#they made me scribe and i had people talking on one side and then a performance room rehearsing on the other and i heard nothing

[camellia-thea]

is this normal fatigue or new medication side effects? the story of my life

[crystallinestars]

How They React to Your Death

My HCs about how I think the Genshin boys would react to your death. I wanted to write Kaeya too, but ran out of steam.

This month has been terrible to me, so I was in the mood for angst. I don't know how well these turned out, but they were fun to think about.

Part 2 here.

Characters: Alhaitham, Childe, Heizou, Kaveh, Lyney, Neuvillette, Venti, Wanderer/Scaramouche, and Wriothesley

WARNING:

Reader has death descriptions. Some are more graphic than others, but I don't get into the nitty gritty details.

Spoilers for the backstories of all the mentioned boys.

MAJOR SPOILERS for Act V of the Fontaine Archon quest in Neuvillette's part.

Childe's part contains mention of suicidal thoughts.

Kaveh's and Venti's parts contain alcoholism

🎧 Alhaitham

Despite Alhaitham’s considerable wealth, no amount of money could cure your Eleazar sickness. His money could only buy treatment that prolonged your life a little bit, but ultimately your many years of battling the illness ended when he got news from the doctors that you had passed away in your sleep.

Alhaitham had accepted the news fairly quickly. He knew your death was inevitable, could see you slowly wasting away each time he visited you in the hospital over the past few months. So it was no surprise to him when the day finally came. The other patients and staff thought it strange how Alhaitham had no visible reaction to the news, but some chalked it up to shock when in truth the Scribe was simply accepting of that fact. There was no use denying something that already happened.

When Alhaitham came home that day, the house felt silent and empty. It reminded him of how the house felt when his grandmother passed away when he was younger. The sensations were similar. However, he did not cry over your death. Instead, he carried on his life as normal, or as close to it as he could now that you were no longer a part of what he considered ‘normal’.

At first glance, people thought that Haitham was unaffected by your death. Nothing about him changed. Not his mannerisms, his quality of work, or his expression. He remained the same reserved, stoic Scribe who had no time for trivial nonsense or extra work. He also never talked about you to others aside from confirming their question if you were truly gone. Alhaitham was like a well-oiled machine that worked efficiently like clockwork, keeping up the same even rhythm.

What they don’t see is how he comes home with the expectation of hearing your voice greet him upon entering, only to be faced with a defeating silence that makes his heart sink. They don’t know that Alhaitham wakes up throughout the night, expecting to find you snuggled up next to him in bed the way you used to before your sickness got worse, and you had to be hospitalized. However, you weren’t there no matter how many times he looked towards your side of the bed, and the Scribe could only sigh and try to fall back asleep while ignoring his aching heart.

No one sees how Alhaitham gets too lost in his books in the mornings and accidentally makes two cups of coffee instead of one due to force of habit. Or how, for once, he finds the silence of his house bothersome without your voice and the sounds of your activities resounding within the walls, and it’s enough to distract him from reading. He could be found reading at the House of Daena and Puspa Café more often from then on.

During his afternoon naps, Alhaitham sneaks back home and cradles your favorite blanket to mimic the sensation of holding your soft body in his arms the way he used to when you joined him for naps. He listens to recordings of you talking with him just so he can hear your voice again. He was glad he made the decision to record your voice at the hospital before you became too weak to speak. It gave him the chance to hear you one more time even if the sound of your voice made his chest hurt so much that he occasionally had to stop the recording to collect himself.

Nobody sees how Alhaitham finally picks up the fiction books you recommended him because they were your favorite. He prefers non-fiction, but these books are the last things he has left through which he could connect to your mind and way of thinking. He reads them all cover-to-cover even if he finds the story lacking or the writing not to his taste. He will learn to treasure each and every word because you once did.

What someone might see, as Kaveh did when he moved in with the Scribe, is a bookshelf filled with a few journals, a thick book with an emerald cover, and an assortment of fiction books that exist nowhere else in the house. Alhaitham never talks about these books unless asked, but their well-worn covers are a sign of frequent use, and sure enough, one can catch him reading a rare fiction book during one specific month each year.

🐋 Childe

You went missing after going out to collect some firewood in the woods near Childe’s home. A search party was arranged to find you with Childe in the lead, and he was also the first one to find your remains. Your body had been torn apart, blood and innards splattered across the snow, no doubt the work of some rifthounds. Usually, Childe would relish in such a gory sight, but not this time. Not when it’s your blood and flesh painted in the snow.

The sight leaves him numb. He’s numb when the search party comes to retrieve you, numb when he sees your parents weeping over your gruesome death, and numb when he takes on the duty of exterminating every rifthound he finds around Morepesok.

He wants to cry too, to grieve for you the way he needs, but refrains. He doesn’t want to appear weak and unreliable when his younger siblings mourn and cry over your death. You were like family to them, and your death broke their little hearts to pieces. Childe didn’t want to burden his siblings further by breaking down in front of them. He needed to remain a reliable older brother who could support them through this tough time, even when his own heart bled and he cried in his sleep when he dreamed about you.

Childe’s underlings noted that the Eleventh Harbinger became colder and more irritable after your passing. Any mention of your name would garner the speaker a harsh glare, and if Childe assumed what said person said about you was disrespectful, he didn’t hesitate to start a fight and beat the other person within an inch of their life. He became violent and unhinged, much like how he used to be when he returned from the Abyss as a fourteen-year-old boy.

Childe knew his behavior was irrational, and it pained him to see even his own family fear him due to his violent actions. He felt restless. Spending time at home among your belongings summoned feelings of longing and sadness, but even so, he couldn’t bear to throw anything away. He lived among the ghosts of your existence, however, it drove him mad with grief.

Childe needed an outlet for his emotions, so he took to fighting monsters and other strong opponents. He became even more reckless in battle. If before, the Harbinger sought out strong enemies to test his mettle against them and grow stronger as a result, now he sought out an opponent that would be worthy of taking his life.

Childe didn’t want to abandon his family. He loved them dearly and wanted to see his siblings grow up to be happy and successful people, but life without you felt so hollow. A part of him wanted to return to his family, but the sense of his family feeling incomplete never left him. You were just as much of a family to him as his siblings and parents were. He had plans to start his own family with you. But now… now, a part of him yearns to reunite with you in the afterlife. He promised he would stay by your side no matter what, and Ajax is not one to break his promises.

🔍 Heizou

Heizou was one of the first to hear about your stabbing that occurred in an Inazuman alleyway late that evening. You were rushed to a doctor to have your wound treated, but the robber who attacked you hit a vital area. Your blood loss was colossal, and it wasn’t long after arriving at the doctor’s that you succumbed to your injury.

To Heizou, the news brought on a sense of deja vu. He’s already lost a friend to crime in the past, and now he lost you to crime, too. The knowledge made him furious and heartbroken. He was angry at the robber for stabbing you just so he could steal some money that you didn’t want to part with, and he was angry at himself for failing to prevent this. After his friend passed away, Heizou swore to nip crime in the bud by discouraging criminals from committing crimes with the threat that he would find and capture them no matter what without fail. But what good did his resolve do if you still died because of an armed robber?

The heartache and guilt he felt ate away at him as the memory of your ashen face during your last few moments haunted him. He lost you. Never again would he get to spend time with you and make you laugh, kiss and hug you, or tell you he loved you.

His anger drove him to capture the murderer in record time, but hearing the criminal’s subsequent sentence for theft and murder didn’t comfort the detective. No amount of jail time would ever atone for the loss of your life.

After that day, Heizou lost his playful demeanor, becoming somber and reserved. He threw himself into his work, feeling pressured to capture as many criminals as he could in as little time as possible. However, his grief and exhaustion caused his mind to dull and make mistakes while investigating clues. It got to the point where Kujou Sara had to forcibly send him on vacation so he could take a break and properly process your death.

Despite his protests, Heizou knew he wasn’t much use in his current state, so he took this free time to visit your family and mourn together with them. He apologized for not doing a better job of protecting you, fully expecting your parents to lay blame on him for not protecting their child. To his surprise, your parents didn’t blame him at all. They even thanked him for catching the murderer and helping them to feel a little more at peace. Heizou’s interaction with your family helped him feel a tiny bit less guilty about your death.

The experience left him feeling a little less broken, so in the following days he sorted through your belongings in your shared home. He packed away some items to return to your parents, some things he put in storage, and others he gave away that he remembered you wanting to get rid of. A few of your items he kept for himself, one of which was a scarf you mentioned you bought because it was the same shade of green as his eyes which reminded you of him.

Heizou wore your scarf as a keepsake and good luck charm and would hardly be seen without it when he finally came back to work. What once served as your reminder of him, now served as his reminder of you, the person he loved with his whole being. But with the memories of you came the reminder of how you died. Though the memory was painful, it helped Heizou work up the will to keep pursuing his goal of eradicating crime. Even when the case was extremely tough with conflicting clues, your scarf would remind him to not give up, to not let another incident like yours happen again, and Heizou would persevere. He would continue to persevere no matter how long it took because he didn’t want innocent lives like yours to be snatched away so cruelly. Maybe one day, he will see you in the afterlife and proudly tell you all about how he achieved his dream. Until then, he will work hard to be worthy of the title of Inazuma’s best detective.

🍷 Kaveh

Kaveh had a lot of work to do. He was saddled with creating drafts for another large project while also trying to work on the commission for constructing a library in Aaru village for the children. Wanting to help alleviate his burden, you offered to take the finished drafts over to Aaru village yourself so he could focus on finishing up work for his other project. Kaveh tried to object, saying you really didn’t need to trouble yourself on his behalf, but you insisted, expressing your desire to help him finish his work sooner so the two of you could spend more time together again. After some deliberation, he let you go to the village by yourself, confident that you could make the trip since you accompanied him there several times before.

A few days later, Kaveh received news that you had died on your return trip from the desert. When he heard the cause of your death, his stomach roiled. You perished in quicksand just like his father. You died doing something for his sake, just like his father did.

Whatever future plans he was building together with you, whatever progress you made in helping him slowly heal from his trauma, it all came crashing down around him. Your death reopened old wounds Kaveh was only starting to heal from, as well as left new scars that tormented him every waking moment.

The first few weeks, Kaveh couldn’t stand to be in your shared home. It was full of memories of you, and each and every one of your belongings would stab at his heart like a blade. Moreover, the house felt so silent without you around. It reminded him of when his mother left for Fontaine, leaving him alone in a house too big for only him to live in. Now, he was reliving that moment all over again, but it was worse this time because, unlike his mother, he would never see you again.

Kaveh also couldn’t stand to look inside his sketchbooks. The pages were covered in various sketches of you, and looking at them only made the anguish and guilt grow in him tenfold. He blamed himself for your death, attributing it to being his fault just like he attributes his father’s death as his fault too. No matter what anyone says to console him, he will never stop believing it’s all his fault.

Fueled by guilt and self-loathing, Kaveh spent several weeks visiting Lambad’s tavern practically every day. One could even say he lived there since the architect seldom went home. He used what little money he had to buy alcohol, especially of the stronger kind. He wanted to numb the pain in his heart and to pretend that you weren’t really gone from this world. The alcohol helped to muddle his mind until his intoxicated brain conjured happy memories of you together, and Kaveh would mumble your name in a drunken haze. Other times it didn’t help, and Alhaitham, Cyno, or Tighnari could often find a drunk Kaveh quietly crying while slumped over a table and trying their best to drag him home while listening to his drunken babble of self-loathing and regret.

It will take a long time for Kaveh to feel okay again, and even then, he will never be the same optimistic and cheerful person he used to be. You were his muse, the one who made him feel like maybe he was deserving of love after all. But with you gone, he lost his creative spark. His designs no longer held the same extravagant and artistic flair they used to. Now, they’re more tame by comparison. With your passing, you took with you the little bit of joy he felt towards the world, and it seemed more bleak than it used to be when he was with you.

Kaveh refused to seek out love after your death. He’s lost too many people he held dear and has been left alone over and over again. The pain of being left behind and of feeling like he will only bring misfortune to those he cares about, made him seal off his heart. He doesn’t want to let people close to him like that again, and neither does he want to replace you. You were, and still are, very special to him.

Despite numerous years going by after your passing, Kaveh never forgot you, and he didn’t want your memory to be forgotten either. He built an art school and dedicated it to you in honor of being the one who inspired him so much in his creative endeavors. He hopes that your name will live on and continue to inspire future generations of artists long after he is gone from the world.

🎩 Lyney Having grown up in the House of the Hearth with Lyney and Lynette, the twins were practically like family to you. Though admittedly, Lyney and you developed romantic ties rather than familial ones the more you got to know each other. It was no surprise to anyone when the two of you became a couple, and Lynette even encouraged it.

Being a member of the Fatui, you were often sent out on dangerous missions to infiltrate enemy territory and report your findings back to Arlecchino. You were good at your job and had major successfully completed missions under your belt, but even the best slip up sometimes. After infiltrating enemy headquarters, you regularly reported your findings back to the House, however, one day the correspondence stopped. You went completely silent. The thought of you being caught immediately crossed Lyney’s mind, but he was hopeful that as an experienced agent, you would manage to find a way out somehow. You always have in the past, and after having worked together with you during joint missions, he saw first-hand how capable you were. To pass the time, he focused on polishing a magic trick he wanted to show you upon your return.

Days go by, and just as the magician is about to lose his patience and run off to try and find you, news about your body washing up on a riverbank reaches his ears. The heartbreak Lyney experiences upon hearing the news is indescribable. He felt lost, disoriented, and anguished. A part of him refused to believe the facts, but after witnessing the gruesome sight of your corpse, he had no choice but to face reality.

You were dead.

Lyney wondered at length about the cause of your death, and while his own guesses made his stomach knot, the autopsy report he read a few days later made him livid. Numerous torture and abuse marks were found on your body. It seemed that the enemy had captured and tortured you, hoping to force you to spill some of the Fatui’s secrets. Judging by the severity of the most recent wounds, you must have kept quiet because more brutal torture methods were used on you until the enemy figured out they wouldn’t get anything out of you, and disposed of you. Lyney knew how loyal you were to your family. You would never betray them even at the cost of your own life, but in that moment, he really wished you would have treasured your life more. Maybe then you could have survived. Maybe then he would have had the chance to hold you in his arms and tell you he missed you while you were gone. Maybe he would have had an opportunity to show off the magic trick he created specifically for your eyes only. But now, he’ll continue to miss you until the day death comes for him too. Lyney’s initial reaction upon hearing of your torture is overwhelming fury. Lynette had to hold him back from recklessly running off to take revenge against the enemy. It took a lot of reasoning on her part, but eventually, her brother calmed down.

Once his bout of anger passed, Lyney broke down. Lynette didn’t hide her own tears as she held her brother in her arms while he cried. The siblings both missed you dearly and mourned your loss, but Lyney took your death especially hard. He felt broken. One of his most precious people was taken from him in such a cruel manner, and the mere thought of how you must have spent your last few waking hours made him feel horrible.

