#two scholars and the fool

[kazoosandfannypacks]

summary: when sworn academic rivals Belle French and August Booth are put in the same group for a presentation, things get out of hand— not in the predictable arguing or usual banter, but instead in Belle and August spitefully asking each other out on a date.

word count: 6K words (five chapters, all uploaded at once)

a/n: i started this one a while back but finally came around, polished it up, and got it finished for you guys! I wanna warn you going into this that it is horribly out of character, especially since most of my beauty and the puppet fics are very soft, and this one is a bit... crunchier? edgier? anyways, it's great and we love it. shoutout to the loyal and spectacular @kanerallels for betaing!

taglist: @kanerallels  @accidental-spice  @poptart-cat-78  @booksteaandtoomuchtv  @silver-the-phoenix  {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Beauty and the Puppet taglist, let me know!}

the first chapter is here, but you can read the full story on ao3!

Calling Bluffs- Chapter 1:  the group assignment that doesn't go as planned

 If you'd asked August who he'd pick as his partners for this group assignment, he wouldn't've picked the class clown and his academic rival.

 If you'd asked Belle to pick her partners, she wouldn't've picked Will— she'd made that mistake before— and she certainly wouldn't've picked the only other student in class whose intellect came close to hers— not nearly her equal, if course, but pretentious enough you wouldn't know the difference.

 If you'd asked Will who he'd pick as his partners, he'd've been smart enough not to say the two smartest students in class— the only people on campus stubborn enough to push him to do some of the work himself.

 And yet, when Professor Heller announced the team assignments in class last Monday, he put August, Belle, and Will in the same group.

 And so, Belle found herself in her dorm room with Will and August, sitting around their textbooks and a bag of chips, trying to work on a presentation about classic American Literature.

 "So, what were everyone's ideas for this presentation?" Belle asked.

 "Oh?" August said, "you're actually going to condescend to such lowly individuals as anyone-who's-not-you and actually listen to our input?"

 "I don't know," Belle rolled her eyes, having already failed at starting this project as professionally as possible, "are you going to share intelligent input?"

 "More intelligent than some people here," August glared at Will.

 "For your information," Will rushed to his own defense, "I actually do have an idea."

 Belle knew Will too well than to suspect this would be a good idea.

 "Let's hear it," August said.

 "Our report's on great American writers, right?"

 "Classic American writers," August corrected.

 "Exactly!" Will said, "and who's a more classic writer than famous songwriter Rick Astley? I suggest we start our presentation with…"

 Belle cut him off before he could finish vocalizing his stupidity. "We're not rickrolling our classmates."

 "You didn't even let me finish!" Will said.

 "But was she wrong in her assumption?" August asked.

 "What's that got to do with anything?" Will asked, "Literature is all about conveying emotion, and it's hard to put to words that emotion you feel when an inconspicuous link leads to Never Gonna Give You Up."

 "We're not gonna rickroll the rest of the class," August said.

 "Yeah," Belle agreed with August for the first time that semester, "some of us actually care about our grades."

 "A little too much," August said.

 "For the sake of diplomacy I'll ignore that hypocrisy," Belle said, trying as she may not to get into one of those petty academic feuds they so often partook in, "did you have any ideas that won't fail us immediately, August?"

 "As a matter of fact, I do," he said, "we pick an author, each of us writing a synopsis about a different aspect about them- such as recurring themes, personal lives and how it affected their literature, or effects on their works in the academic community- and then compile our findings, using the same template for the PowerPoint so it looks like we actually worked together on the project."

 "An unexpectedly great idea," Belle said.

 "I'm down for it," Will said, "how about I create the PowerPoint while you guys work on the boring stuff?"

 "I don't think so," August said, "in a group project, everyone brings something to the table- something more than throwing a PowerPoint together. What exactly do you bring to this group?"

 "For one thing," Will said, taking a few chips from the bag in front of them, "Doritos."

 "You'll have to try harder than that," August said, "we won't do your work for you."

 "August," Belle said, leaning closer and motioning for him to do the same, speaking in hushed tones so Will wouldn't be as likely to hear, "do you really want to be graded based on how Mr. Astley's biggest fan over here writes a report?"

 They watched Will stack six Doritos on top of each other and shove the whole stack in his mouth at once.

 "He's trying to take advantage of my intellect and your stubborn persistence not to appear imperfect," August said.

 "Will has a special set of gifts," Belle explained, "and one of them is graphic design. He can make our PowerPoint look so professional that no one will notice how pretentious you sound while you're presenting."

 "And to cover up for whatever your intellect may be lacking," August clapped back, then turned to Will, "I think we can make that work- just promise me you won't troll the rest of the class."

 "What if I find a way to thematically tie it into our selected author's themes and narratives?" Will asked.

 "Deal," Belle rolled her eyes again.

 "No deal!" August said, appalled.

 "You wanted him to do research," Belle said, "and he'll do best if he's researching something he's passionate about."

 "And next he'll be comparing The Gifts of the Magi to tortilla chips."

 "I care about more than just tortilla chips," Will scoffed, "there's potato chips too. But believe it or not, I am capable of getting us an A on this assignment."

 "You'd better be,' August said.

 There was silence for a moment as Belle picked up her textbook.

 "Which author would you guys like to write about?" Belle asked, "Hawthorne, Poe, Hemingway…"

 "Samuel Clemens?" August suggested.

 "Everyone is going to do an assignment on Samuel Clemens," Belle said, "that's the most basic answer you could've chosen."

 "You suggested Edgar Alan Poe, and you think Samuel Clemens was a basic suggestion?" August asked, "any self-proclaimed academic would come up with that one."

 "O'Henry then?" Belle asked.

 "Fine by me," August said, "I'll work on the themes and analysis if you wanna study his personal life."

 "So you think the personal life is the easy part, then?" Belle asked.

 "Pardon my display of chivalry," August said, "I simply thought you'd enjoy digging into people's history. Which part of the report would you prefer to give?"

 "Personal life is fine," Belle said, "I wrote about his themes back in high school and want to give myself a challenge this time."

 "And I'll put together the PowerPoint based on what you find," Will said.

 "Meet back here next week to compare findings?" Belle asked.

 "Fine by me," August said.

 "But you guys are bringing chips to the table next week," Will said.

 "Gladly," August said.

 As they began to pack up their supplies, Belle's roommate, Ruby walked in.

 "Hey, Ruby," Belle said.

 "Working on your Classic American Literature project?"

 "Just finished deliberating about it," Belle said, as Ruby sat down at her desk.

 "My group finally settled on an author," Ruby said, "we're gonna present on O'Henry."

 The others all sighed.

 "I told you that was a basic choice," August snapped at Belle.

 "You said Poe was basic," Belle said, curtly, "and that O'Henry would be fine."

 "Let's just do Hawthorne instead."

 "May as well," Belle said.

 "Doesn't matter to me." Will said.

 "Oh, hey, Belle," Ruby said, pulling out her phone, "don't forget to take out the trash."

 "Take out the trash?" Belle asked. Tired of trying her best to be civil, she turned to August, "fine then, wanna go out sometime?"

 It was a cheap shot, but she had to take it.

 "I suppose I have to say yes," August stood up, "it's my turn to take out the trash as well. Tomorrow at six?"

 "Sounds like a date," Belle crossed her arms.

 It wasn't until after the guys left that Belle turned to Ruby and asked, "what just happened?"

 "I think you just got yourself a date," Ruby said, not even looking up from her phone.

 "We were only arguing with each other," Belle explained, "it's a thing, ya know?"

 "Arguing, flirting," Ruby said, "it's all the same thing the way you two do it."

 "You don't," Belle laughed, "you don't think there's anything between August and I, do you?"

 "You mean besides chemistry, tension, and half the campus shipping you?" Ruby asked, "not at all."

 "The rest of our peers think there's something between August and I?" Belle asked.

 "Some of the teachers do too."

 "The same August who refutes everything I say in every class we have together?"

 "He's obsessed with you," Ruby said.

 "Obsessed with hating me," Belle said, "I can't stand him."

 "Yeah," Ruby smiled, "he 'can't stand' you either. That's why he asked you out."

 "We can't carry on a civil conversation," Belle said, "he's a pretentious know-it-all who's always trying to one up me. Why do you think he asked me out as a joke after I asked him? He can't stand being second to me. Knowing him, he'll probably show up at our door with a bouquet of cheap flowers tomorrow night, just to spite me."

 "How is that spiteful?" Ruby asked.

 "Trying to get me to back down from fake asking him out," Belle said, "I'll just have to be one step ahead."

 "How's that?" Ruby asked, "getting all ready for a date, just in case he does show up?"

 "Exactly," Belle said.

 Ruby sighed and rolled her eyes.

read the full story on ao3!

[incorrect-koh-posts]

Your knowledge of medieval stuff is really impressive! You said in the tags of that ask you answered that you majored in literature? I would love to hear more about your passion for medieval literature and just medieval times in general. Did it start with Kingdom of Heaven or were you interested in it long before watching the film?

Ahh, I'm glad you think so, thank you! ☺️

I did my BA with a major in German literature and linguistics and a minor in English lit. For my MA (which I'm almost finished with save for my thesis defence), I switched to English full-time. My interest in medieval literature is really something that came with my studies - I've always had a general interest in history and read lots of historical fiction while in school, but I'd had basically no exposure to medieval texts (or the knowledge to engage somewhat meaningfully with them) until I had to take my first compulsory "Introduction to Medieval Literature" class at uni. From then on, I just kind of fell in love with the subject. We had a great prof - a really cool older lady who gave the most engaging lectures and with whom I later took seminars on topics like the medieval idea of monsters or animal depictions in chivalric romance.

Within all things medieval, the area that perhaps fascinates me the most is medievalism studies, which is a sort of sub-discipline of medieval studies that investigates, broadly speaking, the reception and depiction of the Middle Ages as well as medieval texts and topics in post-medieval media. Idk why it had to be that field in particular, but there's just something so beautiful in finding parallels and continuities between our world and the medieval one, especially since misconceptions about the Middle Ages are still so prevalent. Unsurprisingly, I wrote both of my dissertations on such medieval/modern overlaps: In my BA thesis I looked into the portrayal and function of mentor-mentee relationships in medieval literature and modern adolescent fiction (lots of commonalities there, interestingly enough!), whereas in my MA diss I focused on the construction of dystopian scenarios in recent British Arthurian fiction and how these respond not only to the older Arthurian material but also to present-day environmental and political anxieties. (Sounds a bit complicated but it makes sense, I promise.)

Perhaps this is why KoH has had such a chokehold on me these past 4 years. It's such a flawed piece of media that it makes me want to dig my teeth into it, in an academic as well as a fic-writing sense. There are so many moments in it that could be right out of a chivalric romance, yet also so many others where the film blows its pretence to historicity to all hell; there are so many interesting characters who only scratch at the surface of the historical figures behind them, and simply so much wasted potential. It's just ... ahhh.

The funny thing is that my growing interest in medieval literature kind of coincided with me discovering KoH, which in turn made me dig even deeper into the research side of things (a vicious circle lol). I think I wrote another post on this about a year ago, but me discovering - or rather re-discovering - Kingdom of Heaven was basically the result of the following chain reaction: I somehow stumbled upon an old novel covering the same events as KoH (Graham Shelby's The Knights of Dark Renown) > something in that book's depiction of Raymond of Tripoli scratched my brain in the right place > I investigated further and found KoH > I saw that skrunkly Mr Irons was part of the cast and decided I had to watch it immediately. In such matters I'm a simple girl - nothing will incite me to watch a film more than an old history man being hot 😂

And then half-way through the film I remembered I'd actually seen it before - with my former best friend during the early years of secondary school when she was obsessed (and by that I mean obsessed) with Orlando Bloom and made me watch literally every film with him that she could get her hands on. Which was a good thing only insofar as it made me discover Lord of the Rings. Though in hindsight it's very funny because she clearly intended for me to join her in her Orlando insanity, whereas confused 11-year-old me instead stared at Aragorn and Tiberias like this: 😳. Yes, I've always had impeccable taste, obviously.

And thus, in the spring of the year of our Lord 2020, I entered my KoH era, and so far the brainrot is still thriving.

I do wonder, though, how many people in the fandom have a similar background? The handful of people that I know or have interacted with seem to skew that way, with mostly history- or literature-related fields of study, but I wonder how representative they are of the overall fandom 🤔

In any case, thank you for the fun ask that did not flatter me at all!

[lauralot89]

Actual things that happen in the 1897 Dracula novel, without context:

A character has ominous nightmares and attributes them to eating too much paprika

Dracula first appears wearing a fake beard

The person he was trying to fool with the fake beard immediately realizes Dracula and Beard Guy are the same man, due to both having really firm handshakes

We are told parrots are immortal unless fatally wounded

A Texan cowboy opens fire on a bat flitting around a window, and lodges a bullet in the wall of an occupied room

A woman is called a polyandrist for receiving blood transfusions from multiple men

An incorrectly addressed telegram leads to two deaths, multiple druggings, and several children being assaulted

Dracula, while trying to maintain a low profile, takes a lovely trip to the zoo and freaks out the animals so badly that he gets mentioned in a newspaper article

The one character who knows anything about vampires spends a good two-thirds of the book refusing to talk about vampires

Dracula went to Satan's Witchcraft Academy and somehow this is only brought up in two throwaway lines

A character gets stuck inside a circle of communion wafer crumbs

A major plot point of the book is Dracula (who was said to be a brilliant scholar and has the strength of twenty mortal men) realizing he can move boxes without human help

Someone is referred to as "manifestly a prig of the first water"

Two characters have a hobby of reading train schedules

A hospital lets a mental patient escape to see what will happen

A character starts vomiting up feathers from eating whole birds

A doctor refuses to give a medical diagnosis and instead makes a speech about growing corn

Dracula impersonates another character just by wearing the same clothes, despite being taller and visibly much older. This deception is successful.

A character "cleans" a room by eating all the insects in it

Suddenly: rats. Thousands of them.

The heroes progress in their efforts through "the wonderful power of money," i.e., bribery

Dracula has three other vampires in his castle. Their relation to him is never explained, nor are any of them named.

A character insists his salvation depends on having a pet cat

Dracula is thwarted by flowers on more than one occasion

A group of vampires stand in the hall outside a man's bedroom, talking loudly about their plans to eat him. When he comes to the door to confront them, they run away laughing

Dracula wears an unfashionable hat and gets roasted for it

A group of Romanians encounter a disheveled, shouting man and, "seeing from his violent demeanour that he was English, they [give] him a ticket for the furthest station on the way thither that the train reached."

A boat crashes due to Dracula having the munchies

A wolf is thrown through a window and immediately runs off, confused and covered in glass

Dracula makes a bed

[spatialwave]

Kiss prompts with two dialogue prompts!! For Reader x Jayce, please! 🩷 Thank youuu!

"i think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me"

"shut up" (affectionately)

ask and ye shall receive!!! tysm for sending!!!

pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader word count: 1.1k tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, alcohol use, jayce gets flustered, notes: ok this was so fun omgggg hehehe. my asks are open for more with any char (i'll do my best to stretch my range, but of course i love jayce, hehe). i only have a few more to write which i will be doing tonight & tomorrow!!

“You’re a lightweight,” A smiled pulled across Jayce’s lips, his tanned cheeks were coated by a rosy colour as his hand wrapped around the half-full glass of beer. Honey eyes flickered over your face, noting the way your lips parted as you laughed, the smile reaching your eyes as you waved a hand in front of your face.

“Hardly,” you breathed out as your laugh settled, wobbly on the stool you sat on, “I can handle my liquor just as well as you can.”

“Wow,” he commented with a lift of his brows, “that is a very incorrect statement,” he guzzled the remainder of the dark beer that filled his stomach with heat and left his mind the perfect amount of fuzzy. Enough to make him relax and forget all about the stress of the research that weighed down his shoulders.

As if it were a competition, you finished the rest of yours, the taste bitter on your tongue as you forced it down and ignored the teasing remarks he threw your way.

“Enough,” he laughed, pulling the glass from your lips as some of the liquid dribbled down your chin, “I’m not carrying you home.”

The sound of his laughter caused your heart to ache, a devastating feeling you’d been trying to avoid for weeks. It was disrupting your day-to-day, stupid Jayce Talis and his stupidly beautiful smile and even stupider laugh gave you goosebumps.

“I’m fine!” You swatted at him, your hand smacking his chest playfully as you nearly toppled forward against him.

Jayce was quick to grab you steady at your shoulders, supporting you back to your seat as he dropped his head low enough to get to your level, “Fine? Okay, get up and stand without making a fool of yourself.” 

“What?” You scoffed, furrowing your brows together.

��You heard me, get up and prove you’re fine,” he smirked, letting go of you and resting an elbow on the bar top as his eyes analyzed your movements. His cheek pressed against his knuckles, relaxed, as he waited for you to topple so he could come to your rescue like the knight in shining armour he wanted so desperately to be for you.

You tilted your chin up, huffing as you slid off the stool with calculated ease. Your hand stayed against the stool for support, and it was immediate how the alcohol affected you. The world wasn’t spinning, but you were certainly unable to stand still.

“This is bullshit” you argued when you removed your hand from the stool and stumbled forward, catching yourself before Jayce had the chance to step in. You flashed your eyes at Jayce, “Bet you can’t either.”

He rose to his feet, several inches taller than you, as he crossed his arms over his chest. He quirked an eyebrow, staring down at you, and you rolled your eyes once again.

“You’re so annoying,” you murmured, shifting forward so you could lean against him. You were silent as you felt him drape your coat over your shoulders, knowing what was coming next, “take me home.”

This had become a common occurrence, two young scholars at the academy looking for ways to blow off steam on the weekends. Alcohol was your poison of choice for the past few weekends, indulging in any and all forms of liquor to forget about the upcoming academic week that would certainly leave you exhausted.

“You know,” you murmured, “this is the third weekend in a row we’ve found ourselves in this situation,” you said, arms wrapped around one of Jayce’s so you could steady yourself as you ventured through the quiet late-night streets of Piltover, “are we alcoholics?”

