#they still see him as beautiful but also as a powerful monster. which is at least part of what he is

[armandposting]

I can't think about armand's age/gender dysphoria without wanting to scream for a thousand years. how he's constantly seen as a young boy because he was turned at 17 but by that point even before he's lived a minute as a vampire he already hasn't felt like a boy for years. and all the men who see him this way want to use him like a man without treating him as one. he's constantly saying to their faces that he is a man with wants and desires and feelings and they're like hmm that's nice. not to me though. but not in a way that protects any of the child in him. they're not like, you're a boy and that means you should be kept safe. they're like, you're a boy and that means whatever I do to you is not real. because you're not real and now you're so frozen that no matter what you do you never will be. literally no wonder he has every problem.

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Percy Jackson Reverse Harem x Reader|| Chapter Two

<<< Chapter One

Your eyes widen when you see Chiron being half horse half man.

"You are a centaur"

Chiron chuckles at your shocked expression.

"Indeed, I'm, and I'm here to guide you"

"Thank you, sir"

"Are you not going to greet me, (Wrong name)?"

You turn your eyes to stare at the dark haired dark eyes man with confusion.

"My name is (Y/n)" you correct him before asking "And you are?"

"Dionysus"

"As in the god who has a cult?"

"That's me, I miss my cult"

You nod in agreement, unsure if that was meant to be humor or a genuine confession.

"Yes, I used to rule an entire cult in ancient Greece. They all worshipped me and offered me sacrifices."

You feel a twinge of unease at the thought of being in a cult, especially one led by a god like Dionysus.

Still, you don't want to be rude, so you just smile politely and say.

"That's... great."

Dionysus nods, seemingly satisfied with your response.

"Well then," he says,

"Shall we continue on? I can show you around the camp and introduce you to some of the other demigods."

Chiron frowns, looking at Dionysus, finding his behaviour strange.

Dionysus is never friendly towards any demigod.

But now, he is offering to show you around.

Chiron never understood the gods obsession with you.

He assumed it has something to do with your powers.

"There is no need, but thank you for the offer, Luke showed me around the camp"

You say before turning towards the centaur.

"I will be going now if that's all"

The moment you take your leave, Dionysus sighs in disappointment.

"If only she was my daughter"

°°°

The cabin is all pastel pink and surrounded by flowers and cherubs statues, and it is also close to Aphrodite's cabin, which is not surprising.

But what made you uncomfortable is the glass window in your room.

You will need curtains for that later.

What is surprising is that you found tons of gifts on your bed and your wardrobe is filled with clothes.

And a note that says 'From your beloved grandmother. Aphrodite'

Also there are gifts from different deities.

For example, Hermes gave you a golden caduceus pendant with a blue diamond.

Apollo gave you healing potions.

Ares gifted you a dagger and also has a note with it 'Sharp enough to kill your enemies'

But what astonished you the most is the gift from Etos, it's a music box.

A cherubs music box, when you turn it on, it starts playing very enchanting music.

There is a long letter too.

My sweet demigoddess,

I write to you on this fine day to express my deepest love and adulation for you.

Your strength, courage, and power all demonstrate your divine ancestry, and your beauty and grace shine with the warmth of the sun.

My heart aches for you from far away, and all I desire is to embrace you in my arms and to watch you flourish with all that you are and can be.

This music box is a gift from me, once it starts playing, all monsters will flock away from you.

From your father,

Eros.

The strong fragrance on the letter makes you calm down.

To be honest, you don't hate Eros even though he never was by your side when you grew up.

Maybe the new life for you here, isn't bad after all.

°°°

"Capture the flag? As in fighting other demigods? no thank you"

You say, walking by Percy's side.

The boy showed up at your doorsteps first thing in the morning, and asked you to walk with him.

"Don't worry, I will protect you, if you stay by my side" 

You stop and look at Percy and cross your arms over your chest.

"Why did you tell Luke that I'm your girlfriend?" you inquire.

Percy smiles.

"Because you have always been my girlfriend, remember in grade one where you wanted to marry me and made a promis-"

You quickly stop him, your cheeks heating up from the childhood memories.

"I was a child"

"I don't care, a promise is a promise"

"What if I fall for another?"

Percy shrugs, with the smile still on his face.

"It would be like Icarus flying too close to the sun"

You raise an eyebrow but he continues.

"Another might get close to you but they will never reach you before they fall to their deaths"

Chapter Three >>>

[charmwasjess]

Strap in for the Soresu form III Obi-Wan lightsaber post. This is gonna be a sad one, girlies. We’re getting into Obi-Wan’s Fucking Trauma. 

Qui-Gon’s death changed literally everything about Obi-Wan’s life, right down to the lightsaber form. Still a Padawan himself, he had to watch as an extinct monster from his nightmares* utterly took apart the form he’d learned since he was a child, and then, to complete the destruction, slaughtered the teacher who’d taught him the form and raised him. The devastation of Qui-Gon’s actual death had to be the last in a cascading series of horrors that started with the gut-sinking realization that Qui-Gon was losing. And if all of that weren’t enough, Obi-Wan also loses his own lightsaber in the same duel, a psychological blow to his personhood which we don’t have to guess at the significance of. Obi-Wan tells us the cost of it himself in AotC: this weapon is your life. 

The Duel of the Fates on a sheer physical level is a devastating thing to consider. It’s a grueling, full out running battle, the likes of which we don’t see elsewhere in the saga. The beauty (and pounding musical score) of the fight distracts from the sheer brutality of it. Maul is physically attacking them at every turn; he manages to kick Qui-Gon hard enough to knock all 6’3 of him off his feet; he dumps Obi-Wan into a fall that seems to be several stories high. We don’t see Obi-Wan get back up off the floor with Qui-Gon’s body at the end of the duel, and I’d be surprised if he was physically able to even stand again so after the adrenaline faded and the soreness and exhaustion took over. He just been whirled in a lightsaber blender. 

I can’t imagine how hard it was for him to pick up a lightsaber again after the trauma of that battle - much less, a new, unfamiliar one, not the kyber crystal that had been his since he was a child. The new canon’s emphasis on the spiritual relationship between a Jedi and their crystal makes this detail even more excruciating. The Ataru form itself must have felt broken and unusable. How can you put your trust in a form once you watched it be broken so ruthlessly?

And this is where Obi-Wan is so endlessly beautiful as a character. He goes through this horrifying experience of violent unmaking, and instead of avoiding lightsabers as an understandable trauma response, or picking up an overwhelming power and dominance form like V, he remakes himself into a master of Soresu: a form of simple, complete defense. He doesn’t attempt to become a weapon of attack like Maul did to disintegrate Ataru; he makes himself invincible, untouchable, with a perfect defense. Soresu works the pieces that fell apart for the Jedi in the Duel of the Fates to an advantage. It is a form of ultimate endurance, of playing out your opponent and staying up in a fight until the attacker is exhausted or angry. It preserves and it lasts. It is philosophical. It is considered. It lacks the showy flash of Makashi or Ataru and returns to the basics, even working in some of that battlefield meditation that Qui-Gon so believed in. And in that simple economy, it’s gorgeous and effective. 

I have to wonder: is Soresu, on some level, a form of kinetic self-soothing for a person who faced an incredibly traumatic battle at a young age? Does Obi-Wan use it that way?

All of this is perfectly in keeping with the themes of the character. Obi-Wan’s story remains about life, about hope, about survival. The word he uses to describe the Jedi to Luke in the OT is important to me. “Jedi knights were the guardians of peace and justice.” Guardians. And what better lightsaber approach for a person who sees his role as one of protection than a form whose signature move is called “The Circle of Shelter?”

*Maul, of course, is a tragedy in his own right, but that’s a different post. 

[layraket]

THERE WAS AN UPDATE SLEEPING? WHATS THAT??

first of all we start with this beautiful shot

god thats some cool architecture i have no words clapping

Wind is so ready to kick that lizard's ass i love him

this confirms the fact that theyre in the same place but in a different era (also i swear im convinced that this place takes place at least no far from Hyrule's era, the statue behind Legend and the corridors inside are almost the same as in Zelda1 and 2)

that was the worst joke i have heard today good job rulie lots of kudos /lh

the boys entering a place where they could find the most dangerous shit in all Hyrule, and then there's my girl who is having the best lunch ever

when i first read this i almost spit all my water on my phone cuz. Wars my man these people are like. crazy with dungeon crawl. you can't say that and expect a normal reaction.

their expressions are gold no notes

TIME'S SIDE EYE LMAO

Sky looking concerned, and Wars with the most "i dont know what is everyones problem but alright" face i love him

In a war there's no time to explore or search for things that can be useful, or even search for clues, less with the fact that youre leading an army. There was no puzzle, no mistery to solve or objects that needed to be obtained, just plain fight and confrontation, not leaving space for investigation or even a good rest in town

They have a point, without exploring they wouldn't have the arsenal that they carry; powerful items that can kill a whole army of monsters, a gift left by the hero before them to help, shinies. All that is really useful when you want to save the whole kingdom

lets not forget all the weapons that you can get on HW, there are some that are like, crazy powerful, and the materials get from the enemies are also really helpful

guys i think youre the only crazy people who love to enter a random place full of monsters and maybe a demon lord or smth

OK THIS IS THE PANNEL WHERE I WANTED TO TALK A LITTLE ABT

This reminds me of this short comic where Wild was almost grabbed by a wallmaster, do this takes place some time before this scene?? or just from another time?? I find possible the first option cuz Wild looks more wary the whole update, like if he already found out what will happends if he puts his guard down

Also the fact that the closest thing that he had as a dungeon were the Divine Beast and the shrines, which both of them lacked a lot of things that were usually in the clasic zelda's dungeons, like keys, mini bosses, special object and pots.

Hyrule my guy you dont. have to scare him like that. i hate these things too but calm down.

fucking gremlin /pos

taking this as an opportunity to talk about how Legend's behaviour has been seen changed in the past updates, he's more relaxed and playful, taking a moment to just have fun and prank the rest of the chain

this reminds me

here is left clear that he's still young, maybe not even on his twenties, and now after that stressfull time with Twi being on the verge of death it makes sense that he feels the need of just, goof around to cope after all that

Yes he's the most experienced, yes is maybe the most powerful of them, but he's still a young boy who was dragged to all this, he deserves to have some fun

happy guy :)

and then we have Time, he looks like Not Having A Good Time™

Messy hair Warriors <3

also i know we all put Sky as one of the adults, but cmon he's a little shit as much as the rest, thats why he finds funny Legend's joke

Wild my man you good? like im genuinely asking at this point, it is weird seeing him so serious

god thats such a cool design of a skulltula, its so scary 10/10

Wild has never seen in his life a spider of this size, so it makes sense him just, straight up getting surprised by that thing

OUGHH I FELT THAT

Sky being right-handed looks like a problem in this closed space, soon or later it would make some troubles

Legend no offence but did you see the little accident they had right there. like. that really hurts if you ask me.

Okay Time is really at his limit here, the past days has been hell for him with the stress of almost loosing the one that he might see as his son, and seeing all the boys just playing around is not helping. Theyre all heroes, they should take this danger seriously if they want to stop all danger.

He wants to protect the ones that he cares for, even if he has to snap for it.

Here he might be planning to team up with Twi and Wind? The youngest seems to have gained his attention as his second successor. He will make anything it takes to not let all of them get hurt, and with everything he means it

Just wait when he learns that Legend is also his successor, automatically adopted

NOW MY FAV PARTS WITHOUT COMMENTARY!!!

SOMEHOW I GOT THE IMAGE LIMIT???? I DIDNT THOUGHT THAT IT WAS POSSIBLE ON WEB

anyways have confused warriors as the last one pls aprecciate him

tumblr pls let me eat the art i beg you

art credits as always towards @linkeduniverse! always feeling blessed with all this fantastic work!

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories /three/ Azriel x reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part One Part Two

The night of Calanmai came. You were buzzing with energy. You dressed in old clothes, and wrapped yourself in Lucien’s cloak, trying to hide your scent as best as possible. To anyone else out there, it would look like you belonged to the fox. That you were his and no one else’s. Which would also keep you safe from anyone creeping a little too close. 

“Stay with me, do you understand?” Lucien questioned. 

“I know, I know.”

The beat of the drums outside grows louder and louder. You could feel them in your soul, begging you to run out and join the fun. You ached with anticipation. You were going to leave this dreaded house and finally see your brother again. 

You just wanted to lay eyes on him and know that he was still in there somewhere, and wasn’t the monster everyone believed him to be. Certainly he was doing what he had to do to survive? Certainly your sweet caring brother was still in there, buried deep within? 

“Come, we don’t have much time,” Lucien said, leading you out of your rooms. 

You shiver against the cool night. Though you weren’t sure if it was the cold that was making you shiver, or the thought of seeing him again. You couldn’t tell him who you were, couldn’t allow him to realize you were still alive. 

He would destroy the spring court and with it any hopes of beating Amerantha at her own game. If Feyre could just admit that she was in love with Tamlin, which somehow you had a feeling she was slowly falling for the Lord of Spring, everything would change. Maybe you could go home again. 

You longed for home. Longed for Valaris, and the group of fae that you called family. You longed for Cassian and Mor constantly fighting and joking. You longed for Amren and her grumpy nature. And Azriel…your Az. The person who seemed to understand you more than anyone else in the world. You longed for him most of all.  He was so quiet and understanding, and so beautiful in every possible way. You wished you would have told him. But you were still just a child. 

You were still so young when Tamlin and his family took you. Barely even eighteen, but you aged slower somehow, so while you were of age, you barely looked sixteen. So small and young. So much of your life stripped away from you. 

You feel Rhys before you spot him. You feel the night rippling off of him, calling your own powers out to play. The headache slowly sets in at the base of your skull as you try to reign in your own shadows and darkness. 

He’s talking to Feyre, and for a moment you smile, because you could see them together in another life. Perhaps if she’d been born a Fae. Perhaps if Rhys needed to be the one to break Amerantha’s curse, and not Tamlin. Because you hated the idea of Tamlin getting to be happy with Feyre once this was all said and done. You hated the fact that she would live out her few good years with that beast. 

“What do we have here?” His silky voice questioned, violet eyes looking you over, “Already have a play thing, Lucien?” 

“Not quite,” I spoke up, daring him to recognize me from beneath the glamor.

you could feel his mental claws scratching against my shields, looking for a way in. He would not find one, of course. Having been trained to block him out since you were old enough to understand the concept.

His eyes narrowed at you, taking a step closer towards you. Meanwhile, Lucien hissed at you to stay put while he dragged Feyre back to the manor house, leaving you alone with Rhys. You ached to tell him, but you couldn’t. If you told him you’d be dead before the next moon rise. 

“Who are you?” 

You bite back the bile that rises in your throat, “Lucien’s…friend.”

“No, you aren’t.”

You only smirk and try to force your way into his head again, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. 

“If you were his friend, you wouldn’t be full of faebane.”

“Maybe I choose this.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he tisks, “Poor little lamb, stuck in spring.”

“I’m far from a little lamb,” You hiss back, hating that you sound and feel weak. 

You are weak, in every way that matters now, you’re weak. And Rhys can’t do anything to help you. He can’t take you away from here, he can’t save you. Because he can’t even save himself. He’s stuck under Amerantha’s thumb, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. Your only hope is that poor human girl to actually fall in love with Tamlin. What a fate that would be. 

Lucien returns, dropping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. You had to do something, anything to try to let him know you were alive. That you were here. You were right there, just silently begging for him to notice you. So you did the only thing you could think of and flung out what little power you had left. You scratched down his mental shields, already feeling sweat beading on your forehead. 

At this point he’d turned his back, ready to move away from the boring conversation. But your little outburst caused him to spin back around and stalk towards you. You thought he might go for your throat, might kill you right there for daring to do anything to him but he didn’t. 

“I could kill you right where you stand,” He hisses at you, “Without breaking a sweat.”

“Ah, but you’d have to catch me first,” you struggle to say from the strain of the faebane, “I hear I’m like the wind.”

His eyes widen, hands reaching for you, before Lucien took hold of you and dragged you away. You were back in the manor house before you could even think. Lucien started to yell at you, drowning out the sound of the drums outside, which were growing louder and louder. The rite would start soon, Lucien would be needed.

“What did you say to him?” He demands. 

“Nothing, you heard me.”

“No, that meant something!” 

“Just something I used to say as a child,” You shake your head, “I’m going to bed. Have fun.”

You wave him off as you go. You felt heavy and tired. But somehow so invigorated. Your brother was still your brother, you knew that. Deep down he was still Rhys, and not the monster everyone believed him to be. Deep down, he was still there, just waiting to come back out like everyone else. 

That night you dreamt of your wings. Flying over Valaris with Rhys and your mother. Laughing with Cas and Az at the House of Wind. You dreamt about everything, and at the same time nothing. 

“I’m going to get you, little star!” Rhys laughed from behind you as you ran away from him. 

“You’ll have to catch me first!” You yell, jumping off of the ledge, “I’m like the wind!” 

The air catches your wings and pulls you along. You smile and giggle as you pivot to avoid Rhys again. The wind whips through your hair as you fly, you don’t bother trying to stop it. It only makes you laugh harder.  You feel so free as you fly higher and higher over the city. You wonder for a second if they can hear you laughing down in the Rainbow. 

You’d have to stop back down there today, you wanted to listen to the music some more. Maybe purchase a painting or two for your rooms. Maybe you could convince Cas or Az to come with you. 

Arms reach around you, causing you to shriek. Rhys’ laugh filled your ears and you relaxed into his arms. It was rare to have moments like this now. Your father kept him so busy, much to yours and your mother’s dismay. 

He pulls you in close and laughs as you nudge him with your elbow, “I love you, little star,” He whispers to you above the wind. 

“I love you too, Rhys.”

When you wake the following morning, you have tears in your eyes. Your pillow is wet with them. You do not get out of bed that day.

Tag List

@historygeekqueen @wallacewillow0773638 @sstrohma @saltedcofeesotch @hnyclover @thelov3lybookworm @queerqueenlynn

[multifandom--mess]

Hannigram Fic Recs! pt.2

Here it is, the big fat fic recs post I've been putting off for like two months but at least that means I had time to read a shit ton of fics. I made sure to do a mix of short and long fics this time around since the first part were all long ones. Enjoy!

part 1

》 The Lamb and His Monster by petrodactyl352 (Explicit)(104k)

Will has always been drawn to the macabre. The proverbial flame upon which he has burnt his fragile moth’s wings time and time again, it’s why he had fallen in love with Florence and why he alone seems to see the beauty in the grisly but exquisite work of Il Mostro. But when he meets a young man in the Uffizi Gallery whose sketchbook is filled with nothing but page upon page of intricate renditions of the Primavera drawn in reverent strokes of pencil, he realizes he may not be alone in his fascination with the Monster. As they lift veils and scale forts and slowly begin to understand each other, Will gets a taste of exactly how bright the cinders of intrigue can burn—and how quickly they can kindle into an inferno of obsession.

(Young hannigram in Florence ahhh this is seriously one of the best fics i've ever read it had to be at the top of the list)

》 Spectral Hearts by mattHughdancy (Explicit) (16k)

Will has a meltdown at a crime scene. Guess who’s called in to help.

(Another top fave of mine they are so fucking cute in this fic 🤧 features autistic Will, and Hannibal just loves him so much oh my goddd my heart exploded reading this)

》 lay like a flood spills away by bleakmidwinter (Explicit)(35k)

Will Graham meets Hannibal, a frequent cruiser, at an open-minded nudist lake. Despite his reservations, Will is drawn to him, but is eventually forced to question his mysterious nature when the lakeside regulars start to go missing.

(I loved this one bc what better setting than a nudist lake. This is just gay as hell honestly lmao bc the lake is all dudes and Will is "straight" at the beginning until he meets Hannibal and it's all downhill from there. Definitely give this one a read it had some hilarious moments too)

》 Doing Things That Friends Don't Do by HigherMagic (Explicit) (39k)

A year after the fall, Will and Hannibal have settled into a fairly blissful, domestic harmony. But Will's imagination has never let him simply enjoy what he has - why should it start now?

(Basically Will trying everything in his power NOT to have sex with Hannibal but of course we all know he can't keep it together. They are so horny for each other in this i died laughing so many times. Also this author is such an amazing writer expect multiple recs from them in this post)

》 Railroad Romance by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles (12k)(Explicit)

Hannibal is still Hannibal, and Will is still Will. Except Will is not part of the FBI and they meet on a two day train trip from New Orleans to Baltimore.

(A strangers to lovers meet-cute on a train. Lots of fluffy moments and of course train sex ensues)

》 Three Stars by beforethedawn (94k)(Explicit)

Three months after the fall, Jack finally tracks them down in Canada and Will and Hannibal have to make a run for it, slumming it through America in three star hotels and eating sub par food.

(Hannigram roadtrip!! This fic was so fun I loved it. They take on the identities of some familiar Mads and Hugh characters ;)

》 Unexpected Delight by HigherMagic (Explicit) (61k)

Will has a kink that he’s deeply ashamed of. Unbeknownst to him, Hannibal has the same or a similar/compatible kink. They get together, and Will is going out of his way as he usually does to seem like his sexual tastes are as “normal” as possible. As a result, Hannibal gets the idea that Will is super vanilla and maybe a little prudish, and not wanting to scare him off, is also keeping his kinky side on the DL. This goes on for while, with them each trying super hard to hide how kinky they are and act as “vanilla” as possible, to hilarious results, all while privately thinking the other one would be super freaked out if they knew since they’re obviously so sweet and normal.

