#'watch the fires rise burn through my skin...when the fires when the fires have surrounded you' in blood on my name

[kashimos-hajime]

—𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐚𝐥-𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦

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

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

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

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

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

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

now on ao3 x

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata - About the Goddess of Flowers

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

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

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

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

“Rukkhadevata.”

The Dendro Archon is silenced.

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

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

“Because Deshret asked.”

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

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

Deshret - About the Divine Nail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A soft part of her melts at his expression.

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

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

“It was not your fault, Deshret.”

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

“Deshret—“

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, don’t go!”

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

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

Tighnari - Something to Share: Akademiya Days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s an altruistic thing to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Collei - About Technology: Lockboxes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

Al-Haitham is a scholar without equal.

“Al-Haitham, there you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

He walked you home that night without you even asking.

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

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

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

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

Clear. It’s always clear.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cyno - About Cold Cases

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

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

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

“Why? Is she a criminal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A box?”

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

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

“What is it?” the Traveler asks.

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

“You think it’ll work this time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t think like that.”

“I can’t help it!”

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

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

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

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

“Papa!”

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

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

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

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

“Who knows? Maybe he can accompany us.”

“Father!”

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

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

“Perhaps there’d been urgent news?”

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

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “You can send him in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.”

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

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

“Al-Haitham.”

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

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

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

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

“You were the one speaking blasphemy.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, shut up. You love to tease him.”

“That is true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Luck on your side?” you echo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kaveh - Chat: Craftsmanship

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

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

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

“I heard you were an architect.”

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

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

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

“The Artificer?”

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

“Wow! Paimon didn’t know that.”

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

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

“What makes you think I would know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Questions about…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted this farewell to be sweet and temporary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before you can move: “Artificer!”

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

No memory, no heart, no brain. 

No emotions, no human fallibility. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Homeland? But… the rest of us—“

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

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

“Artificer, there’s a storm—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of it is real.

None of it was ever real.

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

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

Useless.

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

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

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

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

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

A Cryo Vision rests in the centre of your hands. 

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

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

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

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

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

Hollows. 

Wilts like a dying flower. 

Crumbles to nothing. 

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

No one will come.

No one can save you from your fate.

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

Al-Haitham - About Al-Haitham: Love

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

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

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

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

A Vision.

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

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

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

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

Al-Haitham seizes his chance.

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

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

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

So it must be you. “(Name).”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That silences him for a beat. “No.”

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

“Aren’t you upset with me?”

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This whole time you were there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He never did anything wrong.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you hate me?” 

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

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

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

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

“How do you know?”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You found more?”

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

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

“Are you asking if they’ve changed?”

You nod. 

“Why does that matter?”

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

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

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

Honesty hour. 

Is that what you called it?

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

“And now?”

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

“Al-Haitham…”

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

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

“What’s inside?”

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

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

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

“But it isn’t.”

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

“Does it… feel different?”

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

“Your father, then?“

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

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

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

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

I want there to be a chance for us.

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

I’ll find you.

I love you.

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

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

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

Buer - About Samsaras

The Traveler reaches Port Ormos by nightfall a few days later. By then, it’s too late and they’re too exhausted to even think about trying to find the man they search for. For all intents and purposes, he could be gone, but it doesn’t hurt to ask around on their way to their room.

They ask the owner of the hotel, Shapur, manning the concierge, who briefly mentions seeing the Acting Grand Sage walking with a woman renting a room in the hotel by the water. She had the most distinct purple eyes. 

Somehow, the Traveler knows that’s who they’re looking for and they take off again with renewed vigour, and leave Paimon in the dust.

They reach the port quickly. It’s mostly empty, but there are two distinct figures sitting by the water speaking. The moon is their only witness, and when the Traveler steps from around a pillar to observe them more clearly, they can see those purple eyes that Shapur mentioned clearer than day. They glow, even at night, and look almost fake. They’ve never seen eyes of a normal mortal glow like hers do.

Then, Al-Haitham, leaning back onto his arms, pushes himself up, and he extends a hand to his companion to help her up. When he turns, his eyes, too, catch the bright moonlight in a flash of golden divinity.

For a moment, time seems to stop, and the Traveler watches as they, holding hands, begin to walk further down the pier.

“This world is an eternal samsara,” someone comments. Spinning around, the Traveler’s eyes widen at Buer walking from a nearby ramp. When had they fallen asleep? She smiles, green eyes wide and innocent. “Just as there are memories of passed family members living in those of the present, gods never truly die. They are reborn when the time is right, and even alike souls can find one another again.”

The Traveler frowns. “What do you mean?”

“They’re happy. Let’s not disturb them,” she says instead, stretching out her hand. The Traveler takes it, and instantly, they are brought back to their room in Shapur Hotel. Paimon has fallen asleep, and the Traveler sits on their bed. Buer perches herself on the table, her feet not quite making it to the chair. 

“When did I fall asleep?”

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t a long time. I just didn’t want to ruin their reconciliation,” she explains. “I don’t remember them well, anymore, but as I’ve read more ancient texts in hopes of… remembering the more important details that have been lost to me, the times I had with King Deshret and the Lord of Flowers come clearer. Together, we were the three God-Kings of Sumeru. It’s unfortunate you were unable to meet them. They seemed to be my greatest friends.”

“They both died ages ago,” the Traveler says, and the knowledge that comes to their mind is stuck in their throat, chained from being freed. Rukkhadevata and the forbidden knowledge. That must be a secret that stays a secret.

Buer giggles. “Died in the loosest sense of the term. Gods don’t truly die. They may be banished, or lose their memories, but their essence is immortal. Even when they seem to be gone, a seed of them will always remain on this planet, seeking the right time and conditions to sprout.”

The Traveler’s spine shoots ramrod straight, and their mouth drops open. “You don’t mean…”

“Although it’s hard to confirm, I find it hard to mistake the similarities between your friend and mine. Deshret has been reborn,” she says, “not resurrected like the Eremites had predicted. As for the Artificer. Her purple eyes, although artificially made, bear a striking resemblance to those Padisarahs of ages past, don’t they?”

“Like the one in Nilou’s dream,” the Traveler realizes, all of it dawning on them like a flood and crashing wave.

Buer nods. “There are very few coincidences in this world. Be happy for them. Their ending in their last lives was not a happy one and they’ve struggled and toiled in this samsara, too, just for the chance to meet again. Even still, they will have to continue to fight these challenges to persevere.” She sighs, looking down at her feet. “Hopefully in the next one life, they can just be born friends and save each other some heartache, and maybe we can be friends again, too.”

“The Goddess of Flowers sacrificed everything for the price of King Deshret’s divine knowledge,” the Traveler points out distantly, their voice soft and wistful. “He drove himself mad because she was gone.”

“There are some events that must repeat on different scales in each samsara,” the Dendro Archon agrees quietly. “A first meeting, a death, a betrayal. I’m happy that my friends have found one another again, even if they don’t remember, but perhaps that is their pinned, pre-determined fateful event that must happen in every samsara. I don’t know. Irminsul’s powers are beyond even my full understanding.”

“They say she disappeared in a storm.” A sharp chill shoots down the Traveler’s spine as Buer hums, nodding. “And she was never seen again.”

“You’re understanding,” she says, delighted. “This time, though, she came back to him, and this time, he knows the knowledge he craves is not worth losing her love.” Buer smiles cheek-to-cheek. “The rest is up to them, now.”

a/n: reblog/comment if you enjoyed! did you catch all the parallels and foreshadowing? there was as much as i could stuff in, from subtle to unsubtle! i read and watched so many theory threads/videos for this and again this was such a fun collab! 

the prompt was to either make the third person (in this kaveh) a love interest or someone who helps the main couple get together, and i thought why not a bit of both. after all, it is kaveh who was al-haitham’s biggest reason not to confess, and also kaveh who told al-haitham where to find you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ heheh thank you for reading!!

#fic: a love immortal such as mine #zhongrin.elementalsupercharge #al haitham #al haitham x you #al haitham x reader #al haitham x y/n #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact al haitham #genshin al haitham #my writing

[foolish-sparrow]

Dancing in the Dark

A/N: Got an early finish from work and my brain said do the thing.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1k

The shadow to her light, standing back as she lights up for all to see. You weren't a secret, not quite, and yet you thrived under the hidden smiles and knowing touches.

Idol!Karina x Back-upDancer!Reader

Your lungs burn with a familiar fire; adrenaline guiding your stamina through the motions.

Lasers danced up your body with sporadic bursts of energy, the stage beneath your feet vibrating with a unified excitement that was shared by the crowd.

Sweat was slightly coating your skin, strands of hair beginning to stick around the expanse of your forehead.

You were exhausted, and yet you've never felt so alive.

The roar from the fans that had come tonight had only gotten more hyped with each hour that passed, hoarse throats doing little to squander the primal need to encourage and adore.

There have been a few times where you've had to squish down an exhilarated smile, to undo the curve of your lips and place professionalism back in control.

You couldn't help it, especially during parts of certain choreography a certain someone would face you and make such unhinged expressions to test your control.

Damn Yu Jimin and her Master's Degree for making you laugh.

The one time you did slip, you couldn't even find it in yourself to be mad, not with the pure delight that sparkled in her eyes for the brief second she had before needing to turn around again.

Sometimes -- perhaps in your delusional mind -- it was like the two of you were dancing together. That each light surrounding the space was but a star in the void of space.

It was a thought that didn't play often, kind of hard to with Spicy being belted out by the four idols in front of you, but it was one that occurred enough to make it stick out within your mind.

It was easy for you to love your job to begin with, but those little moments, when she makes it feel like it's just the pair of you -- it just makes you truly appreciate what you had.

Karina made it so easy to love her, and despite the moments of shared banter, you always made sure to let her know just how much she's truly appreciated.

And even now, with the last song coming to an end, you watch as she continues to give it her all for every single person who had come out to see them that night.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Sometimes, depending on how the night went, the sizzle and spark stays strong even as you're all changing back into normal attire.

Well, for most people, Winter looks more than ready to crash on a soft bed for the next 5 years.

There's a part of you that feels for her, after all your own mucles feel like they're only moments away from liquefying.

But then the idea of drinks and food are brought up to celebrate a night well done, and the chorus of cheers from all members of staff easily drown out a singular tired whine.

You catch Karina's eyes on you from the other end of the room, her smile one of silent adoration that never fails to awaken the slumbering butterflies lying dormant in your chest.

You will never deny the urge to be closer, and so before you know it the distance has decreased within nothing but a flurry of rapid movements.

"You did well today," you say upon approach, loving the way she reaches out to intertwine a pinky with your own.

"So did you."

A grin tugs at your lips, and you tilt your head in a way that lets her know she's about to be enticed into a battle of bants. "How do you know? I'm behind you for maybe... 90% of the time."

She attempts to mimic the expression on your face, but one side of her mouth extends way too far, "because it's you, so I know you did well."

Bullseye. There was no winning when she's so genuine.

You try to brush away the heat rising against your cheeks, but at this proximity there's no denying it.

"Flatterer."

A hum, now all of your fingers are interlaced. "No, just honest."

A stuttered breathe breaks free from your nose, love poured into every particle that filters within the space between you.

You really, really wanted to kiss her when she says things like that.

And if the look on her face is anything to go by, she's fully aware of the fact.

Her smile turns wry and she settles with a squeeze of your hand before their manager is calling for her attention.

Well you think, willing away the frantic beat of your heart, she's going to pay for that.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

A surprised gasp almost forces its way passed your lips when a hand settles over your own.

Too engrossed in a conversation with one of your fellow dancers, you hadn't even noticed when Giselle had decided to switch places with a certain someone.

"Hi," Karina smiles when you jolt in her direction, and you're left floundering for but a second before you regain yourself.

"Damn, and here I was thinking it was Giselle that wanted to hold my hand."

She raises a teasing eyebrow in your direction, the grip on your fingers tightening very slightly.

"Nuh-uh," she shakes your head, but the way the words slur only slightly lets you know that not too much alcohol was in her system... you think.

"No, you're right," you once again concede, making sure to lower your voice since it was only made for her to hear, "I prefer you holding my hand anyway."

She looks deep into your eyes upon your words, and you can see the quick spark of desire, the same one you had only a couple of hours prior.

Kiss her, go on.

But you hold steady, after all there will be a time and place when Karina will be able to freely call you hers, a day when the thumb caressing your skin won't be a secret under the table.

Until then, you'll make the most of the dances you share in the dark.

#girl group scenarios #girl group imagines #aespa scenarios #aespa imagines #karina x reader #karina imagines #karina scenarios

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Reader: A lick of Flame

Summary: reader is from Autumn, gifted with flame. You get into an argument and have to blow off steam, only to witness the shadows crack.

Warnings: Azzie having a ptsd moment, angst, throwing up

A/N: kind of curious about this dynamic? So this is basically a small test run to see how it works? What I can do with it?

“What did you say?”

“You’re deaf as well as blind?”

You snarl at the male, prowling closer, flame licking up your spine, begging to be unleashed upon him. “My High Lord has protected his people well, has already brought his court further that any of us had even hoped. Do not stand before me and think you can slander him.”

“Eris is a manipulative monster who delights in the suffering of others,” Azriel growls back, memories of find Mor, bloodied and pallid, discarded uselessly.

“And as the Spymaster of the Night Court, with your torturous ways, you believe you are entitled to pass judgement upon him?” You snarl, sparks skittering across your skin a heat burns across your chest. “I take no pleasure in my methods,” he growls, wings flaring slowly in threat, “while your High Lord would sit back and allow a female to bleed out upon his boarders as if she’s a plague to his land.”

The flame catches, licking up your arms as it explodes from your body, coating you in fiery armour. Searing rage erupts at his outlandish assumptions about the High Lord who has shown great care for his new kingdom, who has enabled your rising from the ashes and so many other alike. “You know nothing about my High Lord.”

The shadowsinger flinches as incandescent flame lights the room, burning at the air. He feels the searing sting as it lances up his arms from his hands, the memories pouring out, dousing him in oil as the childhood fire burns. The laughter surrounds him, the figures of his long since tortured half-sibling looming over him as they enjoy the heat that scarred his hands, searing until bone shone through.

“Do not insult my High Lord when he could reduce you to cinders.”

You watch, pleased, as he stumbles back into the furniture, eyes wide, lips parted, his hands recoil as if your fire will truly burn him. As if you’re a threat. You’re pleased he’s acknowledging it, for once. But then you note the agony dancing in his gaze, how his eyes are watching outward but he’s centred inside. You note the tremors to his hands, the sheen of sweat to his skin as it takes on a more sallow complexion.

The flame douses itself, flickering to an ember before it vanishes. You walk closer to him, concern rising within you. Your eyes settle on his trembling hands, observing the twisted flesh, how it melts into him. Burn scars, you realise. Fuck. You hadn’t meant to—

Shit.

“Azriel,” you breathe, moving closer. His wings are shuddering, attempting to tuck into themselves. As if to make himself disappear. His shadows are spasming around his powerful form as you shift forward, close enough to touch him. “Azriel,” you murmur, tone harsher as you try to bring him out of whatever nightmare he’s sunk into.

The second your hand settles on his shoulder, his conscious slams back into him, muscles screaming at him to defend against a past threat. He’s stronger now. He can fight back. And he does.

The Shadowsinger surges upright, catching you off guard, his shadows snatching your legs out from under you as his hands shove at your shoulders. You end up being slammed into the floor, the breath being knocked from your lungs at the sheer force of impact, skull cracking against the ground. Your mouth drops open as your vision swirls, going from black to white to glowing technicolour as pain explodes behind your eyelids.

A cold blade of steel slices against your throat as he pins you to the ground, lip curled back from his teeth, baring them. In the back of your mind, you’re aware of the upturned table, the vase shattered on the floor, flowers strewn across the paprika coloured rug.

Your eyes go wide as your hand flies to his, your free arm turning so the blade cuts into the side bone of your forearm, just below your wrist. You suck in air through your teeth at the pain, the icy burn of steel. “Azriel,” you hiss, muscles trembling as he presses the blade into your skin, drawing blood. “Azriel! I’m sorry!” Hot liquid traces a path down the side of your throat as you attempt to shrink into the ground. “I didn’t mean to—”

The words are cut from your mouth as he presses harder. Another move and he’ll slice your neck open. You’ll be dead in seconds. Left with no other choice, you summon your flame again, reforging the steel until it glows with blistering white pain. He snarls as the heat reaches his hands, recoiling from the melted steel as it burns against the soft flesh of your neck, before it’s tossed aside.

You slam your foot into his stomach, sending him flying back to the chair he’d pushed over in his attack. Frantic, gasping for air, you scramble back until you’re pressed against the wall, staring at him horrified, anticipating his next move.

Heavy breathing fills the burning air, the scent of charred flesh weaving through the room. You watch, shocked, as the male twists to the side, enough time to hide before you hear the sound of retching, upturning the contents of his stomach before his shadows spin to the windows, allowing cold air to crash into the heated room.

You swallow, your own hands trembling as you watch through terror-dilated pupils. His wings are trembling, violent shudders passing through him, and in the back of your mind you know he’s not okay. His breathing is a frenetic panic, sharp and quick inhales dizzying his mind as sweat beads on his forehead.

“Azriel…?” You whisper, lips shaking from adrenaline as it pounds through your body. He doesn’t reply, keeping his head turned away but the rise and fall of his wings is a dead giveaway. Before you know what you’re doing, your onto your hands and knees, hurriedly stumbling across the floor until you reach him.

Something screams at you not to touch him after last time, but you push it down, hands setting softly but firmly on his broad shoulders, turning him so his wings press into the upturned chair. You’re kneeling between his legs, hands moving to cup his jaw as you tilt his face to you. A sharp breath of air sucks between your teeth as your eyes lock with his. They’re wet, widened with terror.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, thumb brushing saliva from his lower lip, “you’re okay.” His hands manage to drag themselves to settle on his empty stomach, muscles spasming. His scent is drenched in fear, awash with terror as you continue to swipe your thumb in soothing gestures beneath his mouth. “I’m sorry,” you breathe, staring into his wide eyes, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—” you breath catches as your eyes drop to his hands, heart twisting as he makes to pull them behind his back.

Without thinking, your hands drop to his, fingers linking with his own scarred set. He tenses, making to pull away but you hold firm. Part of you aches as he makes a strained sound in his throat. It sounds like a whimper. Your heart catches. You don’t even know if you’re doing the right thing, holding his hands. What if you’re simply inflicting more damage, adding to the scars?

“Do you want me to let go?” You whisper, eyes latching onto his, the rise and fall of his chest evening out. The male just stares up at you, shock tearing apart in his gaze. “Azriel?” You repeat, leaning slightly closer, “do you want me to stop?” His eyelids flicker as he takes in your words.

“Stop.” It’s hardly a breath, but you hear it. Your fingers unlink with his and he sucks in air between his teeth. “No…” He sounds pained, anguish coating his tongue, eyes skittishly dancing around the room until they land on you again. Concern for your own well-fare rises again. He’s not in his right mind at the moment. He nearly killed you.

Slowly, you shift onto your legs, attempting to put some distance between you as his wings tremor. Something silver catches your eye as it falls, landing in his lap. You meet his gaze. “Stop it.” They’re so small, words uttered so softly they could have been mistaken for reverent. He lifts his hands to his face, shielding himself from your wide-eyed gaze.

It’s unmistakeable. Tears slip between his fingers, tracing salty paths over his burnt flesh. “Azriel…” You don’t know what to do. You can’t do anything here, but leaving him feels wrong. Not when he’s so vulnerable. “Azriel?” You murmur, leaning into him again, “tell me what to do.” But he’s too in his head to hear.

You wince, taking in a deep breath before reaching forward. His eyes flick up to your hands, noting their approach. Before you know it, his shadows have flared at his back, like a might wave about to crush you, but then his arms sweep in, pulling you against him as his head buries into the crook of your neck.

He’s gripping you tightly - desperately - and it’s kind of hurting your neck. You can’t swallow. Hesitantly, you lift your arms to wrap beneath his shoulders, careful to mind his wings. Slowly, you shift into his lap, enabling you bring your hands to curl over the nape of his neck. Your fingers thread through his hair, softly scratching over his skin as wet droplets land on your shoulder. He’s still trembling beneath your hands, but it’ll less pronounced. His powerful arms wrap snuggly around your waist, pulling your front flush against his chest as he cries into your collar bone.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, softly, fingers sweeping through his silky hair with ease, “you’re going to be okay.”

#Azriel #Azriel x reader #Azriel fluff #Azriel angst #acotar

[tiredoffeelinglost-writes-shit]

Fire in My Blood

Bane x Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Word count: 4908

Warnings: 18+, Non-con drug use, fuck or die (sort of), slight dub-con (but not really), unprotected sex, mainly PWP, unbeta'd

A/N: my first time writing smut so be gentle

You woke up in bed, slow and groggy. The pain in your head was rolling through you in waves and you thanked your drunk self for at least closing the curtains so there wasn’t too-bright sunlight burning through your eyelids. Idly, you hoped that whatever you couldn’t remember doing last night was worth a hangover this size. You shifted to cradle your head in your hands but your hands didn’t move. Panic washed over you, sudden and icy. Your hands were trapped above your head. 

Forcing the panic aside, you tried to take in your surroundings. You didn’t want to open your eyes yet, in case you were being watched, so you listened hard for something, anything, to tell you where you were. 

No footsteps, no shuffling, no breathing outside your own. Aside from our hands, you were lying comfortably on what you assumed was a bed, complete with a pillow under your head and a blanket that smelled freshly laundered. The room felt bigger than your bedroom and you could hear a kind of white noise outside the walls, getting louder and softer in intervals like–

Waves. Water. 

You must be near the docks. Probably one of the abandoned warehouses frequented by one of Gotham’s handful of criminal enterprises. 

Speaking of criminals, you thanked your lucky stars for the recent training in analyzing and understanding your environment from the man that still sent chills down the spine of most Gothamites. 

You didn’t understand how you had caught Bane’s attention but you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed it. It took some time between your underground meetings and the handful of times he visited your apartment through the fire escape but you had molded a sort of companionship. He was gentler with you when you weren’t training. The glimpses you got of Bane the Man and not just Bane the Weapon had inklings of longing for something more worming their way into your heart but you squashed them to the best of your ability. You knew who Bane was and knew he could never see you as something more than what you had. 

Taking a steadying breath, you slowly opened your eyes. Only a sliver of the room was visible through your eyelashes at first but you didn’t see anyone else around. You blinked your eyes open and looked toward your hands.

Plastic zip ties held you to the metal headboard, biting into your wrists. You flexed lightly, testing their strength, when a door to your left opened and a man in a long white lab coat walked in.

Jonathan Crane was an objectively handsome man. The whole evil mad scientist thing left a lot to be desired although, knowing him, he probably had a drug for that too. His attention was on a clipboard he was carrying. Talking to himself in soft murmurs, he strode confidently over toward your bed. 

“Ah look who’s awake!” He finally looked up at you and smiled, full and genuine. “Perfect timing.” His gaze raked over you, cool and calculating, and it made your skin crawl, suddenly aware that you were dressed in only your bra and panties from the night before. The thought of Crane undressing you while you were unconscious had bile rising in your throat. 

“What am I doing here?” you fought to keep your voice steady. 

“I needed a guinea pig for something I’ve been working on lately. I was out looking for suitable candidates last night and saw you out with your friends.”

Something must have shown on your face because Crane waved his hand dismissively. “They aren’t here. They had too much alcohol in their systems and it would’ve taken too long for it to metabolize. I couldn’t risk that altering my results.”

Now your blackout made more sense. You had been out with a small group of friends at a bar just celebrating the end of the work week. Things had gotten a little fuzzy but you just assumed it was due to one too many margaritas. Crane must have slipped something into your drink.

Anger flooded you. “You kidnapped me to use me as a test subject?”

“You shouldn’t sound so ungrateful! You’re helping the cutting edge of science! Of understanding the human brain!” He sounded so earnest as if he truly believed in his work without a care in the world that he kidnapped you for it. 

The panic you had been fighting down, hit you like a train. You were trapped on a bed with a madman who had plans for you and no one knew where the hell you were. You wondered how long it would be until anyone found your body. You had to get out. 

“I needed you to be awake before I started the test, though,” he explained. “It will be much easier to judge how quickly the effects start if you're conscious.” He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a syringe and vial. The pale purple, syrupy liquid in the vial seemed to swirl as Crane pulled it into the syringe, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

With the dose measured out, he turned back to you. You shifted as far away as your binds would allow, inadvertently pressing yourself further into the mattress.

“You’re a smart man,” you tried to reason with him, “You know who I spend my time with.” 

Explicitly connecting yourself to Bane wasn’t something you wanted to do - whatever you two had felt tenuous at best - but desperate times call for desperate measures. No one would be dumb enough to touch someone with any direct connection to the man, right?

“Oh, yes, I know,” Crane’s smile was predatory, “and I’m counting on him coming to save his little pet.”

His palm pressed the side of your face into the pillow, keeping your neck extended even as you thrashed against the bed. The needle pierced the tender skin and Crane’s eyes glittered in the dim light as he released the drug into you. 

“You crazy bastard!” Your wrists were bleeding freely now, slow trickles running down your forearms and dripping onto the sheets as you continued to try and pull yourself free.

Whatever he gave you didn’t hit all at once. It started in your chest, warm and slow, and radiated outward, but warm grew into too hot all too quickly, curled around your lungs and ribs, and squeezed. Your breath stuttered on the next exhale. Part of you expected to see smoke trailing out between your lips. Liquid fire pooled low in your stomach and you were suddenly, painfully, aroused.

“What the fuck?”