Jayce snorted, “You are.”

“Shut up,” you giggled affectionately, arms gripping tighter around his, and he was forced to clear his throat as he kept his eyes away, redness burning at his cheeks from your closeness, “I like it. I mean, uh, it’s been fun,” your voice was soft as to not echo too loudly off the surrounding buildings, the only other sounds being two pairs of shoes clacking against the pavement, “I don’t know… Sorry, I’m rambling. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

His eyes flickered to you, slowly blinking as he watched the way your eyes focused ahead and unaware of the way he admired you. To him, you were everything. An unrequited love.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” You mumbled, looking up to catch his gaze before he was able to look away.

“I recall you being the one who told me to shut up,” he answered, lips pulled into a smile.

“You’re awfully annoying, has anyone told you that?” You rolled your eyes, tearing your gaze away as you approached the building of your apartment. 

Jayce watched as you pulled away from him, taking the first step up the brick staircase and turning around to face him. You were eye-to-eye now, rather close in proximity, but you hadn’t cared so much. You had enough liquid courage settled in your stomach to clear your mind and lose most of your inhibitions.

“Well,” he sighed after a few moments of awkward silence, eyes flickering away for a moment, “goodnight.”

You hadn’t returned farewell, your feet planted firmly where you stood. With a curiously raised eyebrow, you noted the way his eyes had flickered to your lips a few times, jaw clenching. He was horrible at being sly.

You smiled.

“You’re forgetting something,” you chimed, head tilting playfully as you bit onto your bottom lip.

“No, I’m not,” he returned the raised eyebrow, oblivious to your flirty tone.

“I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me,” you said, a sickly sweet smile playing along your lips. You watched in delight as Jayce became frazzled, cheeks burning a deep red as his lips parted, struggling to say anything. 

“Uh, well–” he stuttered, swallowing a lump down his throat. A much different demeanour than the cocky attitude he had back at the bar.

“I’m kidding,” you laughed, patting his chest a few times, “goodnight, dork,” you hummed fondly, turning to take an unbalanced step toward your apartment.

You hardly moved away when you felt your body being tugged back, turning around just in time to feel Jayce’s lips press against yours. Your eyes widened, shocked that he’d actually done it, your stomach exploding into a mix of butterflies and fireworks.

He pulled away, but you chased, closing the distance once more as your hands lifted to the back of his head, brushing through the short strands of his hair. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling your body close as your lips moved together in an electric kiss.

One that had been avoided for so long, desperate and sweet. Needy.

“Shit,” Jayce whispered through an anxious chuckle when you both pulled back for air, foreheads pressed together and noses bumping. Your breath mingled, the smell of alcohol tickling your nose. You stayed there for a few beats, quietly holding each other and watching the way his eyes dilated as he stared into yours.

“Took you long enough,” you teased, out of breath.

“Shut up,” he whispered, crashing his lips to yours.

[mya-valentine]

Debating Hearts

Synopsis: As fierce academic rivals, you and Alhaitham constantly clash in heated debates. But behind closed doors, you're secretly in a relationship—until Kaveh walks in on a passionate moment. Chaos ensues as you desperately try to maintain your academic reputation.

A/N: This is probably my favorite thing ever

The bustling streets of Sumeru City were awash in the midday sun, casting a warm, golden glow on the myriad of scholars rushing through the Akademiya. Among them, two students stood out—Alhaitham and you. Both of you were notorious for your sharp minds, and even sharper tongues. Every debate, every discussion, every single word exchanged between you two seemed to spark an inevitable fire.

Today was no different.

“You’re oversimplifying the mechanics of elemental resonance,” Alhaitham said, crossing his arms, his gray-green eyes locked onto yours with that familiar condescending edge. “If you’d actually read the primary texts instead of cherry-picking from the summaries, you’d see how flawed your logic is.”

You bristled. “Summaries exist for a reason, Alhaitham. It’s called efficiency. Not everyone has the luxury of pouring over every single word like you do.”

“Only a fool would call it efficiency when it leads to inaccuracies,” he shot back, his voice calm but with that hint of smug superiority that drove you absolutely insane.

Oh, how you hated him. Or at least that’s what you told yourself. Because underneath all that animosity, there was something else. Something no one else knew. Something that would flip Sumeru on its head if anyone found out.

You were dating Alhaitham.

Not that anyone would suspect it. The public bickering, the endless arguments, the way you seemed to enjoy tearing into each other intellectually—it all painted the picture of two people who couldn’t stand one another. But behind closed doors? That was a different story.

---

You made your way toward his house after the latest Akademiya debate, a fire still simmering in your chest. The thrill of clashing with him always left you a little exhilarated, your heartbeat still thundering as you knocked on the door. Alhaitham opened it with a smirk already tugging at his lips, as if he knew you were still riding the high of your argument.

“You’re still wrong about the elemental resonance theory,” he said before you could even step inside.

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you in by the wrist, shutting the door behind you. “You just can’t handle being wrong for once.”

“Incorrect,” he replied smoothly, guiding you over to the couch in the middle of the room. “I just can’t handle you spreading misinformation.”

You were about to retort, but then his hands were on your waist, tugging you closer, and all those brilliant counterarguments you’d been preparing slipped away as he leaned down to press his lips against yours.

It was always like this. The fire that sparked in your arguments burned just as brightly when you kissed. There was a fierce intensity in everything you two did—whether it was trading intellectual blows or tangled together on that couch, fingers gripping at each other like you couldn’t get close enough.

Your hands found their way into his hair as the kiss deepened, the heat between you escalating quickly. He pushed you back against the cushions, his lips never leaving yours, even as he spoke between kisses.

“You—still—didn’t—prove—me wrong,” he muttered, voice husky as he kissed down your neck.

You smirked, tilting your head back to give him better access. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy kissing me, you’d have a chance to think.”

He laughed against your skin, his hands roaming your sides before pulling you back up to meet his mouth again. The clash of teeth and lips was electric, the debate still sparking even amidst the haze of passion.

But then, the door swung open.

Kaveh, returning home earlier than either of you expected, burst in, humming some tune to himself. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as saucers as he took in the sight before him—Alhaitham, shirt slightly rumpled, lips locked with you as you straddled him on the couch, both of you far too engrossed in your little "debate" to notice his entrance right away.

“What the—by the Archons!” Kaveh’s voice was a mixture of horror and disbelief. “What in Sumeru is going on here?!”

The sound of his voice snapped you out of your heated moment, and you instantly shoved Alhaitham away. Your heart leaped into your throat as panic surged through you. If anyone found out about this… your academic reputation, the teasing, the scandal!

Without thinking, you slapped Alhaitham hard across the face.

The sound echoed in the room, followed by a tense silence.

“What the hell are you doing, Alhaitham?!” you shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at him as if this entire situation was somehow his fault. “I thought we were having an academic discussion, not… whatever that was!”

Alhaitham blinked at you, his hand slowly rising to touch the reddening mark on his cheek, bewilderment written all over his usually composed face. “What? You—”

Kaveh, for his part, was standing frozen near the doorway, eyes darting between you and Alhaitham like he was trying to make sense of the bizarre situation unraveling in front of him.

“Oh no, don’t you dare make this about me!” You continued, crossing your arms and glaring at Alhaitham as if he had been the one caught in the act. “I’m just here to have a reasonable debate, and you—”

Alhaitham opened his mouth to respond, looking genuinely confused for once in his life. “You slapped me!”

“Damn right, I did!” you shot back, cheeks burning with both embarrassment and anger. “What was all of that? Trying to kiss me in the middle of an academic debate?!”

Kaveh, still watching this bizarre scene, finally found his voice again. “What in the name of Sumeru is happening?! You two—what—how—WHY?”

You turned to Kaveh, feigning as much indignation as you could muster. “He ambushed me, Kaveh! I was here to debate, and suddenly—ugh!” You huffed dramatically, throwing your hands in the air.

Alhaitham stared at you, utterly bewildered. “We’ve been dating for months—”

You quickly cut him off, stepping on his foot. “What? You’re delusional! Don’t try to make up excuses now!”

Kaveh’s eyes grew impossibly wider as the pieces slowly clicked into place. “Wait… you two have been dating?”

“NO!” You and Alhaitham said in unison, though for very different reasons.

Kaveh blinked, clearly caught between shock, disbelief, and a building sense of dread. “Oh Archons, I need to lie down,” he muttered, backing away from the chaotic scene in front of him. “I… I’m going to pretend I didn’t see any of this.”

As Kaveh disappeared down the hallway, muttering under his breath, you turned back to Alhaitham, who was still rubbing his cheek where you had slapped him.

“You’re going to explain that later,” he said flatly, his tone exasperated but not entirely angry. There was still that glint in his eye—the one that always appeared when he was both annoyed and slightly amused by you.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I had to save face, okay?”

“By slapping me?”

“Yes.”

Alhaitham shook his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he pulled you back down onto the couch. “You owe me for that one.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips tugged upward. “I’ll make it up to you,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, the earlier embarrassment fading as you resumed your little “debate.”

For now, Kaveh’s horror was just another amusing chapter in your strange, secret relationship.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[pomefioredove]

Noble Bell ; Book One, Part I ; The King of Truands

what if you were sent to Noble Bell College instead?

type of post: series characters: rollo, original characters (pierrot, bou, phoenix) additional info: reader is gender neutral, this is mostly my own vision, influenced by Disney's Hunchback, the 1939 movie, and the original novel

prologue | the king of truands, one | the king of truands, two |

Chapter One

That night, while you slept on uncomfortable bed of straw and mildewed wood, a council was held.

It is important to note that, for all its rules, and there were many, the body of staff of the proud Noble Bell College were rather removed from the common life. Outside the realm of the lecture hall and the office, the scholars were governed by a democratic and elected student council, that which organized the events, kept order, and administered discipline, when necessary.

The council was entirely egalitarian, but there are three key members: The Justice of the Peace, now sitting at the right hand of the stand, looking rather bored, The Vice President, M. Bou de Neige, whom we have already met, and The President, who is unusually absent on this chilled evening.

These three people are responsible for an entire body of students. They are looked up to, not only as scholars, but as diplomats, peacekeepers, and leaders. They are expected to keep the students best interests close to heart, to be the bridge between the scholar and the staff, and this is no easy burden, despite most of the council being no older than sixteen years of age.

You must understand, then, the significance of tonight's council.

Gathered around the dark hall, illuminated by the fire burning at one end of the long room, scholars and staff alike exchange whispers, glances, and moods.

"As far as I'm aware, they're still on school grounds," the Justice of the Peace scratches his head with his quill, and a spurt of black ink stains his light brown hair. "One of my men saw them going with Gregoire to La Tombe."

Bou de Neige, who had, up until this point, been rather quiet, grimaces. "The fool. He just can't help himself, can he?"

"Hospitality is a virtue," says the headmaster, a graying, old man in a white cloak by name of Monsieur Diacre.

"Where is the President?"

"No one can find him," Bou says. "I will be speaking for him tonight."

"Perhaps we should postpone until he's been found?" a council member echoes.

"As much as I would like to, this matter is grave," Monsieur Diacre says. "A decision must be made tonight. The fate of this stranger depends on our council."

A low murmur reverberates through the room.

"Now, I have received word from two arcane academies, and there, no mention has been found of this place they say they came from, in any language, in any history. There is, in principle, no proof that this person has ever existed.

Despite this, they have appeared at our doorstep, in our clothes. By merit, the Bell of Solace has seen them fit as a student of Noble Bell College."

Bou stands. "With all due respect, sir, I strongly disagree. How do we know they are not a thief, a beggar, or a vagrant? You know well the problems Fleur City has-"

"There is another thing," Monsieur Diacre says, calm despite the tension in the hall. "Perhaps even more grave."

"And that is?"

"If you will recall, some hours ago, in my office?"

"Yes," Bou says, sitting down again with his arms crossed over his broad chest. "A useless conversation about their home, which does not exist, because they are a liar, a thief."

"Not so. Remember the way their eyes clouded when we discussed the Bell, the school, and the ceremony? How they asked, in that confounded tone, about magic? Even you must know that they were truthful then,"

He narrows his eyes. The Justice of the Peace, who had, up until that point, been scratching the "Ph" of his name onto the stand with the fine point of his quill, finally looked up.

"You don't mean to say they don't know about magic?"

"That's impossible," Bou says, though his eyes are downcast, seemingly lost in the memory of their conversation.

"Perhaps we have become too dependent on the academics. The sciences," Monsieur Diacre says. "That we forget the power of miracle."

"You are sure, then- that this person- this stranger- has no magic?"

"None whatsoever?" the Justice of Peace echoes.

Monsieur Diacre gives them both a hard stare. "Monsieur de Neige, you were closest to them. Did anything seem strange as you walked them to my office?"

The boy presses his lips together to make a firm line. "...I did have such an impression,"

"We must consider the reality," he continues, "That is that we have a young person, born and raised without magic, on our campus."

A heavy silence follows. Only the matrons, the professors of Noble Bell College, old and dressed in gray, bell-shaped habits, murmur amongst themselves.

"But I do hope," one whispers, "That we will not keep them."

"I pity the housewardens if they are to be carried to their doors for shelter. I would rather shelter a thief!"

"A sign of bad luck for certain. The greatest calamities! It's no wonder we had such low exam scores last year,"

Bou leans on his elbows against the wood of the stand and grumbles.

"So, what will we do?"

"There are options," the headmaster says. "This very building was once a symbol of hope, a sanctuary for outcasts. I know how our scholars pride themselves on tradition..."

"And the other?" Bou asks, eyes narrowing.

"I am of the opinion," one older, respected professor says. "That it would be better for the scholars of Noble Bell, and the people of Fleur City, if that strange thing were not in our walls."

The room erupts into a frenzy of murmurs, whispers, and hisses. Monsieur Diacre sighs.

"...That is a possibility. I have received offer from Headmaster Crowley of Night Raven College, as he is looking for a new boarder, and would be willing to accommodate a magicless persons. We could-"

"That will not be necessary,"

Despite the obvious unrest, the symphony of whispers, the crackling of the fire, the single voice, the unwavering presence at the large doors of the hall, cold, dignified, carries over the room.

"President Flamme," Bou de Neige says. He is not greeted in return.

"Please thank Monsieur Crowley for the offer, and send him on his way. They will be staying at Noble Bell," the boy says, walking briskly into the room, cutting through the mass of students and staff like a hot blade.

He climbs the steps to the stand and sits between the Vice President and the Justice of the Peace. Both stare at him as if they were looking at a ghost.

"On what grounds, Monsieur Flamme?" the headmaster asks. A few heads nod in agreement.

"By our rules," he says. "If the Bell of Solace has chosen them, then they are ours."

For the first time, Bou seems flustered, stumbling over his words and making a spectacle of himself.

"But- well, yes, that is the rule, but- you must consider- there will always be exceptions! They made trouble at orientation, they ran away with Gregoire, and that's not even mentioning- no magic! How can they be expected to study at this college with no magic?"

"Compose yourself, Vice President," Flamme says sternly, folding his hands in front of himself on the table. "Noble Bell has seen them fit for our academy. There are greater powers at work here.

And who knows? Our Bell works in mysterious ways. Some day, they may be of great use to us."

"You are suggesting we enroll them as a student, then?"

The council waits with baited breath. After an amount of suspense, he nods.

"I am. Shall we vote?"

Chapter Two

You jolt awake to the sound of hard knocking on the door.

The makeshift home Pierrot had brought you to the evening prior looked quite different in the light of morning. You could now make out the interior:

On all sides, you are, once again, surrounded by stone walls. On one, the door, large and heavy. Above you, the ceiling is high, vaulted, and tiled.

Everything is thick with grime and dust.

On either side of you are what appear to be two large stone benches, engraved with arches, men in robes, and writing in a language you don't understand. Atop these benches are a number of things: papers, quills, bundles of clothing, a block of moldy cheese, and many, many books, piled and shelved as if this small place, whatever it was when Pierrot found it, had been baptized a library.

The boy himself, across the straw-covered floor, is just now waking, bleary-eyed and confused.

"Who is it?" asks Pierrot.

A low, annoyed voice comes from the other side of the stone door.

"Housewarden and Vice President de Neige. I've come on official council duty,"

The color drains from Pierrot's face. "Yes, just a moment!"

"Pierrot?" you ask, following him as he scrambles to his feet.

"You must speak to him first, I'll be out in a moment!" he ushers you to the heavy door, drags it open, and then closes it behind you with the unpleasant scrape of stone on stone.

The morning on the field is crisp and chilled, somehow much colder than the little stone room. Bou de Neige is standing in front of you, his arms crossed, an unpleasant scowl on his lips.

"Is he hiding?"

"He said he would be out in a moment,"

"Very well," Bou says. "I suppose we may as well start without him. I've come to prepare you for your classes."

You blink. "...My... classes..."

He scowls again. "Yes, and don't look so dumb. A student of Noble Bell ought to conduct themselves with the poise of the Righteous Judge himself. The council and staff held a vote last night. Despite your obvious lack of abilities, the Bell of Solace has chosen you for Noble Bell College, and thus, you will be permitted to study with us for the foreseeable future. Understood?"

You nod. He seems... unhappy, you think. Or perhaps he's always like that...

"Good," Bou crosses his arms. "You should consider yourself quite lucky. You have powerful allies on your side."

A loud, obtrusive crashing, and a high scream come from inside the little building. The stone door suddenly cries open again, and out comes Pierrot, now dressed in a black and white uniform, similar to de Neige's, except with pants rather than a frock. His hat is lopsided. Bou stares at him with clear disdain.

"This concerns you, as well Gregoire," de Neige says, hands on his hips.

"Me?"

"Wipe that stupid look off your face," he scowls. "Now, listen. You,"

de Neige points at your chest. "...Are useless in the practice of magic. Correct?"

You nod.

"And you-" he points at Pierrot. "Have lost your scholarship, your dorm accommodations, and your respect. You buffoon."

Pierrot blushes and sticks his hands in his pockets, as if feeling their emptiness. One has a finger-sized hole you can see his pinky wiggling out of.