(This whole thing is literally ALL smut 😭😭 but Han and Will love each other to death and the sex is so good y'all omg I had to stop reading multiple times to catch my breath)

》 The Substitute by Devereauxs_Disease (Explicit) (10k)

When Hannibal tells Will he's sick, Will is skeptical. Before he knows it, he's laying in a hospital bed and being told he's going nowhere for two weeks. Will is distraught until Hannibal swoops in and offers to take over Will's courses at the FBI Academy. Will doesn't mind Hannibal showing up every night with a home-cooked meal, but he might just resent Hannibal becoming the most popular teacher at the Academy in just two weeks...

(A seaon 1 au if Hannibal wasn't an asshole had told Will about the encephalitis. This is hilarious tho because the students don't like Will no more when he comes back and they keep asking about Hannibal 😭😭 poor Will lmaoo)

》 When This Old Tired Body Wants to Sing by KareliaSweet (Explicit) (7k)

“Fuck me quicker, darling,” he purrs with liquid insincerity, “God forbid you see my face.” Will never touches him unless it is in the dark. In the daylight he is a ghost.

(Will being an asshole and only fucking Hannibal in the dark ugh 🙄 but things work out eventually so don't worry!)

》 Maybe Tomorrow by Shotgun_sinner (Explicit) (26k)

After recovering from their tumble off a cliff, Will agrees to get Hannibal to Portugal, where the good doctor can start a new life for himself. In exchange, Will can take the boat and return to his life, or start over himself. A storm hits on the open water, leaving them stranded somewhere in the Azores. With no one else on the small island, they're forced to work together for survival, and work through their violent past in order to get along.

(A survival au! I LOVED this and author is another fave of mine. I go crazy for a good stranded on a deserted island trope and this did not disappoint. Also there is an insanely funny part where I absolutely DIED. You'll know when you read it 💀💀)

》 I've Always Been A Daughter by air_of_the_Waterfall (44k)(Explicit)

It's been a month since Will and Abigail ran away with Hannibal. Living in a safe Canadian town, Will and Hannibal are free to explore their newfound intimacy and Abigail has a chance at the future she craves. However, upon meeting Hannibal’s sister Mischa and her daughter, loyalties are tested and insecurities run rampant. The Lecters have an undeniably dark past, and as Abigail and Will fall deeper into its truths, Hannibal’s manipulation and misguided love come to light more clearly than ever before.

(This fic is truly a hidden gem I am so glad I found it. Murder family post-mizumono and also MISCHA LIVES. The plot is so well written and I love Mischa's characterization. Definitely give this one a read, yall it is SO GOOD it deserves so much love)

》 Home is Not a Place by Shotgun_Sinner (11k)(Explicit)

Post-Fall, Hannibal recovers from his injuries. Will takes care of him, and their relationship evolves much more easily than Hannibal thought it would. The only issue is that Will is a constant presence, and he hasn't had alone time in three years. It ends up not being an issue at all.

(This one is so sweet. Basically Hannibal wants to jerk off but he can't because Will is just always there and he hardly gets a moment alone and he'll feel bad for telling him to go away 😭😭 but they finally get together in the end

》 Held in the Highest Regard by HigherMagic (12k)(Explicit)

What happens when a group of serial killers pick the absolute worst targets? Will is already having a pretty rough night, since Hannibal proposed to him and Will said 'No' for reasons he still hasn't quite figured out yet. It's not their fault - they couldn't have known - but sometimes people have to learn lessons the hard way, and Will could definitely use some stress relief.

(If you are familiar with the movie 'The Strangers' then you'll really like this one. I reread it like three times it was so good. Shit had me tweaking omg this is like the perfect au for them)

》 Green-Eyed Monster by CestPasDuBaudelaire (53k)(Explicit)

Will and Hannibal have settled in Cuba and, for the past year, they have been living their happily ever after in a small hidden community for retired wanted criminals. However, at the hazard of a gathering, Will is faced with an unbelievable fact, other members of the community may also fancy his monster of a husband. Then comes Will's spiraling, as he learns to come to terms with a disastrous, chaotic and slowly overwhelming possessiveness. And of course, feelings are never easy to deal with, when Hannibal is involved. A smut character study in three acts exploring Will's possessiveness.

(Top!Will my beloved. Don't let the title fool you, this was so fun to read and I love the community for wanted criminals idea. And possessive Will is always a treat ;)

》 Haunted by Anonymous (165k)(Explicit)

Still recovering from their fight with Dolarhyde, Will and Hannibal escape to New Orleans with Chiyoh's help. But Will is still struggling to accept Hannibal and his own darkness, something that Hannibal has every intention of helping him overcome...

(And finally I leave you guys with this monster of a fic. So sad that the author chose to go anon but if they somehow see this I hope they know how much I love this story. Will is struggling and Hannibal is an asshole at certain points but when is he not? Lots of references to Will's past too and some stuff about his mom that's very interesting)

I hope you guys enjoy these stories as much as I did. If you read any and want to discuss my messages and ask box are always open! ♡♡♡

[s1utlvr]

Chemtrails Over the Country Club ﹏

Luke Castellan X fem!aphrodite reader

In which Luke comes to recruit you.

a/n: Honestly this fic is so unserious and unhinged 😭😭 also listen. Idk how this got so long but it did. Also don’t know how this got so angsty but it did. Anyways takes place during sea of monsters just some heated making out and arguing mentions of bullying kinda Luke being well Luke. This was supposed to be inspired by I can see you by Taylor swift but then it got really long and angsty so here’s a little playlist of all the songs that inspired this. (Listen in order or don’t idc) Not proofread yeah that’s it lmk if I missed something.