He was anguished and angry, and the potent concoction of negative emotions weighed down on his heart and mind. Gone was his cheerful smile and outgoing attitude, replaced with a cold and somber frown. His calculative side took center stage. Though his initial burst of outrage passed, he wouldn’t give up on his desire for revenge until the act had been carried out. Aside from the twins, Arlecchino also refused to take your death lying down. You were her precious child, someone she put in a lot of love and effort to raise, and this transgression angered her as much as it angered Lyney. Together with Arlecchino, Lyney and Lynette infiltrate enemy headquarters and make every person a part of that organization pay. The magician ensures that the perpetrators experience the same pain you went through during your torture, and by the time they’re done, not a soul is left alive.

Even after exacting revenge, Lyney barely feels a smidge better. Though your captors have been neutralized and won’t hurt anyone the way they hurt you ever again, it doesn’t satisfy Lyney. At the end of the day, all he wants is to have you back in his life. He consoles himself with pieces of your clothing. Your clothes smelled like you, and Lyney hugged one of your items every night, breathing in your scent and soaking the material with his tears as he quietly cried. It takes a long time for Lyney to get himself together and act like himself again. Though he could easily put on a fake smile for his audience, his heart still aches inside. He misses you no matter how many months go by, and Lynette has her hands full comforting him when he breaks down at night and cries about how much he wants to see you. Lyney would have had an easier time accepting your death if you had passed away more peacefully, but knowing you were tortured to death will forever haunt him.

Once he feels more like himself, Lyney incorporates the magic trick he originally wanted to show you upon your return into his magic shows. He only performs it during special occasions so it would leave a great spectacle upon his audience. It was once made to awe you, but now it awes his audience, and a part of him feels some semblance of catharsis in knowing he could inspire others to feel the same joy you made him feel using just this trick. At times like these, Lyney feels as if a part of you was still there with him, enjoying the show he secretly dedicates in your honor.

⚖️ Neuvillette

You were visiting your friend Navia in Poisson, when the Primordial Sea flooded the area and caused a great catastrophe that took the lives of many of its residents. Neuvillette was aware you were in Poisson when the disaster struck, and he tried to get there as quickly as he could to check on you. He would have arrived there immediately were it not for the pressing matters he had to settle prior. He hoped the Traveler and Paimon would find you and keep you safe since they knew you were the Iudex’s beloved.

When he finally made it to Poisson, to his morbid surprise, he found neither you nor Navia, but some Fatui members helping to mitigate the damage. When he asked about your whereabouts, he was told that nobody had seen you. Immediately, his thoughts ventured to the worst scenario, but he refused to believe in his fears until he could get confirmation. He held out hope that you were alright, and went in pursuit of Navia and the Traveler, hoping that maybe you were with them, or they knew what happened to you.

It wasn’t until he was saving Navia from getting dissolved in the Primordial Sea water, did he catch a glimpse of your face. You were trying to protect Navia from certain death, along with Silver and Meluse. At the time he was too anxious about saving Navia to fully register the implication, but an unsettling thought sprang in his mind that maybe you really were— No, he didn’t want to accept it.

When Navia regained consciousness, Neuvillette asked her about your whereabouts. Her answer pierced through him like an ice-cold lance. With tears in her eyes, Navia recounted how you were helping Silver and Meluse rescue the residents of Poisson when the Primordial Sea flooded in, and how she saw your body dissolve in the water along with her loyal subordinates with her own eyes. The news settled in Neuvillette’s stomach like a boulder, causing it to sink and make him feel nauseous. Dread filled him, but he could only muster a quiet “I see…” and stare off into the distance. He felt crushing sadness, but he wasn’t given time to properly process his emotions and your death until he managed to make it out of the ruins.

That evening, Fontaine was hit by a torrential downpour that lasted several days. The rain fell in heavy sheets, flooding the streets and urging most of the citizens to seek shelter in their homes. Only the Chief Justice had the gall to stand outside and let the rain seep and soak through his clothes.

Neuvillette let the water droplets cascade down his face, imitating the tears he wished to shed as the realization that he would never see you again settled in. It was strange. Though he was on land, each waking moment he was pursued by a constant feeling of drowning. His chest felt heavy as if burdened by a great weight that made each breath he took feel like a herculean task.

Neuvillette felt a lot of emotions he couldn’t find the words for. He was frustrated and angry that innocent civilians had died in the flood because nothing was done to prevent it. So many people died. You died. If nothing else, he wanted to get justice for your and the others’ deaths.

However, Furina refused to provide answers to his questions despite his probing and insistence that now was not the time to keep secrets that could potentially help prevent an even greater catastrophe. That was when he turned to seeking aid from his companions, in the hopes that Fontaine could still be saved. Neuvillette lost and gained many things in those few days. The citizens of Fontaine were freed of their curse, and Neuvillette had obtained a position of complete authority, however, it all came at the cost of the lives of innocent civilians, Focalors’s life, Furina’s mental state, and… your life. Those were great prices to pay, and Neuvillette mourned each and every sacrifice.

Now that he had some time to himself to process his feelings, Neuvillette recognized that what he felt was grief and longing. He wanted to see you at least one more time, to feel you in his arms again. To have you taken from him so suddenly was too painful. He never got to tell you one last ‘I love you’, and he could only hope that his words reach you wherever your consciousness might be now. Fontaine will see frequent rainfall in the coming months. It won’t be easy for Neuvillette to get over your death, and some part of him will always ache and yearn to see you again. But one thing he can do is strengthen his resolve to make Fontaine into a nation that both you and Focalors would be proud of. A nation where tragedies like these will never happen again.

🍃 Venti

Venti liked to climb up on high places like his statue in front of the Favonius church, the rooftop of the Cat’s Tail, or the great tree at Windrise. Today, you found him high up in the tree, absentmindedly strumming a new tune on his lyre. Wanting to surprise the bard, you tried your best to climb the tree as quietly as you could, but right as you were about to pop up and surprise him, the branch you were on snapped, and with a heart-stopping shriek, you plummeted down to the ground.

Your scream alerted Venti. He felt your presence before you even started climbing the tree, but he failed to foresee the danger until it was too late. He didn’t react fast enough to summon a gust of wind to safely lower you down. The sickening crunch of your skull hitting the ground made his stomach roil, and for a brief moment he felt as if the blood in his veins turned to ice. He felt frozen in place.

Snapping out of his momentary stupor, Venti rushed to your side to check on you, but the enormous pool of blood blooming around your lifeless body made him throw up.

Not again. He lost someone he loved once more. The painful emotions of losing you triggered a cascade of memories of seeing the broken body of that one boy he called a friend thousands of years ago. The same boy whose face he now wore as a way of honoring his memory and giving him an opportunity to live out his dreams of freedom through Venti.

Venti felt that same feeling of heavy emptiness once again as he cradled your lifeless body in his arms, your blood smearing the white sleeves of his shirt. One of the bard’s hands cradled your still-warm cheek, and he wept. To have you taken away so easily through such a small accident… it was too much.

Venti didn’t attend your funeral. He couldn’t bear to. However, he forced himself to watch from a distance as your loved ones gathered around your grave. He fully empathized with their grief.

In the following days, one could often find Venti at a tavern. He started with Angel’s Share, but after consecutive days of heavy drinking and drunken ramblings about how remorseful he felt and how you deserved better, Diluc put a stop to Venti’s visits. The Anemo Archon wasn’t getting any better from drinking himself into a stupor until he could barely hold himself upright. It was heartbreaking to see.

Even after being banned from the Angel’s Share, Venti would visit other taverns in the city and rinse and repeat. He so badly wanted to numb the pain in his heart and forget the awful memory of your lifeless body. Only after several bans did Venti finally stop coming to the city altogether. He disappeared for a while, and nobody was able to find him. Only after many weeks did the bard suddenly pop up in the town square with his lyre in hand.

During his absence, Venti wrote a few songs as a way to cope with his grief, and after a while, finally felt well enough to play them. As a bard, he was well-known in Mondstadt for playing cheerful and beautiful tunes, but this time his melodies were melancholic, even sad. They listened to him sing about a love he can no longer say ‘I love you’ to anymore, someone he can no longer forge new memories with and can only carry on in his heart as a memory. The music he played captured the attention of every member of the audience and touched their hearts so deeply that they, too, could feel the sorrow the bard was trying to convey through his melodies. His pain became their pain, too. The heartache was so profound, so raw and crippling, that many people couldn’t hold back from crying.

Venti wasn’t playing the songs to earn money or share his sadness with others. He was playing them for you. He hoped that his feelings would reach you wherever you were and that your memory wouldn’t fade away even if he remained the last person alive who knew of your existence. His songs will keep your memory alive in the hearts of the Mondstadt citizens, never to be forgotten.

☂️ Wanderer

You have been fighting chronic sickness for months, but despite the treatments, each week you seemed to get worse and worse. Neither the doctors of Sumeru nor even Nahida herself could figure out a cure for your condition. You were bedridden with barely any strength to move. Wanderer took responsibility for nursing you back to health by helping you get to places you needed, cooking all your meals and feeding you, as well as getting your medicine and administering it.

Despite his efforts, you could tell you wouldn’t last long. While you still had the strength to talk, you apologized to him for being forced to part from him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, with a frown pulling at his lips. “Rather than talk about such nonsense, use that energy to get better instead.”

He didn’t want to face the facts, to accept the reality that you could disappear from his life. But then came a day where you no longer opened your eyes when he called your name, nor stirred when he tried to shake you awake. Your body was cold and stiff and so unlike what he was used to seeing you as. The life you possessed was gone in all senses of the word.

Something in Wanderer snapped that day. Falling to his knees, he let out a guttural scream that tore at his vocal cords. He unleashed a wail that carried all the anguish and misery he’d been keeping bottled up inside for hundreds of years. He’s lost so many people he cared for in the past. Each time he met someone he grew attached to, fate would always tear them away from him, and you were no exception.

He cried bitter tears in the privacy of your shared home, cursing Fate for doing this to him over and over again. He was angry and heartbroken. Though he lacked a real heart, the sensation in his chest felt like something inside him broke into a million tiny fragments. As if sharp needles pierced through his non-existent heart and caused him to scream until he lost his voice.

He wanted revenge, but how can one get vengeance against Fate itself?

You were gone, so cruelly torn away from his side despite his best efforts to keep you alive. You were the little ray of light that never gave up on him no matter how cold he was towards you or how much he pushed you away, and helped him heal little by little. You accepted him in his entirety and wormed your way into his non-existent heart, so how dare Fate mock him like this? Wanderer truly felt as if Fate was purposely torturing him by taking away all those whom he held dear.

Helpless and anguished, Wanderer reverted to the days when he used to be Scaramouche, the sixth of the Fatui Harbingers who was infamous for his callousness and mercilessness. His roiling emotions spurred him to repeat these spiteful acts against anyone who got in his way. It was the only way he knew of how to vent these overwhelming emotions that made him feel like he was choking on his grief.

It took Nahida’s interference to calm him down and get through to him that you wouldn’t want him to be like this. The Wanderer you fell in love with wasn’t such a hateful person driven by negative emotions, and though he was loathe to admit it, the God of Wisdom was right.

Having quelled the initial burst of wounded anger, Wanderer would think more clearly about what he should do from now on. He could keep all your items, photographs, and letters, but they would never replace you, only help preserve some of the memories attached to them, which a puppet like him had no need for. He won’t forget even the smallest thing about you, not as long as he’s alive.

Wanderer becomes a regular visitor of your grave, taking care of it so your name won’t be erased from the gravestone by time too quickly. He would frequently bring your favorite foods and flowers and place them in front of your grave, before taking a seat next to it and staring off into the distance without saying a word. He did this mostly at night so he could stargaze, just like how you both used to when you were alive.

Even centuries later, when everyone who knew you took their memories of you to their graves, Wanderer will remain to watch over your final resting place, unwavering in his devotion.

🐺 Wriothesley

You accompanied Wriothesley on another one of his swims out in the open waters surrounding the Fortress. Since you weren’t a vision holder, you had to wear a diving suit to breathe, unlike your beloved Duke. You’ve had these private little swim dates a few times before, so your guard was down when you swam through some jagged areas of the Fortress’s scaffolding. The shoulder of your diving suit caught on a sharp edge of metal and tore a hole in it. The tear was fairly large, and you panicked when you felt water rush inside your suit. Wriothesley was quick to freeze the hole and pull you up to the surface to get the suit off of you, but by the time he did, it was too late. You had inhaled too much water and were unresponsive. Wriothesley tried to keep his anxiety at bay and utilized all the CPR knowledge he learned from Sigewinne to try and save your life. He breathed air into your lungs and did chest compressions with enough force to hear your ribs crack, but even after 30 agonizing minutes of trying, you wouldn’t wake up.

Wriothesley had no choice but to accept the fact you died. Wriothesley doesn’t cry for you. He’s no stranger to death. His exposure to it in his younger years made him all too aware of how easy it is to die, and that death came for all without exception. As a result, he was able to accept your death a little easier than most, but it doesn’t mean he made peace with it. The staff and inmates at the Fortress all said Wriothesley looked the same as usual even after your death. He kept up his laidback yet intimidating demeanor and busied himself with the variety of work someone in his position was required to take care of. Only Sigewinne could tell that Wriothesley was not alright despite all the strained smiles he gave everyone. The bags under his eyes grew more prominent by the day, a clear indicator he wasn’t sleeping well. She saw how he threw himself into his work, barely taking any time to rest properly, as if wanting to keep his mind busy from the horrible memory of seeing your corpse. Though he tried to mask it, in truth, your death affected Wriothesley deeply. He had frequent nightmares about watching you drown and being unable to save you, and they would keep him up at night. He usually awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding from intense panic and dread until his mind cleared, only to be replaced with a stone-cold reality that made the feelings of guilt come rushing back. Out of habit, he turns to your side of the bed to seek comfort in your presence but seeing it cold and empty served as yet another harsh reminder that you were gone. Wriothesley can’t sleep after his nightmares, so he opts to work out or fuss over his gauntlets to distract himself from his feelings. It takes all his self-control to keep a lid on his emotions and not become the angry, irritable mess he knows he will be if he’s not careful.

When he makes tea, Wriothesley accidentally makes two cups out of habit. One for you and one for him. Even weeks after your passing, it was still a difficult habit to break. For the first while, Wriothesley would even stop drinking your favorite tea blend because it reminded him of you. Rather than enjoy the flavor, all he tastes is bile in his throat. The flavor of your favorite tea makes him nauseous because it makes him think about how you will never taste this again or have another tea date in his office.

There was one occasion when he tried to drink your tea shortly after your death. He thought maybe the flavor would remind him of the happy times he shared with you, but all it resulted in was a broken teacup from the force of his grip, and Sigewinne fussing over his cuts and burns. He didn’t drink your favorite blend for a long time after that, only being able to find enjoyment in it again many years later when the startlingly clear memory of your death didn’t hurt him as much. Wriothesley felt lonely without you. You were the friend and confidant he told his deepest and darkest secrets about his past, the comfort he sought after a difficult day, and the soothing presence that made him feel accepted for who he was without all the embellished titles. But after your passing, the Fortress of Meropide seemed cold and gloomy, as if devoid of the warmth it once had that made him call it home. It was as if your death snuffed out the little ray of warm sunshine he felt when spending time with you.