"The council has come up with a solution that would be beneficial to the both of you. As an act of charity, the expenses of the new scholar have been covered by the college. That includes your books, uniforms, and meals. This does not change the fact that you at a clear academic disadvantage; magicless.

Here is the proposition: you and Gregoire, from the moment you accept, will count for one student. You will share your school materials, meals, and clothing provided by your scholarship, you will study together, take the same classes, and in return, he will perform the necessary magic for both of you."

You and Pierrot share a glance.

Bou sighs. "I, personally, would have never come up with such a ridiculous idea, but... unfortunately... your old tutor seems to have faith in you still, Gregoire,"

Pierrot's face goes pale. "You mean-"

"Either that," de Neige interrupts. "Or he simply thinks you are too weak-willed and incompetent to take advantage of them. I expect your answer before the first bell."

He turns on his heels, long, dark hair whipping behind him, and disappears into the grove, on a dirty cobblestone path back to the school.

"...Well?" a voice says from beneath you. You jump, and look down to see the goat, Hugo. Talking. You're still getting used to that...

"Where have you b... never mind," you say. "What do you think, P- Pierrot?"

You look back around to see the gentleman on his knees in front of you, his hands clasped as if in prayer. He's giving you terrible puppydog eyes.

"Please, please, please, this could be my only opportunity! I have nothing else! My studies- Noble Bell is everything!"

You grimace. "...I don't know. I just met you."

For a moment, he almost looks... taken aback, as if he found it strange of you to consider him, of all people, a suspicious character.

His voice drops, and he answers carefully.

"...I swear to you, by my quill, by my hopes of success, not to even approach you without your permission and consent, but, for the Judge's sake, give me a meal plan!"

Hugo bursts out into bleating laughter, and even you smile.

"...Alright," you say. "Let's go give him an answer, then."

Chapter Three

The dining hall, eerily void of living bodies at this early hour, is a thin, and humble building reaching towards the edge of the campus.

Hidden by the monotonous stone walls of the school, it is rather indistinct, the only remarkable thing being that it is held between courtyards on both sides, making it a sort of bridge between one row of buildings and the other, not unlike the stone bridges that hold the embrace between the island and the city.

This modest, almost dull exterior is deceptive, though, as appearances so often are. Once inside the hall, one is met with the magnificent vaulted ceilings, painted dark with stars, held high by the thinnest of thin, delicate arches on the walls, themselves sheltering bodies of stained glass in every color the eye can perceive. Warmed by candlelight and the fire crackling at one end of the magnificent hall, it is nothing short of... well, magic.

The body, no matter how exquisite, dull, or deformed, is nothing without the matter of the soul.

You tilt your head. In a sad sort of way, the feeling reminds you of your straw bed. Dirty, but warmer than the harsh morning outside.

"What did the building used to be?"

"Hm?"

Pierrot hums, smiling as if he had not heard you, preoccupied with piling his plate. You had counted sixteen strips of bacon so far. At this rate, he would build a tower high enough to touch the painted stars on the ceiling.

"Where you sleep. Your room. It's not a dorm, is it?" you ask, following behind, setting a fruit or two on his plate when the opportunity presents itself.

"More oranges," Hugo demands from beneath you. You concede.

Pierrot finishes off his mountain of breakfast with a few slices of bread, and then leads you off to a far corner of the magnificent dining hall.

"Oh, no. A mausoleum,"

"A what?"

"Don't worry, it's empty," he says. "...I think. I've never checked. I recall reading that the bodies from the old cemetery had been moved."

"Cemetery?"

"Fleur City is full of them," Hugo says. "I've been to my fair share. People just leave flowers all over 'em. A free meal is a free meal, right?"

Pierrot nods in agreement, though he doesn't really seem to be listening. You grimace.

"Yes. The field is covered in tombstones. They're quite pretty," he says. "But the bodies were reburied under the tiles in Noble Bell a long time ago."

Each thing they add seems to be more concerning than the last.

Hugo bleats. "You're gonna have to get used to the cadavers, y'know. This place is old, and full of 'em... and their parts,"

"Yuck,"

"Nonsense," Pierrot says. "There is beauty and life in everything, even death itself. Such is the danse macabre."

You and Hugo share a look. What did he say he was, again...?

"Do you think he came out like that, or was he taught?"

"Rude," Pierrot mumbles. "But one might say it runs in my family."

He offers you a slice of bread, and you decline. The headache you'd been fighting off since first light is making you nauseous.

"Tell us about your family," anything to distract yourself now.

Pierrot smiles, his features warming like the sun on a winter day. He always seems quite pleased to talk about himself.

"I'm afraid it's nothing interesting. My father is a notary, and I have five brothers, though most are older than I. The closest in age, a year younger, is at another arcane academy. Alas, I was disowned, and haven't spoken to them in some time,"

"Unsurprising," Hugo mutters. He snags the slice of bread that would have been yours off the plate, between his teeth, and returns to lying under the table.

You lean into your elbow. "Why were you disowned?"

"By my passion," he smiles. "See, I tried to be a guard, but wasn't brave enough. I became a religious man, but was not devout enough, and couldn't drink enough, anyway. I tried carpentry, but wasn't strong enough. At last, I realized I was good at nothing- therefore, I became a writer."

"And your family didn't approve?"

"Not quite. But then I was here," Pierrot becomes quiet, his eyes turned up at the colored windows of the hall with a sort of holy reverence.

"...And the rest is history."

You blink. Disowned by his family, stripped of his scholarship and thrown out of his own dorm by his housewarden?

He's resilient, at least. You'll give him that.

"And your scholarship?"

"Bah, that was nothing. I simply... printed a pamphlet on free thought that the school officials did not care for,"

"Your dorm?"

"I annoyed the housewarden,"

This guy can't catch a break. No wonder he was so desperate for your help.

"Who's the housewarden?" you ask, watching him absent-mindedly scratch beneath his cap.

"Of L'Universite? You've already met him. He is the one who came to see us this morning, Bou de Neige,"

You hum. Of course... Perhaps he is always that unhappy, then.

"I don't miss him. I kept to myself at L'Universite. The students were... unpleasant," Pierrot shudders, as if taken by some unfelt chill, and you raise an eyebrow.

He goes on without question. "You'd assume, with such a name, that the dorm is only for the most exemplary of scholars, but they're unruly. I was almost burnt alive only once, though,"

Huh. "Why is it called that?"

"The three dorms of Noble Bell are based upon the ancient divisions of Fleur City. On one side, the university district- L'Universite- on one, the aristocratic gardens- here, called La Ville- and in the center, the sacred island, which we call The City," he explains, snapping a crisp piece of bacon in half.

"...But the histories of the dorms have little to do with their personalities. They're only to pay homage to the time when Noble Bell was established. Up until Monsieur de Neige, L'Universite had no housewarden, as per tradition. It was overseen by the college itself..."

"Then the kids got too rough, and the administration had had enough of 'em. I heard about that," Hugo's voice comes from under the table.

Pierrot nods. "Now, de Neige has completely turned it around. He punishes anyone who steps out of line,"

This is a strange place, you think for the umpteenth time.

Chapter Four

Fed, sated, and warmed by good conversation, Pierrot leads you through the delicate halls of Noble Bell College with a renewed lust for life in his step.

He goes about, pointing towards windows and great pillars and plaques on the walls and floor, explaining their origins, which came from where, from what year and artist.

You nod along, content to just listen while your mind wandered.

It feels too real to be a dream, but it must be one. In your world, animals don't talk, humans don't cast spells, and schools don't have astrology classes.

Hugo had disappeared again, likely off looking for table scraps. He seemed to have a will of his own. Pierrot hadn't noticed yet.

"And the tile from this courtyard was repurposed from the Place de Grève..."

He talks so much to himself, it almost feels as if you are alone while right beside him. Despite that, and that he's facing away from you, his sunny self pointed toward the tiled courtyard he seems so enthusiastic about, you can't help but feel as if someone is watching you.

That strange, unnerving feeling had been following you since you left the dining hall. No matter how many times you turned over your shoulder, reassuring yourself that it was only your nerves, it lingered.

Every corner or so, another dignified scholar will pass you by, dressed in the same uniform, quiet, poised, looking straight ahead. Once, you walk by someone shrouded in a blue cloak, singing "Thaumarks to spare? Thaumarks to spare?" to whom you apologize for having nothing.

You don't even know what a thaumark is.

Pierrot leads you through yet another courtyard, and the feeling of eyes on your person never leaves.

It's beginning to weigh on you.

"How much longer?"

"Hm?" he finally turns to look at you, and the strange feeling subsides, slipping back into the shadows of the hall.

"Not much. Don't worry, Scriptorium is easy. As long as you pretend to be busy, no one will bother you,"

Chapter Five

Pierrot could not have given a truer description.

Though, he could have at least warned you about the boredom.

The melodious sound of forty quills on paper echoes off the stone walls and tiled floors. There is no talking, no eating, no foot-tapping, no whispers. The faint sound of the city, as close as it is, feels distant from here.

The parchment before you is as empty as it was at the beginning of class, and the book you'd been provided is on the very same page. The student in front of you has filled two pages already, delicately copying the contents of the book onto the parchment.

Pierrot, sitting beside you, seems to be writing something of his own. At least he seems entertained...

Then, all at once, everyone begins gathering their quills and ink, standing from their seats without a word. Pierrot jolts, shuffling around his things to cover his pages of writing as the other students pass him by.

Though he waits until everyone else is gone before getting up himself, avoiding their prying eyes is useless. Waiting outside the lecture hall is none other than his ex-housewarden himself.

"You. Come with me," Bou says, sharp, crimson eyes boring into you. "We have some things to discuss."

You share a glance with Pierrot. He looks sympathetic, waving you goodbye as de Neige leads you in the other direction.

"I trust you enjoyed Scriptorium?" he doesn't look at you when he speaks.

"Oh- um, yes,"

"Good. Copying manuscripts is an honored tradition of Noble Bell," he says.

"Until the invention of the printing press, all books were made by hand. Though the press made the process fast and inexpensive, the beauty of manuscripts remains unmatched."

You look at him. "You seem to have a lot of traditions,"

He returns your look with a glare. "We are a proud school. It would do you well to adopt a similar attitude. And not to let the idealistic drivel of that fool get to you,"

By "that fool", you assume he means Pierrot. That boy keeps getting stranger and stranger...

"What did he do, anyway?"

de Neige mumbles "heresy", and then clears his throat. "Nothing of your concern. Now, hurry up. You're dawdling,"

Chapter Six

As you pass through the halls of Noble Bell, you think of how easy one could get lost in a place like this.

It's almost labyrinthine. It seems as if every turn leads to another lecture hall, another crypt, another library...

"You should consider yourself fortunate," de Neige says. He's been going on about Noble Bell for some time.

"Of all the arcane academies, Noble Bell College's curriculum has the least practical magic."

"Right," you mutter, following him up another narrow flight of stairs.

"And despite that," he says, "You are already being coddled. The headmaster is... soft. Which brings us to the purpose of my visit."

Bou stops in front of a narrow wooden door and turns in a swift movement to face you. "Follow me," he says.

He takes something out of the depths of his pocket and slots it into the heavy, iron-bound wooden door, then pushes it open as if it were a silk curtain.

You follow him up another flight of stairs, and into a darkened room. The only light, cold and gray, comes from a handful of flower-shaped windows, whose glow illuminates the piles of books and dusty furniture cluttering the small room. Another staircase at the far end leads further into the unknown.

Your eyes are drawn to the window closest to yourself, and you peer out over the island, studying the city, its shape, its color, the curve of its river. You could spend your life up here, alone, comforted only by stone and the dim, foggy noon outside.

Bou hums, drawing your attention back to the present moment. He seems familiar with the room, walking about it and dusting its worn furniture with the sleeve of his uniform.

"Here is the north bell tower. You will be staying here from now on,"

Your eyes widen. "But..."

"Careful. It would be unwise to reject such a generous offer," Bou says, refusing to face you. "The bell towers are spacious, quiet, and warm. Winters are quite cold here."

"But Pierrot?"

Finally, you can see the crimson of his eyes, as he turns over his shoulder to glare at you.

"The student council thinks it improper for you to be living alone with Gregoire. He will stay in La Tombe,"

"But-"

"The key," Bou says, ignoring your protests. He takes something cold out of his pocket and places it in your hand. His skin is almost as chilled as the metal.

"I'll see to it that your mail is forwarded here,"

He turns and leaves you in the room, the rough, cold key still cradled in your open palm. You scoff. What mail?

No one knows you. And no one you know knows where you are.

You don't belong. You're an outcast here.

Your fingers tighten around the key. The least you can do is tell Pierrot. You don't want him to worry when you don't come back tonight, after all.

Finally finding some semblance of purpose, you take long, confident steps back the way you came.

Down the narrow wooden stairs, out the left door, down the stone ones, through this passage, this hallway, this turn, then this, and then...

...No. You don't recognize this hallway. It's darker, and the ceiling is lower. You must have gone too far down.

You take a breath. Don't worry. You'll just retrace your steps.

It isn't over. You've been telling yourself that all day. This is not where it ends. You'll find a way out of this.

All of this.

And then, you're no longer alone.

Though there is no noise, no light, no voice that would indicate a human presence, you are suddenly quite aware that there's someone behind you, watching you from the way you came.

All the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you stay in place. If you are to turn now, will you see someone- or something- standing behind you? A pair of eyes watching you from the doorway you'd just ducked under?

Or, worse- will you see nothing at all?

You decide you don't want to find out either way.

You keep going. Into the dark of the hall, over another threshold and another, around the corner. At some lengths, the feeling seems to subside, giving you a moment's worth of peace, and then it returns.

The halls are getting narrower. You have an inexplicable feeling that you are no longer in the school, but somewhere much deeper, much older, primeval.

The scuff of shoe against stone, which most certainly did not come from your own feet, makes you go cold.

"Who's there?" you shout.

The only response in your own echo.

"Come out! Stop following me! Leave me alone!"

The words come tumbling out without much thought. You can feel yourself slipping into a panic.

Thoughts chase each other through your mind, and then suspicions and paranoia poison those thoughts. You must ask yourself now, what is this? What's there, in the dark, just out of sight?

And your mind answers for you: it is a monster.

There is a monster in Noble Bell College, and it wants you.

"Leave me be!" you yell at nothing. You're starting to get desperate.

Nothing happens. Then, all at once, a light comes from ahead of you, not behind, and someone shouts:

"Who's there?"

You turn your back to the dark behind you in a frenzy, and, finally, the feeling of being watched disappears entirely.

"Me! I'm here!"

Around the corner comes a boy, one you had not seen before. Not tall, but not short, sturdily built, we'll say. He's quite good looking, at least compared to the other students you'd met, with light brown hair spilling out of a short, stubby ponytail, blue eyes, darkened by the black of the hall, and, curiously, the wisps of a beard on his chin. He's quite unlike any of the other students you'd seen so far.

But, the more pressing question-

"Who are you?" he asks it before you can.

You say your name, and his eyes widen. His stern expression turns merry, and he smiles.

"Ah, I know you. The magicless one,"

That's not very reassuring. You grimace.

"...How do you know who-"

"You shouldn't be down here alone, you know. It's not safe. We've had some thieves on campus lately,"

"Thieves?"

"Yes. Or so I've heard," he nods solemnly, and then a strange mood comes about him.

He smirks and puts his hand on his hip, his other at his hilt, purposefully drawing your eyes to what must be a sword. A big one, too, if his smile is any indication.

"But don't worry. I'll protect you. You know, I haven't seen you in person yet. The way everyone's been talking about you, I assumed you were some sort of monster. But you're actually very pretty,"

You give him a weird look. Perhaps you were wrong- of course, he's just as strange as the others. "Um... alright...."

"Ah, where are my manners? Let me escort you back to your room."

"...Right," you say, looking over your shoulder one last time. The boy follows your gaze, and then coughs for your attention.

"Bell tower, yes?"

You look back at him and nod.

"Then let's not waste any time,"

Chapter Seven

Despite his confidence, it takes the boy a full hour to find the right passage out of the tunnels. He gets to the bell tower easy enough, at least.

Something about him tells you he's not from here, either, but you keep the thought to yourself for now.

"Well, here we are," he says, hands on his hips as if he had just accomplished something.

"...Yes. Well, thank you,"

He beams, gives you a courteous bow, locks of hair falling over his face as he does. They turn golden in the sunlight. "It was my honor. And if you need anything else-"

"There you are," someone says from within the bell tower. You recognize the gruff voice, but before you can answer, the heavy wooden door bursts open and Hugo tumbles out.

He chuffs. "We've been worried sick, 'ya know! Pierrot's all over the place! Who's the stiff?"

You turn to the boy, and his smirk sharpens at the acknowledgement. "Um... I don't know, actually. Who are you?"

"My name is Phoenix. It means, ah, sun bird," he chuckles.

You and Hugo exchange a glance, and he stops laughing. "I'm the Justice of the Peace of the student council. I was doing my rounds when I heard you shouting,"

You turn back to Hugo to explain. "I got lost,"

"No kidding!"

"I didn't know you had a kid," Phoenix says, the same sly smile on his lips. You almost scoff.

"Yeah, and he doesn't take kindly to pigs!" Hugo says. "Now, get lost! That's our magicless human!"

As the two go back-and-forth, a little glimmer of white against the dark brown of the floor catches your eye. You kneel, and pull a thin envelope from under the wooden door. It has your name on the back, and a bite taken out of the corner. You roll your eyes at that. Hugo.

The goat sets off, headbutting Phoenix back down the narrow stairs and leaving you alone again. You sit on the floor and open the letter.

Dearly Beloved, it starts,

The King of Truands has reviewed your case and sees you fit to join his Cour des Miracles. All thieves, beggars, vagrants, or otherwise outcasts, welcome.

You turn over the parchment, noting its weight, and stuck to the back is a thin pendant, woven of purple and teal twine, in the shape of a leaf. At its heart, a small, golden cross.

How strange...