Reflections- The Neighborhood

Chemtails Over the Country Club -Lana Del Rey

Money power Glory- Lana Del Rey

I Can See You - Taylor swift

Listening time- 17 mins

Word Count- 4.9k

~~~~𖠳~~~~~~~~𖠳~~~~~~~~𖠳~~~~~𖠳~~~~~~~~𖠳~~~~~~~

There was no one at camp who hadn’t heard the story of the night Percy Jackson returned.

It was a night of triumph as the son of Poseidon had saved Olympus and prevented war, until Luke castellan outed himself as the lighting thief and disappear.

And just like triumph came it diminished and once more there was talk of war.

But between all of this there was just something you couldn’t wrap your head around.

After the summer solstice most people left feeling frazzled, those like you who stayed for the remainder of the term continued picking sides preparing for the war that was said to come just like before Percy had returned.

Just like all the other cabins yours had come to a consensus as well, despite the fact your mother was a war goddess most were against a war out of hatred and spite for the gods and while you agreed part of you couldn’t help but feel…different.

Sure you were against a war breaking out any sane person would be, but part of you couldn’t help but sympathize with Luke.

See for a while you were your mother’s pride and joy, the epitome of what it meant to be Aphrodites daughter. You were charming, sweet, and had a beauty that could only come from the goddess of love and beauty herself and you lived for for the love and attention of your peers and your mother til you realized that was all you had to offer, and once someone sweeter, kinder, prettier came along you were left with nothing.

Your mother gave you everything, and then she took it all away.

It was humiliating being the “dumb Aphrodite kid” constantly being ridiculed for being shallow and vain but how could you not when all you were left with was your beauty?

You couldn’t even recount the amount of times you had sobbed and sobbed and sobbed about it the amount of times that you had prayed to something that you hoped could be bigger than the gods to give you a different parent someone who could gift you with knowledge or wisdom or skill or creativity just something that could make you feel like you were more like you were worthy, for a while you even considered joining the hunt. It wasn’t like your mother would ever let anyone endure the misery that would be loving you.

However despite all of this Luke still saw you.

You weren’t exactly friends throughout your time at camp half-blood but he treated you a hell of a lot better than most of his siblings whom would just look at you and whistle.

Whenever you two would spar he’d always give you a real challenge not letting you stop until you finally beat him and it was during the brief conversations after these moments where you found yourself seeing bits of you in him.

You were both runaways desperate to cling to something,desperate for glory, nobodies son and nobodies daughter; the wasted potential of your parents.

It was for this reason that you found yourself laying awake in the middle of the night pondering about Luke. War was bad for everyone there was no question about it and no sane person would just start of war out of spite. You knew it wasn’t right but part of you felt like he had to have had a reason for his doings something that had to have pushed him over the edge.

You hated to admit it but for the months he’s was gone you were miserable. You were loosing yourself without your conversations with Luke and worst of all you were loosing your beauty.

Sure it sounded vain but it was an odd phenomenon that occurred one in a million. See Aphrodites kids lived off of love, self and that of others it was one of the things that helped them thrive, and seeing as you were lacking both your hair began to thin and your face had begun hollowing out,suddenly you really started to feel for Luke.

It was your last straw, and what you would go on to say was your reason for the decision you made the night you saw him.

It was Labor Day weekend which also happened to be the last weekend before most began returning to camp and it was tradition for the year round campers to throw a final intimate campfire.

You had tried to ride out the night with some of your siblings but you had found it to be just as insufferable so you made your way back to your cabin.

It was quiet for a change, and for a minute it felt quite peaceful as you felt yourself closing your eyes until you heard the cabin door open once more.

You had expected to look up and see one of your siblings but instead, it was him.

You wore a shocked expression on your face your eyes looking his body up and down.

it was really him.

You didn’t know how to react he looked the same wearing sweatpants and a gray hoodie that hugged his arms a bit tighter, he had been training.

Despite the fact that he looked the same you knew he wasn’t, all you knew was that he was out for blood and he was standing infront of you.

Breathing was getting harder, as you moved back onto your bed your eyes stuck on the man infront of you.

“What…what do you want with me?” You asked still completely dumbfounded.

“Relax…..i have no intentions of hurting you.”

His expression remained the same, he was calm and collected. You felt absolutely insane.

“Why are you here Luke” you asked trying to match his tone and failing as the shakiness of your voice came through.

“I’m here to recruit you.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Why me?”

“Because I think you can help me. You see when people see you all they see is a pretty face……they underestimate you, but i can see you y/n. And as far as I’m concerned you’re the smartest demigod i know” He sounded so sure of himself for a second you almost believed him.

“You’re lying” You scoffed as you watched his expression change he wasn’t as calm as he was before, he persistent on recruiting you

“Would you look around y/n? You’re the only one who even knows I’m here. Everyone else is oblivious not just to this but everything. You see the world differently, you understand me y/n i need you.”

“But why would should I?” It was vain. You needed no more convincing.

“If you join me no one is ever gonna dare look at you the wrong way, ever. I won’t let them underestimate you y/n.”

It wasn’t right. You knew it in your gut it wasn’t.

But for once in your life you felt seen,wanted, you had the chance to do something that was bigger than yourself.

“When do we leave?”

“It’s not quite like that, I need eyes on the inside….just for now until Percy arrives…not that he’ll be staying long.” Your expression dimmed as he spoke.

“You have to trust me on this”

“How do you know you can trust me?”

“I don’t, but I do know something.”

“You’re your mother’s daughter. As much as we all despise them it doesn’t change the facts. And the fact is you Aphrodite kids are too loyal for your own good.

He could read you like a book, yet there was something freeing about the vulnerability you felt, like he was setting you free.

“I’m in”

He walked closer to you placing a few golden drachmas into your hand before closing your palm.

“I expect to hear from you soon.”

You had no idea what you had gotten yourself into.

The next couple of weeks were quiet, until they weren’t.Thalias tree had been poisoned and monsters were getting closer and closer each day,something told you it was Luke behind it. If you were right it was redundant to call him but something inside of you was telling you to call him anyways, so you grabbed a golden drachma from the pile that had been hiding away in your vanity followed by a prism of clear quartz and hoped for the best.

“Oh iris goddess of the rainbow please accept my offering” A rainbow reflected upon the window next to your bunk.

“Give me Luke Castellan, Princess andromeda, New York Harbor”

When you got to Luke he was in a meeting and didn’t notice your message at first but he looked different. His curls were shorter,shiner, like he had started taking care of them. He was wearing an emerald button up, trousers, and loafers that you could’ve sworn were gucci. To say he looked attractive was an understatement.

“It’s about time” He said startling you a bit as you had begun to zone out.

“I think you know why im calling, Thalias tree is dying”

“Perfect” a smirk landed on his face.

“That’s not it though. The barrier’s diminishing there’s talk about having twenty-four seven security on half blood hill and Clarisse is already there like every hour of the day”

His expression changed.

“How fast can you get to New York harbor?”

“I’m not finished. Chiron doesn’t want Percy going to camp this year, says it too dangerous.”

That was it, his eyes darkened as his mind wandered aimlessly in panic. He looked no where near as confident as he did just minutes ago.

“Pack up im calling a car, we’ll figure out what to do about Percy once you’re here”

You watched as his face quickly faded from the kaleidoscope of colors. Something was wrong very wrong but whatever it was he trusted you with it, and you trusted him.

Packing was always your specialty, you’d had the ability to pack your entire life into a duffel bag since you had started coming to camp; shoes,toiletries makeup, on bottom, in the upper part underwear, pants,dresses, shirts, in that order, and right on-top the thing that was missing this go around. The bright orange colored “Camp Half-Blood” shirts.

There was something almost liberating about being able to abandon them on your bed. Maybe that’s why the gods always abandoned their children.

It wasn’t hard slipping out from camp, not than anyone really noticed you nowadays but it was dinner hour, and by the time it was over you were already boarding the Princess Andromeda where you were greeted by a cabin stewardess.

“Good evening Ms. Y/n. We’ve been expecting you” She was tall blonde and had dry almost scale-y hands, something told you she wasn’t exactly human but you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

She took your bags and led you to your room, the decor ironically reminiscent of the Poseidon cabin.

“Mr Castellan needs you in the orlop at ten but until then feel free to enjoy any and all amenities, enjoy your stay.”

You nodded as you watched her leave the room closing the door behind you.

You began to unpack while simultaneously trying to figure out what to wear. You weren’t exactly sure what the dress code was for a meeting to plan the downfall of Percy Jackson but based off of what you’d seen Luke wearing in your iris message you assumed business formal.

You didn’t know what you were thinking when you’d pack the dress, it was a gift from your mother from when she’d actually bothered to try and have a relationship with you. It was a long black dress with chains around the waist. You hadn’t worn it in months. The words that came out of her mouth as she handed it to you played in your head on repeat.

“Your beauty is all powerful. What you do with that is of your choosing but choose wisely.”

You weren’t sure if you believed that anymore, if you believed her at all. But the dress felt appropriate.

You let your hair down and got ready applying some light makeup, something you hadn’t done since last summer. Meanwhile you’d thought about what people had said about Luke last summer, wondering if they’d say the same things about you once they found out, if they’d call you a “traitor” and a “monster” But If what you were doing was so wrong then how come you finally felt like yourself again?

A bit later the stewardess who had greeted you earlier escorted you down some corridors to the bottom deck to an old maintenance room that was now being used as a lair of sorts.

Inside Luke was sitting crouched over in a chair with his head down,next to him was Chris Rodriguez one if his siblings you’d seen around camp and two other men who appeared to be older than you three.

Tensions were high, you felt it as soon as you walked in.

As he heard you walk in Luke looked up adjusting himself as he looked your body up and down.

“Good you’re here. Take a seat we don’t have much time.” He said as he motioned to the seat next to him.

You sat down, the other two men watching you closely.

“How much do you know?” One of the anonymous men asked.

“Percy was supposed to go back to camp at the end of this week, Thursday. Chiron has been trying to convince Sally Jackson otherwise but Percy Himself isn’t aware of the state of camp.” You said

“He doesn’t get to camp he can’t take the bait and all of this is fucked we need a plan and we need it now.” Luke was getting agitated.

“We need to make him not going not an option.” Chris added.

“Exactly” luke replied

It was silent for a moment, the sound of Luke tapping his foot filled the room until one of the men spoke.

“I know some people we can call up, get him in some trouble at school. If he’s still under the impression camp is safe he’ll go running to Chiron.”

You watched as a wave of relief washed over Luke’s face.

“Get to it we don’t have time to waste.”

The man nodded before walking out of the room followed by the other man.

“Hey man I’m gonna go grab a drink you want?”

“Yeah I’ll meet you there” Luke said to him as Chris nodded before walking out.

You watched as he left your eyes locking on Luke once you heard the door shut. He looked even better than he did in the iris message now that you were seeing him in person. You couldn’t help but imagine things that would make even your mom blush.

“You came” He said as he turned to face you.

You sound suprised”

“Not surprised, relieved. Without your intel Percy wouldve had us chasing our own tail. I’m glad you made it.” He sounded sweet, genuine. It was hard to believe he was the same person people had talking about at camp.

“Glad I’m here.” You said shooting him a soft smile as he stood up offering out his hand, you took it as you stood up.

“You wanna come with?” He asked motioning to the door.

“I’m ok, I’ll see you later”

“I tried” He said with a fake dramatic sigh as he held his hand to his heart you rolled your eyes at his antics.

“You look good y/n” He said before exiting the room.

His words shouldn’t have made your heart flutter like they did, you were nothing more to him than a pawn, but if he could get something out of this why couldn’t you?

You decided to grab a jacket from your room and make your way up to the deck, it was late and empty for the most part as you settled on the ledge of the boat looking out at the New York skyline in the distance, the Brooklyn bridge illuminating the night sky. As much as you may have hated the gods you had to give them some credit. They picked a beautiful city to move Olympus too.

“What are you doing?” You heard from behind you as you turned to face Luke.

“Admiring the view” you responded letting out a sigh at the look of his face of disdain.

“It’s not safe out here, they’ll smell you.” He said as he walked towards you his expression ever so slowly relaxing.

“nothing you can’t handle.” You replied with a smirk. It was true, Luke was the best swordsmen you knew there wasn’t a monster he couldn’t handle.

“Doesn’t mean you can just go around getting into trouble, what am I your saving grace?”

Hearing those words come out of his mouth made you blush, he really did save you.

Cmon, you ought to get back to your room” he said as hey began walking back inside.

“It’s ok I’ll find my way around” you said as you scurried infront of him.

“Nonsense youre staying next to me I’ll walk you” Luke replied continuing to walk as you stopped in your tracks.

“You know I can look out for myself”

“Believe me I know, you wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t…..it just helps me sleep at night.” There was something comforting about his words that made you smile as you caught up to him.

“Kinda sounds like you do wanna save” you teased as you walked alongside him.

“Did I not?” He replied making a fake face of confusion causing you to roll your eyes.

“Yeah you totally did” you said as you entered the hallway your rooms were on.

“Get some rest, things should be pretty calm til we get to Miami.” Luke said resting his arm on your shoulder.

“What’re we doing in Miami?” You asked.

“Just….rest up”

“I’ll see you in the morning then” You said as you walked down to your room glancing at him down the hallway one last time before entering.

You couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t think about anything at all really. Only his words that replayed in your head over and over and over and the way his lips seemed to glisten and the way his shirt hugged his arms and most of all fthe fact that there was nearly a thin wall separating you and Luke, and the things you’d be able to hear through it.

For the first time in months you slept like a rock knowing you weren’t alone knowing there was someone looking out for you. Sure you weren’t helpless but you weren’t against the idea of Luke wanting to look out for you.

The rest of the day was nice, peaceful, for the most part that was until evening.

Word got around Annabeth had single handled gotten Percy back to camp and they were figuring out things too quickly which called for an emergency meeting meaning Luke practically dragged you out of your room while you were half dressed leaving you in a tank top and some sweatpants.

“Wait so what’s happening?” You asked as you scurried to the lower deck

“Clarisse was sent on a quest to go obtain the Golden Fleece for Thalias tree”

“Which is good for us right?”

“Wrong, cause we had assumed Percy would go”

“So what now?”

“‘thing is because of that we had started to reroute only to find out the impertinent shit and his entourage are planning on joining her” He said slamming open the door to the old maintence room and slamming it just as quickly as she opened it.

“Listen Luke our options are limited-“ Chris stated as you entered the room.

“You think I don’t know that?” Luke hissed.

“I’m just saying our best bet is to lure him on board when he gets to the harbor.”

You scowled at his words. “We can’t do that”

“Says who?” Chris scoffed

“It’s not logical. We’d be risking everything we know little nothing we don’t know who or what he could have with him all we know is who he is and he is not to be underestimated for this to work we need more. We might aswell be serving ourselves up on a silver platter”

“She has a point” One of the guys from yesterday responded as you felt Chris’ piercing eyes on you.

“Why should we listen to her? She’s always just been a dumb Aphrodite girl what like that changed overnight”

Your heart sank. Just like that you were back at camp.

“Excuse me?”

“Y/n-“ Luke said reaching out for your arm only to be pushed away.

“No what the fuck did you just say? Aphrodite may be my mother but atleast I know who my godly parent it. You’re just an unclaimed kid who Hermes took pity on so if I were you I wouldn’t be talking.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“This is a fucking joke you’re a fucking joke-“ You cursed as you stormed out Luke following quickly behind you.

“What the fuck was that?” He shouted as you walked into your room

“I don’t know you tell me”

“You can’t do that”

“I thought we had an agreed no more of that bullshit but i guess since it’s your best fucking friend that doesn’t apply to him huh?”

“What’s it gonna take for you to keep your fucking mouth shut huh?” He shouted cornering you into a wall.

You were tongue tied. For the first time you’d seen the monster people had described at camp for months. But under the anger in his eyes you saw something else, a deep hunger and desire.

“I’m sorry-“

“Luke” you cried out as you swallowed a lump in your throat causing it to come out as more of a breathy moan.

You watched his eyes lighten as the anger turned into pure lust in his eyes your shaky hand making its way up to his neck only to be met by his wrist.

“If his happens you will be putting yourself into immediate danger, and I will do everything in my power to keep you safe but not a single person can know. You are my weakness and if someone figured that out I cannot assure you that you won’t end up dead and I can’t loose anyone else y/n especially not you, but you have to understand I will not have you mess this operation up do you understand?”

You couldn’t speak.

“I said do you understand?” His voice was louder harsher.

“Yes”

The moment the word slipped off your tongue his lips were pressed against yours with full force. There was absolutely nothing romantic about the way his hands gripped at your sides and the way his lips gnawed at your skin. It was pure lust and desire.

And it was everything you had ever wished for.

you despised your mother, but for once in your life you couldn’t thank her enough.

It was rushed and sloppy but Luke had never needed anything in his life so badly like he needed you.

He could’ve kissed you forever and it still wouldn’t have been enough, his tongue longing for the taste of you the moment you pulled away from him.

“Not a word about this.”

“Maybe you’ll just have to keep me quiet.”

[sunderwight]

had a thought of what if Airplane had leaned a little more into the self-insert idea for Luo Binghe when he was still at the early stages of writing, with an end result that Luo Binghe actually Looks Like That because he basically looks like Airplane but with long flowing hair and a more idealized figure

SQQ going "why the fuck did you make his face so pretty???" and Airplane bullshitting about plausibility while trying really hard not to blush. twisting his fingers and scuffing his toe like jeez bro he's not that good-looking...

which of course sets SQQ off because how DARE!?! not 'that' good-looking?!?! just look at him! he's xianxia Helen of Troy with a face that launched a thousand harems! like okay sure with looks like that it does make sense that half the female population was willing to timeshare a marriage with him, but it's also totally unfair to SQQ, who has no recourse against those looks either! and who could? that is the most beautiful face ever!

Airplane's getting flustered. tries valiantly to make the case that objectively speaking Luo Binghe isn't that good-looking, it's just that SQQ is biased, but boy does that not go over well. SQQ has hitched the tattered remnants of his self-perception as a straight man onto the idea that Luo Binghe is just so devastatingly attractive anyone would want to hop into bed with him, and he is not letting go of it, so Airplane is just gonna get wrecked with inadvertent compliments

bonus if the Shang Qinghua look is actually the result of several illusions because when Airplane first transmigrated in, he got the same face too, and foresaw potential problems if the half-demon protagonist turned up looking like him. so he used illusions. he doesn't actually look all that different, in fact! the illusions just make it so that when people see him, they get a strong impression that he's unremarkable, so they don't really register what his face actually looks like and their brains fill in the assumption that he must just be kinda plain

oooh ooh double bonus if the system inserted a behind-the-scenes explanation for it too, which is that Shang Qinghua is actually unwittingly related to Su Xiyan!

and the whole thing comes to light post-epilogue when Shang Qinghua's illusions get stripped away by some monster-of-the-week, while everyone except Mobei Jun has a freak out about why do you look just like Luo Binghe?! (Mobei Jun isn't freaking out because he already figured out how to see past the illusions and just assumed everyone else wasn't mentioning it for some human cultural reason or something) and then Yue Qingyuan calmly explains that Luo Binghe's mom is Shang Qinghua's matrilineal cousin. Shang Qinghua's mother and Luo Binghe's human grandmother were half-sisters.

what? how does Yue Qingyuan know? you think that Cang Qiong doesn't check up on the candidates for the peak lord positions before handing off power, doesn't make sure there are no conflicts of interest or divided loyalties to other sects? what sorts of things do people imagine Qiong Ding's diplomats do? (I don't know either but, for the purpose of this scenario at least some of it is tracking down this stuff -- YQY handled most of it personally for his generation's ascension because he didn't want anyone else digging into his and Xiao Jiu's pasts) anyways, the connection could have been troublesome for its ties to Huan Hua Palace, but by the time it came to light Su Xiyan was deceased and there was no evidence that Shang Qinghua had ever even met her. so it wasn't deemed significant enough to matter, was just made note of and then mostly forgotten

so Shang Qinghua is like "oh THAT is why you kept bringing her up to me back then?!" because at the time he'd just been fully in "haha how would I know anything about the impending plot and the tragedies I am both partly responsible for and powerless to prevent haha that's so funny shixiong I KNOW NOTHING" mode, which luckily at the time was easily read as him just not wanting a dead cousin he never met to tank his chances of securing a promotion

SQQ is floored. he is having issues about this. Shang Qinghua is related to Binghe? Shang Qinghua looks exactly like him?! wait. Binghe has human family? still alive? like grandparents and stuff out there, who might want to meet him...?

Luo Binghe decides to step in at that point because he does not want to meet any more relatives! no more surprise relatives! no!

luckily this distracts Shen Qingqiu from thinking about all of the things he's said to Airplane about Binghe's looks for long enough for Shang Qinghua to flee the scene

[windbelle]

Perhaps Astarion looks like Cazador's friend

I have seen a lot of people headcanon Astarion looks like Cazador's former master Vellioth, which does make a lot of sense. However, I've always had another headcanon:

Perhaps Astarion looks like that friend of Cazador who was drained and killed by Vellioth.

Here are my thoughts:

In the 5e DnD Monster Manual, vampires have the nature of Dark Desire, and it says "Whether or not a vampire retains any memories from its former life, its emotional attachments wither as once-pure feelings become twisted by undeath. Love turns into hungry obsession, while friendship becomes bitter jealousy. In place of emotion, vampires pursue physical symbols of what they crave, so that a vampire seeking love might fixate on a young beauty. A child might become an object of fascination for a vampire obsessed with youth and potential. Others surround themselves with art, books, or sinister items such as torture devices or trophies from creatures they have killed."

And it seems evil aligned creatures in lore always see friendship as vulnerability and weakness. Vellioth punished Cazador for his connection to his friend by draining this friend to death, and taught Cazador to never let anyone be his equal. This friend must be really special to Cazador to lead to Vellioth doing this.

We know that Cazador is a pretty good student for Vellioth's lessons. He learned the lesson and killed Vellioth. And he's begun to see the friendship he once possessed as his vulnerability and weakness. He probably hated being punished by Vellioth for his vulnerability and he wanted to vanquish his weakness by torturing someone who could serve as a symbol of his vulnerability, someone who looks like his friend.

He might still have some special emotion, even some kind of love, towards his dead friend but his dark desire has turned his emotion into hungry obsession. So, when he saw Astarion, who looked a lot like his friend, Cazador couldn't help being attracted to Astarion but also he wanted just to possess him, belittle him, and torture him.

That explains why Cazador has this special favoritism towards Astarion in terms of torture and punishment. In fact, I somehow believe that Cazador chose all his spawns because he had some affection towards them all. But his feelings are totally twisted so that he would torture them and use them, while insisting they are a family.

I don't know whether it's true that Cazador sent the Gur to attack Astarion, but I think he did savor the moment when he turned Astarion because he now had the power to "save" him from death, and to turn him into his own possession.

His torture is not merely some sadistic hobby but quite calculated and cold according to his journal. It's only when Astarion got away that he showed emotion. It seems like he was subconsciously training Astarion as a potential successor, just like Vellioth taught him and trained him to be the vampire master of the Szarr family.

This reminds me of the 5e DND module "Curse of Strahd". In "Curse of Strahd" if you role play as Strahd, he has an objective to find a successor, because he thinks if he can find a successor to replace him then he can get rid of the eternal curse and get his freedom.

After you defeat Cazador without Astarion you can detect his thoughts, and you will find that he also thinks he is forever trapped in this immortal curse. He cannot rest and he's in grief. He wants to break the curse, and that's why he sought the profane ritual so that he could gain the ability to finally "live" like a mortal.

But apart from becoming the vampire ascendant, there's another way of terminating his grief to finally put him to rest, that is, to be destroyed and replaced by a successor.

In some way, he was subconsciously expecting Astarion to succeed him and replace him. I think his former master, Vellioth, knew it even more clearly that he would be replaced by Cazador somehow, and Vellioth was training him to do that by intention. Cazador was doing this similarly but more unconsciously. In his subconsciousness, either he would consume Astarion at last, or Astarion would end him and replace him.