[anantaru]

cw. [ex]plicit, forbidden romance, passionate haithie, fem! reader

the lingering thought of living through a forbidden romance with alhaitham.

“we shouldn't be doing this but it feels so good,” while you exchange deep breaths, eyes misted with a delirious glow.

right now, nothing seemed important enough for you to muffle your cries and heaves, as it was the only way to vocalize your feeling.

but a piercing reservation for this relationship was always there.

the irremediable sorrow of what would happen if you do get caught, if someone sees you steal a couple more kisses, brush your hands together lightly when you walk past each other. it's present, that haunted look on your face, and it was impossible to cure it as it overcame you with a shaded gloom, casted above you as it applied layer after layer of unsettling emotions.

yet your heart twists when you feel him kiss you again, again— and again, as if alhaitham silently sensed how you were giving yourself to the negatives parts of your secret relationship that actually contributed to many positive instances in your life.

"i hate it, so much," that hurt, you realized, to say it out loud and feel it hang above your head, "i hate it so much, it pains me!" to voice your emotions to him too— as if it didn't kill him as well.

but you close your eyes now, your lashes shining with a threat of tears, attempting to ignore the wounds inside of you and go back to focus on what was right now, towering before you. it being alhaitham, the man you loved, so fucking much, pleasing you to his heart’s content.

the scribe traces your muscles with his fingertips before pulling himself in you again, his lips parted and glistening on top of yours. everything considered, there was a strange, almost insatiable sort of pleasure bundling inwardly, he simply never looked at you like this before.

"oh? you're still concerned someone might hear us?"

"no, I'm not," you avert your gaze in denial, but the bitterness on your facial features told the entire story to his sharp pair of eyes. you suddenly close your arms around his neck so you could kiss— and better, shut him up, so that alhaitham would also forget about your panicked outburst and resort back to filling you with pleasure.

"good, me neither, i couldn't give a damn anymore."

"what—" this was probably one of the most miserable dirty talk sessions in history of such— if you can even call that awkward conversation that.

alhaitham silently hooks his fingers under your hips before pulling you off and on him, repeatedly, but this time faster as your lower body automatically arched upwards so he could move you on and off his cock in the most pleasurable, precise way. to have your sweet cunt split by his girth—it's maddening and you feel him throb inside of you as he drags himself against your warm walls, luxuriating in the softness of your pussy.

alhaitham slumps into your body, "i-don't-care-anymore-" and at each full throated groan, he spills a new word to complete his sentence.

now, everything had gotten more hot— scorchingly hot but cold too, precisely all at once and at the same time, your creamy walls being rubbed with passionate rolls of his cock as his pelvis hits yours.

everything between your thighs retorted to feeling swollen and well used, your hips sore enough to give up but you did not want to, not now, not ever, not when there was nothing that made you feel as good and free as this.

yes, alhaitham made you feel free, like you could achieve anything in life and have him by your side at the same time.

in the course of this, you close your eyes before begging him to kiss you again, uncontrollably make out with you until your lips would strain and hurt. and alhaitham notices, pushes deeper in, so deep that his shaft had been entirely webbed in your liquids and made them ooze out whenever he pulled his cock out.

he does it with such ease, like he's meant to do this, "i don't care whether people will spread rumors," and presses his lips on top of yours, muffling.

"because there's only one person i care about."

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[sabu123098]

SPOILERS FOR FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME

Do you ever think of why Lilith was fine with Violet going to the Scribe's Quadrant as long as Papa Sorrengail was alive? Yeah? No? Well I do.

“That’s not happening,” Xaden counters.

Her eyes harden when she looks at him. “You of all people know the lengths I’ll go to in order to protect her.

This. This right here speaks volumes about how good of a mom Lilith actually is. She may not outright show it but after reading Iron Flame, I think that she has done a great job as a protector and a provider.

“You’ve known what’s happening out there for all these years.” I white-knuckle my weapon.

She steps forward, her gaze jumping from the dagger in one of my hands to the splint on the other, then selects a pocket in my uniform top and slides the vial in. “When you have children, we can discuss the risks you’ll take, the lies you’ll be willing to tell in order to keep them safe.”

“What about their children?” My voice rises.

“Again.” She hooks her arm around my upper back, sliding her hand under my shoulder, and hauls me against her side. “When you are a mother, talk to me about who you’re willing to sacrifice so your child lives. Now walk.”

THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE.

Violet may not know her mother well, but her mother knows Violet in and out. You think her mother does not know about her and Xaden? She does. You think she has not kept tabs on her whenever she was at Basgiath? She has.

Now, to the main question.

“He made the mistake of thinking you’d be easy to control, but I know my daughter.”

I believe that the parent Sorrengails knew that they can hide the truth from Mira and Brennan, but never from Violet.

Lilith was ok with sending Violet to the Scribes Quadrant because Papa Sorrengail was there to make sure she stayed safe.

After his death, Violet was tutored by Markham. Markham wanted Violet to be the head of the Scribes, which she definitely qouldve become, had it not been for Lilith.

But Violet would not lie. Violet, as awesome she is, would always voice out her opinions. She would not be afraid to do that in front of Markham and would've ended up dead.

Lilith sent Violet in the Rider's Quadrant because she hoped that in this way Violet would stay safe. That she would never know about the venin and live a happy life.

Lilith asked Xaden to look after Violet, to ensure that she stays alive is because she knew Xaden is a man of his words. And powerful. He was the wingleader for God's sake.

[lovelynim]

TickleTober2024/Day 29 - Help

Genshin Impact - Alhaitham x Kaveh

Alhaitham was a good roommate. And a good junior too. And a good partner. Kaveh never denied any of those. He, in fact, acknowledged them almost on a daily basis.

He also acknowledged the fact that Alhaitham could be a big, sharp and burning pain in the ass when he wanted to. Out of stubborness, attitude or for whatever other reason the scribe deemed fit for his tantrums, as Kaveh would call these episodes.

Gladly, there was one thing he could rely on whenever he needed to stir Alhaitham back to the right track: he was ticklish. No matter how important his titles sounded or how big his muscles got, ever since Kaveh found out about this trait of Alhaitham back in the Akademiya, he always made sure to use it properly to his advantage.

And, to help him exploit such feature, Kaveh would always rely on Mehrak’s help. At times, Kaveh felt like he could count on his relic even more than the people around him. Of course, they were all helpful and caring in their own ways, but Mehrak…

“Release me now,” Alhaitham muttered, his brows furrowed and hands tightly clenched into a fist.

“Apologize first,” Kaveh ordered, his arms crossed in front of his chest while making sure Mehrak’s energy remained focused around Alhaitham’s wrists, securing his hands behind the scribe’s back. “Or face the consequences, ‘Haitham.”

“I did nothing wrong, senior,” Alhaitham snapped, adding an extra bit of attitude on that last part. Kaveh clicked his lips, sighing. The hard way, then.

Alhaitham leaned away from his senior when Kaveh walked over him and straddled his lap, but his back was soon met with the soft couch’s cushions, leaving him ultimately cornered, trapped and at Kaveh’s mercy. 

“Well,” Kaveh shook his head, feigning disappointment and trying his best to hide how excited he got whenever he could abuse Mehrak’s functions to overpower Alhaitham, “first: you spilled coffee over my sketches.”

“H-hngh!” Alhaitham groaned, almost as if in pain, when Kaveh poked both sides of his ribcage at the same time, one index finger prodding at each of his sides and moving up and down his torso. Oh, archons. “K-Kaveh, you-”

“Second: you forgot to wake me up in the morning like I told you to and made me get up late.”

“W-wahait, yohohou didn’t wahant to get up!” Alhaitham protested, but there was no judge in this trial, just him, Kaveh and Mehrak. He giggled nervously, his legs kicking as Kaveh clawed at his hips, making him grit his teeth while a crooked up smile pulled at his lips.

“And last, but not least,” Kaveh smirked, leaning a bit closer, “you forgot to kiss me goodbye before going to work.”

Alhaitham widened his eyes. Kaveh was the one hurrying over the house all morning, how was he supposed to kiss him?!

“But th-”

“Nah-ah,” Kaveh interrupted, wasting no other second before shoving his hands under Alhaitham’s arms and tickling him there. Alhaitham threw his head back in a loud fit of laughter, trying to break free with no avail. It was useless to fight if Kaveh was counting with Mehrak’s help, “we already had that talk. You’re wrong, I’m right. Now, let me remember what other bad things you did while we are at it…”

A/N: I want to say that I'm sorry if this one feels a little off. I wrote it after/in the middle of a mental breakdown and it took a toll on me lol

[ghost-likes-drawing]

Just Wish I Knew What Caused it

(Fitpac exs to Lovers)

Ch. 4 (to be named maybe)

Translations done with the assistance from @keezers and @iridescentpull (Spanish) and @yama67 (Portuguese) Beta reading done by: @Caracolast (may your blog RIP)

First Chapter Previous Chapter.

Cw for mention of cannibalism at the very end

Fit was really glad him and Ramon went for icecream. If allowed him to finally let go of whatever figurative breath he'd been holding because of the stress of a new job, in a new state, which requires him to eat meals next to his ex.

A night with only his son was exactly what he needed.

Three days went by and Fit got used to the new schedule and changes in workload as Bobby and Roier were doing work too. Bobby worked well with Richarlyson even if they constantly were goofing off and having to be reeled in by one of their dads.

Speaking of dads, Fit needed to get his hearing aids checked because for some reason he was certain he'd been hearing Richarlyson refer to Roier as “Pa” and Bobby do the same to Cellbit.

That didn't make sense. Right? For a moment he considered maybe Cellbit and Pac were polyamorus but he remembered Pac's jealousy well enough to dismiss the idea immediately.

On a similar note he thinks Pepito had been calling Roier Apa but the conversations he heard that in were either in Spanish or just vague enough in English Pepito could have been talking about someone else.

The reason for Pepito’s insistence on speaking Spanish made sense very quickly after Roier returned. Fit noticed that Roier left work before lunch to go help Pepito in the kitchen generally taking either Richarlyson or Bobby with him so they could practicing their cooking skills.

It was Dinner time again and Ramon was scribing notes under the table of what Bobby and Richarlyson were talking about on Ramon’s other side. It was about a game of Football from the previous night and considering it was the start of July Fit assumed they didn't mean American Football.

Fit was kind of Zoning out in his attempt to not look in Pac’s direction and he was just kind of looking at Pepito and Roier.

The previous evening Fit and Ramon went back to the car so Ramon could talk about the things he'd learned and managed to put together from the last couple days so he can attempt to make friends with Bobby and Richarlyson. This information included, somehow, the fact Bobby was definitely Roier’s bio son which Fit had presumed anyway but was cool to have confirmation on he supposed.

The reason this matters NOW though, while interesting, was just raising flags.

Bobby could almost be Roier’s mini me. Bobby’s hair was more reddish brown and had a more feathery volume then Roier’s and Bobby’s face was a bit rounder and he was ever so slightly tanner but they definitely looked like father and son.

The thing was the more he looked at Pepito next to Roier when Bobby wasn't sitting right next to Roier the more Pepito looked like Roier too.

Pepito didn't look like Roier the way Bobby did. Pepito was much darker than any of the adults at the table. A fact Fit payed little mind to having already assumed him and Richarlyson were just adopted and probably not related to eachother, (considering Richarlyson was Afro-Latino and looked nothing like any of them) and the distant memory that Pac hated the idea of getting pregnant, but Pepito had other things. His hair grew in the same way and was exactly the same color. Pepito’s eyes were more green and brown but their eye shape…. Not to mention their noses.

Had Fit noticed these things in people before he became a parent?

Fit felt like a conspiracy theorist. Examining the features and coming up with solutions but they all felt… convoluted?

He thinks at some point someone mentioned Mike used to live here? Maybe Mike and Roier were Pepito’s bio parents? But then why was Cellbit and Pac the one Raising him? Why didn't anyone else talk about Mike? Mike was alive he overheard Pac on the phone with him. Could Mike get pregnant? And it had been over 12 years but he didn’t think Pepito looked like Mike

He must have started making a face because he gets a jab in the ribs from Ramon and when the world comes back into focus he's in a staring contest with Pepito. Fit blinked as obviously as he could and Pepito smiled so wide, clearly proud of himself and Fit put in a show of having lost. He heard a familiar restrained snort from Pac before Ramon signaled in the corner of his eye for his attention.

Fit looked to him. “Need something?”

Ramon signed “what?” Before gesturing to the accidental staring contests

“Gossip, tell you later” Fit signed Back.

“What Gossip?” He saw Richarlyson lean around Bobby to sign as he spoke. And he heard a restrained snort from Bobby

Fit could just see Ramon’s eyes light up at a chance to form a connection with the two boys. Ramon turned and while he couldn't see the question asked he could figure out it was probably “you two know sign language?” From the arm movements and then Bobby’s response

“Yea, our cousin Tallulah” he finger spelled then gave her name sign “started teaching us, we were around” he stalled to look at Richarlyson for help. “7 maybe 8?”

Fit hummed smiling and took a sip of his water to watch the boys talk.

“I was 7. You were 8.” Richarlyson answered.

Bobby seemed happy with the answer and looked back to Ramon “we kept on learning afterwards. she cried next time we saw her. She was so happy”

Ramon nodded “I know Lullah” he used the name sign before finger spelling and pulled out his phone to show a picture.

They both looked and clearly recognized her “you know her how?” Bobby signed

“My cousin. In 2 ways.” Ramon answered leaning to one side “1. my biological father is the younger brother of her dad, Missa,” he shifted to his other “2. my dad is close friends to her dad Philza. The two were in war together.”

Both kids nodded in understanding and Richarlyson signed “Cellbit and Philza worked on enigmas together after the war”

“Roier and Missa’s brother used to date” Bobby signed trying to be sly, presumably hiding from Roier who threw a small piece of meat at Bobby making him laugh.

“Okay asshole, my bad dating decisions aren't their business.” Roier chuckled out and got the piece of meat thrown back at him.

Fit looked around and realized Everyone had been watching the conversation… well except for Pac, the first time Fit looked at him since the meal started, “do you all know sign?” Fit asked aloud as he signed

Roier and Cellbit in tandum shook their hands to indicate it was only kinda

“We can understand well but we don't practice the way those two do.” Roier shrugged

“Besides Pac who refuses to try” Cellbit gestured his head toward Pac starting a laugh and then he paused seemingly after seeing Pac face “Ei espera-” Cellbit looked aprehensive “are you hard of hearing?” He turned back to Fit

Fit was taken aback and looked around the table for a second and everyone looked as bewildered as him. Except for Pac who looked completely done with everything. “Uh yea… the end crystals during the war took a lot of my hearing. I wear hearing aids for it and everything.” Fit kinda akwardly turned his ear to show them

Cellbit licked his lips and looked mortified “Pac é por causa disso?-”

Pac cut him off mid question “Sim, é exatamente por isso!” He sighed and stood up taking his plate with him “I'm going to bed” he huffed and brought his plate to the kitchen before turning back and climbing the stairs shooting Cellbit a look as he passed

Cellbit bit his lip “Eu peço desculpas amanhã, eu fui meio mlk.””