Your heart pounded in your ears, overpowering Crane’s monologuing no matter how hard you tried to concentrate on it. Fire raced in your veins and you pulled against your restraints, sparks licking your wrists. 

Through the haze in your brain you could barely make out Crane talking about Lust and Fever and Sex and Orgasm and Death. Even firing on all cylinders, you didn’t know if you could find a good combination of those words. 

Something in the distance caught his attention and he grinned like a shark, all predator and sharp teeth. Crane knew what it meant too. 

“He’s gonna tear you apart,” you hissed. 

“Oh, on the contrary,” he spoke slowly and looked in your eyes, making sure you understood every word, a condescending lilt in his tone, “I think he’ll send me a thank you gift after this.”

He left with a chuckle that sent a chill down your spine even with the growing furnace inside you. 

With Crane out of sight, you squirmed to try and break the zip ties again but the new sensations had you gasping. Your wrists didn’t hurt so much anymore and what little pain made it through to your awareness landed just on the side of pleasurable.  The blanket underneath you rubbed against you everywhere, everywhere, and your cheeks flamed when you noticed the wetness in your panties. You tried to force yourself to lay still - to stop and think about your next move - but your hips rolled anyway, searching for friction you wouldn’t find. 

You squeezed your thighs together, chasing the orgasm you could feel rushing at you just beyond your reach. The coil snapped and it flowed through you like cool water down your parched throat. It broke the haze just briefly. You gasped a breath like coming up out of water.

If it was possible for you to blush further, you would’ve when you opened your eyes and were met with Bane’s. How much had he seen? 

The man stood over you, stoic as ever, and gave nothing away. He watched you silently, taking in everything.

“This is not one of his usual toxins.” He finally spoke. It wasn't a question but you shook your head anyway. 

“He said it was something he had been working on.” You swallowed hard, fighting a shiver. "He didn't start really talking until he had already drugged me and I couldn’t focus. Something about fever and sex and death but..." you trailed off, nervous and unwilling to really finish that sentence. Shaking your head was a mistake you learned as nausea hit you. “Needed a test subject.”

Bane nodded slowly, hard eyes glinting off the light as he looked around the room. “There’s a camera,” he mused. “He’s watching.��

“Sick fuck,” you seethed. 

Bane huffed out something that could’ve been a laugh and wrapped his fingers around your wrist. You startled both of you by moaning lowly. His touch was like a soothing balm and lit match against your nerves at the same time. 

His eyes were on your face but his fingers didn’t move.  

“Fuck, I’m sorry- I don’t know-,” you stuttered. “Can’t think- Too fucking hot.” You clenched your teeth, cutting off the half-formed thoughts you couldn’t stop.

Calloused fingers brushed across your forehead and you bit back a whimper. 

“You have a fever.”

You nodded, eyes shut tight. There was a heavy pause.

“You are…aroused.”

You turned your face away from him but nodded again, shame rocketing through you. Tears fell against your will.

“Please just get me out of here,” you whispered.

The zip ties snapped easily under his hands and you had to clamp down on your mind straying to thoughts of feeling those rough fingers on your skin again. Your core throbbed at the mental image alone. You couldn’t help rubbing your thighs together, breath hitching. Vaguely, you realized you were gasping out a string of apologies when Bane shushed you, just a hiss leaking out of his mask.

“You are not in control of your body. Do what you must.” The words came out stiff, barely contained anger tingeing them but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you.

Dark eyes met yours as you searched his face, needing to see if he was serious. His sincerity was open and unwavering. The weight of his hand settled on your stomach, the warmth of his palm bleeding into the coil inside you and snapping it just as soundly as the zip ties. 

Your eyes rolled back and you groaned as that cooling wave shook through you, quieter this time. 

“It will be easier if I carry you out but it may be…uncomfortable for you.”

“Do what you must,” you parroted his words with a weak smile, hoping for levity.

A silent nod was the only reply and he was wrapping you up in the blanket you had been laying on. The texture was scratchy and it insulated the heat of your skin but you bit your tongue. Strong arms lifted you effortlessly. You buried your face in the blanket and settled against his chest as he moved. 

It was a position you had found yourself in before. You had a habit of falling asleep in places you shouldn’t and he often carried you to a place that wouldn’t have your back or neck screaming at you when you woke up. On one particular occasion, you had fallen asleep slumped over on the couch in your apartment and floated to awareness being lifted and carried to your bedroom. You felt like a child again, protected and cared for. Your nose pressed into his jaw, just under the line of his mask. He had laid you gently on your bed, still unmade from the morning, and brought the duvet up to your chin. You had tried to fight your way to full consciousness.

“Stay,” you breathed, afraid he wouldn’t hear. Afraid that he would hear and leave anyway. After a beat, the other side of your bed dipped with his weight, half laying, half sitting up against the pillows. You had rolled into him, soaking up his warmth. Later, you would  blame pressing your face into his chest on the fact that you had still been on the wrong side of consciousness.

His hand tentatively rested on your shoulder as if he didn’t know what to do with it. You let out a light hum, hoping to reassure him. A smile almost slid over your lips when his palm slid down along your spine to settle at the center of your back. 

Just before you slipped back into sleep, you swore you felt him press his mask against the crown of your head. 

“Little one,” Bane’s voice brought you out of the fog in your brain, “Are you with me?” 

You blinked your eyes open and lifted your head from the blanket cocoon. 

“Always,” you replied. You became mildly aware that you were in your apartment but you didn’t remember how you got there. How long had you been lost in your head?

“My men are taking care of Crane,” he said. You both knew what he meant but the fewer specifics you knew, the better. “Barsad will make sure that nothing from the camera he had in that room will be seen by anyone.” His grip on you tightened. “He will never touch you again.”

He deposited you on your bed and was standing over you once again. He didn't show any outward emotion. You didn't know what to say or how. 

"I'm sorry." You said anyway. It came out small and weak. Hell, you weren't even sure what you were sorry for. Getting kidnapped? Not being able to get out of the situation yourself? 

Your head was too full of feelings you didn't understand. You couldn't think straight. You had never been more aware of your own body before. The lingering feeling of Bane’s arms around you, the godawful blanket. You swore you could feel your blood flowing in your veins. 

Light fingertips ghosted across your forehead, pressing lightly on the creases between your eyebrows, and your eyelids fluttered closed. You bit your lip. 

"Does it hurt when I do this?" He moved his hand from your forehead to your wrist. His thumb rubbing just under the wound that the zip tie left. 

You shook your head, not trusting your ability to make any noise that wasn't wholly embarrassing. 

"I need to hear you say it." 

You swallowed hard. "No, it doesn't hurt. It’s like my body can't decide if it feels amazing or like I'm holding it next to an open flame." You rushed out. 

“What do you need?” he asked after a heavy pause.

A simple question that had your head spinning. Rapid fire flashes of his large frame over you, under you, those rough hands all over you, inside you. You bit down on a moan, nearly biting through your lip.

“Just talk to me. Please.” It came out shaky and too vulnerable. 

His brows furrowed. “That will not help with the effects of the toxin.”

Resolutely keeping your lips shut tight, another tear escaped down your cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb. 

“I cannot just sit by and do nothing when you’re suffering.”

You shook your head, the action making your head swim. “I can’t ask that of you. I won’t.”

His hand settled on your stomach. The pressure sent waves through you. The fire in your core roaring anew.

“You don’t have to ask. You just have to let me.”

Your glassy, tired eyes met his dark, earnest ones as you searched for something, anything, that would give you reason to say no. You weighed the option of just letting the toxin do what it would instead of ruining what you and he had. 

But you couldn’t deny that you wanted what he was offering.

“Okay.” You nodded lightly. 

You hissed as he shifted the blanket off of you. It felt like sandpaper against your highly sensitive skin. His gaze flicked up to you but kept on his mission, lightly tracing his fingers up your thighs. It might've tickled a little if you had a better handle on your nerves. 

There was only a slight pause in his movements before he was bending down to pull his boots off and then joining you on the bed, kneeling in front of you. His eyes searched your face as he spread your thighs, placing one of your legs on either side of his hips. You fought down every bit of embarrassment you could feel burning red on your cheeks and looked away.

“No,” he spoke softly but clearly. A calloused finger under your chin turned you back to meet his gaze. “Don’t look away, little one. You need to stay present and tell me if I do anything to hurt you or if you need me to stop. I want to help, not cause more harm. Understand?”

Only after you gave a small nod did he release your chin and return his hands to your inner thighs, higher than before. His thumbs rubbing small circles mere inches from where you needed him.

His eyes caught on the damp patch darkening the fabric of your panties. He made a single slow pass over your center with his thumb. You bit down on the inside of your cheek and let out a rough exhale, your fists curling into the sheets.

“Try to relax,” he rumbled, gaze flicking up to your face and back down. “I understand this must be unpleasant for you but fighting the toxin will prolong the effects and may make it worse.”

A whine escaped your clenched teeth as you forced your muscles to relax. His thumb began slow, even circles over your clit, like a reward. Pleasure rose quickly now that you had stopped pushing it down. 

 “Nothing said or done here will leave this room,” he assured you. “You are safe to do what you need to get through this.” He hooked a finger around damp fabric and pulled your panties to the side. The first brush of a callused fingertip sent a jolt up your spine. “Tell me that you understand.”

Your hips rocked minutely, chasing his touch. “I understand.” 

“Good girl.”

His finger slid inside you in one push and your walls tightened around him, sending you over the edge again. You couldn't be embarrassed about the noise you made even if you tried.

The toxin’s haze faded marginally again. In all honesty, you had hoped that an orgasm brought on by someone else would have been all it would take but, of course, Crane’s concoctions are never that simple.

As many times as you indulged fantasies of Bane in your bed, though you would never admit it aloud, you didn't want it to happen like this. Not when it was only like an obligation for him. 

The finger steadily pumping inside you became two and the stretch brought you out of your thoughts with a whine. 

Bane slowed but didn’t stop. “Does it hurt?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, no, it’s just a lot,” you reassured him, moaning around the last word when picked up his pace again. “It’s like I’m feeling everything double or triple.”

“It’s good then?” 

He curled his fingers slightly, searching. 

“So good.” You choked on a gasp when he found the spot inside you that made your toes curl. Those rough fingertips massaged tight circles around it while his thumb copied the movement around your clit. 

Moans flowed from your lips unhindered. One of your hands reached down to clutch at his wrist while the other tightened in the sheets. 

You could feel the crest coming but it was just out of reach. Your head thrashed on the pillow, grinding your teeth. 

"Fuck, I can't. It's not-" you stopped with a whine, tears gathering in your eyes. Your hips rolled of their own accord in search of friction.

“It’s not enough,” he finished for you. 

"Crane told me that you'd send him a thank you gift for this." You blurted out. "Like this was something you wanted."

He froze. 

“He’s wrong, right? Of course he is,” you rambled, squeezing your eyes shut tight. “You don’t want this. Why the hell would you? I’m just me. An annoyance even on a good day, a hindrance on any other. I’m not-” 

Pressing his hand over your lips, he stopped your rambling. 

"Not like this." It was quiet but you heard it, you knew you did. Your gaze met his again and you just stared at him for a heartbeat then two, willing yourself to take a chance. Telling yourself it would be worth it. 

Fuck it. If it goes wrong, you can just blame it on the toxin.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling yourself further toward him. Your heat pressed against the obvious tent in the front of his pants. His hand fell from your lips as you dragged yourself up to him, close enough to share breath.

“Please.” You ran your nose along his cheek and quickly unhooked your bra. His eyes flicked down briefly once the lace was removed and laying on the floor.

“Little one,” he murmured.

"You're the only person I would trust with this." You pressed a firm kiss to the front of his mask.

A harsh breath hissed out from behind the grate. He took only a brief pause to gather himself before moving off the bed stripping quickly. Your eyes raked over every inch of newly exposed skin. Lightly tanned, criss-crossed with scars, and stretched over his wide frame and well-built muscles. You’d seen him shirtless before under much different circumstances and it was a sight you had guiltily used on nights when you were alone and you knew this was something that you would add to your shameful late night fantasies until the day you died. 

His cock slapped against his stomach as his pants hit the floor. The sight alone had a whimper crawling up your throat. He was thick, flushed red and leaking, and you couldn’t tell if the need to feel him inside you was more the toxin or your own. 

Your breath caught when his fingertips curled into the top hem of your panties. His gaze held yours until the lace joined his pants on the floor and he returned to his spot between your thighs.

He wrapped a hand around himself, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Are you with me?” His eyes searched yours.

“Always,” you breathed. 

He filled you slowly, measured, careful, and watching your face the entire time. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you and he was acutely aware of the size difference between the two of you. His fingers flexed against your thighs, keeping you still in his grasp. 

Even with the toxin’s effects on you, the stretch of Bane filling you had a twinge of discomfort filtering through the pleasure otherwise washing over you. 

He finally bottomed out and you let out a low groan. You couldn’t decide where to keep your hands and they flitted from his shoulders to the bedsheets to his forearms to his abs, anything you could touch. Maybe if you found something to hold on to, you could keep yourself from floating away. 

Bane grunted as you clenched around him and minutely ground his hips into you. 

“Shit, move please,” your fingers dug into his forearms. 

You expected him to be rough and fast. Simply chasing release with his mission as a sole focus. But this was something else entirely. He was still focused but his mission was you, not just getting off. He was curled over you, forehead pressed into your shoulder, caging you in with his forearms and rolling his hips into you. It felt amazing.

But it wasn’t enough. You could tell he was holding back, even if it was for your sake, and, if this was the only time you got to experience Bane like this, you wanted all of him.

“Bane, baby, please.” You gripped the back of his neck and pulled his face up from its hiding place. Flicking your eyes up to meet his wild ones, you planted a firm kiss onto his mask, running the tip of your tongue along the grate. “I’m not gonna break.” You dug your heels into his ass, urging him on. His eyes darkened at your words, pupils already blown wide. His hips snapped forward with a grunt, forcing a gasp from between your lips. He levered up on his knees, towering over you, as he pulled out almost entirely and wrapped your hips in a bruising grip. 

A growl slid out from behind his mask as he looked down at you.

“Fuck yes,” you moaned out. Your eyes rolled back when he filled you again, impossibly deeper than before. 

Long gone was the caring pace he had set before. Every one of your favorite fantasies of rough sex with Bane couldn’t compare to the real thing. Part of you was already excited to see the vibrant bruises you’d find on your hips later. 

Bane’s angle was perfect, the head of his cock rubbing against your g-spot with devastating precision. 

“Oh fuck, right there, please.” Your fingers curled around his wrists and your back arched up off the bed. 

You bit your lip hard to try and stop the string of embarrassing whines escaping with every powerful thrust. 

“No,” something akin to a snarl clawed out of Bane’s throat.

He pinned your wrists above your head, holding you fast with one hand. He ran the thumb of his other over your bottom lip, spit-slicked and bitten red, and pulled it from between your teeth. 

“I want to hear every single noise of pleasure you make,” he growled. 

You caught his thumb between your teeth and curled your tongue around it. His fiery gaze dropped to your lips as you sucked, drawing the calloused pad deeper into your mouth.

“I’ve heard those pretty sounds fall out of your lips countless times, I’ve heard you call my name at night, don’t you dare hide them from me now.”

He hooked his thumb behind your teeth and pulled down. A hard snap of his hips forced a loud cry from between your lips. 

“Good girl.” He chuckled darkly.

He released your jaw and trailed his hand down your neck. His fingers found your nipple, spit-slick thumb circling the bud before pinching it between rough fingers. You squirmed beneath him as he twisted and pulled, the bite of pain only serving to amplify the pleasure coursing in your blood. He showed the same treatment to your other nipple and you fought weakly against the hold he had on your wrists. 

“Please, fuck, please,” you moaned. At this point, you didn’t even know what you were begging for. Your head was fuzzy with the tightening of the coil in your stomach. Each drag of his cock inside you, each grind against your clit, feeling wholly and solely overwhelmed by the man above you, nothing else existed outside this moment. 

“Let go, little one,” he purred. He reached down and rubbed tight circles over your clit. “Give it to me. Let me feel you come on my cock.”

You screamed his name as the knot in your core snapped hard and your vision went white. Bane snarled and buried himself to the hilt finding his own release as you lost yourself in the waves of your orgasm crashing one after another. 

Floating back to yourself, you felt a firm body under your cheek and tentative fingertips tracing along your back. 

The toxin had burned itself out, no longer smoldering in your core. Now, you were afraid. Was all that just because of the toxin? Had Bane just reacted to you? Of course, he had offered but what if none of it really meant anything to him? Hell, it probably didn’t. Just a means to an end.

You didn’t realize you had started shivering until Bane moved you to lay over him and wrapped his arms and the duvet around you. 

You slid your hands under his shoulders and pressed your face into his neck. 

“Are you with me?” you whispered, fighting to keep your voice steady.

A beat of silence and his arms tightened around you. 

“Always.”

The talk that both of you knew needed to happen, could wait just a little while longer. For now, you were content to stay in the moment. You placed a slow line of kisses down his neck and pressed your nose into the juncture of his shoulder instead. 

“Sleep now, little one,” he rumbled beneath you. 

Just before unconsciousness took you, you felt him press his mask into the crown of your head. 

#bane x reader #bane imagine #bane fanfiction #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy smut #my fic #cross posted on ao3

[barbika1508]

Sand, sand everywhere (Moon boys x Reader)

Word Count: 6,7 k Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Romance Pairing; Moon boys x Reader! Demigod

Summary: A magnet for trouble, is what all of them think of themselves as. Which isn’t far from the truth. It’s what brough them together in the first place. This time around though it leaves them tumbling through the dessert, survival the priority along with definitely a suspicious side-track quest option to explore.

/ Masterlist 2023 /

‘’Sand…fuck off.’’

Nothing changes. The sun remains glaring, scorching on my skin, not a whiff of a breeze the air still and stuffy, our surroundings the same. Sand everywhere. Above us a clear blue cruel sky, no clouds in sight. This is literally one of my nightmares from when I was a kid; how does one survive in the desert?

With half a water bottle at that, and two adult people intent on surviving for more than a day. Okay not to be too dramatic we've been walking for what feels like days, when in reality, we have been stuck in the sun in the middle of nowhere for a few hours. It's quite the change from dreary grey but right now dreamy London. Oh, how I miss the rain. I swear I will never ever again in my life complain about the rain.

‘’Isn’t there a saying, fight fire with fire?’’ I speak up breaking the silence again, ignoring the drips of sweat going down the sides of my face, the scarf I wrapped around my head a blessing and curse. I’ve had a white bombard jacket on me that got destroyed by a random dude who managed to grab me, Marc not far behind punching the fucker off me, the victim being my jacket.

I look at Marc’s back, the man wearing a white hoodie of all things, with camo pants and military boots. Always ready for everything. Meanwhile I’m left in my own to tightly tied boots, regular brown pants and a black t-shirt drenched of course, like I mentioned before in sweat, jacket destroyed and forgotten.

I wasn’t even supposed to tag along. The plan was to scoop out Helwan, a city part of Great Cairo. Mainly to avoid the tourist traps which weren’t our intent either way. Avoid the pyramids is the moto of the trip!

And by moto, I mean my moto. Not being a fan of enclosed spaces - which I can deal with don’t get me wrong - it's just not my personal favourite to crawl around in someone’s tomb. Plus, mummified, mummification all that…

I shake my head and shimmy my shoulders giving a small glare towards the man ahead of me. Thank you so much Steven for your endless depth in knowledge and explanation of mummification rituals and booby trap in tombs leaving me with nightmares on occasions. Bloody brilliant as he would say.

‘’Huh?’’ he finally responds, taking a sudden stop, enabling me to reach him my legs feeling heavier the more we make progress.

‘’Fire with fire.’’ I repeat looking at him nonchalantly, hands on my hips as I glance to the map he’s holding, and compass. Marc doesn’t even look at me, frown which is permanent to his ever-resting face deepening as he looks around. I don’t bother following his look, having noticed he has brought us exactly where one who is getting tired doesn't want to be. A giant hole with mountains of sand surrounding us on all sides.

‘’Do you think I can combine my fire with the heat? As in two elements clashing?’’ I ramble the heat getting to my head somewhat, my concentration, alertness and survival instincts having left a while back thanks to the unbearable climate. To prove my point, I raise my left hand rubbing my thumb with the rest of my fingers together, fire lighting up over my fingertips. It feels cooler sitting atop of my skin even as I spread my palm and let it dance in the middle of my hand.

‘’Ah watch the map, sweetheart.’’ Marc moves the said map away as if I was intentionally going to burn it ‘’And no I don’t think that will work. At least with your train of thoughts.’’

He pauses looking at my hand and up at me, gauging my expression half rising an eyebrow in question ‘’Not working.’’ I confirm bringing both hands together brushing them along, the flame disappearing leaving no trace behind.

‘’Save your energy, baby. Night won’t come in a few hours we still have a trek ahead of us.’’ only his voice softens as he speaks, his hard stoic look deepening as he turns to the map, looking around us as if something new is going to miraculously pop up any moment.

‘’Think positive, thoughts, positive thoughts.’’ I sigh trying not to get irritated ‘’Okay. Why don’t we just stop for a moment…’’ he continues to shuffle the map turning it sideways for some reason ‘’...and regroup because this isn’t going anywhere.’’

‘’We’re fine. I got this.’’ Short and direct Marc takes a step away but halts again.

‘’Aha.’’ I cross my arms watching him, turning towards me glancing uphill of the sand dune, then towards the sky squinting ‘’Why don’t you ask Stev…’’

‘’No, I’ve got it.’’ He's quick to stop me with a look too ‘’I may look lost, but I have a plan and I’m getting us out of here. I don’t break my promises.’’

He’s taking this seriously I mean as he should, but the bravado won’t help us if he gets us lost further even if it’s by accident ‘’I never even thought about you breaking any promises, love.’’ I'm still keeping my cool ‘’Just to share your burdens with me, remember? I might have never been in a desert like you Mr. Mercenary but I’m resourceful too need I remind you?’’

I quirk an eyebrow keeping serious, ignoring the skip of my heart thanks to the smirk he offers keeping his eyes on me, only after a few moments hinting at the map ‘’Oh I’m well aware of your resourcefulness baby.’’’ he muses ‘’I remember well. But like you’ve said I’ve been through this; I’m getting you out.’’

‘’Macho man to the rescue.’’ I grumble letting my arms drop taking half a step back to eye the dune ‘’I say we climb this to find an easier path to take than just, descending and climbing so much.’’

‘’Just wait.’’ he stops me, turning away again ‘’Why would we climb up a dune if our direction is the complete opposite one.’’

‘’To be honest babe, our direction doesn’t look like it’s too clear to you right now. Is the compass broken?’’

‘’The compass is not broken, why would…’’ he takes a deep breath trying to contain his own frustrations, eyes settling on me but softening as he turns sideways ‘’We’re headed west.’’

‘’Huh??’’ I immediately make a noise in question.

‘’They will be expecting us in the first town we get into.’’ he explains ‘’How many were after us, they have connections. So, we head west towards the sea. The Nile is way behind us. Towns in west are closer than the ones in North.’’

‘’Southwest.’’ I blur out Marc blinking at me in question as I try to remember the map of New Cairo, I took from our hotel lobby out of curiosity ‘’We don’t risk the chance of reaching Suez. I’m sure they will wait for us there too. So Southwest.’’

He stares at me unmoving for a solid moment ‘’Is your geography broken? Are you getting over heated?’’

Placing a hand on my hip I give him full attitude his double take making him hesitate in approaching me ‘’I don’t think you want to fall into argument with me about geography Mr. Spector.’’ I have jabs ready to send his way but refrain from doing so ‘’I’ll give you space to find the way in either case so I’m going this way.’’

Faster than him I reach the dune in two steps stubborn to climb it, even if I can hear him hot on my heel the map rustling ‘’Baby, don’t…’’ he calls after more rustling heard ‘’I didn’t mean to snap, I’m sorry. The heat isn’t helping, please don’t rush.’’

It’s easy to spiral into the flurry of emotions that are intensified by the heat which brings irritation into the mix, anger and frustration not too far behind. Its why I desperately want to keep calm and collected, trusting the man with my life after all with no complaints so far. And what do I get in return ‘’...a moody boyfriend, who wants to be the hero. Marine my ass, we’re in the dessert not the middle of the ocean, gods…’’ I continue grumbling under my breath the dance of trying to keep my balance beginning as the sand under me gives in, making me trip and almost fall the higher I go.

‘’I can hear your kind words, sweetheart.’’ Marc calls out a tinge of amusement in his voice.

‘’Uh huh, anytime hot shot.’’ I snip back, getting irritated by each stumble, landing on my hands every time, knees digging into the sand preventing me from rolling backwards or sideways ‘’Seriously thought, why pyramids, why the desert? Why didn’t we stop in Kefalonia and then side-tracked here? No, that old pigeon had to make it a priority of life and death, didn’t he?’’

‘’Careful, Y/N.’’ he warns as I stumble again.

‘’We just dove right into trouble didn’t we, head first! We are magnets for danger and bad things to happen…ahhh fuckl!! I end up flinching at something black in the corner of my eye, making an appearance. It stands out from the beige hues of the sand the creature turning out to be a scorpion.

‘’You okay babe?’’ Marc calls pausing as have I in our climb.

‘’Yeah, yeah just a scorpion it’s all.’’ I breathe out bringing fire to my left hand the flame bigger this time, slowly reaching towards the creature. My idea works out as the poisonous bugger turns away from danger. Making a grimace I keep my hand on fire even as I take a step higher the small creature not really running away just putting distance from us.

‘’Whatever you do, don’t let it sting you alright?’’