Finally, and this is purely headcanon: according to Astarion's age, he was probably born after Cazador's friend was killed. If this friend was also an elf, then when Cazador saw Astarion, for a moment he might think Astarion could be his friend's reincarnation.

[happybunny999]

A complete arsenal magical girl in Gotham

Part 2

(In this part of the story you will get to know readers best friend and older siblings and how your party was ruined by your enemies and how you caught the attention of the batfam and villains) (this chapter will be longer then the rest)

-

As the sun roses up I open my eyes and quickly get up with glee and timidly as today was my 18th birthday and I was going to have fun with my family and my best friend as I walk to my closet and grab something comfortable and cute as I open my door and walked to the bathroom to get ready for the day

After changing, brush my teeth,and doing my long pink hair I want back to my room and got my cloak and mask and made my was down stairs to the dining room and see my mother and father there eating/serving breakfast with a happy smile on their faces as they looked at me with a knowing smile that made me even more excited about to day

“Happy birthday sweetie “ my mother and father said in unison as my mother gives me a plate of food that looked delicious and testy

While I was eating my father told me that my brother and sister are coming back home to celebrate my birthday but still have to back to college when the party is over and that made me both happy to hear that my siblings are coming home to celebrate my special day

After that I left the house and headed to my friend’s apartment to hang out with him before we head out to Gotham carnival fair at night so while it was still daytime I wanted to spend time with Mikey at his apartment and play some video games. And as I walked down the street my mask hiding my face and cloak covering my hair and passing by some people who gave me weird looks that made me shy and caused me to walk a little faster

Once I arrived at Mikey’s apartment I went to the room door try to ignore the stares and whispers of people who looked at me and was talking among each other about me but each glare and comment made me timid but soon I found Mikey’s room number and knocked on the door gently and called out to him with a soft voice.

Mikey and me have been friends since we were kids and Mikey has had a troubled childhood living on the streets of Gotham since his parents were addicted to drugs and were killed by some gang members when his was little and would have next if I hadn’t saved him while I was fighting a monster to collect another relic Mikey has never my face at all and has only seen strings of my pink hair so at first he was weary of me and we weren’t friends for awhile until finally he decided to be my friend after a long time of being alone and forced to be independent in the streets of Gotham

“Mikey, it’s me reader are you there” I spoke with a calm and nervous but also a happy tone and stepped back and waited for him to answer

The door open slightly before being swung open completely which frightened me a little to reveal Mikey on the other side of the door. Shirtless and with a happy but tired expression on his face

“Hay reader! Happy birthday!” Mikey said happily as he pulled me into a big hug as I felt his warm chest against mine but was too shy and naive to realized the blush on his face when he was so close to me

After that me and Mikey were in his living room playing video games until it was evening and then I got a call from my mother saying that it’s almost time for my party so I told Mikey that it’s time for the carnival fair in downtown Gotham so Mikey got dressed in casual clothes and we left his apartment and walking down the road the bright lights of the city always felt beautiful to me despite the always chaotic atmosphere of Gotham.

Mikey walked closer to me at we past by some gang members along the way ready to get his hands dirty if anyone try to do something to which it completely confused me since Mikey knows of my power and many abilities so if anything happens I would be able to know right away and try to prevent it if possible but I prefer to talk things out instead of fighting since I wanted to make Gotham a better place.

-

Soon we made it to the carnival fair and once there we saw people having fun and it made me happy to see people enjoying themselves and not being afraid of the city of Gotham

Finally we found my parents and siblings in our reserved tables placing down decorations and my birthday cake and presents from them to me and I felt really happy at that moment but I couldn’t help but feel like something is going to happen really soon.

But regardless of that everything was going well as the night dragged on as we talked, laughter,eating, and playing games and as it was almost time for the birthday cake I thought to myself “this is going so great, nothing as ruin it so far”

But I would soon regret that thought very soon.

A scream was heard followed by destruction and people running all of a sudden which confused me even more but I soon found out why when I sensed a powerful “defeatist” and one of the dark soul lords in the area close to us and where people are running from.

“What the hell is going on “ Mikey yelled confused

My mother looked at me with a knowing look and I nodded as she whispered for my father and siblings to run back home with her since she knows I would be fine

As they left I quickly told Mikey through my mask that it was the dark soul lords and a defeatist that was causing this and he nodded as I ran behind a food stand and transformed.

“Precure magical time!”

-

As I followed the trail of destruction to the center of the carnival fair I saw a horrible scene the fair was almost destroyed and the “defeatist” was cornering a small crowd of people and the people I was hoping I didn’t have to fight right now….was Bella hyena , Chris Berg, and Phantom malice. But I was kinda glad it was them and not their other dark lords from the defeatist world.

As soon as I got close they turned to look at me with a dark smile on their faces that made my stomach churn since I was five years old I have been fighting these three for a very long time when I had unlocked my powers and when my mother told me about them and how it was now my job to defeat them and the others just like them

As I got ready to face them Bella and Chris teleport away and only phantom stayed behind to fight me but he just commanded the defeatist to attack me and as I battled the monster I didn’t realized that there was a reporter and cameraman recording and talking about the situation to the whole world and about the weirdly bright and colorful girl fighting against a scary monster

-

“Bruce are you seeing this right now” Dick said while on the rooftop of a building watching the scene as he talks to Bruce over the mic

“Yes I am on my way to the scene now” Batman told nightwing as he rode down the road to the fair at fast speed

Bruce had pressed a button on his arm to alert the others to come to the scene as well

-

I’m a hideout where all the villains come to meet they were all looking at the TV showing the strange monster, the dark soul lord, and the beautiful, gorgeous woman in pink fight against them

“Look puddin! It’s the girl I was talking about!” Harley yelled out in pure joy as she blushes and jumps around making the other’s look at her with annoyance but they too also blush at how pretty the woman looked

“My my Harley!” The joker said with a huge smile “looks like we got a new face in Gotham to meet!” He smiled crazily with a laugh as the other villains smiled as well

-

“Father do you see this” Talia says looking at the the tv then at her father who was in his chair

“Yes, I do” he says with narrowed eyes and a slight smile on his lips “we need her she will be a great asset to us “



-

I groan a little as I get up from the crater I had created after the defeatist threw me into the ground my outfit has tears in some places and I am completely covered in small cuts and bruises as I stand up ready to continue fighting

“Still won’t give I see “ phantom said with a grin as the defeatist charges at me but I was reader and dodged the the attack by jumping into the air and landing a hard kick to the defeatist making it faceplate on the ground causing the street floor to collapse and break

I quickly landed on the ground and prepared a strong attack at the monster tried to get up

“Mega sparkle attack!” I yelled out as I swing my hands forward at pink and blue come blasting out my hands and to the defeatist making it vanish as a relic is left in its place

“Sights… you just don’t know when to quit do you warrior “ phantom says with irritation in his voice as he crosses his arms

“Why are you, Bella, and Chris doing this now. You just hurt innocent people and ruined a birthday party too” I replied with a calm and sincere voice as I was not mad but disappointed that people were hurt in this battlefield I really didn’t mind that my party was destroyed I was more worried by the people around us.

“Do you really think we care if people get hurt. Are you really that naive that we wouldn’t crash this place because we knew you would be here” phantom told me with a stoic face.

“Well see you later “cure Pinkney” this won’t be the last time you hear from us” as he said this dark shadows circle around him as he vanished away leaving me alone as I crumble to the floor out of exhaustion and from the pain from the small scratches and bruises on my arms and legs.

I look down and saw how my uniform had small holes and tears in it.

I look around and stand up and walk towards the relic and pick it up and putting it in my magical purse as I turned I caught sight of the crowd of people looking at me in shock

“Um hi don’t worry your safe now” I say nervously as I just stand there with a red face and started to slowly move back and begin to walk away until I hear a gruff and stern voice call out to me

“Stop” a stern and gruff voice said from being me from a distance

Slowly turn to see the one and only Batman standing there with a scowl on his face that made me scared and shake a little

“Um hi Mr Batman nice to m-meet y-you” I stuttered shyly as the crowd looked on

“Who are you” he said walking closer to me to which I step back a tiny bit out of fear I could feel my powers start to glow from my hands and mostly on my right hand as I was holding my weapon tightly

“I-I sorry but I can’t t-tell you that information” I replied meekly and as he step closer. Out of fear, instincts and purely accidentally I Raised up my hands to say “wait” then just like that pink light blasted from my hands and hitting the Batman and knocking him to the ground with a loud thud as the crowd of people looked at me in shock

As I stood there unable to move from my spot after what I just down I yelled out a loud sorry to the Batman who was trying to get up from the ground with a groan

At the corner of my eye I see Mikey running towards me with concern and realization in his eyes when he got close to me and saw the Batman on the ground

Mikey quickly broke me out of my thoughts and told me we need to go and I pick he up and fly away after giving him one last sorry before leaving the now ruined carnival fair

Not realizing that the cameraman’s camera was still recording the whole scene

So the whole world had seen what has happened today.





[kashimos-hajime]

—𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐚𝐥-𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦

summary: he hasn’t dreamed in a long time, but when al-haitham dreamed for the first time after the akademiya coup, he dreamed of you.

WARNINGS: archon quest akasha pulses, the kalpa flame rises spoilers! soulmate au if you squint, swearing, mentions of violence, death, injury, minor self-loathing, plot AND lore heavy, angst, fluff, not poly, happy ending!  pairing: al-haitham x fem!reader, minor kaveh x fem!reader word count: 18.1k grind

a/n: written for the lovely @zhongrin​ and her elemental supercharge collab! it was super fun to work on and really inspired me to love writing again because it was just a breath of fresh air. my entry: dendro + dendro + cryo = permafrost 

here are some important notes for this fic to help with understanding it:

tsaritsa is the former goddess of love. the goddess of flowers was a seelie. king deshret reborn was al-haitham. possibly ooc al-haitham (he’s also deaf!) i made shit up about teleport waypoints and about pretty much all the lore surrounding the three god-kings besides what i glimpsed through some books/theories/etc. i was just like fuck it we ball. 

inspo songs: who is she? - i monster, about you - the 1975, awake from a nightmare - hoyo-mix (i recommend you listen to this one especially during kaveh - chat: craftsmanship)

now on ao3 x

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata - About the Goddess of Flowers

In the place where Padisarahs bloom, two gods speak in the absence of their third. The Lord of Flowers picks these Padisarahs and the Greater Lord watches, entranced in the velvet purple petals that gleam in the sun.

The latter says: “You know the price to be paid if he searches for that divine nail.”

The other says: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t pretend to be a fool. You and I both know that—”

“Rukkhadevata.”

The Dendro Archon is silenced.

At last, the scorned one speaks. She has lost her people, her home. She refuses to die until Celestia is buried beneath her bloodied hands. “There is nothing to be done. Do you think Deshret’s mind sways so easily? He is set on finding the answers he seeks, and I am set on aiding in his endeavours.”

“But you… why? You understand what the Heavenly Principles are capable of, and you still put yourself in their line of fire. Again. Why?”

“Because Deshret asked.”

“I don’t think you understand what he is asking you to do.”

“No? Then, you have no idea of what I am, Rukkhadevata, and you are the one who won’t ever understand.”

Deshret - About the Divine Nail

The sandstorm is brutal, tearing at their clothes, their skin, blinding their eyes and clogging their throats. It had picked up so suddenly, there’d barely been enough time for Deshret to shield her from the first impact before realizing that the storm chaotically revolves around them. Around him. Uncontrollable winds swiping through the eye of a hurricane do not with hold their strength from the Goddess of Flowers, but Deshret, the powerful God-King remains untouched. 

He pulls her in closer to his side. The Goddess of Flowers can barely see straight by the time the divine nail rises to its full height, her withered body barely able to withstand the powerful galeforces that pull at her every which way. 

The divine nail is beautiful, glowing blue, refracting gold, and she can only smile as Deshret beside her raises a hand. He, too, glows, but he glows like the sun, like divinity.

“You’ve done it,” she congratulates through her weeping. The sand burns into her corneas, brands her lungs, but nothing touches her heart, and that is how she knows the reason it is shrivelling in her chest is because she is dying. The god beside her, the one holding her hand, turns, and she can’t help her laugh. “I told you once, though, that you would lose much in this exchange.”

“What?” His hand springs off her wrist, but her body is already disintegrating. It feels like it did when her kind was casted from their old home; her body thinned into a husk of what it used to be. Back then, she had prioritzed saving her mind over every inch of her beauty, yet now… now she doesn’t have the strength to save anything. 

Deshret cannot protect the Goddess of Flowers from a trade conducted by those who rule above gods. “No… no, what is happening? You’re…”

“I hope,” she cuts off cleanly, “that one day, I can love you without any selfish desire. I hope… in another life, another samsara as Rukkhadevata would so fondly call it, I will love you more than you ever loved me.” His eyes widen, and a trembling hand reaches for her face. The Goddess of Flowers smiles. Tilts her head into his palm, and laughs again through the tears that evaporate off her cheeks as soon as they spring off her eyelashes.

He is incinerating to touch—a conduit of swirling sand, an incarnation of the sun. How ironic it is that the hand that once saved her from the sands will be the hand that seals her fate amongst the dunes.

Stepping closer, her flesh burns away when she cradles his face. He is shining so brightly. A brilliant morning star, a genius with a hungry mind, a gluttonous scholar. The God-King of the Desert.

Yet, Deshret does not seem like the god everyone makes him about to be.

Before the Goddess of Flowers, Deshret is nothing more than a man, crying and holding onto her with all his might. 

A soft part of her melts at his expression.

“In all honesty,” she whispers, soft and choked, “I aided you because, in your ambitious vision of the future, I saw the possibility that you could free all of us from the shackles that chain us to the Heavenly Principles. In the end, it was my own selfish nature that led us here, and it is my own doing that marked your path to be one that you will have to walk alone.”

Deshret takes hold of her face, eyes searching, but the goddess withdraws her hands to settle her fingers on his wrists lightly.

“It was not your fault, Deshret.”

“No!” She pulls his wrists away, but he curls his hands into fists, fighting to free himself from her grip. For once, it is impossible, and he lets out a desperate growl, tears glinting upon his cheeks. “Don’t leave me. Don’t… don’t go.”

“Deshret—“

“Stay. Just a little while longer. I will take that divine nail and hammer it into this world, and build you an eternal oasis where I will bring you back to life with the knowledge that spills from its organs.” Lunging forward, his hands find themselves on the sides of her neck, thumbs stretching to trace the lines of her jaw. “I will not lose you. I cannot lose you!”

The ragged storm enflames, the winds grow deafening, loud enough to resemble a constant thunder that echoes in the hollowness of her chest. 

“Don’t worry about that sort of thing, Deshret.” 

Her voice is very weak now. When she swallows, sand shreds her insides and her eyes burn from the strength it’s taking to avoid coughing up iron.

“We will meet again,” she continues. “If Rukkhadevata has a hand in anything, it is the wisdom that pools around all of us, and the knowledge that there will not be an era where we are separated.”

“No, no, don’t go!”

But it falls futilely on deaf ears. The Goddess of Flowers lets go, and steps backward, her knees shaking, her frame swaying from the winds she can no longer fight. 

As soon as her heel tucks into the edge of the unrelenting galeforce, she is ripped away, and the Goddess of Flowers disappears.

Tighnari - Something to Share: Akademiya Days

If one asked Tighnari what he thought of the Artificer of the Akademiya, he would return that inquiry with one of his own:

“Do you mean my thoughts on the Artificer alone, or about her relationship with the Scribe of the Akademiya?”

The truth of the matter is, the Scribe and the Artificer’s history go past colleagues at the Akademiya, past scholars searching for a thesis, for once upon a time, they were students, too.

Paimon isn’t aware of this: “Er… I don’t know. Did they know one another?”

“Al-Haitham wields his practicality like a spear. Nothing could quite faze him or outwit him. Nothing could unsettle him, except for the Artificer. She was a student in his year, but she was a scholar of the Kshahrewar Darshan. They were quite the reliable pair of scholars.” A soft hum. 

“Really? Al-Haitham doesn’t seem like the partner type.”

“He isn’t. I suppose exceptions could be made when it came to her. I met Al-Haitham through the Artificer, actually, when they were working on some sort of prototype translation device for foreigners and she had asked if Sumeru’s scientific names for plants from other nations were derived from their original language.” Tighnari’s ears twitch. “I didn’t know her well back then, but from my brief meetings with her, she was very lively and happy. She didn’t care about the Sages and the politics surrounding the Six Darshans. All she wanted was to study. I think her thesis was to find a way to repair the Teleport Waypoints around Sumeru. It made quite the wave back in our day.”

“The Teleport Waypoints?” Paimon says. “Paimon noticed that they’re guarded by the Corps Of Thirty in Sumeru when in other nations they’re pretty much abandoned.”

“Her hypothesis that they’d been placed by some higher power than the Archons is a banned reference material and only the highest level of scholars are aware of the theory,” Tighnari says, and there’s a far off look in his eyes. “The Corps of Thirty supposedly defend these sites for a historical scholar for the day she comes home, but to be honest,” he adds quieter, “I think they were ordered to defend the Waypoints from the Artificer should she ever return.”

.

Technological advancement in Sumeru had progressed far enough that prototype cochlear implants are, though not a norm, a potential alternative than going through life unaware. The alternative is only made available by the resources of the Akademiya and Al-Haitham’s enrolment there since it’s where he can maintain upkeep with the help of Kshahrewar students who were overseeing this new piece of headgear. 

You are the student assigned ot make sure his top of the line technological headwear didn’t go awry. You spend a lot of time with him, which means, against all odds, the bright, voracious, and laughing sun of the Kshahrewar Darshan has become Al-Haitham’s friend.

He had avoided it at first. Honestly. In the three years they’ve been together as mechanic and project, it took almost a year for Al-Haitham to consider even looking forward to seeing you every Thursday afternoon where you’d fiddle with his settings and write down notes on his condition.

And, yet, when he conceded to the fact that you were a staple to him—a constant in the ever-changing nature of the Akademiya’s cutthroat landscape where scholars dropped at the tip of a hat—he found that he learned more about you in the first month he gave in than he did in the last twelve he resisted. 

Each factoid is like a dash in his head: your thesis is to be about the possibility of repairing the shattered Teleport Waypoints scattered across the nation, and how you’d go about doing it. Your work with Al-Haitham is just a way to investigate how the Akasha terminal and said Teleport Waypoints could work in tandem. Your life goal is for the latter to work on its own some day like it did in ages past and ease travel for those who could not afford to.

“It’s an altruistic thing to do.”

“I’m from Snezhnaya, but I moved here when I was younger.” You’re sitting across from him at the library as you tinker with a device similar to the one on his ears. “I used to go back every summer, but now that I’m at the Akademiya, I haven’t returned because I don’t have time, so the Teleport Waypoints would help with seeing my family more often, too. I’m not all good.”

He doesn’t look up from his book, although above the top of it, he can see your fingers deftly trying to rearrange wires. “Family?”

“Mhm. My father is a researcher here. My mother stayed back home. I grew up in a small hamlet, you know.”

He smiles faintly, flipping a page. “Yes, I know. It’s one of the first things you told me.”

“Oh, well… I didn’t think you’d remember,” you say, and he finally looks up from the pages to find you staring. You don’t look away, and instead, your smile grows as you tilt your head. “You’ve got beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that before, Al-Haitham?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he answers. That’s another thing about you. You always say his name when you speak to him, as if to make sure that he understands you are directing such things to him.

That, and just the way you say his name. Every syllable purposeful, in that voice of yours that edges on melodic. You still have a Snezhnayan accent when you say certain words, including ones of Sumeran origin.

“Well, you do. They’re so beautiful.” Your smile makes your eyes crinkle as you return to your project, and Al-Haitham clears his throat, fighting the red that’s burning his ears. Scratching his jaw, he shakes his head minutely and instead tries to think of anything else.

You like oranges, but have a secret soft spot for peaches. You like reading romance, and you love art. Your father is a member of the Spantamad Darshan, and during his thesis, he travelled back to his homeland and fostered a family, which includes his eldest daughter, you.

The same you he can’t stop thinking of now that he’s stuck on it.

Later, when they begin to pack up their things from the library, in between him slipping a book into his bag and you sliding each tool back into its spot in your case, he asks if you’d like to have dinner with him at Lambad’s Tavern.

“Alright, but I’ll have to drop this off at my work room before I do. I don’t want to damage it,” you answer, tilting your head to your project wrapped in cloth which you’ve carefully nestled into a box.

“That sounds fine. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the tree, then?” he asks and you smile fondly at him, the box in your arms and your bag slung across your shoulder.

“Give me a minute or two,” you say. “I won’t be long.”

Al-Haitham bids you farewell at the entrance to the House of Daena, and you walk off with a bright smile, your figure outlined in a melting sunset gold. There’s not a lot of people outside—most have found shelter in Akademiya buildings or they’re out in the city, trying to maintain a social life as well as a scholar can.

“(Name)!” someone shouts, and Al-Haitham, who’d been walking down the ramp, looks up to see a tall, slim figure bolt past him. Blond hair flashes in the burning orange of dusk as a man runs past, and Al-Haitham twists around to avoid being hit by him as a foul word springs to his tongue.

But then, he realizes what the man had yelled and who the man even is the longer he stares at his retreating back, and Al-Haitham shakes his head.

You won’t be happy with him if he gets into an argument with your childhood best friend of all people.

Kaveh is easy-going, passionate, and empathetic. It is… to say the least, everything Al-Haitham is not. He’s met him once or twice out of pure coincidence, and he’s seen the blond around you more often than not. A part of him dislikes his nature. His whimsical, idealistic view of their future does not fall into line with how Al-Haitham sees it, and borders on idiotic considering that a romantic vision is not feasible in a nation where knowledge seeks to rationalize every existing thing.

The more logical half of him knows that you share all the same traits as Kaveh, and that the real reason behind his disdain is because Kaveh clearly has romantic feelings for you, and you return them.

It isn’t difficult to decipher the nature of your relationship with your “childhood best friend.”

How else would you describe the way his hand wraps around your elbow when other people want your attention and how when he leans to whisper something in your ear, you never fail to laugh and swat at him, your own arm looped through his.

He thinks that sick, logical side of him would pay to see you stumble through your words as you try to explain your relationship with your friend, but he can’t bare to do it. It feels cruel when all you’ve been is patient and kind with him.

“You seem distracted, Al-Haitham,” you intone with concern. You cradle tea in your hands, and cock your head at him, a thoughtful frown playing at your lips. “Is something wrong?”

Blinking, Al-Haitham finds you looking at him with those wonderful and warm eyes, and that logical side of him vanishes—a rat scurrying from the sunlight and back into the dark.

“No. No, I was merely thinking of something,” he dismisses, poking at the food he’s barely touched. The tavern is loud—almost too loud. His head aches with the amount of thoughts that swirl around, clattering in cacophony. It’d been stupid to suggest this place when he’s so tired from studying. Archons, he wants it to stop now. To get up and run, to curl up with a book and a warm fire, to tell them to stop, everyone, please, for the love of the Dendro Archon, shut the fuck up—

You laugh, and set down your cup of tea, reaching over to grab his wrist and squeeze gently, and his world goes quiet. It zeroes in on you, and the softness of your palm betrays the calluses on your fingers, a strange juxtaposition against his wrist.

“I know it’s hard,” you utter teasingly, “but I want you to stop thinking tonight. Nothing about studies, or labs, or anything about any kind of dictionary.” He smiles at that as you stroke your thumb over the back of his hand. “Just you and me, and this food.”

“Duly noted,” he mutters, and you smile again, returning to your own supper. But he cannot. His eyes do not stray, and his shoulders sink into his body, invisible weight sloughing off his skeletal frame.

