well.

Jeongin

To noise making (sing) - bright energy, uplifting and optimistic tones. There's a careless energy in the song and exuberance that reflects Jeongin's. The melodies are almost whimsical, and paired with the uplifting message it reminds me of the constant positive and cheerful aura that I.N. has. It also always makes me think it can be read as a message to Jeongin from his hyungs: the undeniable love they have for him, the unwavering support and the joy they all feel just by watching him being happy…

[thankskenpenders]

And now for something new

So, here's something I was never planning on doing, but I just couldn't shake the idea... Thanks Ken Penders is gaining a sister blog featuring an entirely different comic franchise!

Introducing... Thanks Steve Ditko, a blog where I read the Earth-616 Spider-Man comics, starting all the way back in the '60s! It's gonna be much more casual and less thorough than how I run things here on TKP, though, which I'll explain in a sec.

If seeing me post weird bits from old Spider-Man comics sounds fun and you need no further info, then just head right on over to Thanks Steve Ditko. But for longtime TKP readers, I know you probably have questions...

Number one: Why?

Spider-Man's always been my favorite superhero, and with the Spider-Verse movies kicking ass and my excitement building for the new Insomniac game, I've been in a Spidey mood. Inevitably, a thought occurred to me: Maybe I should actually read the comics that everything else is built off of and see the wildly varying contributions of all the original creators, rather than filtering them through big budget adaptations. If I can power through One Piece and all these other manga with hundreds of chapters, it can't be that hard... right?

And, well, after a few issues I quickly realized that my options were to either clog up my other accounts with random Spider-Man panels for years, or to just make a side blog. And so the side blog was born.

Two: Will this blog replace Thanks Ken Penders?

NO!!!!!!!!!

Okay but prove it

To allow the two to exist side-by-side, Thanks Steve Ditko will have a different format than what Thanks Ken Penders developed. Rather than an in-depth guided tour that critically analyzes every story beat of every issue, TSD will just be a place for amusing panels and brief thoughts as I casually read the comics at my own pace.

If you've seen me make a few tweets about reading Spider-Man recently, I'm basically just moving that to a dedicated Tumblr. It's a place for me to dump these things so that it doesn't fill up my media tab on Twitter for the next decade. (You know, assuming Twitter is still around in a decade.) There will be many issues where I only post two panels that I thought were funny. There will be issues where I don't have anything to say at all. Maybe I'll reach a run that I just cannot get into, and I start skipping around more. Who knows!

This may sound similar to what I thought this blog would be before it blew up. Aside from the simple fact that there's already mountains of Spider-Man commentary out there and therefore less of a void for me to fill, one of the main steps I'll be taking to avoid repeating the past is not enabling an ask box on TSD. I do not need people to ask me to go into ten times more detail on everything. I do not need to write seven essay-length responses to questions about Spider-Man minutiae every day. I do not need a place for people to chide me for not covering certain scenes, issues, or ancillary series.

It also won't have any kind of update schedule. I'm trying to keep it very casual. I'm reading these comics at my own pace, and if I feel like sharing a moment or commenting on something while doing so? It goes there. That's it.

(On the subject of format changes, I'm also listing the issue, writer, and penciller in the body of every post. This is a thing I wish I'd done on TKP so that people didn't misattribute every weird Archie Sonic panel I post to Penders.)

Three: So when will TKP come back from hiatus? You said it'd come back after you finished SLARPG!

I don't know! Sorry. I have a couple things on the backburner right now for TKP, but I'm not sure when I'll get back to proper updates where I read more comics.

I wanted to bring TKP back this year, and that's still possible. The main hurdle is that I want to reread my own archive (again) as a refresher, which is, uh. A lot of posts. I've developed a high standard for myself on here, and I feel like I wouldn't be doing my job right if I forgot half the ongoing subplots and character arcs and didn't bring them up in my analysis. Especially when I'm discussing the work of an author as obsessed with continuity as Ian Flynn. Unfortunately, the nature of this blog means that every time I go on another long hiatus for Life Reasons I have even more comic continuity to catch up on than last time.

(This is a big part of why I'm making Thanks Steve Ditko an extremely casual blog instead of promising to become a Lore Expert on 60+ years of Marvel.)

Mostly I've just been very burnt out this year after having finally finished a video game that took almost eight years to make. I haven't really had the energy for any creative projects, including TKP. But I feel a little bit of a spark here with Spider-Man, so I'm chasing that feeling to try to get back into the swing of blogging about comics - no pun intended.

So, basically, bear with me on this as I start this low-energy side project. But hopefully folks will enjoy Thanks Steve Ditko as its own thing, too.

Look forward to goofy shit like this

[letters-adressed-to-the-fire]

so this is why i think peter is the one looking in people's windows

A few days ago, I saw a swiftie on TikTok talking about how I look in people’s windows could be taken as the other perspective of the same story narrated in Peter, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I decided to go in-depth and start a self-assigned quest to look for any clue that could interweave these two stories in a way that made sense.

I know this could sound a little absurd or could be taken as a stretch of some sort, but I believe, and I’m sure most of her fans would agree, that most of the beauty in Taylor’s writing comes from the countless different interpretations people bestow on her lyrics. I’m not asking you to take this analysis as absolute truth because I’m genuinely just having fun with it, and I hope you do too.

I’ll analyze “I look in people's windows” from Peter’s point of view and “peter” from the other character’s pov, whom we’ll call Wendy given the obvious parallelism to Peter Pan.