I roll my eyes patience disappearing like water dripping through fingertips, the heat and, dryness of my mouth starting to get to me ‘’Thank you for the warning, Captain Obvious.’’ I snap before I can stop myself, cursing under my breath harshly as another scorpion makes an appearance closer to where I rest my other hand, the fucker wiggling from underneath the sand. Bringing my flame closer in hopes of scaring the creature away it barely moves.

‘’Sorry for trying to look out for you…’’ Marc doesn’t sound too pleased gearing up for a tangent, which is another clear sign the heat is getting to him as well. His voice drifts to the back of my mind as I attempt to step higher placing both hands on the sand to steady myself, ending up bamboozled as a third scorpions makes an appearance the bugger jumping onto my right hand, the touch of its tiny feet or whatever immediately making me straighten up, and wildly swing my arm away thankfully the scorpion flying away as panic raises up my throat, and chest ‘’...not that you listen to me, being stubborn as you are…’’

Unaware of what’s happening Marc's voice continues to rant onwards getting his emotions out at least. My attention shifts onto the shifting of the sand which is not my doing as I’ve buried my knees into it, watching in horror as at first black dots make appearances, not stopping even as the scorpions peek out their tails following.

‘’AH FUCK, NOPE NOPE MARC RUN!’’ I end up totally and completely freaking out not waiting for them to get the chance to crawl closer, as I let my fear even if it’s irrational crawl from my chest and up my arms the mere thought of another tiny beastie touching me sending me into a different type of spiral where I want to cover myself in gasoline and burn myself alive.

Given my predicament, as I shout, I turn around jumping eagerly but carelessly away from the sand landing harshly on my ass, the momentum sending me sliding down towards Marc that watches in confusion, eyes squinting mouth opening to question me.

‘’What are…’’

‘’Run, run, nope, nope.’’ I rush reaching him in no time focused on watching where I’m going to land as I pick myself onto unsteady feet making progress downwards much faster than upwards, barely seeing Marc’s surprise as he sees and realizes what’s happening as I grab his arm fire retreating so I don’t burn him in the process of holding and dragging him with me.

The next few moments pass like a blur as panic fuels me, not even giving me the chance to breathe as we reach the bottom and end up running burning feet and muscles up the other dune. Not even arguing I push my boyfriend in front of me releasing the fire as if I’m a flame thrower towards the oncoming scorpions that cover the entirety of the sand behind us, death staring at our faces.

The little death bringers hiss as they get burned alive, but the others proceed to climb over their dead kin to get us. The feat of the climb would leave us breathless and whipped in normal circumstances – which these are obviously not. Reaching the top Marc unceremoniously grabs me by the back of my shirt, pulling me into himself as I retreat my flames drenched in sweat, and ongoing terror.

We are not given the time to recollect our thoughts or bearings as the world is spinning before my eyes, body hitting the ground again. I’m not sure if he pulls me with him or I pull him, but my eyes close shut as well as my mouth the tumbling and rolling down another dune unstoppable. Picking up speeding I get battered and heavily caked in sand disorientation akin to jumping into the ocean in the middle of the night.

Panic raises as I let out a muffled shout through my closed mouth, something grabbing my arm shadow passing above me resulting in something – someone - landing on me halfway squeezing air from my lungs. Giving into fate as I’ve got nothing better to do, or any other choice the fall ends after what feels like an intense few solid moments.

I expect fully to be tossed and pulled by gravity onto my face. My left knee first hits the sandy ground, body following, I end up hitting my head and crushing with upper body onto something solid, that’s definitely not sand, my hands catching me rather poorly digging into the hot sand.

Opening my eyes, I’m faced with a coughing Marc as he groans, face twisting in pain thanks to the impact he sustained with catching me his attempt at shielding me squeezing my heart when the realization hits me.

‘’Ah damn babe.’’ I rush breathless myself making quick work of getting off him straddling him over the stomach and with shaky hands brushing away sand from his handsome face as he lies with his eyes closed catching his breath ‘’Sorry my love and thank you for that.’’ I rush to say giving him a once over, his clothing lacking any and all colour of blood.

Before I can pepper the man in kisses as thanks, I turn around out of instinct ready for any kind of threat, the scorpions still freaking me out. I’m met with the dune and no sign of danger, the little beasties gone. So, while Marc regains his bearings I check where we landed, noticing a few raised mounds of sand still surrounding us. We’ve landed deeper than we were before, the dune behind us providing some form of shade.

‘’Don’t mention it.’’ Marc groans out squinting as the sun is shining directly into his eyes, prompting me to move and block it as I run my fingers through his slicked hair, and over his head making sure he isn’t injured ‘’Are you an angel?’’

The question has me looking at him pointedly his smile a dead giveaway that he is fucking with me. So, I mildly-lightly punch him on the chest proceeding to climb onto my feet ‘’Ouch. A rough angel.’’ he grumbles as I begin to brush sand that has once more made its way everywhere in my hair and clothes and other places.

‘’You love it.’’ I snicker offering him my hand. He glances from it to my face contemplating ‘’Awww babe you don’t trust me?’’ I joke watching as the man gets serious and grabs onto my forearm. With a literal skip as he pulls me forward for what I was ready he stands up in front of me, both hands settling over my hips, pulling me into him.

‘’Undoubtedly.’’

It always gives me almost a whiplash how quick he can change emotions. How he turns teasing into another level of seriousness and deepness. Guilt tugs at my heart as it’s his turn to touch and make sure I’m alright, ending up cupping my cheek meeting my gaze.

‘’I know love.’’ I offer a smile ‘’I trust you. With my life.’’ I reassure him, as he rests his forehead against my own, holding onto me, as I have my arms wrapped around his neck, even though I am standing on my toes Marc being taller than me. It never posed a problem, he’s always eager to bend down to get kisses. Mr Grumpy is in fact Mr Soft and needy for kisses - but don’t tell anyone that.

That’s until I run my tongue over my teeth, prompting me to run it up and down frown making an appearance as saliva gathers in my mouth.

‘’So, the West is not an option anymore.’’ Marc begins shifting, one hand finding mine as he takes half a step back looking around then upwards to the sky checking the sun and the tops of the dunes. Maybe Khonsu is making an appearance, the god of the moon making his disappearing act rather lengthy.

‘’Maybe we really should wait for the night. Then we can…you, okay?’’

I nod immediately, giving him a thumbs up by letting go of his hand as I turn my back to him taking a few steps away, spitting rather clumsily in my opinion bending down as a result as I try to spit out more of the sand that has gotten in my mouth.

‘’Gross.’’ He mumbles to which I hum in agreement turning around once I deem myself presentable feeling legit happy that Marc is turned away his attention focused on something directly ahead of him. Narrowing my eyes, I wipe my mouth as I step back to him, not even catching up as he out of the blue bolts forward in a rush, breaking into a run towards a smaller stack of sand.

‘’I wasn’t that disgusting, we all spit.’’ I complain, pouting, ready to sit down and wait for the night. Sitting or lying down whatever, just not moving is my goal. I am dehydrated, I am tired, and I’ve had enough life-death experiences to last me a while.

‘’Y/N!’’ Marc shouts rather excitedly and louder than I’ve heard him in a while. With teases and more complaints and whines dying on the tip of my tongue I speed my step approaching my boyfriend as he begins digging. Put of all the things that we could and most importantly should do.

I’ve learned a while back not to question the things my boyfriends tend to do anymore. There’s always a perfectly logical explanation to their actions, even if they look insane doing them. I watched silently as Marc switches his digging position pushing the sand away like a madman, making me rethink of a head injury - he might have a concussion, he did catch me and fell over hard.

Just as I’m about to question and stop him, the sand gives in Marc still digging to reveal stone. Flabbergasted as I look at our surroundings then back to the stone I drop down next to him following blindly uncovering a structure out of all things. The very peak of it.

‘’This is crazy.’’ I find myself stating in awe, quickly realizing we’ve stumbled onto a pyramid.

‘’Insanity.’’ My boyfriend laughs, stopping soon getting tired, dots of sweat littering his forehead, chest rising and falling visibly as he settles his hands on his hips, as I continue pushing the sand away having done it with not as much as rush as he did.

‘’Do you think…’’ he begins but quiets prompting me to stop and turn to look at him in question urging him on ‘’Do you think you could, do some of your magic maybe? To help us out?’’

In normal circumstances, I would go off him - all with good humour of course - Marc calling my powers magic, which no I don’t do magic. I control the four elements: it's completely different! And second the teases and comebacks from before for me not mucking around and needing to save my energy goes all out the window.

But then again these are not normal circumstances after all. And like I’ve said, the desert makes you do and act weirdly. Staying calm and cool is the way to go, even if right now I want to punch a hole in the earth. Oh, excuse me, sand.

‘’You do realize, which I’m realizing as it’s just hitting me the last two, three times I’ve used my powers we’ve been attacked??’’ he glances away then back at me the puzzles clicking in his mind too ‘’The bandits, the weird birds, the scorpions? I feel like the odds are against us.’’ I cross my arms looking at the sky like he did.

Being a descendant of a god, your fate is not to be so ordinary. Hence me meeting the avatar of Khonsu and falling in love with him sticking to the not ordinary path even in the love department. Wacky is the word to use here.

‘’Aren’t they always?’’ he signs deeply glaring at the stone, rethinking his plan immediately ‘’But you’re right. I won’t risk you getting hurt, we’ll just…’’

Knowing where he is going with this, and the change in air only now becoming noticeable as I focus on it, it's rather easy to reach outwards and feel the air move around us. Grasping a weak air current, I twist my wrist wrapping it around my hand, pulling on it with all my might.

‘’...we’ll just have to come back, and…what the…oh no Y/N…’’ Marc notices the shift as sand gets picked up, drawing it away from the stone. I give Marc a quick glance, confidence blooming in my chest as it’s going better than I’d imagined it to.

And then of course things go wrong.

The sand literally swallows me whole. Just like in cartoons.

‘’Y/N!!!!’’ I hear Marc’s desperate cry before everything goes black, thanks to my eyes closing automatically and well the sand eating me. You know, it is an irrational fear they’ve said. Sinking, it doesn't just happen. Frankly I am amazed as I’m not freaking out as much as one might in a situation as this one. It probably has to do with the fact that I don’t want any more sand in my mouth, or up my nose so far avoiding that happening. Oh yeah and I’m still sinking the sand pressing onto me from everywhere.

The stop is abrupt, not soon after leaving me completely turned around – again! This time around through lying on my back thank the gods, the lack of pressure on my front urging me to take a breath, joy legitimately sparkling in my heart at the lack of suffocation.

Taking it as a positive sign I crack my right eye open noticing the shade I’ve slid under. The shade is not the impressive sight, or thing to be amazed by. My gaze settles onto the clear sight of a pyramid that became partially uncovered in whatever I’ve triggered leaving what looks like an entrance exposed to light. The stones of the pyramid are white preserved thanks to the sand. There’s very little damage by first look everything looking picturesque. Tilting my head, I focus on the entrance lacking any barriers.

Peculiar. The sand doesn't seem to be sipping into the pyramid, so it means the lower part of it is in fact sunken. Or so it appears to be. Huh. There had been one too many coincidences today. Too good to be true rings in my head.

Goosebumps rising over my skin only confirm the unsettling feeling that passes through me. I offer a look towards the sky more so in question not expecting much to be revealed. And it’s not. Only that I’ve fallen into a sinkhole. Or something like it, the sand having crumbled in the weirdest way possible - definitely not natural. The shape of the dips makes no sense, and the disappearance of that much sand that enveloped me to go into nothing?

Strange things are on the horizon.

A particular grunt has me moving finally, the joints in my knee cracking as I push myself to look above my head. I observe Marc uncharacteristically, awkwardly and clumsily descend, kicking up sand catching himself on his hands in odd ways, not looking composed at all.

He looks angry. Why is he angry??

Still whipped out from my own fall and a moment of what I thought was my doom, I process things a bit slower, the lack of water a hard thing to ignore. So, I stare as my boyfriend lands on the ground catching himself on his hands, wasting no time with getting up and sliding to me like a baseball player would.

‘’Are you okay hermosa? Are you hurt?’’

I raise both eyebrows in surprise to see Jake fronting, the angry look making sense. And so do his hands that immediately touch, fingers pressing onto my neck checking for injuries not even waiting for an answer.

‘’No, I don’t think so.’’ I manage to find my voice letting him pull me into a sitting position, hands working firmly over my body. He even rolls his sleeves up, worry deeply etched into his face.

‘’Ah you should have been more careful…’’ he picks up a conversation out of the blue angrily his touch gentle as he takes a hold of my left hand examining it ‘’...shouldn’t have let her, in the first place pendejo…’’

It's not hard to figure out he’s arguing with his alters. So, I cup his cheek with my right hand bringing his attention to me, eyes blazing with fire ‘’It’s on me, mi amor.’’ I begin running my thumb over his cheek ‘’I went ahead and ignored Marc, okay?’’ offering a smile it doesn’t ease Jake’s frustration as he goes back to touching me, switching onto my right hand pressing a kiss on top of my knuckles making me know he’s not as angry as he looks ‘’I’m sorry.’’

‘’Nena, you have nothing to be sorry about…’’

Shutting him up in the most effective way I know, I lean forward practically punching him in the face, but luckily avoiding that, as I clash our lips together. And noses.

That doesn’t faze Jake what-so-ever as he sighs into the messy kiss, being the first one to tilt his head and easing it into a more sensual one, that I go along with eagerly. We’ve gone from watching movies together on the plane to a night that we couldn’t stop touching one another, to being almost killed more than I can count in one day, which feels like a lifetime to be honest. It's been too long since we kissed or took a moment to ourselves. Or maybe that’s just my love for them talking. I absolutely adore the men I am with, love them to bits and pieces as Steven would say.

The kiss doesn’t last long thanks to the dryness of our lips partially. I’d happily keep locking lips as long as we would need air to breathe but we are not out of trouble yet.

‘’Mi corazon you don’t always have to jump on my side to defend my silly hiccups.’’ I genuinely smile at his still serious expression that has loosened, without shaking off his worry ‘’Can you let Marc know, he’s not the one to blame? Like at all.’’ I give him a pointed look, Jake staring at me wordlessly, lips twitching as if he wants to speak but is mumbling to himself.

Looking towards the pyramid, thanks to his hand holding my own I can feel the change in his demeanour how his body tenses, shoulders subconsciously squaring up, the look he gives me emotionless for a moment.

‘’Babe.’’ I smile wider ‘’For an ex-mercenary you’re a lousy babysitter.’’

His eyebrows shot up in question as he looks at me fully confused ‘’Babysitter?’’ Marc's American accent comes through, hands not exploratory anymore instead wrapping around me, as he sits finally having been standing on his knees awkwardly this entire time.

‘’I’m a menace.’’ I muse referencing an inside joke. One of his neighbours, an older lady that looks like the queen of England to me, literally compared me to Dennis the Menace after the 4 random meet ups with her in the elevator, usually when we were coming back to Steve’s apartment.

He rolls his eyes at that, my boyfriend not entirely agreeing with that categorization ‘’I can handle you. We’ve established that, troublemaker.’’ The smirk he offers has me clicking my tongue and wiggling my eyebrows at the suggestiveness.

‘’Oh, we have yes. But a refresher never hurt.’’ To be extra I give him a wink, getting distracted after by a breeze ruffling my loose hair, ponytail giving in thanks to the tumble I’ve experienced. We both look towards the entrance of the pyramid reality crashing down. We are still stuck in the middle of nowhere.

‘’Raincheck?’’

I snort at that rolling my eyes at his eagerness to always get down and dirty so to speak. I have a retort already on the tip of my tongue, as I start to push myself to stand but get stopped by Marc’s calloused, slightly rough hands cupping my cheeks bringing my attention back to my once more worried boyfriend ‘’You are okay right?’’ he asks so seriously, eyebrows turning upright.

He’s blaming himself ‘’I will be after I get a kiss from you.’’ he softens, giving me a pointed look. So, I throw my arms around his shoulders to be close ‘’I’m serious.’’ I pout giving him puppy dog eyes for good measure. His pretty brown eyes take me in as he contemplates something, gaze darting to my lips two times. He closes the distance simply pressing his lips against my own. I don’t rush him knowing that something is going on in his head.

‘’Ah you see. I’m all better.’’ I speak as we part. But the man is still worried, even under all that serious gruffness, I can read him like the crystal blue sky. Because we are alike.

‘’Promise?’’ he pushes not fully convinced, but willing to let go.

‘’Cross my heart and hope to…’’ Due to another more heated glare I show my tongue before finishing my sentence, delivering a peck to the tip of his nose and on the corner of his lips ‘’Come on. Your adventure is right ahead of you.’’

Feeling energized and more like myself even if it's temporary, I jump to my feet letting Marc do the same and take the lead, following closely behind observing our surroundings. The day is not over yet.

‘’At least I can scratch ‘Tomb Raiding in Egypt’ off my never-want-to-do bucket list.’’ I mumble more to myself, as the sun hits us the feeling of unsettledness hitting me once more. It's as if we are being watched. And I’m sure Khonsu is somewhere around, or close enough but he doesn’t give me the creeps I have at the moment.

‘’Says the one who completed 3 of the Tomb Raider’s games.’’ Marc jests in return, hand brushing over my back as he pulls his sleeves back down his arms pulling me into the shade of the doorway, a frown drawing itself over my face.

‘’It's different.’’

Unsettled and rattled I zone in on the hieroglyphs beautifully preserved in the doorway we take shelter in, shade salvation in the heat and emptiness of the desert. I am not the best decoder nor a reader of them, Steven taking it easy with teaching me as Greek and Latin are hard enough to learn anew after years of not studying actively. What I can see is that someone important has been placed to rest in here at first glance.

‘’Wait for me here.’’

At Marc's statement I turn around immediately staring at him in disbelief ‘’Haaa? What for?’’

‘’I’ll be in and out. Khonsu said this should be trap-free and straightforward. This tomb belongs to an important scribe, but not so important to hide gold and traps. I just need documents. So, stay under the shade…’’ he proceeds to hand me the half empty water bottle that survived everything having been stored in his cargo pants ‘’...and wait for me. No arguing.’’

The last part he adds knowing how I’d react. The only thing keeping me back is him. I don’t want him to get stuck in his head and worrying about my safety all the time. His fear of assuming the worst bringing him endless stress and anxiety, something that I’m trying to get him to stop or at least lessen. I want to help him, make him happy because he deserves the world. And that’s something I’m willing to get for him. By any means necessary to.

Keeping my mouth shut I offer a nod leaning against the wall for effect to prove to him I’ll behave ‘’Good girl.’’ his voice dips lower as he presses a kiss to my forehead offering me a smile before he’s turning away hand running over his slicked hair. He disappears inside as if he’s been here a million times, not really checking his footing or anything.

What a hero huh? I can’t even smile at the thought as he takes things upon himself that he does not need to do so at all. He knows I’m a good fighter, knows my control over the elements provide a huge advantage making the impossible possible, but his stubbornness knows no bounds. So protective, they all are.

Despite my thoughts going astray trying to distract myself from imagining all the scenarios mainly from the video game I’ve played happening - yeah, I mean the death scenes - I reach into the cargo pants I’m wearing, getting my mini notebook out and a broken pencil that has not crumbled into dust.

Sitting down in the shade, I start to scribble and draw the symbols from one wall, ending mumbling out loud at the ridiculousness of my situation. Currently I’m left alone in the middle of the desert, my boyfriend exploring a few thousand years old previously untouched and undiscovered tomb he says isn’t dangerous, which isn’t reassuring even if he said it himself. I could have stayed in London. I could have ignored the world really and stayed in bed where everything is nice and wholesome.

Nahhhh who says no to life and death type adventures huh, where scorpions are out literally to get you, and men paid by other men trying to get your head for money. What a fun world we live in. To be fair, me being a descendant of the gods also…normality is not a word in my practice I can act upon.

Remembering the water bottle I placed on the ground, I take half a sip of it wanting to legit cry at the brief relief it brings. My throat closes quickly around dryness, it not being enough for anything. How spoiled I am having to remind myself to drink water every hour back home to right now being almost willing to kill for it. And yes, that sounds serious and unethical but it's so damn hot and I’m so thirsty…

My eyes flicker towards the entrance, fingers of my left hand grasping a handful of sand. I am weapon-less after all. The shifting of sand is loud from the darkness, my body tense as I’m ready for what by now I imagine a monster to jump out. Not to sound like a broken record but in normal circumstances this bounty of creative imagination would be welcomed.

I groan in relief as my boyfriend makes an appearance, shuffling outside body moving awkwardly as he stands with his hands raised in an ‘I come in peace’ position. He offers a nervous smile trying his best not to freak out by the dark grey spiderwebs that he has entangled himself into. It has even gotten in his hair, that has gone into an unruly mess of curls.

‘’Heya dove.’’ he greets sweetly ‘’Seems I’ve gotten myself a wee bit entangled at the moment, haven’t I?’’

‘’Just a wee bit.’’ I get on my feet taking him in, reaching for the spider web on his left hand, the substance sticking to me ‘’Oh it’s bljehkkk.’’ I make a face at the feeling. Raising my left hand, I point my pointing finger letting it act as a lighter. Bringing it over to the spiderweb I watch it spark and burn away spreading like lightning disappearing from Steven’s arm.

‘’Bloody hell.’’ my boyfriend flinches as I continue freeing him, pulling strands of him the effect more dramatic than the action ‘’Handy trick you’ve got there.'’ He compliments, making me genuinely smile as he is always fascinated by what I can do. A memory resurfaces of just a few months ago when a cold wave hit the UK, and I’ve resorted to using my fire to keep my boyfriend warm. Very cuddly couple of days I gotta say.

‘’Slight of hand.’’ I muse taking a step back to take him in, watching as he brushes his hands over his torso, back, hands, legs I’m sure feeling as if he has something crawling over his skin ‘’So what brings your charming ass back out? A dead end? A spider?’’

The tease slips my mouth as I try to keep my chuckles at bay, the soft glare that he gives me making me give him puppy eyes. He remains fidgeting.

‘’It’s not like ‘m cryin’ dove.’’ he points out, shaking his head, my smile not lessening. He does glance back at the entrance making me do so as well, the brief silence telling as he is hesitant with whatever he has to say. Or ask.

I’m usually the softest to Steven. What a lie I’m always soft for Steven. But Marc’s hero complex is the reason of my wavering. And a bit of ego. I want him to admit that I’m right for the job. I’m in his league, and capable of protecting him as well. Even if I really, really don’t want to go into a pyramid because I don’t define that as fun or intriguing, but given Steven is fronting…

‘’We need your fire.’’

Those are not the words I was expecting. In my dumbfounded-ness Steven comes closer raising his pocket flashlight ‘’Our flashlight broke. We are literally blind in there.’’ he pauses ‘’Marc wanted to spare you this experience and I do to my love, but it appears we are in need of your assistance I’m afraid.’’

Sweetly and slowly, he moves my arms from their crossed position taking my hands in his acting charming as ever the man not even aware of the hold he has on me and how much I cannot resist him especially when he asks this sweet and gives me puppy eyes.

‘’You need me to be your personal torch huh?’’

Despite his olive skin and the heat pressing down on the sand I see a faint blush hit his cheeks, the immediate shake of his head ‘’I wouldn’t put it like that.’’ he grimaces ‘’You’re more than that.’’

I begin giggling, closing in pressing an obnoxiously loud kiss to his right cheek.

‘’You’re my world.’’ I slip my hand into his ‘’Let’s go then, lover boy.’’

Shy Steven is back as he stutters something under his breath but follows eagerly. Bringing fire forth to my right hand still holding onto his, I light up the darkness not entirely safe from anxiousness but reassured given I have my boys with me. I don’t need more reasons to blindly follow them - after all I would go with them, or for them to the Duat if needed.

Copyright 2023© by barbika1508. All rights reserved.

#moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight x y/n #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector #moon knight system #polyamourous #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic

[prolix-yuy]

For the Bangathon: Snuggling spoon with Javi G or Oberyn?

Ahhhhh we love ourselves a little snuggly sexxin'! Oberyn was calling to me for this one, but it may be a little more tense than we think...

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFC

Position: Snuggled Spoon

Word Count: 1419 (see how these get longer the more of them I write? I have no self-control)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), fingering (f receiving), allusions to public sex, cum tasting, hate sex, Oberyn is an affectionate bastard.

Notes: A follow-up to this drabble, because I wanted to see how it all panned out.

“How are your accommodations, little scorpion?”

The infuriating voice of her captor (and failed assassination attempt) drifts through her cell bars. Remaining on her side on the floor, only a few crumpled blankets to soften the uncomfortable stone, she ignores his question. 

It wasn’t the first time the Prince had visited during her imprisonment. She’d screamed and railed against him the first time, tried to claw at him the second. Every spitfire reaction left him with a smarmy smile, standing just out of reach. He pulled little bits of information out of her each time - who sent her (a prominent family tired of the house leaders), what her plan was (to poison him and flee to Westeros), if she’d ever cum that hard with a lover she chose (silence). The game was more intriguing to him than she’d hoped, praying for his attention to drift so she could devise a way to escape. But every passing day he visits, and every day she grows wearier of her predicament.

Today, she’s done with this game. Her stomach is empty yet again, body aching, and hope waning. Her employers feign ignorance of her plan, abandoning her as she should have guessed. There was no one coming to reward her for her loyalty. 

“Oh come now, has all your fire finally burned out?” Oberyn purrs, but she doesn’t rise to his challenge. She’d overheard the guards speaking of an execution date, fast approaching. What does this sparring matter when she’s about to be erased from history? A blip only in the mind of a small few, forgotten when larger matters loom. 