All Al-Haitham does is watch you eat, rice slipping between two perfect lips, lips he knows, lips he could draw, and he’s not even close to resembling an artist. A mouth he can paint without seeing the reference, eyes closed, asleep, unconscious. A mouth he has dreamed of before, and he wonders just how he can tell you that, now, the reason he can’t stop thinking is because he’s thinking about you.

Collei - About Technology: Lockboxes

“What do you wanna know?” Collie asks brightly. “Oh, this is the Artificer’s seal! How do you have this?”

“We found it in the Balladeer’s chambers. It was addressed to Al-Haitham but we can’t seem to open it.”

“That’s probably because you need his permission to open it. Most of her work is password protected, so I guess that means including this. Top secret stuff. Master Tighnari received a few cases back before I knew him, though they’re still in his quarters.” She sighs. “Apparently, all her work is more valuable than a lot of the stuff the Sages hold, according to Master Tighnari, because she went missing and there is no way to replicate it.”

“I thought Tighnari didn’t know her well,” the Traveler mutters to themself quietly, before asking, louder, “Missing?”

“I don’t know much about what happened, but she went missing five years ago after an expedition went wrong. Apparently, a huge snowstorm overtook the desert and she was swallowed up by the sand. The rest of her team came out fine, but her and some other Spantamad scholar just… died in that snow. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen! So much snow it almost completely covered the sand dunes.”

“That’s strange,” intones Paimon. “It’s so hot and dry here, wouldn’t the snow just melt?”

“It seemed like a freak incident,” Collei agrees, “but the Sages were scrambling to figure out why. The Akademiya was in a flurry that whole season before it died down.” Her eyes fall to the box the Traveler holds again. It has a flat surface, with no keyhole, yet it’s sealed shut, and Collei hums. “Maybe, they’re just blueprints and stuff to keep safe. That’s what Master Tighnari has in his boxes. Or, maybe it’s a secret treasure!”

“It could be,” the Traveler answers. “But I haven’t been able to find Al-Haitham.”

“He’ll show up,” Collie assures confidently. “He always does.”

.

As a member of the Haravatat Darshan, Al-Haitham is capable of speaking nearly every living language in Teyvat and a handful of dead ones. It’s required for him to graduate alongside a well-founded dissertation. He wrote his own on the developing dialects of sign language across the regions, which he recited in front of his professor entirely in sign language.

A bit much, but Al-Haitham is nothing if not thorough.

He already has a reputation in his Darshan to be no nonsense, borderline rude, and a lone wolf, but brilliant, and the future of the Akademiya. A prodigy with no morality of the common sort, Al-Haitham walks the Akademiya grounds knowing that there are few who can shatter the earth beneath his feet. 

If the Sages are right, the current Scribe should be stepping down soon, and he could take that position easily. All access to so many projects would be granted, and he wouldn’t be short on resources for things he’d like to study. It’d also grant him more time to pursue his own endeavours. The desert is sorely understudied, but the rumours of a Divine Knowledge Capsule floating around the black markets, too, piques his interest.

Al-Haitham is a scholar without equal.

“Al-Haitham, there you are.”

Yet… in front of you, he’s nothing more than an awkward boy who doesn’t know what to say.

In the years since they’ve been mere fresh-faced students, you’ve graduated, too. Now, you work as a Dastur, leading expeditions with your father. Al-Haitham’s met him multiple times, but he’s been returning to Snezhnaya recently according to you. You’ve even overtaken some of his smaller projects.

“That’s not any of your responsibility,” he had pointed out in quiet Snezhnayan when he had come across you returning late to the city from an expedition to Avidiya Forest. Mud had ruined your shoes, and you looked up at him, moving to dump your bag on the ground. He had caught it before it could crash to the ground. Your eyes glinted, pleased, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

When his arms wrapped around your waist, you had seemed to melt into his body. Your fingers found purchase in his hair, and your nose dug into his neck as you sighed.

“Well, it’s my father,” you murmur in your mother tongue, strangely beautiful against his skin. It was one of the first languages he challenged himself to learn. You are much more subdued when you speak in the dialect of your homeland, yet no less beautiful. An everlasting snowflake in the middle of a rainforest. “He is most important to me, and I must do what he asks.”

He walked you home that night without you even asking.

Your smile is impossible to refuse, your laughter one of the few sounds that can bring him to a sane state of mind. A scholar without equal means a mind that never sleeps, and when Al-Haitham has enough of it all, he seeks solace in your mouth and your hands; your fingers carding through his hair, your lips whispering against his ear.  

A solace, no doubt, Kaveh receives nightly considering you two live together now on the stipend the Akademiya provides. Al-Haitham’s thoughts have driven him to stay up late on his most exhausted days, wondering what you did when you parted from the dinners they’ve scarcely scheduled and you returned back to that small house you shared with your childhood best friend. 

What do you and Kaveh even do every night anyway? Dinner, and conversations over what? The arts and poetics that Kaveh constantly waxes, whether or not you’re around? 

You plant yourself in front of him to stop in his tracks, and Al-Haitham’s eyes dart from your face to your neck against his will. 

Clear. It’s always clear.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you say.

“Have you?” Flippant. A bag hangs off your shoulders, and a shorter cut of the uniform drapes off your frame. Against his will, his heart sinks. “You look like you’re packed for another expedition.”

“Mhm. I’m going out into the desert for a month, maybe two. There’s a Teleport Waypoint near the Mausoleum of King Deshret that’s been displaying some abnormal levels of energy, so it might be a breakthrough depending on the cause.”

“You think there’s a Ley Line disorder?”

“Or maybe King Deshret’s risen again,” you comment blithely. Al-Haitham’s eyebrows shoot up at your boldness of stating such a blasphemous thing in the centre of Sumeru City, but you don’t seem bothered. “There have always been stranger things. Either way, I want to check it out.”

“I suppose so. Will Kaveh be accompanying you this time?”

“Kaveh? No. No, an architect and an artist has no place in the desert when he could be here.” You avert your gaze and you fight the stuttering in your voice. Al-Haitham bites his tongue. “Scholars from the Spantamad Darshan will be, though, considering the Ley Line aspect of the situation. It’ll be nice to spend time with my father again. He returned just recently, did you know?”

“I was made aware,” he says. He saw your father early yesterday morning, and they’d exchanged words, but you don’t need to know that Al-Haitham speaks to your father on a semi-regular basis. “Well, then, I hope your exploration is fruitful.” 

“Of course it will be. It’s me leading the expedition,” you tease, winking, and he can’t help the small smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth. Your smile softens into a fonder, more genuine one, and you take hold of his hand. In Snezhnayan, you utter: “I wanted to see you before I left.”

“I’m happy that you made that effort to,” he murmurs in the same, inclining his head. You squeeze his fingers, before letting go, and Al-Haitham’s gaze flickers from your eyes to your mouth. It’s still smiling, still warm, still those same lips that have haunted his dreams. He lets out a silent sigh and raises a hand to rest atop your head. In Sumeran again, he says, “I will await your return then, Artificer.”

“What a silly title.” A displeased expression overtakes your face but nonetheless, you clutch his bicep and duck from his hand and begin to make your way past him, trailing your fingers down his forearm. He turns to prolong the contact, his fingers tracing your veins. “Now, I don’t want to go, knowing you’re waiting for me to come back.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” he warns. They are at each other’s fingers, and he curls his digits, locking you in place for only a moment. “I might not be here when you come back.”

“Please,” you snort, but your expression betrays how happy and excited you are. “See you later, Al-Haitham.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” he agrees, and you giggle, waving one last time before turning around fully and running off to wherever you’re needed. Al-Haitham’s smile doesn’t fade as he watches you go. His heart warms whenever he’s near you, and now that you’ll be disappearing for a few months, he’s determined to keep that fire inside him burning low and bright.

He loves you. He knows that very well by now. Loves you without rival, without equal. Very few things can even think to challenge the spot you have in his life, although he is sure he does not have some sort of equivalent seat in your halls of life.

Why would he sit there when you have so many more acquaintances? Better-tempered ones, kinder ones, ones that aren’t ruled by selfish ambition, who actually have the initiative to tell you how they feel because they are not bogged down by the arguably controversial opinion that love is nothing more than an obstacle.

“Al-Haitham, the Grand Sage Azar wishes to speak with you,” an attendant says, and Al-Haitham is forced to look away from you. The scholar frowns at the request, but nonetheless, he follows the man to the House of Daena.

When he returns home from his meeting with the Grand Sage, Al-Haitham wants nothing more than to rip his brain out, strip it clean of memories. For the first time in his life, he curses knowledge, and the consequences it has inflicted on him

But a box sits waiting for him, a note attached to the top of it. By the intricate lock system on the front baring no keyhole, but a scanner that illuminates when Al-Haitham’s finger brushes against the box, he knows who it’s from.

Cyno - About Cold Cases

“The Artificer?” Cyno asks in the dying minutes of the feast in his honour. Crossing his arms over his chest, his brow furrows. “Why do you want to know about her?”

“We heard there’s a lot of mystery surrounding her, but if she’s such an important figure in the Akademiya, why didn’t she ever come back?”

“So you know she’s missing.” Cyno sighs. “I’m not sure if this is information I’m legally allowed to reveal to you as an outsider, but it’s you so I suppose I could make an exception. Her belongings were seized and her quarters were raided after her disappearance five years ago. The Eremites posted around the Teleport Waypoints are to assure that she doesn’t come to tamper with them.”

“Why? Is she a criminal?”

“No. The Sages put a stop to all of her research after it became clear she was extremely close to unlocking the full potential of the Teleport Waypoints. Whether or not it was fear that she would use that knowledge and surpass them is unclear, however she was well-liked by the public. Much of her work during her time was contribution to the public. Improving different aspects of our nation.”

“So, why… do you think the Sages had a hand in her disappearance?” the Traveler asks.

“I had my suspicions during the investigation which were only further supported once I was made the General Mahamatra and granted the ability to investigate past open cases.”

“As the General Mahamatra, you would probably know more about the circumstances surrounding the situation,” mutters Paimon. Cyno’s lips twist into a dismayed scowl.

“It was only the beginning of Azar’s need to retain power in Sumeru.” A resigned exhale. He glances around, but the place the Traveler has led him to is secluded and quiet. “I suggest you never reveal that you are searching for the Artificer to Al-Haitham. Talking about her is… a touchy subject.”

“The reason we wanted to find her is because of this box we found addressed to him.”

“A box?”

“Yeah! It must be something she hid from the matra before she disappeared.” Paimon flies around to the Traveler’s shoulder. “We wanted to ask Al-Haitham to open the box, but he’s been distracted by something else recently.”

Cyno hums, lips twisting into a frown. “From what I remember, the conclusion drawn from the investigation was that a freak snowstorm had caused her and another scholar to go missing. It went on for a month or two past their initial end date, so their resources eventually dried out, especially with being unprepared for that sort of weather. However…”

“What is it?” the Traveler asks.

“Well, why was she and a Spantamad scholar the only ones who went missing? The other members of the expedition emerged from the snowstorm cold but relatively unharmed at Caravan Ribat. Furthermore, there was a great shift in the area surrounding the Teleport Waypoint in front of the Mausoleum of King Deshret, suggesting that the Teleport Waypoint had somehow been used. I’m not quite sure of the efficacy of which it operated, but considering that there was no trace left behind, it’s possible that the snowstorm covered up the Teleport Waypoint tapping into the Ley Lines, and transporting the two scholars into some other place to escape.”

“So, in the end, she was successful in what she was trying to do,” the Traveler muses. “The Teleport Waypoints aren’t effective everywhere in Teyvat, though.”

The General Mahamatra shakes his head. “No, not to my knowledge.”

“Thanks, Cyno. This was a really big help,” the Traveler says, turning. Paimon flies in front of them, her hand scratching at her head. “I should leave you to your celebration. Sorry to bog it down with work.”

“Wait, Traveler. There’s one other thing that you should know. The investigation was preceded by an assignment issued by the Grand Sage to none other than Al-Haitham.”

.

Outside the Mausoleum of King Deshret, an expedition bustles around their camp. Scholars measure the Teleport Waypoint, use devices to take the temperature, and scribble down every observation in a small radius to ensure that the conditions are ideal.

You’ve retreated to your tent. The heat’s getting to you, and you feel exhausted as you set down your tool on your work bench, finger running down another manuscript to make sure everything is perfect.

Snezhnayan catches your ear and you turn around to see your father approaching, the tent flap closing behind him.

“You think it’ll work this time?”

“I’m sure, Papa,” you answer, lifting the core you’d been inspecting. They’ll insert this into the base of the Teleport Waypoint in a few days time once the Spantamad scholars are able to locate the source of destabilization in the Ley Lines. 

Archons willing, the core will be able to detect the Ley Lines running beneath the structure and channel energy back up into the Waypoint, and they’ll be able to go home in a blink of an eye.

There is one thing that you think separates you from the other scholars at the Akademiya, and it is not this groundbreaking technology you’ve crafted with your own hands. 

It is the higher purpose that fuels you to study. Not just for the sake of knowledge, or to find something new, something exciting.

“It’s our last chance. If we fail, the Doctor will have his way with me. I haven’t been useful enough, and he has no patience for people who waste his time. Little Star, I refuse to go back to Snezhnaya alive.”

The Fatui Harbingers. The fingers in your bones feel brittle after toiling for years and years for them to the point where you’re not sure that these hands are your own anymore. Maybe they belong to some unseen mind you don’t even know, but fear all the same.

All your work has only ever been for the Doctor, but maybe… maybe this way you and your dad can somehow find your mother and your siblings, find a secluded corner of this continent and hide from the Doctor for the rest of your days.

“Thank you,” your father murmurs, and you lower the core back into its box. Closing it, it lets out a little beep, and you drum your fingers against the top of the lid, sighing. “Little Star.”

“It’ll be fine,” you whisper, letting out a long breath. It feels like it takes the soul out of you, and you plant your hands against the table, letting your head drop. “We’ll be just fine.” 

A hand settles between your shoulders, and you let your father guide you closer towards him. His chest is warm, and when his arms embrace you, it feels like home. Turning into him fully, you wrap your arms around him and press your cheek against his chest, feeling like a small child again.

“You’ve worked so hard for my sake. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

“The fact that I’ve managed to save your life, Papa, is reason enough to do anything.” You withdraw, and smile at him. He sighs, eyes scanning your face. “The Doctor will be pleased enough by this progress, right? I… it might not be a permanent solution, but he’ll think it’s enough of a relveation that he won’t kill you?”

“Don’t think like that.”

“I can’t help it!”

He flicks your forehead, and you separate, wincing. Rubbing your brow, you send him a glare. 

“That Al-Haitham won’t want you to be so pessimistic.”

“Dad!” Heat flashes over your face, and you whirl around, busying yourself with cleaning up your work bench. Your father laughs, leaning in beside you. “Al-Haitham’s just a friend.”

“I never insinuated anything more than that,” he teases. “But I’m sure you two are closer now than ever.”

“Papa!”

“You ought to stop giving him the wrong impression, if he’s just a friend. Living with Kaveh, playing house,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s going to realize that you and that silly boy are together.”

“We are… not… together.” You could strangle your father. Returning the manuscripts to your own box, you don’t quite close it yet. You’ll still need to do one last check to make sure the winds from the desert haven’t swept anything underneath anything else. “Kaveh and I are just friends. We just like living together.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll never understand then why you don’t pursue Al-Haitham.”

“You don’t have to understand anything,” you complain, exasperated. “Al-Haitham’s not interested in that way with me, Papa. Besides, I don’t have any time to foster a romantic relationship. Save that for when we’re in the clear.”

“Who knows? Maybe he can accompany us.”

“Father!”

“Artificer! The Scribe of the Akademiya has arrived looking for you.”

“The Scribe?” you murmur, frowning. Immediately, all that teasing evaporates like smoke, and your brow furrows. Your father’s expression is identical. “What would Abbas be doing here at his age?” 

“Perhaps there’d been urgent news?”

“They would’ve sent a messenger, wouldn’t they? Or even the General Mahamatra if it’d been serious.” You sigh. “It’d be better if you weren’t in here when I receive him. It could be something bad.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “You can send him in.”

Your father departs, and he chats with whoever is outside, but you can’t let yourself eavesdrop. Your anxiety is biting at your frayed nerves. You haven’t slept well in days.

The day that will seal your fate comes closer and closer, and you can’t think of anything else. Your head hurts, and you grab your canteen, taking a sip and hoping it’ll help with the ache. 

What will you do if the Teleport Waypoint works? Will you leave the Akademiya entirely? The Doctor might ask you to stay, and further develop and streamline the process for whatever plan the Harbinger is creating, but with this technology, you could run. Leave it all behind.

You absently brush your finger over a stick of charcoal. You’ll have time to think about it, you suppose.

The tent flap opens, and you let out a sigh. “Scribe Abbas, I’m surprised you—“

And whatever words you had, whatever had been autopilot motoring off your tongue, die.

“Al-Haitham?” Surprise shoots through your system. Your heart skips a beat when you see him, and that uncomfortable rhythm pounds against your ribs as he smiles faintly at you. He looks the same. Always the same. “What? What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you,” he admits, and you can’t help the silly smile that rises to your face. “I would prefer to speak with you in Snezhnayan. I know that your mother tongue goes unused often. I don’t want to get rusty either.”

“Oh.” That heat comes again to your face in a crashing flood. “Of course,” you comply. “But I don’t understand why you came all this way just to speak with me. Couldn’t it wait? I would’ve been back in the Akademiya in a few weeks.” Your mind scrambling for more words to say, your eyebrows knit together. “Wait. Scribe. You’re the Akademiya’s new Scribe?”

He nods. “Yes. I was promoted last week.”

“That’s excellent news!” you exclaim, coming closer and grabbing him by the wrists. His eyebrows rise but you tug him towards your bedroll. Sitting, you tug him down and tuck your knees beneath you. “Tell me everything. Wait, do you need anything? Food, or water?”

He chuckles, letting his bag slide off his shoulder, and you soak him in again. His beautiful eyes, the sweep of his downy grey hair. It has always reminded you of a dove’s soft breast. Fluffy, and attached to a body that can fly anywhere it’d like.

You card your fingers through that crop of hair fondly, pulling it away from his eyes and brushing the longer bits behind his ear.

“No, I don’t need anything more than your time,” he answers, taking your hand and pulling it back down to rest between them. “I was apparently Azar’s first choice to be the new Scribe. Abbas wanted to retire.”

“He is getting old,” you admit. “But I hadn’t realized. You don’t know how happy I am to hear this, you know.”

“I think I know.” His voice makes your eyes widen. You’d never heard it like that before—so unguarded, so softly spoken. Your eyes dart to his and your chest squeezes at the way he stares at you. Had he always looked at you like that, or is that a desert mirage manifesting itself in your tent?

You smile, letting out a scoff. “You have no idea how much I care about you, Al-Haitham.”

“More than Kaveh?” he asks off-handedly, and you blink. 

“Well, that’s not fair. Kaveh’s my oldest friend.”

“I think it’s more than fair,” he says. “But, I know I’m no rival of his for your affections, so I won’t pursue you on the topic any further.” Arguments build up in your mouth but he only pushes onward: “Are you making headway with the Waypoint? I saw some of the scholars crowding around it but you’re still in here.”

“The Ley Lines have been stable as of today. I was doing some final additions to a device that would activate the Waypoint, so we are,” you say warily. “The new blueprint I drafted before I left seems to be the most promising.”

His eyes drift over to your work bench before he nods. “I see. May I go look?”

“Yes, of course.” Rising together, you’re shocked when he leads the way, their fingers still entwined. Never before have you tempted physical touch for this long. You’re always aware that he’ll be overstimulated, or uncomfortable, or even just not in the mood to be touched, but you guess he’s amiable today, because he lets you sidle in close next to him—close enough that their arms are pressed together.

A sharp tug at your heart makes you sigh. You hadn’t the time to factor him into your future yet. You’ve thought about Kaveh—what he’d do if you left. You’d tell him, of course, where you’d be going. Why. How. You’d explain everything to the blond with the sincerest apology you can front it with.

After all, Kaveh won’t be able to afford the house they live in on his own stipend if you have to leave, and you can’t just leave your truest companion out in the cold like that. 

Kaveh. Your heart aches for him. You love him so much, but it’s never been the way he wanted you to. 

Glancing at the man beside you tracing a finger along your drawings, something inside you wilts. 

“Al-Haitham… I have a favour to ask you,” you speak suddenly. He’s silent, leaning against the work bench. Their hands are still interlaced in beween them, and you look down at his fingers, long and nimble. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, and you swallow.

“You know I don’t believe in favours,” he intones, not taking his eyes off the paper.

“I know, but this is something I have to ask out of our friendship.”

“Alright.”

You let out a breath. “If something happens to me, you’ll take care of Kaveh, won’t you? Give him a home if he needs one.”

“Why should I care about him?” he mutters apathetically and you smack him. His eyes finally meet yours and you glare at him.

“Al-Haitham.”

“Besides, why would anything happen to you?” he continues. “You’re one of the smartest scholars the Akademiya has right now. If you follow their rules, it’s nearly impossible for them to expel you.”

“Well, I know that’s what the Sages think, but there’s just a lot of things that are unpredictable.”

“Like King Deshret resurrecting?” he asks, and you scowl.

“Why do you always remember the things I say?” you complain. He smirks.

“You were the one speaking blasphemy.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter dismissively, and you let go of his hand, moving away, but he grabs your elbow before you can stray far enough. “What?”

“I was teasing. Of course I’d look out for Kaveh. He might not like that very much, though. I don’t know if you’ve realized, but like others, he can barely stand me.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to become his life partner. I just… I care about him deeply. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him.”

“Fine. I’ll do it,” he acquiesces. “But I won’t do it happily.”

“Oh, shut up. You love to tease him.”

“That is true.”

“Oh, you said you wanted to speak with me, though, Al-Haitham,” you remember. “This can’t be all you wanted to talk about. The promotion’s great and all,” you add hastily as he turns to you fully, frowning, “but a letter would’ve sufficed.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, and you frown. He simply stands there, searches your face for answers you don’t know the questions for, and you’re shocked by the tight pain that screws up his forehead. He smells like the desert and sweat, but you don’t mind it. You’ve grown used to Al-Haitham in all sorts of states—grown used to the space he’s carved into your heart hurting from how swollen it gets in his presence.

You love him so much, too. In the way that he doesn't want you to. The irony is not lost on you, but you don’t know how on earth you’ll survive not seeing him anymore if the homeland keeps you there.

“Al-Haitham,” you whisper as his eyes dip to your mouth and linger there. Your lips tingle, and you swallow, his name trembling the second time it escapes your tongue. “Al-Haitham?”

“Hm?” he hums, gaze finding yours again and you realize that he wanted you to notice him staring. Your mouth runs dry, and he tilts his head, face tender, and sad, if you can trick yourself into believing it. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just… I’m happy to see you. Honestly, I am.”

His eyes are an oasis. “I’m sorry,” he utters softly, and you frown.

Your heart shivers in your throat. “What for?”

You learn only a second later what it is. Soft lips press against your own and your eyes widen in shock as hands cup your jaw, holding you there for a moment longer before pulling away. A horrible blush stains Al-Haitham’s entire face, and he looks away, stepping back with shaking hands.

Your eyes fall to those fingers that had just held you so gently, watch as they roll into quivering fists, and a sharp breath leaves Al-Haitham as your own digits touch your lips.

“What?” It is all you can muster to say.

His ears are bright red as he ducks his head. “That was what I wanted to speak to you about.”

“Well, there wasn’t much speaking,” you stammer, and he looks up at your tone. 

“I apologize. I don’t… know what came over me, but the truth of it is, I came here because I wanted to confess that I’m in love with you before anything else happened between us that could ruin my chances,” he says slowly, deliberately. He clears his throat. “The kiss was… supposed to be what happened after if I had luck on my side.”

“Luck on your side?” you echo.

“If you loved me back,” he clarifies, “which I’m not sure you do.”

There is one thing that you think separates you from the other scholars at the Akademiya, and it is not that you’re the smartest Kshahrewar student they’ve had in years, or that you’re working for the Fatui against your will.

It is that Al-Haitham, against all odds, against reason and logic—the very values of which he has built himself up on—loves you. 

When you told your father you didn’t have the time for romantic relationship, it was not because of that entirely. Your father, after all, had been a scholar who fostered an entirely family on the job, and there are tons of families with members in the Akademiya. It’s hardpress to find someone who doesn’t know of someone in the Akademiya.

It was because you love someone already, and you didn’t want to get your hopes up. And it isn’t Kaveh, as much as you had wished for years and years that it would be. Maybe it would’ve saved them all some heartache.

Oh, but the heart wants what it wants, just as the brain chases what it desires.

“Al-Haitham,” you murmur in a soft breath, “would you kiss me again?”