Richarlyson nodded in agreement but tugged at Bobby’s Overalls. They turned themselves at an angle so that no one could see their hands without making an attempt obvious before turning back to Ramon.

“Hey Ramon, after snack tomorrow do you want to practice with us? Tallulah and them are coming up for Pepito’s birthday so it's probably a good idea to be on the top of our game” Richarlyson said Decidedly

“Oh, sure! That'd be awesome.” Ramon smiled akwardly and looked to Fit clearly proud of himself.

Fit gave him a inconspicuous thumbs up.

“Yay! More practice!” Pepito smiled wide.

Richarlyson and Bobby looked panicked as they looked to eachother.

“Oh…Sorry Pepito. Next time you can join but I don't think Ramon wants to help teach you his first time practicing with us.” Bobby shrugged

“I don't mind” Ramon assured.

Richarlyson and Bobby looked to eachother. Then they looked to eachother then at their parents, Cellbit looked at them expectedly. Roier looked to Cellbit and the kids clearly trying not to giggle. They looked back to eachother.

“How about you practice with me and Richars the day after? You've gotten to spend a lot of time with Ramon.” Bobby offered trying to placate the seven year old “I've only just gotten the opportunity” he said matter a factly.

Pepito looked to Cellbit. And Cellbit nodded thinking it was fair although Pepito seemed unconvinced

“I’ll paint you a bunny” Bobby said flatly

“Deal!” Pepito sat off of his chair to shake Bobby’s hand and Bobby stood to meet his hand and shake it.

“I'll have it ready by next week.” Bobby Promised

“I'm holding you to that deal” Roier pointed to Bobby with his fork “I'm not raising liars”

Bobby smiled and nodded “I know”

“Or cheats”

“He’ll still get his birthday present” Bobby put his hands up defensively.

Roier nodded in approval and stood up taking his and Pepito’s plates to the sink. He came back and shooed Pepito out of his chair “come on Pepini, Bath time”

“Aaaaapppppaaaaa” Pepito whined and seconds later Bobby and Richarlyson were out of their seats going:

“Don't worry Pepito!”

“We’ll save you!”

“Hold on”

Roier tried to stop them "Esperen no alto” But it was to late

In a fluid motion Richarlyson hoisted Pepito out of his seat and on to Bobby’s back as they ran off with him. Pepito squealed in delight holding on to Bobby tight and laughing as the kids ran around the living room with Roier trying to catch up.

Cellbit just laughed

“Gatinho! Ayuda!” Roier shouted

“Awww but they're being so sweet. Gosto de ver você correndo atrás deles G..” Cellbit stood up quickly cutting himself off as the teenagers started running toward the door “Q MERDA! he blocked their path both kids running into him and they tumbled to the floor. Roier caught his breath and picked Pepito off of Bobby’s back.

“Ow” Cellbit groaned

“Ve a caminar y se te pasaf” Roier called back As he marched up the stairs with a still giggling Pepito in his arms.

-

The following day started the same as any other…. Kinda…

Fit had gotten done a bit earlier than normal and was the second one downstairs for breakfast when usually he was near last. He'd been only beaten by Roier who was currently cooing out in what sounded like concern but looked like an excuse to cuddle standing up while Cellbit dosed out assurances, Cuddling back with one arm and trying to finish breakfast with the other.

Fit couldn't understand what they were saying. it being to quite and he barely understood Spanish or Portuguese.

Fit was stood halfway down the stairs watching when Bobby and Richarlyson squeezed past him, saw their dads, looked to eachother and chuckled going to the table

“Blehhhh” Bobby called at them. “Get a room”

“At least my hard work payed off” Richarlyson hummed causing Bobby to laugh even harder.

Cellbit pulled away from the cuddle “Okay, merdinhas, seis querem brincar assim?” And chased after them in a brisk walk as they tried to escape in a brisk walk. Everyone too tired to give a good try.

Pac walked down the stairs and looked around “where's Pepito?”

Roier finished placing food on the table and looked around “must not have gotten up?

Pac went to go back up the stairs.

“Ey no it's your day off I'll get Pepito.” Roier stopped him and Roier went back upstairs

Pac hummed and went to sit at the table stalling Bobby and Richarlyson’s attempt to ‘flea’ to give Richarlyson a hug and a kiss on his head before letting them keep going.

Cellbit was polite enough to pause his pursuit.

Ramon went down the stairs and saw fit stopped and looked at his face “Fit are you okay?” He stepped out of the way as he saw Roier come down Pepito being dragged behind him coughing.

At the bottom of the stairs Roier stopped to see if it would correct itself. Roier lifted Pepito’s arms holding them so he wasn't covering his face anymore and and after a few more coughs Pepito gave a thumbs up. Roier let go and Pepito hugged Roier, Roier hugged him back before sighing and picking him up.

“Goddamn asthma” Fit could barely hear Roier whisper and Cellbit detoured from his chase to take Pepito into his own arms as Roier pressed a gentle kiss to Pepito’s temple.

Ramon started pushing Fit along to the table and getting them both seated.

Cellbit sat Pepito at the table while Bobby and Richas came behind him. With Bobby telling Pepito rubbing his back “Wow eres muy suertudo, cuando yo tenía asma nadie me dio mimos.”

“Trataste de pelear con Jaiden y conmigo cuando intentamos acercarnos a ti!” Roier protested causing Bobby a chuckle and a smile from Pepito as everyone got sat around the table.

Because Pac wasn't working neither was Richarlyson but Roier reminded him he still had to help cook this time because he and Bobby promised they could cook lunch on their own today. Richarlyson gave a thumbs up and everyone went on their way.

Bobby was as much help as normal and Ramon had been entrusted to fix up the engine on something Fit couldn't remember if he tried, but Roier and Cellbit were still acting odd.

Cellbit, who usually was the one being a freak about water breaks, was now being over shown by Roier who wouldn't let Cellbit work for 5 minutes without drinking water. Cellbit didn't protest but for most of them he clearly barely took a sip to satisfy the Mexican before moving on.

As the morning went on and got closer to noon Roier just seemed more and more clingy and Cellbit was getting less and less insistent on staying on track.

“Oh gracias a dios” Bobby huffed “I can go start on lunch, you two are so cheesy” he whined walking off causing Cellbit and Roier to giggle.

Fit wasn't sure what that was about but he was just trying to stay focused as he heard quiet arguing from the two still in Spanish and Portuguese.

“Kk se eu te beijar, você me deixa realmente finalizar meu trabalho aqui ?.. certo?.” Cellbit chuckled causing Fit to pause because he did understand part of that…

“Si, yes, i promise” Roier sounded like he was smiling

“De boa?”

“Por lo menos 5 segundos” Roier stipulated

“Okay, pucker up” Cellbit hummed

This couldn't be happening, right? Fit tried not to but he tuned his head and there he saw Cellbit cupping Roier’s face with both hands kissing him as Roier was pulling Him closer. Fit looked away not daring to be caught seeing that.

Roier let out a dramatized moan and Cellbit pushed him off with a scold “…. Volte ao trabalho,”

And Roier did not even bothering to remind and insist on the water half as much.

The lunch and the rest of the work day had a weird fuzz around it. At first Fit was processing the idea that Pac had been married to a cheater for who knows how long. Then Fit had to turn over the moral of telling Pac versus keeping him and Ramon afloat.

If he told Pac he'd lose his job eventually right? If Pac said how he'd probably be fired immediately. if Pac kept a secret of how he found out they'd divorce and probably liquidate and Fit would still have to find new work.

Snack time finished up and the work day was officially over. Pac, who had joined to have snack with everyone stood up giving Richarlyson a hug and giving a side one to Cellbit "Eu vou ver, se termino uns negócios pessoais, antes de eu tentar começar o jantar.”

“Okay de boa,divirta-se po”

Ramon gave Fit a quick hug before going upstairs with Bobby and Richarlyson to practice sign and in a Split second decision while Cellbit was looking to see what Pepito wanted Fit followed Pac outside.

“Pac! Pac!” Fit called out in a stage whisper, half walking half running down the stairs to catch up. “Pac, we need to talk!”

Pac groaned out a sigh turning to give Fit a glare warning him to reconsider. Fit stopped in his tracks and did but shook it off “Pac I'm being serious.”

Pac rolled his eyes and faced him fully “okay what could you possibly need to tell me, hm?” He shoved his hands in his Jean pockets

Fit paused “okay, you have basically no reason to believe me. I get it. But While I was working today…” Fit paused again not wanting to fuck up how he phrased it “And you know I had been noticing for a while that things seemed odd…” he paused again

“Spit it out Fitche!” Pac snapped leaning into his words

“Your husband is Cheating on You!” Fit finally managed. Before blushing at what was once a term of endearment being used in this context.

Pac’s face softened less from annoyance to confusion “I… excuse me, my what?”

Fit had to take a second to contain himself again and nodded “your husband… Cellbit… I uh saw him kissing Roier earlier” Fit looked away akwardly “and you know despite everything I don't think it's right to just let your husband cheat on you without telling you.”

It was quiet for a moment before he heard a soft snort, then a chuckle, then a laugh and by the time Fit looked back up to Pac he was double overed

“What's so funny?”

“Okay Fit who set you up to this? Hm? Cellbit? Não... ele tomou oque eu disse como sério..” Pac hummed he gave another chuckle “he's so protective because Mike’s not here… uuuuh Roier Right? has to be! Bobby and Richas Don't have enough weight to be worth it if I get mad and told Cellbit” pac nodded decidedly “what did he say to get you to joke about that?” He said still chuckling

Fit was taken aback and hand to pause unsure how to proceed “no… Pac I'm not joking. No one set me up to say that I'm telling you what happened.”

Pac stopped chuckling and Fit felt bad as he knew reality was setting in. But Pac just looked more confused “you're telling me you think Cellbit is cheating?”

“Yes” Fit nodded

“On me”

“Yes”

“With Roier?”

“Yes”

“Cellbit’s husband.”

“Yes!” Fit said exasperated before processing the words “I'm sorry his what?”

“Yea Cellbit isn't my husband.” Pac shifted his weight “he and Roier are married. I'm not married. Check their hands they never take their rings off.” He showed his own hand for a second before shrugging “Why did you think I was married to him?”

Fit paused and had to think back “I mean. I knew Cellbit had a husband I don't think I was told who. And then I showed up and you walked out and Richarlyson called you both Pai I just assumed!” He blushed a bit in his embarrassment “then he threatened me over you and and I guess that nailed it in that he was just a super protective, maybe a bit crazy, husband.”

Pac thought about it and nodded “oh yea that makes sense. And Roier wasn't home that first week” he chuckled “although if you thought that was protective and crazy you should see him when anyone tries to flirt with Roier or makes him feel unsafe.”

Fit nodded “I'll take your word…” Fit rubbed his neck “sorry for bothering you… guess I'm just kinda a dumbass?”

Pac hummed “yea kinda.. but you're well meaning, Ent.. esta bem.” He shrugged with a genuine smile

Fit nodded “well I'm glad you can see my attempt. Uh what’s the joke you thought I was pulling on Roier’s behalf?”

Pac snorted “ugh this thing from when we first moved here… it's a long story…” Pac waved him off “Não se preocupe.”

“Well if you say so.” Fit took a step back towards the house.

Pac turned away to continue walking “I'll see you at dinner Fit.” Pac chuckled again “it's still so funny… Me! Married to the man who ate my leg…”

“Yea hillarious” Fit agreed without thinking and went back up the stairs. He may not have meant for it to go that way but maybe this'll lessen the tension between them.

It wasn't until the door slammed behind him that Pac’s words fully processed.

“Did he just say Cellbit ate his leg?”

Chat, hate to say it. This Fic may die after I post chapter 5. I hope it doesn't but I'm at a loss with ch.6 but I'm TRYING. And there will be context Fics for this au, stuff in this universe I have that I have modivation and direction on. Hope anyone still reading this is having a good one <3

[natalchartnurtures]

Nobody Talks About Ophiuchus

So back in January 2011, a news article from the Minnesota Planetarium Society made headlines. The article, titled "Your Astrological Sign Just Changed. Thanks, NASA," claimed that due to changes in the Earth's alignment, there should be a shift in the zodiac, leading to the inclusion of a new zodiac sign—Ophiuchus. Controversy alert, am I right?

Well, this stirred A LOT of astrological drama up in the communities back then, and it recently piqued my interest to want to know why it existed in the first place and furthermore… why nobody talks about it. Not that I'm interested in changing my zodiac and potentially MY WHOLE BIRTHCHART! I'm just a curious lil chipper, so… what's Ophiuchus—the "thirteenth zodiac's" deal anyway?

Ophiuchus, the underdog of the zodiac, is positioned along the celestial equator. The cosmic serpent bearer has been in the cosmic chorus since ancient times. But although it shares the stage with its twelve zodiac companions, it doesn't quite share the spotlight like the rest. Suddenly, it began grabbing headlines and chaos ensued. Myths that said astrology was starting to get outdated floated everywhere, and unappetizing astrological misconceptions were served for breakfast AND dinner with the side of ignorance and muggle mentality.

But the truth behind all of the Ophiuchus attention was found in the origins of the traditional twelve-sign zodiac system itself. After hopping onto the astro-time machine, I found out that the Babylonian astronomers were the first WESTERN celestial scribes, dividing the sky into twelve equal acts, each starring a constellation along the Sun's yearly journey—the apparent path of the Sun across the sky, or simply known as the Ecliptic. The Greeks (particularly the Hellenistic Greeks) later picked up the script and named the constellations—Aries, Taurus, and Gemini, giving birth to our twelve main characters. This celestial drama then evolved over centuries; each zodiac sign became associated with certain symbolic meanings, qualities, and characteristics. These associations were often based on observations of the natural world, seasonal changes, and the perceived influence of celestial bodies on Earth, becoming the astrological playbook we now know.

The thing is, though, that the Babylonians knew of Ophiuchus back then; they just chose not to include it in the big 12 because it disrupted something they held at great value—symmetry. They wanted each zodiac to take up 30 degrees in the sky—that's the answer to why Ophiuchus is not included in traditional astrology. Yup, nothing fancy. The Babylonians just had a pet peeve, I guess, lmao.

But for those curious, here's some information on Ophiuchus:

Lies between Scorpio and Sagittarius

Represented by a man bearing a snake

People born under this sign of Ophiuchus fall under the archetype of – the healer, the knowledge seeker, the one with a magnetic charm. While not your typical zodiac star, folks associated with Ophiuchus might bring a dose of wisdom and a knack for balance to the celestial party. Picture them as the cosmic wanderers, curious about life's mysteries and blessed with a natural knack for attracting good vibes. BASICALLY Ophiuchus is the child of Scorpio and Saggitarius *giggles in satisfaction* knowing that makes me so happy though :}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for stopping by!

[beebopboom]

Always an Angel, Never a Man

Intro post - where we discussed some more Wizard of Oz parallels and some of the title sequence

Now though we are going to dive deeper in the character that is the Metatron, and for that we are going to be going into The Book of Enoch and who he is as an angel - at least for this part

Background info

I've said this before but I’ll reiterate here - yes I know that Neil has said…somewhere that the Metatron has always been an angel in reference to someone asking about Enoch - but I don't think we can throw all the books away especially when it seems ideas have been pulled from them.