Oberyn hums, then calls to a guard. Her interest piques for a moment, the rusty clank of keys and the creak of her door opening urging her to roll over and watch. The Prince, in his fine mustard robes and heavy jewelry, steps into the cell. The door closes behind him, even though the guard’s wary face hovers nearby. She sits fully, glaring up at her captor. He only chuckles, leaning back against the bars.

“So I have your attention finally,” he drawls, crossing his arms and raking his gaze over her body. They’d swapped her gauze and silk for a rough shift, the fabric barely keeping her warm in the night. The vulnerability makes her skin crawl.

“If it pleases the Prince of Dorne,” she spits, turning to lay back on her side. Her hands itch to press her thumbs into his eyes, but what good would it do? Speed up the sentence from days to minutes?

“Oh come now, little scorpion, I’ve already commended you on how much your subterfuge entertained me,” he tuts, steps light and cat-like approaching. “Easily the most fun I’ve had in months. And all our sparring over these last days. Don’t let your current state tamp out your fury. It’s the most beautiful thing about you.”

She stays firmly turned to the wall as he sits beside her, the heat of his body melting the ice along her spine. Denying the satisfaction of her relief, she bites down on her lip.

“I’ve never had such a…” he begins again, trying to win her attention for some mystifying reason, before he stops. His fingers brush against her bare arm. “You’re freezing.”

She snorts, very unladylike. “Maybe I’ll perish from the cold before my beheading.”

Suddenly she’s surrounded by warmth, eyes shooting open. The man she was conscripted to kill is now draping his robe around her, bare expanse of his chest snug to her back. His breath dances along her cheek, and try as she might a shudder loosens her limbs.

“Little scorpion, I would not have you suffer,” he says, and the somber tone drips wonder on her skin. Perhaps ill-advised, but she presses back against his blazing heat, wondering if all desert men are this scorching or if it’s only Oberyn. His palm comes up to her arm and warms her skin. A reedy sound of relief catches in her throat. 

Before she can protest his hand travels over her stomach to cup her sex. Such boldness would normally result in the loss of a hand, but at the barest brush her core aches. Much as she hates to admit it (and never would to the Prince), she had dreamt of his touch more than once.

“I can warm you much better than this,” Oberyn purrs in her ear, his wicked fingers already creeping below her shift.

“What makes you think I would want your touch, my Prince?” She tries to hold her voice steady but his fingers are already swiping at her folds.

“This,” he gloats, bringing his soaked fingers to her face. Her arousal gleams thickly. “I think you would positively gush on me again.” Without pretense he drags his fingers into his mouth, sucking indulgently. She turns and watches him, pure sin and infuriating charm. His eyes open, and by the gods, they’re ravenous. 

“Will you take what your Prince gives you, little scorpion?” he demands, and every fiber of her being is screaming to deny him, but her parted lips and slow nod betray her. He smiles wickedly, tugging his cock from his pants to slide between her clenched thighs. Passing over her weeping cunt, he props himself up to closely watch her face. 

“I have dreamt of this cunt since you gave it to me, fucked my fist at the memory of you clenching around me,” he spits out, notching his blunt head at her at her entrance. “And now, I’ll do it again. But this time, you’ll scream my name.”

With a forceful thrust he buries himself inside her, the blinding sensation of fullness and sharp pleasure driving her to tuck into herself. He tuts and yanks her back against his chest, hand loosely around her throat as he sets a toe-curling pace. His teeth scrape her ear as he pants.

“Tight, wet, perfect little thing. Did you think your beauty and wiles would keep me from seeing your true nature?” he hisses, plunging his other hand between her legs to pinch her clit between his fingers. All she can do is wail and rock against his hold, hands scrabbling back to grip his pounding hips. “I’ve had many a pleasure, indulged all my vices, but making you cum on my cock as you tried to kill me…now that was a new experience.” 

Her breath whistles out through clenched teeth, wishing her body didn’t mold to his so readily. Nails digging into his hips, he growls and nips at her skin. Her orgasm is fast approaching, cursing and praising his skill as he pointedly strokes her clit and pounds into the perfect place inside. 

“Yes, my dangerous little scorpion, all glittering and deadly, cum for me a second time. I want your cunt to only desire how well I fuck it.” A quick strum of his fingers and her body traitorously snaps around him, only held in check by his grip and the roar of his snarl in her ear. When her body laxes he manhandles her to her back, lifting her hips off the ground as he slaps into her with reckless thrusts. A few more and he pulls out, fisting his cock and mashing his lips to hers as he cums in the palm of his hand. 

His lips are full and soft, the scratch of his mustache and beard burning against her skin. He sweeps his tongue into her mouth, full and domineering, but when she presses back with teeth and a lap of her own his hips stutter between hers. They kiss messily, licking and biting and panting against each other’s mouths until he finally lifts up and looks down at her. The Prince of House Martell, flushed and satiated, eyes just as dark and promising. 

“I stand by what I said during your arrest,” he says lightly, standing and shrugging off the floor-length robe. He drapes it over her body, sauntering to the cell door with only low-slung pants and the golden expanse of his back. She sits up, clutching the robe to her chest still warm. “You may beat us all to the Iron Throne one day, with that tenacity of yours.” 

One hand pulls the door shut…but not quite. Not enough for the latch to catch, but enough for the guards to believe so. Her eyes snap from the door to Oberyn’s eyes, challenge and conquest pooling in them.

“Come try and kill me again if you can, little scorpion.”

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#oberyn martell x oc #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn martel x reader #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x ofc #game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfiction

[fieldofdaisiies]

hey I absolutely loved your fic where the reader dies when giving birth! please could you do one where the reader is giving birth and something goes wrong and azriel is there and hes all worried and panicking :)

Thank you so much <33 and thank you for the request. I hope you like it and it is what you imagined :)

Azriel x Reader | Stay With Me

type: angsty warnings: blood, struggles with birth, partly detailed description of birth  word count: 1384

*all rights reserved*

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

Cassian’s hand clasped Azriel’s shoulder tightly. The Shadowsinger sat with his head hanging low.  "Everything is fine. She will do it," his brother assured him.

Azriel could barely hear him over the blood pumping in his ears. It had been sixteen hours since you had gone into labour. Sixteen dreadful hours of you crying, screaming and pushing. Getting pregnant with you not being Illyrian but only fae was a risk, but you and your mate wanted nothing more than having a child and so you accepted the risk. Azriel now regretted this decision, seeing you wreathing and screaming on the bed. It was too much..

Azriel knew that his brother just wanted to comfort him, but nothing was fine. You were having issues, the talon of the babe’s right wing had caused internal bleedings, has damaged some of the tissue of your womb. Your scream tore through the silence of the room—it was a cry of pure pain and agony. Cold sweat broke out on the Spymaster’s neck, dread colliding with horror inside of him. He braced his hands on his thighs and got up, hurdling back to where you were lying on the bed.

His throat constricted when he watched the puddle of blood that surrounded you, sheets and pillows drenched in red liquid. His insides were coated with fear and panic. He could not lose you. He wouldn’t…be without you. You were his world, his life, his mate. You were the sole reason for his happiness and he couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t have you in it.

The Spymaster crouched down on the floor beside you, taking your hand in his scarred one and kissed your knuckles. Your trembling hand was cold although your body felt like it was on fire. Your face was flushed and covered in sweat, strands of hair clutching to your forehead and cheeks, but for Azriel you still were the most beautiful female in the whole entire world. He watched you, tears burning behind his eyes when your face grimaced due to another contraction.

Your vision was blurry when you searched Azriel’s gaze, forcing your lips to form a smile. And then—

"Push!" Madja commanded and you did as told. There yet was another contraction, everything squeezed and everything hurt and ached, but you pushed and screamed. The cry hollowed through your whole house, leaving your throat burning and more tears prickled down your cheeks. Azriel held your hand tightly, his head dropping to your shoulder. He inhaled your scent, a single tear of his falling onto your arm. 

"You can do this, my sweet. You are so strong. A few more, the head is already out."

Your answer was a mumbled curse that escaped you through gritted teeth. You squeezed Azriel’s hand so tightly that for second it drained of blood and colour.

The head was out but now came the wings which blocked everything.

"We need the forceps and I need assistance. Quick, every second counts now!" 

Azriel was on high alert, jumping up immediately but finding himself unable to do anything. How could he assist? And why the hell did they need the forceps now? Madja had already cut your centre open to make more room for the babe and the wings.

Nesta quickly pushed past the shadowsinger, exchanged some words with Madja and then did exactly as told. They inserted the forceps, somehow pushing the wings in. With a loud scream, that tore through skin and bones your head dropped back to the bed. You loudly exhaled and Azriel felt like throwing up. His stomach churned, panic settling into his gut. But he swallowed the rising nausea and once again returned to the spot beside you.

Never had he ever felt like that. His heart ached, his chest squeezing. Seeing you in so much pain was the worst kind of torture one could have ever done to him. Your feet were braced on the bed and everything between your hips and the tips of your toes was covered in blood. It was beyond Azriel how someone could lose so much blood and still be alive. What if you were—

He could not left himself finish this thought. It was no possibility. You would survive. You could do this. You had to do it. He could not lose you. He could not lose his mate.

"Push, my love. You can do it!"

You pushed, but nothing moved. You breath hitched and you fought for air, lungs squeezing. You throat burned, your hand fisted the sheets and you cried out. Never had you ever been in so much pain. You knew it was worth it, but still—

You screamed against, your nails dug into Azriel’s palm. You knew it pained him to see you like this and that he blamed himself that the baby had the wings from you. You hated it, you had decided on the baby together, there was nothing he had to blame himself for.

"I can’t. I can…no longer. It is too much," you breathed, eyes brimming with tears once again. The pain was too overwhelming, it made you feel dizzy. You were nearly delirious, faces and things around you blurred and merged into one another. 

"Yes, you can," Azriel cried. He placed his hand on your forehead and trailed kisses up your arm. "You can. Stay with me. I love you. Keep your eyes on me," he whispered and brushed his fingers through your damp hair.

"Stay with me." It was a plea, rolling over his lips as a whisper. 

"I need you in my life. The babe needs you. You can do this, my mate." 

Tears streamed down his face. Azriel’s throat burned with a scream, but then—

A baby cried. Azriel looked over his shoulder where Madja cradled a tiny baby to her chest and cut through the umbilical cord.

A shout of happiness ripped itself free from Azriel’s throat and he couldn’t contain his bliss.

"The babe’s here," he exclaimed and turned towards you. You weakly smiled through sweat, tears and blood. Your head felt heavy, flecks of black and white appearing in front of your eyes. Sweet oblivion slowly came creeping in—you had lost too much blood. The connection through the bond got weaker, your breathing slower, your chest did barely rise.

"We have to stop the bleeding. Take a cloth and press it to her core. Madja has to do some stitches," Nesta ordered Azriel, pulling him towards where she stood and handing him some cloths. "Quick, she will bleed to death if we waste too much time."

Everything became a blur after that. Blood pumped in Azriel’s ears. He had wanted to hold his child but you were his priority in that moment. You counted the most and the babe was fine. The bleeding got less, Madja stitched you up.

But then you passed out, your head falling back to the pillow. Madja hurdled to your chest, pushed down, forcing you to come back. Every second counted. Azriel's whole body shook, his chest heaving rapidly and his breathing coming in quick pants. His heart sped up, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck when the dread let icy fingers dance over his skin. His stomach coiled, chest squeezing and then Madja said, "She is coming back. Slowly, but we have her back." Azriel had been on the verge of breaking, panting heavily and nearly hyperventilating, but then you blinked your eyes open and he broke down. Azriel sobbed while plastering your body in kisses.

***

"Look at his tiny hand and the wings," you breathed out, your head on Azriel’s chest, the tiny bundle sleeping in your arms.

"He‘s got your nose." Azriel smiled and kissed your cheek. 

You were forced to be in childbed for at least two weeks, you centre had to be cut open quite a bit to make the wings fit and even though you were fae the healing would take some time. You were alright with it, of course, and the pain was bearable. It had all been worth it for that moment—you leaning against Azriel and your child sleeping in your arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

tags: @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar #acosf

[wishfulwithwine]

Twin Flames : Chapter One

Eris Vanserra x Archeron Sister Reader

“You are a peace and a flame, you steady me and stir me all at once” - butterflies rising

“I don’t want to just love you. I want our souls to merge and burn brighter than any star found in this universe”  - Lola Lawrence

The youngest Archeron sister, loved and protected by all her sisters and the Inner Circle, is mated to the hated heir of the Autumn Court. Will they find peace, or burn in the flames?

Warnings: series will have cursing, smut, violence, ptsd, alcohol, and other possible triggers. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF MINOR. 18+ ONLY

Series Masterlist

(photo from pinterest)

The Cauldron burned.

The bubbling cauldron of dark liquid scorched my skin, burning me from the inside out. I tried my best to hold my breath, stars flickering in my vision, before some force punched my stomach to open my mouth when I gasped. The fire flamed around me, wrapping around my body like Azriel’s shadows, but mine were bright red and orange flames. They licked my whole body, and I was surprised my body wasn’t breaking out in blisters.

“Oh beautiful one” A voice called out, as I watched my skin begin to glow. 

Outside the flames that were surrounding my body, there was depth of darkness swirling around. 

I saw how my sisters had handled this, albeit they seemed to come out shivering as if the cauldron was icy instead of this fire I was dealing with.

Settling my mind, I calmed my mind into state of peace to deal with the fire, admiring the fire instead of fearing it. I thought about the beauty of the flames, how they swirled in a pattern that would look pretty on a dress.

“You are different than your sisters, beautiful fire. Beautiful and peaceful you are” The cauldron stated, confusing me slightly, before I was yanked out of the cauldron by my hair. 

Feyre’s POV

When Y/N was forced out of the cauldron, we all held our breath. While she was inside, the cauldron had bubbled, flamed and glowed, so different to what Elaine and Nesta had been through. 

When she emerged, the guards couldn’t even hold onto her for long, before their hands burned, dropping her carelessly on the floor. Everyone stared, in shock, for how different Y/N looked. Despite the High Fae traits that were the same as her sister's changes, her hair was red. A bright blood red.

Steam was coming off of her, rather than the dripping cold Nesta and Elaine were dealing with. 

“Oh she got even more beautiful. Look and see, the Cauldron gifts beauty along with immortal life” Hybern said, with a wicked smile, gesturing to Y/N who remained on the floor, breathing heavily and coughing up a fit. She lay on her stomach on the floor, her cheek flat against the rock. No one wanted to touch her, as seeing the blisters erupting on the guards hands. 

Each of my sisters were so different in being Made by the Cauldron. 

Finding some strength, somehow, Y/N crawled over to me. Not Elain or Nesta, surprisingly, but me. She reached out her hand, reaching my hadn’t cautiously, before we came in contact. To me, her skin was just slightly warm, but cooling. The guards must’ve been scalded by the remaining water on her skin, not Y/N herself. How Y/N wasn’t covered in blisters was a mystery we didn’t have time to discover.

Seeing my sister curled up in my arms, as well as my other sisters struggling through the pain, I  realized what I must do. I looked into Y/N’s eyes, and nodded to her to go near everyone else. She looked confused, but crawled as inconspicuously as she could to Azriel, who was the closest. 

Y/N’s POV

After Mor winnowed us away, she had to leave me behind on the first trip past the town house since her strength was depleting. I had held onto Azriel, who was bleeding out, while Rhs and Amren were casually fighting.

From my position laying on the floor, I reached over and  pressed my hand against one of Azriel’s wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. My hand began to lightly glow, as the wound on Azriel was closing up. I stared, not breathing, as I watched Azriel’s wounds heal. 

I hadn’t even noticed Mor arrive as I just watched Azriel’s body heal.

“Rhys! Look!” Mor shouted, as she caught what I was doing. 

“Shit, Y/N” Rhys said, as he stared, at my hands, healing the wounds on his body. 

“Bring Cassian over” I managed to say, looking at the other Illyrian warrior. My throat felt like it had been burned, so it was a quiet rasp.

“Let’s move them all to the couch” Rhys stated, as the three of them carried me and pulled ht boys over to the couch, situating me in between them so I could comfortably heal both men. It was a tight fit, so Azriel’s head lay in my lap while Cassian lay next to me on the other side.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Amren asked, as I put another hand on Cassian, adjusting my body to be comfortable. I shook my head, too exhausted to find the words but staring at the men who were getting healed.

“She’s going to wear herself out” Amren commented, as both her and Mor tried to aid in the healing of the other wounds, although she wasn’t trying to get me to stop. 

“Let me.. help. Just the ma..jor wounds” I rasped out, breathless, as I put all my energy into Cassian and Azriel. I could feel the trio’s eyes on me and my hands, in shock and awe. 

By the time Madja had arrived, the major wounds and their wings were fully healed. As soon as she came over, seeing what I had done in great surprise, she ordered me to stop, seeing how exhausted I had become. She quickly began working on the boys - Azriel first, before moving onto Cassian who was just becoming conscious.

“I will never be able to thank you enough” Rhys said, looking at me, as he saw Cassian be alright. Amren had brought over a cup of tea, and Mor brought over a blanket to cover up my night dress I realized I was still only wearing, while Cassian moved to another couch with the help of Rhys’ shoulder to give Azriel and I more space to lay down. I didn’t want to part with him. 

“What was it like?” Amren asked, as both Mor, Cassian and Rhys shot her a deathly glare. 

“Fire. Flames all around me. It said, I was different than my sisters: beautiful and peaceful” I said, my voice still raspy. They all gave me a look of sympathy, but I tried to ignore the tears welling in my eyes at the visions, deciding to run my hands through Azriel’s hair as a distraction. 

“Please, have some tea” Mor said, holding the cup to my face as she helped me drink it. 

“Your hair…” Amren said, touching my hair.

“Y/N had y/h/c before. This is how she came out of the cauldron. Nesta and Elain look almost the same but similar to High Fae, like Feyre” Rhys said. Amren studied me, but there was a warmth to her gaze.

“How are you feeling?” Mor asked, after I finished the cup of tea.

“Tired and sore throat, but I’m just glad I could-”I said, before coughing, as I looked down to Azriel.

“Thank you, Y/N” Cassian said genuinely, as I lifted my gaze to him and smiled weakly. 

“We are glad you could help too, but please, let’s get you healed too. Your sister, well sisters, will kill me if you’re not ok” Rhys said, and I nodded leaning back on the couch.

“Someone should tell Nesta and Elain I’m here. Tell them Madja is working on healing me - so Nesta won’t kill you all” You commented, and Rhys nodded, looking over to Mor who winnowed away. 

Azriel’s POV

When I woke up, I felt tired but there wasn’t any pain. I was resting on something soft, and when I looked up, I locked eyes with Y/N and she smiled. I realized I was laying in her lap, while I could hear everyone else talking around us. She looked different - her hair a fiery red, instead of the y/h/c it was before.

Did the cauldron?

Mor noticed the smile on her face, before seeing my open eyes. 

“Azriel!” Mor shouted happily, as all attention was brought to me.

“You’re lucky Y/N has healing powers, or else both yours and Cassian’s wings would be severely damaged” Madja said, before I looked over confused at Y/N and everyone else.

“Y/N healed you, both you and Cassian. She - the Cauldron gave her some type of healing powers” Rhys said, and I looked back at Y/N, with as much kindness in my eyes as I could. 

“Thank you. I-” I said, trying to think of the right words to say. Wings were everything to Illyrians, and the fact that she saved them…

Y/N simply smiled, as I took her hand in mine. I moved to sit up, and looked at her exhausted state, and had her move so I could give her a hug.As I held her in my arms, I felt her relax: her head resting on my shoulder, her nose in the crook of her neck. I moved her over, so she could rest gently on my lap sideways. 

I kept my arms around her, surprising most of the group, as they kept glancing over at us as they talked. I wasn’t an affectionate person in the slightest, but Y/N - I had been taken by her as soon as I met her and her sisters.

When we entered the house, Nesta and Elain had been frightened to meet us, waiting. Y/N, however, was at Feyre’s side with a wide smile as Y/N held her hand tightly as if Feyre would be leaving again, before she glanced at us. She was younger than Feyre, but only by a little it seemed. 

As she took a look at us, she gave us a smile that was breathtakingly beautiful - especially for a human. 

“Let me get stools! Your wings and the chairs” She said, before Feyre even introduced her to us, as she scurried up the stairs to get stools. Nesta had rolled her eyes, but Rhys and Cassian both smiled.

Feyre had described her sisters, and Y/N was the closest to her. Although she hadn’t hunted with Feyre since all three of the sisters had banned the “baby Y/N” of the house, she had been able to take some shifts as a nurse and seamstress with her needlework. “A heart of gold”, Feyre had described her. 

“My sisters, Nesta, Elain and Y/N Archeron” Feyre introduced, gesturing at each of them. “Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court” 

Nesta and Elain stayed their distance, hearts pounding, but Y/N came over - after she had placed the stools down - and curtsied before standing next to her sister, putting her hand in hers.

“Thank you for saving our sister” Y/N said sweetly, looking at each of us individually to communicate how thankful she was. Her eyes were a beautiful y/e/c, with a sparkle in them I’d never seen before.

“Thank you for your hospitality - and generosity” Rhys bowed to them, with a warm smile to Y/N, but strained to the other two. 

When we sat down to eat, I was sitting next to Y/N. Nesta shot me a glare, a warning to not do anything to her sister. I held back the snarl - I wasn’t Cassian who looked like he would attack the other girls. 

“Is there something wrong with our food?” Nesta asked, looking at Feyre. Y/N looked over to me, eyebrows raised and worried. I shook my head, taking another bite to comfort her. I didn’t know why I wanted to comfort her.

“So you can’t eat normal food anymore - or are you too good for it?” Nesta asked Feyre, pushing her.

“Nesta!” Y/N exclaimed, shocked, looking to her older sister. 

“I can eat, drink, fuck and fight just as well as I did before. Better even” Feyre said, shocking her sisters. Below the table, my body had a mind of it’s own and placed a comforting hand on Y/N’s leg. Y/N looked over to me, not drawing attention, as the sisters were fighting. She gave me a smile, sliding her hand over mine, interlacing our fingers. 

“If you ever come to Pythian, you will discover why your food tastes so different” Rhys said, and Y/N looked over to me for confirmation. I nodded.

It felt like we were having our own little conversation.

“I would like that. Feyre looks… happy” Y/N whispered lowly, as Nesta continued to argue and irritate Rhys and Feyre. I know I should’ve been paying more attention, but Y/N was… captivating.

I nodded, the corners of my lips lifting into a smile, before both of our attention was drawn to Cassian.

“Someone who let her younger sister risk her life everyday in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen year old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall. Your sister died- died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make - and insult my people in the process” Cassian said. I felt Y/N stiffen, watching some tears threaten her eyes, and I rubbed gentle circles on her leg. I tried not get aroused, feeling her soft skin in my hands. Her legs soft like butter, and she was so small that my hand could wrap around at least half her thigh.

“It… it is very hard, you understand, to… accept it” Elain said, standing up for Nesta. “We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered… it’s all very disorienting” Elain said. Y/N’s hand squeezed mine, as I saw emotions flash across her eyes.

“I can imagine” I said, looking at Y/N before looking at the other sisters. Cassian shot me a glare, that I ignored.

“And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. Y/N…Y/N was lucky and was able to work as a nurse and a seamstress apprentice. Nesta and I.. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her, and Y/N. Both of us failed them” Elain said, and I almost growled then, seeing Y/N’s head dip down in shame. 

“I did everything I could to help. I-” Y/N said softly, tearing up as she looked to Feyre. 

“From what I’ve heard from Feyre, you worked almost all hours of the day and none of your sisters allowed you to go with Feyre. You should not feel any guilt” Rhys stated, looking to her. Y/N still didn’t look up, but wiped a tear off her face with her free hand. Elain and Nesta looked at their sister sympathetically, before looking at each other. 

How could they let Feyre be in the woods and Y/N work all those long hours while the two of them did nothing?

“Can we just start over?” Feyre said, looking to Nesta and pulling the attention off of Y/N.

“Fine” Nesta replied. 

“Can you truly fly?” Y/N asked, breaking the ice as she looked at Cassian and I.

“Yes, Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind” I replied.

“That’s very beautiful. Is it not - frightening, though? To fly so high?” Y/N asked, her earlier sadness quickly replaced with curiosity as she gazed at my wings.

“It is sometimes” I replied, and Cassian nodded. “If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we’re out of swaddling” 

Nesta then interrupted and made plans for the next day, ending the dinner abruptly after sleeping arrangements were made. 

Y/N and I were the last ones to stand, forcing myself to remove my hand off her thigh so the others wouldn’t see. She glanced at me with a smile, before aiding her sisters in setting up the rooms.

“Feyre, you’re welcome to share my room if you wish, like we were younger. Or not, if-” Y/N said, after the other Archeron sisters left hurriedly to their rooms. Feyre smiled deeply at her sister.

Since the other two were here, Rhys didn’t hold back on creating another bed from magic in the room.

“I think it’s alright” Feyre said, and Y/N smiled, pulling her sister into a tight embrace. Anyone with eyes could see the love the two shared.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do enough. I should’ve-” Y/N said, sadly, looking up to Feyre.

“You did more than what was expected of someone your age” I said, unable to hold back my voice, as everyone but Y/N looked at me surprised for my uncharacteristic behavior. Rhys raised an eyebrow, as he looked between Y/N and I. 

“You helped more than I could have asked. You worked all day and night between your two jobs, brought home fabric scraps and sewed them into garments to keep us warm, always stitched my wounds up, stole medicine to keep me and them healthy. I wasn’t going to let my baby sister hunt with me on top of everything else you tried to do” Feyre said, kissing the top of her head. 