The Scribe’s—internally, you laugh fondly at the idea that he has that sort of authority—eyes light up, and he approaches you cautiously, his hands flexing and waning. 

When his fingers slide along your jaw, this time you’re ready for it. Your eyes slide shut, your hands find the lapels of a chest you wish you were more familiar with, and when a soft mouth presses against your own waiting lips, you take your time to enjoy it.

Kaveh - Chat: Craftsmanship

Kaveh is a slim, tall man with blond hair. The Traveler doesn’t know him well, but they find him just as he’s about to enter his house whilst they’re looking for Al-Haitham, and he is polite enough to invite them in for tea when they accost him.

“Woah, we’ve never been in Al-Haitham’s house before!”

“I assumed not. We don’t have many guests over,” Kaveh says to Paimon. “Most of the interior decoration was by me.”

“I heard you were an architect.”

“Yes, I still am. The Palace of Alcazarzaray; have you ever seen my magnum opus?” At the Traveler’s nod, he smiles wryly. “I actually just returned from a project in the desert, and coming back to this whole mess in the Akademiya has been disorienting.” He places a tray of tea on the table and sinks down onto his seat. “What did you want to speak to me about?” The Traveler explains briefly, and his eyebrows rise as he raises the mug of tea to his mouth. “You know of the snowstorm? Cyno told you. I see.”

“I’m sorry if it’s a touchy subject.” 

“It’s not. It just reminds me of someone.”

“The Artificer?”

“I… yes. She left Sumeru during that storm years ago.” Kaveh sighs. “We grew up together in the same hamlet. Childhood best friends.”

“Wow! Paimon didn’t know that.”

“You said you were looking for my esteemed roommate,” he prompts dryly. 

“Well, if you know the Artificer well,” the Traveler says, “could you tell us where we could find her, too?”

“What makes you think I would know?”

“You said ‘left Sumeru’ instead of ‘missing.’”

Kaveh looks away, the light in his eyes dimming. “You’re as perceptive as Al-Haitham said you were.” He doesn’t speak for a moment, simply choosing to stare into his tea. 

“Of course I know where she is,” he utters at length. “I loved her with all I ever had. I warranted more than her leaving without a goodbye.” It’s said in a tone that does not offer an opportunity for further dialogue down this route. “Traveler, what do you want?”

“We just want to return this box to Al-Haitham,” Paimon answers as the Traveler procures it. “It was sealed within the Balladeer’s construction chamber, but it looks super important. And a part of Paimon is wondering how it even got there in the first place if she’s gone supposedly missing all these years. If it belongs to her, maybe she could help us. We heard she was studying the Teleport Waypoints and that they’re some sort of… out-of-realm kind of technology? Paimon’s still a bit fuzzy on the details…”

But Kaveh had stopped listening roughly two sentences ago. His gaze fixes on the box in the Traveler’s lap. “It’s hers, you’re sure? You… have her seal?” With an assenting nod, he takes the box gingerly, running his hand over the craftsmanship reverently, and the Traveler averts their gaze in respect. Kaveh’s fingers trace the edge, and he sighs softly, rubbing his temple with the same hand. “She isn’t missing. She returned home to Snezhnaya,” Kaveh answers at length after a hard internal fight, letting his hand drop. The Traveler can see it in the way this great architect clutches onto the box until his knuckles pale, and his breath comes shaking. “There, she worked under who I believe is the Fatui Harbinger, Dottore.”

“The Doctor?” Paimon whispers, horrified. “She was a Fatuus?”

“No, she wouldn’t. Despite those horrid people giving the rest of Snezhnaya a bad name, she was the best person I knew.” Kaveh’s voice softens wistfully. “Her mind far surpassed many of those who call themselves scholars now, but I don’t think any of us realized that she was being blackmailed by the Fatui behind the scenes.”

“That’s awful…” the Traveler murmurs, fists clenched tight in their lap. Kaveh sets the box down tenderly, and he raises his eyes warily to the blonde before him. “So she’s dead? Did the Fatui kill her?”

“No. No, they wouldn’t kill an asset.” At this, the colour drains from Kaveh’s face. “From what I understand… she gave her body to the Doctor’s definition of science in exchange for her father’s life. I only saw her twice since the snowstorm. Once, when she returned to Sumeru City after she departed for her homeland, and once again two years ago, and she was more machine than human.” Guilt, and a heavy tinge of regret seeping into his voice and face. “In other words, I have no idea if she’s still alive.”

“How is that possible? That she could survive all that human testing and not go mad,” the Traveler murmurs, setting down their mug. Their stomach turns over at the scenarios running through their head. “Thank you, Kaveh. Maybe I should leave the box with you, considering Al-Haitham will return, one way or another.”

“I’ll look after it,” he promises. Together, the two rise, and Paimon flies towards the box, inspecting it one last time as if it’ll hold clues they’ve missed. 

The Traveler sighs, and picks up their backpack. “We’ll be off, then. Al-Haitham still has questions we need answered.”

“Questions about…?”

“Well, Cyno told us of an assignment that Al-Haitham was given that sent him into the desert according to his report afterwards, but never about what exactly happened,” Paimon informs. Kaveh stiffens, his jaw clenching and a terrible scowl crosses his face. Flying back to the Traveler, the companion continues, “If Al-Haitham can give us answers about what exactly happened—”

“The Artificer bears a Cryo Vision,” Kaveh interrupts coldly. “And do you know, Traveler, what the Tsartisa used to embody before she was consumed with the vengeance that rules her hand? Her nation?”

The Traveler pauses mid-step, lightning shooting down their leg and freezing them to the ground. The icy anger that overtakes Kaveh’s body, seizes his entire body into a husk of hollow fury plated by brittle wrath, makes the Traveler swallow, arms tensing. The architect has tilted his head away, blond hair curtaining the darkening expression consuming his face. It makes him monstrous, unrecognizable from the amiable man that had been in his spot only seconds before.

For a moment, the Traveler is unsure if they should be the one to speak—to answer a question they’re hesitant to answer. The air cracks but Kaveh saves them from the terrible decision only moments later after a harsh breath, and a soft, bitter laugh. It sits in the Traveler’s throat like sour melon seeds.

“I know Al-Haitham believes that I dislike him because of differences in beliefs, menial things like personality clashes,” he whispers scathingly with an age-old contempt, “but the truth of the matter is, he is the reason my best friend has disappeared, and I won’t ever forgive him for it, no matter how many favours he grants me. I know he doesn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart—it’s because she asked him, and he thinks this is even close to honouring her.”

“Kaveh…” Paimon floats forward, but the Traveler grabs her hand, holding her back. The floating companion looks back at them, but they shake their head.

“Most people see Al-Haitham as someone who’s callous, coldhearted, and dishonest, but I’ve seen him grieve her more plainly than anyone else. He mourns her even now, carries that guilt like a thousand weights without a single complaint. And it infuriates me,” he grits out softly, fists clenched by his sides. He tilts his head back, and inhales shakily. A sharp amber gaze meets the Traveler’s, and Kaveh lets out a short, horrible laugh. “I’m guilty of actually… caring about him despite what he’s done. It’s why I told him a few days ago that she sent me a note that she’d be leaving Port Ormos by the end of the week.”

The Traveler understands, and without another word, they race out the door.

.

The day before they’re supposed to complete their first trial on the Teleport Waypoint had been a lazy one—consisting of well-placed naps on your part so you could be prepared for the long day ahead of you tomorrow. Al-Haitham had been your steady companion through it all, letting you show him around camp and describing your work just in case he wants to report back to the Sages. 

“They’re not concerned, are they?” you had asked, and he had shook your head. Your father also wanted to speak to Al-Haitham, and you had surrendered your partner for anyone else looking for your attention. Penultimate observations of variables were taken. Meals, prayers, and stories were exchanged.

Al-Haitham kissed his name into your neck, your cheek, your lips throughout the day, waking you up from your naps and corralling you to your next one with punctuality only expected of him. You can still feel him even as you bid him farewell that night. 

He frowns, brushing the back of his fingers down your cheek, before taking hold of your jaw and tilting your head towards his lips. It’s a brief kiss, but familiar, and you can’t help but smile into it.

“I’ll see you when I come back?” you murmur against his mouth, and he nods, eyes dark and downcast. He’s not happy about leaving just like you, but there’s something stronger in his stare, the downturn of his mouth that’s occupied him when he thinks you won’t noticed. It feels almost like regret. Pulling back, you take hold of his hand. “Alright, Scribe, lighten up. I’ll be home soon, and we can talk about all of this.” You squeeze his fingers. “I promise.”

“We… we will need to talk,” he insists, and your brow furrows. He brings your hand to his lips with both of his own, and reverently presses a soft kiss to the heel of your palm. “I’m sorry.”

You curl your fingers over his hands and push them down, shaking your head. His somber attitude in the wake of what could be the happiest moment of your life is ruining your mood with a growing bud of worry, but you can’t let him know that. So you paste a smile on your face and simply squeeze him. “Don’t be sorry. Just go.”

His eyes linger, but you only shake your head minutely and he lets out a long exhale, his shoulders falling. That lost little frown still possesses his mouth, and there’s a permanent wrinkle in his brow that must’ve been there for the past few hours. 

He woke up before you, and you’d found him outside sitting by the fire on his own. It’d been a strange scene, and he looked lost in his melancholy—book all but forgotten in his lap, his eyes staring sightlessly into the fire. The sun had barely risen, but now you’re starting to wonder if he slept at all if the puffiness of his eye bags and the lethargy that he’s been trying to hide all day is anything to go by.

A part of you is nervous that it’s because he didn’t want to sleep next to you and had to seek refuge, but you rationalize that when you had called his name, he had returned to you without argument and a kiss to your crown.

The troubled gaze still lingers now, even with the dusk approaching. He had said it’s best if he sets off now so he can get back to the Akademiya and make use of the cooler temperatures. He’ll spend most of this week travelling, and you know he’d rather not miss the beginning of another work week. However, you can’t help but let the thought that there’s more than travelling at night in the desert that bothers him.

You wanted this farewell to be sweet and temporary.

Except now, it feels more and more permanent, and the sweetness of it has suffered for it.

“Al-Haitham, don’t go doing anything irrational or stupid or… unthought of in these last few weeks,” you mutter, and his head raises just as you slither your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. His bag nudges against your side, just another reminder that he’s leaving, before he’s pulling back again, and his hands on your back rub up and down. You sigh and kiss him quickly.

His eyes flutter shut, and he presses his forehead against your own before whispering softly, “I’ll do my best.”

With that, he pulls away, and you grab hold of his hand. Together, they walk out of the tent, and you observe the activities occurring around camp. Most of the scholars are talking and bonding around the fire. Your father’s feeding the Sumpter Beasts, but he’s speaking to another Spantamad scholar you think he’s been taking to as a mentor figure. Rafiq, you remember his name as.

Humming thoughtfully, you let go of Al-Haitham’s hand as Rafiq looks over and you smile. He nods to you, and you note his eyes darting over to your companion, but he doesn’t appear to be watching as they approach.

“Father, Rafiq,” you greet politely. “The Scribe will be leaving our encampment, now.”

“Already? You won’t stay another day?” your father complains, and Al-Haitham has at least the decency to look sheepish as Rafiq quickly finds the Sumpter Beast the Scribe had ridden from Caravan Ribat, saddling the animal quickly as he can despite the low groaning protests.

“Unfortunately, the Akademiya calls,” he answers dryly. “The Scribe has no shortage of work.” Your father frowns, and glances at you, but you shrug. “I hope all goes well tomorrow. With luck, I’ll see you by the end of next week.”

“We’ll have to catch up, one-on-one,” your father says, leaning over nefariously and obviously eyeing you. You cross your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Rafiq returns, rope lead in his hand. You take it, giving the Sumpter Beast a quick pat on hard ridge. It lifts its head into your palm in response, and Rafiq crouches down to feed it an apple. 

“The Sumpter Beast is ready, Scribe,” Rafiq says, rising, and this time when they meet eyes, your eyebrows twitch together at the way Rafiq gulps and glances at you. He must be intimidated. You smile reassuringly as Al-Haitham clips his pack onto the saddle and takes the lead from you. Fingers brushing, you fight the heat rising to your face and the way your smile grows in pleasure.

“Goodbye,” he whispers, and you tilt your head at him. 

“I’ll see you,” you answer. He nods before clasping hands with your father in a firm shake. You can’t help but roll your eyes again but they let go soon enough before Al-Haitham swiftly presses a final kiss to your mouth. You blink, eyes widening, but before you can even question it, he turns to mount the Sumpter Beast with a soft grunt and picking up the reins and flashes you one final (sad) smile. 

You return to your tent, your bedroll feeling suspiciously more empty now that he’s gone. Sighing, you tuck yourself in for a sleep as restful as you can make it and wake up too soon by the hands of the last watch who was instructed to as soon as signs of the sun rising were visible.

You get up and prepare yourself, although the apprehensive feeling in you does not do anything but swell. Walking to your work bench, you go to the box containing all your documents and let it scan once you place your palm atop of it, your Akasha terminal connecting to the device within. With a soft beep, it unlocks.

You’d given one similar to this prototype to Al-Haitham before you left. You smile and wonder if he’s opened it yet. It’s a bit different than yours, only requiring a fingerprint and a connection to his Akasha Terminal rather than a full scan, but you muse if that’s what had prompted him to come here after all this time. Maybe he finally realized the depth of his feelings with such a hard-earned gift.

Presently, you open the box and reach inside. Your smile dissipates as soon as you do. Nothing touches your fingertips except for the bottom of the box, and you lift the lid fully. Empty.

Huh. Maybe your father (the only other person with clearance) had already retrieved the needed documents while you slept. You wouldn’t put it past him to give you just a few more moments of rest. Sighing, you instead pick up the second box which contains the core. Strange he didn’t take this with him, but you dismiss the thought. 

You’re entirely too protective over the device. Besides, this is your moment of crowning glory.

You leave your tent to a frenzy. The sky is not quite clear—a few clouds spot the sky. Your father’s one of the first awake, too, and he’s running a hand through his hair as he takes the temperature of the air and writes it down. Another Spantamad scholar is measuring Ley Line energy through a device puncturing the ground, their Dendro vision winking in the growing light. Placing the box on one of the tables set up near the Waypoint, you sweep your gaze around the site.

You mainly search for the Kshahrewar scholars. As you walk around to make sure everything is going smoothly and if anyone has any questions on the way, you frown when you realize that none of the scholars from your Darshan are present. Approaching your father, you ask him quickly if he’s seen them.

“They’re awake,” he answers distractedly. “Some of them had gotten breakfast. Perhaps they’re still going over their notes.”

“I suppose,” you say doubtfully. They need the entire day to workshop this as effectively as possible and monitor any fluctuations. The entire operation is running late. It’s the only thought that’s ruling your brain as you glance around.

Still, no one. Perhaps you should check on them in their tents, just to make sure…

Before you can move: “Artificer!”

Turning, you spot a Kshahrewar scholar running towards you. Her brown eyes are wide, and she looks frightened to death as she runs her hands over her braid, tugging a bit hard to be a nervous habit.

“What’s the delay?” you ask irritably. The sun’s burning orange sky stains your corneas even when you close your eyes, and you squint against the rays as Amina skids to a stop before you, her face shining with sweat.

“All our manuscripts, the blueprints for the modifications of the Teleport Waypoint…” she trails off and dread begins to grow like a virus at her expression. The Spantamad scholars nearby pause in their work to watch, and behind, you see the other scholars of your Darshan running up. You are rended to the bone at each of their expressions. “It’s all gone! All our work, our notes, even the most personal things like our diaries have been stolen!”

“What?” your father shouts, storming over. Immediately, your heart drops and a chisel digs into your skull and cracks it in two. Your world goes dark as he continues to interrogate the young scholar, but a buzzing begins to whine in your ears as you stare at Amina who is frantically trying to explain herself. Your focus leaves, and your mind swirls as a flash of green later, your father has seized the poor young woman by the arms and shakes her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

He swears loudly in Snezhnayan. You cannot move. Letting go of the scholar, he turns to look at you, and all the colour has drained from his lips. His eyes are wide, his breathing sharp and rapid against your face. Suddenly all you can see is your father’s eyes—they fill your whole world with their colour, their shrinking, frantic pupils. “Little Star?“

But you can’t speak, because, for some reason, that horrible gut feeling that’s been bothering you since you woke up and found Al-Haitham outside yesterday morning, that tingling sensation that something is wrong, the nagging in your heart… it all returns in full force. Your heart wrenches into a rotten twisted ache and you want to fall to your knees, let the hurt of the stone against your bones distract you from everything else.

And it is not the thought that your father is going to die that first swarms your brain. Not even the second. No, that comes third. 

The first thought is that your father isn’t the one who extracted your papers from your box.

The second is that wish you weren’t smart. Not that you had never joined the Akademiya, no. You wish your brain didn’t work as fast as it does. You wish you didn’t see the whole picture, that you never knew which edges of the puzzle piece aligned perfectly and what slightest adjustment could be made for something to work like a well-oiled cog and handle. You wish you had no intuition, no fine-attuned sense. 

No memory, no heart, no brain. 

No emotions, no human fallibility. 

Humans make mistakes. They’re emotional creatures. You’ve always embraced that that is what makes life very much worth living, but that you has died in a matter of moments. You look out at the desert where, less than twelve hours ago, Al-Haitham disappeared beyond the dunes.

You had left the box open. After he had kissed you, you had spent the rest of the night on your bedroll, just dozing and speaking and rambling about all sorts of things, completely unaware. Unthreatened. It was not even a thought in your head in the heat of his arms. After all, how can someone you ask such stupid (unfailingly human) questions be untrustworthy? How could he ever hurt you? 

“When did you start liking me? Did you know how much I liked you? Yes… Kaveh does have feelings for me, but he understands I could never… I promise. Oh, you thought my feelings were my obvious? As if!”

“Rafiq has disappeared, too. I can only assume that he’s the one who took them. We haven’t seen him since sunrise, but we thought he was just exploring below the bridge,” are the first words that pierce through the dim, blurry fog that has surrounded your brain and sedated you to the point of debatable mental presence.

You blink, and look up. Your father is staring at the scholar who had spoken. A Spantamad scholar who only stares back at his leader with sympathy. All the others have gathered around them, but your movement catches everyone’s eyes. When you lift your head higher to take in those waiting eyes, you cannot help but feel numb.

“We weren’t stolen from,” you finally say at length. Your father returns to your side, his hand clutching onto your elbow, and you meet his eyes dully. “The Akademiya has confiscated all our research. They’re sending a message, loud and clear.”

He understands immediately, and you silently curse him. The hatred is sudden, pitiful, and undeserved, but you can’t help it. Where else could you have gotten your mind from? “No… no… he wouldn’t. He couldn’t do such a thing to… to you, of all people…”

A terrible, overwhelming sensation swarms your body like locusts. Your blood burns with the fury of a thousand suns, and you stand beside this Waypoint outside the buried resting site of a dead god, unable to do anything. Clouds that have gathered above you begin to darken.

Your mind rends at the memories from that night that seems like a lightyear away now. The way he had brushed your arm, the deliberate trailing of his fingers down your shoulder. He had kissed you, touched you, listened to you speak all the while knowing what he was here to do. 

It wasn’t to see you at all. Was it all… 

Was it all some ploy he had to make you a fool? A lovesick, blind fool whose heart is hanging on strings, tugging at every which way Al-Haitham wants it to. He doesn’t know what you’ve sacrificed to make sure that these Teleport Waypoints would work all the way from Snezhnaya to here. How much blood and flesh and sweat and time you’ve given up for the sake of family.

All that drive. All that ambition. All that desire.

Gone, like sand grain in the wind. Never again will you see that speck of nothing

Al-Haitham has made you a failure, and that is one thing you cannot… You cannot stand.

“What happens now, Artificer?” a meek voice asks. You don’t answer immediately and instead push through the crowd and you cannot look away from the dune your lover has disappeared behind. Lover. How stupid of you to think that word could suit your tongue. “If all of our research has been confiscated, I… we can’t just give up, can we?”

“Now?” you echo numbly. The clouds above you begin to swirl into a storm, and you cannot help the incredulous scoff, the noxious feeling of that smile curving your mouth. It’s bitter, and it makes you want to retch your rations onto the dirt as a crack of thunder sounds in the distance.  “Now, I think my father and I must return to our homeland and answer for our failure. The possibility we return is nigh zero.”

“Homeland? But… the rest of us—“

“The rest of you will return safely back to the Akademiya.” A gust of wind sweeps over you, and your eyes burn before it can touch your face. A shuddering exhale leaves your lungs in a death rattle sort of way, and it must mean something. That your heart has withered away and is nothing more in your carcass chest. That in this silence, Al-Haitham has declared you dead to a world he wants to create for himself.

“The rest of you should leave,” you breathe out, shoulders falling. The winds grow stronger as you let your head hang, blink and let the tears fall to the dusty tile beneath your boots. “The expedition is over. You won’t be paid much, so you should do your best to collect your wage before any sort of fees rack up for this expedition.”

“Artificer, there’s a storm—”

“Prepare to leave. You won’t have enough time if you dally around me any longer,” you intone listlessly, watching as the gales pick up the sand around your feet, swirl against your pants, rip at your clothing, and you squeeze your eyes shut, more burning tears streaking down your nose, into your grimacing mouth as you try to hold in the sob that clutches your heart. 

You want to pull your hair out, to scream, to do anything more than just stand here and watch as the work that carries your father’s life is carried farther and farther away.

Then again, Al-Haitham could’ve burnt all your manuscripts. Sunken them into an oasis never to be found again. 

Desecrated your work with something as simple as a flick of his wrist. 

Destroyed your entire life without a care as to what it would mean for you.

Were all those years meaningless to you? You wanted to know. Was your betrayal a price I had to pay for you to ever consider loving me? Or do you not consider this a betrayal at all, but just a trade between two scholars vying for the validation of the ones above us?

Blinding pale blue lighting cracks, and the thunder that follows is deafening as a column of light shoots through the dark storm that gathers over Sumeru’s desert as it did thousands of years ago. Sudden and loud, it sends the scholars scurrying. Your father stumbles back, calling orders in your stead, and you cannot speak. 

Clutching onto the front of your scholar uniform, you pull so hard you feel the threads stretch against your back, and your breath comes short and sharp, lodging into your intercostal spaces. 

Tears stream down your face and your mouth is dry, full of cotton, as you pant for air, bending over and stepping back, trying to find your footing on even ground. Heat blustering all over your face, your heart pounds in your ears and your hearing leaves you the moment you look up, trying to peer through the sandstorm and your tears. Blinking, you let out a low hiccuping sob of pain but even that is cut short by the knife that sinks into your heart.

Fingers splayed across your chest rip the buttons from the seams, tear your uniform apart in an effort to make space for your lungs to move. Running your palms over your face, you let out a raspy shout and clutch onto your scalp, trying to just breathe. The winds buffet against your head, the temperature in the desert sinking lower and lower as the rising sun is swallowed by the storm. 

How you wish you could rip your own brain out by the stem. Give up your body in the name of science, and rid yourself of this infernal contraption they call a heart. What have you done?

Voices inside your head scream louder than anything else: No! No, no, no! This can’t happen to me!

And that is when the third thought blasts into your chest like a gunshot. It leaves a wider hole than it entered through, and the shrapnel lodged in your body poisons everything. Out of every human emotion, it is guilt that tastes the most foul.

Howling squalls scream back at you as your entire world is consumed by this storm that turns white and grey. Flashes of pale blue lighting flicker at the corner of your eye, and you spin around, the shadow of a man making you crumple to your knees. He stands there for a moment, before he is blown away, and your squeeze your eyes shut, baring your teeth in a restrained sob. 

None of it is real.

None of it was ever real.

“Al-Haitham!” you scream in vicious Snezhnayan above the crackling thunder. Your throat tastes like iron. “I will never forgive you!”

You let out a screech that comes from the pits of your soul and it only dies into a loud, unhinged wailing cry that you cannot restrain any longer. Your bones chatter from the sudden onslaught of snow and brutal, slicing winds, but your fingers have numbed to any sort of sensation as you claw at your chest, your throat, pull them into tight fists that cannot do any more. Cannot tinker anymore—invent anymore.

Useless.

How could your father ever think that he was useless when you sit here, unable to do anything to save him?

A flash of lightning blinds you before the entire world pauses. The winds fade into a dull roar, the blazes of the storm cease into muted foggy glimpses of lighting, and the thunder rumbles like a heartbeat. Raising your head, you feel a soft breeze caress your tear-stained cheeks, and in the distance, you hear people screaming. People begging for help.

The world hasn’t stopped for them. Why has it for you? Are you dead? Do you… have the past few minutes been wiped into your mind? Looking up, the black clouds part and you see a moon that should not be visible at this time of day. Snow falls delicately and a pillar of lunar light shoots down through the hole, illuminating each snowflake that fall so slowly, so unhurried in their descent to the earth. 