You squint at the pendant, and then the letter, which, quite rudely, bursts into flame in your hand.

You drop the fiery letter and it dissolves into ashes on the floor. You huff. Magic...

"And stay out!" Hugo's voice returns from the stairs. For a goat, he certainly has a loud bark.

The white of his small head crowns over the steps, and you stand.

"Hugo," you hold out the pendant to him. "Do you know what this is?"

The goat stops and squints, then scoffs. "One 'a those touristy necklaces. They're all over the city, I can't remember what they're for, though. Just that they don't taste good,"

You hum, bringing the pendant back towards yourself. Why would this King of Truands send you a souvenir?

"...Maybe Pierrot will know," you finally say. He seems to know a lot of useless things, after all.

You hurry to the stairs, Hugo trotting behind you. "What's the big deal?"

"I don't know," you say, paying close attention to each step. You don't want to get lost all over again, after all.

"I've had a bad feeling all day. I think this means something."

"Great, a fortune teller," Hugo sighs.

He follows you, anyway.

Chapter Eight

The sun is already setting over the city when you stumble down the steps of Noble Bell.

The sky is streaked with fiery pinks and oranges, making the school look cold and dull by comparison. Even the clouds, red and descending on the wrought iron gates like a bloodied army, turn the stone of the city into a dull, lifeless blue.

You stumble across the sports field and into the grove at the end of the island.

"Slow down!" Hugo gasps.

You don't. But you do stop at La Tombe and pull open its heavy stone door. It's dark inside.

"Pierrot?" you call for him, as if he were hiding behind a book or in a stray shoe.

Nothing.

"Hey, come look at this!"

You abandon the mausoleum and turn to its side, where Hugo is standing over an attached tomb. Its stone lid has been pushed to the ground beside it, and there's light coming from its depths.

"You think he...?" you start, unable to look away from its gaping mouth. Instead of dust and bones, there's a flight of stairs.

"Who else?" Hugo sighs. "He was looking all over for you."

"He must've panicked when the sun started going down," you murmur. "We have to get him."

"What?" Hugo asks, eyes wide. "Are you crazy?"

You take the pendant out of your pocket and hold it against the warm light coming from inside the tomb.

"I just have a feeling," you breathe in slowly, and take your first step into the grave. "Let's go find Pierrot."

[mitsua]

Silvery orb, I love his golden orbs

Warnings: none Genre: slight angst to fluff

Series: Obey me! SWD? Words' count: 0.71k

Pairing: Mammon × GN! Y/N

You've felt very uncomfortable since you were brought by force to the Devildom. Never expecting to meet angels and demons and not just any sort of demons or angels—but some are the ones that are biblically spoken of.

Some were very kind towards you while some weren't, as in every new classroom each new scholar year. By your age, you've come to terms with not getting along with everyone and just ignored them.

Not like you weren't afraid enough to even talk to them anyway.

Excepting the one who has been in charge of you since the beginning by Lucifer—the oldest of the brothers.

Mammon.

Just as you weren't expecting to meet demons and angels, you weren't expecting to befriend one. But here you are—laughing your ass off as Mammon shows you the latest scam he's gotten involved in.

There you are—feeling anger for him when he's unable to stand up for himself when his brothers talk badly about him.

There you were—taking care of him after his older brother had beaten him down for breaking the rules once more.

You couldn't really recall how many days or nights you've spent doing it anymore—not like there was any sun to call day.

You've craved to take Mammon with you to where you used to live before this cursed place and never come back again.

You knew he wouldn't accept because as much as he loves you and has told you so after building a romantic relation with you—you see how much he loves his brothers as well.

So you propose him to visit the human world with you, just for a day and a night.

You're aware Mammon has visited it hundreds of times, but you've never gone together as a couple.

You spent the day at your beach house, teaching Mammon about some human things that you'd sometimes only got to spoke about at the Devildom but weren't able to exactly show him how they function.

As the sunset came, you finally went out of the house to bury your feet in sand and play in the sea—explaining him that at that hour you've got a secret spot for yourselves until the next evening came.

So you stand there, peacefully watching the big shiny circle at the horizon come down and let the rising orb called moon bathe with its white, gentle light.

You missed this, Mammon could see it. The nostalgia in your eyes was too much to hide and it made his heart hurt.

You've spoken about moving to the human world with such an excitement that he's never noticed he's done that when giving you rational arguments to stay with his brothers.

—You know what Mammon?—you talked after so long, gusts of wind hitting your face and making your hair go along with it,—after today I've realized two things will forever stay the same for me.

Mammon gulped, awaiting for you to tell him that you want to stay in your world and that you're better off without each other. He of course didn't want any of that, but his nerves were starting to get into the surface just as the dolphin you watched hours ago jumping and splashing around.

He stayed silent, rather letting you break the subtle silence between you two and the uproar of boats passing ever so far,—I love you and after sunlit days, rises the moon in here.

You glanced at him,—I'll be wherever you want to be—. You clarified after noticing the hint of confusion on his furrowing brows, laughing softly.

Mammon had never felt so tranquil than after hearing you say that and seeing your alluring smile. He hugged you tightly and you could swear you heard him sniffle on your shoulder.

—Oh MC, I've also accepted something,—he revealed, keeping his hands on your shoulders to look you in the eyes. —You're the one I want to spend my life with, and if that comes with us having to move from the HoL, I'll go wherever you are too—.

Such fools in love you two were, weren't you?

But finally, you've come to an agreement to spend time wherever you want to that you both feel comfortable in.

—I love you to the moon and back—.

Tried out a new format!

All writings' rights reserved © 2024 Mitsua. (Credit to the respective owners of the pictures and tagged anime character.) ⌇ my navigation!

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (7)

warnings: misunderstandings, feeling trapped, unhealthy thoughts about an assumed situation, death and injury mention, discussion of debts, unreliable narrator, virgil horribly misinterpreting yet another normal conversation, literally embarrassing levels of thick-headedness

-

Letting his guard down around the humans was far, far easier than it should have been.

He still eased his defenses down slowly, bit by bit, of course, he wasn’t a complete fool. An understanding between him and Patton didn’t necessarily mean that the others felt the same.

They were humans, not shifters, after all, and while he could see the shape of a pack in their closeness, that didn’t mean he could assume the same principles would apply. They all took on equal responsibilities in maintaining and protecting their home, and none of the three had shown any particular indication that they were a designated envoy, meant to speak for the entire pack.

Frankly, with it only being the three of them, a lack of envoy wouldn’t have been too surprising even if they had been shifters. Some smaller packs forewent assigned roles, rotating them as needed, or were close-knit enough that they essentially acted as one whole, any individual able to speak for the pack.

The humans loved to bicker, though, and it would have been like a slap in the face to trust in Patton’s promise and then have them argue about it right in front of him. Instead, Virgil tested the firmness of the new ground he’d been offered with slow, tentative steps, like a deer crossing over a frozen lake. Better to take his time and test the ice than plunge right through.

Irritatingly, the humans made it far too easy for him to forget how precarious his standing was.

Even the simplest of interactions seemed to please them. When he’d responded to Patton’s friendly greeting for the first time, the morning after their midnight conversation, the human’s expression had lit up like a lightning bug at dusk. When he’d finally answered one of Logan’s questions during a meal, the scholar had blinked a few times in quiet surprise before smiling in a way that made his entire face look softer. When he’d pursed his lips and snapped out a sharp retort to something annoying Roman had said, the hunter hadn’t hesitated to needle him right back with friendly delight, the same as he did with the other two.

They were keeping him trapped here, because they were human and they knew better than to let a monster roam free in the woods around their home, but they didn’t want a starved prisoner or a ticket to easy riches. They wanted to offer him comfort and belonging in the time that he had left.

He’d saved them, and they were repaying it in the only way they could afford to.

It was pathetic, how relieved he felt. How genuinely grateful he was for the simple fact that he wasn’t being forced to relive the unending torment of his first imprisonment. How such basic offerings of food and warmth and companionship made it possible to ignore or even briefly forget about the executioner’s axe hoisted over his head.

He’d been on his own for a long time. Returning to that solitude would be its own kind of death, a slow and painful relearning of what it meant to be alone. He knew this, but tried not to dwell on it. He’d survived it once before, and he would again. Better to endure the loneliness than lose the safety of isolation.

So, he forced himself to keep focusing on methods of escape, on the ways this slowly-growing camaraderie would offer lapses in security, on the new freedoms he could take advantage of, and didn’t think about what he would do afterwards.

With this goal in mind, he immediately decided to test his luck by poking his nose where it didn’t belong.

He’d regained some mobility after another week of healing, though he kept his walking pace to a slow shuffle out of caution, and the humans still tended to hover like agitated honeybees whenever he was on his feet for too long. The cabin was small enough that he had mapped out most of it within a day or two, and now he approached the only room he hadn’t yet entered or peered into.

When he pushed the door of Logan’s workspace open, the human’s head snapped up immediately, wearing the beginnings of a frown. Once he saw that it was Virgil who stood in the doorway, though, the displeased turn of his lips faded away, replaced by eyebrows raised in intrigue.

“Hello,” he said, voice polite despite the interruption. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Of the three of them, Logan had been the most respectful in his formality, and so Virgil impulsively tested the bounds of that patience by not answering right away, instead letting his gaze drift over the room and its contents.

There were far more plants scattered about than he’d expected, though perhaps he should have expected as much from the dedication Logan tended his garden with. Pots of different shapes and sizes were settled on every inch of the window ledges, and planters hung from shelves and hooks on the ceiling alike. There was an entire corner of the room dedicated to racks of drying herbs and flowers, both wild and homegrown, which lent the room a pleasant dusty floral smell that almost covered up the sting of ink and chemicals.

There was a table against one wall, the shelves around it packed full with bottles of miscellaneous ingredients, all of them labeled in neat handwriting. The table itself was covered in neatly-organized supplies, with protective sigils carefully carved into the outer edge of the wood, keeping any experimentation contained. It stank less than he’d thought it would, for human magecraft, but then he hadn’t yet seen Logan doing any of the typical dissection and harvesting of supernatural creatures, either.

After the full moon, it would have the bitter tang of magic made through unwilling sacrifice, the distant preserved rot of bottled blood. Virgil would recognize the stench of post-harvest ingredients anywhere. Not that he’d be there to smell it, at that point. He forcibly pulled his attention away.

The last section of the room was less orderly than the rest, primarily due to the heaps of books that were stacked and shoved wherever there was space. Logan’s desk was the only semi-clear spot, and even that had a few precarious book towers sitting atop or alongside it. It was also covered in stacks of parchment, with lines and lines of writing or intricate diagrams sketched on the paper.

Logan sat behind it, still awaiting a response, those keen eyes watching him right back.

There was no sign of the lodestone for the ward around the cabin at first glance. He had known better than to think it would be that easy, though.

He hadn’t known that he would actually get this far, assuming that they wouldn’t want their magic prisoner sticking his nose in the most likely place to find a way out of their wards. Even Roman and Patton didn’t tend to disturb Logan too often when he was working in this space, so he’d assumed he’d only get a few moments to glance around at best.

“You haven’t been to the leyline crossing,” he said, because the silence had begun to grow awkward and he’d panicked and they really hadn’t, even though it was well past the usual time of the month they went.

Logan’s stare sharpened, which was probably a bad sign, but he only stood up to clear the books off of a second chair, and gestured for him to sit.

This had been a bad idea. Virgil slunk forward with extreme reluctance and sat.

“We haven’t,” Logan answered affirmatively as he returned to his seat, adjusting his spectacles. “It didn’t seem wise to venture into the woods, seeing as that is where the bear headed, last we saw it.”

That was… a really good reason, actually. Virgil shuddered at even the idea of them running into that creature again in the dead of night, without him to help.

“I take it that you’ve been familiar with us for a while, then, since you know of our routine offerings?” Logan continued, sounding more curious than angry.

Virgil froze up, regardless. He should have known better than to hope he could make it through a conversation without giving anything away. He hadn’t even managed to make it through the first sentence.

“I am not upset,” Logan offered, glancing down at the open book before him in a gesture that seemed designed to give Virgil a moment to breathe. “On the contrary, I am… rather relieved, to have my suspicions confirmed.”

“Relieved?” Virgil echoed dubiously, his voice a low croak. It tended to go raspy and hoarse if he wasn’t focusing on speaking, probably the result of not using his human vocal cords to speak to anyone in literal years.

“Indeed,” Logan answered. “I will admit, my initial impression of you was made hastily. We had never seen you before, and yet you didn’t hesitate to defend us, and you earned a significant injury in the process. It was worrying to unexpectedly incur such a debt.”

Virgil managed to shove aside his embarrassment in favor of confusion. It was strange to mention a debt, especially one owed to a shifter. Humans didn’t consider shifters worth trading with in any fashion, in his experience, and even other supernatural beings knew that wolves weren’t fond of holding debts or grudges. Really, the way Logan spoke about it sounded more like…

“You see, I was aware that it is rather rare for a shifter to reveal themself to humans for any length of time, as I’m sure you know, and I was also aware that the fair folk are often deft hands at taking on wild shapes of their own, particularly when interacting with humans, so…” Logan trailed off, looking a bit flustered at the admission.

“You thought I was fae,” Virgil completed the thought, feeling a bit taken aback at the idea. He certainly would have done a fair bit more against that bear if he’d had the sort of natural power that faeries so often courted.

Of course, things also would have turned out a lot worse for the humans if he’d been a fae, more likely than not. Humans who had fallen under the attention of one of the fair folk frequently met an unfortunate end because of it. Whether the faery in question was maliciously fixated or lovingly obsessed, the human would be lucky to come out irrevocably changed. They’d be lucky to come out alive at all.

“It was a working hypothesis,” Logan said primly, turning a page in his book despite the fact that he almost definitely hadn’t been reading while they spoke. “It was disproven easily enough, and so my precautions weren’t needed in the first place, but seeing as my haste has gotten me and those around me in trouble before, I thought it best to perform them anyhow.”

Precautions? Patton had said that Virgil saved his life, if not all of theirs. To the fae, a life debt like that could only be paid off one way, whether they’d been tricked into it or not.

Oh. He had wondered why Logan had been so uncharacteristically careless before, carrying an agitated and injured shifter back with its teeth only a handspan from his neck. If Virgil had been fae, if he’d chosen differently and torn out Logan’s throat, that would have been the end of any debt between him and the others. A life paid for a life owed.

“Did you run that plan by the others, first?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

Logan waved a hand dismissively, not bothering to pretend at regret. “They traveled out here on my behalf, in the first place. To let them suffer for my mistakes would be a poor repayment.”

From what he knew of them, Virgil thought Patton and Roman would disagree. Loudly.

“…Right,” said Virgil, in his most dubious tone. “On your behalf?”

“I’m cursed,” Logan explained shortly. “I don’t have the constitution required to perform magework without damaging my health. It was intended to make me choose between my health and my passion, but I was willing to give up neither, and found a third option: proximity to powerful natural magic, which would prevent spellwork from being as taxing.”

“Huh.” It was a clever solution. Logan might have been the one to propose their solution to Virgil, too. Offering a shifter a peaceful last few weeks certainly wasn’t an option he would have expected from any normal humans.

Right. He’d almost forgotten that his plan had been to push against the boundaries of his cage, to force them to acknowledge that he was stuck here, to remind himself that no amount of kind company was worth the pain of how this month would inevitably end.

“Well, you don’t owe me anything,” he said, a little too sharply. “And in that case, there’s no point in me staying.”

Logan sat up straight, posture stiffening as he frowned. “You’re still far from healed. I understand why you don’t wish to shift, but surely, leaving is a bad idea for the same reason?”

There it was. In the end, that was the biggest flaw in the arrangement the humans had come up with. If Virgil attacked them or tried to leave, they’d be forced to kill him immediately. He would lose, but so would they; killing him in his human form would make his corpse far, far less valuable.

“You’re only making things more difficult on yourself,” Virgil told him, crossing his arms as tightly as he could without jarring his wound. “I’m not fae. There’s no worth in being hospitable to me.”

It certainly wasn’t going to convince him to stop trying to escape. He might be pathetic, but he wasn’t that pathetic. Honestly, it’d probably be easier for everyone if they just cut their losses and killed him now.

Logan closed his book, folded his hands over it, and met Virgil’s eyes squarely. “We offered you our hospitality because we wanted to. It is freely given, no matter the ease or difficulty involved.”

Virgil couldn’t help the way his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. That implied that they would keep on offering him this kindness even if he did get caught attempting to escape.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t ever been truly punished for that first desperate sprint to the wards, had he? None of the things he’d believed to be threats or punishments had ever panned out the way he’d assumed. Ultimately, they hadn’t so much as directly scolded him about the escape attempt, as though the act was hardly surprising. He hadn’t been drugged, and he still wasn’t guarded.

He couldn’t be certain unless he got caught again, but… the signs were all there. They were confident enough in their cage to indulge him even when he was caught gnawing at the bars. They were underestimating him.

“Don’t blame me if you regret it later,” he said dismissively, but he couldn’t help the disbelieving half smile creeping onto his lips.

Logan returned his smile with an encouraging one of his own, apparently unfazed by Virgil’s renewed determination. “I very much doubt I will.”

He snorted and left the human to his work, not cowed at all by the arrogance. Logan could doubt all he liked. Virgil had beaten much worse odds before.

[miffy-junot]

Napoleon is socially awkward, Junot and Marmont remedy the situation with whimsy.

Victorine de Chastenay, a fine girl and whom the old regime had trained her manners, as polite as they were skilful, used music in order to evade embarrassment. With her firm, chubby little hand, white, she opened the harpsichord, placed her fingers on the keys; and as Marmont, a loquacious boy, had just explained to the listeners that his companion was of Corsican origin, the young girl, in order to make herself better understood, began to sing in Italian in a very pure voice; then coquettishly, but with modesty, turning to her host, the canoness asked him, smiling, if her pronunciation was correct. The general, always severe, contented himself with replying that she was not, and then he relapsed into his silence; and all would have ended there in this encounter, if Junot, Bonaparte's aide-de-camp, had arrived at that moment.