“I apologize if it seemed I was mad at you. I understand you did what you could. The statement was towards your sisters” Cassian said, visibly holding back a snarl. Y/N looked at Cassian, and smiled softly.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to fall asleep on me, curled up in my lap. Rhys had showed Cassian and I with his mind what everyone saw when she was healing our wounds - her glowing hands, the vanishing scars, my wings reforming. 

“She’s - she’s incredible” Cassian said, staring at her shocked, after the memory had ended. I stroked her hair, in awe of the tiny woman in my arms who was capable of such incredible feats. 

“I wonder if the other two got gifts as well” Amren said. We all shrugged.

“Y/N needs her rest, and so do you two” Madja said, before leaving - giving everyone instructions on the medicine she provided.

#acotar #acotar fic #acotar x reader #eris vanserra #eris #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra x reader #azriel #archeron sisters

[euphoricfilter]

Devil That I Know (Part 9)

~ Oddly Human

Pairing: Demon! Jungkook x Human! Reader

Genre: (Inaccurate) Historical AU || Strangers to lovers AU || Supernatural AU || Smut || Fluff || Angst

Summary: A step back into time— and how Jungkook ended up at the palace. (takes place between the end of chapter 5 and beginning of chapter 6)

Word count: 10k

Tags/ warnings: the tiniest hint of fluff at the end, angst, kinda graphic descriptions of murder, blood, self inflicted injury, mild violence in comparison to other events of this chapter (a slap to the cheek), jungkook feeling human emotions, kidnapping, there's some kinda morally questionable scenes (he bathes with her while she's passed out, descriptions of fantasies-- not sexual- where she's passed out), the rise of king yoongi, i think that is all?

Notes: this whole chapter takes place between the end of chapter 5 and start of chapter 6, all written in jungkook's pov this time. i only proof read this once so if there are mistakes, no there arent.

my full masterlist || devil that i know masterlist

+ + +

(1865- 33 years before you wake in the palace)

Jungkook watches as his home burns, heat of the fire caressing his skin. Wispy flames curling into the claws of a beast as it rips through the structure he’d worked so hard to build. Countless memories he’d made, fizzling into a pile of ashes. And years of hard work crushed within minutes of the villagers’ arrival.

The outside of what was once Taehyung’s room, stained red with the blood of the humans reckless enough to trespass onto his property, hands soaked in ruby red that he wipes down the front of his shirt. The crackling of their fire louder than their cries for help, begging the demon for his mercy as he rips their hearts right from their chests.

And he thinks it’s ironic, begging him for his pitiful charity when they had been the ones to start this fight. Pitiful that they thought for a moment he would spare their sad little lives when they’d been the ones to waltz into his house and destroy it.

If he wasn’t so worried about you, then maybe he would have taken his time killing them. Maybe let the beast they unleashed sear their skin until they were unrecognisable, and he could skin them alive and watch them bathe in their own blood.

And maybe Jungkook would have thought it was amusing. How such low beings could try and kill him with a few nasty flames—though he sees the tail of the beast over the bridge that connects to his bedroom, jaw ticking as he takes one final glance at the scattered corpses at the foot of Taehyung’s grave. Stone charred and soil saturated with blood.

And briefly he wonders if Taehyung’s dead corpse is finally warming up six feet under, rotting away at the expense of Jungkook’s selfish needs. Or if his old friend was laughing in his grave at his misfortune, maybe angry that his only refuge had been painted red.

With one last gentle nod to his former friend, Jungkook takes off towards the corner of the Hanok, only praying that the fire hadn’t been able to reach where you were as he had to make a pitstop before the two of you would make an escape.

His legs take long strides to one of the back rooms, what was once an empty room turned library with all the books, he never wanted you or Taehyung to ever see. The door barely holding onto its hinges as he yanks it open; all four arms shoving piles of paper out of his way until he reaches the chest of drawers in the back corner of the room.

“Pieces of shit” he grumbles, crackling of the flames devouring the surrounding area. Though he had no worries of his prized possessions crumbling to ash; the small room having been enchanted years back when he’s first built the place—impossible for anyone but himself to enter, and no natural force being able to destroy the near perimeter.

Maybe if he had honed his powers sooner the rest of the hanok would have been saved, the thought slipping his mind once Taehyung had entered his life and then evidently, you as well.

He grabs hold of the book he’d been looking for; his saving grace in helping you live for eternity—his gateway to entwining your souls, bonded for as long as the earth turns, and stars twinkle in the sky. And Jungkook will continue to love you until the day both of you can no longer walk, until each of your last breaths shall be taken, he’ll love you in life and death and although it may be selfish the thought of you aging beside him is enough to swallow the guilt of lying.

He shuts the door to the room before he’s taking long strides back towards the bedroom.

His hand flies over his mouth as he inhales thick, black smoke, the wooden bridge creaks under his weight as he pushes through the flames, skin flushing red as he swats at his clothes as they catch alight. Annoyance laced in his features at the trouble of this all.  

Jungkook catches sight of you, slouched on the floor and he can’t help but run his eyes over your body, checking for any sign of injury. His tongue darts out to wet his lips when all he’s met with is the top half of your body covered in your flimsy little undergarments. And if the both of you had been in a different setting, where your home weren’t—well not a home anymore, he may have indulged you a little, always ever so pretty without even trying that he can’t help wanting to spoil you a little, until all you knew was his name.

He falls to his knees besides you, all four arms reaching to pull you into his chest. You fall forwards into him, hands grabbing onto whatever was left of his shirt. Your body trembling in what he can only assume to be both fear and adrenaline as it courses through the veins, thrumming underneath your skin.

The dull thud of his book dropping to the floor is nothing but a whisper behind the hissing of the flames. Jungkook can’t help but run his hands over your body, a silent reminder that you were there—that you were okay. His head drops to your shoulder, lungs squeezing a shaky breath through his windpipe as he feels the skin of his chest damped with what he can only assume to be your tears.

He wonders if you’re scared. Curious where he’d been, why he’d taken so long. Wonders if you’d let the boiling questions drip off your tongue, and maybe he’d just kiss them away because for once, even Jungkook didn’t know what to do.

This had never been part of his plans. Never an issue he thought he’d need to deal with. Jungkook was always 2 steps ahead of everyone else and albeit not that many, he always had a head-start. Always knew what was coming because he made his own path, never stuck to the original plotline of the tragedy called life. And for the first time, Jeon Jungkook had walked himself to the edge of a cliff, tips of his toes over the edge, moments from falling into a fate that he had no control over and that scared him.

Jungkook pulls you away from his chest, watching as shiny tears slip down your cheeks like liquid gold as they reflect the yellow of the flames.

Both of your heads turn when you hear the large tree in the courtyard crack, the fire clawing its way up the trunk. And uses that as his cue, Jungkook takes a hold of your wrists, pulling you from the ground. He crouches down, picking up the book he’d bought in the capital before he pulls you towards the gate.

Neither of you say anything. And maybe it’s because neither of you know exactly what to say. What is Jungkook meant to tell you? That everything was going to be, okay? Because he didn’t know if it was, and he hated lying to you.

The both of you turn back towards the hanok once you’d passed the fence, and Jungkook slips his fingers between your own, sending you a reassuring squeeze, but you don’t turn to look at him. Both of you just watching as your home burns, the fire never-ending as it consumes what had become so familiar.

Jungkook licks his lips, all the years he’d spent there suddenly gone to waste and he thinks the sadness of it all is finally starting to sink in at the sight of what was once so precious to him. All the books he’d collected, the rooms he’d constructed himself, the house he’d built from nought, amounting to nothing more than ashes and broken memories.

“What about Taehyung’s stuff? His grave?” you ask, hand coming to cover your mouth as you cough. And Jungkook frowns because he can’t even offer you any water to soothe your throat. The sinking feeling of failure settling in.

Jungkook hums, “I’d assume it’s all burnt”

The sigh you let out is shaky, hand coming to push the stray hairs out of your face; though you don’t cry, and Jungkook wants to reassure you it’s okay to do so.

“Let’s go” Jungkook tugs at your hand, not daring to look at your face.

Maybe he would cry if he looked at you. How could he look at you when he had failed you once again?

Everything was meant to get better, not worse. You were meant to live your secluded life together; in the home he had built. He would have found you another pet, watched as you danced around the courtyard in the spring, and during the winter months, he’d have an excuse to hold you extra close. You were meant to watch the world change together, laugh about the past and make plans for your infinite future spent together.

You were meant to have the perfect love story, written by the best poets. A story told of two beings whose love was magical—nights spent cooking with one another, watching the world develop, watching people you knew grow, having a separate house by the sea for the summer where kisses were sea salty and skin was kissed by the sun, only Jungkook would kiss you twice as much. Neither of you would have to rush with kids, all the time in the world to bask in each other’s company before you decided to try for a baby.

How was Jungkook meant to look at you when he clearly couldn’t give you the world?

“Where?” you ask, little resistance coming from you as he pulls you down a familiar path.

“We can’t live here anymore, my love”

You take one more glance, diverging your gaze to settle on Jungkook’s back as the two of you made your descent from the mountain.

+ + +

Jungkook hadn’t known where to take you. He only really had 2 options, neither he particularly liked—but with nothing but the moon as his light and your limbs slowly giving up on you, Jungkook knew this was the only safe place he could take you. Even if your memories of this village weren’t fond ones, at least it gave the two of you shelter for now.

The village was a ghost town, anything living having been eradicated all that time ago by the disease, that to this day no one had a cure for. Rumours of the land inhabitable, and ever so perfect for yours and Jungkook’s temporary stay.

“Did the people of Namjoon’s village do that?” you motion towards the mountain that loomed over the village you both stood in. And Jungkook can see how tired you are; feet dragging behind you with every step you took, eyes sunken and he only hopes you can hold on for a little longer.

“I think so” he briefly turns his head to look at you, “This village and Namjoon’s are the only two close to the mountain. I know my kind aren’t well liked anymore but I doubt anyone would travel more than a day just to do this”

You nod, feet bringing yourself to a halt when you both reach the centre of the village.

Jungkook turns to you with furrowed brows, opening his mouth to ask you why you’d stopped. You just tug your hand from his own, and Jungkook watches as you take a step towards a large wooden pole stood upright.

“Y/n?” Jungkook asks, coming to stand beside you.

You turn to look over your shoulder, and Jungkook feels his heart skip a beat.

You were ever so pretty in his eyes, skin almost glowing in the light of the moon. A silver halo cast over your head like you were an angel. He wonders if Taehyung’s art would have done you justice in that moment. If he would have been able to capture something so ethereal that Jungkook’s heart squeezes tight in his chest. An overflowing amount of love too much for his cold heart to handle. An overflowing amount of love for you that seemed to grow with every second in the day, because Jungkook just couldn’t seem to ever get enough of you.

His fingers itch by his sides, your skin drawing him on like a moth to a flame; body his temple to worship and soul his love.  

“You remember I told you about a friend?” you say, expression turning a little sour.

Jungkook nods. An emotion akin to jealousy plaguing his mind at the mention of the friend you still clearly hold dear to your heart. But Jungkook didn’t feel fickle emotions like jealousy, not a demon as great as he was. And he thinks the only justifiable way to rid of this illness in his heart is having to erase those insignificant memories from your mind. Slowly but surely clawing his way in, until the only man you can think of is himself.

“They killed him here, tied to that” you point to the thick pole, “And they locked me up in there” you use your thumb to point to the structure behind you.

“I’m sorry. This was the only place I could think would be safe for us” no actual remorse in his tone, because what else was he supposed to do?

“It’s okay” you wave him off, “They all look dead by the looks of things anyways. I know a good place we can camp out in”

Jungkook follows behind you, nodding in satisfaction as you open the door to the village chief’s house.

“This should be spacious enough” you nod, cringing as a spider scuttles across the room.

“What are we going to do for food?” Jungkook kneels on the floor, running a hand over his face, “And money?”

Jungkook can feel you watching him as he fiddles with the pockets of his pants, a few coins jingling as they knock against one another. And he knows that they won’t take the both of you very far, but he hadn’t exactly been prepared for this situation either.

You drop yourself in front of him, “We’re really fucked this time” and he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. Because maybe you were right, maybe the both of you really were fucked. But at least you were together; that, he was the most grateful for.

Jungkook just watches as you fidget, the dusty floor less than ideal; “I’ll see if there’s anything we can eat”

+ + +

For the first time in all his years living, Jungkook finally knows what panic feels like.

He can feel it fizzling uncomfortably under his skin; heart squeezing so uncomfortably in his chest he’s moments away from ripping it out—letting whatever desperate creature that dares lurk the village chew on the muscle until it’s been digested and shat out, so he doesn’t have to feel what he can only describe as impending dread consume his entire being.

What if you starved to death? He knew damn well that there wasn’t anything left in this town. What if you froze, the nights still a little too chilly for what you’re wearing without a proper fire to keep you from catching pneumonia.

He pushes open a door to what he assumes to be an old home. Family name painted on the door, though it was half eaten by mould. The door creaks, off-tune welcome accompanied by a sneeze as a wave of dust caresses his face.

He wanders into the kitchen, prominent frown etched onto his face when he sees there’s nothing for you to eat. His fingers clasp around the handle of a woven basket, the bitter taste of defeat on his tongue as he’s met with the sight of a family of maggots.

He continues his search, hoping that at least one of the baskets had something edible for you to eat until he came up with a better plan.

Although the thought was a fleeting one, he takes a moment to consider sending you to Namjoon’s village. The young man and his mother probably more than happy to house you until Jungkook could figure out where the two of you could go.

However, that would mean leaving you out of his sight for too long. He wouldn’t be able to stay with you; not when the men of that village had probably marched home in victory of slaying a demon.

He knew his fate if he were to dare step foot in that village when they had announced him dead. Burnt at the stake if he’s lucky, and that’s only if they’re feeling particularly generous.

Jungkook was selfish—selfish enough to possibly let you starve if it meant he could stay by your side.

The thought of leaving you alone—with another man—too much for his fragile little heart to take in that moment. The thought of you not being within arms’ reach, a thought he couldn’t stand.

His jaw clenches when all he can find are a few forgotten tea leaves; dried to be preserved. His gaze travels down to the book in his hands, and briefly he wonders if now is really the right time. But when had it ever been the right time to convert you?

It doesn’t take long for him to weigh out the pros, ignoring the consequences if anything were to go wrong. Even if it meant you’d sleep for a while, this time for however long, food wouldn’t be an issue. His blood enough to sustain you until you wake. Your body would finally get the rest it so craved, so if anything, he was doing you a favour.

It’s as he’s walking back through the centre of the village that his eyes flit to look at the chief’s house, no movement from you inside.

Even better if you’d dozed off, that would make his job a little easier.

He stops outside the blacksmiths, tongue peeking out to wet his lips as he pushes open a window at the back of the shop. Silver light of the moon his only source of light as he rummages around for what he needs, smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he drops the piece of flint into his pocket. Muscles in his arms flexing as he picks up a slab of steel.

One of his free hands grab a bucket, ears picking up the sound of the river.

The stream is cold between his toes, numbing them as the water splashes against the bare skin of his ankles. The tight grip he had on the bucket loosens, almost falling off the tips of his fingers as he tilts his head to look up at the moon.

He lets out a shuddering breath, air rattling his lungs as he takes a moment to just breathe.

He felt… oddly human.

Petty feelings consuming his thoughts and selfish desires driving his actions. He could feel ever new wave of water that brushed against his feet, and he could feel his heart hammering inside his chest. Body oversensitive and mind overactive that he couldn’t think straight with the voices that plagued his mind.

He could feel all the ugly, sad little emotions a human would feel when nothing seemed to be going their way, and panic was clouding his vision. Hands a little shaky and air a little hard to breathe, never enough but too much all at once.

He wished everything was nothing but wished he could feel things all at once. Thoughts he’d never had too much, but so intriguing he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Jungkook was starting to feel human, and he didn’t like it.

Stupid human emotions that he had no interest in feeling.

Because humans felt minor things like guilt and pain and Jungkook had no interest in either of those. He couldn’t be guilty when he knew what he wanted, guilt an invisible wall that prevents you from pursuing your dreams.

And Jungkook wouldn’t be stopped. Not when every passing day is a step closer towards his ideal world. A paradise he’s so close to reaching where you and himself could live in freedom with no worries. A place of love and happiness and your smiles and giggles. And just you you you. Because Jungkook could never get enough of you.

And that’s why he’s doing this—because of you. Because he loves you. Adores you more than any other insignificant morsel ever could, and he can’t wait to show you his paradise.

The grass tickles his legs as he wanders back into the centre of the village. Lips tugging up into a smile when he spots the pole that your friend had died on.

He drops off his supplies a little further away from the chief’s house, wary that you’d be able to hear him shuffling around if he were to work too close.

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze when he pokes his head through the door, “I found some tea, pass me that pot”

He watches as you push yourself off the floor, legs shaky as you stagger to the other side of the room.

“Thank you, doll” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “Get some rest, I’ll be back soon”

He waits until he hears the door slide shut before he gets to work. Frustration tickling his spine as he tries to light a fire, annoyed grunt dripping off his tongue as he slowly starts to lose patience. He freezes when he hears shuffling from the room you were in, lips tucked behind teeth as he waits for you to settle down.

He swallows thickly, nimble fingers chipping the flint against the steel. A laugh bubbles up his throat when the pile of dry wood catches alight, orange flames illuminating his face.

He balances the pot of water over the fire, fingers tapping against his knees as he watches it start to bubble.

He turns away from the flames, digging into the pocket of his trousers to pull out a dagger. He flicks open his book, chewing on his bottom lip as he skims over the few words written on each page before he stops, fingers tracing the intricately designed circle.

He doesn’t hesitate as he slashes his hand open, no wince of pain or cry of agony; he simple dips a finger into the pool of red gathering in his palm before he begins tracing the same design from his book onto the dusty floor. His blood soaks into the ground, almost black from the light of the fire.

One pair of hands fall onto his hips as he stares down at his work, eyes flicking back to the book. Checking he’d drawn it out right.

Humming, he nods. Fingers tracing his jaw as he wanders back to the boiling water, tipping the jar of tea leaves into it before he bends down beside the remaining water in the bucket.

He watches as the water swirls red, deep gash in his palm gone as he throws the evidence into a nearby bush before he pulls the pot off the flames.

+ + +

“Are you not going to have any?” you catch Jungkook’s attention, voice so soft he almost missed it. But Jungkook simply shakes his head, not daring to look up at you. He thinks he would confess if he were to see the look in your eyes; tired from the events of the evening and body a little bruised and battered.

He can see the gentle nod you send him from the corner of his eyes, and he swallows the growing lump in his throat.

He dares look up when he thinks you aren’t looking, only his eyes meet your own and as much as he wants to look away, you draw him in, “Is there something wrong? You’re acting weird” you ask him as he just shakes his head, eyes flitting down back to his book.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” he asks after noticing you’d finished your tea.

You shake your head, “I’m not really tired after what happened”

“Pretty thing… you really should get some rest” he encourages, and he winces when you flinch as he closes his book with a force he hadn’t intended, the thud echoing off of the walls, amplified by the lack of furniture. An apology on the tip of his tongue but you beat him to it.

“I’m really okay”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion when he stands; long legs helping him saunter towards you.

“What are you doing?” you lean back when he crouches at your side and Jungkook feels his fingers itch by his sides. A pang of hurt grating at his heart as he watches your eyes flit over his face, wary of what his next move was. That hurt morphing into annoyance the longer he watches you try and scoot any from him; far from subtle as your eyebrows furrow—you were scared.

You were scared of him.

Scared of Jungkook?

He can feel a laugh crawling up his throat at the mere thought of you fearing him.  

Didn’t you trust him?

“Can’t you just listen for once?” his voice drops as octave, hand coming to hold your face.

Seemingly unaware of his own strength, Jungkook’s hand tightens its grip, and he wants to scoff as you wince. Is this what you really thought of him? Some lowlife that was willing to hurt you?

How dense did you have to be?

He pushes your face away, hard enough you fall backwards; head slamming against the hardwood floor. Though he doesn’t seem to take any notice as his mind races. Thoughts on how he was going to get you outside consuming him. He didn’t mind playing your games but not today, not when he needed you to just listen to him for once. 

“What is your problem?” you glare at him, trying to push yourself to sit up once again. And when he sees this, Jungkook straddles your waist, first pair of arms coming to hold your own hands above your head.

“Jungkook?” you wriggle, and he only lets out a grunt. Patience slowly waring thin the more you struggle. Was it really that hard just to sit still why he thought for a moment? Was it really that hard just to cooperate when he clearly needs you to calm down?

“I’m sorry” he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss between your eyebrows. No real remorse behind his eyes, calculating his next move.

“Jungkook, please” you cry, so pitiful and weak that his resolve crumbles briefly.

The grip he had on your arms loosen, heart pitter patting so loudly he can hear it in his ears. And in a moment of weakness, he second guesses himself. Because maybe this was wrong.

It’s the glint of your pocketknife that pulls him out of his reverie, wisps of guilt brushed away as he takes a hold of his dagger.

“I’m so sorry” he whispers, watching your mouth fall open in pain, his hands shaking as he thrusts the knife in a little deeper.

“Baby, I’m sorry” he bites back a sob, “So sorry, you’re doing so well for me. It’s all okay”

He watches as blood gathers at the corners of your lips and that’s when the tears fall, his chest releasing a stuttering breath as his tears fall into your cheeks; swirling pink as they mix with your blood.

A sob wracks up his spine and he really does try to wait. Hoping, praying, that if you had a moments rest, it would hurt a lot less when he finally brings you outside.

Bile rises up his throat at the pained sob you let out, and suddenly waiting doesn’t seem like any good. He winces when you let out a particularly loud cry, his arms jostling you too much that he can only imagine the searing pain that paralyses your body.

He steps into the circle, fire barely holding on as he lays you in the centre of the circle. He wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand as he flicks through the book, mind unable to comprehend what he was reading so he starts spewing words that seem right, hoping that your suffering would end soon.

“No no, baby. Don’t close your eyes just yet” he taps your cheeks, “It’s almost over just stay awake a little longer”

+ + +

You lay motionless beside Jungkook. His arms slung over your waist as the two of your lay there. His shirt flung loosely over your chest, soaked in your blood but he had nothing else to keep you warm with.

The sun caresses his skin, a gentle kiss that he’d much rather have from you. His thumb skims over the skin of your cheeks, rough from both of your dried tears, blood painting your skin a cracked red. He hadn’t bothered cleaning you up yet, though he thinks you still look pretty even like this.

Red really did suit you.

The gentle rise and fall of your chest is enough for him to close his eyes, head tucked into your neck as he lets his lips skim over your bare skin. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulls you further into his chest.

It must be gone mid-day when he finally decides to get up, muscles aching in protest as he lets you rest, picking up the empty bucket and wandering back towards the river.

He crouches down beside you minutes later. Hand cupping to gather some water, he doesn’t mind his hands staining red as he washes your face. Thumb running gently over your cheek as a lovesick smile takes over his features.

He kisses your cheeks when he deems them clean enough, the sun drying your damp skin before he’s peeling back his shirt from your chest, throwing it somewhere behind him before he picks you up.

He finds an old, tattered bed, enough to keep you cushioned and comfortable for a few days.

He takes one final look at you before he’s sliding the door closed to the bedroom.

He takes one final look at where you rest before he’s making his way back up the mountain.

It takes him until nightfall to reach the hanok, or what was once the hanok. He wanders through the grounds, standing before the centre room where you, Taehyung, and himself would spend most of the day.

It didn’t resemble a building anymore. Charred wooden frame mocking him as he stands there.

One of his hands brushes against his cheeks, confused grunt the only sound in the courtyard as he wipes away a stray tear.

His feet fall into the river, bridge having been swept away after the structure had broken. Though wet feet wouldn’t stop him as he wanders towards the back of his land; the only building left standing his only sanctuary.

He pulls the door open, eyes adjusting to the darkness before he’s rummaging around for clothes. He couldn’t show up to Namjoon’s village half naked, nor did he think he could show his face. His clothes would be too big for you, but it would have to do as all your belonging were now gone.

His eyes catch sight of a candle, forgotten on the floor from the last time he’d couped himself up in this room to study without Taehyung disturbing him.

He’s unsure how long he spends back at the hanok, the sun shining bright in the sky when he finally decides it’s best for him to get going. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to leave you alone without it becoming an issue. And the last thing he needed was you dying amongst all this chaos.

He runs a thumb over his bottom lip, humming in satisfaction when he finds the specific spell he was looking for.

“Illusion huh?” he smiles, the perfect way for him to make it through Namjoon’s village without them figuring out it was him.

+ + +

Was kidnapping Namjoon the most conventional way to get him to listen? Maybe. Jungkook felt his options had become quite limited and if he wanted to get his way then a little force on his part seemed justified. He didn’t like it when he wasn’t in control of his own life, and the last few days had tipped him over the edge.

Jungkook wasn’t all that bothered with what it would mean for the village boy, not when he didn’t know how long the illusion spell would last and he really needed to get back to you. It had been a simple job, his body part of the shadows and footsteps carried by the wind; no one knew he was there.

Especially not poor Namjoon who had been cleaning the stables. Horses restless as Jungkook lurked in the dark corners, finger twitching by his sides.

It had been a quick job. In and out with no issue. Namjoon’s muscles more for show, his strength no match for the demon as he knocks the village boy out with a brass horseshoe.

Jungkook’s foot taps impatiently against the floor, his fingers running through your hair as he watches Namjoon; body tied with rope so he wouldn’t try to run the moment he wakes up.

It must have been hours before Namjoon had gained consciousness, afternoon sunlight spilling into the room through the open door like the floor had been painted with gold.

“Make a noise, and I slit your throat. Got it?” Jungkook whispers, wary of your resting state.