This actually started out as a question of whether or not the Metatron had come down to Earth and paraded around as Enoch to further his agenda - and well, it was a start.

So for the most part there seems to be two explanations for the origins of the Metatron - one: he was always an angel - two: he was the human, Enoch who was then turned into the Metatron. Each of these versions vary from religion to religion but for the most part that’s the gist of it

ha yeah right you know me time for probably unnecessary long explanations to the best of my ability

Disclaimer (I guess): These explanations are not going to stick to just one religion and are going to be summaries to the best of my ability - summaries are the devil how tf do people do this all the time

Also this is quite long - it took me about ten minutes to read through

The Metatron

The Voice of God, King of Angels, Prince of Divine Presence, Prince of the World, Prince of the Countenance, lesser YHWH, Angel of the Veil

Just some of the titles that have been attributed to the archangel known as Metatron - the list could go on

Created before or along side fellow archangels - including Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel - he is considered to be above them and the one they defer to. He sits at the hand of God as their scribe and is one of the few angels able to see beyond the veil God sits behind, able to look upon and hear God. He is said to have immense Power and Wisdom

His main job is to write down the good deeds of both Heaven and the Earth and record those in the Book of Life. He is said to have connections to both the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life therefore having a special interface between the two realms, physical and celestial - he is a bridge between God and humanity. He is a patron angel of children, giving them the knowledge they had not received and can be said to have been the angel who led the people of Israel through the wilderness. He is in charge of guiding the souls ascending to Heaven.

He is often attributed to roles God, Jesus, and even the Archangel Michael has had - to the point where there is a story of Rabbi Elisha calling out that there were two powers in Heaven and the Metatron is punished by 60 fiery lashes and unable to sit in Gods presence again for not correcting the assumption

Which leads us to the other origin story for him and that is-

Enoch

Now he has one mention in the Bible in the book of Genesis and it is only to say he no longer walks among men because God took him. This then spawned the Book of Enoch - which is really three books. Among other stories that I will get into later - it is the story of a man that was so righteous God took him so he didn’t experience death and made him an angel with all the same roles as we just went over.

This book covers things such as the concepts of fallen angels, a Messiah, Resurrection, the Final Judgement, and a heavenly kingdom on earth

………we aren't going to talk about the Nephilim

But there are these angels called the Watchers who have banded together and turned away from God. Enoch is shown the destruction and knowledge these angels have put upon humanity and shown the four archangels and their task to go about fixing the Earth. Enoch is then tasked with telling the Watchers that they shall have no peace or forgiveness for sin. He then goes on to see the universe - the Earth, the cosmos, and both Heaven and Hell - guided by angels. He sees the fiery pit that is where the Fallen are held and the river where all the dead souls await Judgement. He is shown the cornerstone of Earth and the pillars(mountains) of Heaven, and on the highest one sits the throne of God. He is told the secrets of the stars and is shown the hierarchy of Angels. 

He goes on a few journeys through the Heavens and eventually turned into the angel Metatron - which some would say this is a reversal of the Fall of Man, where Enoch is given that “spark" back. Upon reaching the 6th sphere of Heaven the angels call out to God asking why he has been brought to Heaven and God answered that he was righteous and worth the rest of the people - this is placed in flood times I forgot to mention

But why is any of this important? Well we are working with around 10 minutes of screentime people - crumbs I tell you, crumbs.

What really got this going though was Metatron saying this when referring to his outfit and corporation

"This calls for much less attention, though”

This implies the Metatron knows how to blend in - with humans and angels……and demons

But particularly with humans - further proven with the line

"I've ingested things in my time, you know”

Whether or not this is true he is really pushing this in front of Aziraphale and Crowley - clothes and food wonder why - it’s almost like it’s reminiscent of another conversation, one between Aziraphale and Gabriel back in season one at the Sushi restaurant.

Anyway though - the Metatron may not have had the transformation from Enoch but the story is still relevant to who he is as a character - it’s actually a great combination of the two

In season one he only appears as a floating head but I want to start with right before he appears

Four lights come down and four pointed stars start to appear

The thing is I think these are meant to represent our archangel council

The number four and its connection to the Metatron has been sitting in the back of my head for a while now - it's a common grouping in good omens with the horsepeople, the them, the angels, and the demons - but I think it's also a call back to Enoch and the four archangels that guided him, here me out - I mean it’s four colored lights surrounded by stars cmon

The only one missing is Raphael. In season one he is replaced with Sandalphon - who has a special connection to the Metatron with a similar origin story as Enoch and is said to be his twin brother. In season two he is replaced with Saraqael who is also mentioned in the Book of Enoch, one of the only places to do so.

This council though is the last stop before reaching the Metatron - so they have to come first. Four angels at the trial and four (active) angels when he appears in the bookshop. Sensing a theme of needing four angels.

Aziraphale then asks if he is God which is quickly corrected by the Metatron saying he is only the voice and to speak to him is to speak to God which then Aziraphale calls him a presidential spokesperson - and yeah that all tracks for what we know to be his role, just no mention of the other things he is in charge of

Which let’s take a quick break to point out that the Metatron is supposed to guide souls into Heaven - Heaven is very much empty, where are you taking them our dark clothed angel hmmm?

Season two though we really get a look into his character

In the trial we get to see a bunch of floating heads and yet his is still different, as he has no body. He is still concealed with no corporation - behind that curtain

Now we have two instances of this both in Heaven and Earth - not something we see with anyone else who all have a corporation to move about - besides when Aziraphale gets discorporated but even then he is still shown with his whole see-through body. So here is that special interface playing out - his way of showing his position off and maintaining an air of mystery

An interesting thing to note during his speech is him saying that for one prince of heaven to be cast down to hell makes for a good story - in the habit of telling stories about fallen angels there Metatron?

Now we’ve analyzed the coffee shop scene to death and I don’t particularly have anything to add so we are just going to keep truckin

But the bookshop - the bookshop tells us so much.

He walks in and hardly anyone recognizes him - only Crowley and Saraqael. And this makes sense, he’s in a corporal form - out from behind the curtain. The thing that made him special, that put him above other archangels - he’s removed it. They’ve probably never felt his full essence and it’s not like it’s going to set off alarm bells when they are the same rank as you, essentially. Then Crowley describes him in terms he knew Aziraphale (and others) would recognize - finally cluing everyone in 

But why Crowley and Saraqael? What makes them special?

I’ll admit I don’t have a clear answer for Saraqael - for why they are different. Only a theory that they are one of the angels that he has keeping an eye on the angelic deeds he was told to keep track of - perhaps even the corporations that are being used, when one is needed and whatnot

Crowley though is a Fallen Angel - the series goes through great lengths to stress this point - this term. You may remember that this is the term used in Enoch to describe the Watchers. The group of angels that turned away from God and Enoch then had to inform them of their fate.

It’s been sprinkled in throughout the series that Crowley only ever asked those “damn fool” questions and went his “own way” with hints that those questions were never asked to God. Which leaves the Metatron. The Metatron who Crowley has seen.

"Oh I know you. Last time I saw you, you were a big, floating giant head, mind.”

The last time implying there was a Before - before the beginning perhaps.

So let’s say God gives this criteria of what qualifies as a rebelling angel which then the Metatron is supposed to carry out the acts of punishment - except he’s an angelic scribe not a fighter so he gives this confrontation job to fellow archangels, let’s say Michael, and tells them this what God told them to do, while he works on the way to make it actually stick - through the Book of Life and finally activating the threat of this book by crossing the angels out causing them to lose their names, their status, their place in paradise

and then comes in this pretty high ranking angel, a prince perhaps, asking these questions that just happen to fit into this criteria but different in the way that they don’t want it all to end and you still turn him away

(I’m probably going to do a whole other thing about the connection between Crowley and the Metatron but for the sake of not derailing this post even more I’m just going to move on)

The Book of Life - The Metatron is said to be the angel that writes in it - records all the names of the beings doing good deeds in both Heaven and Earth. He hears all, sees all, and he’s going through past exploits. And yet has only just recently made a move - he truly is a King

He immediately calls Michael out for their “you’ll be erased from existence” spew saying they don’t have the authority for that and sending them away - implying he does have the authority and he’s here to offer a way for that not to happen**

And here on out we get to see some interesting characteristics. The Metatron has always been one to offer shallow praise - even back in season one - and he is shown to be openly revered and feared. He has this all seeing - big brother affect on all the angels. He is said to see everything it’s only a matter of what and when he chooses to use it. And use it well he does - he’s manipulative with praise and interest, with the knowledge he reveals. He is also in the nature to wind them up and watch them go. I’d say this is a twisted take on the Patron Angel of Children. 

So when you take out the parts of those two versions of Metatron’s backstory that we know are not canon to Good Omens and mush it all together - this could be a narrative that comes out

But I want to take a quick dip back into his clothes before rounding this off. He is dressed in darker colors, usually associated with demons, there is just no way to ignore this. An angel with duality written into their clothes - An angel that can go into Hell - An angel that is supposed to guide souls to Heaven and yet there are none but there is an overflow in Hell - An angel that created the back channels.

Now hear me out - I know we are heading into a crack theory area.

Back in season one when Michael brings forward the pictures of Aziraphale and Crowley they say they got them from the Earth observational files - something that the Metatron would be in charge of as the angel tasked with the Book of Life - and ask Gabriel to use the back channels already knowing they were going to.

Michael is the only angel we really see have any connection to these back channels, through the phone and actually going down to Hell. Michael is also very quick to take up the Supreme Archangel spot without explicit permission, a role apparently the Metatron is able to assign. It almost like the Metatron has given them special permission before….

Why would Metatron have use for those back channels though? Well gotta put those human souls somewhere, not that he particularly wants to deal the predictable and dim humans - and why not make sure all plans are running smoothly for the inevitable next War.

There is also this concept called the Humbling of the Metatron - has it already happened or is that where we are heading? All I know is we have a lying***, manipulative, exploitative Angel on our hands

and I truly think that he has made his moves and revealed his cards - it’s only putting it all together

**I really don’t think the Metatron has access to this book like he is foretold to have, like he acts like he does - at least not anymore

***When he orders the coffee he asks for a dash of almond syrup but when telling Aziraphale he says a hefty jiggle - such a weird thing to lie about there Metatron

————————————————————————

This series is mainly just going to be exploring the character that is The Metatron with pretty much every route possible. I’m not trying to say which is the correct conclusion because this character could really go in any direction. This is just for fun. I tired to get all the religious stuff as correct as possible but there is always the room for error, things I’ve missed, etc

but anyway for the next part we are going to dive into another big influence over our series and characters, as Crowley calls them - Occult Forces.

part 2 is out!!

[mamichigo]

Cyno had been knocking on the door of Alhaitham’s office for what felt like an eternity now. He knew the Scribe was in there, and Cyno’s business with him was urgent. Although it displeased him to be so reliant on Alhaitham, since the Akasha went offline, he was the only person who might still know where to find the specific files Cyno needed. That was his justification for barging into the room without permission.

To his surprise, Alhaitham was simply perusing his own personal collection of files and books, currently engrossed with the one in his hand. He didn’t even seem concerned that he had been caught ignoring another Akademiya officer. With a click of his tongue, Cyno marched towards him.

He laid a hand on Alhaitham’s shoulder. “I’ve been trying to talk to you—”

He wasn’t sure what happened, then. Later, Cyno would berate himself for being caught off guard: one moment, he had been scolding Alhaitham; the other, he was being pressed to the bookcase with a forearm levered against his throat. A few scrolls fell all around them, and onto Cyno’s head. He had to fight down his fight instincts as the severe expression in Alhaitham’s face turned to realization as he fully looked at Cyno. Alhaitham let him go all at once.

Face turned to the side, Cyno rubbed at his throat.

“What was that?” He said roughly, a cough in his voice.

There was a long, awkward beat. Then, in a clipped and measured tone, Alhaitham replied, “Could you say that while looking at me?”

Cyno snapped his head up, about to shoot down the strange order, but he was interrupted by Alhaitham gesturing to his ears. He paused. Another stretch of silence, and Cyno finally realized Alhaitham’s usual earpieces were gone.

Oh.

“I thought those were some sort of communication device,” he said dumbly. Belatedly, he signed it as well.

“In a way, they are,” Alhaitham signed back, an amused smile on his lips. Out loud, he continued, “And you don’t need to sign, I can read your lips more than well enough.”

That would make sense: for a sneaky man like Alhaitham, the ability to lipread was an indispensable skill. Cyno had the distinct feeling he picked it up more so he could spy on conversations not meant for him than to help him communicate with anyone who didn’t know sign language. 

“How well?” Cyno asked, curious despite himself.

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you put it to the test?”

The way he tipped his head threw his hair onto his eyes, away from his left ear. Cyno had the strange thought that Alhaitham’s head almost looked naked without his earpiece. 

“Now that they’re exposed, I feel the urge to touch your ears,” he whispered on impulse. Cyno didn’t bother making it any easier for Alhaitham to understand him, bitterly wishing he *wouldn’t* for two reasons. One, to wipe that smirk off of Alhaitham’s face. Second, now that the words were out of his mouth, he realized just how embarrassing they truly were.

He fully expected to either be asked to repeat himself, or to be made fun of. Instead, Alhaitham watched him for one, two seconds; then, he bent down. He presented the top of his head to Cyno, who froze in confusion.

Alhaitham let out a little huff of air that could pass as laughter. He pressed two fingers to Cyno’s forearm and tapped rhythmically. Go ahead, it said in morse code of all things. It was infuriating that Alhaitham was using this as an opportunity to show off—but, well, this *was* the specialty of a Haravatat graduate. It was only natural.

And Cyno doubted many people had ever put in the effort to find ways to communicate with Alhaitham rather than the other way around.

The sincere, quietness of this moment lured him into a sense of comfort. Cyno reached out and laid a hand atop Alhaitham’s head. His hair was soft, though it refused to stay put as Cyno patted down the stray locks pointing everywhere. Slowly, he slid down to the ears: there was nothing much to be said, it was flesh like any other part of him—but that touch of skin to skin sparked warmth all throughout his limbs.

With his free hand, Cyno touched the underside of Alhaitham’s face, tipping his chin up. When their eyes met, Cyno smiled slightly.

“I’ve never seen you without your earpiece. Did something happen? Doesn’t it bother you for me to see you without them?”

“It’s not much different from removing your glasses for no other reason than to take them off for a bit. It can be relaxing.” Alhaitham leaned on Cyno’s hand like an oversized cat, and his eyes fluttered shut. “And I doubt you of all people would treat me any differently because of this, General Cyno.”

Cyno huffed and, overcome with a strange emotion, bumped their foreheads together.

“Yes, don’t think I’m forgiving you for finding a convenient excuse not to do your job.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[ticklystuff]

“I hypothesize...”

a/n: i didn’t want to write something for alhaitham till his story quest, but i’ve had this idea ever since his demo dropped and really wanted to write it so here we are. kaveh might be out of character, but i had a lot of fun doing this one and i hope y’all enjoy it too

word count: ~1.5k

characters: lee!alhaitham, ler!kaveh, ler!cyno, ler!tighnari

summary: alhaitham’s curiosity gets the best of him and his friends are more than happy to help

"Are three people really necessary for this?"