He was "very noisy in his joy," says Madame de Chastenay, and as he was as turbulent, as gay as Bonaparte was gloomy and reserved, he threw himself through all this, breaking the ice. And it was he and Marmont who arranged impromptu for the next day, at the house of Chatelot, Marmont's parents' house, the feast which was to follow, and, for another day, the concert mixed with a ball and a walk.

At Châtelot, when the time came, everything was very close to going as well as Junot had expected. But throughout the meal, despite the excellence of the dishes, the spiciness of the local wines, further enhanced by the outbursts of his officers, General Bonaparte remained frozen. He does not say a kind word to anyone; only as he had placed in front of him Louis, his younger brother, future king of Holland, barely sixteen years old and whose education he supervised, he was content to pose problems to him, to teach him about algebra and logarithms. Without the good humour of Marmont, the bold, even Gallic verve of Junot, both of whom were absolutely devoted to Bonaparte and subject as slaves to his ascendancy, this meal, from which the guests promised themselves so much pleasure, would have remained insipid, the gloomiest and saddest one has ever seen. For her part, Victorine, in the various environments into which events had thrown her for ten years, had never witnessed anything like this. This coldness, this disdain left her humiliated, offended; so much haughtiness hurt her.

Then, suddenly, the idea came to her to solve this enigma, to know who this man was. Under this sober and dark uniform of a soldier who had fought in the war, was there a heart beating, similar to other hearts? This Bonaparte, with his muteness, his taciturnity, this kind of poorly concealed contempt with which he shrouded everyone who was neither scholar nor warrior in his eyes, who was he? They just got up from the table. With great skill, she approached him, managed to isolate him, then suddenly began to talk to him about Corsica. At first, he didn't break his silence. However, it seemed that this name, Corsica, had had a great effect on his soul. For a brief moment, and as if he had been particularly moved, he remained thoughtful; Madame de Chastenay, who observed him with attention, saw him turn pale and blush in turn; and all the impressions on this singular face, thin and hard, seemed brought to paroxysm. What Madame de Chastenay later remembered was that, in the Marmonts' living room, at the Chatelot, between the two windows overlooking the large garden, there was a marble console table. The general leaned against it, and suddenly, he who had not said a word for two days, spoke. He spoke for four hours, and it was like a torrent of fire!

[...]

In a hammered, brassy, ​​but vibrant voice, the general spoke; and the poorly contained Italian accent gave this voice a strange strength. Without Junot, who was tired of so much grandeur, so much heroism, and who came to play the fool, dance in the middle of the living room, finally give everyone a laugh, the little canoness of Epinal and the future general in chief of the army of Italy would have spent the whole night at the Châtelot philosophizing, and in a sparkling dialogue, pursued a hundred chimeras, stirred up and remade the world! Ultimately the success was very great for Victorine. “Everywhere,” she said, “people marveled at the fact that I had made the general speak.”

But the next day it was even better. With the officers, and a few young girls who had joined the Marmonts and the Chastenays, they danced in circles. Junot, like the day before, played the fool, accompanied by grand gestures, very comical as always, he sang his song: Mon berger ri est-il drole? They even played little games in which those who lost gave pledges. The general, who seemed completely tame, willingly indulged in this madness.

source

[kazoosandfannypacks]

August: It's beyond nuts when British people call flashlights torches

Belle: They are torches. Flashlights implies that they go on and off.

August: They do! That's what the button's for!

Will: People from British just smash it on the ground when they're finished and go buy another one.

August: "People from British???"

Belle: Great conversation, everyone.

[forcefemdemonprincess]

I finished a little fantasy themed short story I've been cooking up for the last few days, with lots of corruption and forcefem kinks, if anyone wants to give it a read!

One ordinary day, I sense something reaching out to me, from the faraway depths of the material plane; the feeble presence of a summoning spell, beckoning me towards it's caster. It would be simple to ignore the call, yet as my curiosity gets the best of me, I deign to answer, following the thread of conjuration magic to it's source.

My senses take in the sight of a stone tower, a summoning circle scribed upon the very center of the floor, the candles surrounding it flickering with a faint orange flame. Beyond it there is a wooden work desk and chair, a simple bed, and walls covered in bookshelves, all with disorganized tomes and scrolls strewn about; and a large window on either side through which the starlight shines in a moonless night, curtains billowing in the breeze.

Standing before the circle stands a half-elven wizard, seeming to be in his twenties in human years - though elven blood makes it difficult to ascertain, he could be anywhere from two decades to a couple centuries old - with short brown hair and the lithe, frail frame of a scholar and a smooth face with rather comely features. He chants the summoning spell, his voice filled with uncertainty as he slowly sounds out the incantation as if the words were alien to his lips.

And they likely are. Far from an archmage of yore, the young man seems to have little more skill than a mediocre apprentice. The binding runes around the summoning circle, meant to keep the caster safe and the fiend contained, are all written incorrectly, not that it would have worked with a demon of my caliber to begin with. Even the spellbook he holds is old, certainly passed down to his hands by another, perhaps a mentor or loving relative.

The candles flicker, then go out entirely. The wizard stops his chanting and takes a step back startled, and slowly I rise from the summoning circle. I choose a relatively nonthreatening form, a scantily clad, mostly human-looking woman, save for the pink skin, curved horns, and a thin tail which ends in a heart shape. The candles light up again, their flames painting the room a bright, pink hue.

He immediately looks surprised, as if he'd never expected his spell to work to begin with, but once the shock has passed, he speaks in a shaky voice:

"I-I am the mage Theodoros! I bind you to my service, o' fiend!"

It takes great effort to stifle the urge to laugh. Not only did the fool forget to put up wards or use any binding spells to speak of - not that it would have mattered - he made the oldest beginner's mistake in the book and told a demon his name, not to mention his utter lack of confidence and authority, the wizard paints a laughable picture.

Yet, it's been so long since I've had a mortal plaything to toy with... And this one is so cute and pathetic I simply must have him. And thus, I decide to play along:

"Of course... Master," I smirk deviously. His ecstatic grin makes it clear the half-elf holds no suspiscion of my subterfuge whatsoever. His naivete is baffling, truly. "What is it you desire? Power? Knowledge of dark, forbidden spells? Or are you simply looking to fulfill your wordly lusts?"

The adorable blush of embarrassment that quickly takes over his pale cheeks at the mere suggestion of sex is almost enough to make this worth it already. Virgins are especially fun to break.

"Uh, the spells and power, yes." He calms himself with deep breaths. "I want to become a powerful archmage."

"And you decided to take a shortcut, did you? Very intelligent. Why slave away over dusty old tomes if you can drink directly from the fountain."

He smiles wide at but a few honeyed words. "Exactly! You get it. Well then... Go ahead and uhm, make me stronger. With your demon magic and all."

"Gladly. Could you give me your hand, for but a moment?"

"What? Hells no, I'm not letting a demon touch me, that sounds far too dangerous!" Oh, now he's thinking about risks and consequences. I almost roll my eyes.

I pout. "Come now, it's only through contact that I could lend you my power. Besides! I'm bound to your service, remember? I couldn't harm you if I wanted to."

"Oh... That's true. Alright, do it." He extends his hand, as if for a handshake. I grasp it tightly, and pull him closer into the summoning circle, nearly making him trip, and bring his hand to my lips. They sear with infernal flames, branding a lipstick mark into the flesh of the back of his hand despite how he whimpers and uselessly tries to pull it away.

Before he can issue any further complaint, the blissful heat and raw strength of my demonic mana flows into his being, making him gasp, his eyes momentarily flashing a bright pink hue and his dick becoming painfully hard, his size... Unremarkable. Slightly below average, perhaps.

"I... I thought you said you couldn't harm me." Theodoros says, out of breath.

"Oh, don't be such a baby... A little bit of pain is no harm at all. Quite the opposite, in fact! Don't you feel it?"

"I feel... Hot?" He raises his hands, the tip of his fingers shimmering, brimming with arcane might.

"Go on, try it out!" I grin.

He walks over to a large window that leads to a balcony, trembling with anticipation. He extends his hands, and an unending torrent of fuchsia colored hellfire, hot enough to melt steel, erupts up into the air. He laughs maniacally, drunk with the power and the demonic magic seeping into his body and mind from the infernal brand on his hand. The lustful magic overtakes him, and his concentration in the spell is broken as he orgasms on the spot.

"Hah... I only ever managed to make sparks and light candles before. This is incredible!" He says, with a giddy smile and an unfocused gaze.

"And it's only the beginning," I reply with a smirk as he walks back to me.

"What more can you teach me?" He asks excitedly.

"Oh, plenty. You can manipulate hellfire, bend minds, change into whatever shape you like... And that's not even mentioning the libraries worth of knowledge I've accrued over the years."

"That's... Fucking hells, that's everything I wanted and more." His chest heaves up and down, the adrenaline not going down in the slightest... Nor does his raging arousal. "Can you... Do something about this?" He asks, pointing to the tent in his robes, which refuses to go down despite him already having finished once.

"Oh, plenty! Why don't you come over here and let me show you?"

"I meant more... Just make it stop? With magic or something? It's driving me mad!"

"It's a side effect of demonic magic. I can't make it go away... But I can help relieve you of it in a more direct, and much more pleasurable manner." I say, sliding aside the strap that holds my upper garments to my shoulder, revealing one of my beautifully shaped breasts, while pumping more arousal through his brand. "Just let me out of this summoming circle and I'll show you," I say, dropping the other strap to let my chest bare in it's entorety for his viewing pleasure. I could step out of the circle any time I wanted, but it's far more delicious to make him submit willingly to my whims.

"Hhrn... Alright, fine!" He walks over and rubs his sole on the chalk circle, opening a passage. I step through and put my hand on his chest, giving him a slight push against the wall before pressing my lips to his, forcing a delicious throaty moan out of him as I press my body into him.

My longue, forked tongues explores his mouth, swirling around his in a long, sloppy kiss, grabbing onto his ass roughly enough go make him squeal again. He eventually pushes me off to gasp for air, a strand of saliva lewdly connecting our mouths.

"Mo... More..." He pleads in a breathy voice. "I want to fuck you." He nearly growls, consumed with lust.

"As you wish," I say with a grin, and touch his forehead. With a flash of light the mage is teleported onto the bed, his clothes dropping onto the floor where he stood.

I slowly walks towards the bed, taking off the rest of my garments, making him writhe with anticipation as my curvy, hourglass shaped frame comes into view. I run my hand along my smooth pink skin as I get on the bed, getting between his legs.

He bites his thick, luscious lips as I lick his length from shaft to tip, nearly shooting his load then and there, before I hold it down with a bit of magic. Not yet.

I take his tip in my mouth, wrapping my lips tightly around it and swirling my tongue, feeling the cutie wizard get all wet for me with his pre. I suck aggressively hard, making him moan and twitch and give pathetic little bucks of his hips into my mouth as it envelops his unimpressive member completely.

I make him ride on that very edge of release for countless minutes each stretching on to feel like hour, watching him melt and turn into a writhing, mewling mess, trying everything, from thrusting his hips, to grabbing my horns to try and push me away, all to no avail, until he's barely forming coherent sentences, begging and pleading with tears in his eyes.

When I suddenly pull it out of my lips and release the spell, letting him drench himself in his seed in a mind-numbing orgasm that goes on and on endlessly, the wizard's wjole body shaking and spasming, howling moans escaping his throat.

Each spurt of his seed, that becomes increasingly thin and watery the longer his peak goes on, drains his already somewhat petite member slowly of it's size. When it subdues at last, he's lost about half of it, and with it, you can clearly see how his body and face have gotten softer, his hips wider, waist slimmer, and nipples puffier as his chest begins to form into breasts. His irises begin to glow with that unnatural pink glow from before, and two small pointy protrusions begin to subtly grow along the sides of his head.

Theodoros is, however, too much of a giggly, horny mess at this point to notice, let alone care. "His" eyes half-lidded and a giddy, drooling grin rests on the "man's" lips, nary a coherent thought in the mage's mind... Yet that diminutive dick remains hard, hips bucking needily. Theo's eyes find mine with a pleading look, and the slut manages to speak, in a moany voice:

"Ple... Please..."

I smirk wide, straddling the weak-willed wizard, and letting their now diminutive dick enter me. The pleasure of having it in me as I start riding it is negligible, but the delight and satisfaction of watching this pretty little thing unravel under my will more than makes up for it.

I bounce on it, roughly, wrapping my hand around the wizard's throat as they look into my eyes, pinned under my body as I fuck their brains out, riding their cock until they're chaining one orgasm right into another without stop.

This time, there's no spell to make their dicklet hold back. They cum over and over and over again, shallow spurts of weak, watery seed shooting again and again inside me as I quickly drain away their virility and the rest of their size until there's nearly nothing left anymore of the wizard's dick.

Their last spurt comes with great difficulty, painfully making them writhe and yielp until they shoot out a tiny, pretty little gemstone, brimming with life. Theodoros cums her soul out, and with it goes the rest of her masculinity and self, sealing her transformation into a lesser demon, with a cute, lithe frame, a pair of small horns on her head, a tail, with a heart shaped tip, and pink eyes with slitted pupils.

In a moment, a large demonic cock forms onto my crotch, and Theo instinctively spreads her legs, presenting a smooth, bare crotch. I press my tip between her legs and push, her body yielding to my will and my cock, shapeshifting her pussy and womb into existence to better serve my needs.

"Good girl. You'vrle yielded your soul to me, and now... You're bound into my service, eternally. From now on, I rename you... Theodora. And you may adress me as mistress, Thea."

"Yes... Mistress." Her mind seems to object momentarily to the idea, but the thought is quickly discarded. Whilst holding her soul, Thea's mind is as malleable as her body. The fledgling demoness can't even will herself to want to resist. The very thought brings her pain... And obedience brings bliss.

"That's my good girl... You and I are going to have a lot of fun."

[lexsssu]

Fortunate (Alhaitham)

TAGS: Alhaitham/F!Reader, fluff, fatherhood, motherhood, domestic fluff, family fluff, pregnancy

If one were to ask the scholars of the prestigious Akademiya what their thoughts were about Scribe Alhaitham settling down, most would call the asker a madman for even suggesting such a thing. While he had both many admirers and enemies alike, the one thing they could all agree on is that the scribe is a man too wrapped up in his own pursuit of knowledge to even look at a woman and see her more than anything aside from a being of the fairer sex.

Not to say that he was unaware of what happens behind closed doors between two consenting adults, but rather that he simply found no deeper interest in them, unlike his other peers.

His brooding good looks are wasted on him, as evidenced by the trail of broken hearts and wistful sighs from the womenfolk he passes by on normal days when he’s not holed up in a library or the confines of his own room. Simply put, Alhaitham is a man who isn’t chained down by any of his base desires, once again setting him apart from the common man.

That is why it comes as a shock to the entire population of the Akademiya and even Sumeru City as a whole when he arrives one day from another trip outside the city. While that in itself is still within the norm, the companion he brought along with him and the state she was in had thrown everyone for a loop.

As Amurta’s jewel during your time as a student, all the while being the first female beastkin to enroll in decades, you were a relatively well-known figure then. And even after graduating, you’d still occasionally visit the city when called by your master, Sage Naphis, or if you needed to borrow some references from the library.

It was no secret that you were close friends during your schooldays, seeing as you were the only person Alhaitham willingly accompanied outside of schoolwork. Chancing upon the shining stars of Haravatat and Amurta together wasn’t a surprising sight then, and it shouldn’t be one now.

But what threw everyone for a loop was the heavy swell of your belly as you stepped into the city, hand in hand with none other than Alhaitham himself. Even the most ignorant fool could understand the situation, what with the way the scribe’s eyes frequently turned to you even when you weren’t looking at him.

It spoke volumes of how protective he was of you, especially with your delicate condition. Although his admirers were blessed with a new side of the scribe, there is no denying that there is no more room in the aloof scholar’s heart.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Ugh, I knew we shouldn’t have brought this up with you…”

“I thought my answer was quite engrossing—”

“...Haitham?”

The speed at which Alhaitham turned at the sound of your voice made the other three men blink in surprise at the sudden action. And before they could make any other movement, the scribe had already scooped you into his arms and sat back down on his seat with you settled on his lap.

“...’m sorry for crashing your party, guys. Atem woke me up and wouldn’t let me go back to sleep without finding his daddy first…”

Your soft bunny ears hung down in shyness as the apples of your cheeks shone as red as those grown in Mondstadt’s Dawn Winery, hands resting upon your belly bump.

Tighnari, Cyno, and Kaveh couldn’t find it within themselves to feel even a little annoyed by your sudden presence. Why would they when you were their friend before you married Alhaitham?

“Don’t waste your time on such frivolous worries, eayni. Worrying yourself ragged over pointless issues isn’t good for your health or our son’s. I have no qualms if you’d prefer to return home together right now instead.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It never ceased to amaze Kaveh how different Alhaitham acted around you or when anything concerned you. Between the two of them, he was supposed to be the one with his head in the clouds and with an eye for romance. Yet somehow, Alhaitham beat him to the punch when it came to settling down.

While he was still finding ways to pay off his debt and rise from the pit he’d fallen into, the scribe was already nearing the birth of his firstborn. And from the looks of it, you never seemed to be lacking material things or affection from your husband.

The tender words, touches, and looks the other man gave you were almost tooth-achingly sweet.

It also doesn’t help that he may or may not have found you a very attractive woman and was considering courting you before Alhaitham swooped in.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Tighnari was the first one to realize that you had mated with the scribe, no thanks to his keen sense of smell that all beastkin share. The way Alhaitham’s scent practically enveloped your whole body was more than enough for the forest ranger to surmise the current state of your relationship.

You were his cute little junior, someone he’d vowed to guide both to your master and to himself as a fellow beastkin. Had you not chosen to mate with Alhaitham, you’d have most likely found mates in one another instead.

As friends who also shared a senior-junior relationship during your schooling, your clans would have most likely tried to broker an engagement between you two. Tighnari wouldn’t be opposed to it, not when he was already good friends with you, making you the best possible choice instead of being thrown some other random female.