Namjoon nods. Eyes flitting to you, shallow rise and fall of your chest enough for him to know you were still breathing—still alive.

Namjoon wonders if you knew what Jungkook was doing, what he had done. Wondered if you knew your friend had kidnapped a man. Had threatened to kill him. He doubts you’d be sleeping so comfortably if you knew. Though you make no move to wake up when Jungkook stands, footsteps heavy as he wanders towards where Namjoon is sat.

“You’re going to do something for me” he crouches.

Namjoon scoffs, “Over my dead body”

Jungkook smiles, “Come on, Namjoon” he pouts, “You don’t want her to die, do you?” he motions towards you.

Namjoon looks behind Jungkook where you lay, “Die?” he whispers, you didn’t look ill.

“Yes. We need to get to the capital otherwise my sweet little darling might die. I would carry her, but your carriage is faster”

“She doesn’t look sick” Namjoon meets the demon’s eyes, swallowing thickly when he sees them darken; narrowed, challenging the villager to argue with him.

Jungkook stands at full height and Namjoon feels his lungs constrict in his chest as the demon looms over him. He watches Jungkook slink towards where you lay, hands fisting the front of the shirt you were wearing, tugging you until you sat up.

You fall lax in his hold, head tipping forward so Jungkook tugs you up by your hair. Namjoon’s eyes dart between the two of you, evident confusion written on his face.

Namjoon winces when your face flies to the right, harsh slap echoing off the walls of the empty room.

Jungkook lets go of you, and Namjoon watches as you flop back onto the floor with a dull thud. Though you make no move to wake up.

“What?” Namjoon laughs, “What have you done to her?”

Jungkook’s eyes stay glued to your face, cheeks flaring red from his hands. A sign to Jungkook you were alive, that there was still blood coursing through your veins. He looks down at his hand, a trickle of guilt plaguing his mind.

“What had to be done. Bring your horse and carriage here by sunrise” Jungkook pulls the rope from around the human’s hands, “Don’t show up and I kill your family, okay?” and he watches as Namjoon runs, scrambling towards the gates of the village without daring to look back at Jungkook once.

“My baby” Jungkook whispers when he falls beside you, lips brushing against your red cheek, “My poor baby”

+ + +

Jungkook stares down at Namjoon’s dead body, mouth open in the harrowing pain he’d experienced before death. He had meant to make it easy for the village boy, a quick kill. Nothing too messy that he would have to stray away from your side for too long. It was a shame Namjoon had to put up such a fight, almost catching the attention of a few passers-by with his annoying shrill voice.

He’d considered gutting the human and feeding his insides to the strays that hung around the area; a deserved punishment for all the shit he’d tried to tell you during your little trip. But his patience had worn so thin he ended his life without much joy on his part, a shame but he supposes will be other opportunities to have his fun in the future.

The woman at the front desk of the inn had gone to bed by the time Jungkook had finished cleaning up Namjoon, so it wasn’t all that hard for him to lurk back upstairs with bloodstained clothes and red-painted hands.

You lay peaceful on the bed as Jungkook runs a bath, pretty scented soap softening his skin, and after he’d bathed himself, he takes the time to strip you of your clothes and let you soak in the water as well. He pulls you closer between his thighs, head falling onto your shoulder, and he wonders if you’d be giggling right now; his wet hair tickling your bare skin, the silence deafening.

His arms tighten around your stomach, his eyes squeezing shut. Deft fingers skim over the skin of your chest, heart beating languidly behind the rough skin, body working overtime to heal the wound he’s inflicted on you.

“I killed one of your friends again” Jungkook admits, “Are you mad?”

“You’d never be mad at me, would you?”

“Answer me” he begs, tears wetting his cheeks when he feels your head fall onto his shoulder, “Y/n, answer me, please”

The image of you scared, wanting to get away from him burns behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. He can hear you begging him to stop, his hands coving his ears as he sits in the corner of the room. You covered in your own blood, chest stuttering as you gasp for breath. Even as Jungkook watches you from the other side of the room—alive, okay, breathing, safe. He can still see it all. Hear it all.

And maybe the first twinge of regret he’s ever felt burns, because even just looking at you haunts his mind. Too loud, though the room held no sound.

+ + +

(1868- 30 years before you wake)

Jungkook wonders how he got here. All four of his arms itching to throttle the baby that won’t stop crying.

A bastard child from the late queen—killed by her husband for birthing a boy with a servant that worked on the grounds.

A useless kid in the king’s eyes. A perfect project for Jungkook.

Not much else was happening with you asleep and Jungkook had no idea when you’d wake up. He’d moved from inn to inn in the capital for three years and pickpocketing was only getting the two of you so far.

Jungkook’s first order of business before you woke up was to annul the shitty rules about the demons that roamed the lands. If he had complete freedom then the two of you travelling shouldn’t be an issue, and maybe just maybe humans would be stupid enough to spare their extra change in hopes that said demons will bless the lands they grow crops on.

For now, however, he planned to weave his way into baby Min Yoongi’s life.

It hadn’t been hard to sneak into the baby’s bedroom, a little shed in the far corner of the palace where the king didn’t have to see the child of his lover who had no interest in the thrown; too consumed with a serving boy that she committed adultery with the hopes of not getting caught. What she failed to understand was that the king had eyes and ears in all corners of the palace, and one meagre whisper from a lady in waiting about the queen’s untimely pregnancy while the king had been away was all it took for the woman’s downfall.

Unfortunate for her she’d slept with a young foreign boy, shipped overseas per the king’s request, the product of their affair a precious little boy with hair that looked like thread made of gold, features that of his mother but there was no doubt it hadn’t been the son of the king.

It’s a mystery as to why the king had decided to keep the boy alive, but alas Jungkook couldn’t give a flying fuck. Not when he had the light of his future wailing in its cruddy little crib. The room damp with mould and air too musty for such a small child. None of the serving staff had been in to check on him all day either and Jungkook wonders if the tiny human was hungry.

“Don’t cry now” Jungkook whispers, “One day, you’ll be king. And a king shouldn’t cry”

+ + +

(1875- 23 years before you wake)

“Why can’t I tell anyone about you” Yoongi asks, kicking his feet in thee dirt. And he must have asked Jungkook this question every time he came to visit.

“Because I said so” Jungkook mutters, eyes narrowing at the kid, “You want your father to accept you right?”

“Yeah” Yoongi nods, grin toothy. And he’d proudly shown Jungkook his lost tooth the morning after, though the demon hadn’t been able to school his expression—utter confusion written on his face as to why the tiny being had wanted to show him something so gross.

“Then you don’t say anything, to anyone. Got it?”

Yoongi nods, “Why do you have four arms? No one else in the palace has as many arms as you”

“Because I’m a demon”

“Demon?” Yoongi tilts his head and Jungkook sighs, fingers pinching between his eyebrows.

“Yes. That’s why no one must know of my existence. You don’t want me to disappear right?”

The boy shakes his head, “Why do you always come and visit me then if you could get in trouble?”

“Why do you always have so many questions?”

“Because you always keep secrets and never tell me anything fun”

Jungkook tips his head back against the trunk of the tree, “Because someone I love isn’t very well. And I want them to be happy when they wake up. And you might be able to help me when you grow up, okay?”

“Your friend?” Yoongi sits in front of Jungkook, legs crossed and eyes eager. It wasn’t often Jungkook spoke about himself, and Yoongi didn’t really have any other friends so it was always exciting when Jungkook would come to play.

Jungkook looks down at the boy, head tilting because he wasn’t all that sure what the two of you were. You’d never explicitly told Jungkook how you felt. He’s made it clear how he felt about you. But he supposes he had never thought to ask either; the two of you existing in one another’s lives without a second thought as to what you actually were.

“No…” he shakes his head, “More than friends”

“Your wife?”

Jungkook smiles at that, “Not yet, but she might be when she gets better”

“Can I meet her?” Yoongi rocks back and forth, toothy little grin tugging Jungkook’s lips to reciprocate the young boy’s joy. And maybe it was because he had an excuse to show you off.

“One day. When you’re the king, I’ll let you meet her”

“When I’m the king? I thought brother will take the throne?”

Jungkook only shakes his head, “Nothing for you to worry about right now, kid. Just grow up fast, okay?”

Yoongi hums, “Do you have any more candy from the marketplace?”

+ + +

(1883- 15 years before you wake)

“When can I finally become king?” Yoongi looks up at Jungkook, the demon sat on a chair in the corner of the boy’s room.

Jungkook looks up from his book, “When you’re an adult”

“Why not now?”

Jungkook looks at the 15-year-old, a scrawny little kid. Nothing like his brother, a few years older and years away from taking the throne. A shit bag as well, even if Jungkook hadn’t met him personally. His ego so big that his head looked moments from exploding just because he was meant to rule over the country. Nothing like his little brother who cried when he would step on insects and cling onto Jungkook when he thought monsters lurked in the shadows of his room.

The irony being that he should really only be afraid of Jungkook.

“You’re not ready yet”

“I train with my sword every day” Yoongi complains, flopping onto his bed, facing the ceiling.

“You’re built like a stick. We still have a lot of work to do before you can take the throne and be king.”

“What if I fail?”

Jungkook meets to young boy’s eyes. He blinks, lips downturned in a frown.

“Failure isn’t an option, kid. You fail, you die. And it won’t be by my hands”

“Who then?” he tilts his head to look over at Jungkook.

“Your brother”

Jungkook watches Yoongi’s face morph into confusion. “Why would my brother want to kill me?”

And Jungkook wants to laugh at how naïve the child was. And he thinks maybe he’s been too soft on his over the last 15 years. That the next 3 years of his training were going to be absolute torture, so the kid toughened up a bit. He couldn’t have him second guessing himself not what he’d been drilling this dream into his head since he could talk.

Jungkook’s eyebrows crease in worry. If Yoongi was unwilling to kill his father and brother, there’s no way he’s rising to power. And if Yoongi isn’t king then Jungkook can kiss goodbye to ever having the freedom he wanted so badly. And he wasn’t about to let some gangly little kid ruins his way to paradise.

“Because no one likes a bastard child” Jungkook hums, “But don’t worry, you’ll take the throne, and my darling will get better”

“Will you leave after that?” Yoongi pushes himself to sit up, watching Jungkook’s stoic expression as his legs swing back and forth.

Jungkook turns his attention back to his book. “You won’t need me once you rise to power” he shrugs.

“But you promised I could meet your friend” he whines and Jungkook’s lips quirk at that.

“If she gets better”

“She’s still sick? It must be really bad if she’s been sick this whole time”

“She’s stable, so I have hope she’ll wake up soon” Jungkook smiles, “And then I’m sure she’d be overjoyed to meet you”

“When I become king, I’ll get the best doctor in the country to help her, okay?”

Jungkook hums, “It’s not something a doctor can fix. I like your ambition though”

+ + +

(1886- 12 years before you wake)

Yoongi stares down the stairs, the courtyard a bloodbath. It’s odd how he feels no remorse, his father’s eyes still open staring up at him though there’s no life behind them. His brother wasn’t fairing any better. And Yoongi can still see it, the brief moment of approval from his father’s eyes as he watched his first son die at the hands of a bastard child.

And Yoongi thought he’d feel overjoyed at the fact his father had finally recognised him, though the brief approval in his eyes made Yoongi feel sick. And so he killed him soon after his son with no remorse.

“Good job” Jungkook claps from behind where Yoongi is stood, sat on the golden throne.

And Yoongi feels a shiver run down his spine at the image. As he’d grown older Yoongi had become acutely more aware of Jungkook’s aura, a thick black smog that plagued the air around him until you choke on it and succumb to his power.

As a child he’d been fascinated with the fact a demon had chosen him, that he wasn’t alone in that shitty little cabin where he’d be lucky to get a meal a day with nothing but what lurked outside his window as entertainment. Resenting the birds that flew so freely when he was the one caged in a room, verging on insanity. Watching Jungkook now, Yoongi understands why tales are told of demons, why the world shunned them. They were cunning, there for their own personal gain. Why you shouldn’t involve yourself with such foul beings, because once you’re entwined with their lives there is no escape.

Yoongi’s fate set in stone the moment Jungkook had snuck into his bedroom 18 years ago.

“What are you going to do now?” he dares ask.

Jungkook hums, running a thumb over his bottom lip in thought, legs spreading as he makes himself comfortable in the king’s chair. “I’m not sure. I have one last favour to ask of you and then I’ll be out of your hair”

“And what is it?”

“Nothing you need to worry about for now. My darling hasn’t woken up yet, and I suppose you’ll be busy now that you’re king”

“Why don’t you move into the palace? I’ll spare a room for you and the lady” Yoongi offers, wiping his cheek of blood, eye squeezed shut from where his half-brother had slashed him, a gnarly scar sure to be his prize, a reminder of the events that had taken place on this day, one that will be written in history books for years to come.

Jungkook’s lips quirk into a smile, “Is that really okay?” and Yoongi knows that Jungkook isn’t actually concerned, faux worry easy to miss if he hadn’t known the demon for so long.  

“I know you’ve been hopping from inn to inn with the money you’ve stolen. Stay here for a while until your friend wakes up and then we can sort out that favour you need”

“You’ve been following me?” Jungkook laughs, a hearty one that shakes his shoulders. And he thinks he must be getting old, suddenly becoming unaware of the boy—no, man—that had been lurking in the shadows, blending in with the darkness.

Jungkook feels a sense of pride, his hard work stood before him. A brutal king that didn’t think twice before he murdered his family, a man hungry for power that nothing could have gotten in his way. Years of training shaping him into something so perfect that Jungkook hadn’t even noticed him when he’d been sneaking around behind his back.

“You have too many secrets, Jungkook. And I hate it”

“Shame” the demon drawls, “You don’t need to know about me, all you needed to do was rise to power. And you did it”

“That’s it? So what?” Yoongi scoffs, “So I could fulfil your little wish? I’m not stupid, Jungkook, I know you want me to set you free. I know what your kind are like, I know how those people beyond this gate see you. You can’t hide everything from me”

“And how do they see me?”

“A monster”

Jungkook leans forwards, elbows resting on his knees as he tilts his head at the human, “But you let this monster raise you, control you so you could help him. You knew and still kept me around, you knew and yet you still killed your father. For what, Yoongi? Because I told you to?”

The boy’s mouth falls open, only to close. Because he was right. Today had been acted out on his own accord, though he knows Jungkook is partially to blame. Feeding him a fantasy all those years that his mind was power hungry, and the sad part was, he hadn’t felt an ounce of regret either.

“You could have told someone. Could have told that little friend of yours—what’s his name? Seokjin? He had the favour of the staff, he could have said something; I could have been dead years ago, but you kept me around.”

“No one would have believed me” he scoffs and Jungkook laughs.

“Bullshit, Yoongi. Just admit it, if I’m a monster what does that make you?”

“You piece of shit. I’m not a monster”

“Neither am I” Jungkook shrugs, “I’m a demon. People are scared of monsters Yoongi. Look at the palace staff, they’re terrified of you.”

Yoongi turns towards where his father’s serving staff all stand, hands all shaking by their sides, eyes wide with worry as they all look up at him—perhaps waiting for a similar fate to their master. All seemingly ready to die by his side by the bloodthirsty king that now ruled the land.

“People aren’t scared of my kind anymore, kid. They despise my people—don’t look at me like that, use this power to your advantage.” Jungkook waves him off, “I didn’t raise you to be soft, this is your time. Your victory.”

Yoongi watches as Jungkook pushes himself to stand. Rolling his shoulders as he saunters towards the young boy.

“My offer still stands, about you staying in the palace” he look up at Jungkook, only a few inches taller than him but Jungkook seemed to loom over everybody.

“I’ll pack my stuff up then. Make sure the room faces the east, my Y/n likes it when the sun rises outside the window of a morning”

+ + +

(1898)

Jungkook spent most part of the last decade hauled up in the bedroom on the far side of the palace. The less rumours that spread about him around the palace the better, and slowly the news of the new king housing a demonic entity had dwindled to overexaggerated fables that no one really believed. His body could go months without food, and it wasn’t all that difficult to wanders the halls at night when all the serving staff had wandered off to bed. Luckily no one seemed to notice the little bits of food that would go missing either so it was an easy life he was living.

With each passing day the sliver of hope Jungkook had of you waking up was fizzling to embers. And it was getting hard to convince himself that you were going to finally wake up one day. You never moved in your sleep, face never changing from the relaxed expression you held. The wound on your chest had healed over a decade ago with the help of Jungkook’s blood but you’d made no sign of any other recovery.

He’d visited the library, begging one of the elder demons to help him. Begging them to explain why it has taken so long for you to wake up because you’d never been out for this long and he just needed to know you were okay.

They’d simply shrugged, unable to answer any of his questions before he had to leave—the worry of leaving you alone in the palace too much for him that he couldn’t go out to buy you gifts anymore without the thought of the king slipping into your chambers plagues his mind. He doubts Yoongi would be stupid enough to harm you, not when he knows how much Jungkook adores you. How his head would be balanced on a stick for the whole capital to see if he were to even lay a finger on you.

But Jungkook was slowly slipping into insanity, tugging at his hair as he paced back and forth around the room. He couldn’t enjoy reading, eyes flitting up to check if you were still breathing ruining the plot of his favourite stories. He hated going into the bath house because he couldn’t bring you with him that he just began to rit in the bedroom in hopes that you would wake up and he could get some normalcy back into his life. Jungkook was slowly starting to give up but he continued to hold on, praying that soon he would be able to look into your eyes again, hear your laugh, listen to you speak and dance and just anything. He would take anything.

Jungkook curls his body tighter around yours, tangling his legs with your, relishing in the fact that he could still feel the heat of your body warm his skin. And even if it was only for a moment, Jungkook could pretend that you were really here with him; that you were just sleeping and that as the sun rose you would slowly start to wake up too.

The this would all feel like a bad dream, and everything could just go back to the way it was.

He’d thought about what it would mean for him if you were to stay like this forever, stuck in an eternal slumber. He supposes he wouldn’t mind it; some days would be harder than others, but his imagination would surely keep him entertained. He would have to get used to the fact you couldn’t answer him anymore, though he supposes he could still kiss you, your lips still warm, though pale. He could still read to you and tell you stories of his adventures. Could still brush your hair and make you look all pretty as he hums you a song, watching your serene face through the mirror, careful not to pull on your hair too hard.

Jungkook shoots to sit up in bed when he feels you shuffle around, ripped from his own little fantasy world as your hands tug the sheets further over your ears, and Jungkook feels his heart in his throat. Wondering if this was a sick dream, one where he would soon wake up and see you still in the same position, he had put you in years ago.

His fingers find their way to the top of your head, dreading the headache you’re sure to have after such a long nap. He bites his bottom lip, smile hard to contain as you lean a little into his touch.   

He watches as you peek out from behind the blankets, eyes a little bleary from sleep, your eyes meet his own, but it seems you’re unaware of who you’re looking at. And Jungkook’s heart momentarily sinks at the thought of the memory loss this time round, how you could have completely forgotten about his existence.

He swallows thickly, watching as your eyes squeeze shut. You let out a strained groan, and he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat—you were awake.

He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek through the sheets before he’s pushing himself up off the bed. A skip in his step as he rummages around for a cup, he can’t imagine how parched you must be after such a great nap.

“The window is shut, pretty thing. Your eyes shouldn’t hurt as much now” Jungkook whispers, aware that you must feel groggy as you just shuffle under the blanket, pulling it further over your head. This time, you curl your body around his, hoping that somehow, he’ll heal your pain.

“My head hurts” you tell him, voice hoarse and scratchy from where you clearly hadn’t been using it.

“I can’t help you if you hide from me, love”

And Jungkook feels his heart swell, all his love for you overflowing as he watches you, heart so full he thinks he might explode.

And phase two of his plan was complete, though it had taken three decades that was the least of his immortal worries—you were breathing, alive, ever so pretty and perfect and now he could work towards phase 3; his own freedom and bringing you one step closer to immortality.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #reincarnation #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts jungguk #jungguk x reader #bts angst #bts fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook jeon #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #taehyung #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #ot7 imagine #namjoon fanfic #seokjin #seokjin fic #yoongi fanfic #hoseok imagine #yandere jungkook #ot7 x reader

[hinatastinygiant]

22 | Kifo

Pairing: Uzui x Fem!Reader

The Emptiness You Left

"Are you ready?" Rengoku calls out to you as the two of you stand side-by-side.

"Yep!" you smile back at him.

"Let's go then," he grins as the two of you begin to sprint into the dark forest.

The moon shines down on the two of you and the surrounding area, casting a blue light on the trees and their bare branches. "Why did you pick this place?" you ask while looking around to get your bearings of the entrance.

"I know a nest of demons around here," he explains. "They've been causing trouble for the locals for a long time so I figured this would be the best place to go."

"How far in do we have to go?" you wonder.

"Not too far," he replies. "Don't worry, I know you'll be fine."

You nod and follow him deeper into the woods. As the two of you walk, the moon shines brightly, lighting the path in front of you. Your stomach is a bundle of nerves, but you're still determined to keep moving forward. You can't allow yourself to freeze like last time.

You begin to talk to Rengoku on your walk, telling him everything and anything to distract yourself. The two of you share stories from your childhood and reminisce about old times.

"My little sister was so close. I could have protected her if I was just a bit faster. And stronger. I could have saved her if I just had a chance."

"Don't talk like that, Y/N," Rengoku tells you softly. "There was nothing you could have done."

"She died right in front of me, Kyojuro. How could I have not tried?"

"Y/N," he sighs as he turns to look at you. "I know it's hard. But, you can't blame yourself for what happened. There was no way you could have stopped the demon that killed your sister. You didn't even really know what you were dealing with."

"I think my brother did," you then admit. "He was able to save me when he found us. I have to find out why."

"Well, let's make sure you live to find out," Rengoku nods his head.

You sigh and try to relax a bit, but you can't help but feel guilty. Every time you talk, Rengoku's eyes glow with compassion and he listens intently. You've never met someone who's listened so closely. It makes your heart flutter.

"You've had a tough life," he sighs. "You should be proud of yourself. You've come so-" He stops abruptly when a large cave becomes visible in front of the two of you.

"Is that the nest?" you whisper, to which he nods.

"Take a deep breath and remember the things Lord Uzui has taught you," he says quietly, grabbing his sword. "We're going in."

Your breath catches in your throat. "Wait, now? Already?"

Rengoku chuckles at your comment, but you watch him curious about his sincerity until he leans down and places a soft kiss on your cheek. "We're in this together. It'll be okay. You can do this," he then whispers before taking off, leaving you stunned.

Your hand rises to the spot on your cheek where he kissed you. The place feels like it's on fire, burning your skin. Although you and Rengoku have become close this past year, you don't really have feelings for him in that way. But, the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. The two of you have been friends for awhile and he has always been there for you.

"Are you coming?" he says, turning back to face you with a big, bright smile.

"Am I what?" you gulp, only half hearing. Thankfully, he points to the cave which gives you the context you had been forgetting. "Oh, right, yeah."

Together, the two of you enter the nest which is a large stone cave in the middle of the forest. The moonlight can barely shine through the entrance and the air is chilly. But, once you enter the cave by sneaking in close by the edge, the temperature drops even more.

"You okay?" Rengoku asks quietly as the two of you continue.

"Yeah," you nod just before a loud screeching noise booms from somewhere deeper in the cave.

"We're getting close," he then tells you. But not three steps more do you take until his eyes widen and he pushes you behind him. Still, you peer out and spot a large demon with six heads stomping towards the two of you.

"Get ready, Y/N!" he calls. "This is going to be a tough fight."

"R-right," you say nervously, unsheathing your own blades. The demon's body is covered in scales and its teeth are like razor-sharp knives. Its six arms are muscular and it's easily three times the size of you. "But just so you know, pushing me behind you isn't going to help me learn anything."

"Y/N," he tries to warn you, but you simply push your way past and stand your ground. You know why Rengoku doesn't want you fighting this particular demon, but you're pretty sure there's no better start than this.

You grip your swords as the demon growls loudly at the two of you, but when its eyes meet yours, your body freezes up. You think back to the screaming sounds of your sister, how she died, how she cried out for your help. Your body begins to tremble.

"Y/N, get back!"

The demon roars and charges at the two of you. It's so huge and fast.

Not to mention the way your brother snatched you up at the absolute last second before you got eaten alive as well. You've always been weak. What has training truly accomplished? You're still the same scared-shitless person you were a year ago.

You're too terrified to move.

RENGOKU'S P.O.V.

I shove Y/N behind me as I see this new demon. This is definitely not what I was expecting to find here at all. The townsfolk complained about low-level demons invading their town for food, but this thing is on a whole other level than anything they described to me.

"Get ready, Y/N!" I call out to Y/N, "This is going to be a tough fight." I just hope her whole 'frozen in fear' thing was a one-time incident.

"R-right," she replies nervously, and I can already begin to see how this is going to play out. "But just so you know, pushing me behind you isn't going to help me learn anything."

I glance at her as she pushes her way past me. I can't help but feel sorry for her in that instant. Everything she's gone through with her family and with Lord Tengen has made her so confused with who she is and how she feels she needs to act in the face of something of this magnitude. If only she had run into me that fateful night instead of Suma.

As the demon charges the two of us, I call out to Y/N. But before she can even move, I rush the demon and use my flame breathing to create a large wall of fire, burning the demon in the process.

"I'll hold it back!" I say as the demon's skin sizzles in the background. "You-" I begin as I turn around to see her. She's completely frozen in place. "Shit."

As I rush to Y/N's side, tears begin to stream down her cheeks. "Come on, snap out of it," I nearly shout as I reach my hands to her cheeks and pull her face closer to mine. Her eyes are glossed over and her face is pale.