Alhaitham glanced between the three faces peering down at him. Kaveh was the most excited between the three, to no surprise. Cyno held his usual blank expression, though Alhaithm managed to catch a glimmer of curiosity in his eye before the other promptly looked away. Tighnari's ears flicked about impatiently, seemingly ready to begin. With the way things were, Alhaitham couldn't help but feel nervous, hoping that the steadiness of his breath could mask the unease.

"Well, I'd need backup in case you start kicking or swinging," Kaveh responded from atop where he was seated on Alhaitham's arms,  "You're not getting nervous over your own idea, are you?"

"That was something meant to be kept between you and me," Alhaitham huffed, already regretting his decision to get Kaveh involved.

He knew he shouldn't have let his curiosity get the best of him at the sight of Tighnari tickling Cyno. He knew he shouldn't have stayed up all night contemplating whether he himself could experience the same feeling. He knew he shouldn't have discussed these thoughts with Kaveh.

And now he was on the floor, trapped underneath his friends with only himself to blame.

"A little bit of tickling won't harm anyone," Tighnari piped up, shifting his head to look at Alhaitham from behind Cyno. The forest ranger had taken a seat on top of his ankles, hindering any violent kicking that might occur. "We won't even remember afterwards... probably."

"Maybe you won't, but I certainly will," Kaveh reached to his side as he spoke, holding up a pen and notepad that Alhaitham hadn't seen previously. "We'll take note of how he responds to each spot being tickled and rate them on a scale of one to ten!"

Alhaitham's eyes widened at the sight of the notepad and the mischievous grin on Kaveh's face. "Wait, that wasn't part of what we talked about," he said nervously, uselessly pulling at his limbs in hopes of now backing out.

"Well, we can't let perfectly good data go to waste, of course!" Kaveh scoffed.

"Surely you're not scared of some tickling?" Cyno spoke from where he straddled the scribe's waist. Though his face hid it well, Alhaitham could sense a smirk behind those words.

"Of course noHOHOT!" An unfamiliar sensation at the top of his right knee caused his leg to jerk in response and Alhaitham found himself mortified not only by the sound that had managed to slip past his mouth, but the fact that he was indeed ticklish.

"Oh! Oh! He's ticklish!" Kaveh exclaimed excitedly. "What would you rate that as?"

"Hmmm, well it's difficult using a scale of one to ten in this case, since we don't really have a frame of reference for his usual reactions," Tighnari started in thought, "but I'll give his knees a solid five. They're surprisingly sensitive."

"Good, good!" Kaveh briefly scribbled in his notepad, before looking back up. "Come on, try more spots!"

"W-Wait, guys- aGHAHA!" His words were cut off when Cyno unexpectedly homed in on his sides, giving each end a quick poke.

"Sides are an eight."

"Hmm, but you targeted both at the same time, whereas Tighnari only tickled one kneecap," Kaveh said, as if they were having a discussion over experimental data. "The stronger reaction might skew your results, so maybe try again, but just one this time."

Alhaitham shook his head as Cyno made eye contact with him, barely having time to brace himself for the sudden pinch to his left side. A strangled whine escaped his throat, rather than the squeal from earlier and Alhaitham could hear the faint scribbling of Kaveh's pen as he tried to catch his breath.

"Okay, I'll give his sides a seven."

"Guhuhuys, stohohohop!" Alhaitham giggled, feeling fingers skitter along his thigh, before the same hand made its way to just under his knee.

"Thighs and underneath the knee don't seem too bad," Tighnari said. "I'll say four and three, respectively."

"He seems to be at least somewhat sensitive everywhere," Kaveh mumbled, busy scribbling away before looking down at Alhaitham. "Oh man, you should see how red you are!"

"Sh-Shut it," Alhaitham panted embarrassedly, trying to avoid eye contact with his roommate, until Cyno's hands were at his underarms, tickling without warning. There was a brief second of respite, before his eyes widened at the overwhelming tingles flooding his brain all at once with the most ticklish sensations yet. "GAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAHAP!" he cried out suddenly, his eyes screwed shut as heavy laughter filled the room.

"Oh-! Ah!" Both Kaveh and Tighnari struggled to maintain their balance as Alhaitham violently pulled at his limbs, doing anything to stop the tickling at his armpits, but Cyno was resilient.

"He seems to be really ticklish here!" Cyno nearly yelled over Alhaitham's laughter.

"Wait, wait, Cyno, stop!" Kaveh placed a hand over one of Cyno's hands, promptly stopping the tickling, much to Alhaitham's relief. "Remember, tickling both at the same time would yield inaccurate results."

"Ah, right." Cyno removed one of his hands, but his other hand was stopped by Kaveh once more.

"I'd actually like to see for myself this time," Kaveh said with a grin, before looking back down at Alhaitham.

"Don't you dare," Alhaitham growled weakly, but there was nothing he could do, except twitch his arm pathetically, watching Kaveh's free hand descend onto their designated target, before falling back into another fit of laughter as those damned fingers scribbled relentlessly. "Kaveh- NOHOHOHO! PLEHEHEHEASE!"

"Oh? We got him to beg," Kaveh chuckled with a smirk, his fingers lingering longer than he had originally planned, clearly enjoying Alhaitham's candid reactions. "Alright, a perfect ten for armpits."

"Aw man, you guys got all the fun spots," Tighnari whined, crossing his arms.

"Well, don't forget his feet too," Kaveh reminded him. "Oh, and Cyno, we should still try his stomach and ribs."

At the mention of his feet, Alhaitham did his best to stall Tighnari's hands, flexing his ankles and curling his toes, but Tighnari simply grabbed one from the top, pulling his toes back to stretch out his foot and glide his fingers down the bare sole. "A-Ahahahaha! Stahahahap!"

"Feet are a six, maybe a six point five."

Kaveh tilted his head in response, as if contemplating this brand new information. "Let's just round up and make it a solid seven."

Alhaitham barely had time for a breather before a new bout of tickling occurred, this time at his ribs, courtesy of Cyno. Normally, Alhaitham wouldn't be caught dead making embarrassing sounds like the squeaks and squeals that managed to escape his mouth just now, but at this point, he wasn't sure he cared. The only thing that mattered was finishing this experiment, a mistake on his part that should have never been entertained in the first place.

"I give his ribs a seven and his stomach an eight," Cyno said, finishing his tickles with a slight dip into Alhaitham's navel, earning himself a strangled yelp.

"Alright, I think that's every- Oh, wait!" Kaveh interrupted himself, bringing his hand down next to Alhaitham's head and wiggling his fingers around.

"H-Hey! What are you-!" Alhaitham grunted as he confusedly moved his head to avoid Kaveh's hand from touching random spots.

"Heh, guess you're not so sensitive there," Kaveh said, removing his hand and grabbing his notepad once more. "Alright, time to discuss the final results!"

"Wait, what, no! Kaveh-!"

"Tops of the knees are a five," Kaveh began, reading down the notepad in his hand. "Sides are a seven. Thighs are a four. Under the knees is a three. Armpits are at the very top and our only ten."

"Kaveh, stop!" Blood rushed to his cheeks as Alhaitham grew more flustered listening to Kaveh broadcast his sensitivity as if he were presenting in a lecture hall for the whole class to hear. His pride was out the window by now and the scribe wanted nothing more than to lock himself up in his room and maybe evict Kaveh too.

"Feet and ribs are both a seven," the blond continued, unperturbed by Alhaitham's protests. "Stomach is an eight. Per my own observations, neck is a three and ears are a two.

"That's the last of it, right?" Tighnari spoke again once Kaveh finished reading. Kaveh set his notepad down and nodded. "That's right."

"So, we're done here then," Alhaitham said hastily, frowning when Kaveh shook his head in response.

"Alhaitham, you should know by now that a good experiment always leaves room for a follow-up to further support your hypothesis," Kaveh explained matter-of-factly, as if Alhaitham didn't already know this. "Wouldn't you both agree?" he turned to the other two and Alhaitham watched in dread as both Tighnari and Cyno nodded.

"Th-This is absurd!" Alhaitham struggled weakly, feeling preemptive giggles already build up in his chest as he watched the three pairs of hands poise at different sensitive areas, ready to strike at any moment. "You don't even have a hypothesis!"

Kaveh's hands drummed lightly along the outer parts of Alhaithams underarms, just barely tickling, yet Alhaitham was already turning into a giggling fit. "I suppose my hypothesis is that," Kaveh began, smiling as he paused just to let Alhaitham's faint laughter fill the room, "you're the most ticklish man in this room."

[dontjudgemeimawriter]

WIP Questionaire

Using an open tag from @sleepy-night-child

1. What’s the first part of your WIP that you created?

A character that no longer exists. I guess the first thing that is still there is Mika actually! Mika is a major character, but not exactly a main character (Like I rank Terran and Raymond above her as MCs), and she was a major character in the original draft, too. Her character is mainly the same, except the original MC saw her sweeter, gentler sides and Terran mostly sees her petty, angry sides. After that I'd saay Zachary, who's also been there from the beginning. Both Mika and Zachary were created before Terran was even born.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

Ooh. I think if this was a show it's be a netflix original miniseries-- idk it just has that vibe I think? But probably a Sam Tinnesz song since I have a ton of him on my WIP playlist and they all definitely fit. I also thought of Landmines by BELLSAINT.

3. What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

Damn, I love all my characters. I don't think I could have characters I don't love. I do think Terran is in a way my favorite-- like, this was a story I had abandoned, but I loved Terran so much I went back to it and took him and had the others follow suit. So yeah, he's my fave. I guess i love his struggle, how scared he is of himself, and how much he tries without even realizing he is-- and how much he is growing.

4. What other pieces of media do you think your fanbase would share?

I'm assuming this means other things they would also like? I kind of hope I Hunt Killers fans find it. But also there are a ton of books I know of that feel a similar genre, basically the things I read... trying to think of more well known things or non-books, I think... Maybe White Collar? XD. I don't know.

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Can I say writing it? I guess the biggest one is finding time and energy to work on it. Lately I haven't done anything with it because I have work, social commitments, and dnd to plan every week. Plus rest, doing chores/errands, and reading. No time.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

Not really, I don't put a lot in. There's a cat that shows up at one pint that Mika is petting before she and Terran have arguement, but that's about it.

I will say, in Second Chance I decided the MC has a cat names Spoons.

7. How do your characters travel/get around?

Walking. Terran hates doing anything but walking, and they're in a city that's not so big that he can't. Right now though they are venturing outside the city and traveling by train.

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I guess I'm leading into Act 3 or right at the beginning of it? I know I've passed the midpoint, and it's been a bit since I have. And I think I can see the climax in sight.

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe?) you think will draw your audience in?

I think what would most interest me about the WIP is the moral struggle and the crime aspects. Like, "Assassin who saved someone's life and now doesn't know if he can escape or should just pretend he never did that" is just super appealing to me and I hope it is to others. Also I kinda hope Rayran will draw people in because they're fantastic.

10. What are your hopes for your WIP?

To finish it? That this one is able to be edited into something really good, that it can be published and enjoyed.

Tagging: @cowboybrunch @writingamongther0ses @betweenthetimeandsound @late-to-the-fandom @surroundedbypearls @cljordan-imperium @junypr-camus @thegreatobsesso @scribe-of-stories @ceph-the-ghost-writer and anyone else who wants to feel free

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Montage - a Malevolent fic

Kayne doesn't like happy scenes.

It's a good thing he does like his little sister.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

--------

“This is cute, doll, but happy scenes make for good montages, not whole episodes.”

“Just a while longer, brother? Please?”

“Eh… all right. For you, doll. They get one month.”

“Thank you.”

“Who’s the best big brother in the world? I am!”

#

Parker found the section on Eldritch God Mating Practices on day three. He and Sunny immediately borrowed a dozen books.

Which they read.

Committed to memory.

And absolutely laughed themselves silly.

#

“Tabby,” the Keeper said softly, after the humans had gone to bed. “I need to be extremely normal for a few minutes.”

“Oh boy,” Tabby said, sitting up from where she’d been dozing in an armchair.

“He’s so little,” the Keeper squealed, rocking back and forth with her delight. “Hastur told me he was small, but he’s so—he’s so small!”

“I can’t see him, Keeps,” Tabby said, frowning. “How small we talkin’?”

“Cup your hands,” the Keeper said, and then promptly reached over and began shaping Tabby’s fingers. “Smaller—there! He’d be snug, right in there!”

“Oh, fuck,” said Tabby, eyes huge. “...Liddol.”

“Liddol,” agreed the Keeper, and they giggled into the night.

#

Arthur began to fear he’d forget how to walk.

Well, he was walking sometimes. Biological necessity and stubborn insistence granted him time on his own two feet. But other than that, he was carried, pressed close.

He hated the fact that he did not hate it.

Magic was weird. Gods were weird. All of this was ridiculous. If Hastur actually fucking spoke once in a while, Arthur might have put up a fuss. But Hastur did not, and so Arthur allowed himself to be… how did Tabby put it?

Woobied.

That word, Arthur was fairly sure, did not exist, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of one better.

He just kept talking to the quiet god. “Let’s try that show the Keeper talked about. Baking for charity, right? Have you ever baked?”

Nothing.

“I think we should watch it,” Arthur said.

Silent, Hastur willed the screen to show them a bake-off.

#

The world outside might not have moved. Time may not have passed. But in here, everyone knew Faroe’s birthday was tomorrow, and ten was a big deal.

It was the first time Hastur had spoken in a week and a half. He did so to Faroe, holding Arthur (who looked so fucking patient) against his side. “What do you wish for your birthday, precious one?”

She didn’t know how to answer that.

She wanted everything to be all right.

She wanted Kayne to die in a fire.

She wanted to be so strong she could protect them all.

She wanted her dad. “Can we go somewhere? You and me? A special trip?”

“When we leave this place? Yes. We can.”

She threw herself into his arms, into his tentacles, in full rejoicing that she’d never be too big to play this game.

Arthur turned his face toward Hastur. “Knew you were still in there.”

Hastur just held Arthur tighter.

#

Parker expected some level of eyes on them. The Keeper (or Keeps, as that girl with the funny hair kept calling her) was a god of knowledge, and this was her house; it made sense he’d feel some eyes here and there.

He didn’t expect the eyes to belong to just people—the acolytes or scribes or whatever they were.

In the privacy of their room (graciously granted by the Keeper) he and Sunny discussed it. There didn’t seem to be any threat involved. They really didn’t want to leave Arthur alone without backup, either. So together, they chose to spy back.

Sunny cast a spell to listen in on the ones watching. Then, casually, Parker headed into the public area with some tea and a book on the challenge of mapmaking in the Dreamlands.

“It certainly corroborates the stories we’re hearing from the field,” said a human some distance away, voice hushed. Her eyes darted their way, as if confirming they were too far to hear. “A forgotten one makes sense.”

Uh-oh.