He had no doubts that if neither of you harbored any feelings toward the other by then, such romantic affection would certainly be cultivated along the way.

But by Celestia’s will, that wasn’t the path your lives would take, and as a good friend and upperclassman, he can only give his sincere blessings and continue watching over you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Before he was General Mahamatra, Cyno also started as a humble student of the Akademiya. But even during his school days, his unyielding principles and relentless pursuit of what is right above the blind quest for knowledge scared most of the other scholars.

Not you, though.

You saw not just the face he showed to the world but also the one he never thought anyone would care to see. Beneath his titles and reputation, he is still Cyno, a human who tries his best to make his friends laugh and put his subordinates at ease.

Is it any surprise why he cared for you so deeply? And even if you’d chosen to tie yourself down to Alhaitham of all people, Cyno will stand guard over you.

It’s the least he could do, after all.

Perhaps, in another life, the gods will see fit to bless him with more than just your friendship.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Unaware or perhaps even choosing to ignore the weight of the other males’ stares, the scribe devoted himself entirely to ensuring your comfort. Although, with how you settled yourself comfortably on his lap and grabbed his Genius Invocation TCG cards, he didn’t need to make any further inquiries at the moment.

Placing his chin on top of your head, he nonchalantly scanned the cards in your hands before whispering his suggestions into your ears. Throughout the rest of the night, Alhaitham obediently and happily served as your chair and cushion.

Fatherhood suited him, he thinks.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Houseguest.

Pairing: Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader x Yandere!Kaveh (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Prolonged Imprisonment, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Implied N0nC0n, Implied Drug Use, and Troubling Implications.

[Part Two]

Kaveh first met you in the middle of the night, in a shadowed corner of Alhaitham’s kitchen.

He hadn’t noticed you, at first. It’d been closer to sunrise than sunset, and he was still rubbing his eyes as he dragged himself towards his roommate’s pantry, intent on raiding anything Alhaitham had to offer before collapsing back into bed, or more likely, onto a half-finished model of some wealthy’s scholar next personal research facility. He made it to the cabinet door before his exhaustion-dampened senses picked up on the sound of soft breathing, the feeling of a burning stare prying into the back of his neck.

He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find nothing save for an empty room, but instead, he found you.

Standing in the kitchen’s entryway, clutching a clay mug in both hands, seemingly paralyzed with unfounded terror. Your lips were parted, but you didn’t say anything, and your eyes were so wide – blown out like a doe caught in an archer’s sight. For a second, he thought you might be an intruder, a thief sent after Alhaitham’s precious Akademiya secrets or the few scraps of mora Kaveh had to his name, but that wouldn’t have made sense. Wise thieves didn’t tend to break into the homes of their marks barefoot, nor were they usually dressed in strikingly familiar black poet’s shirts, just a little too big and a little too well-worn to have originally belonged to you.

No, you weren't a thief. His life would've been so much simpler, if you had only been a thief.

Eventually, he managed to regain his confidence, forcing an easy grin as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know Alhaitham had a…” He trailed off, looking over you one more time, noting the pallid state of your skin, the hollowness sewn deep into your cheeks. Your knees were locked together, as if you weren't sure you had the strength to remain standing, and it appeared as if someone with far too much confidence and far too little skill had attempted to take a comb to your tangled hair, only to lose their nerve less than halfway through. His lighthearted tone significantly more strained, he went on. “I didn’t know we had a houseguest.”

You continued to stare, unblinking. His smile faltered. “I apologize if I startled you. It’s just- I didn’t hear you come in, and I honestly didn’t think Alhaitham would be able to bring someone hope, let alone such a lovely specimen.”

Your voice was quiet, when you finally spoke, almost hoarse. As if you hadn’t used in a few days. “I… I’ve been here for a while.”

Oh.

Well.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

With nothing else to do, he laughed, closing the cabinet door. You didn’t move, but he let his shoulder press against the closest wall as he slid past you. He didn’t look back, but he offered a slight wave, calling out as he started towards his bedroom. “Goodnight, honored guest. May I be lucky enough to see you in the morning.”

It was barely audible, a breath above a whisper, but it was there, as clear as day in the dead silence of silence of Alhaitham’s flat.

“Goodnight.”

~

A week passed before he saw you again. He tried to brush off your brief interaction as that of a very tired man and a very startled guest, but the sound of your voice lingered in the back of his mind. He almost asked Alhaitham about it, but trying to pry information out of someone like him was a fool’s errand, and Kaveh opted to brew quietly rather than pursue a path he knew would only end in frustration.

He managed to put the encounter behind him completely. Or, rather, he almost managed to. He was so, so close to managing to.

Alhaitham was at his desk, his chair pushed back and turned partially towards the doorway where Kaveh stood. You were in front of him, on your knees and resting your cheek against the inside of Alhaitham’s thigh. In one of his hands, he grasped a quill, still scrawling away at whatever documents a scribe would feel the need to bring home, and with the other, he toyed with the fabric collar wrapped around your next, forest-green and tight enough to visibly cut into the skin of your throat. It matched the rest of your ensemble, if the scraps of silk and velvet dotted over your form could be called an ensemble. It did not escape Kaveh that, both times he had seen you, you had been dressed in Alhaitham’s colors, but he attempted to ignore the implications.

“Do you need something?” Alhaitham called, never looking away from his work. For as few boundaries as there were in their relationship, Kaveh rarely let himself into Alhaitham’s personal spaces unannounced, and he thought Alhaitham’s reaction would’ve been more… more. It wasn't as if he'd never lost his patience with Kaveh before.

He did need something, but he couldn’t seem to remember what it was. He couldn’t seem to tear his attention away from you, from the exposed skin of your plush thighs, the curve of your midriff. You appeared somewhat unlike you had been when he first saw you - healthier, more lively. The ghastliness had faded, and while you didn't seem much stronger, you were no longer struggling just to stay upright. He may have been relieved, if he'd known you a little better. If you hadn't been sitting at Alhaitham's feet.

Rather than demanding to know if Alhaitham would be attending Tighnari’s next open lecture on medicinal plants or what tragedy had befallen his favorite cast-iron pan, he found himself asking, “Who’s that?”

A small, uncharacteristic smile tugged at the corner of Alhaitham’s lips. He paused his work just long enough to turn towards Kaveh, his fingers slipping under your collar and drawing you upward. You seemed… unsteady, swaying as you staggered to your feet, but your legs didn’t have time to fail you. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Alhaitham pulled you onto his lap, perching you on his thigh like some pet songbird, trained to sit on its master’s shoulder. Your face was quickly buried in his chest, but that wasn’t enough to hide you from him. He was still able to see the dull flush that spread across your cheeks, the way your mouth never seemed to fully close.

There was something about your eyes, glossed over and shadowed, the color of your irises duller than it should’ve been. If Alhaitham felt anything was wrong, concern did not penetrate the mask of thick condescension he was never seen without. If anything, he’d only grown more smug, more eager to flaunt what he had and Kaveh did not. “Your other roommate. They moved in a few months before you did.”

Kaveh’s frown deepened. “There’s only two bedrooms.”

Alhaitham’s smile grew wider. “How observant.”

“If you’re going to lie, you should at least pay me the decency of coming up with something halfway plausible. I’ve been here for—” He scoffed, jerked his head to the side. “I would’ve known if there was some else staying here. Unless you kept them, I don’t know, locked in the cellar or something.”

There was a beat of silence. Alhaitham’s expression didn’t change, but you flinched, shrinking into his chest.

Kaveh felt something tighten in the back of his throat. “You didn’t.”

“Only for a while. Their behavior was getting out of hand – some time in a less stimulating environment was called for.” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “I’m not holding them hostage, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re welcome to poke around for any chains and shackles you might think I have, if you’d like to. Or…” He trailed off, letting a hand fall to the tender gap between your shoulder blades. “Why don’t you tell Kaveh how much want to be here, dearest?”

It took you a long moment to stir, another to lift your head. You looked towards Alhaitham, visibly unsure, and he offered a slight nod, a palm pressed into your back. “I love you,” you managed, the words drawling together. You paused, blink slowly, then scrambled to correct yourself. “I mean, I love it. I want to be here. Is that what I’m supposed to say?”

“Word for word. You did very well, beloved.” There was no shame, no fear of scandle - just a squeeze to your side by way of reward. With more than a degree of relief written across your expression, you collapsed back onto Alhaitham, visibly exhausted by the exertion it took to speak. “See? I’m only trying to look after my ‘houseguest’, if that’s what you’re going to call them.”

There was no threat, no challenge, but that was part of what made Alhaitham such a frustrating man to deal with. He’d start a debate, and then act as if he had no interest in winning his opponent over, as if he was simply stating well-known truths of the world and never had any intention on sparking disagreement. Kaveh, while still far from immune, had grown a tolerance to the constant probing. Most days, he could walk away, turn his back to the conversation and vent his frustration to those who were similarly familiar with Alhaithaim’s innate unpleasantness, but this was something less frivolous than a dispute on the merits of ink versus charcoal as writing implements during field investigations. He wouldn’t be blamed for getting the matra involved. He wouldn’t be wrong for calling outside attention to the ongoings inside of their little flat.

And yet…

And yet, he could only seem to shy, to shake his head, as if he was only exasperated with the antics of his stoic roommate. Without another word, he stepped back and shut the door, admittedly with a little more force than he absolutely had to use. You weren’t hurt (although, there were several faded bruises blossoming along the curve of your neck that he would only remember later on, lying away in bed, staring at the ceiling as something began to burn under his skin), and you didn’t seem to actively be in danger, for whatever an architect’s instincts were worth on matters of life and death. Immediate action was unnecessary. It could wait a little longer, before he reported Alhaitham to the highest authority he could find.

He could wait a little longer, before he decided whether or not to give you away.

~

And he did wait. He waited days, then weeks, then longer – long enough for Alhaitham to grow less careful with you, to let you wander the flat freely when he was home and leave the door to his bedroom unlocked while he wasn’t. It didn’t take him much longer to grow less careful with Kaveh, either. He hadn’t heard you make a sound for months, but you seemed to be by his side constantly, now, your muffled voice slipping through the thin walls between Alhaitham’s bedroom and his own at all hours of the night. That was the most frustrating part, really, worse than Alhaitham’s condensation, worse than seeing you in greens and blacks and silvers. You were so close to him, and yet, he couldn’t seem to help you.

No matter what he tried, he just couldn’t seem to want to.

That frustration, that gnawing self-loathing might’ve been why he found himself at Alhaitham’s door, once again, much more hesitant than he had been last time. There was no reason to be. Alhaitham was out, tending to matters far, far outside of the city, and Kaveh knew he wouldn’t return until tomorrow morning. He’d take his time, if Kaveh was lucky.

He wouldn’t come back at all, if Kaveh was truly fortunate.

With a deep breath, he shut his eyes and turned the knob, shouldering open Alhaitham’s door before he could let his anxiety overtake him. His eyes landed on you immediately, despite his efforts to ease himself into your company. You were lying on the center of Alhaitham’s bed, on your back, your knees bent and your head spilling over the foot of the mattress. There was a book at your side, but you weren’t reading. Your attention was focused solely on a small window built into the opposing wall, the view little more than the bare brick wall of another building and a few stray tree branches, surprisingly barren considering the seasons. It wasn't much, but he could imagine it was better than what the cramped, unlit cellar had to offer - should he choose to take Alhaitham's implications at face value.

Your eyes flickered towards him as he stepped through the doorway, as he moved to approach you, but any panic you might’ve felt was muted, not so much suppressed as it was trained out of you. It reminded him of a stone house built in the heart of the desert and left without the proper means to defend itself, reduced to scrap by a constant barrage of wind and sand. The comparison made the architect within him ache while the artist continued to purr.

You opened your mouth, but it took you a moment to find what you wanted to say. You were clearly more lucid than the last time you’d crossed paths, but there was still something weighing you down, a bleariness to your gaze, a lull to your words that didn’t seem completely conscious. “You’re Kaveh, right?”

His name rolled off of your lips like rose petals and red wine and bitter chocolate. He had to force himself to swallow, to smile. To soften himself in a way Alhaitham had never cared enough to try to.

“Right.” He positioned himself on the edge of Alhaitham’s bed, just a little less than arm’s length away from you. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then with no small amount of care, laid his hand over yours, tightening his hold when you tried to pull away.

 “I don’t think we’ve really had a chance to talk.”

[historicity-was-already-taken]

Short question: Do you have any tips for turning "If you knew anything about the Holocaust, you'd know why we need Israel" from a conversation ender into a conversation starter? Longer context: I find it important, as a Jewish anarchist and anti-Zionist, to try my best to have hard conversations about safety and perceptions thereof with irl Jewish family, friends, and acquaintances. My politics make me an outlier in these spaces, as does my status as a convert, which I choose to be quite open about. I cannot begin to estimate how many people self-righteously cut short these conversations with "If you knew ANYTHING about [the Holocaust/antisemitism/generational trauma] you'd UNDERSTAND why we REALLY NEED [medinat yisrael/any jewish ethnostate/colonial zionism]". I'm under no illusion that I'm a scholar on the history of antisemitism or Jewish living patterns or the Levant or anything. I've taken one college-level course on Nazi Germany policy and beaucratic shit, but it intentionally dealt minimally with the pointy end of the death machine. I've taken two year-long Judaism 101 style classes, which of course dealt with the history of the Jewish people. I read relevant nonfiction, both books and essays. I also understand that being a convert gives me a very different personal history with the intergenerational trauma, and I want to be super respect of that. So overall I consider myself reasonably well informed, but I obviously can't respond to them with the "I know more than you" card. (Not that that would be a good way to handle it, but still.) I want to talk to people, who use this specific argumentative tactic, about what it means that our very legitimate traumas as a people led us to the point of producing our own little ethnostate (with a number of very paternalistic inputs from European nations of course). About how the shoah shaped modern zionism. About the biblical Joshua vs the archaeological evidence of that time period and what it means for our national/societal identities. About the haftarah in which israel demands a king and whether being just like the other nations has ever been lastingly good for literally anyone. But unanimously, people look at me like I'm the fool for going "yeah actually let's talk about history and fear and trauma and cultural legacies and (re)interpretation" instead of like. Applauding their sick burn about how clearly naïve I am. Do you, a Real Actual Holocaust Scholar, have a way to turn that "obviously you know nothing" accusation into a productive conversation? If so can you please share because I am losing my mind over here.

NOTE TO READERS: I'm going to speak frankly about stuff that goes down in the American Jewish community, as a lifelong and active MEMBER of that community. This is not fodder for any of your anti-Semitic bullshit and I'm deeply uninterested in Gentile Thoughts on what I'm about to write. You do not have my consent to weaponize anything you read here against Jews you encounter here, or elsewhere, regardless of their politics.

Oof ok. I have some answers, but you may not like them. First, politics within the Jewish community. I love that you're a convert and I respect your dedication and hard work; I'm sure you know much more about the Jewish faith than I do. However, as you know, Judaism is both a religion and an ethnic group/identity. And there are a lot of religious and secular Jews who chafe at the feeling of being told how they should and should not feel about Israel by a convert who does not share our heritage and experience of intergenerational trauma. Especially if they're over 60.

I also want to tell you that when members of our community, particularly individuals over 60 years of age, have their minds made up about Israel, Zionism, etc, they're not interested in valid historical takes from experts. Their minds are made up and they reject any information counter to their stance, and attack the person providing them with the info. I've been personally attacked here and elsewhere by our people for bringing up historical and archaeological issues which run counter to their arguments. I've had my intellect and education and abilities mocked, while I'm out here voluntarily traumatizing myself through my dedication to the study of Holocaust history.

Another issue, is that Jewish history is deeply interwoven in our observance, faith, and heritage. This gives individuals involved at various levels with the Jewish community the idea that they Know Jewish History. They don't. They know a version of the Jewish past specifically constructed by and within our communal spaces; see Zakhor by Hayim Yerushalmi. And a lot of them, especially if they're a man over 50 and you're a woman who reads as young, get real nasty if you assert vaster and more accurate knowledge. It's kind of similar to how people in our communities think that they Know Holocaust History because they read Night and Grandma was a survivor. But those things don't mean that they know Holocaust history--it means they've engaged with two first-hand accounts.

I'm going to advise you to stop trying with these people. I know that's not the answer you want, and I'm really sorry about that. But, the types of people you're engaging with are so deeply traumatized and set in their own defensive views, that they would never listen to me, a Jewish granddaughter of Holocaust refugees and academically trained Holocaust historian. And if they won't listen to me, they sure as hell won't listen to someone they view as an outsider to the Jewish historical experience.

You'd be better off engaging members of your community who are still learning and figuring everything out, discussing your views as equals who are learning from one another, and putting your energies towards Jewish organizations who do not need convincing of your perspective.

ETA: this is something that will only likely change over the course of generations. the traumas of the holocaust are still fresh and living in the minds of survivors, their Baby Boomer children, and their millennial grandchildren; and I'm saying that as one of those millennial grandchildren. The trauma-induced view that Israel is our shield against the Holocaust ever happening again will not change because of anything you or I might say. It will only begin to fade into new paradigms of thought when we are many more years removed from living memory of those events.

[shanieveh]

♪ ♡ ♫ — salut d'amour, op. 12 — ♫ ♡ ♪

— genshin men choosing you above everything and anything

KAEYA who always wanted to see where he came from, what he was, truly was. Choosing between mondstadt and his birth place conflicted his days, but you changed a lot of things. You made him believe in the future, not the past. You made him alive, like the past two decades were just him breathing. He no longer cared of some survivor, spies, or what he was, but what he is—what he will be. All he knew is that you were in his life and he can fight anything, even his lies.

SCARAMOUCHE's biggest longing in his life is a purpose for his existence, and in doing so he became a harbinger, a criminal and now a God. But when he first heard the way the akademiya treated you, he almost turned beserk— he left everything, his godhood, his dreams, his desires, because of you. No one will treat you like some mad scholar, a dog, and as he destroyed the entire building he knew who he did it for. Godhood is for fools, the feeling of passion and love that mortality was in his chest, and he accepted the feeling as it fueled his actions, as he destroyed Azar himself.