"Y/N," I nearly cried myself. I hate to see her like this, especially after how much she's grown. There's no time for this, the wall is beginning to die down.

The Emptiness You Left

#uzui x reader #uzui x y/n #uzui x you #tengen uzui x you #tengen uzui x reader #tengen uzui x y/n #tengen uzui #uzui tengen #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer self insert #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #x reader #x fem!reader #fanfic #the emptiness you left

[transatos]

My fic (@jrwi-art-exchange) for @honeykiid !

The Sun, the Stars, the Moon: Apotheosis and Its Sky

Peter missed the sun.

Back when he had a job, he'd wake every morning, greet Lizard, and feel the sun's warm rays rising as he walked to work. In the evening, he'd exit the stone-sorting building, and watch the sun set through his own apartment windows, Lizard by his side.

When Prevarus' sky was plunged into inky darkness, that all disappeared. Now, with the sky gone, so was his earlier routine. Now, he woke in the dark, greeted Lizard and Rumi and Thanatos, and they would begin traveling. Some time after wandering through woods and streams and valleys, they would become too exhausted to walk further. That, or Peter would stumble a few too many times, or Thanatos would start shutting down.

And so Peter would sit down, wish Lizard and Rumi and Thanatos a good night, and promptly fall asleep. Gone were sunrises and sunsets. Now, cold wind and darkness surrounded him.

It was just so cold, too. With the sun gone, wind whipped faster, and temperatures had significantly dropped. Ludite or some other strange magic kept Prevarus from freezing over, but some moments got uncomfortably close to it.

Peter had managed to keep his old travelling cloak from his possessions in Raans, but he hadn't salvaged much else. Before he met Rumi and Thanatos, he'd scavenged a tattered coat with a furred hood and sleeves. Despite the mud it was caked in and the various rips all over it, Peter felt it'd served him well.

Even with the coat, though, Peter couldn't hide his frustration. His routine job was no longer a constant, and he was close to freezing on the daily. He endlessly shivered, and his teeth never stopped chattering. The closest he had felt to the warmth of sun's rays in the past few months had been the piercing, burning power of Exandroth merging with his body.

---

Rumi and Thanatos notice, because of course they do. At first, Rumi takes every opportunity to bundle Peter up in his cloak, and stays close to him to provide some companionship. The coat helps with the wind and Rumi's presence definitely warms Peter's cheeks, but Thanatos… Thanatos takes more direct action.

Thanatos hunts. Every bear, every fox, most mammals they come across, there is a very good chance Thanatos jumps on it. He skins the bodies for pelts every night until he shuts down, until Peter is buried in mounds of patchwork furs. At some point, Thanatos takes Peter's coat from him. Ignoring his protests, and using a sewing kit Peter recognizes as definitely Rumi's, Thanatos sets to work sewing pelts into the inner layers and repairing the tears. When it's done, the warmth in Peter's chest is more than just from the coat.

He sobs uncontrollably, managing to hug Thanatos through the tears. And as Thanatos pats him surprisingly gently on the back, Peter feels as though the sun may not have entirely disappeared.

He sets to work painting stones, and soon Thanatos' pouch is full of painted rocks equal in number to the furs Peter was buried in. Thanatos pockets every rock gently, with surprising precision, as if each one is a fragile piece of glass.

---

As well as Rumi hides it, they find a different part of the sky to miss, Peter discovers.

"I wish we still had the stars." Rumi says one night. It's quiet, and she tells it like a forbidden secret, a rare moment of openness. She's leaning against a tree, watching a small fire Thanatos built for them. All three are sitting around it. "My coat just mimics constellations, but I miss the real ones. The moon, too. She was a comfort." A moment of consideration. "Did you ever have favorite constellations, Peter?"

Peter thinks deeply before answering. "There was one I found… it looked sort of like Lizard. I used to try to show him it every night, but he, uh, wouldn't really look up. It was alright though. I knew he knew."

As if to prove a point, Lizard looks up from Peter's bag and curls up at his side.

"I once had fond memories of the stars. They were considered a welcome sight where I was raised." Thanatos' eyes flash. "They used to say it was the gods' many eyes watching us. If that was true, I am glad to see them gone."

"I think they were ludite. When the sky turned all dark, the stars rained down… as ludite. And we got magic." Peter reasons.

Rumi considers this. "I used to think of them as light from a place even above the gods. If the stars were the gods, ludite may have been the only good thing they did."

"The only good thing a god could do is die." Thanatos says. From him, like so many of his conversations, it is stated as fact first, opinion second.

Exandroth surges in Peter's brain, and he barely holds him back from takeover. He manages a nod instead.

"Right you are, Thanatos." Rumi leans back up against the tree, arms behind her head.

Peter turns to her. "We'll see the stars again. I believe in us." It's earnest, almost necessarily so - they have to cling to something out in these woods.

"Thank you, Peter. That is a comfort to hear." Rumi smiles softly. "I'll take first watch."

"Thanks. Goodnight, Rumi. Goodnight Thanatos." Peter says.

"Goodnight." Thanatos rumbles.

"Sleep tight, Peter, Thanatos." Rumi nods at them each, and turns to rest his sword on his lap.

And the quiet moment passes, and their travel continues.

---

A few more periods of darkness later, Peter musters up the courage to ask Thanatos his own feelings about the sun. The question was already posed to Rumi, who gave a story of an adventurer in a desert and not much else - but Peter's curious about what Thanatos thinks.

He can practically hear gears turn inside Thanatos' skull as he mulls over the question. Peter waits.

After due consideration, Thanatos answers him. "Peter, one of the greatest crimes of the gods is stealing our sun. That is not an item anyone can or should possess. The grief that it has caused you is understandable."

"Oh. Thank you."

"We have talked often of the sky," He continues. "I do have fond memories of it, also. Particularly of the moon. She was a constant, even when I couldn't see her. She is the closest thing to a god I could now think to appreciate." Thanatos tilts his head, examining Peter. "Why do you ask?"

Peter smiles up at him, and makes a mental note to paint another rock with a moon. "I was mostly curious. The sun and the sky have a lot of meaning to people, so I wanted to ask you too. I hope we'll get to see it return together, Thanatos."

He nods. "I hold this hope as well."

---

Conversations about the sky's predicament and history move on, and apart from those two rare moments, Thanatos and Rumi don't let on much more.

But when Zuen is defeated, Peter adds Thanatos' memory to the stars. Rumi adds a mark for him on the moon. And when a new day arrives, Peter can't help but think of Thanatos when the sun's rays refract across the clouds.

Far away, a metal man looks up from his book and begins to paint a sunrise on a stone wall.

#town creates #hi again!! was a bit surprised i got you twice - i hope you enjoy this #jrwi #apotheosis #apotheosis spoilers

[frostburn-shoto]

《 Summary 》 From a young age, Erumi Yukiura had trained rigidly, giving it her all. Getting into U.A was only the first step for her. As time passes, she settles into her new school life as a member of class 1-A but several unexpected events take place one after the other. In such circumstances, all Erumi cared about was becoming stronger, she had no intention of getting acquainted with her classmates.

But life doesn't always go the way you expect, between the friendship and new bonds, her frozen heart starts to gradually melt away as forgotten scars begin to resurface. 

《 Pairing 》 Todoroki Shoto x Erumi Yukiura (oc), Midoriya Izuku x Uraraka Ochako, Bakugou Katsuki x Esuna Kurotsu (oc) 

《 Genres 》 Action, Slowburn, some angst, Fluff.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

02 || Ice Queen

She looked up, shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight. Erumi took another long breath and closed her eyes, attempting to clear her mind, the wind ruffling her hair gently as it brushed past her. It calmed her and made her feel at ease. She stood there for some time, basking in the warmth of the sun on her skin.

After a while, she let out a satisfied sigh and opened her eyes again, looking up at the bright blue sky, watching the birds fly by. Erumi smiled fondly, her eyes drifted back down – where she could see the people walking around, ready to go about their day. 

The streets were less crowded than usual, it was a rare but nice change of pace. No incidents. No rush. Just a quiet, uneventful morning. 

The young teenager walked forward observing the surrounding nature, her hair emitted specks of ice that drifted down her locks, letting it shimmer in the light. 

It wasn't often she got to relax. Far from it in fact. She rarely had time for herself, even less time when she was at home. But this… this was a perfect atmosphere to take a small break, enjoy the sun and focus on herself without having to worry about anything… at least, for a short while. 

How she wished moments like those would last. 

As she was getting used to the calm atmosphere a thunderous explosion interrupted the tranquil moment. Smoke began rising into the sky, covering the view of the sun and clouding it in layers of gray and black, and a burning smell spread in the air. The tiniest of grumbles escaped Erumi's lips, "Not again…" she muttered, running her hand through her locks. 

Just great…

Erumi thought with annoyance. She turned around, her gaze fell upon the rising smoke. She watched as a crowd gathered around, chatting and whispering as they looked at the large mass of fire caused by a villain, no doubt. 

There goes my peaceful walk…

Everyone moved quickly, rushing towards the scene. Before she knew it, she was being pushed left and right, Erumi tried to step out of the way only for more people to rush in. She maneuvered her way through the crowd, squeezing between them as they all walked in the direction of the explosion. Did they want to see what caused the commotion? Or did they simply want to see which hero would deal with the situation? Either way, she didn’t care. All she wanted was to go to school, or at this moment in time; get away from this damn crowd. 

When she finally managed to get away, the girl let out a long exaggerated sigh and then glanced back toward the smoke, she watched as people rushed to the scene. "This is ridiculous," Erumi muttered. It always shocked her really, how people could ignore their basic instinct of self-preservation and instead focus on the most insignificant things. 

Have they simply become too numb to it all? 

The girl closed her eyes and kept walking forward, trying to ignore the commotion. Her arm clenched into a fist to fight against the feeling of agitation. Sparks of ice slowly emitted from her hair for the briefest of moments before it dissolved into the air. 

It doesn't concern me.

Erumi looked back in front of her, striding forward through the streets, ignoring everything going on behind her as she continued her slow march, hoping she'd reach her destination soon. 

Surely then she wouldn't feel so irritated.

Erumi sighed as she came to a stop, standing near an intersection, her blue eyes following the flow of traffic, waiting for the cars to rush past her. At some point, she zoned out, getting lost in her thoughts. Water splashed over her shoes as a car passed by, startling her out of her daze, she snapped her head upwards to look at the road just in time to see the lights changing, everyone started walking and she proceeded on her way to school.

Her school… 

Corusan Private School. 

A known school in Shizuoka prefecture. Everyone has heard of it at least once. Many entrepreneurs and pro heroes graduate from this very school every year. In other words, it was a school for the rich and powerful. 

For the majority, this was a hard school to get into. Students needed a strong family background and superb grades to enter it. The tuition was by no means cheap either. But to Erumi, it was the last school she wanted to go to or be associated with. 

And yet here she was.

Not by her own free will, mind you. 

Shifting her backpack onto her shoulders,  the girl started her slow trek forward toward the school building. When she finally reached the entrance, she looked up at the building, frowning slightly.

Time for yet another day in this school. 

She made her way to class, walking through the hallways. As she passed by the classroom doors, she caught a few students glancing her way, whispering and giggling amongst themselves. Erumi ignored them and continued on her way, she looked down, her eyes looking somewhat solemn as she walked towards her classroom, she slid the door open and walked inside taking her usual seat in the back, she liked it there.

It was next to the window, so whenever she got bored she could just stare out of it at the scenery and watch the birds as they flew across the sky.

It was a good way to pass the time. 

Erumi's eyes turned to look outside the window, watching the clouds float past her slowly. She leaned forwards, placing her arms on the desk. She rested her chin on her hand, idly playing with a loose strand of her hair.

After all, she had nothing else to do. 

The door opened as a stern woman walked forward, her short brown hair pushed back in a side ponytail while her blue eyes scanned her surroundings, everyone quickly fell silent as they took their seats.

"Good morning class" The woman greeted, walking forward towards the podium with a pile of paper in her hand, placing it neatly on top before speaking. "Homeroom is about to start." She announced, taking another glance at her students, like a mother hen checking on her chicks, "Now that you are all third years you need to think about your future carefully and thoroughly. I am sure most of you want to become pro heroes," The woman went on as everyone erupted into cheers, they raised their hands and started showing off their Quirks. 

From controlling wind to flaming hair, each one was completely different from the other. Some had horns and tails, others had scales or wings. Others could control fire, or extend their arms and hands.

To say the least, it was chaotic but Erumi could care less. 

The teacher sighed, already expecting that response, "We get it, now please calm down everyone. You shouldn't use your quirks freely in class like this." She rubbed her temples, "I'm about to hand out your future course surveys, please fill them out and bring them by the end of the week, do NOT be late."

"Yes!" Everyone in the class shouted in unison, enthusiasm radiating from their voices. 

"Future…" The young teenager mumbled, her eyes focused on the desk in front of her.

Her future… she had long decided since that accursed day. Over the years, that spark had only ignited into a burning flame. She WILL be a hero, she had been training for years since that day. 

Training solely for that one goal. 

This wasn't just for her mother either… not anymore.

Erumi swiftly grabs the piece of paper handed to her by the person in front of her, but she doesn't fill it out; she just stares at it, her brow furrowed as she holds her pen gently above the sheet, twiddling the cap between her fingers. 

She DID want to be a hero but…

------

The bell rings, signaling the beginning of lunch break. Erumi closes her notebook with a loud clap and looks back at the paper resting on her desk, she soon hears a voice calling her name.

“Ru!” 

Erumi turned around to find one of her classmates walking toward her. The girl had long curly red hair, reaching down her waist and a pair of large, reptile-like violet eyes, they seemed to narrow as she approached Erumi. 

"Oh Esuna..."

"The one and only," Esuna said with a laugh, a grin curling up her lips. "Missed me?"

Erumi grumbled in reply, shaking his head before looking back down at the paper on her desk. "Ignoring me already? That's mean Ru....!" Esuna pouted, but it was quickly replaced by a smile. She didn't mind too much, if anything it gave her the chance to tease her childhood friend more, and oh did she love teasing people. "Hmm? What are you looking at? The survey?" She moved closer, resting her arms on Erumi's shoulders, the weight of her body making the girl wince.

"Unless you want to become a human iceberg, I suggest you let go of me." Erumi pushed Esuna’s arm away. "I can't focus when you're distracting me with your useless chatter."

She liked her personal space… and so did Esuna apparently. 

"Ooh, Did I bother the ice queen? my apologies," Esuna giggled as she sat down on the desk. "But you know, even if you did use your ice, I can just melt it with my flames." She flicked her fingers, giving a small smirk as a black and purple flame ignited from her fingertips, "So sorry~ Your Quirk doesn't work on me." She moved her fingers around, watching as the flames swirled around. 

"And I can easily extinguish your flames if I wanted to but it's not worth the effort," Erumi spun the pen around, lazily glancing at her classmate from the corner of her eye, a blank look on her face. 

"You're no fun sometimes…" Esuna huffed in response, crossing her arms, "Anyway, why

haven't you filled out this form already? Hurry up and let's go grab lunch," she pouts at Erumi, urging her to finish. "I am getting hungry."

"That…." Erumi lowered her voice, unsure of how to explain things to her friend. "I'll do it later…" 

"Liar~" Esuna sighed, "I know you better than that. Something is bothering you." She eyed Erumi, her expression laced with worry, "With your skill and family connections, you can easily pass the U.A's recommendation exam."

"I could… Whether it be the recommendation exam or the entrance exam I am confident I can handle both with ease but this isn't the problem," Erumi stated glancing outside the window, watching as the students walked around the courtyard. 

"You are as overconfident as ever I see…" Esuna laughed, she felt dumb for even thinking Erumi was nervous now. "If you believe that then what's the matter? You always said you wanted to attend U.A like your parents."

Erumi stopped, letting out a long sigh, "Forget about it," she shook her head, "What about you, didn't you also want to join U.A Esuna?" 

"Yep, that's right! I've been training a lot lately so I am sure I'll be the first place in the entrance exam," Esuna smirked, her arms crossed triumphantly over her chest.  

"And you call me overconfident…" Erumi shook her head, "Knowing you… You'll end up in second place instead and start wallowing over it." 

"Jeez, thanks for the vote of confidence…" Esuna mumbled, her shoulders slumping. "It wouldn't hurt to have more confidence in my abilities."

"I am not underestimating your abilities but YOU are underestimating the entrance exam, there will be many around you with strong quirks, maybe even some with stronger abilities than your own," Erumi explained, her voice low and serious.

"You always do look at things from a logical standpoint," Esuna stretched out her arms before jumping out of her seat, "Well, I still know I have what it takes to make the cut," she stopped for a bit, " I don't know what you're struggling with but I just can't imagine you in another school besides U.A, not with your talent so don't overthink too much and just do it, you've never been one to doubt yourself." 

"Yeah." She mumbled. The words were soft and barely audible, she turned away from the conversation, eyes fixated on a wall, face void of emotion and expression.

Esuna let out a long sigh, "Alright, I'll stop pestering you for now, I'll go grab a drink before lunch break ends, cya!" She turned around and started walking, giving Erumi a slight wave. 

Erumi waved back before placing her hand down and exhaling, "Only U.A huh...?" She muttered quietly to herself, staring at nothing as she absentmindedly twirled a pen through her fingers.

"You will be attending Shiketsu High School and that's final."

Her grip on the pen suddenly tightened, snapping it in two before letting out a frustrated grunt. She glanced up with a glare as she recalled those words.

She didn't get it. 

She never cared about that old man's words before, so why should she start now… why should she listen to him?  Her eyes narrowed in irritation, she clenched her fist tight around the broken pieces of the pen, making it dig into her skin and flesh. Unwanted memories flashed before her. Her expression hardened as she thought about his words, frost gathering around her body, freezing the ground beneath her. 

No matter what she does… she knew it wouldn't change how her family looked at her… that was always the case. 

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Erumi let go of her fists slowly but continued to stare blankly in front of her.

Shiketsu…

It wasn't a bad school in the slightest it was even considered as good as U.A. in terms of prestige. It was the best school in the West. 

It just… wasn't her dream high school. And yet it looked like she had no choice but to attend it anyways.

But no, she won't be a puppet for that man… Not when he has made her life a living hell. 

Not when he has done nothing but berate her and put her down. To him, she was only a stain on their prestigious family name. 

"Shiketsu high…." She stood up before letting go of the broken pen, "I definitely don't want to go there."

Yes, she'll follow her own will. Her own desire. Nothing else mattered. 

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #mha oc #mha fanfiction #Glacial Soul #Erumi Yukiura #Esuna Kurotsu

[enthusiasmforpretty]

Temper

Surrounded by towering Amaljaa armed with scimitars, Jayesh walked with his head down, hands tied in front of him. The young hyur was a conjurer, barely old enough to own his own chocobo. And now his life was about to end horribly: sacrificed to Ifrit, the god of the Amaljaa. The other soldiers of the Immortal Flame around him were also bound and disarmed, their faces grim. Soon they'd have the flesh stripped from their bones by divine fire … or their minds stripped from their souls by the primal's tempering power. Jayesh wished he'd taken up a fighting class instead of healing. All he'd ever wanted to do was alleviate pain and mend wounds. None of that mattered now. He'd die like the rest … or rot from within as a tempered slave. The Amaljaa priests were already chanting and praying, aether blazing from their stockpiled crystals. A bright core of flame was taking shape in the midst of the cave. Ifrit was on his way from the aethereal sea. Jayesh watched it with doom in his heart. "Oh Hydaelyn," he whispered. "If you remember me at all, please intervene. Save me from this demon." No answering voice came, no headache with an Echo vision. His heart beat so fast he could barely breathe. How many more breaths did he have left to draw? How many heartbeats remained his own? The core of fire expanded and took the shape of the demon primal, the arms and legs too long, the dragon-like head crowned with twisted horns. The eyes and jaws blazed with infernal fire, the outer skin blackened and cracked like cooled lava. "My followers!" Ifrit roared in a blast like a furnace. "I see before me fresh sacrifices! Stand aside, and let me consume them with eternal fire!" The Amaljaa moved away from the little cluster of hyur and elezen who composed the Immortal Flames. Jayesh was the only Scion there. He gazed up at the demon, panicking. He wanted to run, to hide, to shield himself from what was coming-- Ifrit blasted them with fire. The fire did not burn their clothing or flesh. But it burned the minds out of their souls, changing their very aether, attuning them forever to the will of the primal. But not Jayesh. He stood there, staring up at the primal, waiting for his will to vanish, waiting for its hideous voice to speak in his head. The fire had burned the ropes off his wrists, and his hands immediately went to his conjurer's wand and shield. But the fire, somehow, had not touched him. Ifrit noticed. The demon lowered his head to stare at the young hyur. "You!" he bellowed. "I've heard of your kind, untouchable by the gods! If I cannot consume you that way, I shall consume you with fire!" Jayesh reached deep into his magic, the magic that drew power from the elements. He gathered it to himself, more than he'd ever gathered before, filling himself with earth magic until he thought his whole body might turn to stone. Then he unleashed it on Ifrit. The ground beneath the primal erupted upward in a stone spike the size of a house. It shot straight out of the ground, piercing through Ifrit, rising and rising into a stalagmite that ended only when it pierced the cavern roof. Ifrit hung impaled on a spear of stone for a moment. Then he let out a strangled cry and dissipated into sparkling fire aether. Jayesh ran for his life.

#FFxivWrite2022 #ffxiv fanfiction #ifrit

[darkwizardesswrites]

Glacial Soul Chapter Two

《 Summary 》 From a young age, Erumi Yukiura had trained rigidly, giving it her all. Getting into U.A was only the first step for her. As time passes, she settles into her new school life as a member of class 1-A but several unexpected events take place one after the other. In such circumstances, all Erumi cared about was becoming stronger, she had no intention of getting acquainted with her classmates.

But life doesn't always go the way you expect, between the friendship and new bonds, her frozen heart starts to gradually melt away as forgotten scars begin to resurface. 

《 Pairing 》 Todoroki Shoto x Erumi Yukiura (oc), Midoriya Izuku x Uraraka Ochako, Bakugou Katsuki x Esuna Kurotsu (oc) 

《 Genres 》 Action, Slowburn, some angst, Fluff.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

02 || Ice Queen

She looked up, shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight. Erumi took another long breath and closed her eyes, attempting to clear her mind, the wind ruffling her hair gently as it brushed past her. It calmed her and made her feel at ease. She stood there for some time, basking in the warmth of the sun on her skin.

After a while, she let out a satisfied sigh and opened her eyes again, looking up at the bright blue sky, watching the birds fly by. Erumi smiled fondly, her eyes drifted back down – where she could see the people walking around, ready to go about their day. 

The streets were less crowded than usual, it was a rare but nice change of pace. No incidents. No rush. Just a quiet, uneventful morning. 

The young teenager walked forward observing the surrounding nature, her hair emitted specks of ice that drifted down her locks, letting it shimmer in the light. 

It wasn't often she got to relax. Far from it in fact. She rarely had time for herself, even less time when she was at home. But this… this was a perfect atmosphere to take a small break, enjoy the sun and focus on herself without having to worry about anything… at least, for a short while. 

How she wished moments like those would last. 

As she was getting used to the calm atmosphere a thunderous explosion interrupted the tranquil moment. Smoke began rising into the sky, covering the view of the sun and clouding it in layers of gray and black, and a burning smell spread in the air. The tiniest of grumbles escaped Erumi's lips, "Not again…" she muttered, running her hand through her locks. 

Just great…

Erumi thought with annoyance. She turned around, her gaze fell upon the rising smoke. She watched as a crowd gathered around, chatting and whispering as they looked at the large mass of fire caused by a villain, no doubt. 

There goes my peaceful walk…

Everyone moved quickly, rushing towards the scene. Before she knew it, she was being pushed left and right, Erumi tried to step out of the way only for more people to rush in. She maneuvered her way through the crowd, squeezing between them as they all walked in the direction of the explosion. Did they want to see what caused the commotion? Or did they simply want to see which hero would deal with the situation? Either way, she didn’t care. All she wanted was to go to school, or at this moment in time; get away from this damn crowd. 

When she finally managed to get away, the girl let out a long exaggerated sigh and then glanced back toward the smoke, she watched as people rushed to the scene. "This is ridiculous," Erumi muttered. It always shocked her really, how people could ignore their basic instinct of self-preservation and instead focus on the most insignificant things. 

Have they simply become too numb to it all? 

The girl closed her eyes and kept walking forward, trying to ignore the commotion. Her arm clenched into a fist to fight against the feeling of agitation. Sparks of ice slowly emitted from her hair for the briefest of moments before it dissolved into the air. 

It doesn't concern me.

Erumi looked back in front of her, striding forward through the streets, ignoring everything going on behind her as she continued her slow march, hoping she'd reach her destination soon. 

Surely then she wouldn't feel so irritated.

Erumi sighed as she came to a stop, standing near an intersection, her blue eyes following the flow of traffic, waiting for the cars to rush past her. At some point, she zoned out, getting lost in her thoughts. Water splashed over her shoes as a car passed by, startling her out of her daze, she snapped her head upwards to look at the road just in time to see the lights changing, everyone started walking and she proceeded on her way to school.

Her school… 

Corusan Private School. 

A known school in Shizuoka prefecture. Everyone has heard of it at least once. Many entrepreneurs and pro heroes graduate from this very school every year. In other words, it was a school for the rich and powerful. 

For the majority, this was a hard school to get into. Students needed a strong family background and superb grades to enter it. The tuition was by no means cheap either. But to Erumi, it was the last school she wanted to go to or be associated with. 

And yet here she was.

Not by her own free will, mind you. 