“He doesn’t really fit the standard, but I think you’re right,” agreed her companion, moving a stack of scrolls off of a table and onto a rolling cart. His fins, short and newly grown, glistened in the light. “No one has seen a forgotten one with this level of symbiosis in at least a thousand years, much less two from the same god… but only one’s host is getting stories written about him.”

Stories? Eh?

Parker turned a page for appearance’s sake.

“I see where ‘the Golden Tongue’ came from,” the woman said. “It’s blink and you’ll miss it quick, but shows in little flashes. I’m more surprised at the content of the stories, given their progenitor. The King in Yellow is not known for, uh. Charity work.���

“Well, we humans tend to have a way of eliciting change—including affecting the nature of Forgotten Ones.” The finned man laughed, low. “Who knows? Maybe the Golden Tongue going home even motivated the King to make a few changes of his own. So where are we filing these, again?”

The two scribes walked off, still chattering in their hushed tones, and Parker was deeply confused. “Was that really about us?” he whispered.

It was, but I don’t… I don’t understand it. Maybe… maybe that’s why Larson got so weird about calling you Saint. Maybe these stories are… something.

“Huh,” said Parker, who hadn’t thought they’d done enough to be known in a fancy place like this. “Weird.”

Yeah. Weird, said Sunny like he didn’t think “weird” was a beautiful enough word, but then he let it go.

#

Tabby made Faroe a cake. It was yellow with asymmetrical pink florets, and proclaimed in uneven lowercase writing, you are a ten years old.

Faroe found it hilarious.

Arthur, when told, found it hilarious.

Parker sniggered like a big kid.

Hastur absolutely did not get it, but allowed the humans their fun.

It tasted great, and even Hastur joined in singing her happy birthday.

There were presents. She got a runed wooden dagger that matched hers, a box of chocolates. a fluffy sweater with little goats and yellow signs on it, a set of books about someone called Nancy Drew, and a promise of a song written with Arthur for her on harp once they got back home.

Faroe decided not to tell her dad that she preferred private parties just like this.

#

“It ain’t good to sit all day,” Parker told some of the researchers over tea a couple of weeks in. “Your body gets used to whatever you’re doing, see? So you wanna be strong and fast, you gotta work at being strong and fast. Hey. You guys… uh. You collect knowledge, right? You could study, uh. How long it takes you to get stronger and faster. Right? You wanna join me?”

And that was how he ended up leading a whole string of wide-eyed researchers, like baby ducklings, through a series of mild cardio and strength workouts.

#

Faroe had never encountered jeans before.

Tabby had suggested she try them. Faroe had never encountered anyone like Tabby before either, but the jeans at least gave her something to focus on. The sizing, for one, was all wrong, but Tabby was (presumably) twice her age and had loaned her the pair, showing her how to properly fold the waistband so it wouldn’t pinch on application with a belt, and how to cuff the pant legs (which, to Tabby’s great displeasure, only needed to be minorly adjusted).

“Hell yeah. Now you just need a shirt, and you’ll be the coolest ten-year-old this side of the Dreamlands,” Tabby said. She found one, of course. It had a goose on it, and the goose held a knife in its beak, and beneath it the text proclaimed, Peace was never an option.

Faroe loved it.

She felt a bit silly in an oversized shirt and oversized pants, but Tabby gave her a thumbs-up, and Faroe decided that she did look very cool.

Parker thought she just looked like a person, not a queen, and that was trippy as hell.

Arthur demanded increasingly detailed description from John for a solid twenty minutes before he was satisfied.

#

Arthur had almost died. Not here, in the Scriptorium. In the mines of Addison, beneath the Larson estate, and John had sewn the gaping wound in Arthur’s stomach up with a fucking fish hook and some thread, and Arthur had almost died, and John was not okay.

He remembered sobbing, remembered begging Arthur not to say something, remembered dragging their limp body to the bag, remembered—

The Keeper hadn’t expected John to remember. She said so, after Arthur had fallen asleep, and checked in on him with a gentleness that John had neither expected nor wanted.

He told her to fuck off. She did.

Hastur hadn’t even scolded him for it. Hastur hadn’t made a single fucking sound.

So John yelled at Hastur next, and cried, and Hastur said nothing at all, and John was not okay.

John wanted to talk to Arthur, but Arthur would only ramble about John saving him, and that made John feel worse because he didn’t remember doing it, and past John was a hero, but he was someone else.

John wanted to talk to Hastur, but Hastur wasn’t saying anything, and John was scared that they’d broken him, and if the King in Yellow could be broken, what did that mean for John?

John wanted to talk to Sunny, but getting him alone was impossible without Hastur right now (woobification), and besides, something weird had happened with Sunny at the end, though John hadn’t really paid attention at the time (busy drowning in the memory that Arthur nearly died) but Parker had gone pale and shaky and disappeared and hadn’t reappeared until the following morning, so who the hell knew what was going on there?

More than anything else, John wanted to go home, and knew he couldn’t, and so instead just kept his hand pressed flat against Arthur’s chest to feel his heartbeat and tried not to be sick about the scar that lay a few inches below.

#

The Scriptorium was different.

Initially Faroe believed it must be the power differential; the Keeper did not need to abide by most sensible forms of protection because she was an Outer God. She did not need to restrict access to her attention because no one would be so foolish as to risk her wrath by wasting her time.

Or maybe, Faroe thought, it was because she could be like that, but wasn’t. The Keeper was… so nice. Seemed to be so nice. Was obviously terrifying, as all gods were, but… so nice?

So Faroe felt until a rude asshole showed up on day twenty-three, causing a fuss, demanding things from her researchers, and ignored three increasingly stern warnings.

Then he got turned into a book.

Into. A book. With screaming. Begging. Bargaining. Blood.

Faroe had grown up in the court of a Great Old One and been long accustomed to all manner of violence and gore, but this… this was disturbing.

The Keeper was an Outer God, and this was her domain, and she’d been merciful and patient… but this guy threatened her people. Faroe thought she understood that. Threatning a god’s people was just a bad idea.

She began to consider just what kind of queen she’d have to someday be, if she were going to keep whoever her people were safe.

#

It had been twenty-nine days. Hastur sat in front of the Keeper’s media setup, silent as humans from some alternate universe sang and danced.

Out there, there's a world outside of Yonkers

Way out there beyond this hick town, Barnaby!

A world outside. Well. There sure was one.

He sighed slowly. His plan—complex, branching, outrageous—had suffered some serious pruning over the last month. Wisdom, he’d taught Faroe, was knowing your own limits. Hastur rarely ran into his; well, he had here.

Discovering hesitation in himself alone was cause for concern. His reaction to all of this was cause for concern. Arthur’s mortality was cause for concern.

He had to talk to the Keeper. He hadn’t, all month.

He knew he had to thank her, and he really didn’t want to. He knew he had to trust her, and he really was afraid to. He knew he had to ensure she’d continue helping them after he was gone, and that, he had to do.

She kept reassuring him he’d paid for all this extra… extra, but that was a dangerous idea to accept. What else did he have to give, though? Certainly nothing of equal value. He’d keep sneaking her books, for certain. Leaving them with a researcher, if she kept trying to sneak them back.

He could… offer her the Librarian’s services. Her assistants were nice, but the Librarian would blow them all away.

Might be dangerous to dangle that, though. The Librarian would be crucial in helping John and Arthur and Faroe moving forward. He couldn’t risk her deciding to take it.

And then there were Sunny and Parker. What to do about them?

Placing Sunny in the court’s eye was… a complicated idea. Sunny had not been introduced at all. Hastur was already in the middle of altering public perception and memory. He’d already pushed it with John and Arthur. So Sunny and Parker could not be brought in as if they were already involved.

He’d have to bring them in separately. Not as replacements, but as support.

Assuming they’d allow it. Parker still just wanted to go, and Sunny was dead set on being absorbed. The key to Parker was Sunny. Therefore, dealing with that was step one.

We'll see the shows at Delmonicos

And we'll close the town in a whirl

And we won't come home until we've kissed a girl!

“You in there?” said Arthur, who checked once in a while.

You’re supposed to be asleep, John groused.

“Yes,” said Hastur, who hadn’t answered before.

Arthur gasped. “Hi!”

This idiot. “Greetings,” Hastur said back.

“You’ve been so damn quiet,” said Arthur.

“It is time to return to the world,” said Hastur.

Arthur stiffened. “Now, wait just a damn minute—”

Hey! Not yet. You’re fucked up. What are you gonna do, sit in court and stare at people until they go away?

And inspiration struck. Struck like lightning, struck in a flash, illuminating the path forward. “No,” said Hastur. “I am going to teach you to lead Carcosa.”

Arthur made the most glorious faces. Hastur committed them to memory. “Uh,” said the human.

Who? Me? said John.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “This month has given me time to think.”

“About what?” said Arthur.

Hastur stood. “Let us go see the rest of our family, shall we?”

What the fuck are you up to? said John.

“I’m just glad he’s talking,” Arthur muttered.

“I had a lot to think about,” Hastur said mildly, and floated from the room.

Behind him, Dolly sang.

Dressed like a dream

Your spirits seem to turn around

That Sunday shine is a certain sign

That you feel as fine as you look!

#

He found Faroe practicing her mental magic, hovering a little longboat through the air and making it move as if in a storm.

He found Parker coaching researchers through pushups, Sunny cheering them on, sweating from his own exertions.

He found the Keeper waiting for him, because of course, she already knew.

He brought his family together, and told them it was time to go back.

“Already?” said Faroe.

Yes.

So soon, Sunny said.

Parker nodded. He knew.

John had protests. You’re still not stable! It’s rushed! Arthur’s heart isn’t okay yet! No!

“John, calm down,” said Arthur (expected), which did exactly the opposite of that (also expected).

Fuck you!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Arthur, and they began to argue.

Good. While they shouted, Hastur took advantage. “Keeper,” he said softly.

“Hastur,” she said.

“Whatever you may claim, I sincerely doubt I’ve paid enough for a month of succor,” said Hastur.

“Not quite a month,” she said, a smile in her voice. “As always, I am forced to remind you that I am the one who sets the payment; and I’ll have you know it’s been paid in full.”

“We never discussed housing, feeding, and assorted entertainment, especially not for Yang and Sunny, so I fail to see how it could have been paid for. I don’t care for outstanding debts—- especially my own.” Hastur’s voice was low.

You’re not taking this seriously!

“You’re not taking this like an adult! We can’t keep hiding here. Just because we’re going to leave without drama—” Arthur said.

Yeah, they’d be at it a while longer. Hastur waited.

“On the contrary; your marked graciously provided me with a rather insightful memory, which paid for the month of respite you’ve since needed. As he was the one to request my involvement, I feel it is a fitting payment.”

Well, that was… possible. Hastur couldn’t deny that happened. He hadn’t been part of it. “May I ask what memory?”

“Arthur? May I?”

“And you aren’t the only one who—pardon, what? Oh. Sure. Tell him anything.”

John growled. Not anything, Arthur!

“He shared the memory which brought you to us,” said the Keeper, “which consisted of his near-death experience in the mines beneath Addison, and of the creature who brought him to such a state.” Her voice was so pleasant, as if even just the memory hadn’t brought Arthur to the brink of death. “I assure you, he and I discussed the possibility of what he may feel before we undertook it. I received his full consent.”

“That much was clear.” And it had been weaponized. Hastur had no doubts about Arthur’s involvement in that little scheme. It was probably his idea. “Very well. I accept this settling of our debt.”

We shouldn’t go anywhere! You probably aren’t even aging in here! John declared.

Arthur sighed. “John. We’ll solve it. It’s going to work out.”

But if we go back out there…

“What? What, John?”

John’s mutter was too loud. Everyone will see he’s fucked up.

“I doubt it,” said Arthur. “He’s too good a liar.”

“He is not fucked up!” Faroe declared. “You take that back, John!”

That reinforced Hastur’s new idea so well, it was like he’d written the script himself. “Come, my family. It is time.”

“Hey,” said Parker, putting his hands on Arthur and Faroe’s shoulders. “You good?”

“Yes,” said Arthur.

John was silent.

Faroe scowled.

I… I think maybe we should work the rest out on our own without an audience, don’t you? said Sunny absolutely innocently.

John gasped. Fuck. Yes. Fuck.

“Let’s go.” Arthur took John’s hand. “I’m ready.”

More suitable than John. Hastur was glad he had no facial expressions to give him away.

Faroe leaned against Hastur. “Do I still have to have a public celebration?”

“Yes. They can be more for our people than for you, if you prefer,” said Hastur.

She looked up. “What does that mean?”

“What’s the difference between the galas and the jubilees?” said Hastur.

Her eyes widened. “One is for your people, and the other is for you. It’s about where the praise and focus land.”

“Yes. This can be for them, more than you.”

“I’d like that.”

“How’s that work, exactly?” said Parker, who hadn’t attended either.

“I’ll explain,” said Arthur, “when we’re home.”

Hastur looked at the Keeper. “Should we return at the usual time next week?”

“I believe that would be wise. After all, Arthur and I have hardly had a chance to talk.” Her gaze lingered on the human in Hastur’s arms. “I have yet to solve your conundrum, Hastur.”

Tabby came around the corner and hopped onto the nearest table, combat boots swinging. “Your friends wanna go home now, Keeps. Quit stalling.”

Faroe smiled and waggled her fingers at Tabby.

Tabby blew Faroe a kiss.

The Keeper sighed at her. “I am not stalling. I am answering questions. That is my job.”

Tabby gave her an incredibly exaggerated look of doubt.

“You are free to go, Hastur. All of you. As I told you, your debt is paid; and, if nothing else, I am glad you’re feeling more yourself. But…”

Tabby sighed. “Keeps.”

“I also implore you to remember, Hastur,” the Keeper said evenly, placing one hand directly on top of Tabby’s head and using it to push her onto her side, “that my door is always open.”

Tabby gave her a look.

Hastur saw his opening and dove. “To them. Not only to me.”

“Would you like the door I loaned your people to become a permanent fixture?” Her voice was sweet, curious.

“Yes.” Hastur didn’t hesitate at all.

“You may want to move it, then. A third floor supply closet is an odd place for a door to a library.” She laughed, airy, fond. “A drop of blood on the knob will make it permanent, then. I’ll know to keep it open on my side.”

“I will ensure its placement. Thank you.” His bow was graceful, all tentacles curling as if posed for a portrait of horror and beauty, crown glinting just so.

John was so suspicious. Why does he want that?

“It’s a good thing,” Arthur whispered back.

“And you will linger to speak with me after Arthur’s next visit,” the Keeper said, friendly and kind but firm. “I rather missed seeing you last time, you know.”

Tabby turned to stare at the Keeper.

Faroe turned to stare at the Keeper.

Parker glanced between the Keeper and Hastur.

“As you wish, great one,” Hastur said, still bowed, sounded completely calm about this—which, coming on the heels of a month of silence, was moderately concerning.

Why the fuck? Said John.

Later, Sunny soothed.

Hastur held Arthur and Faroe close (and Parker did not come near enough to be grabbed).

“Parker?” said Faroe.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Will you come back to meals?”

Sunny made a small noise of surprise.

“I won’t let him do it again,” she added.

Hastur stroked her hair. “Nor shall I.”