You raise a hand to the moon peeking through, hoping for some sort of benevolence from the gods, but when you only serve to cover it from your sight, the edges of the round orb spilling between your fingers, you know it’s a stupid endeavour.

This moon is not the tender one it is in Sumeru. It is cold, and judgemental, and silent, and as the storm begins to swell around you once more, you bow your head to the Tsaritsa’s brutal judgement, letting your hand fall. You take hold of it with your other hand, cradling your palms to your chest when something hard meets your fingers. Jerking your head back, you stare blankly at the item that has appeared.

A Cryo Vision rests in the centre of your hands. 

You curl your fingers over it, feeling the newfound power of the element stream through your system. It sings with unbridled fury, as if the Tsartisa herself has wielded your betrayal, crafted it into a sword of permafrost that burns your hands, and you let out a soft breath.

To your surprise, it mists in the quiet, snowy air, and you let out a terrible sob, keeling over this Vision that means that something inside you has broken hard enough that it is worthy of being noticed by the husk of the Goddess of Love. 

That this… this is enough to be seen as other-worldly. As a kin.

A rattling scream echoes across the dunes, empties from your lungs into the remains of a lost civilization. The storm ignites, sending a rippling shockwave through the dunes. The buffeting winds crash into the stone. The snow begins to fall in earnest, and it mounts around you, covering the ruins you’ve studied so intimately. 

Ice spreads in thin spiderwebs from underneath you, crawling over the stone at a lecherously slow pace, and your heart rends. 

Hollows. 

Wilts like a dying flower. 

Crumbles to nothing. 

Disappears in the howling gales of a snowstorm, and for a long time, no one comes to you. 

No one will come.

No one can save you from your fate.

And so the storm rages on, and it will rage on until you feel nothing at all.

Al-Haitham - About Al-Haitham: Love

The only reason he knows you’re in Sumeru is because of Kaveh. The only reason he finds you is because of Kaveh. 

Al-Haitham curses that. Hates it more than anything that he’s in debt to a man who would’ve treated you far better than he did. Kaveh would’ve never betrayed you for the Akademiya. For all the romanticism and idealism Al-Haitham can’t stand, perhaps those are the things that would’ve saved you from ever leaving the safety of the city.

When he first sees you after five years, you are standing on the dock, speaking to the Snezhnayan engineers that must’ve been behind the Balladeer’s chambers and helping them load their ships with their supplies and technology that they must’ve scavenged to bring back to their country. He’s not sure if they’re all Fatui—not sure if you’re one of them, too—but you speak so quietly he cannot hear. They must not be, considering they aren’t arrested by the Dendro Archon’s command nor did they flee with the Doctor.

You’re clad head to toe in Snezhnayan colours, not a drop of green on you, and there’s something new on the harness that crosses in an x at your back when you turn around. It is pinned there, glinting pale blue in the sunlight.

A Vision.

He had never known you to have one. You’re also… bulkier in a way. More muscular, taller. Your hair is cut differently, too, and when you move to lift something that seems much too heavy, you do it with remarkable ease. But it’s you.

He hasn’t dreamed in a long time, but when Al-Haitham dreamed for the first time after the Akademiya coup, he dreamed of you.

“I will be there when you dock,” you say loud enough that Al-Haitham can hear from where he hides at the mouth of the entrance to Wikala Funduq. “The Teleport Waypoint isn’t far from the harbour, and I’ll be able to sort out travelling arrangements before you all arrive. It’s short-notice, so I can’t guarantee the best, but I’ll try my hardest.” 

Peering around, he notes you surrounded by the engineers, but they begin to dissipate a moment later. Some leave the pier, while others board the boats, and you remain there, turning around to look out at the sea, hands planted on your hips.

Al-Haitham seizes his chance.

He walks out of Wikala Funduq, and as soon as his boots touch wood, you turn around.

The most peculiar shade of purple bewitches Al-Haitham. It’s a colour he is certain he’s never seen before, but an itchy part of his brain tags it as something he should be familiar with. A purple he should attribute to something else, something beautiful.

Your lips part, and a soft near-silent sigh escapes you as an entirely concoction of emotions racks through your face. Your eyes are not your own, yet they’re set in your face, and they widen like your eyes used to at the sight of him.

So it must be you. “(Name).”

You stiffen, arms falling limp at your sides, yet he cannot do anything but let out the breath he can’t recall ever holding and forgoing any sort of decorum, any sort of remembrance of who he is in the standing of the Akademiya. He is not the lone wolf scholar, the Akademiya’s Scribe, the Acting Grand Sage.

He is just a boy who is in love with you even now, even still, and his face crumbles into pure relief as he walks towards you in a daze, his feet dragging along the pier. You stare at him warily, and there are Snezhnayan workers who watch. Some even reach for a weapon, but at your barely raised hand, they fall silent.

“Al-Haitham,” you say, measured, soft, shaking, still your voice. You’re trembling in front of him. He is falling apart at the seams. When he nears, he can finally take in your finer details: the unnatural purple of your eyes, the mechanical optical rings of your irises, the way your pupils dilate  and shrink unnaturally as if sizing him up, inspecting him. “How did you know?”

“Kaveh told me,” he answers, and a sharp twinge of pain and betrayal flashes through your eyes before you blink, turning your head away. He’s surprised you haven’t frozen him to death yet, and he tests his luck further by reaching to touch your arm, but you only jerk back with a heavy step.

“How much did he tell you?” you ask roughly, eyes flitting from his fingers to his hand. 

“Nothing. Only that you’re here. That… you were leaving.”

“Did he tell you how he doesn’t even recognize me anymore?”

That silences him for a beat. “No.”

“I see. Well, I suppose you have questions?”

“Aren’t you upset with me?”

“If you’re asking if I’ve forgiven you,” you say, “then no. I haven’t. I won’t ever forgive you.”

“I’m sorry.” This time, when he says it, you understand. You didn’t five years ago, how he kept apologizing. You look away.

“Perhaps we should find somewhere more private,” you suggest quietly. “I don’t have any interest in entertaining your apologies. It’s in the past and we’re both… different people now, so I’ll answer your questions, and then we can see what happens next.”

“Fine.”

“I have a place nearby that we could talk.”

You begin to stride past him, but Al-Haitham, never one in the last five years to have the last word, feels himself act before he can think. “(Name), wait—“

When his fingers stretch to touch your hand, he feels a hard surface where you should be flesh, and your wrist twists unnaturally to free itself from his grasp. His blood runs cold at the way your hand rotates itself back to a more anatomically correct position, and you clutch it with your other gloved hand. 

“Don’t touch me,” you snap. “Just follow me.”

He nods, burning, but he’s not sure with frustration or guilt.

You lead him to a hotel room that’s hidden but overlooking the pier. It’s a small place, but quaint and barely furnished. Picked dry mostly, except for a backpack resting slouched against the wall and some other knick knacks—a pen, a notebook you close as you walk past it.

You pull a chair at the table by the window out and sit down. Al-Haitham can see the water from the glass, and as he approaches, you lean on the table by your elbows and gesture with your hand to the chair across from you. He seats himself, and glances around the place.

“The last five years. Where have you been?” he begins.

“Snezhnaya. When you left, the one thing you didn’t take was the core of the Teleport Waypoint I created. My father and I used it and managed to successfully teleport home.”

“This whole time you were there?”

“Not exactly. I roamed the world for a while. I went to Mondstadt and Fontaine, but that was only a year or two ago.” You look down at your hands. “When we returned, the Doctor had been furious that I lost my research, but he blamed it on my father. He was… technically my supervisor.” As if realizing something: “Though, I don’t suppose you know all of that. With the Fatui blackmailing me, and… and everything.”

“I had gathered as much only recently,” he answers. “I went to the Balladeer’s chambers after he was defeated. I thought I could recognize your work, but… I was unsure.” Swallowing, he shifted uncomfortably. “All these years, I thought you had died in that snowstorm and that it was my fault.”

“Some would say I’ve had a fate worse than death,” you remark, acerbic and unsurprised. “If you had known, do you think you would’ve done what you did?”

“I think I would’ve been more aware of the consequence.” He shakes his head. “I would’ve been honest, even. When I received the assignment, I thought the worse. Betraying you was an impossible task, but they assured me you wouldn’t be punished, so I followed through with it with utmost secrecy. I thought you’d just come back to the Akademiya, and we’d have a huge fight, and somehow I could convince the Sages to allow you access back to your own work as long as there were restrictions placed.”

“Restrictions? None of my work was ever illegal, though.” Your eyebrows furrow, and Al-Haitham thought you were angry, but you only look at him in a strange, morbid curiosity. You’re only searching for honesty. “Unless…”

“They suspected your father’s loyalties had been swayed. The objective of the assignment was to take your materials away, bring you and your father back, and put you on trial. You would’ve been innocent, but your father…”

“He never did anything wrong.”

“I know that,” he replies coolly, “but Azar saw your father as a threat. Saw you as a threat. You were a public figure with a strong will of your own, inherited from your father. I doubt he could’ve put you under his control. Honestly, if you’d been here, do you think that entire situation with the samsara would’ve gone on as long as it did?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I don’t know much about anything anymore, I think.”

For some reason, and Al-Haitham has weathered many storms before, during, and after their friendship, this is what makes his heart shrivel.

“What do you know?” he asks softly. You peek up at him from underneath your eyelashes, and a tired face stares back at him. 

“I know that I loved you,” you reply. “I don’t know if I still do. Looking at you now makes me feel something, but it’s not a good thing.”

“Do you hate me?” 

“I don’t know. It’s over now. I hated you for a bit,” you allow, “but to be honest, I’m just exhausted. This whole ordeal. The Doctor. I finally have the chance to leave his service. I could, but I have obligations to other people. To be honest, I have a half-baked plan, but I’m not sure if it’ll work.”

“Are you returning home to Snezhnaya?” he asks, afraid to even put himself in this position of wanting something from you again, and you frown. 

“Kaveh insists I stay here to be safe,” you tell him. “He misses me. I miss him. Travelling Teyvat, all I could think about is how much he would appreciate the different types of architecture around the world.” You shrug. “But… he doesn’t really recognize me as a person. It’ll take some time for him to get used to the fact that I’m more machine than human.”

“You’re still you,” he assures immediately and you arch an eyebrow. 

“How do you know?”

“Because you haven’t killed me yet when I deserve punishment for what I did to you so you must have a heart,” Al-Haitham answers steadily. “And I know you could strike me down if you wanted to. Don’t lie to me.”

“Al-Haitham…” Your mouth moves but you don’t speak, and he nods, understanding.

“My opinion shouldn’t matter, but I would like you to stay.” He cringes at even recommending it. “I know I have no right to ask this favour of you.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I thought you didn’t believe in favours.”

“I don’t.”

They sit in silence. You draw your hands towards you on the table. He steeples his fingers and looks out at the port to give himself something to do. The quiet isn’t amiable, but not openly hostile. Al-Haitham never thought he would be able to do this again. To sit across from you had been a long forgotten wish, and he doesn’t want to ruin it now, so he waits for you to start again.

“Did you ever open the box I gave you before I left?” you ask after a while. You’ve been tracing the woodgrain with your finger, and Al-Haitham has been watching you do it. You lift your hand back up and rest your chin in your palm to look out the window.

“I did.” A hard swallow. “How did you find such a collection of journal entries? They must’ve been rare.”

“Ruin diving and desert exploration,” you explain briefly. “At the time, you said you were interested in that catastrophe the oldest historical biographies mentioned, and when I had come across one of the journals detailing first hand experiences of a scholar during that time, I had to find out if there was more I could find and translate. Those six entries were all I could find at the time being.”

“There were more in the House of Daena’s collection. The entire anthology was called A Thousand Nights. A lot has been lost to time, so the rarity of these journals is high,” he says, and at last, you give into a faint smile although you still don’t look at him.

“You found more?”

“Yes, although the ones you gave me are stored safely in the box.”

“Not turning in precious material to the Akademiya? How rebellious, Al-Haitham,” you intone. You finally tilt your head towards him, and your smile has his heart racing. “Al-Haitham, you know of my feelings for you. What about yours?”

“Are you asking if they’ve changed?”

You nod. 

“Why does that matter?”

“I don’t know. Because I doubted it for a very long time. I thought that someone who loved me wouldn’t dare to do the things you did to me, but that’s an idealistic of the world I don’t have anymore. I don’t exactly trust you right now,” you tack on quickly, “but right now is honesty hour, isn’t it?”

“Seems like it.” He thinks on it for a moment. He could very well lie. It’d probably the easier choice for you to not possibly feel obligated in some way to his feelings. You wouldn’t have the burden of knowing that his love is unfaithful, nor would the chance to tempt it be there. 

And you’d believe whatever he says. Whether or not you know it’s the truth, you’d probably force yourself to believe it and he would, too, and they could leave all of this… them, their past, their present, and their potential future, too, in the sand.

Honesty hour. 

Is that what you called it?

“I did love you,” he admits when his moment is up. “I grieved you for a long time. I knew it was my fault that you had died and debated if my cushy job was worth surrendering the one person who could actually stand me and, against all odds, loved me for who I was. Those hours in your camp before I stole the documents made me feel the most helpless I’ve ever felt in my life and I hated it.”

“And now?”

“Now?” He ponders over this. “As soon as Kaveh told me you were here, I ran just to see you myself because I couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to see you when I had the chance. I… you’re not the same. I understand that. I understand my part to play in this, and I know that what I feel should not influence your decisions. I ask that you don’t consider them at all.”

“Al-Haitham…”

“I do love you. I’ve loved you for years, but it feels… longer than that somehow. Maybe I don’t make sense, but even when I couldn’t dream, I could still see you in my sleep.” Your stricken face makes him blink, and he fights the burning in his face and ears by looking down. The tightness in his sternum only aches more. “I don’t want your forgiveness, but I do love you.”

You are quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then, unexpectedly, you say, “There’s a box”—and he jerks his head up, confused “—that I hid in the Balladeer’s chambers. I’m not sure if it’s completely destroyed by now, but only you and I have clearance for it.”

“What’s inside?”

“All the things that reminded me of you in the past five years. Things I wrote about you. Blueprints for your hearing aids. Collectibles I thought you’d like. I don’t know. Just a bit of everything, honestly.” His eyes widen. You don’t seem to notice, or you don’t let it deter you. “When I told you that I wasn’t sure if I loved you still, it’s because I’m trying not to love you. It’s very easy to convince myself I don’t when I never see you. But I see you and I feel disgusted.” 

You chuckle a bit, almost nervous. Al-Haitham isn’t quite sure of what to say. Grasping at straws, he opens his mouth to speak but you shake your head.

“To be honest, I never gave myself a chance to let my love for you die,” you whisper. “The disgust comes from remembering what you did, but it’s so overwhelmed by everything else. The longer I sit talking to you, I just feel like everything’s the same.”

“But it isn’t.”

“It can’t ever be, Al-Haitham” you agree. “But I’m willing to pretend. Just for a little while.” You look down at your hands, and slowly pull your glove off. A plate of silver metal catches the sun rays and Al-Haitham’s heart lodges right up in his throat at the cylindrical fingers that tug at your other glove revealing skin and a hand that he recognizes. “I thought it would be best if you saw it.”

“Does it… feel different?”

“Yes. I don’t… feel much the same way anymore, but most of the work was internal. Injections, a heightened metabolism, tinkered senses. A new leg. My eyes, obviously.” You gesture to your pupils, but they seem more natural the longer Al-Haitham watches. “My Vision gave me even more durability and he couldn’t kill me because of how useful I was to him, but I was the next best thing to a perfect subject.”

“Your father, then?“

“He’s alive. It was either him or me, and I gave myself up in an instant,” you answer. “I don’t regret that much of my life.”

He reaches forward tentatively for your flesh hand, but your mechanical hand comes into contact with him first, warm against his wrist. It’s almost like you’re still alive there, but the texture is too smooth, the edges where the metal plates too sharp to be human, and he looks down at the hand that touches him.

This is who you are now. This is who he’s made you.

“I want to move my family away from Snezhnaya, Al-Haitham,” you tell him in the lowest tone you can muster. Al-Haitham’s eyes meet yours, and a soft, pleading expression has taken over your face. “I know you’re the Acting Grand Sage, and that you have duties to the Akademiya, but—“ and he hears it for what it is.

I want there to be a chance for us.

“I would give you anything I could in a heartbeat,” he swears immediately. “If you need asylum, I’d be more than obliged to grant you your request. I—“ But nothing comes out. What his words cannot say, he hopes the silence can. I love you. I will help you in any way I can. I love you. I miss you. I love you.

I’ll find you.

I love you.

“You have beautiful eyes, Al-Haitham,” you whisper, lifting a hand to his cheek. When metal touches his smooth cheek, his eyes flutter closed, and a soft amused hum leaves his companion. “I think I’ve told you that before, haven’t I?”

Cupping your wrist with his own hand, he turns his face into your palm. It smells like nothing, yet there is a hint of your scent clinging to your sleeve that slowly seeps into his nose. His lips kiss the ticklish part of your hand, and your mechanical hand reacts like your normal flesh one would—your fingers curl against his face, and your thumb strokes underneath his eye.

He smiles. “Yes. Yes, I’m certain you have.”

Buer - About Samsaras

The Traveler reaches Port Ormos by nightfall a few days later. By then, it’s too late and they’re too exhausted to even think about trying to find the man they search for. For all intents and purposes, he could be gone, but it doesn’t hurt to ask around on their way to their room.

They ask the owner of the hotel, Shapur, manning the concierge, who briefly mentions seeing the Acting Grand Sage walking with a woman renting a room in the hotel by the water. She had the most distinct purple eyes. 

Somehow, the Traveler knows that’s who they’re looking for and they take off again with renewed vigour, and leave Paimon in the dust.

They reach the port quickly. It’s mostly empty, but there are two distinct figures sitting by the water speaking. The moon is their only witness, and when the Traveler steps from around a pillar to observe them more clearly, they can see those purple eyes that Shapur mentioned clearer than day. They glow, even at night, and look almost fake. They’ve never seen eyes of a normal mortal glow like hers do.

Then, Al-Haitham, leaning back onto his arms, pushes himself up, and he extends a hand to his companion to help her up. When he turns, his eyes, too, catch the bright moonlight in a flash of golden divinity.

For a moment, time seems to stop, and the Traveler watches as they, holding hands, begin to walk further down the pier.

“This world is an eternal samsara,” someone comments. Spinning around, the Traveler’s eyes widen at Buer walking from a nearby ramp. When had they fallen asleep? She smiles, green eyes wide and innocent. “Just as there are memories of passed family members living in those of the present, gods never truly die. They are reborn when the time is right, and even alike souls can find one another again.”

The Traveler frowns. “What do you mean?”

“They’re happy. Let’s not disturb them,” she says instead, stretching out her hand. The Traveler takes it, and instantly, they are brought back to their room in Shapur Hotel. Paimon has fallen asleep, and the Traveler sits on their bed. Buer perches herself on the table, her feet not quite making it to the chair. 

“When did I fall asleep?”

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t a long time. I just didn’t want to ruin their reconciliation,” she explains. “I don’t remember them well, anymore, but as I’ve read more ancient texts in hopes of… remembering the more important details that have been lost to me, the times I had with King Deshret and the Lord of Flowers come clearer. Together, we were the three God-Kings of Sumeru. It’s unfortunate you were unable to meet them. They seemed to be my greatest friends.”

“They both died ages ago,” the Traveler says, and the knowledge that comes to their mind is stuck in their throat, chained from being freed. Rukkhadevata and the forbidden knowledge. That must be a secret that stays a secret.

Buer giggles. “Died in the loosest sense of the term. Gods don’t truly die. They may be banished, or lose their memories, but their essence is immortal. Even when they seem to be gone, a seed of them will always remain on this planet, seeking the right time and conditions to sprout.”

The Traveler’s spine shoots ramrod straight, and their mouth drops open. “You don’t mean…”

“Although it’s hard to confirm, I find it hard to mistake the similarities between your friend and mine. Deshret has been reborn,” she says, “not resurrected like the Eremites had predicted. As for the Artificer. Her purple eyes, although artificially made, bear a striking resemblance to those Padisarahs of ages past, don’t they?”

“Like the one in Nilou’s dream,” the Traveler realizes, all of it dawning on them like a flood and crashing wave.

Buer nods. “There are very few coincidences in this world. Be happy for them. Their ending in their last lives was not a happy one and they’ve struggled and toiled in this samsara, too, just for the chance to meet again. Even still, they will have to continue to fight these challenges to persevere.” She sighs, looking down at her feet. “Hopefully in the next one life, they can just be born friends and save each other some heartache, and maybe we can be friends again, too.”

“The Goddess of Flowers sacrificed everything for the price of King Deshret’s divine knowledge,” the Traveler points out distantly, their voice soft and wistful. “He drove himself mad because she was gone.”

“There are some events that must repeat on different scales in each samsara,” the Dendro Archon agrees quietly. “A first meeting, a death, a betrayal. I’m happy that my friends have found one another again, even if they don’t remember, but perhaps that is their pinned, pre-determined fateful event that must happen in every samsara. I don’t know. Irminsul’s powers are beyond even my full understanding.”

“They say she disappeared in a storm.” A sharp chill shoots down the Traveler’s spine as Buer hums, nodding. “And she was never seen again.”

“You’re understanding,” she says, delighted. “This time, though, she came back to him, and this time, he knows the knowledge he craves is not worth losing her love.” Buer smiles cheek-to-cheek. “The rest is up to them, now.”

a/n: reblog/comment if you enjoyed! did you catch all the parallels and foreshadowing? there was as much as i could stuff in, from subtle to unsubtle! i read and watched so many theory threads/videos for this and again this was such a fun collab! 

the prompt was to either make the third person (in this kaveh) a love interest or someone who helps the main couple get together, and i thought why not a bit of both. after all, it is kaveh who was al-haitham’s biggest reason not to confess, and also kaveh who told al-haitham where to find you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ heheh thank you for reading!!

[technicallyfriendly]

I promised a while ago I would make a fanfiction rec list for lucemond, so here we go:

Star-crossed by DominaReginald

I have to say this is my all-time favourite lucemond fic. If you like the Lucerys-gets-kidnapped-instead-of-eaten-at-Storm's-End-trope, then this one is already worth a read, but what I love about this story is that it shows how the conflict really impacts lucemond's relationship, which is the focus of the plot. Much happens, of course, but the story focuses on how the war and Aemond's subsequent participation in it impacts his relationship with Lucerys. It's also very interesting how this story handles the marriage pact with the Baratheons. But really, a short summary will not do this master piece justice, so I urge you to go and read it yourself! For anyone who is hesitant due to the major character death warning: It's not the main couple, though the deaths occurring are tragic and happen to beloved characters.

the beast you've made of me by MotherMaidenCrone

I don't think anyone has walked past this amazing and beautiful fic in this fandom, but it still deserves its mention on this list as well. No other story has ever done a Team Neutral approach this well and nuanced. If you wanna see Lucerys girilboss his way through King's Landing politics and beat everyone at the Game of Thrones in a desperate bid to save his family from self-destruction, this is for you!

the tragic evolution of desire by toraophim

So I debated long and hard before I added this on because, boy, does this one make you feel stuff, and a lot of it is not great. It's an amazingly written story, and since I enjoy dark themes, I did like it a lot. Though, and this is important, the warnings are there for a reason, this dove is deader than dead. Also, none of the characters are having a good time here aside from Aegon for a time, which is why you should not read this if you are an Aegon stan. The author really turned him into a monster. If you are like me and enjoy an emotional rollercoaster with a somewhat happy ending, I say proceed with caution ;).

Set fire to the rain by baby345

This is a collection of a few short stories about lucemond. I really enjoy the writing and its variety!

Blood for Blood by GoddessofRoyalty

The way the author puts it in the summary is actually the best way to describe this fic: Aemond is not cruel, but he is also not kind (and Lucerys has both none of and all the power). And that is also how I like their dynamic. The story is told in snippets of their life together before and after the marriage, and the writing is really enjoyable!

all I had to give by monkkeyslut

This one starts out as one-sided love despite Aemond trying really hard, in his own way of course, but it's not just about their relationship but also about dealing with the aftermath of the war and the current unstable position of Lucerys due to the continued absence of an heir. This fanfiction is not only well written and a great ride, but the author also has an interesting take on Alys before we got even got introduced to her in HotD.

Office Lucemond by Avonne

This is a collection of ModernAU!Lucemond fanfiction about lucemond matching each other's freak told through the eyes of their stunned and slightly terrified coworkers and through the eyes of a very unimpressed Vharga.

Borros and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by lucerysinthesky