ZHONGLI wanted a peaceful life. And when he Osial came back to haunt Liyue he chose not to strike. But he was not planning to losing you. He lost everyone but not you. And as you struggle in ocean's grasp Morax once again came to be, once again saved Liyue, Zhongli once again saved the day. Returned to the same boring routine that tire his days. As the corrosion start wearing him out, atleast he can make you safe. Even if, this wasn't what he wanted, the rest he longed for, you were the person he needed.

DILUC would do anything for family. For his father's legacy. And when he went to snezhnaya to uncover the truth, he was so close, but news of your illness soon reached his ears. He gave up all he knew, all the plans and petty revenge. He went home. The fatui called him a coward, he really was. Diluc can't help but be with you through thick and thin. You recovered, you assured him. And in that he found peace, no longer to chase for the truth, but appreciate what he has now, and keep it in his heart. For that didn't require a delusion, it required only to love you.

ALHAITHAM proudly called him a feeble scholar who only cares about having a peaceful unnoticed life. But when you were deemed a failure by the akademiya and punished severly he was quick to make a revolution towards it. For the first time he showed no mercy. How dare they?! Alhaitham now a hero, now noticed, did not like a single compliment. But when you clapped for him, he smiled. For all that hardwork was for your happiness.

CHILDE likes to fight. He loves to win. And every argument he does so with you. He relishes in being right, and you being wrong. And then you crumble. You gave up. In that very moment he wished he lost, he was wrong, he wished he admitted it. He lost that smirk, that winning smile. He begged, he surrendered. Fighting with you was a tragedy he'll gladly lose over and over again. Even if he was right, even if you were wrong, he longs to lose when its with you.

[haitaniapologist]

ONLY FOOLS FALL FOR YOU. ( alhaitham x reader )

╰┈➤ some feelings came to haunt you after ten years since the last time you saw him.

pairings — alhaitham x fem!reader.

warnings — rivals / enemies to lover ish, slow burn, reader and alhaitham are in their middle twenties, reader has a pyro vision and is also a dancer and actress, reader is also the daughter of a genshin character, angst and a bit of fluff (happy ending of course but they're idiots in love).

word count — 8.1k

notes — june is back with another long fic for genshin! this one was supposed to be posted ages ago but i only had the time to do it now. i hope you guys will enjoy! reblogs and feedbacks are appreacited <3

lesser lord kusanali was a forbidden matter in your house, but you were sure she was the one who pushed you to be what you were today. 

being the daughter of the newest sage in sumeru had its perks, but you hated it. you hated the expectations everyone put on yourself, of how you should follow in your father’s footsteps and join the akademiya — everyone was sure you already had your vacancy there, with how important your father became in such a few moments after his promotion as a sage. but you never cared for scholar subjects, not in the way your two childhood friends did. 

alhaitham and kaveh had different interests, but they could enroll in the akademiya with no problem, because their line of study was actually respected by the sages and other scholars. yours, on the other hand, was looked down on and made fun of by every single one of your father’s, and him too, friends. as much as you tried not to look crestfallen when you heard them talking about the performers of the grand bazaar, alhaitham’s hand always managed to find yours when he was present in such gatherings — and you hoped that, when he wasn’t around, nobody would notice the change in your behavior. 

the arts were what called you: music, dancing, acting.

you could see yourself becoming a performer at the grand bazaar, dancing and acting for the honor of the dendro archon. the applause and excited screams of the audience were what you wanted to pursue, and not false wishes and the quietness of the akademiya. you thrived when alhaitham and kaveh, albeit forced by you, watched your makeshift plays about the archons and the dances you created in your head. you were aware they pitied you — kaveh with his dreams of being an architect and alhaitham’s love for all kinds of knowledge were much more suitable for sumeru city than your passions for the arts. 

that’s why you never expected them to support you in your decision of going against your father’s wishes to join the akademiya, and running away to the grand bazaar to join a theater troupe at the age of fifteen, inspired by a dream you had with the archon of your nation. 

it has been almost ten years, but you still remembered your father’s harsh words as if it had happened just yesterday — of how much of a disappointment you were for the family, how he would be able to explain to his peers and your future master that you decided to throw away the bright future it has been given to you, how ungrateful you were and how other people wished they were on your shoes. your mother remained quiet the whole time, but you never expected her support, too. she always agreed with everything your father used to say, almost brainwashed by the luxuries he displayed in front of her. in a way, she was, and the disappointed looks on their faces weren’t hurtful or a surprise for you. 

although, what hurt the most was alhaitham’s reaction. 

you had feelings from him ever since you knew what romantic love was, but they could never blossom into something more now, that you planned to run away from your home and probably never see your friends and family again. 

kaveh was aware of this too, being your confidant and best friend, trying to persuade you to not give up on everything — alhaitham and the akademiya, but you couldn’t pretend happiness in doing something you hated just because of feelings you didn’t even know if it was reciprocated. if alhaitham really liked you, he would respect your wishes and want your happiness before anything else.

it seemed like he didn’t, having the same reaction as your father — but his words were the ones who brought you to tears, his voice harsher and colder than you’ve ever heard growing up at his side, breaking your heart and cutting your skin like the blade he used to train. you almost gave up on your convictions and stayed in your home and went to the akademiya like your father wished, just to see him looking down at you with anything but the hatred dancing in his eyes. 

but you could not. not when lesser lord kusanali appeared to you in a dream, only to tell you to follow your dreams. you could not turn your back against your god and not do what she wished — she was the god of wisdom, and you trusted her judgment. 

and that’s why you turned your back to him, running away from your feelings for him and burying them in the deepest part of your heart. though, from time to time, you wondered what happened to him — did he and kaveh become scholars and follow their dreams just like yourself? how was the akademiya treating them? were they happy? had alhaitham found someone he loved more than his books? 

you knew such an answer would break your heart even more, but the agony of not knowing was much more worse. 

the grand bazaar welcomed you as if you were a lost daughter returning home after many years, and the zubayr theater became your new family. you were finally at the place you were destined to be, doing what you loved — captivating the audience with your movements and expression, bringing the toughest of men to his knees in broken sobs by your performances. the stage for you was like the library to the scholars of the akademiya, and you learned more and more every day you performed. 

you weren't alone there, having the company of nilou, your fellow dancer and actress who shared the same passion for the arts and love for the dendro archon, and, despite the age difference between the both of you, you two become fast friends — more than friends you came to notice one day, because the younger girl became like a little sister to you in just a few months of knowing each other. and you couldn’t be happier by following the words of lesser lord kusanali, thanking her every day for whispering her wisdom for you in your dreams. 

your days were spent rehearsing and performing, sometimes helping the merchants in the grand bazaar and planning more and more plays with your peers of the zubayr theater. it was like an act of resistance, almost, the performances you did — the people of sumeru were fond of the troupe’s plays, especially the children, and seeing the disapproval looks of the scholars were your fuel to not stop. 

it was supposed to be one of those days for you. a dance performance was scheduled in the treasures street, always buzzing with people due to its stalls and merchants, but today was different — you received the intel that a bunch of scholars would be wandering the area, probably for a case study of whatever the akademiya was planning. it was the perfect opportunity to show those arrogant scholars at least a glimpse of the wonders of the performing arts, and you couldn’t help but dress like greater lord rukkhadevata was described in the records you remembered reading as a child, just to spite the scholars even more.

probably for a case study of whatever the akademiya was planning. it was the perfect opportunity to show those arrogant scholars at least a glimpse of the wonders of the performing arts, and you couldn’t help but dress like greater lord rukkhadevata was described in the records you remembered reading as a child, just to spite the scholars even more. 

you winked at your musician, a teenage boy who held the same spite for the akademiya you did, starting your movements as soon as the sounds of the flute reached your ears. the flowing white sleeves and your long white and green skirt created a beautiful sight alongside the choreography nilou helped you to come up with, and the crowd’s cheers and boos didn’t reach your ears. whenever you were dancing, the outside world was shut down, your senses completely enveloped by the surrounding music. you moved as if you were made of water, a delicacy never seen before in the way your body spins. 

your eyes were kept close, as you didn’t wish for an unpleasant view to take your focus away. performing in the open was more difficult than in the grand bazaar — people there, at least, were also enjoyers of the arts. however, you couldn’t just ignore the call to show more people how the arts were a form of wisdom, too. 

the music ended, as well as your dance, and you bowed gracefully while opening your eyes to scan the crowd, the boos louder than anything else. but what was supposed to be a swift escape from the scholars and a few guards your vision managed to spot, was cut by a strong hold in your arm, dragging you away from your makeshift stage. too shocked to do anything else, you let yourself be pulled away from the crowd of scholars, their screams now louder that you were in the middle of them.

“take away this scum from our city, scribe!” 

your eyes, that were cast down to your feet, widened at such words. scribe was the title your father had before he became a sage, and, even though it didn’t make sense being him the one who was dragging you, your heart still raced with fear. though, when you had enough courage to look properly at your captor when you were a few meters away from the scholars, it was someone who you never thought of seeing again. 

those blue eyes, shining with the same rage it shone years ago, still haunted your dreams whenever you closed your eyes. 

“let go of me, alhaitham!” you managed to say, besides the lump in your throat. 

it was strange to see him, almost ten years after you left your house. alhaitham changed, of course — he was taller and more muscular, and his face was more sharp than it was before, now the face of an adult rather than a teenager’s one. his hair remained the same almost, only a bit shorter, but his eyes were still the ones you remembered from your childhood. you never forgot the exact shade of blue of them, of how the colors merged to create his pupils. they were mesmerizing, but it seemed that they would never look down at you with love on them once more.

“what were you thinking, y/n?” his voice was quiet but demanding, yet he didn't lose his composure, acting as if the rage in his words was nothing. “dancing in front of a crowd of people who hate the arts?” his grip on your arm tightened, and you couldn't find the same comfort you did as a teenager in his presence. 

you were angry, far angrier than you originally thought you would be if you saw him again, and sad — even though your heart still beat only for him. “i would have escaped, scribe. like i always did.” venom laced his new title, something so familiar yet foreign. it didn't suit him. he wasn't supposed to follow in your father's footsteps, as if he had replaced his own daughter with her friend. “i had a plan that was ruined by you.”

if the bitterness in your voice affected him, he didn't let it show on his face — but his grip around your arms softened, and you took that as your cue to get away from his touch. his presence alone was too intoxicating, clouding your senses and messing with your better judgment. 

little did you know, but you had the same effect on him. 

his closed fists weren't because of his rage, but from his urge to hold you between his arms once more — to feel your skin against his fingertips, to run his fingers in your hair and kiss your forehead, to hold you against his chest and tell you how many nights he was kept awake thinking about you. alhaitham was a coward and he was aware of it, knowing you were residing at the grand bazaar and not setting foot in the place, afraid of seeing you in the arms of another with no thought of yours being about him, like all of his were about you. 

“and what were you going to do? run away from all those scholars who were clearly offended by your choice of clothing?” he barked back, watching your eyes roll and your arms crossing on your chest. you were beautiful, wearing what the scholars believed were greater lord rukkhadevata's clothes back when she was alive. the color complimented your skin, and the flowing sleeves and skirts made your movements more graceful than alhaitham remembered them to be.

you scoffed. he was just like all the scholars you grew up to hate, arrogant and too confident in his abilities, and it hurt your heart to reach such a conclusion — that your first love was an akademiya scum. “i will not tell you.” you turned your back to him, starting to walk back to where you were, hoping that alhaitham would leave you alone to return home. but, the heavy sounds of his boots were your clue that he wouldn't leave you to your own company. “just let me return home.” you voice was quiet and full of hurt, small, just like alhaitham remembered it to be when your father would scold you. 

and he hated the fact that he was the one making you feel like that. 

however, he couldn't say sorry and leave you alone — he finally saw you after years of earning for such a meeting to happen and, even though he'd never admit that, he wanted to spend more time with you and know everything that happened in the years you were apart. he could always rely on the akasha to know such information, but things appearing on his mind would never have the same effect as hearing your voice. “you're defenseless. if your father knows that i didn't protect you, i'm a dead man by tomorrow morning.”

his words took you by surprise. “he made you promise this years ago. i'm sure that now he will be delighted if something happens to me.” you bit the inside of your cheeks to prevent the tears in your lashes from falling down, your head turned to the side so he couldn't see them. talking about your father was still a delicate subject for you — as much as you wanted to hate him for all the wrongs he said for you when you were fifteen, the loving and caring father that he was until that day arrived still plagued your thoughts. 

alhaitham shrugged. “i don’t care about him, i care about the promise i made, and i will not go back on my word.” you didn’t notice when you both stopped walking, but the gloved hand on your face, wiping the tears away while obligating you to look directly at his eyes, made your body be plagued by shivers and your cheeks to flush in a bright red color. 

he was the same alhaitham of your memories, wasn't he? the caring and kind, sometimes a bit too blunt, boy that you met alongside kaveh when you two were exploring the forest — his eyes were still the same, and even though they were now with different emotions than in the last time you saw them, his words still had the same painful effect they did once. did he still think that of you? that you were useless and a fool, that you had thrown away the brightest of futures to a life that wasn't worth it. your brows furrowed, and you got away from his grasp, missing the way his eyes shone with hurt at your rejection of his affection. 

but he would fight for you and he would gain your trust again, and alhaitham didn't care for the time this would take. he just wanted you back where you belonged — between his arms and in his life. 

— 

he stayed true to his word, even if you didn't know about them. all you knew was that he became a constant presence in all your performances, whenever they would be. he was the first person you saw when you opened your eyes after dancing in the honor of the dendro archon, the first person that congratulated you or the person who led you to safety when you decided to perform in front of scholars. 

it was annoying, at the beginning. alhaitham always had a critic to say, either being something about the music or the lighting — or even your partners in the performance, especially if they were men, saying that they didn't let you shine like he knew you could alone — but you knew that was his way of complimenting you. he has always been like that, too logical to know how to say a kind word instead of what you should do to make your performance better in the next time. it was almost endearing how he noticed the small details about your dance, like the way your hands moved or the sound your bracelets made when you clapped your hands. 

you both were from different worlds, but different worlds that completed each other in ways you never thought it would. the arts and the runes were almost like oil and water, but you and alhaitham made them mix it perfectly.

he also always made sure he was the one who left you at your room's door, perhaps to know that you were indeed safe, and you made the mistake of asking alhaitham if he wanted to come inside the third time he did that. 

it was already late in the night when your performance ended, that time at the the neighborhood with nilou, and you tried to argue with him that you didn't need his protection — everyone in the neighborhood knew who you are, and you knew how to fight and knew how to use your pyro vision to burn those who tried to harass you. and as much as he knew that, being the first victim of your vision, he still wanted you at his side. the question left your lips before you could think of it, the gossip that such an action would bring in the inn and in the grand bazaar long gone in your head. just like he wanted to make sure of your safety, you also wanted to make sure of his, too. 

you only had one bed, of course, you room enough only to fit one person living there. and as much as he tried to argue with you to let him sleep on the floor, you almost tied his wrists to your bed frame so he could sleep there, knowing that he wasn’t someone who slept much due to the nature of his job in the akademiya. but it seemed that your warmth was enough to make the akademiya's scribe to give up — you both fell asleep with a pillow between your bodies, but you woke up with his strong arms caging you to his chest and his face nuzzled in your neck. 

you didn’t dare to move, of course. you couldn’t know how alhaitham’s reaction to such an outcome would be, and the shallow breaths leaving his nostrils were proof enough that he was indeed awake, probably enjoying the few minutes of peace you and your house were granting him. you just nuzzled back on him, hearing him sighing and a pair of lips ghosting your cheek before his warmth left your bed. you only opened your eyes when you heard him moving around your small home. a few words were shared before he left to do his job, a small sandwich in his hands and the promise of seeing you again — though it took one week before that, in a setting that you wished was just a nightmare. 

—

zubayr theater had a performance scheduled in the grand bazaar, something that was proposed by you and nilou to bring attention to the place and help the merchants — every time a performance was announced in the city, all the eyes were directed to where it would be. children and women were always more open to the job you and your peers did, always enchanted by the dance moves and theatrics your troupe had to offer, while men and members of the akademiya always looked down with frowns whenever they attended one. you were still warming nilou to the fact that whenever the akademiya members didn’t like it, it meant you were in the right way. 

though, however, you never expected to see your father in the crowd. 

alhaitham stood proud at his side, though you could see that he was rather uncomfortable — in the short months you spent in his company again since you ran away, you learned what his lack of expression meant. it was just a mask you knew he developed in the years of studying in the akademiya, meant to deceive his peers into thinking that he was above them all, but you could see just by the way his eyes flicked to your form now and then that he wished he was anywhere but near your father. you didn’t know what prompted him to feel such discomfort, wondering if your father was now something more than just a sage in the akademiya, but you knew that you would never know.

you didn’t want to know. 

you just trying to ignore his presence in the crowd, his clothes as a sage almost in discrepancy inside the grand bazaar, focusing on the character you needed to portray — as always, the role of greater lord rukkhadevata belonged to you, while nilou was the goddess of flowers. it was a play about the birth of lesser lord kusanali, something that had always been wrapped in mystery to the common folk, and a great source for writers to romanticize and actors to give life to their plays. you were glad you were able to raise curiosity in the hearts of people about the birth of their god, though many of them were still disappointed with the new dendro archon’s lack of great doings. 

the performance ended with a round of applause by those who enjoyed it, and some looks of disapproval by those who did not. your eyes scanned the crowd until they found alhaitham’s, but the familiar soft and warm gaze he gave you whenever you ended a play wasn’t there — instead, you were met with cold and calculating eyes, and you didn’t know if he was behaving like that because of your father’s presence or if he finally was persuaded into seeing that you both were from different worlds and how bad it was. 

you tried not to be disappointed, nor make the pain in your heart be known by your colleagues, brushing nilou’s worried words with anxiousness — you gave a quick explanation about your father being in the crowd, and she seemed to buy it being the reason for the sadness in your eyes. 

after speaking with a few of your admirers, you excused yourself, feigning a bit of tiredness due to the preparations for the performance, smiling at the sight of the merchant’s tents filled with people — they weren’t many, but it was more than you were used to seeing every day. it was such small actions that made everything worthy of it, from running away from the safety of your family and the future your father chose for you to joining a theater troupe and changing your life in a way you only used to dream about, because you were sure you would never be able to help people if you were in the akademiya. 

you sighed, hearing rushed voices near your home. you didn’t want to spy on them, but as you recognized the voices to belong to your father and alhaitham, your curiosity took the best of you, hiding between a tree and some brushes. 