Shifting her backpack onto her shoulders,  the girl started her slow trek forward toward the school building. When she finally reached the entrance, she looked up at the building, frowning slightly.

Time for yet another day in this school. 

She made her way to class, walking through the hallways. As she passed by the classroom doors, she caught a few students glancing her way, whispering and giggling amongst themselves. Erumi ignored them and continued on her way, she looked down, her eyes looking somewhat solemn as she walked towards her classroom, she slid the door open and walked inside taking her usual seat in the back, she liked it there.

It was next to the window, so whenever she got bored she could just stare out of it at the scenery and watch the birds as they flew across the sky.

It was a good way to pass the time. 

Erumi's eyes turned to look outside the window, watching the clouds float past her slowly. She leaned forwards, placing her arms on the desk. She rested her chin on her hand, idly playing with a loose strand of her hair.

After all, she had nothing else to do. 

The door opened as a stern woman walked forward, her short brown hair pushed back in a side ponytail while her blue eyes scanned her surroundings, everyone quickly fell silent as they took their seats.

"Good morning class" The woman greeted, walking forward towards the podium with a pile of paper in her hand, placing it neatly on top before speaking. "Homeroom is about to start." She announced, taking another glance at her students, like a mother hen checking on her chicks, "Now that you are all third years you need to think about your future carefully and thoroughly. I am sure most of you want to become pro heroes," The woman went on as everyone erupted into cheers, they raised their hands and started showing off their Quirks. 

From controlling wind to flaming hair, each one was completely different from the other. Some had horns and tails, others had scales or wings. Others could control fire, or extend their arms and hands.

To say the least, it was chaotic but Erumi could care less. 

The teacher sighed, already expecting that response, "We get it, now please calm down everyone. You shouldn't use your quirks freely in class like this." She rubbed her temples, "I'm about to hand out your future course surveys, please fill them out and bring them by the end of the week, do NOT be late."

"Yes!" Everyone in the class shouted in unison, enthusiasm radiating from their voices. 

"Future…" The young teenager mumbled, her eyes focused on the desk in front of her.

Her future… she had long decided since that accursed day. Over the years, that spark had only ignited into a burning flame. She WILL be a hero, she had been training for years since that day. 

Training solely for that one goal. 

This wasn't just for her mother either… not anymore.

Erumi swiftly grabs the piece of paper handed to her by the person in front of her, but she doesn't fill it out; she just stares at it, her brow furrowed as she holds her pen gently above the sheet, twiddling the cap between her fingers. 

She DID want to be a hero but…

------

The bell rings, signaling the beginning of lunch break. Erumi closes her notebook with a loud clap and looks back at the paper resting on her desk, she soon hears a voice calling her name.

“Ru!” 

Erumi turned around to find one of her classmates walking toward her. The girl had long curly red hair, reaching down her waist and a pair of large, reptile-like violet eyes, they seemed to narrow as she approached Erumi. 

"Oh Esuna..."

"The one and only," Esuna said with a laugh, a grin curling up her lips. "Missed me?"

Erumi grumbled in reply, shaking his head before looking back down at the paper on her desk. "Ignoring me already? That's mean Ru....!" Esuna pouted, but it was quickly replaced by a smile. She didn't mind too much, if anything it gave her the chance to tease her childhood friend more, and oh did she love teasing people. "Hmm? What are you looking at? The survey?" She moved closer, resting her arms on Erumi's shoulders, the weight of her body making the girl wince.

"Unless you want to become a human iceberg, I suggest you let go of me." Erumi pushed Esuna’s arm away. "I can't focus when you're distracting me with your useless chatter."

She liked her personal space… and so did Esuna apparently. 

"Ooh, Did I bother the ice queen? my apologies," Esuna giggled as she sat down on the desk. "But you know, even if you did use your ice, I can just melt it with my flames." She flicked her fingers, giving a small smirk as a black and purple flame ignited from her fingertips, "So sorry~ Your Quirk doesn't work on me." She moved her fingers around, watching as the flames swirled around. 

"And I can easily extinguish your flames if I wanted to but it's not worth the effort," Erumi spun the pen around, lazily glancing at her classmate from the corner of her eye, a blank look on her face. 

"You're no fun sometimes…" Esuna huffed in response, crossing her arms, "Anyway, why

haven't you filled out this form already? Hurry up and let's go grab lunch," she pouts at Erumi, urging her to finish. "I am getting hungry."

"That…." Erumi lowered her voice, unsure of how to explain things to her friend. "I'll do it later…" 

"Liar~" Esuna sighed, "I know you better than that. Something is bothering you." She eyed Erumi, her expression laced with worry, "With your skill and family connections, you can easily pass the U.A's recommendation exam."

"I could… Whether it be the recommendation exam or the entrance exam I am confident I can handle both with ease but this isn't the problem," Erumi stated glancing outside the window, watching as the students walked around the courtyard. 

"You are as overconfident as ever I see…" Esuna laughed, she felt dumb for even thinking Erumi was nervous now. "If you believe that then what's the matter? You always said you wanted to attend U.A like your parents."

Erumi stopped, letting out a long sigh, "Forget about it," she shook her head, "What about you, didn't you also want to join U.A Esuna?" 

"Yep, that's right! I've been training a lot lately so I am sure I'll be the first place in the entrance exam," Esuna smirked, her arms crossed triumphantly over her chest.  

"And you call me overconfident…" Erumi shook her head, "Knowing you… You'll end up in second place instead and start wallowing over it." 

"Jeez, thanks for the vote of confidence…" Esuna mumbled, her shoulders slumping. "It wouldn't hurt to have more confidence in my abilities."

"I am not underestimating your abilities but YOU are underestimating the entrance exam, there will be many around you with strong quirks, maybe even some with stronger abilities than your own," Erumi explained, her voice low and serious.

"You always do look at things from a logical standpoint," Esuna stretched out her arms before jumping out of her seat, "Well, I still know I have what it takes to make the cut," she stopped for a bit, " I don't know what you're struggling with but I just can't imagine you in another school besides U.A, not with your talent so don't overthink too much and just do it, you've never been one to doubt yourself." 

"Yeah." She mumbled. The words were soft and barely audible, she turned away from the conversation, eyes fixated on a wall, face void of emotion and expression.

Esuna let out a long sigh, "Alright, I'll stop pestering you for now, I'll go grab a drink before lunch break ends, cya!" She turned around and started walking, giving Erumi a slight wave. 

Erumi waved back before placing her hand down and exhaling, "Only U.A huh...?" She muttered quietly to herself, staring at nothing as she absentmindedly twirled a pen through her fingers.

"You will be attending Shiketsu High School and that's final."

Her grip on the pen suddenly tightened, snapping it in two before letting out a frustrated grunt. She glanced up with a glare as she recalled those words.

She didn't get it. 

She never cared about that old man's words before, so why should she start now… why should she listen to him?  Her eyes narrowed in irritation, she clenched her fist tight around the broken pieces of the pen, making it dig into her skin and flesh. Unwanted memories flashed before her. Her expression hardened as she thought about his words, frost gathering around her body, freezing the ground beneath her. 

No matter what she does… she knew it wouldn't change how her family looked at her… that was always the case. 

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Erumi let go of her fists slowly but continued to stare blankly in front of her.

Shiketsu…

It wasn't a bad school in the slightest it was even considered as good as U.A. in terms of prestige. It was the best school in the West. 

It just… wasn't her dream high school. And yet it looked like she had no choice but to attend it anyways.

But no, she won't be a puppet for that man… Not when he has made her life a living hell. 

Not when he has done nothing but berate her and put her down. To him, she was only a stain on their prestigious family name. 

"Shiketsu high…." She stood up before letting go of the broken pen, "I definitely don't want to go there."

Yes, she'll follow her own will. Her own desire. Nothing else mattered. 

"You will be attending Shiketsu High School and that's final."

Her grip on the pen suddenly tightened, snapping it in two before letting out a frustrated grunt. She glanced up with a glare as she recalled those words.

She didn't get it. 

She never cared about that old man's words before, so why should she start now… why should she listen to him?  Her eyes narrowed in irritation, she clenched her fist tight around the broken pieces of the pen, making it dig into her skin and flesh. Unwanted memories flashed before her. Her expression hardened as she thought about his words, frost gathering around her body, freezing the ground beneath her. 

No matter what she does… she knew it wouldn't change how her family looked at her… that was always the case. 

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Erumi let go of her fists slowly but continued to stare blankly in front of her.

Shiketsu…

It wasn't a bad school in the slightest it was even considered as good as U.A. in terms of prestige. It was the best school in the West. 

It just… wasn't her dream high school. And yet it looked like she had no choice but to attend it anyways.

But no, she won't be a puppet for that man… Not when he has made her life a living hell. 

Not when he has done nothing but berate her and put her down. To him, she was only a stain on their prestigious family name. 

"Shiketsu high…." She stood up before letting go of the broken pen, "I definitely don't want to go there."

Yes, she'll follow her own will. Her own desire. Nothing else mattered. 

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha oc #Erumi Yukiura #Esuna Kurotsu #mha ocs #mha oc x canon #my hero acedamia #boku no academia #boku no hero acedamia #Glacial Soul

[fouldinosaursalad]

gustavo’s origins. (Tw stillbirth/colonisation) (gustavo’s pov,)

Envy is common among my kin. We often desire more than a bed of wet grass. I grew up in a willow grove, but that was centuries ago. We were chased out of our home, and we watched from afar as our land was taken and destroyed by the humans. Thousands of years of history for our tribe lost; all of our writings and belongings gone. 

They tore down more and more of the forest to build their own homes, pushing us further and further away. They hunted us, killing any of us they caught. We fled the forest, fleeing further from human settlements. We wandered for months to reach one of the few untouched places that the humans keep. We were forced to settle in a “gone forest” in some shoddy tower that smells like pizza for some reason. 

The “pizza tower” we have hidden in is far from what we would choose, but Flora and Iris are too close to birthing to risk moving anymore. We have to be on watch at all times to ensure those cheeseslimes don't get too close to the females. I pray to the great moon mother that these children survive. 

“Mica, you should rest. You have been on watch since we stopped here,” Daimen’s voice is soft. “Iris went into labor. I worry too much for her and the little one to go rest.” I turn to look at him, and the scent on the wind catches my attention. The smell of smoke from wet wood being burned raises the hair on the back of my neck. 

“Do you smell that?” “What … a fire?” Daimen asks. I leap from the branch I had been perched on. I take off, following the scent and keeping to the shadows of the trees. I reach a strange military hideout in a frighteningly short amount of time. An old oak casts a deep enough shadow to hide me from human sight. 

Three soldiers, ignorant of the dangers that surround them. A black haired man suddenly rises and stumbles away from their little camp and the reach of the firelight. I follow the black haired man, staying out of his sight when he drops the can that was in his hand and leaves it. Rage fuels me. 

I step on a branch moving to just behind him. The human freezes before breaking into a stumbling run forward. I keep a seedy pace following him, easily breaking twigs and small branches as I go. Suddenly, a gremlin, a gnome’s natural enemy, landed on me. He was wearing a yellow jumpsuit with a cape. It wrestles with me, before I pull out a knife and point it to the gremlins chest.

“Envy is common amongst my kin we often desire more than a bed of wet grass. Greed and envy go hand in hand, power turns envy to greed. Humans and gremlins have such greedy hearts; they have ripped apart our home. Their factories poison our water and our prey; it sickens our women and twists the children. 

So sinful you are, yet we are the monstrous beasts to you. We are not even fit to live in the sickly sweet “spire” where you put our stolen frogs. Oh little gremlin, why are you crying now? You claim that you're superior to us; you trample through the gnome forest and “camp” out here as a past time. We all know that this human pizza war shit has messed everyone up, and yet you want more to win, you want to kill every last human and gnome that appears before you.

Don't you see you're not built for this, with that small noodle body of yours? Look at you, stumbling about like a newborn cheeseslime. Your heartbeat gives away your fear; it's beating so fast I think it might burst. I should have been docile right? The homeless beasts. But you're cowering like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. 

Your kin sees themselves as apex predators. Yet our faces are but a breath apart and you can’t see me clearly. Who has favor here: the one part of the midnight shadows, or the creature who only takes from the land? Such short lives you live compared to the damage you do. Yet you're so easy to harm. You prize your soft fragile skin, so easy to split it open. It would be so easy to sink my claws into your throat. The lightest touch of them has already drawn blood, a little more pressure from my hand and I can close your airway. can feel the burn of the spit skin and the warm blood spilling free? Or has fear blocked such feeling? 

Weak eyes, smell, and hearing, laughable for a predator that you call yourself. You know we were once beautiful like you or our cousins. Our skin shimmered under the moonlight, bioluminescent I believe you called it. We claim it was a gift from our goddess but you killed her too. No records remain, no stories but what we remember. 

You're so pathetic, small, and fragile. All you can do is cry and beg. Your kind is but a child to mine. Do you see how small you are, how weak, even as emaciated as I am your hand does not circle my wrist. I wish you could see how you RUINED US! “

CRACK 

“Oh, such a shame. Sigh. I should have been more careful. It is frustrating how fragile even your bones are. 

Have no fear though, seams your friends heard your screams. One day your kin will pay for their greed. Our envy has only grown as has our anger. We are tired of beds of grass and dirt but that will be your last bed little corpse-“

a explosion rings. It was a decoy. A blow up balloon that has gunpowder in, gremlins are really clever, you know that, right?

I slipped through the trees carefully back to the cave. one of the many caves and cottages we are forced to call home. Daimen cornered me before I reached the clearing surrounding the cave. “What were you thinking Gustavo, hunting a gremlin!” His voice carries a cold edge. “They have taken everything from us, our home, our health, our culture is in ruins. If we continue like this we will die. We as a people will no longer exist. 

In the last century, we have had three pregnancies in our clan and they all lead to at least the child dying, and one has taken the mother's life as well. If we do not stand against the gremlins, then what is there to stop us from ending up like the shapeshifters.” “They are too powerful, what do you expect us to do gustavo!?” Daimen shouts stoping me. “We turn to the demons. Gremlins have to live in harmony with them due to their strength. I am the proof we can have healthy young with them. “ 

“You're insane. Just like your mother for saying such things.” He grabs my arm. “So you wish to just ignore that I am the last member of our time to reach adulthood. All other children that have been born have died, and not because of this war either. They were too sick to live long.” I pull away from him. “You and the elders refuse to see the truth that it is the only chance at survival we have. 

Soon the women will make the choice. This is Flora’s fourth pregnancy. Do you think if she loses this one she will stay with you? I will gladly lead any who wish to seek the demons to them.” I enter the cave letting my words linger on his mind. I pause, and a heartbroken wail fills the air. Daimen rushes past me to seek his mourning mate. I enter the dark cave and seek out my own mate, finding her holding a softly crying newborn. 

I quickly move to my small family sitting behind my mate and holding them both. Looking down at my daughter in her arms “Her name is Belladonna” Iris’s voice is quiet and the exhaustion rings clear in it. My daughter carries my blue eyes though hers seem to glow faintly in the light of the fire. 

Flora’s cries while having quieted still echo off the cave wall as she hysterically demands her mate to take the body of the child away. Her angry tone draws my gaze away from my darling little one. She is demanding her mate take the body not the healer. “Get it away from me and stay gone yourself! WHAT GOOD IS A MALE WHO CAN’T SIRE A CHILD!” Her words echo long after Dainen had fled the cave. 

And so, Damien clawed my newborn daughter. She didn’t even get to live a day.

“Leave,” was a,l Damien said. So I was forced out of the gnome forest, and forced to trek to god knows where.

—————

5 years later (third person.)

Another day at the pizzeria. Another slow, uneventful, and borderline empty day.

Which was pretty much every day at the pizzeria at that point. The place was so lifeless, that one could consider it more akin to an abandoned building in the middle of a graveyard than a full-on establishment. The only noise that accompanied the sad eatery was the sound of a broken down air conditioner.

How Peppino yearned to hear the bell on the door finally ring out as a customer walked in and placed an order. Yet, he knew deep down that was unlikely to ever happen.

Especially considering the fact that he had the place built on a cliff.

In the middle of nowhere.

At least the scenery was nice.

He sighed, turning his gaze from the door to the cracked clock on the wall. It looked to be about 8:30pm.

He stood up, letting out a grunt as he stretched his arms. He looked behind himself, laying his eyes on the door that led out back. A little fresh air wouldn’t hurt, especially after standing still inside of a run-down pizzeria for god-knows-how-long.

He took one step towards the door and immediately had to grab onto the counter behind him. It was only then that he realized how sore and stiff his legs were from standing for hours on end.

He cursed under his breath as he dragged his feet across the tiled floor and turned the knob to the backdoor. The outside of the building was a clear contrast to the inside, with it being a small, lovely wooded area that—despite having no flowers growing around it—was still quite homey and pleasant, and Peppino found it perfect for taking breaks from the insipid days and nights.

He exhaled, the tension in his body leaving as he sunk back against the outside wall. He rubbed his sunken eyes before placing his hands on his stomach and shutting his eyes, looking forward to some nicely deserved rest.

“Hello, fellow gremlin!”

Peppino’s eyes snapped open and he nearly screamed as he heard an unfamiliar voice call out to him from some place he couldn’t pinpoint. “Che cazzo?! Who said that? Who’s-a there?!” He yelled back as he jumped his feet and whipped his head around frantically.

“Up here!” The voice said again, and Peppino looked up. His eyes went wide as he saw, hanging onto a tree branch, a stout, hairy man with pointy ears and… was that a tail?!

“Hey! Just-a what are you?!” Peppino questioned with a shout, his hands moving wildly as he went on. “And-a what are you doing on-a my property?!”

“Well, I’ll tell you if you can get me down from this tree!” The pointy-eared man shouted back. “Please, if you could be so kind?” He added with a softer tone and a smile.

Peppino groaned. “Alright, alright. Fine.” He trudged towards the tree, holding his arms up and spreading them wide. “Come on, jump-a down.”

“But I’m scared! What if I f-f-fall?” The pointy-eared man replied, the tuft on his tail twitching lightly.

“That’s-a the point, stupido culo. You will fall into my arms.” Peppino grew irritated.

“But gremlin—“

“Fine-a! Stay still then!” Peppino grouched as he stomped away from the tree. He couldn’t believe he was going to do this.

He stretched his legs, knelt down with his body facing towards the tree and, with all his might, started to run towards it. His feet practically gliding across the ground, he used the momentum from the run to climb up the tree and grip onto the branch, causing it to sway and bend.

He grabbed the back of the man’s shirt in his hand, causing the latter to yelp as they dropped back to the ground with a thud. Peppino let go of the pointy-eared man, who looked up at him in admiration, his tail wagging happily like how a dog’s would.

“Thank you so much, gremlin! I assure you I will never forget this!” The man crowed. “You know, you’re rather strong for a gremlin! And tall! And—” he narrowed his eyes, “Your ears…” he gasped dramatically. “You’re not a gremlin, are you? You’re… a human??!”

Peppino chuckled in confusion. “Uhh… yeah? I would sure hope so.”

The man took Peppino’s hand and shook it vigorously, his eyes sparkling. “Oh boy! I’ve never met a real human before! It’s such an honor to—“ he stopped, pulling away as his cheeks turned rosy red. “Oh, where are my manners? My name is Gustavo, and I’m what you may call a gnome!”

Peppino stared at Gustavo in silence. “A…gnome.” He repeated. Was this a prank? Did the Noise hire some random guy to dress up as a mythical creature and mess with him? Peppino wouldn’t put it past the gremlin.

But the pointy ears, short stature and the tufted tail looked too real to just be a poorly put-together costume.

“A gnome!” Gustavo replied, a wide grin on his round face. “What’s your name, my human friend?”

“I’m-a not your friend.” Peppino grumbled. “The name’s Peppino, though.”

“Peppino…alrighty, Peppy! It’s fantastic to meet you!” Gustavo chirped.

Peppino’s face went flushed with embarrassment and aggravation. “Don’t call-a me that…!” He huffed before regaining his composure. “Now shoo. You must have a home you need to go back to.”

“Well, the thing is…” Gustavo began, “I do, but… I thought it’d be nice to try something new, you know? Do more things? See more places?”

“And you chose the back of my pizzeria as your new home—“

“A pizzeria?! This is a pizzeria?! I had one of those back in my old village! It was amazing!” Gustavo exclaimed. “I’ve always wondered what it was like to work in one! Can I help out? Please? After all, it would be a good way to repay you after you so gracefully saved me!”

Mio Dio, what have I done? Peppino lamented internally as he gazed at Gustavo. On one hand, he literally just met this dude.

This dude who was climbing a damn tree.

In the back of his establishment.

On the other hand, Peppino did need help. Running an entire pizzeria alone can take quite a toll on an already incredibly disgruntled Italian man. And Gustavo seemed like a lively little man. In spite of him likely going to be very annoying, he could probably take on a job like that.

“It’s a bit-a run-down… are-a you sure?” Peppino inquired.

“Yes, I’m very sure! Just tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it, no questions asked! It’s the best I can do for someone who saved me!” Gustavo insisted with a playful salute and a jubilant smile.

“Alright-a, if you say so,” Peppino concluded. “Welcome to the team, Gustavo.”

Gustavo looked like he was about to explode with joy. “YESS!!” He yelled out as he jumped in the air with glee and whimsy. It was almost charming. “Thank you so much, Peppino! What’s my first job?”

“Well, uh… the place could use-a some cleaning,” he explained as the two walked back into the building. Gustavo took one long look at the interior before nodding.

“Yep, I can do that. Hand me the tools, Peppy, and I’ll be done in a jiffy!”

Peppino grabbed a mop from the cleaning supplies room and handed it to Gustavo with a huff. “I told-a you to stop-a calling me that,” he mumbled.

“Heh, sorry about that! I’ll get to work right now!” Gustavo responded, beginning to walk away before turning back with a sly smile. “Peppy.”

“STAI ZITTO!!”

#pizzatower #gustavo pizza tower #peppino #the noise

[kinghaargrove]

 ‘ when we all fall asleep ‘

sharing weird dreams || @wheelrisms

Billy runs his tongue over his lower lip, contemplating how best to put to words a dream he’s carried with him for years. It wasn’t that it carried any particular significance, he didn’t believe in anything prophetic or supernatural, the upside down and all it brought with it, notwithstanding of course. This dream had simply stuck with him because of how real it had felt. Years later he can still see it all in his mind’s eye, he can still smell the burning pine, and overturned earth. He can still hear it…

❝ Weirdest dream I can remember having, was a little more like a nightmare. It didn’t start that way, though, at first, it was kind of beautiful, ❞ he begins, in a low tone, ❝ I don’t know where I was, in my dream. Out camping, maybe, but in the beginning I felt safe. I was surrounded by trees, and it was dark. It was late at night, and I had my face upturned to the sky because… I was watching a meteor shower. It was— pretty. Streaks of white and streaks of colour zipped across the starry sky, disappearing from my sight behind the swaying pines, swaying in the breeze.

❝ It was peaceful, and quiet, until a gigantic fireball came soaring overhead, too close for comfort. It soared over the trees by me and crashed itself somewhere deep in the woods in the distance. I still remember how the ground shook when it struck. How the trees rattled from the roots up, dropping loose needles, like the whole earth just shivered under them. I don’t know what it was that drove me, then, but my feet carried me out there, in the direction it landed.

❝ Time blurred away, and I kept going until I found it. Until I could smell smoke. Until I could smell that sharp, earthy scent of fresh burning pine. It was a scent so strong that I could taste it. I found a clearing, that certainly hadn’t been there before the meteor struck. Trees were flattened, in every direction, big ones, and small ones, indiscriminately. Despite the smell of smoke, there was no fire. Not that I saw, anyway, even as I came to stand at the edge of the crater, where the earth gave out and made way for whatever crashed there.

❝ The crater was huge. I’m talking the length of a football field, or bigger, across, and I couldn’t see down into it at first. A heavy layer of smoke and fog crawled along below my feet, just out of reach, and the pungent smell of burning hair that seemed to rise up out of there nearly took me out. But I forgot all about that, when not one, but two sets of wings rose up out of it, half with crusted, burnt feathers, and half bat-like membrane. In one gust, one powerful downstroke, the smoke was gone. I saw it. But it didn’t see me, at least, not yet. ❞

He takes a pause and chuckles under his breath a bit, because he knows it sounds nuts. Of course it is. It’s just a damn dream. But why does it cling to him like a memory, like a place he’s been, like it’s something he saw?? He’ll never know. ❝ Anyway, it… it’s hard to describe. If I was any kind of good at art, I would draw it, but it looked like an alien. Or an Angel, if you believe in that kind of thing. It was impossibly huge. I might as well have been standing at the edge of the quarry, for how deep that crater was, but I knew if it stood up it would rise well above me. It had skin that was milky white, and the creature was so skinny and long that you could see all of its bones standing out through that pale flesh, like it was emaciated. Or maybe it’s… exoskeleton. It had a long, bony tail with a scorpion like tip. An uncomfortably human looking rib cage, two sets of human like arms that matched its four wings, one set larger than the other. It had a face with five shiny, pitch black eyes, a long, bony crest of a skull, and no mouth.

❝ It seemed confused, pained, in the way it moved, maybe just waking up from the crash or something, I don’t know, but when it— when it saw me, I suddenly couldn’t move. It twisted around in the pit like a snake, and this… this high pitched shrieking whine just pierced my head, and it hurt so bad it forced me to my knees. It tilted its head at me in an eerie fashion, first this way, then that. Clicking, curling it’s hands into claws into the earth, before it leapt at me… and that’s when I woke up. ❞

#wheelerisms #[ based off a dream I had — ] #[ I actually drew the thing a long time ago ] #[ it’s a very unsettling creature to look at lmaoo ]