This is the funniest lucemond fanfiction I've ever read, which is why it gets a place on this list despite being tragically unfinished, but I have not given up hope quite yet! Maybe one day we'll get the last chapter. Still even unfinished, it is awesome, and it'll make you cry laughing, I promise. The title says it all already, and Borro's does suffer a lot while also having a full character arc and all while trying unsuccessfully not to die.

For now, I'll finish this rec list here, but there are still many more great stories out there that I haven't mentioned. Maybe I'll update it in the future or make another one for the once that I did not include here. For the ones reading this, I wish you a lot of fun reading the stories!

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Living Dead

Summary: Before meeting the Emperor, Mortarion meets a girl who might love him. At least that's what he thinks.

Mortarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Dark romance, gore/rot (a little bit), obssession, yandere.

Guys, it's all your fault. I wasn't a Mortarion fan before your fics.

Every day Barbarus defended their freedom. People were no longer afraid. They fought for lives against rotten tyrants. And every day Mortarion was getting closer to his goal. He led all these people with him. But he never felt at home. Didn't find a family. But at least he was “among his own”, and not locked with monsters in a poisonous stronghold.

The poison was a weapon, but also a reminder of the monsters' strenght. He used his power, but he hated it. His whole appearance resembled death. No wonder people avoided him even if he is a reason why they finally fight back. And then he met you.

You lived in one of the distant villages, which was often attacked by tyrants. On one of these days, your spouse was taken away for a play. And although he was able to escape, as Сalas Typhon had once done, he was unable to cope with the top layer of Barbarus. His skin was healing, he smelled of death, and poison oozed from open, rotten wounds. Living Dead.

But you continued to live with him. You accepted him as such a disgusting thing. You loved him.

Mortarion still could not understand how this was possible. He saw how hard it was for you, how often you hid from his eyes to cry out all the tears. How do you stop yourself from gagging at the smell? But you were still with him. You could, no, should have, renounced him. Continue to live and move on.

Nobody understood you. All the villagers said you were crazy. Mortarion's warriors pitied you, but thought you were too naive. As for Сalas, he looked after you for a long time. He said that you remind him of someone and that you're a good girl.

It's true, you were kind. Even too much. And Mortarion himself did not understand how he felt envy of the living corpse. "Father" did not love Mortarion, he did not care about him. His warriors may have respected him, but they were never equals.

And one day he began to wonder more and more often… will you also stroke his hair… hug him tenderly… wash his wounds and help him bathe… will you smile at him as if he is the most beautiful person you have ever seen. Will you kiss him like you kissed your husband?

Such strange thoughts. Insignificant, unimportant, vulgar. Completely out of character for him. Why is it important for him to know what you think about him? What could you do with him? Does he really need to feel affection that badly? To feel not just needed, but loved. He leads thousands of lives. But why does his heart beat so hard when he sees your gaze?

Alas, you are not a witch. The problem is not you. There's something wrong with him. You don't even belong to him. And all your attention is focused on your dying husband. But he won’t even be able to protect you when the lords come to your village. But Mortarion can. He is your true savior.

But everything goes away sooner or later. All the villagers only breathed a sigh of relief when your husband left this world. But not you. You're desperate. You're broken. All alone. There is no one else to give your goods to.

Mortarion himself didn’t notice how he put his hand on your shoulder. And he is so ashamed but so happy to see your haunted tearful gaze. You looked at your husband in the same way before enveloped him in your love.

- No need for tears. I'll take care of you.

He will.

[punkzines]

Quiet night, quiet life, quiet monster beside his ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ quiet human.

“all the stars are closer.”

a/n: i wrote this in 30 minutes don’t judge. if you do, i’ll make sure you regret it/j. There are brief mentions to part 1 // part 3

summary: godzilla and reader hang out

Click.

The sound fills the silence of the quiet night. You were on a small cliff (away from the loud cities you really despised somewhere close to New Zealand), but not too close to the edge. You didn’t want an accident to accidentally happen, now did you?

Beautiful, you thought. You didn’t have a camera, yet- all because they were too expensive but your phone camera still seemed to work fine. It could be better though, it never really fully captures the bright light of the stars- never their true essence.

“I can’t wait till I can afford a real camera.” You said, swiping away at the pictures you took. The pictures always looked good, you’re sure that if you posted it you’d hear compliments about it, not to be overly confident of course. “Or better yet, a camera and a telescope. These pictures are…” Again, they could be better. You save the ones you specifically like in a photo album.

Your comment doesn’t go unheard, as there is a little huff followed by a rumble behind you.

You chuckle, turning around meeting Godzilla's eyes. They looked at you gently, calmly. Godzilla looked tired, his eyes opened and closed slowly at you. It is as if he would fall asleep at any second.

This bond you share with Godzilla- you never really know how it came to be. Yes, he saved you from drowning but— although, you didn’t remember that up until, what? A few months ago? It makes the encounter at the beach make much more sense. It wasn’t any less weird, what did you have to give? Godzilla was incredible! And you? You were just… a human.

Still, it was nice. You liked hanging around Godzilla, actually it was one of the things you always looked forward to. Anytime you went to the beach or honestly anywhere close to where Godzilla was, which was often because it was hard to avoid the other (not that you would ever do that purposely) he would rest close to you but to avoid any conflict with others, you would let him pick you up and take you both to some secluded island. This annoyingly brought the attention of the Monarch, but they always stayed back— Godzilla always made sure of that.

It didn’t take long till you felt like, slowly, you understood him. Sure, you didn’t know everything about him, like his favorite cake- if he even had one, could he have one? Even if he did or didn’t, you still felt some type of connection. Like, you could understand his feelings and intentions. In some way, at least. Godzilla was powerful, yes, but he wasn’t immune to loneliness, grief and pain. He has so much responsibility to bear.

Everyone always asks what Godzilla is doing, never how Godzilla is doing.

That was something you could relate to, in more ways than one. It was sad, you felt like the least you could was, you don’t know, keep him company and let him know you’re always a safe space. A safe person to be around.

And it wasn’t like you were also beginning to understand his feelings, but also what he said! At the beginning, you heavily relied on body language or intuition to kind of understand what message he was trying to send your way. But now? Now you could understand almost all he said, his speech was different though. Much shorter, cut off. Probably because English wasn’t his language.

“You know it’s true!” You replied, sitting closely beside him in a way he could comfortably see you. The grass felt slightly wet and a little bit itchy, you could handle it though. Turning off your phone, you turn to him once again. “Could I lean on you?”

Godzilla blinks at you. Yes.

You nod. As you lean on him, he wags his tail a little bit closer to you, careful to keep the dorsal plates away from your body, in order to not harm it. His skin feels prickly, rough. Not that you minded, it was strangely soothing. The texture felt nice. Your ear is pressed to his side, letting you hear his steady breathing much louder. You could pick up the faint sound of a heart too, well it wasn’t faint, but then again his breath was really loud. That was normal.

“Are we sleeping here tonight?”

We are. If you wish to.

“You know I want to.” You replied, putting you hard against his skin and caressing it. The first time you tried that was out of instinct, but it quickly became a habit since Godzilla never protested against it. You hear a small chirp set deep within him and his tail snuggles closer to you.

I will wake you up. Early. We will swim back home.

You groan at the comment. “Ahhhh, why early? Could we sleep until I wake up?” You weren’t worried about any bugs, there never were any close to Godzilla, you were glad for that.

If we do that, we will stay here for another night. That isn’t good.

“You wake up as soon as you feel the smallest ray of sunshine.”

I wake up earlier. I just wait for you. Never again. Godzilla makes a deep sound, suddenly opening his mouth and yawning. And you find yourself yawning too.

“That’s totally not fair.” You said, but finally stop complaining. Arguing with Godzilla never was something you could ever win, not at all. Especially when you’re also feeling pretty tired. No, really tired.

“This is nice.” You manage to mumble out before you drift to sleep against Godzilla, who slept peacefully as well.

────────────

a/n: As you both sleep, Godzilla says something that deeply resonates with you.

I like poker face.

[neverchecking]

Hi I love you wirk

And I love how you call totk link sage

Also the cold attack boost outfit I love it my favorite The open back and showing his hips 🤤😋 hot

And I love the zonia

And I have a request

Can I request yandere sage x ruyla ( autocorrect Keeps fixing his name) king of the zonia daughter reader

Smut

Like the reader was sent to the future from her dad with out anyone knowing

And tells link to find his daughter who asleep not to far away from his shrine and go to a the time temple top and the zonia worker will show him the way

And they reade is a sweet flower but looks up to Link.

And link falls for her.

And won't let anyone take her even if it mean Baby trapping her please and thank you

And I love you.

At first I was like Raylu???? Then I noticed you mentioned autocorrect and I was like ah- Rauru.

You absolutely can. I love every part of this idea. I feel like a perfect companion to Sage is one that is just such a sunshiney baby.

Anyway, I meant to get this out last night after work, but I got high instead and spent an hour watching the ceiling fan. I also wrote like the weirdest draft ideas and I'm deciding if they're worth fleshing out at all.

(Sage is TotK Link!)

Also smut so MDNI! 18+

Smut CW: Breeding kink, baby trapping, reader is a little naive. Sage. He's a crusty little bastard. (affectionately) Dumbification.

It had many names, the Legend of the Dragon's Daughter. Many of which titled it as either a legend or a story. A myth. Some warned of great dangers surrounding the aura of the spirit the legend told about. Other's told of the pure divinity that this being held in the palm of their hand. The grace and adroitness that lined their very pores was spoken of so fondly by the older generations who had heard the story from their own grandparents, who had heard it from theirs and so on and so forth. The older Zora especially spoke of her in such a tone he found himself lending a little belief to the legend.

The story told of a daughter, blessed to the first King and Queen of Hyrule by the Three Goddesses themselves. A princess bestowed with the gift of beauty and grace, a beacon to the budding kingdom. There were even carvings under Hyrule Castle, hidden by toppled boulders, that portrayed her image.

And he would admit. She looked like a being having been blessed by the heavens above.

The carvings had showed an ugly side to an already bitter story. How this princess, this goddess sculpted muse, was struck down by the Demon King as a means to get back at both King Rauru and Queen Sonia. The carvings from there had been too worn down to get a clear reading, but it was enough to pique his interest. Besides, what else did he have to do? Save a princess who had no issues with leaving him to die? Deal with monsters that the people of Hyrule already knew damn well how to deal with and were no longer scared of them? Traverse the depths and all the lightroots he had already found?

At least this way, he may get some new power out of it. If nothing else, at least he had a good story for Traysi.

His first area to investigate was the sky island he woke up on. He could still spot Rauru's spirit in certain areas, understanding the solemn look he seemed to wear much more than he previously did.

It was also much easier to travel around the island this time around, which was a bonus.

When prodded for answers, something complicated flashed over the spirit's face before it settled into a Grim acceptance. One Link had worn too often right after remembering the untimely demise of the Champions.

"She was gravely injured. My precious sunshine. I almost lost her that day." He had spoken in a grave echo, eyes glazed and far off, as if seeing his daughter right in front of him. "My sister, Mineru, had offered her services in an effort to preserve her soul. I am unsure if it had worked. I haven't had the heart to look. I would be such a disappointment to her fiery heart and iron strong will to shine in the brightest ways possible. She was kept in the Temple of Time if you are at all curious."

He was. He was curious. He wanted to see this being for himself. If Rauru spoke so highly of you, it had to be worth it. And it was either this or go save Zelda, and he figured she was fine doing what she currently was for a little while longer.

At least until he looked further into this.

Walking into the temple, he hummed to himself as he looked around, spotting the blue glow of Rauru near a wall closer to the exit. He nodded solemnly when Link approached. The hand that matched his own raised to the wall, pulling forth one of those green symbols that chimed at his hand. The bricks shuffled and moved while Rauru faded out, leaving an unactive construct in front of him. It rattled to life, chirping up at him before recognizing that he was friend and not foe. The Construct explained that he was designed to protect the chasm the Princess was being kept in, but since Rauru had deemed him worthy, he would escort the blond to the place. It wasn't a long journey, not at all, just down a spiraling staircase with stone walls curtained by moss.

But the moment he laid eyes on you, he understood why you were hidden.

You face was lax in such a peaceful expression as your body remained weightless, suspended in a bubble of seafoam green and ocean blue. Your hair was splaying up behind you as if you were underwater with your hands clasped around a hilt of a sword. Even the sword itself was divinity in a blade, glowing a bright white from it's place in front of you. You were clad in white robes trimmed in cold with a stone necklace laced around your delicate neck, those same white earrings hanging from your ears.

You were...ethereal. From the curve of your jawbone to the plump flesh of your cheeks, he was enthralled by your very essence. The curve of your shoulders and the toned flow of your arms, even the dip in your collarbone-- all of it had his eyes trailing every bend and curve of your body.

What he wouldn't do to get a piece of you.

He ached to just touch your sun-kissed skin, to feel it under his palms as he held you. To feel the run of your hips, fingers gripping at the dips that decorated them. To paint them a splattering of blues and purples in a lasting reminder of who he was and what he had done to you. To bite and nibble at the flesh just to hear the kind of cries you would make.

Goddess, he couldn't imagine what your voice sounded like, but he wanted to. He wanted to hear what it sounded like while you breathlessly gasped out. To hear what it sounded like when you cried out his name in pure ecstasy as you withered underneath of him. To hear you give yourself to him entirely.

He wanted to feel your weight on top of him, to experience your hands in his hair (Or cupping his cheeks if he chose to allow himself that vulnerability), to live in your orbit, worshipping you as his one true Goddess.

His eyes landed on the same green symbol that unlocked everything pertaining to the Zonai. He raised his hand in response. It lit up a bright green before fading. The bubble shined brightly before growing, eventually popping and exposing you to the elements. Which why? You were so vulnerable like that? Why not just give you to him directly? You were at risk like this. Couldn't they SEE THAT-

Whatever invisible force keeping you suspended gently laid you on your feet, which were bare, only adorned with an anklet matching your necklace. The tip of the sword in your hand clinked against the stone floor. The echo of it made your eyes, your gorgeous, gorgeous eyes, snap open. If he thought seeing you before was captivating, this was downright...enchanting. The light of your irises positively glowed as your silently gasped, hands tightening around the hilt of the weapon. He rushed to your side as he saw your balance falter, cradling you in his arms as one of your hands came to gently hold your own temple. Even just the sound of your groan made him swallow hard, fighting the blood threatening to rush to his (dick-) cheeks.

You blinked before realizing that he was not someone you knew, pushing him away with much more force than he would expect from someone fresh out of a comatose state. The only thing stopping him from wrapping his arms around you once more was the tip of the very blade now prodding at his neck. He swallowed.

"Who are you?" You demanded, hold on the weapon shaking just a tad.

(Which was so adorable. How someone like you, all soft skin and doe eyes, expected to make someone like him, rugged scars and gnarled morals, bend to you was beyond him.)

(But he'd love to see you try anyway.)

"Where are my people?! Or Queen Sonia and King Rauru?!" Oh, you were so cute.

He wanted to decimate that innocence you carried.

With a careful hand, he gently pushed the blade aside with the back of a hand, letting a smug smirk settle on his lips. Your cheeks immediately reddened as your attention remained on him. Just as he liked it, he decided then and there. He liked having your attention (and only yours) on him. But having you acting so hostile towards him just wouldn't stand. But you didn't know any better, not yet anyway, so he'd let it slide.

He gently explained that you had been fatally wounded protecting your people, something that your parents were endlessly proud of you for-- even in death. While it was a direct shot in his, admittedly lacking, heart to be the one to tell you of the passed time and the death of your parents (The sacrifice of your father and the betrayal that lead to your mother's death), he was evidently the best and only option. He understood, on an intimate level, what it was like to loose so much time, healing yourself, while the rest of the world carried on, carrying the loss of friends and family with it. He knew what it was like. It had to be why you two were so perfect for each other.

He held you as your cried, soothing down your hair as your tears (Which should never have been shed) soaked his shoulder. While he was never interested in defeating the Demon King for Zelda's sake, he may have just found another motive.

One much more worthy of his time and attention.

<><><><>

When he first saw you, he understood why you were hidden, on a surface level.

He understood why much more on a deeper, more intimate one now.

You were so bubbly. Even when faced with the devastation of your home, you remained optimistic, greeting the constructs that roamed around happily. Bestowing your cherished kisses (Those should belong to him.) upon their cold exterior while wiping them free of dirt. Even the wildlife that had squawked and charged at him crooned and chirped under your touch, hankering for the scratches you gifted them under the chin. You saw beauty in the overrun weeds and fauna, taking great interest in the new species that had popped up.

When he took to the mainland, via shrine travel because he would be damned before you got down the same way he originally did, it seemed like you couldn't see everything fast enough. You loved exploring the caves, despite the Like-Likes baring their disgusting teeth and innards (Which he quickly disposed of), ached to get as close as possible to the chasms (Which wasn't very as he refused to risk you falling in), yearned to traverse the mountain peaks and snow dunes of the mainland (Which killed him on the inside since didn't you know how dangerous those were?!).

You were quite the adventurer, full of inexperienced naivety and unpoised curiosity. The exact opposite of the princess he knew. He forgot you were royalty have the time with your mannerisms, nothing like Zelda. Which was so refreshing.

If only you weren't so fragile. He would never admit it (Too your face at least) that he's thought of just tying you down and keeping you in his (He saw it as your shared home these days) home. It was on the far outskirts of Tarrey town (Far enough no one would hear your cries for help should it come to that) with a pasture out front so you could keep a horse nearby as a friend (Should you behave).

(It wouldn't be a young, steady horse. No, most likely an older horse who had long since retired from any sort of running or getaway attempts.)

He just needed a way to keep you stationary.

And it hit him like a Hinox. You two were walking around Hateno (It was deemed safe and far enough from Tarry Town that it was still new to you), when you stopped, let out a high enough squeal his ears pinned to his head as his head snapped towards you. You were always in his peripheral, but now you were right in front of him with his hands quickly holding your arms, checking you over for injury. There were none, but you were beaming like someone had handed you a million rupees (He would. He could. He'd do it just for you), instead redirecting his attention with a call of 'Link, look!'. He had followed your line of sight just as you began squeezing his own hands, expecting you to be aweing over a cow or goat or, Goddess forbid, a dog again (You very nearly took one of stable dogs home last time). But you weren't.

And that's when it hit him.

You were loosing any semblance of a mind you had over a small infant, strapped to their mother's back by a wrap of some sort. The babe smiled at your reaction, letting out a small cascade of giggles that had you squealing in pure joy.

That was it.

The answer was right there! How could he have been so blind?! It was right there. If he gave you a baby, his baby no less, you would have no choice but to remain dormant. You would have to stay right where he put you to not only protect yourself, but to your protect your child. He had no doubt you would do it. You were too kind, too naive, for any other option. Once you figured out you were carrying his child, you'd fall for thing, claiming it as your own before it was any bigger than an apple seed.

And from then on it would just be a matter of formalities. You'd be his for the rest of your lives.

Exactly what he wanted.

Exactly what had led up to this moment. You were nothing but a babbling, crying mess underneath of him, pulling at the roots of his hair as he folded your legs against your chest. You were pleading with him, some mindless demand that he wasn't even sure you knew what you were asking, but it was background noise. He was too focused on watching the way he disappearing into your cunt, a milky sheen coating the shaft of his cock as heavy dollops of past loads dripped past your gaping opening. It was mesmerizing the way your body reacted to him, sucking him in and fighting him every time he pulled out. Even on an unconscious level, you ached for him. Not nearly as much as he breathed for you, but that would come with time. He knew it would. He'd ensure it.

The cry of his name on your lips had the coil in his gut steadily tightening as his pace picked up, thoroughly hammering your insides. He needed to make sure he was prodded right against your cervix for this to work. He needed to get this right. He needed to father any and all of your children. Starting here and now.

Whether you knew about it or not.

You had babbled something about him pulling out too long ago, but he had...distracted you with long laps at your clit and soft nipples along your thighs. He didn't even think of truly ruining you until you were clenching your thighs around his head and drenching his bottom jaw, too gone to properly process anything going on around you.

And he'd keep it that way.

His thumb, rough and calloused, rubbed harsh little circles into your clit, feeling it pulse in time with his ministrations. You whimpered beneath him, chest arching up to push against his own as you cried out, squeezing around him. You were positively milking him for every drop he had to offer.

There was no way you didn't want his children. Not with the way you were clenching around him as he jutted as far as he could go, filling your womb once more. You laid boneless beneath him, hands dropping to hang around his neck as he took a moment to breath. Your cunt spasmed once more and his cock twitched inside of you.

"You're not done yet, are you, Princess?" He purred into your ear, making it flicker as he rolled his hips against yours, even if overstimulation rocked his entire system in a flash of shot nerves.

None of that mattered to him. He had a mission. A mission he would do anything to accomplish.

Anything to keep you as his.

Yes, the reader was holding the Light Sword. Yes, I know that's not how you get it. I just thought it would be a cool tidbit bc YES, Sage seems like the type to get turned on by a hot princess threatening with a sword.

[tyrantisterror]

While we’re on the subject of characters who “make you truly question makes one villainous”, what do you think of the take that villains, or at least ‘true’ villains, shouldn’t be sympathetic at all. That villains should simply be motivated by petty selfishness and cruelty. On one hand, that doesn’t sound like it makes for compelling stories, but on the other… most real-life villains really are motivated by nothing but greed and selfishness. And gain power by making people sympathize with them.

"Villain" is a word that has a lot of nuance to it that people in turn tend to overlook in favor of reducing it to "the guy it's ok to hate." "Antagonist" has the same problem, perhaps even worse, but that's another conversation.

Definitions don't help because more often than not they end up being intensely reductive of the broad scope of meanings the word has - again, another word with a similar problem in this regard is "monster," which can mean a bunch of a very different things that are all nonetheless recognizable by bearing some element of "monstrosity" to them.

So, like, one valid definition of villain is "an evil and unsympathetic character the audience is meant to hate." And I imagine if you gave that definition to most people, they'd agree - until you get to sympathetic characters who are still unmistakably villains. Like, would anyone say the word "villain" shouldn't include people like Doctor Octopus in Spider-Man II, or Mr. Freeze in Batman the Animated Series? Is Shakespeare's Macbeth excluded from the realm of villains because the play hinges on us finding ways to sympathize with him despite the horrific evil of his actions? Is Milton's Satan, perhaps the most iconic take on The Devil Himself, excluded from the conversation because Milton gave him pathos?

Villainy can be about the nature of your actions, and it can be about your relationship with society, and it can be about your choice of fashion and hobbies. It can be all of these things or none of them. Villainy is a form of being othered, one that has so many tropes attached to it and folded under it that the aesthetics of it can be divorced from the morality assigned to them easily. Villainy is so vast and complex a concept that a story can analyze it from a dozen different angels and still not capture the full scope of it.

Or, as one movie on the subject put it so succinctly:

It's about presentation.

As a writer and a reader of fiction, I love looking at time-tested tropes from a lot of different angles, and prying them apart to see how they work, and then seeing how far they can bend and twist until they break and become something else. I think locking yourself into one simple definition of what a villain can be is very limiting, creatively speaking, and think it's far more interesting to explore the concept from different angles. There's room for simple, pure evil bastards, sure, but there's also room for multifaceted evils, or characters will all the trappings of a villain but actions that ultimately speak to a nobility of spirit others have overlooked. The complexity of the trope is beautiful, why not explore it?