Well, the main and obvious connection is given by the “window” element. While Wendy is waiting for Peter by the window, Peter is looking for her from outside that window. If you look at this through very literal and rational eyes, I believe you’d think it doesn’t make sense that they were both looking for each other through the same window but never met again. So HERE is where I want to insert my interpretation.

There are two options I can think of that would explain the failed meeting. 

Peter intentionally avoided Wendy while still looking for her every day.

Every time they were looking for each other, it happened at different moments.

The first case presents a lot of questions, like, is the pledge to grow up what is stopping Peter because he knows he can’t do it? Or was he cruel enough to wait for Wendy to move on and then come back? Either way, the conclusion remains the same. In this scenario, Peter was a coward. If it was because he didn’t want to grow up, if it was because he just wanted Wendy to never move on, or if it was because he never gave her a real answer.

On the other hand, the second case talks about something that’s closer to a tragedy. They were always doomed by the narrative. While Wendy was waiting for him, Peter was looking for her, but Wendy never saw him—not when she waited or when Peter was looking for her. We would need to assume some things here tho. Either it all comes back to the first option and Peter had been avoiding her the entire time, or he thought she had already forgotten about him. The first option shows us, once again, that Peter is a coward, but the second one also tells us something important: he may be too scared to grow up, but he’s not selfish enough to stop her from moving on.

“Northbound I got carried away As you boarded your train South, south, south, south, south, south A feather taken by the wind blowing I'm afflicted by the not knowing so”

Based on this verse, we can design a new theory. He watched her leave and he was aching for her to come back to him. So he started looking for her in other people’s windows, wondering if one of them was gonna be her. Even when he had already said goodbye to her.

And here’s where another verse of peter will acquire significance:

“I thought it was just goodbye for now”

With both songs in mind, it sounds like he said goodbye to her, hoping they were gonna see each other again, but he also knew he had to let her go at the time and that he was condemned to miss her. But what Peter didn’t know was that Wendy was gonna go through the same thing, but she wouldn’t have the comfort of knowing what he did (wait for her).

“promises oceans deep, but never to keep”

This is why we get two completely different endings for both songs. While Peter is still addicted to the what-ifs, Wendy has turned off the light; the fantasies have expired for her. Wendy grew up; Peter didn’t. While I look in people's windows gives you the feeling of being running from house to house in a neighborhood you don’t recognize anymore, trying to fit into a routine you were used to in the past; peter reads like the last chapter of a book you’ll never touch again.

[zepskies]

Omgosh I loveeee the imagines for Sam having a crush on deans gf!!! And the part 2 SO ANGSTY. And you write dean and readers interactions so well! (Feel free to ignore if you don't wanna do this) But I'm so curious to know how the conversation went between Dean and the reader after finding out! I just need to know how dean talks about the situation with them!! Anyway HAVE A GREAT DAY 🩷🩷

Hello my lovely anon!

I'm so glad you enjoyed those angsty little imagines. 😂 For those who don't know, they're referring to these:

You are Dean's one exception. (In which Sam is in love with Dean's girlfriend - and how Dean reacts.)

Sam crosses the line. (The sequel: Sam finally sees his chance with you after he's hit by a witch's spell.)

I tried to imply what followed between the reader and Dean after this section:

Your eyes widen further. You look from Sam, to your boyfriend. Dean's jaw is clenched tight.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?!" you ask in earnest.

Dean meets your gaze for a moment, his face tense. His reluctant eyes communicate to you things you never knew. Things that clog emotion in your throat.

But since you asked so nicely, this is my headcanon for that conversation between the reader and Dean (after Sam is knocked out by Rowena lol):

Of course, you would demand to know why Dean didn't tell you earlier.

Your heart and mind are a maelstrom of emotions: shock, not wanting to believe it's true, anger and hurt at both of these men for lying to you for so long about what's been going on.

Because a lie of omission is still a damn lie.

Dean is quiet at first, and you're forced to read into his silence. You peer at him closer, grabbing his wrist.

"Dean...did you really think it would change anything?" you ask incredulously.

His brows furrow. "No."

But you don't quite believe him.

"I just...didn't want you to have to deal with this shit, that's all," he eventually admits.

Your eyes narrow as you stare up at his face. You're trying to discern the truth.

"Is that really why?" you ask.

"Yeah, okay?" His voice is gruff and frustrated.

You move in closer, gripping the open edges of his plaid shirt. He knows what you're demanding in your gentle silence.

Don't lie to me.

Your hand reaches up to his cheek, a tender gesture that softens him. Your thumb brushes across his lower lip.

"Good," you reply. "Because if I have to remind you that I am entirely, undeniably, irrevocably in love with you, then I might just have to punish you."

A slow smirk spreads across your man's face.

"Oh yeah?" he says. His hands find your hips, drawing you closer. You're satisfied by the hint of doubt washing away from his demeanor. From his tight shoulders loosening.

"Just outta curiosity, what might that entail?" Dean asks.

Your lips curve. "Oh, you'll find out, after we fix your brother... Dean, I'll need to talk to him."

Dean's burgeoning good humor fades, but you take his face in both your hands and make sure he meets your gaze. You are firm in your convictions, and he sees that.

He nods in acceptance, before he dips down to press his lips to yours. It's gentle at first, but all too soon becomes claiming, born of hidden frustration and passion.

When he parts from you, it's slow, reluctant. His fingers draw a strand of hair behind your ear.

In his eyes, you see the true depths of him. Something not many people get to see.

It's there that you always know that you're loved.

I hope that satisfied you, my dear! 😘 I miiiiight do a more official 3rd part to this imagine-verse where Sam gets his happy ending (with Eileen).

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420