“i hope you are pleased with my job, grand sage.” 

that piqued your interest, hearing alhaitham calling your father by such a title, though your heart fell to your stomach. as much as you wanted to stay there and listen, something inside you told you to just run away and be ignorant — after all, ignorance was a blessing — because if you stayed, you would be heartbroken. 

the voice inside you proved to be right, alongside your father’s words.

“i am, indeed, pleased with your job, scribe alhaitham.” azar’s voice was just exactly how you remember it to be when you were growing up, authoritative and unkind. “it is good to get data about those performancers.” they weren’t so close but not too far, and you feared that if you did any abrupt movement your hiding spot would be found — but your fists clenched anyway, anger boiling in your blood by hearing such words. “especially my daughter. i do not want her to disturb any of the students with her foolish ideals. now, because of your help, we can stop her whenever she tries anything.” 

you tried not to let the tears that were pooling in your eyes to fall and give them the joy of making you cry after such knowledge, but the sadness inside you was stronger than any other resolution you had. alhaitham was just using you? all the time you two spent together, laughing and rebuilding your friendship, all the soft glances during late nights when he had accompanied you home, and hands brushing your cheek whenever he put a strand behind your ear while whispering goodnight — everything was just a lie for him? just a way for him to gather information about you and your peers to put on that damned akasha, for azar and the other sages to use against you and the other artists? 

and you had fallen for it like a puppy. 

you thought your childhood crush was something reciprocated, you really did, opening yourself to him like you did to no other man in your life. 

“i just did it to protect you.” 

his voice took you from your thoughts, your fists still clenched and your nails now draining blood from your palms. how could he? how could he lie so bluntly to you, feigning concern about you? “don’t try to excuse yourself, scribe.” you turned around to meet his eyes, finding them not like you thought they would be — emotionless and even with a bit of mockery shining on them, but they were hurt. 

because alhaitham never saw you looking so hurt and angry, not at himself. 

“i do not want to see you ever again.” 

you left him in the middle of the street with those words, his eyes following your shaking form until you were inside the safety of your house. alhaitham knew that you wouldn’t take his actions well, but he hoped you would never find out what he was doing — because he was, indeed, protecting you. if you did another performance near the akademiya, or near students that would report back to the sages, you would be exiled to the desert just like an insane scholar, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything to save you from such a horrible fate. 

he sighed, starting to walk back in the familiar way to the akademiya, his heart the heaviest since you left him when you were teenagers. 

maybe he just needed to give you some time for yourself, while he pondered what he could do to make you forgive him. 

—

one month. 

one month since you last saw alhaitham, and you wished you could say that his actions made you hate him — but it didn’t. 

it took you a few days to be able to dance and act again, though your eyes always scanned the crowd in search of him. he was never there, and as much as you were the one who said you didn’t want to see him again, you were disappointed. if he did have feelings for you, would he really give up on you like that? it was beyond frustrating what you were feeling, because you couldn’t understand him or his actions — he really thought you would be fine with him using you to gather information for the akademiya, even if it was to protect yourself from the archons’ know what? 

and now he just gave up. why wasn't he fighting for you? 

or maybe you were wrong, again. maybe he didn’t have feelings for you like you thought he did, and he was really just using you and all the little signals were just a play. if that was the truth, he was a better actor than most people you knew — better than yourself. you would never be able to pretend to have feelings for someone if it wasn’t in a play and you weren’t a character. 

as much as you tried to not let your feelings interfere with your everyday life, almost everyone in the grand bazaar noticed that something was wrong. nilou was the first one, the first to notice how puffy and red your eyes were from crying the whole night after the incident with your father and him. though you didn't have the courage to tell her what happened — after all, the dreamy eyes she had whenever you and alhaitham were around, perhaps imagining having a lover like him, didn't pass unnoticed by you — she still knew something happened between the two of you, always offering her support when you needed it. the others were mostly like her, though not as close to you to express their worry verbally. 

you lived your life the same it was before you met alhaitham after all those years, though it was harder now. before, his rejection to your young love was just a ghost, something that you would never know — now, however, it was a tangible thing, a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you still searched for his presence in your crowds. 

you would never learn that oil and water would never mix perfectly, just like you would never learn you and alhaitham would never have meant to be. 

that was what kept your shattered heart together, the glue holding all the pieces as thin as the air, and such a fact you came to know when kaveh visited you on a rainy day. you weren't expecting his visit, of course, the day uneventful due to the weather. you were teaching a bunch of little girls some of your favorite dance moves after they came to you when you spotted a tuft of blonde hair adorned with a blue feather and a pair of red eyes that you would always remember as warm. 

though kaveh's reappearance didn't shake you up like alhaitham's, his words were far more worrisome.

after a long awaited shared hug between two old friends and some pleasantries coming from both of your mouths, kaveh broke the news, his red eyes shining with a worry you never saw before in them — in fact, you did, on the day you ran away from your father. “i know something happened between you and alhaitham.” he started, his hands on your shoulders holding you at your place.

“kaveh…” you tried, not wanting to hear anything about him. what was kaveh going to say to you? that he was miserable and not himself, because of something he did? it wasn’t fair to you. 

he sighed, already in tune with your mannerisms again — you always said you two were platonic soulmates, knowing everything about each other from the top to bottom, being able to communicate with just your eyes. “i’m not here to play his advocate, far from it. i do not know what happened, as he did not tell me, but,” his grip on your shoulders tightened a bit, as if he was trying to prepare you for what was coming. “he was assigned a mission by the sages almost a month ago. a very dangerous one that i was against him going, you see, but the whole situation with you probably made him more prone to accept it. and…” 

“...and?” you heart was beating fast inside your rib cage, faster than you ever remembered it beating. a lot of scenarios were playing in your head, and all of them were worse than the other. 

“and he was severely injured.” the world around you was spinning, as if the air wasn’t enough to make the blood go to your lungs, making everything dizzy — but you could see the worry on his face. as much as kaveh pretended to hate alhaitham, you knew that deep down he cared about him, and vice-versa. “he is alright now, y/n, he’s being treated in the akademiya’s infirmary now.” you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, tears now glossing kaveh’s handsome features. 

“why are you telling me this?” such a question was eating you alive. you knew kaveh’s nature wasn’t a cruel one, but what he wanted to achieve with giving you this acknowledgement? 

“you’re still so impatient.” he chuckled, though it wasn’t filled with mirth like you remembered it to be. “alhaitham was probably going through some fever illusions and he… he kept calling in your name. in a pained way, saying that he couldn’t die before seeing you again.” you heart skipped a beat at your friend’s confession, even more tears glossing your vision now. alhaitham didn’t have this right, the right to break your heart and transform into dust and then made it whole again. 

you felt kaveh’s soft fingers caressing your cheeks, wiping the tears away, the beating of your heart more erratic than ever. “can i see him?” the question left your lips before you could think twice, the idea of him dying hurting more than your broken heart. 

kaveh laughed. “i was going to ask you that.” 

—

in the way to the akademiya, kaveh told you what happened. 

he narrated how he noticed something was off with alhaitham a day when he came back unexpectedly earlier to their house. he was used to finding his roommate with a permanent scowl on his face, but he seemed defeated — his scowl wasn’t the arrogant one that alhaitham always displayed on his face, but something akin to sadness and frustration. kaveh didn’t dare to ask what happened, already knowing what his friend was going to say, so he left the matter behind, deeming it to be problems in his job. during the week, alhaitham closed himself off in the house of daena, as if the books could cure whatever was making him so strange, until he came back home one day, gathering his essential things in a small bag and leaving for a confidential mission for the grand sage. 

kaveh only heard about alhaitham again two days ago, when he returned to their home bloodied and weak, and he took him to the infirmary — his wounds were more severely than kaveh thought they were, and while he was in the room to watch the amurta students taking care of him, he heard him muttering your name. 

“y/n… i can’t die… her… love… sorry… y/n…” those were the words kaveh told you alhaitham had whispered while he was in agony, probably delirious from either pain or fever. your heart broke even more knowing about this, your feet almost running straight to the infirmary, even though you didn’t know the way there — it wasn’t easy to sneak you in the akademiya, but the raining day meant that a lot of scholars weren’t lurking around, ready to see one of them with a performer from the grand bazaar, and you managed to infiltrate the place where all wisdom was created. 

kaveh led you to alhaitham’s room, in a wing full of patients who were labeled as having delicate cases, and you wondered what was the mission alhaitham agreed to go. did he went on it because he wanted, or because he was pressured to go? or he used this opportunity to forget about you, risking his life in the process? you couldn’t bear the idea of being the reason why he accepted such a dangerous mission and risked his life for nothing. 

but alhaitham was stubborn, and even if you asked, he would never tell you. 

parting ways with kaveh with a hug, you slowly entered the room your childhood friend was being treated in, careful to not make so much noise and awake him — kaveh told you he had been unconscious since he arrived, but you didn’t want to disturb him. what if he hated you now? what if he saw you as the culprit of the state he was in, and now was the one who didn’t want to see you? though his feverish words said otherwise, you were still nervous, like you felt whenever you were about to start a performance. 

the room was beautiful, just like everything in the akademiya, with a big window that you thought was supposed to make sunlight fill the room, and some medical instruments around it. but it was plain too, with white and green walls and a bed and some nightstand and a loveseat near the bed, probably for a companion. 

you made your way to the bed, your steps as light as a feather falling in the ground, afraid that you could awaken him and disturb his recovery. you just wanted to see him, see if he was well, and then leave — you didn’t know how your reaction would be if you saw him with open eyes, probably too overwhelming to see who just got away from lady death’s grasp.

alhiatham looked peaceful, you noticed as soon as you sat on the bed. 

he had no frown adorning his features, and he looked much more healthy than you thought he would — he wasn’t pale and his skin was glowing, even if his face had some small bruises which were decorating his handsome face with a tint of purple. he looked so young, just like the boy you had fallen in love while growing up, and it hurt. it hurt to see him like this and to think what your relationship became just because of the prejudice of your father and the scholars. 

you wanted nothing more than to caress his face and kiss his pain away and, before you could think straight, your fingers were already ghosting his cheekbones, going down to his lips and his bruises, feeling his warm skin underneath your fingertips and sighing contently feeling his breath tickling your skin. it was good to know that he was alive and well, and after making sure of that, you retracted your hand back to rest in your lap and knew you were ready to go back to the grand bazaar — would he come after you after his recovery? would he tell you what he was whispering in his agony? 

though, before you could leave his bed and the room, alhaitham’s hand grabbed yours, making a surprised gasp to leave your lips. 

“don’t go…” his voice was rough and raw, strange on his body after two days of not using it. “i do not know if this is a fever dream or not,” he opened his eyes, blinking it to make sure you weren’t a hallucination. “but don’t leave me again, y/n.” 

you smiled, a few tears going down on your cheeks. “i promise, alhaitham.” the hand that wasn’t intertwined with his cupped his cheek, and you leaned down to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. “go back to sleep, alright? i will be here when you wake up again.” 

he nodded, like a small child, closing his eyes again. 

—

alhaitham knew people from sumeru couldn’t dream, but why did your lips on his forehead felt so real? 

he groaned, the pain on his chest more than just a physical pain. it hurt to know that his brain and heart craved your presence so much that he dreamed about you — was the dendro archon giving him a bit of solace before he came to face the consequences of his actions? he knew he wasn’t supposed to fight a machine monster all by himself, even though he was strong enough to do so, but such a mechanical being wasn’t like the ones he faced before, and he needed to get that capsule of divine knowledge back. 

alhaitham thought that perhaps he could redeem himself in your eyes, if he managed to help sumeru and its people somehow.

he got the capsule back, but almost lost himself to it. he didn’t understand how he managed to arrive at his house before collapsing in pain and loss of blood, the journey home being filled with fever dreams of you and what could’ve happened between you both if he was more open about his feelings, if he wasn’t a coward and had fought for you. 

but now the past was in the past, and alhaitham couldn’t do anything to change. he could only bask in what his imagination could give him — the softness of your fingers on his face, the sweetest kiss of your lips and its warmth on his skin, the honey laced promise you made him. it would hurt more than any of his bruises the fact that he would wake up alone in such a cold room, with you being so far away from him. 

though the sound of footsteps gave him the idea he wasn’t alone. “close the curtains, kaveh, for the archon’s sake.” he muttered, turning around to not be graced with the sun rays on his face. 

the sound of a feminine giggle made him furrow his eyebrows, a sound so sweet that he was sure he was still in a fever dream — the last time he heard your giggles was a day before you discovered what he was doing, laughing at his complaints about kaveh. your smile and your laugh were his fuel to keep fighting that mechanical being, the idea of seeing you happy again enough for him to keep going. 

“if you want me to call kaveh, just say it.” you voice was laced with mirth, and a bit of concern, totally different from the cold and filled with rage tone you used the last time alhaitham saw you. it was almost comforting the way you seemed more at ease at his presence, though he knew he owed you an apology. 

he scoffed. “never.” he turned around once again, opening his eyes to find you sitting on the love seat near his bed. “hi.” he whispered while he watched you walking towards him, all the words dying on his throat at the sight of you. 

it was funny how he always had a witty remark to anything said to him, but never to you. your presence made his brain foggy and disoriented, all his thoughts revolving around you. he was just a useless star that couldn’t help but be attracted and circle around you, the sun, that gave warmth to everyone else. 

“hi.” you whispered back, your hands fumbling in your lap, as if you didn’t know what to do with them. “how are you feeling?” your voice had a tenderness that alhaitham knew he didn’t deserve coming from you. he’d never deserve your love or your kindness, something so pure and beautiful, even though you might think otherwise. 

he tried to chuckle, trying to ease the worry in your brow. “i’ve seen better days.” as much as he wanted to ask why and how you were there, alhaitham wasn’t brave enough to break the blissful bubble you both were in. he was afraid that his words would turn a switch inside you, that you would graze your eyes upon him with the same rage it was filled in the last time he saw you, that your fists would shake and your lip tremble with unshed tears — the love struck and kind look your eyes had was so much better than the fresh of you in his mind.

“i can imagine.” tentatively, you cupped his bruised cheek, fingers gently caressing his skin. he leaned into your touch, a relieved sigh leaving his lips at your display of affection — he was undeserving yes, but alhaitham was selfish and arrogant, and he would never back away from it. yet, the shadow of what happened and the questions from both of your hearts hovered above your forms. “i…” you seemed braver than him, trying to get the acknowledged that would soothe or break your heart even more, but alhaitham couldn’t let you be the one to start — he cut you by trying to get up, indulging your smaller hand on his, the bandages preventing your skin to touch, much to his chagrin. 

“let me speak first, y/n. i was the one at fault in the first place.” he watched as you nodded, body coming closer to him, your smell clouding his senses and the only thought in his head was kissing your lips until they were red and raw, seeing you beneath him with red cheeks and disheveled hair. “i know you do not believe me, but i was protecting you when giving information about your troupe to your father.” at the mention of the grand sage, your face became sour — though now more hurt than angered, and alhaitham knew such a change of feeling was good. “you were going to be exiled to the desert, my love.” the term of endearment didn’t go unnoticed by you, your cheeks becoming hot at the possessive form before it. 

you were his. 

“i was desperate. i had only found you after being an incognito in my life for almost ten years.” his grip on your hand tightened, and alhaitham sighed. “i’m not asking you to forgive me so easily, but do not look at me with that rage again.” he pleaded, bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing your knuckles, his warm lips caressing your skin as if he was worshiping a goddess. “my heart is yours to do whatever you want, and i will endure it, but don’t deny me seeing the love in your eyes be corrupted by such a horrible feeling.” 

alhaitham closed his eyes, taking your hand to rest over his chest, ready for your rejection. 

“why did you accept this mission?” your voice was quiet, and your words totally different from what his mind told him what they were going to be. “i thought… i thought you had only used me, alhaitham.” your reveal wasn’t a total surprise for him, because he knew his actions were misleading. 

“i guess i just wanted to forget what i made you feel.” he admitted, arms coming to wrap around you and bring your body to rest on his chest. it hurt, because his wounds were still fresh, but that was where you belonged. you fitted perfectly between his arms, your face hid in the warmth of his neck and his head resting above yours, your bodies almost melting into each other and becoming one. 

his arms tightened around your form when he felt your body shake and his neck wet by your tears. he didn’t try to pry, though his heart ached with your quiet sobs, but he knew you would talk when you were ready — the only thing he could offer now was physical comfort, and even though alhaitham thought he was the worst person to give any kind of comfort, but it was you. you always made his best traits to shine, and the worst ones to become less bad.

after some time, your sobs quieted down and your body stopped to shake, and your voice filled his ears. “you really hurt me, alhaitham.” you were using a scolding tone, as if he had done something bad but something redeemable. “i’ve been in love with you since we were children, and you doing that…” 

“you were in love with me since we were children?” his shocked voice made you giggle, your body adjusting so you were straddling him, hands cupping his cheeks and noses touching. alhaitham’s cheek were tinted with red, a sight that you never saw before but something so mesmerizing that you wanted it belonged to eternity — his eyes were lidded, pupils wide with a mix of love and lust, his hand gripping your hips to bring you even closer to you. 

another giggle left your lips when he kissed a spot near your lips. “for being the akademiya’s scribe, you’re a bit stupid, my beloved.” you managed to say before his lips were attacking yours, in a kiss that — even though it was delayed for ten years — was the testimony of his endless love for you.