Faroe looked at her father with adoration, then at Parker with hope.

“Almost seems like an apology, eh, Sunny?” Parker said.

Sunny sighed dramatically. I think I can put aside my feelings, just this once. For her.

“We’ll come, kid.”

Faroe beamed as though given an extra present.

“It is settled,” said Hastur like some dark deal had been made, and flew for the portal out.

#

Larson was having a pretty good day.

It was true the King in Yellow had disappeared an hour ago, but he likely had good reason. All the others were gone, too, and that made it so nice to walk these halls.

To walk, and sneer, and nod knowingly at those he passed. He was one of them now, the elite, the approved. Perhaps he’d step forward today in court, make himself more known, more seen—

“You have both done well,” he heard, froze, and peeked over the balcony rail.

There was the King. The damn goat danced around his feet like he’d been gone for a month, not an hour, pressing one of its faces into Faroe’s hands. The King held Arthur (and Faroe, and that close, there was no doubt of relation), and was talking to…

No. No!

Parker eyed the King with disrespect, with defiance, with that squint-eyed insouciance that so marked every conversation with this Saint. “Didn’t do much.”

“I disagree. Sunny, your wisdom… shone. We will speak more of this later.” And Hastur left, carrying his Lesters like dolls, Nibbles prancing at his feet and bleating annoyingly.

Parker watched him go, frowning. “Huh.”

I don’t like that, ‘Sunny’ said quietly.

“How come, sunshine?”

Yes. How come, you pitiful little shred?

He’s up to something again, said Sunny, who then sighed. I don’t know that he actually… processed much of what we were trying to say. We’ll have to keep an eye on him.

The Saint sighed (like it was a burden—like the King in Yellow, a Great Old One of impossible age and power—was something he had to deal with). “I think you’re right. Dunno what switch got flipped… though he’s not wrong about you.” Parker began walking away.

Oh, stop, the Scrap said, low and embarrassed.

“Nope. Just true. Even that guy sees it. You are something special,” he said (that lickspittle), and they were around the corner and gone.

Larson turned away, leaning against the wall and clutching at the cold marble. Why? Why did this have to happen? He’d made such progress! Why?

That piece of shit. That Saint. It wasn’t enough that he was a thief. Wasn’t enough he didn’t know his fucking place, didn’t know deference, hadn’t learned his lesson. He had to try to take the King away, too.

Parker and the scrap’s shared laugh floated back around the corner.

Someday, the Saint would pay, and it would be brutal, and it would be cruel, and Larson would take great pleasure in doing it himself. So much pleasure.

Someday.

Larson stormed to court, teeth bared, and almost forgot to give knowing nods to his fellow accepted elite.

#

“That was lovely.”

“Montages, huh?” said Tabby. “Eye of the Tiger, or whatever?”

“Heh, heh, heh. Sometimes, just sometimes, I like how you think. That’s reeeaally not good for you.”

“Kayne.”

“Don’t worry, sis. She’s yours. I won’t touch her.” The sound of stretching, a back cracking, bones popping like some orthopedic nightmare. “Back to our regularly scheduled program. Good luck to the contestants, eh?”

“Yes,” the Keeper agreed, quiet and serious. “Good luck to them, indeed.”

[onceandfutureoshainspector]

Danse: If you have the time to talk now, I'd still like to know what you think about Scribe Haylen. Cat: Is something wrong? Danse: No, not at all. Haylen's doing well. I simply wanted to talk to you about her, but I wanted to know what you thought of her first. Cat: She's as dedicated as they come. A real team player. Danse: I couldn't agree more. But I wasn't looking for an evaluation of her performance as a scribe, I wanted to know what you thought of Haylen... as a person.

- oh. ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh! i see what this is ;3

---- honestly? my thoughts on Haylen are mostly positive at this point, i don't think they'd make the worst couple.

-------- note to self: see if i can convince her to join the Railroad...

Cat: This isn't like you, Danse. Are you going to tell me what this is all about? Danse: I suppose I'm beating around the bush because I don't normally find these discussions easy to handle. I'll try and get right to the point. The truth is, I'm worried about her. Since you and I are getting along so well, I felt like I could confide in you about it... to get your honest opinion. Cat: She seems to be able to handle herself. Why are you worried? Danse: Haylen is a model scribe. This has nothing to do with her capabilities in the field. A few months before you found us, one of my men was shot multiple times by Raiders. Haylen stayed by that Knight's side for two days straight without sleep fighting to keep him alive... but he was on a slow decline. I decided that his suffering needed to end and ordered Haylen to administer an overdose of painkillers so he could die with dignity. Even though I'm certain she wanted to continue fighting for that Knight's life, she injected him without question. Cat: Are you asking me whether or not I approve? Danse: Of course not. I stand by every order I've ever given. That soldier was gravely wounded. Even if by some miracle he happened to survive, he would have been paralyzed for life. But the decision whether or not to ease that soldier's suffering isn't the point here. The point is what happened later that same evening. After what felt like an eternity, she collapsed into my arms, crying. I... didn't know what to do, so I just held her for a while. A few minutes later, she stopped, kissed me on the cheek, and simply said "Thank you", before heading back into the police station. Right then it hit me... maybe I pushed her too hard. I ordered her to ignore her instincts. To do something her medical training told her was wrong. That's why I'm worried about her... and for that matter, everyone under my command.

- yeah, these two would both benefit from getting the fuck away from the Brotherhood. like, tough decisions for tough situations, but ideally you don't send people into those situations, or at least without the resources and personell necessary to make it back.

Cat: Haylen will be fine. It's you that I'm worried about. Danse: Me? Look, four soldiers... over half of my team, are gone. Each one of them died because of decisions that I made. I understand the risks that come with the job, we all do. But how can anyone have confidence in me anymore? Hell, how can I have confidence in myself? Cat: Would it make you feel better if I told you that I believed in you? Danse: Actually, it does. Well, it looks like things have taken a turn. I signed up to be your sponser so I could teach you everything that I know, but it looks like I'm the one that needed the lesson today. All joking aside, I'm pleased that we had this discussion, and even with all the problems you're facing, you still took the time to listen. It's comforting to know that I can speak to you as more than just your commanding officer. Cat: I'm here anytime you need me, Danse. Danse: Anyway, thanks for letting me get that off my shoulders. I think it's been weighing on me more than I realized. I'm only sorry you had to see me at my worst instead of at my best.

- QUEST ADDED: convince Scribe Haylen to leave the Brotherhood of Steel.

[scorchieart]

Hey, Scorchie! ☺️ For the ask a reader meme: A9, A10, B3, B10, C4, C9

Take care! (⁠´⁠∩⁠｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡⁠∩⁠`⁠) 💖

Hello Syn! Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you're taking care, too 💖

A9: Who was your first ship?

Haha, I honestly rarely get bit by the shipping bug. And if I do, it's always for canon relationships. The earliest I can think of is Aang and Katara.

A10: Who did you have your first fanfic-related conversation with? What was it about?

Ooooh, here's a short story-time.

I answered in another ask that the first fanfic I read was a Harry Potter fic. Well, that fic was introduced to me by my two best friends. We called ourselves Chocolate, Chip, and Cookie back then (I was Cookie 😋)

We talked about what we liked/disliked about the story and how certain scenes fit/didn't fit with the main canon. It was so fun that the three of us decided to try our hands at writing a fic. Chocolate had the best handwriting, so she was the scribe. Chip was the biggest Potterhead, so she was our fact-checker. And I... I was the fanfic noob, so I was just along for the ride. We came up with a story about the Marauders at Hogwarts and we shared it with the other fans in our class to humble success. That was years ago, and we never posted the story online, so the only copy is still over at Chocolate's house somewhere.

And that's the story of the first fanfic I ever worked on.

B3: What’s the best device to read on (phone, laptop, tablet…)? Why?

If you asked me in high school, I would say phone because it's the easiest to hide under the blankets when you're pretending to be asleep. Today I say laptop because it's more convenient to open tabs in case you want to save a story for later and it's easier to type comments on.

B10: What is the best plot twist you’ve ever seen?

In the realm of fanfiction, the best twist I've read was in a Hunter x Hunter story where an OC character was introduced so seamlessly into an existing arc from the series and then was revealed to be the target of a canon character... it made sense in the context of the story and it was so emotional it blew my mind (and my heart).

I tried looking for the story again to link it here, but it seems to have been removed T.T I don't think a story necessarily has to be super long to have a satisfying plot twist, but this beast was 70k+ words. And it was incomplete the last time I read it.

C4: What thing that fandom loves do you actually kind of hate? Why?

Ok, so the main reason I don't participate in shipping culture is because I've seen the ugly side of it on the internet and irl. Such wonderful art and stories and creativity have come out of ships, but the reality is that's not always the case. You can do your best to ignore it, but if a shipping war breaks out sometimes it's best to dip entirely. It's exhausting just to watch, I can only imagine what it must feel like to be a part of it.

To my knowledge this doesn't exist in the ikemen fandom, and I appreciate that.

C9: What show did you really try to watch, but you just couldn’t?

I am notoriously bad at completing recommendations people give me in a timely manner. I need the person who recommended the thing to sit with me and watch it so I can get the best experience, I think.

But one show I tried watching with a friend but I couldn't complete is Akame ga Kill. I never read the manga, but the impression the first 5 episodes gave me was that it was a generic dark world that kept trying to flood you with gore and edginess to distract from its very bland plot and characters.

Reader to reader, let's share some questions.

[zorkaya-moved]

" arguing with you is pointless once you've made up your mind. " from kaveh ofc because these two are bound to have debates <3

@avaere

He was correct. Kaveh knew better than to try and argue with Zarina when she made up her mind. It wasn’t because he was incorrect, no, it was simply because this woman had a frustrating way of dealing with arguments with others. Especially when they were close to her. There was no need for her to pretend to be hurt or to show an emotional reaction she didn’t feel. On the contrary, Sokolova’s gaze was cold and examining as if she was trying to understand exactly what Kaveh was thinking and feeling at the same time. Was his argument logical? Was it practical? Was it not clouded by a biased emotional mix? 

She was more insufferable than Alhaitham when it came to arguing. The Scribe would at least bring in a snarky word or two, bringing out more of Kaveh’s flame but Zarina remained too cold and too silent while listening. It so easily could be taken as her already repressing his views and ideas with this silent treatment, but she listened. If there was anything that the architect would know: she listened, but didn’t say anything until he finished saying everything he wanted to say. Or else, it’d be less pragmatic and it’d be a waste of time for both of them. A waste of time, breath, and emotional output. How cruel of her was to behave this way, but this was the reason why so many people simply refused to argue with her. However, unlike with those with those she didn’t care about, Zarina would infuriate them more and make them stumble on words while being lost in a fiery passionate desire to strangle her, the woman remained deathly silent at the words spoken by Kaveh. Only a watchful gaze and arms crossed under her chest were signifying her even paying attention. 

“Not exactly correct,” she denies him at that moment when she deems he’s done talking. Kaveh isn’t someone she will refuse to speak to or listen to, but there are instances where she believes her approach to be better for the sole reason of survival. Not logic, not rationality, not emotional aspect, and not a human aspect but simply because it provides more ability to survive and come out on top. “If you push for your viewpoint despite me disagreeing, I’m more likely to listen to you and give it some thought after the argument is done solely because it shows you care deeply about the subject. Others do not have this weight over my interests or my time.” Unlike you, they’re useless to me because they’re not my ‘chosen’ people.  

Truly, infuriating. The way she takes their current disagreement and debate as if it’s a mathematical equation where there is a higher percentage of who can win or lose. It’s not mathematics and it’s not any calculations. This is a human interaction, but Sokolova is a provocateur and a person who reads others like books. For worse, sadly.  

“However, I do agree that my approach is infuriating to someone like you who cares deeply about the effect your decision may have on others. You don’t play chess while seeing each living person in each chess piece. In moments like these when the stress is overpowering,” she thinks for a moment about Sages and how easily the greediest ones caved into her planning. Not something anyone needs to know. “It’s better to step back and let the situation unfold, no matter how cruel the aftereffects may be. I know you are aware of all consequences, but even then, I cannot jump head first on this matter.” 

Just because he cares doesn’t mean she does. Then again, he doesn’t need to know that right now, as they are only having a debate. 

“I want to hear more about your side of the arguments. The reason why you are getting so invested in this case: Is it a personal affiliation or is it something that you cannot ignore yourself?” She leans back against the couch, her shoulders relaxing and her legs crossed. “I’m not getting involved until you explain to me how it touches you or how it will benefit me. As you know, I cannot give my time to just anyone... especially if it means putting you in a dangerous situation.”

Perhaps, he was really right and in this moment there was no way fo changing her mind. At least, she wasn't walking out and leaving him alone with his thoughts. The thought crossed her mind, but she decided against it for this time.

[keepers-of-lost-light]

How did Keepers of Lost Light start?

Let’s start at the beginning. 

Before there was a universe. Before there were realms. Before there were gods. Before there were stories. Before there were even characters to conceptualize. 

There was a D&D Campaign that I was invited to join, but did not know I had the time for. Low and behold, I was dragged into a Session 0 last minute. Told to create a character in under 15 minutes, and to start talking to everyone. 

I knew everyone in the group, some of them I still play with today, but at the time I had no idea what I was doing. I had made this wood elf druid, and I had no backstory. No idea how stats worked. No idea how the game was even played. 

(What are these dice for again?)

Next thing I know my wood elf was running through the streets helping chase after some thief. 

This campaign went on for almost a year? Little over a year? Not important. What was important to me at the time was my character. I was invited to play this game during a rough period in my life, and it really lifted my spirits. (I think it came down to being surrounded by some of the people I consider close friends today. Shout out to Faun, Pal, and MJ <3.)

Anyway, the campaign ended before I could resolve my character's backstory which left me grasping at straws. I still wanted to share it with everyone, but I had no idea how to do that. This also happened during the middle of the pandemic which meant I had even more time on my hands. Which translated into too much time to think.

So I made my own solution, and tentatively asked my friends who knew my character already (And some new ones! Shout out to Crow & Moth!) if they wanted to play a one-shot that resolved her backstory. I will forever be grateful that they said yes despite the fact that I had no experience as a Dungeon Master. They truly helped kickstart this entire project. 

Being left to my own devices, I made a home for my character in a universe to call my own. It started as a quaint little valley that held two villages, and a port city. That was it! Nothing else! Nothing existed outside the mountains of the valley my character grew up in!

She had a treehouse in the woods, and there was a mysterious waterfall somewhere that had connections to the Fey. She lived in this little valley with her mom and sister, and that was it. 

The one-shot that my friends graciously allowed me to run turned into the first official story that would take place in The Seren Planar System long before it held that name. Her backstory would be altered to fit the narrative, and I would combine the two stories together. 

My friends from The Grand Ghost helped me write the first book to Keepers of Lost Light. 

Thank you.

Lyra & The Scribe of Thiania

[As a side note: We stream The Grand Ghost Campaign on Twitch every Wednesday at 8pm over on my friend @divineb0nes channel. They are the DM & they are awesome! Check it out sometime! https://www.twitch.tv/divineb0nes ]